I have been scared all my life, full of fear and dread… As young as I can recall. Burning eternal fires with wailing teeth gnashing angry unrepent souls thrust down to the depths of hell. Just the word (thrust) set me on edge. I remember thinking if anyone gets thrust down to hell it will most deservedly be me.

I mean why not…? I swore and loved dirty jokes. If I got away with stealing a snickers from the local grocery store I would. I was convinced of God watching me from the sky, waiting for me to make a mistake, never missing a thing… I was scared. Like really fucking scared.

I started to make up stories in my head. Ones where ghosts and goblins were my friends, they were nice and friendly, they didn’t judge me for feeling bad about myself. They were accepting because other people were scared of them and they just wanted to be friends. So we became friends, my imaginary friends.

I was taught to feel bad about myself if I looked at a girl inappropriately. I was told to feel ashamed if I touched my penis. When I reached puberty I liked looking at girls. I wanted to touch their boobs but knew that it was bad and God would be watching me. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to touch them but I did and so did my friends.

We eventually did feel boobs and explored our budding sexuality and I felt shame and fear for this. I thought about the gnashing teeth people and wondered how I might cope being around the anger and fire. So I paid my tithing to my Church and scheduled an interview with my bishop. Behind closed doors I confessed all my sexual sins. Thankfully my parents were not there. I would not have endured the embarassment.

My bishop asked for details, what I touched and how I touched it? If I felt boobs or the vagina too…? I almost wanted to run but felt trapped and knew God was watching us knowing I had to trust his leader on Earth. But I still wanted to run. He asked if I masturbated but I didn’t know what that word meant so I said aloud “I don’t know what that word means?” He explained what it meant and demonstrated by pantomiming the action with his hands.

I felt a flush of embarassment and felt certain my burning face was bright red. He forged on with even more certainty and conviction. So I confessed… Touching boobs and feeling a vagina with my hand and I added a shameful yes to masturbation. I hated it. The whole putrid thing. I felt like a broken little teeth gnasher. But I accepted it… I had to repent to God and this was my first step telling my bishop. It was hard but he had to know.

My own shadow would make me jump. I was scared at night, the shadows dancing, succumbing to my development. I felt like a failure, weak and undisciplined. My friends and I joked and laughed about masturbation, we laughed at the word, it sounded strange. We were all scared of our potential destination (Hell!!!) We knew we were going…

The girls, all the pretty girls were too much for our burgeoning adolescence our bursting hormones had the power to silhouette hell, to silence the very thing we were all so god damn scared of. Fear of hell and the finality of accepting such a dreadful ending. A life lived in debauchery we were told. At 14 it seemed a death sentence we would never escape.

I still live with fear. I wish I could overcome my fears but I can’t. I am 45 today: 31 years since my challenging and awkward adolescence. I no longer believe in anything which resembles authority or ideology. We have a long way to go as humans… But we are trying. The feeble voice is rising. But I must admit I am still afraid? All these years later, a mountain of literature and therapy, coffee and wine… and I am still laden with unscrupulous fear.

They sometimes own me, steal the show, show up when I least expect. Fears of trivial things, and big things, lots of fears, some I laugh at others laugh at me. I wondered the other day how my inculcation of a Mormon upbringing entangled me in a web of fear. My childhood robbed alongside millions of girls and boys like me…?

I felt compelled to write it down and share our shame, my shame, their shame, the churches shame: the one they put on us; the one they made us wear like a chain around our 14 year-old necks… Our human development used to cheapen, to frighten, to control, destroy our innocence and decapitate our adolescence. Leaving shame our travelling companion and fear our bed side guest.

I did not learn self-control or discipline and obedience from a just god. I learned fear. Fear of not measuring up, fear of not being good enough, fear of not being accepted. Fear of doing wrong and being bad rather than being loved and learning love. I learned love away from rules and commandments. Away from authority and ties and suits and haircuts trimmed the right way.

I am unlearning this fear. Its slow and hard. I wish it could be faster but I cannot speed it up. The losing my fear part. But I will keep trying and feeling my fear. At times it wins and other times I win, but it is short lived. My fear, your fear, our fears were told by someone who wanted fear to rule us: because fear rules them and religion taught them the same fear. And they don’t know it yet…