Saturday, November 10, 2001 was the last day I wore the LDS church-approved, church-issued, regulation, knee length, temple garments.
I had not given Donna any indication that I was having a crisis of faith. But I was. It came clear to me the previous Sunday sitting in church that I didn't agree, in my heart, with almost everything that was being taught that day.
I didn't believe God was interested in regulating what I ate, what I wore, and how I spent my money. I didn't believe that Adam and Eve were the original parents of all of mankind a mere 6000 years before. I didn't believe that all of life on Earth, save one family and two of every animal, were destroyed in a global flood.
No big deal, I thought, so I don't believe. I never really liked church anyway. Sunday's were miserable. I hated meetings. I hated callings. I hated home teaching. My first trip to the temple had left me feeling like the LDS church was not even the same religion I was raised in. That feeling never left.
So, great. I was done with all that. Simple.
So, that following Saturday, as Donna drove me to dress rehearsal at the theater. I asked her to stop by Sears. I needed some new underpants to wear with my costume. A pair of black boxer briefs.
As we got to the theater I told her, "I don't think I feel comfortable wearing garments any more. I think I'll just start wearing these. I mean, I don't even feel like a Mormon. It doesn't seem right that I should pretend like I do."
She looked at me in silence for a moment. "OK, have a good rehearsal." She kept a good face on, but she was hurting. I was confused.
Why wouldn't she want me to be true to myself? Maybe I could explain my doubts to her and she would understand.
The chasm that event created nearly destroyed us. The loss of trust, passion and affection led to events that still haunt us.
Leaving Mormonism didn't cause these problems directly. But the barrier it created left us both broken and alone. I was not aware how dangerous a place broken and alone can be.
Broken and alone were the last two ingredients I needed as a catalyst for a really dangerous lifestyle. Drinking, womanizing, overworking, and neglect of my family became the medication to dull the pain and to feel alive.
It has been almost five years since that day. In that time we have survived a separation. We survived my recovery from sexual compulsion. I have stopped drinking as a condition of my return to the marriage. We have survived building a house with my mother together. But she has not yet been willing to hear me out on this issue.
From her point of view, I left to sin, or it was too hard to maintain the standard and quit, or something to that effect. The truth is, I didn't, and I still don't believe. And the longer I am out, the more evidence I find to support my position. It hurts me to know that she doesn't trust me enough to even listen.
In a way, I understand. In so many other ways, I have betrayed her trust. I have hurt her too. Those were mistakes I wish I could undo. So it isn't surprising that she keeps her guard up with me. But it still hurts.
As time passes, the trust is returning. But the walls are still high and the moats are still deep with her. Even intimate moments that should be easy are difficult. Some days I wonder if our history weighs too much for our marriage to bear. Other days are bliss.
I long for a day when we sit on our back porch on a Sunday afternoon, cooking steaks and enjoying a cold beer together. I know in my heart that the best I can hope for is just to still be around from one day to the next.
Filed under - Mormonism
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Frequently, Camille and I go through the same thing. The feelings of hurt and betrayal have mostly gone, but every so often she talks to me as if I'm some kind of alien inhabiting the body of her husband.
It's not like I changed after leaving the Morg. I'm the same guy. Chubby. Weird laugh. Big nose. Friendly, sometimes obnoxiously so. Similar attitudes, though leaning a bit more left wing than right these days. I just don't do the whole church thing.
I can tell it troubles her, but we've mutually agreed it's a topic we simply will not discuss unless there's a pressing need. Need hasn't pressed much, but when it does, there's always weirdness.