When I was a child, my mind was like an ocean—open and clear. My imagination was my rabbit hole; a place I fell into when the going got tough. Head in the clouds, I could have made a home out of the fantasies I created. My best "friend", Tanger, was a figment of my childhood fear of abandonment. I cringed at the fact that when I got older, I may lose my imaginary friends and fantasies. Little did I know I would encounter a whole new imaginary friend; almighty and powerful, this ‘friend’ would become more than an invention of my imagination.
As I grew older, and evolved the way humans do, I stumbled upon this concept called "reality." Slowly, my clouds drifted away, only to be replaced by a thunderstorm—depression. I became an unnatural disaster. No longer on Cloud Nine, I was at Ground Zero. It started when I was twelve. My parents were agnostic and chose to let me decide what I wanted to believe in. At the time, I attended a private, Catholic, elementary school. What little knowledge I had of God, became my religion. Later that year, I found myself spiraling out of control. I turned to the only source of hope I had— God. Praying like no other, I tried desperately for years to follow what the Bible said. Although not baptized, I was the most religious out of my friends. Until I hit high school.
The beginning of my freshman year was the peak of my faith. I attended mass whenever I could, and even considered being baptized at a local church. But, like all peaks, the downfall came soon after. My sophomore year was my own personal hell. I spent most of my time with therapists, trying to keep me safe from my worst enemy—myself. There was a war going on inside my head; resulting in battle scars, and failed attempts to raise the white flag. My faith took a 180 degree turn—from almost-Christian, to atheist. I hated Him for putting me through this pain; and even worse, making me live through it. Like the fear I had with Tanger, I felt abandoned. I lost Him, and everyone around me. Most of all, I lost myself.
  For a year, I didn't know who I was. The war was over, but the battles were still being fought. I was still on Ground Zero. It wasn't until someone came along, and picked me back up. My mother started taking me to a new type of therapist, one with all types of medication to help me. My sister, away at college, started driving down once a month to see me. My friends adjusted to my mood swings; always being there as a shoulder to cry on, or someone to laugh with. Even after I obliterated everything in my wake, people still came back to my devastated city to help pick up the pieces. They fought battles with me, always making sure I had first aid, or ammo. I developed trust again; not in God, but in humans.
When the thunder finally stopped rumbling, and the clouds rolled away, I was left with sunshine drying up the tears. My bond with my family became irreplaceable. My friends became my other halves. I fell in love with the same person that first picked me up, because he saw the light when others only saw darkness. I no longer was alone. I may have never restored faith in God, but I have restored faith in people; and I have learned they can be just as divine.