I have questioned my religion from a young age.

I was told to pray to a god that I cannot see, that has proven not of his power, but of his negligence. A god that I cannot believe in. I see no proof of his eternal love, only the walls that his holy book builds.

I am seven years old, my head has been filled with good and bad. Black and white. Saint and sinner.

I sit at the foot of my bed, in an attempt to speak to this higher being; eyes squeezed shut, hands clasped so tight that my knuckles went white. Convinced that the harder I try, the more chance of my prayers being heard - led to believe that I will awake in the morning without troubles or doubts.

In me, the church has instilled an unprecedented fear. A fear I do not fully understand, but must abide by in order to pass through the holy gates of heaven. I am constantly reminded of the almighty power, who sees all and will make my final judgement.

I am told to put my faith in the hands of an intangible essence.

I will not.

As a child, you were made to be in fear.

My first memory of religion is one of punishment; a nun smacking my hands with the edge of a ruler.

I found it hard to understand how cruel people could be. We are not nice to one another and yet, we are all striving for the same thing.

I met my love at a dance, on a Saturday. A powerful love, a slow burn. A love that would inevitably induce an ultimatum.

A Protestant man.

A Catholic woman.

A forbidden love.

A vesuvian eruption.

A choice between blood and kismet.

I chose love…

and accepted the repercussions that would come along with it.