We were not alone in our online harassment. CaptainAwesome8, also known as Vince, participated too, and he came to visit Utah from out of state. Vince had custody of his daughters in North Carolina so he came to Utah to drop his daughters off for their summer visit with their mother. He was part of our community, although most people did not like him. His negativity was too much for people to handle.
I have heard it said that former Mormons can leave Mormonism, but they cannot leave Mormonism alone. If this was ever true of a person, it was true of Vince. He was the type of guy who could be either the greatest defender or the greatest critic of whatever movement you belonged to. He either promoted or destroyed others’ beliefs on the Internet. He had had his sights on the Mormon Church for years. We welcomed him into our home.
He was tall, handsome, and he had a great head of hair. He spoke with confidence, and he was nothing like we expected him to be. In person Vince was a normal guy. Was there some demon inside of him that made him act out online? Online he was one of the meanest people we knew. His presence alone made people leave online message boards. His very friendship often made others question their affiliation with us.
But Jessica and I liked Vince. He was doing exactly what we had been doing. He was pointing out flaws in people who could not see them in themselves. Honestly, what he did went beyond pointing out flaws. It was all extremely entertaining as long as his anger was never directed towards us. We were safe as long as we were on his side.
He came over, thankful that we let him stay with us, and laughed. He brought a compact disc of his favorite band. It was a “thank you” gift for letting him stay for free at our home. Lots of people came and went from our home. We always let people stay with us, especially if they were a part of our tight-knit group of former Mormons. Our house was the place to be. Everyone idolized us. When all of the dirty laundry from our past was out in the open I felt that we were so strong that we could move past all of the nonsense. We were so above everyone else that poking fun at them online was something we easily did. We enjoyed it.
We had Vince with us to talk about our superiority with more. He was just like us, although I’m certain he was slightly darker. Either way his objective was the same as our objective online.
A part of me never liked what we did, but I knew it brought Jessica so much joy. I had initially joined the community of former Mormons to heal, not to hurt others. I became more and more disconnected with the online warfare as the months went on, but I could never deny the entertainment value. Most of the insults traded back and forth were done by Vince and Jessica with an unsuspecting victim. Occasionally I would join, but mostly I would watch.
After all, I had a beautiful girlfriend who was happy. Who was I to tell her what made her happy was wrong? Everything I would have normally considered inappropriate, even insulting people, seemed acceptable with her around. Convinced I was still being influenced by the Mormon religion and their ridiculous moral rules I never spoke up. Why would I? Mormonism had controlled me long enough, and I would never let it control me again. Fighting against what we had been taught made the most sense. Her personality amazed me. She inspired me.
Vince’s visit was short. After a weekend spent dropping off his daughters and meeting people from our online community in person for the first time, it was time for him to leave. He stood with his suitcase in our living room, petting Jessica’s two dogs. Our cat Sariah ran across the living room to hide. Our bird chirped in the background. At this moment I am certain Jessica’s hamster was running on his wheel and her fish was also jumping out of the water to make noise. Vince looked at us.
“Seriously? Why do you have so many animals? Get some freaking kids already." We laughed. “Really, stop it with the animals. Get some kids.”
| FIVE |
The Plan of Salvation
May 2005
Motivated by what I assume was Vince’s statement about Jessica and me having children, she came home the next day from work in a panic. She was acting manic, but also sad, which was an extremely weird combination of emotion to experience from someone you love.
“Where is this relationship going?" She asked in a way that seemed almost like a statement rather than a question. It was like she had a point to make but was waiting for my response before making it.
“Forward Jessica, the relationship is moving forward." I realize my response was ambiguous, but at the same time I was not fully prepared for the marriage talk, especially while our relationship was still licking its wounds from the Bryce fiasco.
“Oh." Whatever she had planned on saying before suddenly had no place in our conversation. Jessica looked defeated. “I don’t want to waste my time if we’re not going to be talking about marriage." The conversation I was trying to avoid had found a way to demand to be discussed. She left the living room and went into the bedroom; I assumed to disrobe from her daily military fatigues. I waited for her to come back out. She did not.
Approaching the bedroom, I saw her in the bed under the covers. Her face was buried in the pillows. “What’s wrong?" I had not forgotten the conversation we just had, and I was hoping that something else suddenly bothered her.
“You know,” she said. Her face still buried in the pillows. She was pulling the oldest trick in the book. If she were a toddler, she would be holding her breath. If she was my first wife, she was pouting until she got her way. Jessica was moping and acting like a teenaged girl, hoping to elicit a response from me. She was throwing a fit in order to get her way. It was most likely something she had learned from her childhood and continued to do until that day.
Unfortunately it worked. I would rather give in and end the nonsense than have to put up with someone acting like a child for a few days. The path of least resistance was to talk about the issue bothering her. I had to tell her about some plans I had already started to prepare for.
We had a trip planned to go to Southern California for my college graduation. We were going to see my family and find some time to walk on the beach. I had planned on proposing marriage to her on the beach. The setting worked so great for me for my first marriage, and so many movies had told me a romantic setting was exactly what women love when being asked to spend the rest of their lives with someone. It seemed that waiting wasn’t an option any more.
“Jessica, I was planning on proposing to you in California. That’s where this relationship is going.”
“Really?" Her interest was sparked. She then became sad again. “My first husband’s proposal to me was not very romantic. We just talked about it and that was that. We were engaged.”
“I was planning on the beach. I wanted to talk to your father first though.”
“Why?" Her confused sadness became defensiveness.
“Out of respect. He is your father after all.”
“I am a grown woman. I do not need my father’s permission to get married. I think it’s horribly disrespectful for you to even think I would want that." I don’t know why I didn’t think about that sooner. Why would Jessica, a grown, beautiful, independent woman need the blessing from her father, a man, to get married? I felt stupid for even considering it. “You were really going to propose?”
“Yes,” I replied. Her head went back into the pillow.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this." Her anger and confusion was suddenly directed at herself. Happy I was no longer the target of her childish angst I sat down on the bed to console her.
“Doing what?" Did she regret getting into a relationship with me? Was her frustration towards the makeup on the pillow case? What was she talking about now?
“I ruined it. I ruined your chance to be romantic by acting like a child." While I agreed with her feeling, I knew it was not the end of the world. I also knew that telling her I agreed with her would not make anything better.
Lying on the bed, covered in a blanket, with her head on a makeup smeared pillow was the woman I loved. She was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Consider
ing her normally aggressive and “take charge” personality I was surprised that she had not proposed first.
“Do you want me to get on one knee?" She bit her lip.
“No Matt, that’s stupid. Just ask me to marry you." I crawled onto the bed and gave her a long kiss. I looked into her eyes.
“Marry me,” I said. “Be my wife." She paused for a moment, gazing back into my eyes.
“Yes!” Her demeanor went from sad and mopey to happy and excited. “I cannot wait to tell everyone!” And tell everyone she did. Our rag-tag band of former Mormons were elated for us. We were proof that true love existed. We were an example that even after your world got turned upside down after leaving a belief system there was a way out. There was an end goal – happiness – after Mormonism.
One of the fundamental teachings of Mormonism is called The Plan of Salvation. The Plan of Salvation is a simple flowchart of life. The flow chart starts in the pre-existence, where we all existed as spirits before being born. Through choices we make we are born, live, and die. Where we go and what we do after death is determined on the choices we make. It was a simple, beautiful plan. I felt as though my life was on the right track again. I felt like I could look forward and see how it was all going to play out.
I held Jessica and envisioned a life together. We would grow old, have kids, and have grandchildren. We would fight the world and we would do it together.
She called her family and told them the good news. Her family was less than pleased. They all still imagined that she would go through her “non-Mormon phase” and eventually come back to the church. Marrying another former Mormon would only make the path back to righteousness so much more difficult for her. They assumed that I was the bad influence. They had no idea.
We drove to Southern California and told my family. Coming from a non-religious family, our belief system was not a factor in their acceptance of our planned nuptials. My brother was less than excited, but it had nothing to do with us. He worked two jobs in order to support his unemployed wife and two daughters. With a son on the way, his anxiety was through the roof. I hoped he was jealous of me and my hot fiancé. “Attaching the ball and chain, eh?" He was trying to be funny. His sense of humor was one that few people got. I understood it though. He might as well have said, “Run, don’t do it. Your life could end up like mine." He smiled. “Congratulations you two,” he said.
Telling my mother was something I dreaded, especially since my previous marriage had ended only a little over year before. I remembered when I told her about my first engagement. She was excited back then, just as she was when we broke the news to her this time. I had a real plan for my own salvation. I was not to be saved from the Devil or Evil, but rather from a life of loneliness and depression. Jessica was it. I knew it. Sitting in my mother’s apartment with my new fiancé I looked at the two most important women in my life. We laughed and drank wine, happy to be together. I was happy to have a second chance at true love, a second chance at marriage and kids and everything else I had always wanted.
As a Mormon we made our decisions based on a feeling. The good warm fuzzy feelings, we were told, were the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost would confirm the truthfulness of things we heard or answer prayers. It was the same good feeling that had motivated me to propose to my first wife, who I had only known for three weeks. Even though Mormonism was in my past, the lessons I learned from it stuck with me. Marrying Jessica felt good. It felt right. Her transgressions with me were no longer important. Her drinking or Internet fiascos did not matter. The fact that drama followed her everywhere she went was unimportant. What mattered to me at that moment was how I felt.
And I felt great.
| SIX |
Reunited
August 2005
It was raining out and Jessica and I were both standing under a gazebo with hot coffee in our hands. We had to bring coffee because it was a cold day. We had to bring coffee; Mormons don’t drink coffee.
We were at my missionary reunion, reconnecting with everyone who had been a Mormon missionary in the area of the Philippines where I had served during my two year mission. It was the first time many of us had see each other for years. I helped organize the reunion, even as a non-believer.
Some of Jessica’s tattoos were visible. Her visible ink was a sign to my still-believing friends that I had moved on from Mormonism. It was one more visible testimony that I was free. On the outside, my appearance was no different than the other former missionaries huddled in the gazebo. My appearance was clean cut, with glasses and short hair. I was even on the blonde side of brown, which made me look more All-American than some of my friends.
It was August of 2005, and we were at a local park. One of the former missionaries, Elder Sampson, showed up with a grill he had made himself out of an old beer keg. Since beer kegs were illegal in Utah, I had no idea where he acquired it or even why it was such a great idea to turn it into a grill. He was proud of it though. Perhaps creating the grill out of something that was so completely sinful was his way of showing the world he too was different. He could embrace the light and the dark, as long as it was only a method to cook meat.
President Wagstaff, as we knew him, showed up. He had been our leader during our two year mission. He was our highest leader, the leader of every missionary who had served during his tenure. In Mormonism your leaders are able to receive revelation from God on your behalf. This made President Wagstaff more than our leader; he was our conduit for receiving God's instructions while we were missionaries. He walked up to the picnic area and put down a pile of books and audio CDs. They were his newest book and CD, on sale now at the nearest Mormon Church owned bookstore. We were fortunate enough to get them for free.
Remembering the mission, we all talked and laughed. I introduced my beautiful fiance to the rest of them. They all knew that I no longer believed, but they talked to me anyway. At least some of them did.
Elder Dana, as I knew him, talked to my friend who had helped organize the reunion. “I just don’t know what to say to Timion." As missionaries we referred to ourselves by our last names, with the title Elder or Sister in front of it, depending on gender. Even though it had been five long years since many of us had left missionary service, our last names were the most comfortable way of identifying and referring to each other.
“What do you mean?" My friend didn’t understand Elder Dana’s confusion. Even though my friend was a believing Mormon he had never had an issue with me. My disbelief had zero influence on him.
“What do I say to him? What do we talk about? What do we have in common any more?" Elder Dana clearly wanted to talk to me, someone he had such a great connection half a world away years before, but since our common ground was gone he didn’t even know where to start.
Elder Dana looked up to me during our missionary service. I was the only American convert missionary at the time. In other words, I joined Mormonism and decided to serve a mission of my own free will. The rest of the American missionaries were born into their religion and a mission was something they had known about since they were old enough to talk.
Luckily for me Elder Dana never said more to me than common pleasantries. I was outnumbered at the reunion, and if I had been required to defend my lack of faith it could have turned ugly rather quickly. All I wanted to do was see my friends with whom I shared an amazing two years.
Elder Dana was not the only one reluctant to talk to me. Very few approached me themselves. These people that at one point I knew so intimately walked around like I might have an infectious disease, only talking with me after I struck up a conversation with them.
The awkward behavior I had received that day was no surprise to me. I had seen it before: Convicted sex offenders entrusted to be alone with children, liars allowed to teach Sunday School, thieves in charge of church finances, adulterers given permission to care for widows, and con-artists given the pulpit as a way to solicit participants in a new multi-level marketing scheme. All of these people were
Mormon, and as long as they proclaimed their faith, they were welcome into the congregation without question. The moment, however, a law abiding believer started to question the faith, s/he was considered to be a bad influence, controlled by Satan, and disregarded completely.
My six years in Mormonism resulted in social isolation from anyone outside of the Mormon community. My Mormon experience caused me to reject all of my non-Mormon friends. While a Mormon all I had were my fellow believes.
Once I left, in my Mormon friends' eyes, I had become a bad influence. I was treated as a leper. Sometimes I was a pity case, and they would attempt to remind me why rejecting my faith was a bad decision. The community, the feeling of being a part of a group that I had so long sought after, was gone. They let me know I would gladly be taken me back if I rejected my disbelief. Lying to myself was something I had spent enough time doing, and I could not let happen again.
President Wagstaff took the center of attention. “Okay, who can recite the First Vision in Tagalog?" Tagalog was the language we spoke in the Philippines. The First Vision is the account of Mormonism’s founder, Joseph Smith, when God and Jesus themselves appeared to him, telling him to form his own church. The First Vision is a crucial part of teaching prospective converts. The story was extremely important to make them feel just how amazing it was that a young Joseph Smith saw God AND Jesus.
No one raised their hands. Jessica poked me in the ribs. “Hey, you should do it. That will show them that the atheist remembers their own religion better than they do." She was right, I still did remember it. Even today I still remember the First Vision in Tagalog. People used to say that my ability to pick up Tagalog so quickly, and still retain it years afterwards, was God giving me the Gift of Tongues. It was proof that God was working through me. I’m just good with languages.
Leaving Salt Lake City Page 3