Alone and Unobserved

This is part of the Mormon church’s official response to Judge Walker’s decision ruling California’s Proposition 8 unconstitutional:

“We recognize that this decision represents only the opening of a vigorous debate in the courts over the rights of the people to define and protect this most fundamental institution—marriage.

“There is no doubt that today’s ruling will add to the marriage debate in this country and we urge people on all sides of this issue to act in a spirit of mutual respect and civility toward those with a different opinion.”

Listen, Mormon church. When you spent millions of dollars on a smear campaign against homosexuals and their families and roped as many of your faithful as possible into canvassing California neighborhoods and calling California homes to repeat the same lies and drum up the same groundless fears, and when you lied and prevaricated and covered up your involvement, the time for civility was long, long past.

And guess what! That was TWO YEARS AGO. So suck it up, you disgusting bigots, and lie down in the bed you made for yourselves. You deserve to be made into a laughingstock and a pariah for being the hate-mongering institution you are.

It tears me up inside that some of my family members and friends still buy into your lies. But I don’t. And until you stop threatening my right to live my life unhindered by your ruthless, coercive morality, I do not owe you any civility whatsoever—and neither does anyone else who is affected by your vicious, insidious lies and hate.

So go fuck yourselves. And prepare to continue losing this fight.

I don’t know how many times I’ve told my deconversion story, in whole or in part, on this blog or elsewhere, but my impression has been—for years at this point; yes, I’ve been an ex-Mormon atheist for that long now and it blows my mind—that the fundamental seed of my apostasy, the moment I first broke from the faith, was when I was about twenty-two and finally began to accept myself as a gay man.

In fact, I’ve found myself defending this position several times, when people have implicitly and explicitly accused me of leaving Mormonism so I could go “sin” and “be gay.” I’ve been forced to say repeatedly that my being okay with being gay, as the first point of doctrine I disagreed with my church on, was a (perhaps the) deciding factor, the first step in my journey away from religion, but wasn’t the REASON I ended up leaving. After all, I pointed out, there are any number of practicing Mormons who are also okay with gays or with being gay and they haven’t felt the need to leave. I left the Mormon church because I disagreed with virtually every point of doctrine, including the existence of deity.

I realized today that I’ve been fundamentally wrong this whole time. Not about Mormonism being full of shit, or about the existence of deity, or about religion being a net negative in today’s world, but about when I felt the first disconnect with religion.

It all comes back to patriarchy. You see, I was a feminist long before I realized I was a gay man. I was a feminist in the making before I started kindergarten. Why? Because when I was a kid I wanted to be a girl. When I was REALLY young I very nearly thought I was a girl. I had no interest in the “boy” things other boys were obsessed with—I wanted a Barbie and a My Little Pony and a Rainbow Brite and pretty dresses and I wanted to be a princess AND a sorceress AND an enchantress and forget that moron He-Man, I wanted to be SHE-RA.

I identified strongly with my mom over my dad, and, especially when I was super-little I had trouble accepting that my (one-year-older) sister and I were not functionally the same person. (I mean, we did everything together, and we always would, right?) So when I found out what the Mormon patriarchy expected of young women, I took it very personally.

My mom had her own visible struggles with patriarchy as well. She told us how her father was a Scoutmaster when she was a tween and she fought long and hard for the right of going on campouts with him and her brothers without success, and I watched her do her best to turn the local Young Women’s camping program into something resembling an actual outdoors exploration course.

It upset me that my mom, who was so smart and capable and (let’s face it) ambitious, especially when compared with my go-with-the-flow dad, was expected to accept a background role and take orders from all the stupid MEN around her just because she was a woman. My mom tried to be philosophical about her lot; denying her natural gifts was God’s way of teaching her to be patient, and a better person, and what-the-fuck-ever-else, but I didn’t, couldn’t buy it.

Polygamy bothered me for a similar reason. Why had men been “given” (yes, that’s right—GIVEN) more than one wife, but women were only allowed to marry one man?

Why were there so few independent females in the scriptures, which were otherwise crowded with independent men? Why were there vanishingly few female prophets?

I’m sad to say I learned fairly quickly that voicing concerns about this got me labeled as weird and girly, and I learned even quicker that these were “bad” things to be. As I got older and became more convinced that I actually was male I found myself participating in the patriarchy, both overtly by becoming a deacon at age twelve just like all the other guys, and by laughing uncomfortably at my friends’ sexist jokes. But I was still never comfortable with the whole thing, just like I was never entirely comfortable being male.

Another thing I’ve often said is that I was a “true believer” back before I started explicitly questioning Mormon doctrine when I was in my early twenties. But I’ve been wrong about that, too. I certainly tried hard enough to be a true believer—doing everything I could think of to convince myself and everyone else that I believed. Hypnotizing myself into suppressing my doubts. Testifying to others with passion, zeal and throbbing sincerity that I not only believed, I knew that the Mormon church was the true church of Jesus Christ on the earth.

But the seed had already been planted. The seed of feminism, of fairness, of this isn’t right, this can’t possibly be right, because it contradicts everything that makes sense. And once I took that next step of acknowledging that I was gay, and accepting myself for who I was, it couldn’t be held back any longer. Because if I was gay, then not fitting into the straight male paradigm was completely irrelevant! I could be as girly or as feminine as I liked. Everything else in my ex-religious journey, I’m convinced, followed from there.

The Mormon church, like almost every other existing religious sect, is fundamentally patriarchal. It is anti-feminist, anti-fairness. Anti-sense. Not just because its doctrines are not true, but in its philosophy, organization, culture and outlook. It pains me to say this, because so many people I love and value are still part of it, and have defended and will continue to defend its destructiveness to me and to others. I just hope that if enough people point out the reality of religion and Mormonism that we can make a difference in the future of girls, women, boys and men everywhere.

It’s always tiresome when a former Mormon acquaintance finds out I’m a heathen gay atheist and tries to argue with me about it—as if I hadn’t spent YEARS agonizing over my choices. (And as if they weren’t years too late at this point.) Come on. Give me some credit and assume I’m an adult and that I didn’t decide to throw away the religious doctrines and practices I grew up with and believed in firmly for twenty-odd years on some immature whim.

Or, if your own belief is so fragile you can’t accept the idea that someone might reject your religion after logical study and reasoned exploration, at least do me the favor of trying to conceal that fact from me, as frankly it’s a condescending and offensive attitude. And in return I’ll do my best to pretend I don’t think you’re a credulous idiot who hasn’t subjected your faith to critical examination.

And then maybe if we can’t be friends at least we won’t part ways as enemies.

Through the magic of the Internet, I’m still in contact to some extent with many of the Mormon acquaintances I had at BYU. Even if I haven’t spoken or even directly corresponded with them in five years, their thoughts and episodes from their lives still show up in my Facebook feed or my Goodreads list, or are reflected in the comments, photos and FarmVille announcements of other, mutual acquaintances. One by one, of course, as their overt religiosity and conservatism has become more and more alien to me, I’ve hidden their updates or defriended them, but I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that hundreds of them still remain.

Today I read a former BYU friend’s review of a book on miscarriage. She writes that she is disturbed at how many of the women who had contributed their stories to the book

had thought about an abortion or actually had one. With that said, I also think that it is very telling how deeply all those women grieved even those who didn’t want their babies. I guess that only shows what a disservice we are doing to women to let them abort their babies.

A miscarriage can be a devastating event. If she has recently had one (and I have no proof that she has), I really hope she has people she can turn to for comfort. As it is, I couldn’t even come up with something non-belligerent in response to such an infantilizing view of the kind of women who seek abortions. In the end, I severed our last connection, thinking she probably didn’t need me bringing war to her doorstep over an off-topic comment in her book review.

This blog post was brought to you in part by Day Five of the Mind on Fire Group Creativity Experiment, and the Nine of Swords card in the tarot deck.

Growing up, I thought coffee was the devil. Booze was the devil squared. People who drank coffee or beer were evil, filthy, satanic. They were destroying their souls. And besides, caffeine and alcohol were poisons, right? Those people were poisoning themselves.

Even worse, Mormon propaganda films so conflate alcohol and drugs that there was almost no distinction in my mind between a) drinking vodka, b) smoking pot and c) shooting up heroin, and there was certainly no way to do any of these things responsibly. Any and all of them would inevitably lead to you overdosing and dying… presumably while your pure Mormon family stood around your bed, weeping at your lost potential and blaming themselves for your terrible life choices.

While I was growing up, I heard all the time about Mormon girls who slept around, who got abortions, who lived with their boyfriends without getting married—pretty much the worst things you can do in Mormonism besides murdering someone—but who wouldn’t touch caffeine, alcohol or tobacco. When you heard these stories, you were supposed to laugh at how screwed up the worldviews of these women were, because keeping dietary restrictions is way less important than staying chaste and morally pure.

“Hahaha! They have sex at the drop of a hat, but they won’t smoke a cigarette! What idiots.”

(It’s also interesting that the subjects of these stories were all female—men were expected to remain pure and chaste as well, but somehow it felt worse when a woman crossed that line.)

And yet, what was my experience of giving up Mormon teachings like? I drank my first cup of coffee furtively at ten o’clock at night in a Salt-Lake-area Village Inn, feeling guilty and sinful. But before I allowed myself that first sip, I had already

• Made out with any number of boys, including strangers
• Had two boyfriends
• Given my first handjob
• Received my first handjob
• Given my first blowjob
• Received my first blowjob
• Stopped wearing my temple garments

My first mouthful of liquor was from a friend’s Cosmopolitan at a party. It looked delicious, but to my virgin tongue it tasted like turpentine. Poison! I thought. I didn’t really have my first drink until two years later, by which time I had

• Resigned from the Mormon church and had my priesthood authority and temple covenants revoked
• Had SEX-sex—like, all the way—with any number of people, including hook-ups and one-night stands
• Railed openly against the Mormon church and its history of corruption and deception

I stopped even paying lip service to “divinely inspired” Mormon dietary restrictions quite early on in my deconversion, but still they were almost the last part of my upbringing that I let go. And I can’t explain why.

In our lovely Deseret,
Where the Saints of God have met,
There’s a multitude of children all around.
They are generous and brave;
They have precious souls to save;
They must listen and obey the gospel’s sound.

Hark! Hark! Hark! ’tis children’s music—
Children’s voices, oh, how sweet,
When in innocence and love,
Like the angels up above,
They with happy hearts and cheerful faces meet.
(“In Our Lovely Deseret,” Eliza R. Snow)

I’m sure all ex-Mormons (and lots of other people too) have a most-hated hymn. I have several! But at the top of the list is “In Our Lovely Deseret,” a cheery abomination written for Mormon children by Eliza “Zion’s Poetess” Snow, whose poetry career just proves that “prolific” and “talented” are not even remotely related attributes. The music her hymns are set to is, if anything, worse: do not, under any circumstances, go searching for an online recording of “In Our Lovely Deseret,” because it will colonize your brain and drive you mad.

In second place we have a sixty-way tie between all of the solemn hymns about Jesus bleeding and dying for my sins. They make my mouth taste like the white bread Mormons eat for communion, and the paper cup they drink the communion water from. (Yes, you heard that right: Mormons drink water for communion, and no, I’m not going to try and explain it. I don’t have to explain Mormonism to people now that I’m not Mormon.)

In third place—

Never mind. When I hear a Mormon hymn, I’m transported back to a time in my life when I hated myself. Worse, I believed in an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good being called “Heavenly Father” who hated me, too. Is it any wonder that my list of hated Mormon hymns encompasses the whole Mormon hymnbook?

I was stuck in a horrible orientation at the Mormon Church History Library today, WITHOUT PHONE SERVICE. Here are the irate things I jotted down on my phone while I endured it in suffering silence. (If you want to know why I was there at all, consult this page.)

I can’t believe they’re making us watch a Mormon propaganda film. WHAT.

It’s a terrible film, too, all about the sanitized Mormon history they’re “preserving” (read: creating) here at the Church History Library. *vomit* *puke* *gag* *retch*

LET ME OUT OF HERE. I want to see the conservation lab, not this horrific, manipulative glurge.

I’m-a gonna CUT A BITCH if this video doesn’t end soon.

Thank the good nonexistent god it’s over. Why are they showing this crap to professional librarians? We don’t care about your doctrine or your regurgitated feel-good pablum.

“You wouldn’t believe who wrote to Brigham Young in the 1800s. He was the ‘Dear Abby’ of 19th Century Utah.”

OMG, they debunk over-the-pulpit feel-good stories! At last, something USEFUL.

Okay, okay, you’ve made your case for why you needed this special new building. But why am *I* here, and why should I care??

I wonder what would happen if I asked to see my Mormon membership record. “Whaddaya MEAN I can’t see it????”

Every Mormon ward+stake has a historian who submits an annual “history” to Mormon HQ?!

“The financial records of the LDS Church aren’t going to be released to the public, for obvious reasons.” It’s not at all obvious to *me.* Please explain your reasoning!

They are apparently desperately behind in digitizing their collection.

I did survive the orientation, and so did everyone else. But JUST BARELY.

Well. I wasn’t expecting to move anytime soon, but a room opened up in Craig‘s house and—it’s done. I moved out of my old apartment over the weekend, and now I’m slowly starting to settle into my new place. It’s weird having a roommate, and it’s especially weird not knowing where to put any of my stuff. I may not have tidied up my old apartment much, but I usually knew more or less where everything was, and now… let’s say that the move was extremely chaotic, and all my things are currently living in piles, boxes, bins and heaps all over my room and all over the house.

While I was going through some old things before the move I ran across my Mormon Trove, a box where I had shoved all my Bibles and Book of Mormons and hymnbooks and mission stuff years ago and forgotten about. The scriptures and Sunday School study guides I have no use for, but as soon as I started leafing through the mission papers and letters and notebooks and journals I was sucked right in. I didn’t really keep a journal when I was a teenager, so my mission writings are a fascinating glimpse at a young me who was very earnest, desperately conflicted and working very hard to reassure himself that GOD EXISTED AND THE CHURCH WAS TRUE DAMMIT. Besides my doubts and shaky faith, my mission was incredibly stressful and almost proved too much for me emotionally, and the journal entries provide a picture of a young man continually on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

But my mission was also an amazing experience. I lived in Italy for two years! That still isn’t real to me, especially since traveling and seeing foreign countries is so far from my current life as an impoverished quasi-librarian. I learned to speak Italian, I learned how to cook Italian food, I got to know a procession of interesting and diverse Italian, European and African people. My journals and notebooks brought all of those wonderful things back to me just as much as the bad.

Over the past few days I’ve also reconnected in a small way with other parts of my Mormon past: BYU Men’s Chorus, the BYU ballroom dance teams, the BYU Math Department and Math Lab… all were major parts of my life at one point. I no longer consider myself even culturally Mormon, but Mormonism made up a huge part of my upbringing and a significant portion of my college experience, and a large percentage of my friends and an overwhelming majority of my family are still Mormon. And maybe I’m finally ready to stop being embarrassed by that fact and accept the formative influence that Mormonism has been in my life, for ill and good.

At my birthday party last night—YES, IT WAS AWESOME—I got into a conversation with a friend about belief, atheism, and leaving Mormonism. Both of us have resigned from the Mormon church, and both of us have had to break that news to our parents, and we compared stories of how our mothers had reacted to the news.

That conversation made me remember the I wrote to my parents when I resigned, and I realized I hadn’t looked at it since I sent it three years ago, and that I only had a hazy idea of what I had actually put in it. Turns out it was pretty long and detailed! It also turns out that it does not at all resemble the kind of letter (or blog post) I would write today if someone asked me to explain why I am no longer Mormon. But I’m glad I still have it, because the guy who wrote it three years ago was in a very hard place, and that letter (as well as the earliest posts in this blog) keep me from forgetting that he existed.

And then it occurred to me that I had never posted that letter on my blog for the whole world to peruse! So here it is. (Be kind. I was only twenty-four—the merest child.)

Dear Mom and Dad,

This letter is for you. Once you’ve read it you can decide how much of it you want to share with the kids, but I wrote it to you.

I want to tell you something you may not know about me. As I was growing up, starting when I was fairly young (about five or six), I suffered from mild-to-severe depression and anxiety. This continued all through my teenage years and into my mission. On my mission the anxiety and obsessive-compulsive elements became so strong that I began to have panic attacks, and almost decided to go home multiple times. When I asked for help, I was told that a good missionary would be able to overcome such problems with prayer. Things did get better, for whatever reason, and I was able to complete my mission.

After my mission things quickly became much worse. Even though I was praying and fasting and reading my scriptures, my depression, anxiety and self-hate continued to grow stronger, to the point where I even considered suicide. I saw a therapist, but that didn’t help—in fact, it made it worse. I saw a doctor, and he prescribed medication, which did help. Unfortunately, the side effects were so intolerable that I decided I had to learn to function without drugs.

When I asked myself why I was so depressed, I realized it was because I hated myself. I really, truly did. When I asked why, I realized it was because I was torn between my own nature and the teachings of the LDS church. I told you several years ago that I was attracted to men, but I’m not sure either of you understood how pervasive and fundamental a thing that is in a person’s life. I grew up being told that I was supposed to fall in love with and marry a woman, but that was something that only puzzled and horrified me. On the other hand, the idea of falling in love with a man was completely familiar and attractive to me from an very young age. When I really thought about it, I realized that I completely disagreed with the teachings of the LDS church on this subject: I did not think that homosexuality or homosexual relationships were any less valid than heterosexuality or heterosexual relationships.

I realized that I had always been afraid to question my beliefs; in fact, a great deal of my obsessions and compulsions centered around religious matters and making sure that I never wavered in my “faith.” As I began to hold my beliefs up to the light and seriously ask myself if I still accepted them, one by one they turned out to be nothing more than determination to believe, instead of actual belief. When I questioned them honestly they vanished, instead of growing stronger as I was always told true faith will.

This went on for a while. The short of it is, I now consider myself an atheist. I no longer hold any religious beliefs whatever. I accept myself as a gay man. I no longer hate myself, and no longer suffer from serious depression or anxiety. My obsessions and compulsions are now almost gone. I see this as a positive step, and think I have a happy, fulfilling life ahead of me.

I am dating men. All the things that were lacking in my interactions with women are available to me with men—mutual attraction, love, and devotion. I am interested in gay marriage rights, and am considering becoming politically active in the push for marriage equality in America.

As I no longer believe in the LDS church, and am in fact actively opposed to many of its teachings, I am drafting an letter officially resigning my membership. I plan on sending it right after I send you this letter. I know you asked me to only write you about uplifting stuff, but I figured you would want to hear this from me rather than from someone else.

I love you, Mom and Dad, and hope you will understand. If you don’t (and I know this is hard to swallow all in one bite) think it over carefully, and then call me if you have any questions. One thing I’ve missed a lot is a close relationship with you, and I hope we can take this opportunity to be honest with each other and grow even closer. I don’t expect you to agree with my decisions, and I respect that. I hope you can respect my right to make such decisions anyway.

With love,
Your son
Sean

P.S. Call me even if you don’t have any questions.

That I’m in contact with any of my old friends is a miracle—specifically a Facebook miracle. It’s thanks to Facebook that I’m still in touch with former roommates, former BYU friends, former dance partners, former fellow grad students, former coworkers, former professors and former boyfriends, as well as cousins, aunts, online acquaintances, fellow atheists, fellow ex-Mormons, fellow gays and so on and so forth.

I’m beginning to wonder if this is really a good thing. I just lost a friend, primarily because of what each of us has posted openly online (see the comments on this post). She is a practicing, faithful Mormon who supported Prop 8 and who opposes same-sex marriage because she believes homosexual sex is a sin. In fact, like many other Mormons and many fundamentalist Christians, she doesn’t even believe homosexuality exists, per se. She has written a great deal about her views on her blog.

I, on the other hand, am a confirmed atheist ex-Mormon gay man who believes the Mormon church is a man-made organization that is characterized by bigotry, lies and self-righteousness. I believe Proposition 8 was motivated by intolerance and deception and homophobia, and that the Mormon church bears a great deal of the blame for its passing. Just last weekend I participated in a protest against the Mormon church’s opposition to gay rights and support of Prop 8. I have also made no secret of any of these things on my blog.

So she found my blog and was horrified and upset by what she found here, and I found her blog and was horrified and upset in my turn. I wrote a blog post in which I speculated cynically about the true reasons behind the Mormon church and its members’ opposition to gay marriage. She wrote a hurtful comment in response, in which she questioned my integrity and called me bitter and closed-minded. I wrote a cold rebuttal, which I closed by stating that I didn’t feel much friendship for her anymore. She agreed.

Are there some former acquaintanceships that are worth preserving, at least for nostalgia’s sake, but which are too fragile to handle the constant barrage of truth and stream-of-consciousness honesty that accompany an online relationship? Would Summer and I still consider ourselves “friends” if neither of us had a blog and neither of us was on Facebook? Is it possible to preserve a friendship by willfully refusing to know the truth about another person?

Just a few years ago, Summer’s devotion to the Mormon church and opposition to same-sex marriage would have been things we had in common, not things that drove us apart or set us at odds. People change. Our ideas of what friendship is also change.

And then there is my family. I don’t really discuss these subjects with them, but I’m Facebook friends with several of my siblings, and I’ve seen their status updates and the causes they’ve joined. And I’m sure they’ve seen my statuses and notes and causes. How is it possible to preserve a relationship, knowing what we know about each other?