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One beautiful Saturday afternoon while I was still in high school, I was driving my car along some country roads. The radio was on, but I didn't notice. All I could hear were harsh voices of regret.

I pressed down on the gas pedal, trying to drive away from what had happened the night before. Yet no matter how fast I drove or how loud I played the radio, I couldn't escape the fact that last night had really happened.

I had lost my virginity.

And I was angry at myself, at others, and at the culture around me that said sex was no big deal. I had bought the lie. The guys in the locker room had made it sound so cool. They didn't tell me that the next morning—this morning—would be full of emptiness, pain, regret and sorrow. I felt stupid and dirty, like I'd traded the most precious diamond in the world for a cheap, dime-store trinket.

I drove for hours. I passed by my house and then by our church, where my dad is pastor. I thought of the lessons I'd learned in both places—lessons of morality, strength and godly character. I had been taught to live differently from the world, to resist temptation, and most important, to obey the Bible.

My failure the night before wasn't the result of one momentary lapse in judgment. I'd been headed that way for a long time, trying to see how far I could go without actually having sex. It was a dangerous game, but it was fun. What I didn't realize was that this game had no winners.

I'd always wanted to be just like everybody else, and most of the people I looked up to at school were sexually active.

I began to wonder why I was holding out. It's no fun feeling like an oddball, especially when your friends are telling you all about their sexual escapades. After awhile, I decided I could be like everybody else.

Once I lost my virginity, I told myself, "I've messed up big time, so I guess it doesn't matter what I do from now on. I might as well enjoy my rebellion as long as I'm here."

I should have run from my sin at that point; instead, I embraced it.

That was the beginning of a full-on rebellion. My heart hardened as the months went by. I struggled with thoughts of worthlessness. I felt like since I'd opened the forbidden door of premarital sex, there was no going back. I could never be pure again.

And though I felt guilty, I continued rebelling. A few months later, a friend asked me to a party where I knew there would be drinking. I said no at first, but then I thought, I've already fallen into sin, so I guess there's nothing left to lose.

So I went to the party and started drinking. I had never tasted alcohol before, but I acted like drinking was normal for me. I drank until I passed out.

The next morning, I couldn't remember anything, but my friends said I'd been the life of the party. I felt like I finally fit in.

Two days after the party, I was playing drums and singing in the choir at church—and still trying to get over my first hangover.

Over the next few months, I went to more parties and did more stupid things. Word was getting around that Jason Perry was going out and acting pretty wild. I thought it was cool.

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