I grew up in a family of seven in a small village in Suffolk , England -- one sister and three brothers. My mum was quite religious and went to the evangelical church, so I got to go to Sunday school. By the time I was 11, I stopped going. We never had prayers at home and I don't ever remember reading a Bible.

At seventeen, I left home and immigrated to Australia. It was easy in those days (1973). The whole journey cost 150 pounds. The next few years of my life was pretty unstable. I spent the next four years traveling around Australia and New Zealand. Although I made lots of friends, they were not permanent friends. I was often alone and as a youth became very lonely. Often I would stay with relatives -- uncles I had living in Australia. Although they made me welcome, after a couple of nights it was hinted that it was time to leave. My parents had broken up in the meantime and also migrated to New Zealand. Sometimes I would stay with my dad and younger brother. As I did not know anybody in the town I became increasingly lonely so would head off hitchhiking, just so I could find people to be with. I don't know why I couldn't find friends in the town. I was too young for the pubs and too old for the school system.

By 1977, I had gone back to England. We shared a flat in London, four of us. I had one permanent traveling companion. I decided to go to Germany and left him to sell the car and come over, as he never had enough money for the fare. I never saw him the car or the money again. On returning to London a couple of months later, I found the flat was empty, everybody had moved on. I found myself wandering around London in a depressed, empty state of mind. It was quite a strange feeling, almost like the end of the world or something. I decided to visit an auntie in Devon. I caught the train the next day, it was a nice holiday. I spent a whole week there before I was given the nudge that it was time to move on. We used to holiday in this place when we were children. My mind was very reflective as I thought of my family which had broken up and spread all 'round the world.

On the way back, I stopped at Salisbury and Stonehenge. As kids, we used to camp there right next to the burial mounds in the woods. The woods were haunted by the sound of hooting owls. To me, it was magical. Later that day, I was hitchhiking on the outskirts of Salisbury. It was snowing and late afternoon, people were rushing to their families and homes, I was standing on the road trying to get a ride, wondering where my next home would be. Four years was actually quite a long time to be without real roots. As I was standing there, this voice seemed to speak to me as if by telepathy, like mind-to-mind, it was very distinct, clear and had a precise instruction: go back to NZ, stay there and do not move. This instruction was so strong and clear, I immediately walked off the road and went to stay in a hotel. The next day, I caught a train to London, and then the first flight to NZ. I had not intended to do this before the imposition on my mind of this voice.

A few months later, I went to a three-day rock festival called Nambassa. It was a weird scene. Some people were already conked out on the sides of the road before they even got there. At the festival were miles of old camper buses as realms of hippies and back-to-earth junkies descended on the place. There were thousands of young people there, some of them running around naked following their dreams of integration with mother earth. The whole thing was right by the sea, but it was a long walk down steep cliffs. I finally got to the sea. It was heavy surf and a steeply inclined beach. Rashly, I went out into the surf not really thinking. I was soon in trouble. There were no life savers. I began taking on water as the waves crashed over me. A terrible fear gripped me as I began to feel myself going under. Luckily some people on the beach saw me in trouble and came out to rescue me. Another person was not so lucky and drowned on that beach that day. After I got out, my whole life was changed. I was so grateful to be alive, I could not stop crying for a whole day. I spent the whole night in the Hare Krishna tent overwhelmed with joy to be alive. So I decided to visit the Hare Krishna farm the following weekend. To cut a long story short, I finally joined the mormons.

For the first time in my life, I was in a settled and productive society, mormonism. I married in the temple, had five children and served in various callings. I was in two bishoprics as a counselor and one stake presidency as a secretary. I became very intolerant. One Sunday, I came home and the TV was on. To teach my wife a lesson, I cut the TV power cable off. Our marriage was happy most of the time; however, our worst fights always came on Sundays, usually because I wasn't happy about the Sabbath being broken. My wife was born a member and you know what they can be like. She had long since evolved a system of putting up with mormonism. At church we say yes, and when we get out, we do what the hell we like, but my conscience was seared. I couldn't be any thing but a zealot. During this time, I began to have my first problems with anxiety and depression also lust was breeding in me. I was walking around in a suit trying to be like god, but whenever I was sent to teach anything in a skirt, my whole mind was in total confusion. Lust and religion doesn't mix very well. Despite this, I didn't break any rules and the problem was an internal one. By 1990, the depression and lust problems were completely dominant. I went to the temple one weekend (we used to go every month), and the temple president began preaching from C.S. Lewis's "Mere Christianity." I was so impressed, I bought the book. When I went back to the temple a few months later, the temple president had been released. I wondered if he had been released for preaching non-church doctrine. As I read "Mere Christianity," I began to long for release and freedom. I suddenly felt trapped in mormonism, but did not know how to get out. I read other non-mormon religious books and decided to tell my bishop I was going to leave. I walked into his office and told him. He asked for my recommend and that was it. I walked outside in the corridor and told my wife I was going to leave. Big mistake. She burst into tears. All the members gathered around asking what was wrong. She told them between the sobs that I was leaving the church. Suddenly I was public enemy number one.

The next few months became increasingly depressing. I was out on my own again. There was no support from anywhere. The biggest struggle was coming out of the garments. I would drive to work in my naked condition, feeling sure that I would be killed. When I got there safely, I was quite surprised, but then the gnawing anxiety would get me. I began getting angina and became very sick. I had a nervous breakdown, my nerves were crunched. I began to have serious cluster headaches. Life became unliveable, so I decided to go back. I stayed there for another 12 years, but the unhappiness and depression continued. Then one day, I was sitting in priesthood. It was a hot, boring day and the first vision was being read out in a doleful manner. Suddenly this expression came out from deep within me: so why don't they tell us about the other three versions of the first vision? This was a powerfully upsetting moment for all that were there. That was the end of my life in the mormon church