My fellow RMs. How happy were you when the last day of your mission arrived? Did it seem like the weight of the world was lifted from your shoulders? Were you elated that you did not have to endure the ranting’s of an abusive mission president anymore?

For me, I was so happy to know that I would never have to go out and knock on another door and try to convince an already happy person, that they could become happier if they alienate themselves from extended family and friends, gave up 10% of their paycheck, sacrificed their free time from being with their families to perform smothering religious duties and endless callings, and eventually, earn the opportunity to pantomime disemboweling themselves while dressed up as the Pillsbury Dough Boy inside a building that looks like a bowling trophy.

What say you my fellow RMs? Tell us how you felt that last day. Many would love to hear your stories.

Both sad and happy. Ecstatic that it was over, but not really excited about going back home. One of the reasons I went was because it was an easy way to get away from home, but I had no plans for the next steps upon returning.

More apprehensive than anything else. The fun was coming to an end...

I had been sick for about 2 months and the doctors suggested that I go home. My mission president was new and was afraid that this would reflect badly on his chances of becoming a general authority ( this was in the days when you were only supposed to come home early in a coffin.) I was kept under house arrest in the mission home for about 3 weeks, finally my doctor in the US contacted a general authority and he called up my mission president and had me sent home. I went home with my first companion's group, several of whom had become my friends. When the plane lifted off the ground I remember such a relief, the doctors did not know what was wrong with me and I was not sure what was going to happen but it had to be better than rotting in the mission home and slowly losing weight.

I was actually sad... I loved living in Switzerland although I was throughly burned out from tracking and the pressure to find converts. But I loved the cities I lived in and could have stayed there forever.

My mom flew to Switzerland to travel with me for a week and then fly home with me. I came from a very disfunctional family and although I had been homesick it was nice to have a break from the constant craziness. My mother told me about new family problems that were very shocking and I didn't want to go home and be part of the craziness again. My father (he and my mom had been divorced for many years) had just (two months before I came home) married my new stepmother who didn't like his kids and I heard that she wouldn't allow my siblings to be in the family picture at the wedding because the picture was for "family only." On top of that disturbing news my sister had gotten herself into a difficult situation that was heartbreaking to watch. So Other than not having to knock on doors again, there didn't seem to be a lot to look forward to at home and I was very depressed.

I still remember my last night in Switzerland, having dinner in the mission home in Zurich. I wasn't elated, happy, or depressed. I was just completely numb. Two years and living costs wasted, illusions about the church, mission presidents, and GAs shattered, starved for literature and music, physically and emotionally exhausted - I was a poster child for cult induced PTSD. I loved Switzerland though (1974 - 76).

I remember the feeling of sheer relief upon seeing the word "Departures" and took a pic of it as the mish prez wife looked upon me with scorn, but I didn't care.

We had a flight from Okayama to Haneda in lieu of the typical train ride. It wasn't going to be a long one, but they provided headphones for us anyway. I never had a problem listening to music during my 2 year period, I enjoyed it all. I plugged in my complimentary set and as the planes wheels were leaving the runway I had Mariah Carey screaming "Emotions" in my head and I couldn't have been happier. Sheer joy.

We were not allowed to listen to anything but the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for music in my mission. Making music has always been a big part of my life and to be away from my instruments and musical friends was really depressing.

Our first stop was Copenhagen to get onto a big 747 for the ride back across the Atlantic. SAS airlines had the best in plane sound systems in the late 70s and you could choose a challenge with "New Music" The first chords of "Live a Little Bit" were playing in my ears when our wheels lifted up, and I could see the the green countryside and bays of Northern Denmark shrinking below us. I still get a rush of happiness whenever I hear that song. The feeling of being set free is indescribable. My dad told me about his experience of coming home in a troop ship and being dumped on the dock in New Jersey after serving in the Eighth Air Force in WWII . The army told them they had to find their own way home clear across the country. He told me they were all so glad just to be free, they did not care. I could certainly relate to that after being a missionary working an AH Mission President.

I was in Okayama from 92 to 94. I was allowed to leave 2 months early to start the fall semester. I hated wearing a suit and aways bothering people. Two of my greenbeans were at the mission home when I was leaving. I followed all the rules and had great kekkas, but never rose thru the ranks because I was not a true believer.
I was traveling alone and I was smart enough to ditch the badge and tie. I would have changed clothes if my dad was not meeting me at the airport. I had saved up some money in the months before then... I was thinking about going on a date... I should have gone to the strip club.

Toward the end of my mission I was given the opportunity to either extend 1 month or go home 2 months early. It took me 2 seconds to decide. Bye. At my homecoming, (they still did those then), I couldn’t stop talking about how good it was to be home again.
Before I left, some area authority pulled me aside and said that Satan works overtime getting return missionaries to fall away. I made it my resolve to never be a statistic like that. That probably kept me programmed and active in the church 15 years longer than I would have done otherwise. Dang.

I was happier than happy, though everything seemed to take forever. I had a glass of wine on the flight home.

I can imagine how it must have been, even though I didn't go on a mission. I remember every detail of when I walked out of our stake house for the very last time. I remember the bishop's interview, and how nasty and threatening he was to me. His next calling, after bishop, was mission president, BTW. I remember looking at the foyer on my way out, and thinking, "God is not here; God was never in this church." I remember what I was wearing, where I went afterwards, and, especially how I felt. It was elation, giddiness, "sheer joy" for me, too. The joy was made 1000 times greater, because my children resigned with me. Leaving Mormonism is a very pleasant memory, despite the Mormon threats, shunning, and gossip. The Mormons can never take away my happiness again, now that we are free.

I can't believe what some of you missionaries endured, to try to avoid shame and punishment and more abuse. Mormonism is so negative, and controlling. Imagine, being deathly sick, and not allowed to go home!

Estactic. I was so sick and nearly died twice on my mission and those fuckers could care less. I am still suffering the ill effects. I should never have gone, it was a waste of time and 18 months of torture in shitholes while the elite, racist Idahoans and Utahns lived like royalty.

I was glad to be free of having someone around 24/7, as I enjoy solitude and freedom. But, I was sad to leave Taiwan and some people there I had grown to love. I remember looking outfrom the plane window and watching the island get smaller and smaller.

Very happy. I went home a month early so I could register for the upcoming fall semester. I started to realize most college students were a full 2 years ahead of me. Thinking about this got me depressed the last 6 months. My asshat MP (who would eventually onto become a GA) was pushing harder and harder as he was approaching his final year. Some of the more free-spirited, rule breaking, (and fun to be around) mishies had gone home. What was left in my mission were many morgbot "Uber-righteous" rule-abiding elders that were vying for the next ass-kissing chance to become AP.

I was unexpectedly ecstatic -- 'cause I went home two weeks earlier than my official two years, and only got notified the day before I was to leave. Not for any misbehavior (that I got caught at anyway), but because the schedule for new arriving missionaries, transfers, and flights worked out such that it was easier for the MP to send me and 3 others home just before Christmas than to have us stay, have to renew our visas for a year to stay a week, and be overloaded with mishies.

By the way, if you were going after already happy people on your mission, you weren't doing it right. The most "golden" contacts were the miserable ones, the ones who had just lost someone they loved, etc. The already happy ones usually don't want anything to do with the mormon cult :)



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/03/2018 09:27AM by ificouldhietokolob.

I was apprehensive and actually afraid but very zombied-out at the same time. I had been on the Mormon conveyer belt my whole life, checking off each box on the Mormon list, and now things were going to get real. The next box had to be temple marriage and then the one I really couldn't even bear to think about checking--having sex with my wife. The thought was nightmarish but I "knew" it was the only way.

I was the most naive missionary you would ever meet. Sincere, hard working, and clueless. I had never been me. I had no idea who I was. Poster child for indoctrination. And disappointed that I could have worked so hard and still Heavenly Father had not "fixed me."

Like mother who knows, my elation came much later when a couple of years into BYU I realized the Mormon church was one big lie. I was so elated my organs shut down temporarily, I swear.

>
> ...my organs shut down temporarily...
>

Wurlitzers, right? They never could handle elation worth a damn.

You're crazy. Bless you.

You made me remember that I used to play the old pump organ for priesthood meeting back in the dark ages. Haha. It Was fun--the organ, not the preisthood meeting.

I am blessed, and a large part of it is getting to know so many of you.

Also, blessed is any word ending in ...ump, but not the word 'ump itself.

I served back in the late 70's. I was so excited that I bought a brand new suit. It was a light tan color. A big no-no back then. The mission president didn't say much, but I still remember his look when he saw me. But the most exciting part.....I flew home from London to Washington D.C. on a 747. It was great!

A huge relief after the two darksst years of my life.

Trunky happy!

I was a lone traveler coming home. I had changed into P-day levis in the airport at Atlanta, Ga, and had my trusty walkman and listened to Duran-Duran, Wham, Stevie Nicks, etc. It was 1985 afterall, I had more than 1 beer on the trip home, talked to no one but the stewardess, slept, and drank some more. It was the 22nd day of December, 1985.

My best friend picked me up at the Tucson Airport, we stopped at the best tittie bar where I drank my ass off some more. I finally made it home at 1 am. I slept like i hadn't slept for days. The shit from the mission president, weird companions, weird religion, had taken it's toll on me. I remember thinking, "How could people claim this to be the best 18 months of their lives?"

I never bothered to see the Stake President, rather just had a telephone interview with the dude, and that was that.

How wasteful. I had wasted 18 months of my life for nothing.

That's what makes me angry. I didn't have balls enough to quit and come home.

I was so thrilled to get the letter saying the bish had resigned me that I didn't come to earth for a week or two. I can't imagine the feeling of freedom a mishie might feel.

I am sure my fiance missionary was both elated and terrified. We had become engaged Christmas of '67 with wedding date tentative June '68. No mission plans on his part. Until April '68 when he announced he felt like he should go on a mission. WTF! But, being the good little molly I was, I said I'd wait and NOT date while he was gone. And I didn't. What I didn't know at the time was the whole mission thing was a delay tactic...he could not face getting married to a woman. But, during his mission he missed me, wanted the whole family thing etc. So, I went ahead and ordered the invitations, ready to mail as soon as he returned with a wedding date already set for less than a month after he returned.

So, when I think about it now, I know that he was certainly going through hell thinking about that and how in the world he was going to get married and pretend he was attracted to a female.

I had the option of serving 18 months to two years or somewhere inbetween. I stayed an extra 2 months after doing 18 months. I was very happy, but I didn't go straight home. Jamaica was the last island I was assigned to and my parents flew down to meet me and have a long overdue vacation (for them). So even though I was done as a missionary, I was still in Jamaica and still felt a little self conscious. My brother in law was my stake president and told me over the phone that he couldn't release me, but I could do what I wanted, just don't do anything stupid.

So I went swimming, rented a peddle boat, made out with a smoking hot Jamaican girl (she was from the Branch and came to visit me at the hotel we were in). I stopped short of going all the way with her....I served a good mission and I didn't want it to end that way.

After a week in Jamaica, my parents and I flew to Tennessee to visit my Aunt and Uncle, went water skiing there. Then we drove up through Chicago to see our old house (I was 1 when we moved to the Northwest) and then we continued up to Wisconsin to visit my Great Aunt. Then I flew back to Palm Springs and my parents flew back to Seattle.

I drove my car back up to Seattle and off I went, ending up an exmo half way through BYU, and ultimately here. :)

I read my mission journal a few months back and my final entry on my way home showed my apprehension in returning to normal life with all the old temptations. In retrospect, I really enjoyed the cultural part of my mission in Spain. I also recognize that it had a part in my leaving the church, even though it took me another 3 decades to finish that leap. I also had times where I was hoping for some major tragedy so I could go home, such as being hit by a bus.

I did not want to serve a mission to begin with, but back then I was more concerned about my image than what I really wanted. That is how I ended up serving a mission, 28 year marriage that ended in divorce after I left the church, and spending way too much time on church callings after my church love court and a bishop that convinced me that I really owed the church for the absolution and missed active years.

The song that reminds me of returning home, The Police – King of Pain. A missionary I went out with, and returned with, had purchased the cassette and we listened to it on the flight home. It always reminded me of my return home. Reviewing it now it also reflects my later bipolar diagnosis.

I was actually pretty worried. I went to Spain, where kissing on either cheek is a common greeting between friends. For the most part though, people know not to kiss the sister missionaries. But one 20-something guy in our branch took the opportunity of my leaving to plant a couple of kisses on my cheek, saying I was about to be released anyway and it didn't matter. I agreed - then panicked on the train to the mission home. But when I "confessed" to my mission president in my exit interview, he just laughed and said something along the same lines as the member-guy. That I was about to be released so no big deal. I think the fact I was so worried about it reassured him I'd kept the mission rules better than the usual blah "yes" and "no" answers he usually got to the questions he asked missionaries before sending them home.

I was thrilled the last day of my mission was three days sooner than I expected. The MP was going to be away at some meeting in SLC and he wanted to do our interviews before he left. The only kind thing he ever did was not make us serve out those three days.

very happy to be leaving the BS repression of a mission, not so happy about the HUGE hole I was in academically, financially, health wise due to serving a mission. I baptized a family for LD$ Inc. Then they treated what I had got for them at great sacrifice like a demolition derby car, all while I was left destitute in the process. I am not exaggerating, I am just being realistic. It has been over 30 years and I am still living with the negative consequences of serving a mission for those fucking ASSpostHOLES. Remember, that missionaries were not allowed to have dental checkups while on a mission. I am STILL paying for that HUGE blunder that was imposed on me by LD$ inc.!!!

When those fucking ASSpostHOLES start talking about how they need some converts, my response is: do not talk to me about it!! I have ZERO sympathy for them and their cause because I ALREADY got raped trying to help them out.

I never went on a mission. I joined the Navy instead, but my favorite part of this website is stories about missionaries. They are always eye opening and entertaining. You guys never disappoint.

In the last few weeks of my mission, I'll admit that I was a little sorry to leave, and I wanted to stay.

Now some of the context for that is that my last 3 months were my only time in Berlin, which is an awesome city. We actually had some fun P-days there. I didn't have a leadership position anymore other than senior companion. It was a great relief, and compared to the rest of the mission things actually felt okay.

I had spent the 5 months prior to Berlin as a branch president in a smaller town. It was miserable. I didn't know how to do things, or what I was supposed to do. There was literally no training for that whatsoever. They just give you a handbook, and you meet with a high councilor every month who can help you with questions. But, it kinda helps to have some knowledge base so that you know what questions to ask.

But, as we counted down to zero hour in the last week of the mission--I was really excited to go home and be done with it. I was numb to being told "Nein," but you get sick of it anyway.

If I knew then what I know now, I never would have gone in the first place--but one lives and learns. It was a waste of time.

Don't know if it counts, but I left the MTC after six weeks. The MTC experience was traumatizing to me. It became so bad that I decided to leave before even heading out. The weird thing is I was so stressed out that I actually have no recollection of leaving. I remember telling someone in the MTC I needed to leave, perhaps my Branch President but not sure. In any case it was someone official. But I have no recollection of packing up and leaving. I just remember a few days later I was at my aunt's house in Salt Lake City and awaiting a flight home to the east coast. But there is about a four day period in there that is completely gone from my memory.

It was a relief to be home, even when having to face the ward members who had sent me off just a few months earlier. The experience was so draining that I basically did nothing for about six months, not even work. I eventually enrolled in the local community college to get back into the swing of higher education and then transferred back to Utah State.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/04/2018 04:46PM by alsd.

I was very very happy to see two years of hell coming to an end. I reckon that I was a pispoor missionary, but eh, who cares right? There were 22 missionaries in the group I went out with.

Towards the end of two years I sent a letter to the mish President and requested to go home 2 weeks early as I had heard that that was possible. To my surprise, of the 22 missionaries, 17 were at the mission home also going home 2 weeks early. None of us talked much, we were just awaiting for morning to arrive so we could go to the airport.

Going home was the highlight of my mission and I have never said it was the best two years of my life like many other returned missionaries said.

Once I arrived home I met with the Stake President who promptly assigned me to a High Councilman and I was told that I would be speaking in a sacrament meeting about 2-3 times a month. I made it very clear to him that I wasn't going to do that until he rescinded the assignment. A few days later my Bishop extended a church calling to me to be the young men's leader. After much arm twisting I accepted and on the drive home I thought about it and turned around. I knocked on the Bishop's door and after more arm twisting I successfully UN-extended that calling and I never felt free-er than at that moment.

It took four more decades before I resigned. Now I'm a free man and gawd I love it.

I barely remember it. Flew out of Buenos Aires for Miami then SLC

The last 6 months of my mission were among the worst. I felt like I'd done everything I'd wanted to do and was anxious to get on with my life. My MP was a narcissistic control freak, whom I grew to despise.

When the sisters from my MTC group left, I was ready to leave with them. I could have gone home for Xmas and caught the next semester at BYU and gotten on with my life. Instead, I wasted another 6 months which were agony.

I was elated to be going home. I was so done with the missionary experience, and I'd grown to distrust and dislike the church. I attributed it to the jerk MP, but later I realized the entire corporate structure of the church is like that.

I got home, got through my BYU degree, which I actually mostly enjoyed, and then left the church in grad school in DC. When I finally realized that the things I hated about the mission were mostly how the church treats its members, I had to leave for good.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/05/2018 06:37AM by axeldc.

Inside I was very happy, but at the time I would never have shown it to anyone as that's not supposed to be how you feel. (Isn't that sad?)

I'm very introverted and have some anxiety around people I don't know, so you can imagine that acting like a salesman, cold calling people in a language that was not my own put me in an incredibly uncomfortable place for two years.

Relief is the best word for it.

Flew from Guatemala to LA. Had to overnight in LA. Felt so free in that night in the hotel room, jumped out of skivies and dance around the room naked. Then got to feeling guilty so I put them back on and repented.(now that's something I have never shared with anyone. You guys bring out the worst in me. lol)