This is not my complete story. My exit story is still in progress so this will be only the first part. The final story (complete with epilogue) will be posted in a compiled format in the future. This is the story of how my view of world and my view of myself changed forever.

Part One:

If you wake up in a different time in a different place, could you wake up as a different person? I did.

For the same reason I don't tell a potential employer my political affiliation or religious preferences (other than it's illegal for them to ask those questions) I won't use my real name here. It is because if there is an all-seeing all-knowing God of retribution his name is Google. So for this story I'll just call myself Jack. To make sense of some things, you have to read the beginning backwards. I don't mean read from right to left. What I mean is...well you're going to need some background information. Just read it backwards.

I'm a B.I.C. Mormon. Which means Mormon by birth not by choice. I was born to an extremely influential and respected Mormon family, or at least my immediate family anyway. My Mom and Dad were the only ones in either of their families to hold true to the Church, and boy did they hold on tight. All of their siblings had abandoned the Church and us before I was born. They just walked away without so much as an offer for breakfast or a forwarding address. Whenever we did all get together for the sake of my grandparents or some major family (dis)function, my extended family (read cousins) made it a point to avoid me and my siblings. We were persecuted for our beliefs by my extended family. They avoided and shunned us. They made Mom cry. They made Dad angry. I was so proud of Dad in those days. He was the only worthy priesthood holder of all his brothers. My Mom was so sweet and kind to them all. She'd leave them little notes, cook them food and serve them in innumerable ways. I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection.

I couldn't understand why my relatives and other people did not just respect our beliefs. I lived in a world that was upside-down, a world where everyone was out to get us. I lived in a world that had monsters in it that would get you if you dropped your guard for even a second. I lived in a world where nothing short of perfection was acceptable. So I did the only logical thing to do and put on the whole armor of God. It looked oddly Roman somehow. Wait didn't the Romans kill Jesus? No matter.

I grew up happy in the Church. I knew it was true. I had a strong testimony of Joseph Smith, of his divine calling as Prophet. I knew that if I followed the teachings of the Church I would be happy.

But I had a problem. I had a darkness growing within me. I had a dark side that would sometimes manifest itself in small acts of defiance against Church authority or occasional colorful language to no one in particular. I had the beginnings of what I then believed to be an evil developing within me. A dark side, but without the perk of shooting lightning from my hands. Even as a youth I realized that I had an element of darkness that wanted to be free and it was a frightening discovery. There was also something else...something I could not yet describe. An itch that I could not quite scratch, a memory not yet formed, a word I could not yet pronounce. Something nagged at me and I couldn't quite figure out what is was. I am Jack's enigma.

For a long time my dark side lay dormant; kept at bay by the light side, and kept in check by my knowledge of the truth of the light. I was living the gospel of truth, light, and knowledge. I was happy. Still something was off. Something was wrong. I assumed it was me.

One day, as a young man of about thirteen or so, my darkness manifested itself in an accidental discovery. Somehow, without having ever been taught, shown, coaxed, or otherwise, I discovered masturbation; or rather, my body discovered it for me. It was entirely an accident. I awoke one night dreaming, and in my dream I was doing something strange. When I awoke, I awoke to find that I had violated my pillow. Fortunately the pillow never talked and no charges were filed. The darkness had scored a victory against me while I slept! Of course Satan would do such a thing! How was I to protect myself against evil if I was not even conscious of my actions? The pillow and I never did reconcile our differences. I am Jack Goff.

This is how the psychological and physiological trouble began for me. I began to develop a phobia of sleep. I feared that my, “shadow-self” my, “carnal nature” my, "evil" would manifest itself while I slept and I would have no means of protecting myself against it. Slowly, but surely, I became an insomniac. I knew I had to keep myself just enough awake to prevent myself from being overcome by the darkness and rape another pillow. I vowed that the shadow within me would never have another chance to manifest itself. It was worth the damage to my health and sanity. I knew The Lord would make up the difference. From what I'm told, around that time I began sleep walking. Fortunately, I never woke up beating a cop or making soap for the nitrates. My unconscious nocturnal crimes involved small acts like peeing in the refrigerator and petty theft of household objects. I've also been told that I once talked to a flashlight for an hour while asleep. These things happen I guess.

The evil in my soul found me again in high school as a freshman, this time in through the guile of a girl. She was a cute, petite little blonde. Such an innocent and sweet creature seemed incapable of anything dark or devious. Ours was a typical puppy love story, holding hands, notes in class, going steady until she (not I) decided it was time for our first kiss. I was excited, mostly for the bragging rights to my buddies. In back of the school and with no one around, she kissed me. It was a strange feeling; oddly...wet. Then she kissed me again and something I had never anticipated happened. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I wanted more. I was a naïve kid kissing another naïve kid and my darkness, my evil, had found a new venue through witch to manifest itself. For the first time in my life I felt lust. It would not be the last time, and each time I held it back. I am Jack's swollen vas deference.

Now I was certain there was evil in me. I had learned about this kind of temptation in Seminary (the place they teach you about “semin”), and my first real girlfriend and I broke up when I dumped her the next day. She cried. She didn't know why I dumped her. I knew why. I wasn't going to put down my shiny Roman armor of God (wait is that armor Roman or is it Middle-Ages? Or Aztec? Wait, who made this film?). The darkness would never find me again I vowed. I would never again be tempted by evil. From then until my senior year all of my dates were group dates. I knew the Church was true. Something was still nagging at me. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, and I certainly wasn't putting my fingers anywhere else. I was happy. I am Jack's bored index finger.

On one of the many group dates we watched a film that I quite liked and still like to this day. It was The Princess Bride. After seeing this film I began joking to myself that my inner darkness that would never again see the light of day was my own personal stalking, “Man in Black.” Somehow that made it seem less scary to me. It wasn't a good name choice even then but it was what I had for the time. Frankly, when you can only see PG-rated films due to parental dictate you don't have a lot of other film analogies to make alright? I forgot about it and only remembered it again years later.

My insomnia got worse with time. My coordination and sense of judgment became poorer as a result. I became very, short-tempered and somewhat arrogant probably from lack of sleep or possibly from my ever larger...ego, yes ego. Vanity was becoming my new favorite sin. I knew it, but I also figured it was minor compared to what I had already thwarted. So I didn't fight it.

One day a friend of mine and I were playing basketball at lunch during school when I accidentally knocked him over. I didn't mean to. Like I said, my coordination was a bit off due to lack of sleep and I was getting pretty muscular at the time. I reached down to help him up but as I extended my hand he punched me in the face so hard it broke my nose. Adrenaline pumping and not seeing straight the Man in Black emerged from within me in rage, and I struck him back. I knocked out some of the little bastard's teeth before other students got me off him. Things don't go black like in films. When you get hit that hard, they go red. Red out. We never were friends again after that he and I. I got in really big trouble for this. I am Jacks pummeled upper lateral cartilage.

I began to stay up all night frequently. I could no longer sleep. I felt too much guilt, guilt that would later become intense anxiety. There was an evil within me, there was within me the potential to be a villain. I began to fear that I may actually be possessed by some form of demon, or worse that I was a demon myself. I fought it. I fought by reading my scriptures more often and by praying more earnestly. I was going to win this battle I promised myself. The Church is true. Something was still nagging at me...I really wanted to scratch it, if only I knew what it was. I was happy. I am Jack's itchy epidermis.

The darkness came for me again when I left home for my mission and since this story will already be long I'll skip the freak show that was the Temple. I was clean. I was pure. I had conquered the demons. The Bishop told me so, and he was a wise man called by the Lord so why not believe him? I was going to baptize the world. He knew it and I knew it, and I was ready. I left behind a girl whom I loved and wanted to marry. This girlfriend was a brunette with blue eyes named–I'll call her Jill–Jack and Jill, why not? Jill and I were going to marry in the temple when I got home, the one up the hill (sorry). She loved me and I loved her. We were happy. The Church was true. Something was still nagging at me, something was wrong, I didn't know what. Oh well, off I went to the M.T.C. I was happy.

The M.T.C. was pure hell. It was bootcamp but with less love and more urgent biological needs. Farting I mean. Twelve guys in a tiny room farting all day. That's what I remember. I was mad at myself for not thinking it was a wonderful experience. Everyone else there seemed to love it, or at least they acted like it. My insomnia slowly became a crippling disability. I was unable to function, but I didn't want anyone to know, because that would mean I didn't have enough faith to be healed. I knew it was my own fault somehow. I also knew what had to happen. I had to work harder. I thought that if I just worked harder and had more faith the good would triumph this demon too. “If only I could sleep.” I thought. I was too tired to fight this battle, but I still fought it. I worked harder even as I slept less. It was a mistake, I was getting sick (as in puking sick) this time, but I did it anyway. I was happy. I was sad. I didn't know what I was.

As an aside, do you know what it's like to be a real insomniac? Years later I would see a not so PG-rated film that describes the condition better than any other description I've ever seen. The film is Fight Club. With insomnia you're never really asleep and you're never really awake. Dreams become lucid. The world becomes a haze. Sometimes you don't know if you're dreaming or if you're awake and later you're not sure which was which. It blurs the line between real memories and dreamed ones. You also lose your sense of time and sense of self. At one point, a slice of pizza had a conversation with me. He seemed like a nice guy. I may have eaten him.

That's about the same time I got the, “Dear John” letter from Jill while I was still in the M.T.C. Boy that hadn't taken long. The letter was short. She said she was getting married to an R.M. (Retarded Marsupial) just back from Chile. Had I still retained it, I might have lost my mind over this news. My, "give-a-shit" watch must have stopped at, "half-past-I-don't-give-a-shit" because as I read the letter I didn't care. “Fuck her!” I thought, and then I felt bad for thinking in such language even though at the same time I fantasized about how nice it would have been to turn that pejorative explicative into a verb. She on her knees. Me...stop it Elder! The villain in me, the resistance, the darkness, was getting angry and I was too tired to fight it (him) back. Had this been after 1999, I might have called him Tyler Durden, but Fight Club didn't exist yet, and even if had it was rated "R" and I'd never see such filth. So I still called my demon in persona, “The Man in Black.” I am Jack's broken heart.

My entire mission happened, but it was mostly a blur to me. Still is. I think most of it actually occurred. Some of it I'm sure is a dream falsely recalled. Other parts were probably figments of a ravished mind. The talking squirrel in the city park was probably a dream, that or it was one hell of a smart squirrel. The mission field is something that, what I remember of it, my mind has tried hard to forget. You know, like a traumatic accident that you don't want to remember? Yeah like that only two years of it and rodents of unusual intelligence.

Well that was my mission. All two wonderful “best two years of my life” of it. Half of it was probably just a dreamt nightmare. The other half was a merely a waking nightmare, which of course is much better. My insomnia actually got a little less invasive toward the end since I had companions who were lazy as hell and wouldn't wake me at the mandatory 6AM since they wanted to sleep in. In the mission field I settled into a pattern of monotony and daily routine that made one day indiscernible from the next. When I had the energy, I was the zealous motivated companion who followed the rules to the letter and drove my companions nuts. We worked hard on those days, but we never baptized a single person. I blamed myself for not working hard enough. It was my fault. It was always my fault. I was happy. Right?

I came home and went to B.Y.U. I loved B.Y.U. I loved the Church, it was true, but I had a new problem. The unscratched itch I couldn't identify had evolved into its true form and shown it's ugly head. It was an unbearable anxiety disorder which caused me to do a number of socially awkward things. Just use your imagination I probably did it. I hated most of my classes, but I still got As. My mission had been a complete and utter failure. I knew It was my fault for not working hard enough or having enough faith. I didn't want people at B.Y.U. to know about it. So when I was asked about it I lied. I told them I baptized hundreds. I may have gone a bit overboard. I bore it in my testimonies knowing it was a lie. I lied to protect myself. I saw glimpses of envy in other return missionary's eyes as I recounted false stories of my success. I am Jack's lying teeth.

I was determined to succeed at all costs at B.Y.U. I worked as hard as I needed to for the Lord to love me. I gave my classes, especially my religion classes one hundred and ten percent. To make sure that point was emphatic I didn't just type 110%, I fucking wrote it out. My insomnia returned, this time it was coupled with anxiety. They met at B.Y.U. like so many other bad couples. However, I used this condition to my advantage. Together, anxiety and insomnia allowed me to study long into the night. I'd get an hour of sleep here or there and things got a little blurry again. I would at times have panic attacks. I talked with a goldfish one night. He was a little bit of a dick. I don't think I ate him.

While at B.Y.U. I met the girl of my dreams. She was a beautiful, petite, smart, religious and yet somehow open-minded, fox. She was and is hot. Hot like a sidewalk in Arizona in July hot. I loved her. I still love her. Our courtship was short. We married in the temple for time and all eternity. I managed to get through it all without having a panic attack or talking to the furniture. Our families were so proud of us! The armchair was too. Don't ask how I know.

As a naïve Mormon boy who was still not entirely sure how a female got her business done, I could not have been prepared for what happened on the honeymoon. No one had ever explained to me the biology of sex, not even school. Did you know that getting a bladder infection after sex is completely normal for a virgin if you don't use protection? I sure didn't. We had no antibiotics. My pretty young bride spent most of our honeymoon puking her guts out, which isn't as sexy as it sounds. I thought it was my fault. I thought that I shouldn't have wanted sex in the first place. I was sure that I was dirty. I had infected my bride. For most of our remaining years at B.Y.U. we had very little sex. We also decided not to have any children until we were done with school. It was easy. Mormonism was our birth control. We got harassed about that a lot (the no children part, not being Mormon). My dark persona was by now a tangible part of me that I could summon at will to defend myself. I used him to lie to my family and others. He told them, “we're trying, the Lord has just not blessed us yet.” It was a lie, I was using my inner villain to protect myself emotionally. I felt guilt for it. I am Jack's bullshit.

One year, during Christmas break I had something of an odd awakening. The family, immediate, extended, and hyper-extended, were all together for the holidays. All happy. All happy except me. The Church is true. “What is wrong with me?” I thought. “Why am I having anxiety attacks?” The family opened presents on Christmas day. I gave my parents an elaborate gift for Christmas. My Mom gave me white shirts. Lots of white shirts. Church shirts. It was a bit odd actually. I asked her, “Mom...why all the white shirts? You haven't bought me this many white shirts since my mission!” her reply almost knocked me on my ass, “well sweetheart,” she replied, “you wear an awful lot of black.”

HOLY SHIT WHAT?

I looked at my coat on the rack. It was black. I looked at my pants. They were black. I looked at my shirt. It was dark blue. Phew, close one. I drove home later that night and went through my wardrobe. Mom was right. At least half of everything I owned was black. It was something of a moment of revelation to me. The darkness within me had begun (I thought) to manifest itself subconsciously in the form of my choice of clothing. I was literally wearing black. I cried that night. The vase felt bad for me and sent me some flowers. I threw away half of my clothing the next day. “What is wrong with me?” I thought. “Why am I so evil?” Mom didn't know it but she had unwittingly given me my future moniker and definitively named my evil, “The Man in Black.”

Changeover.

To make a long and boring story merely short and boring, I went to graduate school. I had hard classes. I put in long hours. My dear wife worked hard to support me. I never once wore black (excepted my socks, unavoidable). I had anxiety though. I had insomnia still. I talked to the trees, but they did not listen to me. I got my graduate degree and set off into the world of work to seek my fortune.

In the world of work something extremely bizarre happened to me but it was probably the best (worst at the time) thing that has ever happened to me. The Church members at work shunned me for no particular reason. The nonmembers befriended me. I'm not sure why or how this happened but it labeled me as a deviant person to the members. The stigma snowballed and soon I found that I was being treated like I had a disease by the members. My sin? Befriending the nonmembers. Actually the nonmembers had befriended me, the members had ignored me. The stigma crept from work to the Ward via standard means of communication channels. They call it, “Relief Society.” I call it, "Women who Need Jobs." I was called in for worthiness interviews often. They were convinced I had done something. I had not. I was confused. The “Man in Black” in me came back provoked and pissed. From this point on he never did again go away. He fought my battles and he started to even provoke the fights. I am Jack's smirking revenge.

The members began to treat me badly. The Man in Black came to defend me. He lied to them for me and through me. I told them I was trying to convert the nonmembers. I even entered into a business transaction with a member with whom I worked in an effort to to gain social acceptance. The jackass completely screwed me out of thousands of dollars. My inner Man in Black was back for good now, and now he was angry. I was again buying black clothing, this time on purpose. I had been vilified and slandered. I had been made into a villain. God gave up on me so I decided at that point to give up on Him. Clearly He didn't want me. So I surrendered to the dark-side but killed no Jedi in the process. (My ward had temples but no Jedi Temples, a tragic loss for the cinematography of Man in Black the Movie). If I was to be the villain I was going to embrace the darkness. At least that way I could sleep. I am Jack's wasted life.

I decided from that point that since I was the evil one I'd be the happiest evil one I could be. I accepted my fate. In life we all have a role to play for good or evil. I had always wanted to be the good guy, but life, God, and the Church itself had decided that I was to be the bad guy. So I decided to be (if nothing else) a happy villain. Happy villains are scarier anyway. I tried things I never before would have let myself do, and I did some weird shit. It was not so much that the Church offended me. It was that since the Church had already abandoned me I allowed myself to do things I would never have otherwise done. I read things I otherwise would not have read. It would be reading that caused my change of world view, not the abandonment. I was still an active member at this time even if they hated me. I am jack squat.

As an unforeseen consequence of letting go, sex with my sweetheart got better. A lot better. I asked for (or rather seduced her into doing) things we'd never done before. I was surprised when not only did she say yes but she liked it. We both liked it. The light had shunned me so I thought, “whatever, I'm already the bad guy. May as well enjoy the 'unholy and impure practices.'” I secretly started to call myself, "Man in Black" with a smirk after we'd do it, though by this point I had seen Fight Club and Tyler Durden would have been a good second choice. Still, I was sticking with MiB, since Mom had defined it for me. Even so, I decided that even as the villain I would remain true to my wife. I loved her. I still love her. Storybook story is our song. It actually is. I play it on the piano and sing it to her. She thinks it's sappy. I know it leads to what I wanted in the first place.

(This is the part where I almost put a, “father guide my sword” Princess Bride quote. If I thought dick jokes were tasteful I would have. They are not, so I will not insert any tasteless dick jokes in this part of the story. Sorry to bring it up).

One day, a year or so after having accepted my fate as ward service project, I had another moment of revelation. I had been reading about the history of Freemasons when I came across familiar dialogue. It went something like this:

“What is that?”

“The first token our amazing order of secretiveness... (paraphrased).”

“Has it a name?”

“It has.”

“Will you give it to me?”

“I will through the...”

Whoa. What! How do Freemasons have this amazing ticket in to heaven?!

I began to research the Freemasons. I read and studied everything I could. Somehow this led me to the book of Abraham. This then led to the Kinderhook Plates. Which led to anachronisms and language errors in the Book of Mormon. Which led to “Twenty Concerns with Mormonism.” Which led to “The Double Bind.” Which led to RfM.

A floodgate of new knowledge opened up to me. I read. I read more. I could not get enough of what I was reading. Hundreds, no, thousands of people with stories like mine. I couldn't get enough of it. I read for a RfM for nearly a year before posting myself. It was not the cruelty of the members, abandonment, or offense that drove me out. Their actions merely let me set myself free enough to read. Reading drove me out. Knowledge drove me out.

It was then that the walls of what I thought were reality and my perception of the world came crashing down. Strangely it didn't feel like a tragedy. It felt wonderful. I had a change in my paradigm of reality. I suppose this makes me a “rare person.” I felt as though I were Truman Burbank at his moment of discovery that Sea Haven was a stage. I saw that what I once thought was sky was a painted dome. I saw the empty elevators, staged testimonies, false friendships, and unfulfilled promises. I saw the focus on the temple, not on Christ. I saw the increased focus on tithing, the malls, the universities, the investments. The handshakes, the secret symbols, the changed doctrine, all of it. My eyes opened. My view of the world flipped right-side-up. I saw the truth before me as plain as day. Call it what you will, I saw the Matrix. I am Jack's epiphany.

Go back to the beginning and reread my recollection of my childhood only read it backwards this time like I told you to because you totally didn't.

My family had never been shunned, we drove our relatives away from us. We isolated ourselves from them and from our perceived evils of the world. Mom cried not because she had been persecuted, but because despite her efforts, her family would not reconvert. Dad was angry at his brothers because they not cower to his priesthood, “authority.” My cousins didn't shun me. They were instructed to respect me. Their parents tried to teach them tolerance. They were trying not to offend me. So they didn't include me in anything that might be offensive and, as it turns out, that was a lot of things.

I realized that all normal young men discover masturbation. I realized that all normal young men must by biological necessity cycle out old semen or face the wrath Jack's angry vas deference. (Blue balls. Guys you know what I mean, girls, ask your man). I realized that I was not evil for enjoying sex. All normal men enjoy sex. I had never (and have never) cheated on my sweetheart, I have been loyal to her. I just enjoy sex. I wasn't ever evil at all. I was merely male.

I realized that the M.T.C. really was boot-camp because it has most of the same rules as a boot-camp, right down to cleaning inspection. I discovered that I hated my mission because it was hard work, zero reward, constant belittlement, and daily rejection. Of course it sucked. Nobody would enjoy that. There was nothing wrong with me for disliking something that anyone would hate. I am Jack's complete lack of surprise.

Most astonishingly, I realized that there was never a darkness within me. What bothered me...that itch...that word I couldn't quite pronounce, was that I was intellectually starving to death. What had been growing in me was not darkness but hunger. A hunger for real answers. A hunger for sanity. At its worst the itch became anxiety. I had been surrounded by lies and inconsistencies my entire life, and what was growing within me grew worse with time. It was a hunger that was driving me mad. I am Jack's Medulla Oblongata.

The change happened suddenly. The world was not upside-down. I was. It wasn't everyone else who was insane. It was me. I didn't love the Church. I hated it. I had always hated it. I had always known that something was wrong with it. The Man in Black was not my inner demon at all. He was not a figment of my imagination, a demon, or a nightmare. The Man in Black was me.

I had not embraced darkness. I had embraced myself. I embraced sanity. I was so desperate, so hungry to escape from the prison of deception and lies that I let myself do things I would not normally have done. The Man in Bl...no...I was so desperate to escape from the lies, the deceit, the unfulfilled promises, that I was willing to give up everything and embrace the darkness. What I ended up embracing was myself. It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

I am The Man in Black.

There is more. I realize now that the name which is today my RfM moniker, the demon, the horror, was never even a villain. The Man in Black is as actually the hero of this story. I'm not implying that I'm a hero or that I'm awesome or anything like that. I'm saying outright that I'm the hero and that I'm awesome. I am not the villain. I am not evil. I never was. Most of my life I had been asking the wrong question. Most of my life I had been asking, “what is wrong with me?” what I should have been asking was, “what is wrong with my Church?” I am no longer Jack. Jack isn't here. Jack is gone. It's OK. I never really liked him anyway. He was a douche, a prude, a phony, a faker. He died of humiliation. Nobody noticed.

I am the Man in Black.

For the first time in my life, I like myself. I'm smart. I'm witty. I'm funny. I have many gifts and if you think I can write decently wait to you hear me speak! I'm a good man. For the first time in my life I can say that and believe it. I have found myself. I may be merely a man, an imperfect man, but that's OK. I have chosen to wear a reminder of my symbol of self-discovery. I have chosen to literally be the man in black and wear black (other colors are optional and I wear them too as I wish). I refer to myself now in the first person. I am the Man in Black. Yes, I have a normal everyday name too. If we meet in person, like for lunch or something, I will give it to you through the table, but you must promise to never divulge nor forget it. The all-knowing, all-seeing Google God is not a forgiving one.

I still have an insomnia disorder. Fifteen years of insomnia disorder doesn't just go away with a whim, but the unscratched itch is gone. The anxiety is gone.

In film, the antagonist, the villain often wears black, but I now realize that sometimes the hero does too. Boy ain't it a trip where heroes come from.

My story doesn't end here. Part two and the epilogue cannot be written until it happens. From where I stand now it looks like it will be a happy ending, though no doubt it will be a dramedy along the way (with lots of great individual episodes). I have however, already written the last few lines and because it's already in my legally-binding will I can give it to you now. I hope it's not a spoiler. It reads, “Some were shocked, others were outraged, the ones that mattered were proud. No preachers from any denomination were allowed to speak at my funeral. I was buried in my best black suit. In life I was an enigma to many, a friend to most, and a hero to some. In death I was buried as myself. I laid to rest as the man in black.

-MiB



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/22/2011 08:54PM by The Man in Black.