I was raised in a cult. I was not supposed to graduate high school. The end of this world was supposed to come before this would happen. We were supposed to be the sole survivors left to repopulate the world with only "our kind". A people of peace-loving kindhearted servants of God.  

I can remember the very day they came to the door, Bibles in hand, magazines in the other. From that day forward, we would no longer celebrate holidays or birthdays, or be allowed to have friends in school. We had to look different than the other kids, so, we cut our hair short when everyone else wore theirs long, tucked our button-down shirts in, kept silent in school, never taking part in holidays or birthday celebrations, never standing to pledge allegiance to the flag, and certainly no singing the national anthem. Our allegiance was to no country, only god. No more baseball or football after school. We had to stand out from them to show that we were not part of their world. I can remember in 6th grade accidentally setting the school speed record for the 600-yard run. It was easy. All I had to do was release the rage I felt inside as I ran. The coach asked me to join the track team. He thought I could get them to the state finals with my speed. What he didn't know was my father would forbid it. We would not participate in any forms of after school activities. Our time was to be spent serving our god. 

The days of Christmas trees with gifts piled high and families gathered were gone. We were different now. We were not part of them or their world anymore. Our extended family, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, once a close nit group of fun gatherings and feasts of good food were quickly ended. We were saved. Saved from all the horrible things going on in this doomed world. Wars, disease, fighting, pollution, hatred, crime, abuse. You name it, we were safe from it all. That is, as long as we sincerely and unequivocally dedicated ourselves and every day of our lives to Him. To do otherwise would result in death when the end of the world did come. I knew back then that something felt wrong.

Needless to say, our prediction of the worlds end had “new light” shone onto it and was now predicted to be “any day now”. I graduated high school, was given the choice between becoming a full time door to door evangelist or go to the world headquarters to work as a construction worker. As if there were no other choices, I chose the latter. And as every day would pass, we would continue preaching “any day now”, being assured by our new calculations, that the generation born in 1914 would never pass away before the day of destruction.

When I was 30 and rising through the ranks of the religion, having children, making sure to keep them separate from this ugly world, still saying “any day now”, my soul finally broke. I could no longer go along with telling all those I encountered that the world was going to end unless they join us. We had already been wrong so many times before. I could no longer say: “any day now”, I could no longer live this lie. Not the lie of the specific beliefs; anyone can debate these, but the lie of not being my genuine self. I was still the 12 year-old kid missing track, football, baseball, friends, being able to say to a friend, Happy Birthday. To me, many of the teachings didn’t make sense. They did not feel right. I was living a lie. It is one thing to disagree with the teachings and rules of a religion, but my greater sin was not being true to myself by following what I knew in my heart to be right. 

And so, I chose to be true to myself and walk away. My wife gave me the ultimatum of either being “all in, or all out”. I chose out. By far, the most difficult choice of my life.  I walked away from every possession I owned.  My home, my children, my wife, my teachers, mentors, every friend that I had.  I had to go through the gauntlet of shame, disownment, shunning and the loneliness of being truly alone. 

Then began the barrage of slander. My children were told that I was a drug addict, an alcoholic, and a car thief. My clothes put out to the curb for trash. My dog, our dog, sent to the shelter because it was a reminder of me, this horrible monster abandoning his own children at such a crucial time in our worlds history. Days or weeks away from the impending doom coming any day now.. I wasn't erased as much as demonized, quite literally, as the only explanation in their minds for anyone doing such a heinous crime was possession of the demons that fought against the truth. My father, mother, two brothers and one sister shunned me, and were no longer allowed to talk to me. My father would tell people that I was dead. To him, I was.  

For the next four months I lived in the one thing that I did own, my Chevy Suburban.  

Little did I know that this event would end up being one of the greatest gifts of my life. The old saying "that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is true, but only if you make a choice to keep going. And the closer you sometimes find yourself approaching death, if you can take one more step, get yourself through just one more day, you finally get to the other side. And your reward is the greatest gift of all; a strength and resilience inside yourself that you never thought possible. And so that is what I did. I kept living just one more day, just putting one foot in front of the other, almost without thought. 

This story is nothing new. Children so much worse off than this have survived and risen above so much more. They found their way through various means, a friend, relative, art, therapy, you name it. For me, it was music. 

Through music, I slowly found my voice, and my true self. Through the moments of thinking this may be my last day on earth, my music would not stay silent. It was the saving of my soul and the expression I could not keep silent. Borrowed Time is one of the first songs that emerged from this time.