Alrighty, time to get this off my chest and tell it to people who aren’t going to judge me for it.

I was born and raised smack in the middle of “Happy Valley”, which to those who aren’t familiar with it means in the middle of Utah’s Wasatch Front. My family lived ten minutes away from Provo, and a little under an hour south of Salt Lake City. When I was younger I didn’t know it was unusual to literally have a church on almost every corner, or that not everyone in the world was Mormon. I played with the same group of kids that I went to school with, and more importantly (at least in their parent’s minds) who I went to church with every single Sunday. On top of this, my family itself was probably one of the best examples of a “good Mormon family”. We went to church as I said every Sunday without fail; My great-grandpa was in the Bishopric (I can’t remember what exactly it is he did), my great-grandma was very active in the Relief Society, and my mother was both a Primary teacher and a Young Women’s teacher over the years. Despite this, I never really took much out of what was taught there, nor did I ever really think it made much sense.
When it came time for my baptism, I put on a happy face for my family, and especially for my grandpa who was beyond excited to be the one to baptize me himself. Underneath it all, it felt wrong, even to an eight year old. Other people in the ward were less than enthusiastic about it as well. I didn’t know until I was older that a certain few members not only didn’t like that I was in their church, but also felt it was wrong to give me such an important rite of passage. I suppose at this point it sounds like I’m the kid from the Omen or something, but you’ve got to understand, these people are the extremely judgmental type and believe that they themselves are THE Saints and God’s gift to the world.
Shortly after this “magnificent” event, I began to realize more and more that there was just something wrong with the church, and I cringed every time someone at school branded me a Mormon like them. I began to detach myself from my former friends bit by bit, and tried to get out of going to church by playing sick or trying to convince my mom that we should do other activities like visiting family in the next town over or going to the park to spend the afternoon together.
By nine years old I had lost my faith in the Mormons all together and starting fighting tooth and nail when they tried to get me into the car to go to church or activity days.
Flash forward a couple of years to eleven years old. My mom had met a guy that she was sure was going to be a great dad to me, and help create the family she had always dreamed of. A date was set for their wedding a couple of months later, and arrangements with the bishop had been made. Needless to say, everyone in the ward was thrilled that my mom wasn’t going to be “living in sin” anymore, and all was right with the world again in their eyes. The engagement was broken off not too soon afterward because she found out that not only was he cheating on her the whole time, but was engaged to three other women across the state. He was also dealing drugs out of his house, and was about to lose custody of his son to his ex-wife. The Ward didn’t take this so well, and she was actually CORNERED by the Bishop and his minions in his office DEMANDING that she call him (the ex) to come down and get married to her right then and there in the office, despite him being a complete scumbag. This scared her, obviously, and enraged my family so much that we stopped attending church regularly right then and there.
On a brighter note, she ended up meeting the man of her dreams a year later. Was the church finally happy? Of course not. Their complaint this time was that even if she were to marry him, they would still be living in sin because he was a Polynesian. Yep. I told you these people were crazy. They were willing to shun her because she chose to be in an interracial relationship. Can you believe that? That was the end for her. She and I moved away from Happy Valley and settled three hours away in the Uintah Basin in attempts to get away from the negativity and judgment. The Stake President gave her an ultimatum: break it off with the guy, or risk being shunned by the church. She chose to stay with her soul mate, and he has been more than I could ever ask for in a father. To me, he’s just Dad. Along with finally gaining the marriage she’d always dreamed of, she also gained his four daughters, my stepsisters. To create an even happier ending for her, they recently welcomed two new grandkids into the family, and couldn’t spoil them any more rotten if they tried.
Because we moved to the Basin, it gave me an excuse to stop attending church all together. The local wards tried to get me to join in, but I straight up refused and spent most of my time doing normal teenager things. It was liberating, not being held to such ridiculously high standards, and not having to worry about what disciplinary consequence was around the corner for whatever sin I might have committed that day. The newly acquired freedom also made me all the more curious as to why I had been treated so differently all those years in The Ward. What I found out was rather infuriating.
• I was damned in their eyes from the beginning. I came into this world already branded a bastard (my ‘father’ is not parent material whatsoever), and was being brought up by a struggling single mother trying to get back into the church’s good graces.
• Because I didn’t have a dad, the other kids were pretty much taught to treat me differently. They were also told that I would never get into the same heaven as them, if I were able to get into heaven at all, because I wasn’t as ‘pure’ as they were.
• A few years into elementary school I kissed my first girl (purely on impulse, by the way). Word of this spread from my classmates to their parents and straight to the bishop, who demanded I repent for all of my sins immediately. Apparently they all knew I was gay before I even knew I was gay, and they couldn’t have me corrupting the other kids.
Basically, I was the scariest damn thing these people had ever encountered, and they wanted me gone from the beginning. I’ve always wanted out of this place, but never knew how to escape it.
Now at nineteen I realize just how much harm this cult can do to a family, and how quickly it can demonize anyone. I never felt loved or wanted there in the first place, and I never had a testimony at all. And to be told I was going to be judged by Joseph Smith after I died is just ridiculous. Everything about their doctrine is a lie, and it’s heartbreaking to see my beloved family still brainwashed so thoroughly. My mother is the only other one to truly see it for what it is and I’m so grateful that she has. She is the most intelligent and wonderful person I know, and I’m thrilled she has managed to shake the chains of the cult off for good.
As for myself, I moved back to Happy Valley six months ago in order to go to school. Utah Valley University is definitely not the place for me though, so I’ve decided to pursue my dreams of becoming a tattoo artist (yet another thing to make the old ward cringe hehehe). I’m living with MY soul mate, a girl I’ve known since I was eleven, and we couldn’t be any more in love. We’re planning on moving away from the iron curtain that is Utah, and starting a family of our own (with some help from a male friend of ours) in Los Angeles. There’s just one last piece of business I need to take care of before we high tail it out of here, and that is to resign from the cult.
I didn’t even know it was possible, and I thought inactivity was enough. Official resignation? What a brilliant idea! Absolutely! I’m going to send it out as soon as possible, and after that truly begin my life! I’m so excited I can barely stand it.
Thank you to everyone who reads this, it means a lot, even if it is rather long and drawn out. :)