From my earliest memories, I have suffered from scrupulosity. Almost every anxiety and insecurity I felt as I kid fed into one fear: I was going to hell. Therefore I did everything in my power to prevent that. My bedtime prayers lasted longer than those recited by Benedictine monks; by the second grade, I had read the Bible start to finish (a few times by the fourth grade); I attended daily Mass, walking there on my own each day; and every Good Friday I would go down to my dad’s den in the basement and stay there for five hours as I prayed the all of the mysteries of the rosary.
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