Posted by:
movingforward
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Date: April 05, 2012 06:05PM
Just so you know: I live in Scotland, UK.
I was sitting in Mass today and as I listened to the Priest speak and tell the congregation about how Jesus suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane it all slowly but surely came back to me; how on my first and only visit to the temple we were taken to get changed then shifted into the small chapel where we all waited and listened as the temple worker told us of the rules, as we prayed and sung a hymn. The temple was beautiful and even for a convert, nothing seemed strange. I agreed with baptisms for the dead and I felt proud of myself as I was pushed beneath the water to do my 10-15 baptisms a day and then go onto do the confirmations. The priestholders hugged me and told me that I had saved lives. I was, without doubt, estatic. Now I realize that visiting the temple was the beginning of the end. The temple trip, for me, was one of lonliness and anxiety.
You should know, I had just turned 16 (I am now about to turn 17) and I had no real support. I was brought up in a family of Catholics, attended a Catholic primary school but I was never baptized, as my mother was Prodestant and unable to put the effort into converting as she run a chain of businesses and then fell very ill and still is now. So let me take you back to the start, when the nightmare took it's first stages and when I was first dragged in, partyly against my will. On the January of 2011 I began getting close to a boy. He went on to become my first proper boyfriend and we were solid. He was lovely, but I had suffered with anxiety for years and my problems were too much for him. I don't blame him. I'm far better now, but he had dreams of becoming famous in music and me in a law career. We lived in different worlds. My confidence dropped even further as for the 2 years prior I had been taken out of school due to frequent panic attacks and for a short stage of time, hallucinations. I wasn't well and I was pushing my family over the edge with my frequent outbursts. Then one night it got too much for my parents and we had a massive fallout. I packed my bags and got on a bus to stay with my aunt for a couple of days. I hadn't visited my aunt in months as she was a very depressing person with her problems of obeseity and her constant needs to make me feel inferior because she had achieved very little with her life. As I entered her house, I felt the familiar depression which came each time I visited. I took my clothes upstairs and sat silently on the sofa beside her before she asked me what happened. We spoke for hours and I felt at peace for the first time in a while. She then went on to tell me that Elders of her church were visiting the next day and I could go out if I wished. I considered going to the gym to run some energy off but I made the crucial mistake of trying to please her and joining her religious session. When the Elders arrived I was shocked. They were young and good-looking and the tallest of the two - a very cheery English elder made eyecontact with me. I fell in 'love' there and then.
The lessons took place over a week and by the end of the week I took the decision to be baptised. Of course I didn't know what I was getting into. I was 15 and vulnerable. But they promised me happiness and peace and I took it. I prayed and asked if the BoM was true. I asked 7 times and felt the same feeling each time; a strange tingly feeling. I decided that it was true and told the Elders about my experience. They were estatic. My parents weren't pleased but after some slow convincing they agreed, hoping that my mental state would get better with the help of a religion.
My first reluctance came after my baptism. My brother and his girlfriend bought me a small cross necklace as a present, unknowing that it was not allowed with the LDS church. I decided to wear it anyway and took it off when the missionaries visited and when I attended church and church events. It was a familair thing to me, having been brought up a Catholic and I saw no trouble with it. It wasn't a crucifix, just a small cross. That evening I decided that I did not want to be confirmed. I missed Mass and I wanted to return after years of inactivity. I wanted to please my family and I felt this whole mormon thing was getting a little strange. My aunt was disappointed in me and placed immense pressure on me to change my mind. She went to bed early and I told her I no loger wished to meet with the missionaries. I wandered up the stairs to get changed for bed and I heard her on the phone:
"Yes. She's drifting. I'm thinking it is Satan getting a good grip of her. Why did you have to baptize her on a Sunday, leaving a whole week for her to drift away?! Tomorrow? Yes, I'll wake her early. 10? That's fine, see you then."
I remember being frightened. I no longer wanted to do this anymore. It was 9pm. I decided I would go home. So hurriedly and silently I packed my bag, scrambled for my purse and put my bible and BoM in my bag. I don't know why I did. I guess I subcontiously wanted to give them another chance, but alone without the pressure. From there, I grabbed my coat, unlocked the door and hurried out. I heard my aunt calling behind me and quite lierally bolted down the stairs and towards the bus station which was 5 minutes away. The bus left in 10 minutes and I called my dad, telling him I was returning home. I paced back and forth the bus station and the bus finally pulled in but the drivers needed to change so I seated myself, plugged my earphones in and waited. I remember glancing through the window where my aunt, very slowly, made way towards me. The tears came as I begged "I don't want to do this." She pretended to be understanding and I hugged her before hurrying on the bus. I made way upstairs and the bus remained at a halt for 5 minutes. I glanced out the window, down at my aunt who was waving towards me as if something was wrong. I got off the bus and she told me that she felt something was wrong. The bus was late in leaving and she didn't feel comfortable with me getting such a late bus at a young age. So I followed her back to the house and we watched films. I was reassured there was no mention of religion and then we went to bed.
The next morning I was called down and I recieved a strained lesson from the missionaries who told me that I felt spiritually weak because I was mentally weak. (How rude!)
The lessons went on, everyday for that week. They did not want to lose me, apparently. Then one evening I got the bus to my aunts and recieved a lesson. One missionary (the English one) was crying. I went into the kitchen and asked him what was wrong. 3 very bad things had happened to him and his family, one being that his girlfriend had emailed him and left him for his friend. "Sioned." He told me, red-eyed, gazing directly into my eyes. "The only thing that's keeping me going is the thought of you getting confirmed and recieving the Holy Ghost." So I did out of guilt. He confirmed he and I stared at the joy in his eyes. I was falling for him as each day went on.
He called me every night to check how I was and tell me about his day and about scripture. The calls stopped after a while and I felt abandoned. But I still continued to go to church, if anything, just to see him. I also enjoyed the spiritulness of it and I began to develop a testimony. Then one evening the house phone rang. It was nearing 10pm and I recall my mum calling down from her bed, asking who it was. "Just a friend, Mum!" I called back. He laughed down the phone. He had called me to tell me he they had been given a new car. We spoke for ages and something strange happened at the end of the conversation. "Love you Sioned!" He called and hung up immediately. My heart thudded and from then on the phonecalls were frequent. At least 3 times he got me to call him back and then the night before he left we spoke for the best part of 3 hours (out of my minutes of course) and he told me about his life before going on to tell me that I knew him better than anyone. I had falen hook, line and sinker. The day he left a baptism was on and he begged me to go. My mother didn't want me to as I had school the day after and I didn't particularly want to either. The church was two hours away and the bus was long and I would arrive home at 11pm. Saying goodbye to his face would be worse. But he called at least 5 times and I decided I should. After the baptism he made a small heart shape with his hands and said; "Save the best til last." He then took me into the sacrament room which was empty and hugged me hard for a while before a door went and we literally jumped apart. Someone had fallen into the door but did not come in. Dragging a sigh of relief, he pulled his card out, drew a heart on the back and signed it. "Write to me and I'll call you." He promised. "We wont lose touch." As my friend and I walked down to the bustation I was near to tears. He was gone and I was alone.
My aunts friend had inappropriately touched me the year before in NewYork. That is a whole different story and my mother had forbidden me to speak to my aunt. Luckily I befriended a family in the ward and often stayed with them. It all went down hill and I hung on for 8 months with frequent and then less frequent phonecalls from my missionary. Towards the end I took up smoking to get rid of the pain and constant anxiety. Then I left for good. My best friend and I had fallen out and she no longer went to church.
The mormons of my ward quite literally harassed me. Phonecalls, facebook messages, texts and even a letter damning me to hell. I had my name removed from the rolls to my families relief and the mormons continued to invite me to events until I posted a strong-worded status on facebook a couple of days ago and they argued with me on facebook, saying I had given their religion a bad name. Then they backed off. I still love and miss my missionary. I know I'm only 16, but it hurts a lot. Maybe not as much anymore. I haven't spoken to him since new year. I miss his voice, his laugh, his eyes. But I'd never return there. I experienced too much sadness and emptiness. They treated me like rubbish and our bishop slid the fact that I had been inappropriately touched by a 60yr old woman who was now a member under the carpet. I often wonder if the BoM is true, if what they are doing is right but I know deep inside none of it is. I'm slowly moving on and my life is improving tenfold. I will always love my missionary but his girlfriend recently wrote to him and told him she still loves him. Of course he still loves her too. I did tell him I had feelings for him. i sent him a text and he called back the next day. I lied and said that I was just trying to distance myself because I didn't want to get him into trouble. H e made a joke of it and asked if it was because he was so good-looking. I wonder is he likes me too, because if he doesn't, he would have just said (I assume) instead of making an insappropriate joke. I asked to not speak of it againa nd he agreed.
I just wish that he had never lead me on to that. I guess that's what they're trained and told to do. Even if he was genuine and felt something, it would never work because I will never be a Mormon ever again. Mornon no more.