So here it is...My exit story....or more accurately...my lifelong battle with a religion.
I apologize for the content of my story and some of its graphic nature. I cannot help the things I was exposed to as a result of growing up in TSCC.

I was born the youngest of 5 under the covenant. I have 3 older brothers and a sister. We lived in the heart of mormon country. My parents tried to be good people. They trusted their leaders and their god. So when we lived in Idaho, I was 3, my parents took in a young Navajo boy from the reservation. My understanding of it is that the church set it up with a number of LDS families to have kids from the reservation stay with them during the school year so they could attend a decent school. Because their bishop had asked and they never questioned their leaders my parents took him in. I think he was 10 or 11. And for 3 years I was molested and raped while my mom took rest of the kids to the grocery store. I remember crying that he was hurting me and he told me "You better learn to like or no one will want you." We moved from Idaho to "Happy Valley" Utah when I was 4 but he still came to us for the school years. I found out a couple of years ago that my mom caught him undressing my sister and he was reprimanded but they never kicked him out. They just didn't bring him back the next year. Anyway no one ever found out about what was happening to me until my late 20's.

My father believed in "spare the rod spoil the child". He was stubborn and couldn't handle my brother and I. We were difficult children and he often went after my brother. Usually because my sister, who was perfect, complained that he was making faces at her or some such nonsense. From a very early age, as early as 5, I took the role of protector of my big brother. He was my world. He is still my hero. When my dad would go after him, dragging him across the room by the hair or arm for a beating I would intervene by jumping on my dad and banging him on the head. I always knew it meant a thrashing with the belt buckle and then knees on rice but I didn't care.

Fast forward a few years. Still living in happy valley and I had blocked out my early childhood trauma. Another stray, one of my brothers friends from church molests me at 12.

At 13 my 2 oldest brothers are on their missions and we had moved to the east coast. I went through a major culture shock. I was a complete freak to these non mormons. I had a horrible time adjusting. I eventually made a few friends but I still never fit in anywhere. I was the odd one out no matter where I was. I carried around the idea of being dirty because of the molestation at 12. He had told me that I was dirty and it was my fault for being such a whore. I didn't even know what that was. I just knew it must be aweful cuz I had seen it written on bathroom walls. I didn't fit in at church because I didn't conform. I liked weird music like Cyndi Lauper, Adam Ant and Depeche Mode. Certainly not wholesome. At school I didn't fit in because I wasn't bad enough. I was teased and threatened and stuck up for myself instead of cowering. I quickly gained a small following of misfits I called friends. We were a rough crowd and I learned a lot about the world from them. By highschool I had my school friends who were experimenting with sex and drugs and then I had my church friends who were told to stay away from me by their parents. The thing was was I wasn't doing any of the stuff my school friends were, not yet anyway, but I was different. I sucked at conforming. I had a big mouth. If something didn't make sense or reaked of injustice I said so. I dressed weird but modest but this was viewed as trying to stand out. Certainly not appropriate for a good mormon girl. I was the opposite of my sister in everyway. My brother that was my hero was paving his way to excommunication and was looked down on and my love for him was also frowned on by the adults. I was told in seminary that I should not love my sinful brother more than I loved god. I had responded that god hadn't done anything for me and my brother had. I was sent into the hall to sit and think how that was wrong. Never did figure that one out.

Sophmore year My brothers friend that had molested me at 12 came from Utah to live with us. I had never told my parents about it so they had no reason to think it might be a problem. One morning on my way out the door to early morning seminary I noticed someone on the couch. I craned my neck to find him making out with a girl. They had been out all night I guess. I looked up and said "whats the matter you jealous? Want another go?" they both laughed and went back to it. I freaked and told a friend at school and they told the guidance counselor who called my mom. My mom came in and told the counselor I was lying and just looking for attention. I ended up recanting. My mom made me apologize to him for telling such nasty lies. The whole time he just had a grin on his face.

In the spring of my Junior year one of my best friends committed suicide. I blamed myself because he had asked me how I would do it if ever I wanted to. I had told him that someone I knew had hung themselves. He had hung himself. My world fell apart. I began having terrifying nightmares of being molested and raped as a toddler. In my nightmares and day mares It was all flooding back. I thought I was going crazy. I didn't understand what was happening. I became depressed and very soon suicidal...although I didn't act on that urge for many years. I promised my brother I wouldn't do to him what my friend had done to me. At the time my sister was on her mission in London and I began writing her about my feelings. Even though we had never gotten along, prob because my brother and I had tortured her, I wrote to her and confided in her. She was my only outlet. I told her everything I was feeling except the flashbacks. I soon realized these weren't just nightmares after all I was often awake for the flashes. I began to suspect they were repressed memories.

Everything I thought I was...became even more true. The flashes were so detailed. I even remembered his words. I believed his words. After all, I was in young womens to learn how to be a wife and mother. That was my purpose. To bear children. That belief coupled with the memories and trauma just confirmed that who I was was a thing to be used. I became sexually promiscuous and doing whatever drugs I could get ahold of so that I could disappear when they were in me. Mostly pot, PCP and acid. I really didn't even like being high but it was a break from being me and anything was better than that. Around this same time my bishop who had a grudge against my dad tried to excommunicate me for some rumors that were going around. The rumors weren't even true but I ended up being disfellowshipped for awhile. My dad found out and ripped the guy a new one. My parents had no idea that the rumor paled in comparison to what I was really doing.

By the end of highschool I didn't believe in god and I believed in him more than I believed in me. I eventually stopped doing drugs to self medicate because I was getting into harder and harder drugs and it scared me how much I enjoyed them. I got a job at the local hospital and managed to usually transfer to a different position before I got fired. I eventually started seeing I therapist and psychiatrist and was diagnosed as bipolar. The next 12 years were spent in a psychotropic drug haze. I don't remember a lot of it but I was living with my parents went to church off and on to keep them off my back. Then I gave up on even that. I have no idea how many men and women I have been with during that time. I was like space trash clinging to anything and anyone with enough gravity to pull me in until they shook me loose. I had one guy tell me "Your fun but not the kind of girl I would ever take home to mom".

During all of this I was also having repeated surgeries for endometriosis. By 27 my doctors had exhausted all possible treatments, hormones etc and I had to have a total hysterectomy. I had to tell my parents at my therapists office. My mom was livid. How dare I go against my divine purpose. My mom told my Dr that I am very convincing when I want to be and that I didn't need it. Luckily my Dr didn't listen to her and was actually disgusted at what my mom had tried. My Dr told my mom when I was coming out of anesthesia that I never could have had children. My mom still is angry with me for it to this day.

At 28 I was on 12 different psych meds and the drug haze had completely stripped any sense of reason and coping. I attempted suicide for the first time. I was tired of fighting and tired of hurting and just needed it to stop. I was at a "friends" house and OD'd on all my meds for the month. He was a Phys assistant and rushed me to the ER. After a day or two in ICU I was taken to the locked psych ward where I met my future husband. He asked if he could come stay with us as he had no where to go. I asked my parents hoping they would say no but they didn't. He was only supposed to be with us for a week. 3 months later I was married. I had married a man who was extremely abusive. A fact I did not discover until our wedding night. He showed all the potential signs of being an abuser but I was very mentally ill at the time and was unable to make simple daily personal care decisions let alone one such as marriage. 3months and 3days later I made my 2nd suicide attempt. He had beaten me our wedding night so bad that the cops had come to our hotel room. I didnt know what to do. I couldnt cope with what I had gotten myself into. I believed what I was told about why I didnt feel the spirit. I was evil and dirty. My husband and I went with my parents to the hill cumorah pageant. My husband started showing interest in the church. I now know it was to gain favor with my parents. All i could think of was maybe if he was a member things would be better. Maybe the beatings would stop. I didn't believe in the church or god but if it made the abuse stop....i could pretend. He took the discussions, gave all the right answers...after all I was coaching him at night, he promised it would help and that he felt the spirit....of course he was still beating me but that would change right? He was interviewed and found worthy for baptism. Now that couldn't be right...shouldn't the branch president know? I decided I had to say something. I spoke with the Branch President and was told he would talk to my husband. That talking to never happened. My husband was baptized and received the priesthood.

I ended up staying with him for 3 years. Towards the end I started cheating on him for solace. Again not the right choice but it was survival at that point. I confessed it to my Branch President who made me tell my husband who beat me. I told the Branch President again what he was doing and his response was well you were cheating on him so I think we need to address that. I was sent to Family services for therapy. Somehow me receiving therapy didn't make the beatings stop. At some point during all of this I learned about Post traumatic stress disorder and realized that all my behaviours and coping that had resulted in the bipolar diagnosis were just me trying to deal. Also during this time I had told my mother of the abuse who of course told my father. They felt guilty but not enough to ever take responsibility or to choose me over their church. I eventually found the courage to leave him but the impression the experience left will never leave and it opened my eyes even more to the corruptness of the church and their false leaders.

My mom had grown comfortable with me being sick and needing her. And my husband thrived on me needing him. Him and I were homeless in san Francisco and I became involved in a group for trauma victims. With their help I soon learned that they both needed to be sick and I wasn't willing to be that for anyone. After leaving him I slowly started to get better. I learned I was allowed to have boundaries and through therapy and guided imagery I learned that all the strength I needed I had within myself. I moved back east with my parents where I found a group home for adults with mental illness. I moved out and through friends on FB discovered an exmormon group where I started to learn the true history of the church. All that it took for me to decide to write my letter was that JS and BY had married and manipulated youngs girls into being "wives". I have read others stories of abuse at the hands of mormon leaders and Kimballs "the miracle of forgiveness" and that was the last straw. I always thought I was worthless. I thought I didn't feel the spirit because I was dirty and unworthy but that wasn't it at all. The "spirit" is a tool to manipulate and control sheep. To keep us subservient and the money flowing in. Women are simply a means to that end.
I wrote my letter and sent it in and have not been on psych meds since. I am going to school and am engaged to the most wonderful, kind, caring, sexy, and patient man ever.

Besides my brother and myself rest of my family are still very TBM. My father is Branch President and my Mother is Seminary teacher. My mom actually used to ask me questions she didn't understand so she could teach her class. For some reason she doesn't anymore. It might have something to do with I refused to help her brainwash anyone. (I put it nicer than that when I told her)
To play on that old mormon saying. I love the sinner but not the sin...I love my family but not their faith.

My mom and dad still push but I always cut off the conversation. I try not to start fights or discussions but they always seem to do it for me. I just refuse to discuss it.
This isn't a complete story but I actually was attempting to keep it short.