My exit story is extremely recent. I am currently a teenager struggling within the bonds of Mormonism. I can’t believe the whole time I tried to be perfect, I was in reality being manipulated into being an indoctrinated slave. I don’t want that. It’s too much to deal with in addition to school and my home life.
My story begins where I was just a few months ago. I was not the most faithful, but I attended my meetings and church every two weeks. But one simple General Conference of the church later, and everything around me begins to fall. As most kids grow up in the church, they go on missions at age 19. Well, I had two years left, being a Junior in high school, and I thought I would be okay for the next year to wait and tell my father I didn’t want to serve a mission. But push came to shove, when the prophet spoke at general conference that missionaries would be able to serve at age 18 instead of 19. That just nearly floored me. Knowing my father, he would send me as soon as possible. The moment I graduated high school was the moment my papers for my mission would be filled out. I didn’t want to serve a mission. I already had a goal set to get my education in college as soon as possible. I don’t want to be a salesman selling religion. I wanted to go on and earn my degree in music and the arts. But my father had other ideas. But finally, after a month since October, I told him I wasn’t serving the mission. He was stunned. That’s when he asked If Satan talked me out of going. Really?! Satan?! Of all people to bring up in a conversation about my life, my father brought up Satan. My father really believed that the devil was the culprit of pulling me out of my dreams. I couldn’t take it. I talked to other leaders about why certain kids don’t go on missions. And they gave me the same canned answer: the devil convinced them not to go. Not one answer was different to explain my feelings. I was nearly in emotional trauma.
I was beginning to develop rheumatic fever at that point, so between nearly my whole world collapsing and my brain beginning to be infected, I was told I was being manipulated by the devil instead. Then I just became inactive. Every few Sundays I would attend church, but I was just being ridden with guilt by all the so called “Elders”. I asked them to stop, but the elders would say “only if you repent”. Really?! Again, I was floored. Being one of a few priests, my teacher gave me a parable on what happens when a truck rolls down a hill and people who jump out to safety are in peace. He said “those who don’t leave the truck are being manipulated by the devil.” That’s when it hit me: the Mormons are the ones in the truck, and I better freaking jump out before I get injured. That was the last straw of my leaders and my position. I immediately went home later that day, and found the story “Teenage Experiment” on this beautiful website. It all started making sense.
I was being manipulated within a cult. A freaking cult…baffling. I looked at all the issues, and while they are all were enticing. But what baffled me the most was the Book of Mormon states that no clubs or hand signs are allowed. But then we have the temple ceremonies doing just that. But the last straw came when I was gaming with my friends one Saturday night. We brought up the topic of religion, and my friend asked me what we thought about blacks and the priesthood. Remembering what I learned in Seminary that day, I told him we believed blacks were the cursed descendants of Cain. That’s when I looked at myself from a distance and realized what I just said. I was just being a racist. My friend told me on the spot “How can you be part of a religion that promotes everyone to come unto Christ yet be as hypocritical as saying such words?!” That just made the whole shelf collapse. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I finally made my decision to mentally leave just a few weeks ago. While I still attend church to play piano for the leaders and youth firesides, I never go if I don’t have to. While my parents would love to see me go, they respect my decision not to. At 18, instead of serving a mission, I get to send my resignation letters in and begin anew. What a wonderful feeling that would be.