My fellow RMs, April 13th of this week was my 32 year anniversary of the day I came home from my mission. Every year I celebrate that day as a personal holiday and a day that brought me so much happiness and joy, I still cannot find the words to describe it.

Do you remember the last day of your mission? Do you remember the intensity of the relief knowing that your days of having to get up and go tracting again for the umpteenth time were done? Do you remember the relief of knowing that you could start being a real person again, have time alone again, and be with your girlfriend again, to listen to music of your choice again, eat good food again?

I still remember with joy that wonderful day I came home. I invite you to celebrate with me my day of release by letting others hear about your last day.

Below is my account of my last day as a door to door salesman for Joe Smith.

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RELEASED FROM THE MISSION PRISON
At long last the happiest day I have ever known came. It was the last day I had to spend in the Virginia Roanoke Mission. That day was Friday, April 13, 1979 and for me, it is a date that lives in infamy. My time in this mission hell-hole was over! That Friday the 13th was a lucky day and I have celebrated every April 13th since then as a personal holiday.

I remember so clearly how that wonderful Friday the 13th day started. I woke up at the usual 6:30AM, had my shower, dressed, and sat down to a bowl of “Captain Crunch” while my companion showered. Sitting there alone, looking around, and seeing my bags packed lying on my bed, it finally hit me with full force that I would never have to sleep on that bed or wake up to another morning of going tracting from this or any other Virginia cockroach infested dump again. With each spoonful of Captain Crunch, a mental list grew in my mind of things I would never have to do again. The list included the following:

1. I would never have to go out and knock on another door and try to convince already happy people that they could become happier if they gave up 10% of their money, sacrificed their weekends to perform smothering religious duties from endless callings of useless make-work, alienated themselves from family and friends, and eventually act out disemboweling themselves while dressed up as the Pillsbury dough boy or Mother Teresa on a regular basis. (Talk about a tough sell)

2. I would never again have to ride a bicycle in a suite sweating like a pig in the summer Virginia heat and humidity or suffer frostbite in the bone chilling winter. (I now hate bicycles and can never bring myself to get on one again.)

3. I would never have to eat starchy and pasty crap for food because of no money. (Pasta dishes of any kind are no longer a block in my food pyramid.)

4. I would never again have to endure undeserved ridicule and reaming from any church leader and especially from that pinhead GA-wannabe insurance salesman mission president named Frank A. Moscon. (I am so glad he is dead and I could not be less sad. I hope his death was painful & slow).

5. I would never again set myself up in a situation that would produce overwhelming suicidal depression and loneliness.

6. I would never again spend another Christmas away from loved ones. (I only worship Santa now.)

7. I would never again allow myself to be shackled to someone 24/7 that I did not want to be with.

8. I would never again allow myself to be deprived of the enjoyment of music.

9. I would never again live trying to follow a set of idiotic and double-bind rules while performing a smothering life-sucking religious duty.

10. I would never again allow myself to be deprived of the love, the touch, and kiss from a woman.

11. I would never again respond to anyone calling me "Elder Flash".

12. I would never again……….

You can fill in the rest, my fellow RM’s. You know this list is almost endless.

Oh, what joy and happiness I felt as I thought about the things I would not have to do anymore. I sat there relishing the thoughts of being home again, restarting my life again, being with Kathy again, and being called by my first name again. I was so happy that as I poured myself another bowl of “Captain Crunch”, half of the cereal ending up on the table. Oh well, I might as well let the kitchen’s cockroaches celebrate with me. When I finished, I just through the empty bowl in the sink thinking let the next sucker Elder clean it. I am outta here.

MY LAST BUS RIDE IN VIRGINIA
This particular morning seemed so fresh and alive. I had not had such a wonderful morning for 2 years and I almost forgot what it was like to live again. I was free now. My escape from the Virginia Roanoke Mission was beginning right now. I carried my 2 bags down to our car, looked around me, and started singing to myself that song by “The Doors”, “….No time left you, on my way to better things…I got myself some wings….”

I had to go to the mission home to get my plane tickets so I booked a seat on the local Greyhound mini-van bus to Roanoke. At the bus station, I said my goodbyes to my companion and the other Elders in my district. When I got into the van, I looked out the window at my fellow Elders for the last time, waved at them, turned away, and never looked back. The looks on their faces as I waved was of envy and jealousy. I knew they were wishing so hard to be in my place because their Friday would be another lonely day of mind numbing tracting but not mine. I would never have to knock on another door again. When the van finally started on its journey, a huge wave of relief rolled over me as I let out a huge audible sigh. My escape had begun.

The early morning ride to Roanoke took about an hour. Passing through and out of the Martinsville/Collinsville area and on to the main highway, I mumbled to myself a quiet ‘good riddance’ to that cesspool and also mumbled ‘good riddance’ to some particular members of the branch there who had caused me so much unnecessary pain. Never again would I have to put up with their nonsense.

I spent most of the journey relaxing and watching the countryside go by. Being the only passenger made the journey even more relaxing. For the first time in 2 years, I was enjoying all of the green foliage of the area without that feeling of dread of having to start tracting in another new area once the journey was through. Every transfer, I always dreaded starting over again with knocking on doors that I know previous Elders had knocked on and were told to get lost.

The thought of knowing that this was my last bus ride in Virginia and the start of a journey that would end with me at home and free from this mission hell hole made me feel giddy inside. I felt like a little boy going to Disneyland for the first time.

I tried starting a conversation with the driver to end the silence and this was proving difficult. The bus driver knew I was a Mormon missionary by the way I was dressed and the tell-tale nametag. At first, he was reluctant to talk with me as he thought I would start talking Mormonism to him. Seeing this I told him that I was going home today and had no intention of discussing any aspect of religion or Mormonism. I said this as I took off the name tag and put it in my pocket as he watched. Hearing & seeing this he relaxed and began to open up.

We had a fun conversation all the way to Roanoke. We talked about his job and the unusual cargo he was carrying (10 gallons of horse cum) and about his poor experiences with other missionaries he had bussed around. He commented to me that I was not like any of the other Elders he met before. He said I was genuine in my demeanor and well mannered and was glad I did not try to convert him. We finally rolled into the Roanoke bus station around 8:30am. Waiting there for me was a couple of office Elders to drive me to the mission home.


IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST FOR A BLESSED LAST TIME
My plane was to leave Roanoke for Washington DC at 11:30am where the next day I would hop on another plane at Dullus International and fly to California. I had made previous arrangements for someone to pick me up and give me a condensed tour of the Washington DC area.

In order to do this, I made up the story to the mission home office Elders a month before saying that I wanted to go through the Washington DC temple before departing home and for them to create an itinerary for me to do this. Little did they know that my real goal was to only see the nation’s capitol on the church’s dime while at this end of the U.S. It felt good to know that I was able to scam them successfully and it proved to me once again that the mission leadership had the inspiration and discernment of a fence post.

At the mission home, it was so nice to sit around knowing that I did not have to do any sort of missionary work or answer to anyone, not to a DL, or a ZL, or the AP office elders, and best of all not to that pinhead mission president. I now only answered to me.

I found myself a nice La-Z-boy chair in the mission home’s common area to pass the time until I had to leave for the Roanoke airport. I began reading several magazines such as NewsWeek, Time, and National Geographic. I was 2 years behind on news and events and it was so refreshing to read something other than some damn shallow church publication. After a half hour of reading, I noticed six new elders had arrived from an earlier flight fresh from the MTC. They looked so depressed, sleep deprived, and downcast. They reminded me of how depressed I felt when I first showed up at this mission home 2 years earlier. Seeing them, I felt a wave wash over me of bitter sickly sorrow and pity for them. However, those pity feelings were washed away by the delightful tidal wave size rush of knowing that my hell hole was over but their hell holes were just beginning and that I WAS LEAVING IN JUST 30 MINUTES!!

Those new elders saw me reading “unapproved” reading material and asked me why I was there by myself with no companion, I told them my mission ended today and I was going home. Hearing this, a few of them looked like they were going to breakdown on the spot judging from the glassy look of their eyes. Two of them looked at me with such jealousy it was palpable. If they could somehow know the depths of depression, loneliness, and hellish living that awaited them for the next two years, they would probably go into the restroom to slice each other’s wrists. To think that they would have to put up with that pinhead President Moscon and his idiocy made me smile knowingly at them but I did not taunt them about going home. I had at least that much civility left in me after my two years of hell.

I refused everyone’s attempt at me to go and have the customary last interview with the mission president. Because of the falling out that I had with him that I mentioned earlier, nothing any one said to me would change my mind about talking one last time with that bastard. Any communication with him had been fatally terminated four months prior, and while there in the mission home, I did not even acknowledge his presence. His clueless wife, Loya, tried to order me to talk with her MP husband but looking up from my magazine, I gave her a look that would have shriveled a rock, said nothing, and went back to my reading. She huffed off and was probably thinking “how dare this lowly elder brush me off.” I didn’t care anymore because to me now, they were persons non-grata.


ONE LAST ROUND OF OFFICE ELDER ARROGANCE
Time was getting close for me to be at the Roanoke airport so I asked one of the AP elders for my plane tickets. A family from my last area had come to drive me to the airport and see me off plus I no longer wanted to spend any more time in that mission home. Being there was serving no purpose and I would rather be elsewhere.

This AP elder spouted off to me that only the mission president could give me the tickets (that he held in his hand) and that I did not have his or the MP's permission to leave the mission home yet. Oh, so arrogant to the end, I thought. But I, being of large stature, pulled him aside into an empty hallway, and in a still small voice, told him that if he did not give me my plane tickets pronto, this would be his last day as a fully functional human being. I told him this as I was “helping” him tighten the knot of his tie. Needless to say, he loosened his grip on my tickets as I pulled them from his hand.

With my plane tickets in hand, I walked out of that mission home with my two bags, got into the backseat of the car of the family that came to see me off, and we drove away toward the airport. Breathing a huge sigh of relief as we reached the airport, I reached over to my nametag and quietly slipped it into my coat pocket.

I was finally done being a missionary.


THE FLIGHT OUT OF THE VIRGINIA ROANOKE HELLHOLE
At the Roanoke airport, I said my goodbyes and gave hugs to the family that brought me there, and after they left, I checked in my bags and walked up to the gate boarding area. Once there, reality really hit me that I was finally alone to do as I please. It was such a thrill to be alone and not be watched over and after being tied to someone 24/7 for two years, it felt sooooooooo good to just be alone. I always cherished my alone-time and to have it stripped from me for 2 years proved to be very hard on me. It may seem hard to imagine why being alone was such a wonderful experience. But when you have someone around you 24/7 for 2 years watching what you eat, what you say, who you talk to, what you are reading, where you are, and what you are wearing, being alone and accountable to no one is so refreshing its beyond words. Only Mormon missionaries or people in prison would understand.

While I waited for the call to board the plane, I decided I should finish the purging of my Mormon missionary look and accoutrements so I collected together my nametag, the missionary white handbook, and a big envelope of mission completion papers I was given at the mission home. Looking around and finding the nearest trash bin, I walked over to it and tossed it all in creating a big thud noise as it hit the bottom of the bin.

Watching that crap disappear into that bin brought on another wave of relief. I stood there by the bin for a few moments letting it sink in that I was finally done being a missionary. I realized I now had a first name again. I was now ‘Flash’ instead of ‘Elder Flash’. I had no more tell-tale nametag, no more “white” handbook of smothering rules, and no more of anything to remind me of being a missionary. The only papers I had left were my tickets. I jokingly imagined how these tickets were the “papers” I needed to enable my escape from this iron curtain country called a mission.

To finish the purging my missionary look, I went into the restroom and removed my suite coat, vest, and tie so no one around me would suspect me being a Mormon missionary and someone to be avoided. I also changed my shirt into a nice blue colored dress shirt that I had been saving for a year for going home. It felt so good to get out of that white shirt. The white shirt I took off I through into the garbage in the restroom. I did think about flushing it down the toilet but refrained myself from such amusement. From that moment and to this day, I have never worn a white shirt again.

I was now free to sit next to anyone without making them feel uncomfortable. I found myself a seat and happily noticed that the people who I sat next to did not even care who I was or look at me funny. I was just another fellow flyer. It was so liberating and refreshing to be a normal person again after 730 days. I quietly celebrated my new transformation by imbibing in an “evil” can of Dr. Pepper.

About 45 minutes later, the call to board was made and I found my window seat. With everyone boarded and the hatch shut, the plane began pulling away from the gate. It seemed like it took forever for that plane to taxi down the runway to get ready to take off. As it did so, I mumbled to myself, "Oh please let there be no mechanical problems." I could not bear the prospect of returning to the gate. I wanted so badly to be out of Virginia and as far away from Roanoke as I could get.

When the plane finally roared down the runway, lifted off, and its wheels no longer touched Virginia soil, I felt this feeling inside me like poison was draining out of my body. Two years of missionary poison that cankered my soul was draining away. The higher and faster the plane went, the faster the poison seemed to drain. What relief I felt being whisked away from that god-awful place. For two miserable years I longed for this day to come. I felt like I was dreaming but I realized I was really on my way home! “Is it really true?” I thought.

From my window seat, I looked down at the Virginia countryside and thought about how two precious years of my young life were forfeited and wasted there; Two whole years, where instead I could have been in college getting my electrical degree, enjoying time with Kathy, and just living happily. I thought about the missed Christmases, the missed birthdays, my brother’s wedding I missed, and the long separation from Kathy and her love. Sitting in that airplane trying to comprehend all my feelings of relief, joy, and happiness of knowing that I did not have to care about missionary work ever again was beyond words.

I was given a complimentary can of Dr. Pepper on the plane, and as I sipped the blessedly caffeinated drink, I amused myself with the thought of some poor new Elder below looking up at my plane as he endlessly tracted wishing with all his heart to be on my plane. I thought of how I was mocking him by staring out the window at him and knowing I was the one here and not him. I was the one rising higher and higher and escaping. I was the one flying away leaving only a contrail behind for him to see. Today was my day. I was free. I also thought about the last time a flight attendant offered me a soda 2 years ago when I was so depressed and crying leaving for that Salt Lake Mission home. Such a contrast, I thought.

THE MINI-TOUR
In less than an hour the plane landed at National Airport in Washington DC and I found the person who I previously arranged to meet. My plane to California would leave Dullus International the next day so, according to our previous arrangements, he provided me a mini-tour by driving around the Washington mall area in his TR7 showing me the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, and the other mall monuments.

He was very nice to me and treated me to McDonalds. We got along great and he said to me that he knew how I felt being released from the ‘mission prison system’ as he called it. He also was an RM and he said he could see the relief all over my face. He told me he understood how I was feeling inside. What he did not know is that I was also reveling in my joy of knowing that I was successful in pulling the wool over the AP elders’ & MP’s eyes to set up my itinerary to allow for this mini-tour while they thought I wanted to go through the Washington DC temple. I got the last laugh on them.

After the Washington Mall mini-tour, we got on the DC beltway to go to his place for the night. We approached the Washington DC temple and when I saw it, I felt nothing inside. It had no significance to me as it was just another symbol of an ungrateful church. I was asked if I wanted to see it up close but I politely said no. Puzzled by my reaction he passed by the exit and I did not give the place a second glance.

Soon we arrived at his place. He gave me the use of one of the spare bedrooms of his luxury apartment. That night I had a nice long hot shower where I scrubbed off two years of missionary dirt and disgust. I soaped myself up several times just to watch the water rinse the disgust away over and over again. I must have stayed in there for over an hour.

In bed, I laid there pondering over the day’s experiences. What a day, I thought. I woke up in a hot & humid, cockroach infested dump for the last time, brushed off the MP and his clueless wife, bodily threatened an AP Elder for my plane tickets, transformed from Elder Flash to Flash, flew away from the hellhole known as the Virginia Roanoke mission, toured the Washington DC mall, and ended up in this nice place for the night.

It was so wonderful to have this day and night for myself after slaving for two years with no time off and no diversion. I no longer had any desire to say nightly prayers anymore. They were never answered anyway so done were the useless personal nightly prayers and done was the rigid schedule of sleep & wake up times and no more tracting to dread in the morning. I felt so refreshingly free.

That night was the first night in two years that I could watch the “Tonight Show” and had a radio sing me to sleep. An air conditioner droned in the background keeping me cool all night as I slept. Gone forever was the nightly ritual of trying to find sleep while in the silent & relentlessly hot and humid air of Virginia.

Life was really looking up.

THE FLIGHT TO CALIFORNIA AND HOME
Early the next morning, I arose with great anticipation of being home at the end of the day. I dressed myself in “normal” clothes as I was not about to sit for 6+ hours dressed in a suite. I was driven to Dullus International to catch my flight to California. I thanked my friend/tour guide graciously at the curb, checked in my bags, found my gate, and sat down to wait for the boarding call. Again, it felt wonderful not wearing the telltale nametag or the clothes that screams Mormon Missionary; No suite, no vest, & no tie, just comfortable clothes. Nobody called me "Elder" or avoided sitting next to me. I was just another traveler.

About an hour later, I boarded my plane to California. It was a large TWA with relatively spacious economy class. Much better than the cramped Piedmont Airlines I showed up on 2 years ago. I found my window seat and settled myself in for a nice long journey. The plane was only 2/3 full so I had 2 empty seats next to me where I could stretch out my legs and sleep if I wanted to. I glanced over at the cabin door when they closed it and thought that when it opens again, I would be in California and home.

The plane pulled away from the gate, taxied to the end of the runway, straightened out, and then its four engines came to life. Faster & faster did we roll down the runway and near the end did the plane slowly lift off and began the 6+ hours journey west toward California. What a wonderful day.

I gazed at the countryside passing underneath the plane for hours while music flooded my brain from the in-flight music selections of "The Bee Gees" to "Bread". The music seemed to scrub my brain from all the mission gooey that was in it. Oh, how happy I was and how relieved I was to know I would be home by the end of the day. I made a point to assure myself again that I was really there and not in some dream that would end with an alarm clock waking me up in Martinsville to go out tracting again. I shudder and Puke at the thought. I did convince myself that I was really there. The delicious thoughts of putting distance between me and Virginia at a rate of almost the speed of sound while at the same time getting closer to home at the same rate filled me with so much happiness. Could this plane go a little faster, I thought?

For the 6+ hours it took to fly home, I simply decompressed by listening to music and watching two movies that 48 hours previous were considered “evil”, and thinking that life was good. The food on the flight tasted quite good probably because it was so much better than the crap I had been eating for so long as a missionary. I finished both meals completely plus 4 cans of Dr. Pepper and other various sodas plus whatever cookies I could persuade the flight attendant to steal for me.

As the plane went over Utah, I looked down and briefly thought about that “Bad Boy’s Reform School nightmare” week I spent in the Salt Lake Mission Home two years previous. During my mission is when the church started up the MTC with the domestic Elders now spending one month there. How lucky I was to avoid that. I could not imagine spending a month in that nightmare.

I also thought again of those poor Elders back in Virginia just starting out. How was their 2nd day in the Virginia Hell hole? What dark thoughts do they now have about their “called of God” pinhead of an MP? A wave of pity for them occupied my mind for about two seconds but those thoughts were washed away for good with a tsunami of happy thoughts of being home where I would be loved and wanted. Those poor new Elders and the Virginia Roanoke Mission felt so far away now and of no importance and the relentless roar of the jet engines seemed to magnify that feeling.

Later I looked out the window again and saw Lake Tahoe where the California/Nevada state line is. The plane began to slow & descend. Oh God, is it really true? Am I really almost home?

FINALLY HOME AGAIN
When I walked out of the jet way, all my family was there to meet me. I cried seeing them and hugged them more than I ever had done before. It was the first time I ever cried because I was happy. I could not believe I was with them again. The two year nightmare was over.

Kathy was also there to meet me. To see her standing there after two long years brought another rush of tears to my eyes. Was this real? Is it really her? How much more beautiful she was in person. At twenty one now, she was a very pretty woman. I rushed over to her and we gave each other a very-very long hug and a deep kiss. I did not want to let go of her. I missed her so much. I kissed off (pun intended) the bullshit that I was still a missionary until being released by the Stake President. I was threw being a missionary the moment I left that goddamn mission home and nothing was going to keep me from Kathy any longer.

The hugs and kiss I received from Kathy, after missing her for two miserable lonely years, poured peace into my soul in such a way that I cannot find adequate words to do justice in describing how I felt. Only those who have gone through this can understand what I am talking about. The English language is just too inadequate to paint a proper frame of reference for someone who has not gone through the trauma of a Mormon mission and returned.

No event in my life has ever produced such an intensity of relief and happiness as the day I came home from my mission. For those who had the courage to not succumb to the pressures to serve a mission; coming home was not like coming back from college or summer camp. It was like coming back from the dead.

Before my mission, I attended a speech given by a former Vietnam POW and he said basically the same thing when he described how he felt when he was released from his captors after 7 years of being a POW and arrived at a US base. When I first heard him say that, I could not fully appreciate his words but I do now. I will NEVER say that serving a mission is ANYWHERE near equivalent to the horror of being a POW as I could have found numerous ways to escape the mission.

I will only say that I now have a much deeper appreciation of his POW nightmare.

Great story...

Although I do feel a little sad that you didn't like Roanoke. I am a native Virginian with lots of family in and around Roanoke. Under the circumstances, however, I guess I can see why you'd never want to go there again!

knotheadusc,

Yes Virginia is a very pretty place. Since my mission, I have visited there a few times with my wife and each time it was in the fall when all the colors are changing. My wife was overwhelmed with the beauty and so was I.

When we visited, just being there as an exmormon slayed many ghosts from the past. I visited a few places there where I was a missionary. In those places, those old familiar feelings of dread tried to rear its head again. But being with my Malaysian wife, the love of my life, those feelings of dread were crushed forever with her help.

I am free now of any mission ghosts when I am there. I will visit there in the future I am sure. Even Roanoke. :)

That's great! I'm glad you gave Virginia another chance... it is, after all, for lovers!

That being said, I can't seem to escape Virginia for long, despite being an Air Force brat, Army wife, and returned Peace Corps Volunteer! Every time I do something drastic to leave Virginia, I somehow end up living there again. The last three and a half years are the longest I've spent in my lifetime outside of Virginia! Of course, now that I'm living in NC, I'm sure I'll be back in Virginia before I know it...

But there are definitely worse places to be stuck... ;-)



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/16/2011 12:42PM by knotheadusc.

Flash, such an inspirational post/story. I've never understood how someone can be taken away from ALL loved ones. I would imagine even being for the better that it was a transition to get back to normalcy. I may be incorrect, here and maybe not in general for all of them. I do know it's a hard 2 yrs. (beyond what s'one as myself can comprehend.) I''ve never been of lds faith (just almost) I think they may or some of them may live a little better. Even though they are in elements, etc. The ones i'd met prev. resided in member's home, had cars, & even on p-day went and ate out somewhere. sometimes nice restaurants. I have no doubt their life as a missionary, as yours, is very hard. I'd probably be a cry all of the time. It also sounds as if their MP was nice enough(nicer than yours)The MP and/or the church covered some really expensive mmedical bills. So i guess some MP's are better, have more of a heart, act human more so than some. And btw, "Happy Anniversary!!!" Hope you and Kathy are well.

...i was also done with my 2-year prison sentence in a foreign country and pretty much determined on my flight home that i had simply had enough of the Mormon fraud infecting my one-and-only-life.

I've always identified with your feelings about white shirts (i own none), personal time alone to think and ponder, holidays, ego trips by AP's et al, being harped on by some visiting arrogant condescending SOB GA that we (as volunteers no less) aren't doing all that we can to hoodwink others into the LDS scam and etc etc etc.

This 2-year contrived collossal waste of time for a young man or young woman spending 24/7 lying to good and decent people all in the name of a dysfunctional church organization should be abruptly abolished as far as i'm concerned.

I'm not sure that i've ever felt such elation in life as that feeling of walking out onto that airport tarmack and up the ramp into the Jet that took me home from those 2-years that LDS Inc literally stole from me under false pretenses.

Am i bitter you ask...nahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...not hardly enough!!!

Or so it seems to me...

Flash. Great story!
Where can I find your account of your meeting with your MP?

Davo, here is the account of my last meeting with my MP and what lead up to it.

Enjoy.

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THE VIRGINIA ROANOKE MISSION (Hell on Earth)
The Virginia Roanoke mission was nothing more than a tracting mission with few, if any people there, wanting to know about Joe Smith and his silly church.

If there is anything I hate more than going door to door selling something, I don’t know what it could be. I hated tracting with a passion and that is all I ever seemed to do. The drudgery of spending all day, every day, weekends and holidays, knocking on doors and being told to “get lost” drove me into the ground. The degree of being told to get lost varied widely from a polite "no thanks" to having guns shoved into my face, but rejection is rejection no matter how it is dished out. A person cannot receive daily non-stop rejection and be immune to it.

Coupled with this daily drudgery was the constant harassment of the mission leaders with their false sense of urgency for higher baptism numbers, more tracting hours, and more teaching appointments. The quarterly Zone conferences provided no relief from the mission drudgery as they turned out to be nothing more than day-long reaming sessions by our “numbers-pushing” clown of a mission president or by whatever pin head General Authority that came to speak. "Work harder" they would always say, "Tract more hours and don’t waste any time". If you’re not finding people to teach, it was because of your unworthiness".

The gospel took a back seat in favor of just getting higher numbers of tracting hours and baptisms.

Did I ever receive any encouragement to keep going and just hang in there?
Never!
Did I ever receive any praise for my efforts, or encouragement for enduring daily rejection, or gratitude for giving so much of my time from my young life to bring souls into this church?
Never!
All I got was unjustified condemnation for not working hard enough, for being slothful, or for breaking mission rules; rules that often contradicted each other so you were damned either way.

I found out the hard way that if you ever let it be known that you were having a bad day or that you were tired or depressed or just needed a break, it was always because of your lack of having “the spirit”. The responses received for feeling down or for feeling depressed were “You don’t have the spirit, Elder.” “You must have some grievous sin in your past, Elder.” “Are you worthy to be here, Elder?”

Empathy and compassion were foreign concepts in this mission especially from the MP and the Elders that came from Utah or Idaho. They were the most intolerant, arrogant, selfish, compassionless, and ignorant bunch of oxygen wasters I have ever been forced to associate with.

On and on and on did the days being a missionary drag on. I found myself just merely existing for getting up in the morning and going tracting, maybe eating some lunch if I could afford it, then go do more tracting, have some swill dinner, then go and do even more tracting and then maybe, if I was lucky, go to a teaching appointment that, almost without fail, fell through. The next day I would do the same thing, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day…all week…every week…month after month. Work without end, toil without reward.

The yearly holidays would come and I would find myself out tracting. It’s my birthday or Kathy’s birthday and instead of celebrating, where am I? I am out tracting. It’s Thanksgiving Day, and where am I? Out tracting and interrupting someone’s family gathering. It’s Christmas time; I will talk about that depressing time later on.

The mission drudgery dragged relentlessly on and more & more lonely thoughts would swirl around endlessly in my mind with ever increasing intensity. “I could be in school now finishing my degree”, “I wish I had my car instead of this damn bicycle”. “I am so cold” or I am so miserably hot.” “I am so lonely and I miss Kathy so much; her kisses; her soothing presence.” “How could I have been so stupid to allow myself to end up in this hellhole place?”

In a desperate attempt to deal with my loneliness and hopelessness, I just shut myself down inside and just did the physical motions of the job. As a result, people began commenting that my countenance was so joyless but I did not care. I had run out of energy to fake it anymore. Why should I? My prayers were never answered; the mission leaders just found fault with me no matter how trivial, and my family seemed oblivious to my suffering and they never offered any help. I had no hopes, no dreams, and no joy nor any real reason for living anymore. How down and out I was. "Could I do anything at all to change this hellish existence?” I asked myself. Was there any way to put an end to this? What could I do? What options are open to me?" A solution crept into my mind, a solution that most certainly would stop this comedy.

TERMINATING MYSELF
For the first time in my life, I gave serious thoughts to suicide. Thoughts of suicide began presenting themselves as a sweet and practical way for ending my joyless existence. To a part of me, it was such a shock to even seriously consider such a course of action but I had reached absolute rock bottom and I truly felt that I had nothing to lose.

Here I was a missionary of the Lord’s supposedly true church, who was supposed to be blessed by the Lord for sacrificing all to serve him, who was promised the blessings of success for following all the ridiculous & uncountable amount of rules, who was promised the ministering of angels for support and encouragement. Here I was, a missionary, planning out my own death as the way to end the pain from the drudgery of missionary life, to end the persecution from the mission leaders, and end the lonely horror of having nowhere to go and escape, having no tears left to cry, having no one to talk to, and unable to produce the courage or money or family support to just leave. ...."My yoke is easy, my burden is light…”. I guess the Lord was out to lunch when the missionary program was enacted.

There were circumstances that offered me the chance to end it all. For example, one day I was riding my bike on a narrow busy road against traffic and I saw a large semi-truck approaching. Without any sense of self-preservation, I found myself on a collision course with that truck. Thoughts of how quick and sweet the end could come, kept me there in the lane. Some people slowed down to yell at me to get out of the way and the horn of the truck was blaring loudly. But I did not care until the thought of the sadness Kathy would feel upon hearing of my death. Only this thought swerved me back to the shoulder in time.

What a bizarre feeling it was to not have anything to lose or where even your own life means nothing to you. This experience gave me a strange sense of empowerment and courage that I never had before and, unknown to me, I would use this new courage at my next Zone Conference.



THE DROOLING ANGRY MISSION PRESIDENT
Four months before I was to go home, at a Zone Conference, I had the usual interview with the MP as every missionary did. But as the usual “blame the Elder” one sided interview commenced, the MP became unusually hateful and vindictive toward me because this time he stood up from behind his desk and yelled into my face saying point blank that “I was a failure as a missionary” as he pointed out my lack of baptisms and the low number of investigator discussions indicated from the reports I would send in every week. Every Zone conference always produced a similar tirade from him but this time was the last straw for me with this GA-wannabe pin head.

Too many times did I sit through similar interviews with him and said nothing but now, with my new found courage, I decided to fire back at him. I stood up from my chair too, leaned over his desk and yelled back into his face, using several colorful metaphors in the process, that he was a failure as a mission president for blaming me for things I had no control over and if he was incapable of offering any kind of encouragement, support, or compassion for myself or any other missionary who gave up everything to be in this armpit place, he should pack his bags, take his clueless wife with his dumb ass children, and get the hell out of our lives. This man was not the kind of man used to being put in his place by anyone let alone a lowly elder.

In all my days there, I have never seen him madder but I did not care anymore. He went beyond red faced to purple and he began to drool onto the desk. He was so angry he could not speak anymore and I had run out of colorful metaphors to continue. As I turned to walk out the door, my last words to him were that I would never speak with him again. I walked out on him and his puddle of drool and I never did speak to him again for the remainder of my mission. I was no longer going to take anymore lip from him. After that exchange, I just sat outside the church building for the remainder of the Zone Conference and fed squirrels from a jar of Planters Peanuts.

That day, my belief in the divinity of the Mormon Church and any belief that God cared about me ended. I now saw with high clarity that the whole Mormon Church was a bowl of excrement and that I had been swindled out of two years of my life and tricked into laying onto a fools “Alter of Forfeit” my girl, my education, my car, and my freedom. Now what do I do? I have 4 months left. Should I finally end my existence or do I have the strength see this hell hole through? I did not know.

I decided that I might as well finish the mission so at least my parents could have their bragging rights in the ward of having an RM son. That last 4 months was the hardest time to go through but the thoughts of suicide did slowly begin to evaporate. I knew I was going home soon and Kathy was still there writing to me.

I do wish to say that had it not been for Kathy’s love and her weekly letters & tapes, I would have gone over the edge and ended it all. But I did not because of her. She was the only anchor that kept me tethered to the world of the living.

That took real courage and strength of character, especially after all you had suffered.

No piece of writing could better depict the overwhelming relief and joy of a young man leaving the mission (and the mission president) from h*ll. I support your custom of posting this annually!

Not all of us have had that particular experience, or to that extent. Nevertheless, most of us can relate as we remember the relief and joy we felt when we walked out of what we knew was our last-ever Sunday meeting; the elation of realizing that priesthood leaders no longer had any power over us because we no longer accepted them as our spiritual authorities and betters; the freedom to be ourselves and live our to lives authentically, according to our conscience and our now-reclaimed free agency.

So... did you marry Kathy? What happened with your family (and Kathy) when you returned loathing the church instead of being a full-fledged TBM?

Wiserwomanow,

Here is what happened to Kathy and where I am today.




LOSS OF KATHY AND BACK TO COLLEGE
After being back for about four months, I lost the love of my life. Kathy abandoned me for someone else and ironically, it was a non-member. It was a very bitter loss to me as I loved her more than I could ever express. For those two years, she was all I thought about, dreamed about, and was the only thing that kept me from committing suicide as a missionary. I can only speculate that I loved her more than she loved me and maybe being away for two years was just too long for the relationship to withstand the changes in each of us. I will never know but it became evident to me that I was gone too long and it was everlastingly too late to make up those two years of lost time.

I have often thought of what could have been if we stayed together. I know I would have loved her and cherished her with all my heart, given her a very good living and lifestyle, and would have supported her in all the things she told me she wanted to do. It pains me to know that she married a man that, from my observations of him, may not even love her. But Kathy made her decision and where we are with our lives at any given moment is the sum of all our decisions. I wish her the best and hope she found happiness with him.

When I accepted she was truly gone, I felt I had lost a soul mate and someone of priceless value. I felt I lost someone so precious to me, I did not know if I could ever find someone else to fill the void in my life created by her absence. I was deeply depressed for many weeks. I could not hide my depression very well and several people asked me what was wrong but I could not really tell them as the loss was beyond my ability to put into words. I did attempt to get close to a few other girls but none of them ever seemed to measure up to Kathy. She was one of a kind and a precious jewel that I allowed to slip through my fingers by being stupid by serving a mission.

I did restart college the following fall semester after returning from Virginia, eventually obtained an electrical engineering degree, and was hired by a major electronics manufacturer in Silicon Valley.

MAJOR LIFE RESET.
I cannot think of a more damning yard stick to hold up to the Mormon Church than the scripture “By their fruits ye shall know them”. This one verse summed it up and confirmed to me that I had to jettison this toxic religion from my life or I was going to be forever miserable and be unable to find a woman worth anything.

As far back as I can remember the Church’s youth programs, its boring Sunday meetings, or its dogma, never brought me any happiness. I always felt pressured to do something that I did not want to do whether it is attend meetings, being sucked into some welfare cannery assignment, to speak in church, or go on a mission, or some leadership training, or whatever. I always felt happier when I was away from all that.

Now that I was living alone again, I decided that I needed to perform a major reset on my life if I was going to be happy going forward. I sat down on evening and told myself that I needed to take care of me. I needed to come first now for I had spent too many calories on the Mormon Church’s needs or programs before my own and never gotten any positive ROI. The mission investment returned nothing but anguish and an investment into a 8+ years of a loveless marriage produced nothing but heartache & hopelessness.

I began looking back at my whole life, studying what went wrong for the first 30 years, and concluded that every major episode of unhappiness, strife, emotional trauma, or poor decision making I experienced was directly connected to the Mormon Church; every single episode. I concluded that I would no longer allow any of the nonsense of Mormonism to ever cloud my judgment again or taint my happiness in any way or come between myself and any other friend I might make or come between myself and any woman I want to attempt a relationship with.

One of the first steps in my purging process started when I decided to rid myself of anything Mormon. I collected together all my Mormon books, all my missionary pictures, my patriarchal blessing, my priesthood ordination certificates, my baptism certificate, my seminary graduation diploma, my Institute graduation diploma; anything I had that was Mormon and stuffed it all into my fireplace to the point of overloading. I then soaked it all with carburetor cleaner, lit the fireplace gas pipe, and quickly shut the glass fire doors.

Oh what a fire I beheld! The fire just exploded into an inferno and flames started coming out from around the fire screen scorching the bricks. The fire burned real hot and began warping my fire screen doors but I managed to keep it under control and not burn my house down. When the fire finally died down, and I sifted through the ashes, I felt cleansed, refreshed, and new. I took my first steps out of the Mormon bog. There were many other steps that followed this first step and I found that with each step I took away from Mormonism, my happiness increased.


A REAL MARRIAGE TO THIS DAY
With Mormonism purged out of my life, I began entering the dating scene again shortly after my divorce. I did not realize how awkward this was at 30 as I was out of practice but I found it fun to associate with women with whom I wanted to be with, and perhaps find a woman to marry. I was in no hurry. I would do it my way and would have a relationship with a woman I wanted. Not what the Mormon Church always said I should have and not what those 15 geriatric men that were weeks from death in Utah always said I should have. Gone were those stupid teachings about marrying in your own race or class or to avoid dating an “evil” non-member woman. I did promise myself that I would never again date or marry any white American woman Mormon or not, The domestic product had failed me so I decided I should try some imports.

From the first days that I was interested in girls, I always wanted to have an Asian wife. To me, Asian women are more attractive than Caucasian women. I can’t explain why but it has always been my preference and I always felt more at ease with Asian women. I now had many opportunities to meet and seek after Asian women through my friends and my peers at work since my high-tech company employed many people from the Asian regions of the world.

I dated a couple of India women, a Japanese woman, and a couple of Chinese women. One thing that I did notice about these Asian women I dated from my place of work was that all of them never exhibited any bipolar, high conflict type behavior as Mormon women did. They had their act together. They were genuine, intelligent, knew where they were going in life, and acted their age. They were very unlike Mormon women who acted like children, had no high education, and were clueless as to what they wanted out of life. It was so refreshing to not be around clueless Mormon women.

I was introduced to a Malaysian girl who worked in Penang. Our long distance relationship worked quite well because we had access to the company phones and to inter-company email & chat. This was before the internet was available as we know it today so we had in essence then the equivalent of today's email, IM, and Skype. We were ahead of our time in 1990.

Over the course of a year we phoned each other every day, wrote email, and posted snail-mail to each other. I took a month vacation to Malaysia to spend time with her and later she came to the US to spend a month with me. We fell in love with each other & we both felt we were made for each other. A lot of her interests were similar to mine and we both enjoyed each other’s company tremendously.

Being very cautious to not make a marriage mistake again, I made sure that she really loved me as much as I loved her. I determined that she did. I felt I found a soul-mate again and we married a year later. I am still happily married to this Malaysian girl and how wonderful it is to be in a real marriage where real love is returned for real love given. I can say with conviction that there is nothing sweeter than the love from an Asian woman.

We now have a beautiful daughter who is an academic genius and I have gone out of my way to keep her and my wife untarnished by any facet of Mormonism or its nonsense. I have a beautiful home and a career that pays very well in six figures. I am richly blessed and I know it and I owe none of it to old Joe and his revolting church.

A few years after I married my Malaysian sweetheart, I formally resigned my membership in order to stop any effort to “reactivate” me. I am never going back because, to me, it would be like going back to a plate of vomit and trying once again to down an unpleasant meal. The church has fallen off my Radar and I have been completely free of Mormonism for over twenty two years. I can truthfully say that I have never been happier having Mormonism and all of its painful baggage out of my life. Of course, in life there are bad days here and there. Nobody is immune from that but the vast majority of days have been very happy ones.

A famous businessman/politician who is a well known mormon(this is not political) served a mission i would think either late 60's or 1970. He was in Paris.I read s'where all of their sons served a mission, as well. Being a wealthy person serving a mission, even though he/they were under LDS supervision, do any of you think there were "preferential treatment" b/c of the means this family has???? I wouldn't know, but I just wonder.Do not know where the sons served, but, I'd be willing to bet they didn't have to worry about food, sundries, etc.

But many missionaries, members, and former members like to blame the misery on the nonmos defending themselves from cult harassment.

I'm glad you survived the torture. Stay safe and well.

yes, like once i cancelled they stated it was "satan" Is "satan" why out of 200 people they may convert say 20-25.(idk)

I finished my mission in 1983 in the Washington DC mission with President Huntsman and President Swinton. Never up until that time had I had a happier day until I got home and went for a drive in a car ALONE.

Virginia Roanoke was just south of my mission. I so hated tracting and did so much of it! I thought if I left the mission boundries, I would somehow be killed by a magical force field. I really wanted to go to Gettysburg, but alas, it was just beyond the mission border!

I remember when I was assigned to Annapolis, MD where the US Naval Academy is located and how jealous I was of the students and how I thought THEY were the ones doing something really special and important.

Oh the memories.....

I remember flying home and thinking what a wonderful place Sacramento was upon arriving. My family was there, except my grandmother who had passed while I was gone. My first Sunday home "they" wanted me to talk but my dad had answered the phone and told "them" no. I went to an Oakland A's game instead.

My first full Monday home I spent in the yard in swim trunks and Coppertone oil and worked on the tan I had not seen for two years.

I slept in my suitcase the last month I was there..

Within an hour of getting home I was tongue wrestling

my girlfriend.

Never gave a homecoming talk.

I loved reading your story and it is very well written. I would like to read more. Tell us about your journey out if the church after you returned home.

Even though I've seen this I had to read it again.. your relief and happiness is palpable. Love this story!

Your story reminded me of:

--My oldest brother's feelings when he came home from Viet Nam.

--When I left BYU.

--When my divorce became final.

--When I walked out of the Mormon ward house forever, after telling off the bishop.

Yes, some cases are more extreme than others, but escaping from abuse, and getting your life back is exhilarating! Thanks for the reminder.

Not making comparisons whatsoever, b/c these guys/girls are fighting for all of us but it's almost as if the mishies are in the military except the military gets w/e off and s'times get to go home to family(even though they do go back) 730 days straight and not getting to do a thing you'd wish to do. Not getting to see a loved one. and of course, they do not have to go and fight/kill for all of us. It appears as if they (lds) could re-vamp the system, @ least somewhat.

Flash, thank you so much for sharing your story. Absolutely fascinating!
I've been told that some parents will actually bribe their sons and daughters to go on missions. I heard about one guy whose parents promised him a truck if he went on a mission.

Yes, thanks for sharing your story. It saddens me that my grandson will one day have to endure 2 yrs. of misery unless my convert daughter wakes up and researches. He is only two so there is hope.

My mission was not anywhere near as bad as the OP, but my mission could be categorized as apostate I guess. I had only one companion that would not listen to the radio or some other form of music that was not sanctioned. Most of my companions refused to tract so we never did. I had one senior companion who would drive to the bike elders apartment every morning and we would pick them up and goof off all day. Nothing serious, but we would ride bikes, skateboard, etc all day. My most apostate companion liked to go to the beach and go swimming as well as rent movies and borrow the TV from the chapel. Some companions were a little anal, but even then only a few would spend much time tracting. I guess that was one of the benefits to staying state side for the mission everyone was a lot more relaxed.

I look back on my mission with mixed feelings. I remember it both fondly and bitterly. Seeing how the church works and is run, the hypocrisy, lack of spiritual discernment, etc. that went on was really eye opening for me. I realized early on that much of the mechanics of the mission were not divinely inspired and simply man made. With every companion I would set the rules, break the rules and find their weakness and flexibility in order to make the mission life as least stressful as possible. I was by no means an apostate missionary, to some I suppose the consideration could be given, but in general I kept the rules that seemingly mattered.

Not being able to have alone time was devastating to me especially after a long day of work. Luckily I had the luxury of influencing the missionaries around me to succumb to their more playful and jovial behaviors so I was able to "escape" the rigor and endless workload by winding down anyway I could. One district I was in for 1/4 my mission I was given all the keys to the church building by the bishop (definitely a no no, but he liked me) and very often, in the evening time I would go to the church around 10'ish with my companion and the other missionaries that lived in the same apartment complex head to the gym and just shoot hoops, for an hour or more or play volleyball etc. and just talk and discuss things. With every new companion that came in to the area me and the others that were use to that behavior had to break them in and get them to abandon their strict and over-zealous ways. We all worked our asses off, but we also did things our own way and were pretty chill.

I left that area and it seems things got more strict there over time. I got calls from those that served with me in that area and through the rest of the mission, they just reminisced and wished we could all be back there. It was an escape not only for me but for them. An escape crafted carefully and one that didn't cause the usual guilt associated with breaking the rules. Even as a TBM I was most proud of being able to make a place like that for the missionaries over getting converts because I knew how draining and depressing the mission could be.

I loved my mission and hated it. With that said, I could not be in more agreement with you regarding most of your feelings when you were finally out. I was so damn happy it was all over and you expressed practically the same feelings I had leading up to the finish and end of my mission. I have so many stories from all over the spectrum that I cannot say I hated the mission even though I felt the same way you did when it was all coming to an end and over. I can say that I found valuble and treasured experiences in a terrible situation that I wish i was never in. For me, serving a mission was a mistake, a great waste of time and effort, I wish i never reactivated families, members or baptized, I wish I never strengthened missionaries testimonies and members desires to spread the gospel, I wish I didn't talk missionaries out of going home and getting too apostate. What I really wish and often have dreams about is going back on my mission and spreading the seeds of apostasy, getting members out of the church, missionaries to go home, etc. lol. I would LOVE that.

I too remember the day I came home from my mission. The first thing I did was call up a girl I'd been writing to during my entire mission. We'd only dated once before I left. We made out on the hill above Stanford University, yes, on the very day I was released. The lights of Palo Alto were beautiful, and so was she. Unfortunately, it was a chilly September night, so the clothes never came off. Even more unfortunate, I was so brainwashed by the 18 month captivity(what do they call it, Stockholm syndrome?) that this nevermo girlfriend and I didn't work out. We were young and horny for each other anyway. It was fun while it lasted.

The last four months of my mission were spent, at the direction of the MP, with four elders (one month each) trying to catch them masturbating. I kid you not. I was older (24, went after serving in the military), and the MP had it in his mind that I could help them quit. Apparently, whacking off was bad, but not bad enough to send elders home. He actually told me to smack them in the kisser if caught.

I remember my ride home.... on a 747 from Amsterdam to Boston. I had "Big ol' Jet Airliner" by Steve Miller plugged in my ear. Ah... the freedom!

Ron

It's more than sad, can't even find the word to describe it. Knowing it's a hard 2 yrs. Ron, I guess being in the military wasn't too much stricter/harder. Inevitably, it is or has/can be a miserable 2 yrs. And to have the ability/energy to go up to someone and be oh so jovial. To preach that the lds religion is just better than anyone can even imagine. I can understand having events in life in which your life may be turned "upside down" that even if you're sad, confused, etc. you don't share w/co-workers,aqauaintances, etc. you do put on a smile. But that whole 4 mos. w/myself. EVERYBODY was so happy. Doing so well. Would inform you they were having a great day. Everything was cherries and "Roses which never died" or "No thorns in these roses". Wasn't there times whenever you would have just wanted to open up to someone and tell them the truth. Wasn't it difficult to be expected/demanded to go through all of that in which each of you endured and no doubt emotionally/mentally as well as physically drained? Do have to keep the sadness, depression, etc. inside. That's bound to have just fueled that fire, somewhat.I don't see how anyone can go through all of the anguish in which y'all went through. Why can't the LDS church re-vamp their system?? In so many ways it doesn't make sense. I've had JOBS in past in mgmt. that if you went in one day and didn't get "chewed" by your superior, you were wondering about job security. BUT YOU WERE RECEIVING A PAYCHECK, @ least. Conditions weren't great, but, that paycheck and @ end of 9, 10 hrs you did get to go HOME for the day.

Thank you so much for this great post. Have you considered writing a book? Your story was compelling. I will never look at missionaries the same way. Wish there was a way to "deconvert" people.

Tawanda, from what I gather on board, these converts normally for the most part don't stay, anyways. They probably find out too much of the crazy info.

This is one of the most poignant posts I've read on ex-Mormon.org. I, too, had a palpable sense of relief from pestering otherwise happy people that their religion was a disaster, and that God Himself had devised a Resurrected Perfect Religion that they could enjoy. What a shame. :/

Powerful story! Thanks for sharing it with us!