This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

I just finished reading "Post-Traumatic Church Syndrome: A Memoir of Humor and Healing," by Reba Riley. Her book caught my eye because I suffer enormously from PTCS — and humor helps.

Riley describes her yearlong journey to find a replacement for the spiritually abusive brand of Christian faith she was raised in and subsequently fled. She visits 30 other potential substitutes — including Mormonism, Buddhism and atheism — to see what might work for her.

While I don't have the same need to find something else to believe in, I have had to compensate for PTCS in a variety of ways. In fact, it's almost a weekly occurrence.

As nice and spiritual and special as church attendance is supposed to be, it frequently (for me and those like me) fails to live up to its claims — refreshing, renewal, recommitment, etc.

For Mormons, this failure manifests itself in a variety of ways, including some that can actually become injurious.

For example, there are periodic Sundays when speakers visit wards at the direction of the stake presidency. These speakers are not known for scintillating deliveries on gospel subjects. In fact, many Mormons actually flinch at the phrase "High Council Sunday."

Then there are ward speakers who rely on age-old gospel tricks like guilt, unworthiness and even outright accusation to stress the importance of behaving oneself.

The last time I actually considered throwing a hymnal at a speaker in Sacrament meeting was when he served up a bloody autopsy version of the atonement, a rant about the agonies suffered by Jesus in order to save my miserable soul.

"Brothers and sisters, even the Lord's eyelids and the inside of his nose bled for you. The soles of his feet. His ears. The least we can do is pay a full tithing."

Some people enjoy that stuff, but for me it's hard to come home from something like that feeling spiritually fed, much less non-homicidal. Then my PTCS really kicks in.

Something else that sets me off is correlation, the ridiculous notion that everyone should believe, think, dress and worship the same — otherwise they're out of step with the Brethren.

The worst of this abuse occurred on my mission, where the pressure to conform was not only enormous but also routinely ignored by me for no other reason than it drove the perpetrators of PTCS nuts.

Some people might suggest that failing to feel the spiritual energy of church is my fault, that I'm simply not focusing on what's important. I should try harder to connect.

They might be right. And they might also be idiots. There are people simple and dogmatic enough to be edified by what others find mindlessly boring. I'm just not one of them.

Them: "Well, then, you're just not in tune with the Spirit."

Me: "Yeah? Stuff some scorpions in your underwear and try tuning in to the Spirit."

I've learned to cope by finding my own place. When last week's high council speaker said, "There is no place for light-mindedness in Sacrament meeting" I said, "Cool, that's me out," and I left.

There are all sorts of PTCS-causing factors in religion, including outright ecclesiastical abuse, enormous family pressure and garden-variety shunning.

Like Reba, how you cope with it and still get what you want/need from your church/group is a personal thing.

Me, I tolerate a certain amount of what sends me toward the edge in order to get what I want — the nursery, where light-mindedness is a gospel requirement.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.