losing my religion

That's a tricky one and for me it was true some ten years ago. Part of the trickiness in losing faith is all about asking the wrong questions. Wrong in the sense that they usually make us feel bad about ourselves and everything around us. Like bad bad. And wrong because almost everybody deems them as such.
So why would anyone attempt this if it makes your life so miserable? 
Well, because it's useful and because the thing is that it doesn't. (Told you it's tricky).

Yes, living in an enchanted world where fulfillment is just round the corner, your success depends solely on hard work mixed with just a handful of talent, a world where you not only can but also deserve to get what you really really want is full of joy. Such world is a land of opportunities, providence and meaning. Except that, come to think of it, all of the above is bull faeces. Obviously it's but a flesh wound for your fluffy, filled with Disney stuff self, so you wade on singing songs to yourself dazzled by the colours of the wind. 
Those precious, long-honed defence mechanisms built into your self do an excellent work of translating the world to you in familiar, pacifying terms. Being dishearteningly miserable is evolutionarily disadvantageous, so you have the accumulated experience of the whole species to protect you from losing faith. 

Let me tell you something.
You thought that Santa didn't visit you that Xmas twenty years ago, because he got sick, poor bugger. No reason to get sad, he'd get better soon and, yeah, of course that next year he'll be back. You can't blame him for not giving you the Lego set you kept moaning about for the previous six months. It's not that your parents spent the money elsewhere, it's only natural that everybody gets sick from time to time and you can't help a flu. The ship was there somewhere, in his sack, waiting. 
See what happened here? You were wrong, but you were happy and happiness is a good thing, right?
Wrong.

Let me tell you something. 
You thought that you lived in a happy and stable relationship. You exchanged favours and shared the bed. All was fine until one day they didn't answer the phone when they were supposed to. No biggy. But then the strange smell on the clothing appeared. But you loved them on. And the calls at strange times. And the business trips. And Stacey told they saw them together. But, come on. You have children, it can't be true, right?
Wrong.
The very same mechanisms that protect you from getting miserable can and will sooner or later get you miserable. But it's not you being naive or anything. It's just that whatever-it-is that's at fault. 

Yep, constantly being miserable will get you nowhere. But being miserable at times is the thing that gets the world go round. Without misery we wouldn't get those fine pills for headache, winter clothes or your partner. The more joyful stories you're telling yourself, the less useful you become to anybody except yourself. Misery is the drive that fuels your actions. Happiness is all just fine unless you have to get up and actually do something.

Why get upset, then, by asking yourselves the wrong questions? Because we are not alone here, and there is a chance, slight, but still, that if we do manage to scrutinize our faith that everything is or will be just peachy, for whatever reason, we will actually get up and make it so.
Get angry, get discomforted, look around and learn stuff because if nobody gives a fick, we might all be ficked one day

or face nuclear winter if too few will. 

PS I find it a nuisance that in my newly rented flat I have my kitchen light switch a five minutes' walk from kitchen. But it is comforting to know that if flats were evolving for people to live in them, this one would not hold long in the race for survival of the fittest. 
I will probably fetch myself a table lamp or something.
Misery is the drive for change.