It's been 10 years since I watched PBS The Mormons, and discovered the church was false.

Two of the most evil and vicious antimormon lies were admitted as true on that show- That Joseph Smith used a seerstone to bring forth the BoM (thanks DCP), and the there were certain signs and tokens in the temple that imitated the disemboweling of the person who reveals the secrets of the temple.

For those who are suffering for their newly discovered hoodwink, be assured that the pain and confusion will pass. It takes time to mourn the loss of something as important as the church tells you it is. But it will pass. I found the first three years the hardest. But then again, I have seen people who are able to gleefully walk away.

I am happy to report that the church is still false. It has always been false, and it will continue to be false.

The fear of divine punishment is very well instilled in each of us since earliest days in Primary. That is not true! While friends and family may desert you for seeing the truth, God will not punish you for leaving falsehood behind. According to the Book of Mormon (as false as it is), God is a God of truth, and cannot lie. If he were to lie to keep you in the church, He would cease to be God.

Hang in there. Like the church picture says - I never said it would be easy, but it is worth it.

It is said that when we get to the other side, those we have known will confront us and ask why we had the truth and never shared it with them.

but I may be wrong, but I recognize JoD. Nice to see you around.

Been over 20 years since I've been out. Yes, It does get better. I still come here often as it is interesting to read. Amazing how many people come and go here.

Hey JoD,

I don't get to hop on here often anymore, but have missed your posts when I do log in. Sounds like your discovery was about a year before my mental breaking point.

Although the PBS program disturbed me, I only saw snippets of it at the time it aired. Shortly after, there was a Stake level meeting (a Stake Conference, maybe), and the Stake President was in damage control mode. He encouraged anyone with questions regarding The Mormons to meet with him personally after the meeting. Things I couldn't shake were the multiple titles Joseph Smith had bestowed on himself in Navoo. Also, the segment "The Mormon Church and Gays" made me much more sympathetic to the gays than to the arguments of the church against gays. But, I felt like raising my concerns with the Stake President would not result in an open, honest discussion. He would simply attempt to assuage my concerns. And these were more like little ripples not worth raising with the Stake President. Furthermore, I knew I would be marked in his mind as one who questions. I knew the church appreciated loyalty, and questions betrayed loyalty.

I remember Margaret Toscano's interview as well. Recounting her excommunication, she said, "I afterwards talked about sort of the horror of niceness -- that on the one hand they're cutting me off from eternal salvation and telling me that I'm this apostate ... I'm this nice woman that they're going to shake my hand. There's something vicious about niceness that struck me in this -- that the niceness covered over the violence of what was being done, because, in fact, excommunication is a violent action. . . Afterward it almost made me shudder, that incongruity between the violence of that excommunication and the niceness of the discourse that went on."

Reading over the transcript reminds me of this as well: after deliberating over her excommunication, she says, "the first thing that the stake president said to me is, he said, 'I want you to know that the high council was very impressed with you. . . They were all amazed at how articulate you are and how passionate you are and what a nice person you are.'"

(link to transcript: http://exmormon.org/phorum/read.php?2,1970035,1970035#REPLY)

That's a bit funny, as just recently a family member of mine visited my former ward, where I apparently have a reputation as a nice apostate. My family member emailed me to say, "At church we were introduced to someone who said he had once been your home teacher. He noted he had enjoyed your family, and asked how you were. He also made an interesting observation that I appreciated: that you had spoken to him when you left the church, but you had not spoken with any anger. That stayed with him pretty vividly, maybe because he has seen too many who were angry."

It's funny, because I feel like I didn't have the luxury of being angry. That is, it seems like church members can't hear the words behind the anger, the reasons for the anger. They hear only anger, and brush off the rest. But the truth is, I was angry for a long time. The only reason I managed to hold a reasonably civil discussion about my reasons for leaving was that at the time of the conversation with the home teacher, I'd had several years to simmer and vent. I just didn't have it in me any longer.

Anyway, good to see you're still here and posting from time to time.

If this isn't too vague a request, can you re-post your story of sitting in the parking lot outside the church?

Due to a lot of really stressful concerns like job security, ill parents, other stuff and the OCD that keeps me fixated on the ruined relationships due to leaving the church, it seems like everything was becoming like a dingey gray sooty basement where no good thing lurks, and personal wellbeing is hanging by a thread, worry and restlessness running rampant.

Despite the rational, I began this Tuesday to think that the worst mistake I ever made was to leave the church. If only I had never discovered the truth and abandoned my safety network... And so I actually took the drive out to the church house with just the intention of sitting in the parkinglot. And since it was a weekday morning it was almost certain that I'd be alone.

As I sat there a flood of memories came rushing in-
Being abandoned by the Priesthood during our time of need, the feelings of selfloathing when things didn't work out (probably due to some sin), coming out here like on this day and leaving without my prayer being answered. The safety net that let everything through. The locked and darkened building and the vacant parking lot was emblematic of the emptiness and the nightmares of dead-end staircases that I would often lament during my TBM days.

I remembered that as a TBM I would flog myself mentally because my spirit was not being refreshed no matter how well I did my Hometeaching or faithfully attended - even when I was sick. It didn't matter that I paid tithing when we were broke, and left my family behind while I tried to stay awake in Stake Leadership meeting. It didn't matter then because the church was true and I was at fault somehow. I would just have to be more and more faithful in order for God to hear me, despite sitting on the edge of his seat waiting for the opportunity...

On this day as an Apostate I would find no more solace in this empty parking lot than on any other time I had come out here as a Bishopric member, or as Elders Quorum Prez, or as Ward Mission Leader, when on these occasions I would have the keys and walk in and sit in the chapel deep in prayerful hope, only to leave unfulfilled.

There really had been nothing there then, and there could be nothing there now. Even if I walked in on a Sunday it would be very unpleasant and I knew it. There would be much pain before I could be allowed to think God accepted me.

There really was nothing there. I felt it missing when I was ordained a Deacon and a High Priest, and I felt it in the temple. It was an illusion, and I had to maintain the illusion at all cost or forfeit the ficticious prize.

I started the engine and with a shrug I drove away, leaving an empty lot, an empty building and an eternal hamster wheel of empty hope behind me.

I think I took a major step toward finally recovering that day.

That's the one. A sincere "thank you"for sharing that. Be well.

Glad you're back (or even just passing through). I have always enjoyed your posts. Sounds like you're well, which is good.

Best wishes to you

Tom in Paris