1. Disillusionment
I was baptized when I was eight, just like most church members. I remember the day clearly, the white cloths, getting to sit with my dad, my grandparents sitting with my mom and brothers. The water was cold, but it didn't bother me, my father said the baptismal prayer, and put me under the water. I went back to the changing room and started to think, "I'm sinless, I'm perfect right now at this moment. I wonder if it feels different then if I sin?" so I did what any eight year old would do, I sinned to my understanding. I whispered "shit," nothing changed. I remember feeling disappointed, but didn't understand how that one thing would be so symbolic to me later on in life.
When I was thirteen was the first time I questioned my faith in the church, I remember my dad and I were driving on about 27Th west and about 53rd south right by some big water tanks and I said "dad how can you know the church is true?" He pulled over and we talked for a while, about the book of Mormon, Joseph Smith and the church in general. When we were done I felt you could some up the answer to "you need to read the book of Mormon and pray about it." This line is on the list of the top five reasons I left the church. It seemed every time I had a question that couldn't easily be answered I would be told "you need to pray about it." Looking back it bothers me how long that line worked on me. I would pray about it, but I have never received an answer through prayer and maybe I should count it as a blessing that voices never talked back because that's a big sign of schizophrenia.
I spent all of my teenage years defending the church, never voicing out loud that I had no belief in the LDS church, but as it's been said to me "the fish always fight the hardest right before they get in the boat." I would read church books, I would pray and I would always go to church. To say that going to church benefited me would be a compete lie. I blessed the sacrament with people who I knew smoked pot. My young mens leader was the most perverted man I knew, yet self image was everything to him. I would sit through church just waiting to go home to get away from the people there.
By the time I had reached the middle of my first year of college I had read the book of Mormon many times, as well as a lot of other books suggested by the church. It was the in early winter my first year of college I was having a rough time with religion and tired of doing things out of routine so I spent the better part of a week doing nothing but going to class coming home reading my Book of Mormon and praying. At the end of that week I went to the Manti temple in the middle of the night knelt down and prayed. I cried, I begged for an answer and none came. As I drove away I gave up my religion.
2. Being disowned/shunned
It took me a while to start to "come out" to my family that I didn't believe anymore. As it became more known I became more of a out cast. I was no longer allowed to go to some peoples houses, one person even asked me not to talk to their kids like I was a pedophile. My second year of college I had a girlfriend brake up with me when she found out I wasn't Mormon. You become a circus freak, something people are scared of. It's funny the reactions people have to you when you say your an ex-Mormon as opposed to just not being Mormon. People don't hate you for never being Mormon, because you might become Mormon. On the other hand if you know the gospel of the church and you reject it there must be something wrong with you. the following two clips show what I mean on a larger scale, not just the LDS religion.
3. Emotional pain on both sides
I remember the day I told my mom that I didn't believe in the church any more. It was a few months after my grandpa Speakman died and right after my brother Brian got home from his mission. My mother at first acted like it was something she could argue me out of, telling me I was wrong and hoping she could talk me out of it. By the end of the conversation she yelled at me saying "your ruining my eternal family!" She stormed out of my room leaving me with a large weight on my shoulders. I started to pack my stuff crying, ready to go back to school when my brother Brian came in hugged me and said, "I love ya." It was so simple yet to this day my brother has no idea what that one kind thing meant to me, he saved my life. many people don't understand the effects that simple words can have on a person, for good or bad. I will struggle with this with my family for the rest of my life, knowing there are some things we just cant talk about anymore. There will be important parts of my life they will never know about, and I will miss out on many things with my brothers because there is that gap between us, and that saddens me more than I can ever express.
I'm not sure how to end this story or if it will ever really have an end. All I know is that life is funny how it works out and I wish the best for everyone, no matter what their religious paths may be.
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