Tag Archives: abuse

ever since June 3rd

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I’ve had an email in my inbox that I’m terrified to read.  Turns out I’m not the only one who writes about the pain of the church.  One of the other people wrote their story and emailed it to me.  And I’m totally gonna read it.  But I’m scared.

I guess, I feel that their pain will be more real if I read it.  Maybe, it’s easier to think that it’s easier to contain if I’m the only one talking.  Maybe it’s cause I’m a Leo.

A double click will keep my commitment.  I feel like such a hypocrite, publishing tomes of my memories and not being able to read theirs.  But when I was showering, I thought about something else.  It’s bigger than me.  I think that reading their story will make mine times two. And open an exponential door into a monstrous house of pain.

If I hurt this much and they hurt this much – and there were 40 families.  That’s just too much.  It’s too big.  I feel like it’s opening the front cover of a really big book.

I also feel like this whole thing is a mystery.  I hear so many stories about how the church ended, how it crumbled.  But I don’t know 100% because I’m the one who walked away.  I got disowned by my family and excommunicated, yes I engineered it.  And yes that played a big part in exposing a lot of the BS going on.  But I’ve learned there were so many other factors at play.

So, after walking away from rubble it’s scary to walk back in and excavate and see what really went down and what the damage was.

But, dang I feel like a hypocrite for not being able to read that email.

outside talking to the outside looking inside

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Recently, I had a phone conversation with somebody who is the best friend of one of the people from the church.  (You found my blog online.  Now you are in it… Hope you don’t mind…)

But she’s been friends with the woman from the church since before the church.  And she knew all of these things that had happened.  She knew people, names, had socialized with some of us.  She knew my mom.  I heard what it was like for her to be the best friend of someone in a cult.

How scary, it must have been for her.  She walked a delicate balance because she didn’t want to drive her friend away.  She was a delicate anchor.

It made me think of the person I met before I left the church who told me that what I was experiencing might be abuse.  She was very gentle.  She knew that if she came at me passionately that I was freak out and shut down and run away.  I am forever grateful for her intuition that helped me find a way out of the church.

It was amazing to hear her talk about it.  Validating in a lot of ways, because what happened was so weird.  And sometimes it feels like a bizarre dream that took up the first half of my life and haunts the second half.  She talked about the cult de sac where so many people from the church lived and how some realtor listed it as hot property because it always sold so fast.  They didn’t know all of the demand was driven  by a cult trying to buy into the same area, and that once the church was gone the demand dried up as the families dispersed.

She talked about one of the women in the church, who has a very special place in my heart.  But she saw a completely opposite side of her.  And of course she would.  Because she doesn’t know that that woman was my very first dance teacher when I was five years old and she’s the one that gave me the keys to my soul’s freedom.  She was also my brother’s first art teacher and although the Army crushed my brother’s arm, he’s still an amazing artist.

There was anger in her voice and that made sense too.  The same anger that is in the voice of a lot of my friends.  The anger of “WHY DID THIS HAPPEN TO SOMEONE I LOVE”.

It was a good talk.  It was a hard talk.  I was proud of myself because when it got too triggery, I set a boundery and we moved on.  That for me is progress.   But, it really opened my eyes to the damage of the church.  The friends and family that were cut off from loved ones because of this cult.  Because of the spiritual abuse and the forced isolation.

I still have so much trouble reaching out to my blood family, because I see them as a them and not a me.  I am trying so hard to change that in me.  That and something called ambivalent attachment disorder, which is something you get when the people who are supposed to keep you safe do so only some of the time so it’s not reliable.

way back machine 2

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Setting:  I’m 14.  We are in the pastor’s office.  He is in his big chair.  I am on the couch.  I was in trouble because it was found out that I hugged a boy that I was in a play with.

Pastor: So tell me what happened.

Teen Feisty: I saw C after rehearsal and he said, “give me a hug” and I did.

Pastor: That’s it?

Teen Feisty: yes.

Pastor: So, if any guy asks you for any sexual favor you give it to him?

Teen Feisty: What?

Pastor: He demanded a hug.

Teen Feisty: Well, he said it casually.

Pastor: And you gave it to him?

Teen Feisty: Well, yes.

Pastor: And that seems ok to you?

Teen Feisty: yes.  We all hug all the time.

Pastor: He’s different, he’s worldly.  When we hug it’s because of our love of each other and God.

Teen Feisty: Everyone there knows me and wouldn’t hurt me.

Pastor: A hug can be a sexual act.  Think about it, Suzi.  Your breasts were on his chest.  Your breasts were on his chest.  What did it feel like with your breasts on his chest?  Did it feel good?  Did you feel like a woman?

Teen Feisty: I didn’t think about it that way.

Pastor: What did it feel like?

Teen Feisty: Just a hug.

Pastor: You are getting big breasts, and every man that wants to hug you is going to want to feel them.

Teen Feisty:  What?

Pastor: You are not to talk to him again.

Teen Feisty: We’re friends!

Pastor: Better to lose a friend now than to be found unworthy later.

way back machine

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The setting:  I am 11 and I had a rash or something on my thigh.  Our pastor wanted to look at it because he had medical training and it probably didn’t need a doctor’s visit.  I am in the pastors big leather chair wearing a shirt and my underwear and a towel over my underwear.

Pastor: OK, let’s see the rash

(I show him and am careful to keep as much as possible covered because it’s at the top of my inner thigh.  I am really scared.)

Pastor: Hmmmmm.  It doesn’t look too bad.  Is it itchy?

Little Feisty: yeah.

Pastor: WHAT?

Little Feisty: Yes.  Sorry, Sir. Yes.

Pastor: It’s probably from your tights and dancing.  Do you wash them?

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: Are you clean down there?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Show me how you wipe after you go to the bathroom.

Little Feisty: um….

Pastor: You can show me over the towel.

(I pantomime for him, and it feels awful)

Pastor: OK good, that shouldn’t cause a rash.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: You might need to dance without tights for a while and I’ll have your mom sit you in an oatmeal bath.

Little Feisty: ok

Pastor: We need to have a talk.

Little Feisty: About what?

Pastor: Well, you’re in the older school with the older kids.

Little Feisty: yes

Pastor: And you’re the youngest.

Little Feisty: yes (I was very self conscious about being in my underwear and a towel)

Pastor: Do you like any of the boys?

Little Feisty: What?

Pastor: Do you think any of them are handsome?

Little Feisty: (I was silent for a long time, because I had two crushes and I was not sure where this was headed, but I had to come clean once I was asked) yes

Pastor: who?

Little Feisty:   J & B

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: What do you mean?

Pastor: What does it feel like when you are around them?

Little Feisty: I feel happy.

Pastor: What else?

Little Feisty: um…

Pastor: Do you feel it physically?

Little Feisty: I guess?

Pastor: where?

Little Feisty: um…. well (and I started to cry) I feel something in my vagina a little bit.

Pastor: What does it feel like?

Little Feisty: A little warm and tingly.

Pastor: And do you masturbate and think about them?

Little Feisty: NO

Pastor: you don’t?

Little Feisty: no

Pastor: You need to be very careful, you are growing up.  And getting toward a dangerous age.  Masturbation is a terrible sin.

Little Feisty: I don’t do it.  I know it’s a sin and I never have.

Pastor: I’m going to go talk to your mom, put on your pants.

Little Feisty:  ok

Then we went home.

ouch

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Life is better for me sober.  I have to say I miss some of the social situations in which there was a lot of drinking, but it’s still better for me to stay away for now.  My last real binge was in Sacramento, where apparently I do most of my drinking, on January 29.  So, it’s been a long time.  I don’t think I’ve had as much as a glass of wine in about three months.

But there’s this part now, where other people are getting used to my sobriety now.  And they are telling me how my drinking affected them.  How things I thought were hilarious, were in fact-horrible.  I feel really humbled and grateful because I get to heal a lot of relationships.  It’s the hardest when it’s from E, BFF or M and they are telling me about pain that my drinking has caused.  They keep sticking with me and I love them so much.

It’s overwhelming and I try not to get self-loathing.  In a lot of ways, I was coping the best I could then and now I can cope better.  I trust the people who are supposed to stay in my life will do so.  But I’m sure that, same as with the divorce – I may lose some more in the process.

This triggers something in me, because I need to keep solid on my emotional boundaries.  The church forced us to confess every thought, every feeling.  And I don’t have to do that anymore, but that is really hard.  I think that feeling like I owed everyone everything that was in me, was one of the reasons that I needed to be numb – or have an excuse when I drank.  Or maybe alcohol is delicious and I’m a drunk.

Obviously still working on it.  I don’t know if I need a why.  What happened to me was big, and I needed to slow down my brain – stop the hyper-vigilance and coast for a while.  Most sufferers of PTSD self medicate in some way, and I think that I’ve been working really hard and caring for myself in a lot of ways, and now having a really caring, understanding partner, these parts are coming together to take these shaky steps of trust towards dropping this crutch.

possession is 9 points of the problem

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I haven’t actually talked about spiritual stuff here in a while.  So, let’s get weird.  I don’t remember how old I was when I was baptized with the holy spirit.  The bible says that some are gifted with tongues, but everyone in our church got that gift.

I remember, everyone praying and anointing me and the gift being given.  I remember trying to speak in tongues.  Being told that it’s ok if it comes out slow, if I only get one word in the beginning.  I felt immense fear and pressure, because I wanted to get it right.  What if the devil was going to speak through me?  I was scared, because I’d already had several exorcisms deliverances by the time I was baptized by the holy spirit.

I uttered a mumbled jumble of a word, and to my relief people around me rejoiced.  I was told to repeat it and repeat it.  Then I got another word and then another word.  On our winter retreats when we fasted for three days, it got easier because we were more trance-like.   Eventually I would get the feeling of being taken over, and I really loved it.

About three years ago, I saw a spiritual leader because I was feeling very confused about my life and she looked at/in/through me and said that I had no spiritual boundaries.  And that was probably one of the reasons that when I drank I drank too much because I love the feeling of being taken over.

Which of course leads me to Greek mythology.  You see the maenads, were worshipers of Dionysus.  And the maenads embody the wild, dancing intoxication.  The fully giving over of one’s self to the trance like power.  The spiritual leader told me that I needed to start learning how to basically stop leaving myself wide open to  possessing wild women who have no regard for me and leave me scratched, bruised, remorseful and sad the next day.

Dionysus, being the Greek god of wine, is also the god of madness.  The greater and the lesser madness.  He created wine for the greeks enjoyment but if they over indulge and have too much, they will be taken over by the greater madness and the maenads will get all flesh rippy and cannibalistic and generally gross.

He is not the obese overindulgent Bacchus of the Romans.  Dionysus wants balance, he wants you to find your joy and your lesser madness, so that you don’t get lost into the greater madness.

So, right now in my journey of sobriety I am weatherproofing this thing.  I was opened up for channeling as a child and it still happens sometimes.  It’s like having a cat door in your soul and a raccoon gets in, kinda.

I just want to make sure that I’m the only one in here making decisions.  I’m sure, this post makes me sound insane.  But, well, my life has been fricking weird.

problems with authority 1

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You may not have noticed, but sometimes I have trouble with authority.  Most recently this played out with my personal trainer where she said, come in twice before our next appointment-do these things or “you’ll be punished”.  She couldn’t have been more playful when she said it.

I even wanted to come in.  But I swear that phrase triggered me and my “fuck you shoes” were glued to the floor and I couldn’t go.  I said about a thousand times, I need to go to the gym.  I wanted to go.  But I couldn’t get there.  Why couldn’t I just get off my ass?

I felt weak and dumb.  I didn’t feel like I was “rebelling”.  I just felt like there was a force field between me and there.  Like I couldn’t get there.  I realized that between doing something or taking a punishment, I will take my autonomy and their punishment every time just because I can.  To prove my freedom now.

But seriously, I’m 35.  They aren’t going to get me anymore.  Half of my brain knows that, if I hold my head to the side and smack it, will my lizard brain get it?   It gets exhausting trying to prove myself to them, especially since they aren’t there anymore.  And since what I was rebelling against was healthy for me and something I wanted.

This is one of the consequences of emotional and physical abuse.  Now that the SCARY is internalized the problems with authority and internalized and I have to be at the gym in 42 minutes explaining how we’re going to have to come up with different language so that I can get my ass to the gym while I work on the cobwebs in this new dark corner that’s been lit up for me.  And not feel like a jerk or a delicate flower or make her feel like a jerk.

all you need is love 2

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Now it’s easy for me to feel that since I breached trust that I am horrible, icky, nasty.  I remember a time when I was 16 and I had my hair cut off as a punishment that if anyone asked why I cut my hair that I had to say that it was because I was a sinner and (something else I don’t remember…)  But that became a part of my identity, my scarlet A.

So, I feel like when I’ve “sinned”, or hurt somebody I love that I need to wear a banner of shame or an albatross.  It seems it’s more productive to learn from it and integrate it into your life and move on after forgiving yourself as a stronger more mindful person in the world.  Crazy.

So, E and I have been nesting and I feel really loved and supported.  I feel like I can make “mistakes” and he can make “mistakes” or we can “act from our shadows” or enact behaviors from our past that were once necessary.  Although in our initial communication, there may be misunderstanding there is light and space to step back and speak in a loving way about how we communicate and what the root is.

This and the giant rocks falling off of me, gave me a lot of courage.

all you need is love 1

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I’ve been very silent and internal.  Having posted a blog would have been like reaching into a tornado and pulling out one piece of debris and saying this is my focus.  But I’ve had no focus.

I mean, I’ve been focusing on my physical.  Which brings me right back to my emotional.  E’s and my living space that was quaint and intimate when we moved in has become neither and we need to go when our lease is up.  It’s an important part of our “stay in love plan”.

He and I went through a hard time recently.  There’s this sneaky person in me.  She used to sneak eat when she was growing up.  She used to get  tricked and then punished by authority figures.  She never could believe the reality presented to her was really what was going on.  So, this person (um…me) ended crafting her own reality in a lot of ways.  Becoming a kind of social manager, control freak, because if I know every thing that’s going on then there are no surprises.  I create the reality.  I am the knowing one.  I choose who to let in.  And while there aren’t a lot of surprises, there are surprises when you are with someone who actually wants to be with you creating your path equally.

It’s been so hard to let down the levels of walls and controls that I didn’t even know where there.  Manipulation that I didn’t realize I was spinning, so ingrained in me, until it was coming out of my mouth.  It’s been so hard to just be at peace and listen and be in a conversation without having to figure out what my move is three moves ahead.

So, to my credit I have a lot of successes in this.  A couple weeks ago, I didn’t have a success and this crack in the trust in our relationship is what led me to realize how deep this fear is of just being is.  Of believing that if I am totally honest and can have an open conversation about my wants and needs that it will most likely work out.  But if I am sneaky about it, it just won’t.

This has been a gift in our relationship, a lot of growing and healing has happened really fast.  I went and had some body work done and she hit an area where I had some stored trauma apparently and I cried for about 12 hours.   Then about 2 days later, I felt like 200 pounds of stone that I had been encased in fell off of me.

punishment

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So, recently I’ve been thinking about aggression: verbal, emotional, physical and spiritual.

Verbal and physical seem easy to spot. Yelling and hitting. Those are no-brainers, you’d have to be stupid… oh what, that’s emotional aggression.

Several events have been weighing on my mind lately. One of the adults from the cult, can’t forgive themselves for the abuse they were forced to give. If the abuse wasn’t given there were consequences for the adults. She sounded tormented.

About the kids. What kind of emotional abuse has to occur for a sixteen year old girl to stand up and turn around, pull up her skirt to just under her butt and wait for the repeating sting of the PVC pipe? I was always disassociated and miles away. But I had to stay in my body long enough to remember to cry because Pastor wouldn’t stop until I had cried. After punishment, we would hug and pray. I think this is where my ambivalent attachment disorder really flourished.

But beyond the church, I see people punishing themselves and others, cruelly. We were constantly taught to love and expect persecution in this life, because it would steel us against the forces of evil. But, it resulted in this task based love. You are only as good as your last good deed. I remember so many times kids would do a hundred good things and it would be expected. They would have a slip up and people would say, “now I know what you are made of, this is your core.” What about all the good they did?

At least I get to cry when I’m upset. At least there’s nobody telling me to “man up” which is about the ugliest phrase ever. I’m sorry that our jacked up culture doesn’t let guys express their hurt. You can tell me if you want, I won’t make fun of you or emasculate you. Guys have to take whatever’s given and either turn it into repressed brooding or rage, perpetuating the abusive cycle. Gross gender generalizations, I know, please forgive me. It’s just so many men aren’t given a chance to have the space to feel and that breaks my heart.

Keeping score, tallying points, all of this can go to hell. It breaks your brain and causes barriers. The people who got out of this cultural phenomenon of Terebinth Fellowship have survived a lot. And there was an abusive system created to keep us all quiet “sheep”, they used that word proudly.

But it seems to me that of many that I’ve met and are still in contact with the punishment and self-loathing that they taught and beat into us is still in full effect. We don’t need them anymore since we can abuse ourselves. Reading about one of the conditions I have, my eating disorder and addictive tendencies make more sense because of the abuse going on during those formative years.

It’s really hard for me to know what’s what. Since I was disassociated (excommunicated) and disowned, I feel like I am always running. I forget that there were years after me. I just walked away (after making an elaborate plan). I am really angry right now, that I can’t just fix myself, get over it. There are parts of my brain that are wrong because my world wasn’t safe.

Today, I am angry. Because I feel like in some ways, I didn’t get a chance. Today, I am grateful because in someways, I’ve defied a lot of odds. And I haven’t let go when I wanted to. I had a really hard week. Brutal. And I was apologizing and berating myself for everything. E wasn’t blaming me for anything. I just feel that when things are going wrong I wish someone could hit me so that there would be catharsis and everyone would feel better and then it would be ok.

Yup, it’s fucked up.