To gain your own independence is easier said than done. You often believe what is told to you no matter your age. I grew up with a mother who told me that when I went out into the world, the world would use me and I would never find peace. She said I had bad genes and that I was the product of a rape. She would tell me I was full of demons and I was saddled with the "Demon of Silence". Many more times than not, she would come into my room in the middle of the night and begin casting my demons out of me.
I remember sitting up and moving to the edge of my bed. I was thinking about how long this would last. Normally it went on for an hour or so, or until she and whomever had joined her at the time ran out of energy leaving my room. My mother lives in a fairly large home. It was bought by one of the parishioners in 1976. Grant it, even in its hay day the total number in the congregation was under fifteen members.
It is kind of funny when you look back and realize that your mother was the cause of so much sadness. When you are the daughter of the person that runs a cult I don't think happiness can ever be readily at hand. She would tout herself as an evangelical minister, but she never went to any kind of school with any given association to the evangelical belief. She was self-proclaimed. She looks at herself as holier than thou. She believes, along with my step-father that they have the authority to cast out demons and perform exorcisms. As of today they feel the same way and I believe that this is how it all started for me. At odds again!!
"Call the Police", my mother shouted from the breakfast room as my step-father was following me through the dining room. "Call the Police" she shouted again. I walked back to the breakfast room and asked "Why?". "Because you will not get on your knees and pray" she screamed. I said, "its your home and I have done everything you asked of me" I proclaimed. I went on to say that I felt like a prisoner in my own room. She screams at the top of her lungs, "Go back to it", I did.
Nine or so hours later a knock on the door made me scramble for balance. I scramble in fear worrying it was them, saying, "just a moment". I opened the door and to my surprise there was a line of police men. They escorted me down the hall to the front of the house stopping in the front hall. This would prove to be the first time I blacked out since I was a kid in the same house, in the same place, the front hall. All I really do remember is the officers asking me, "who are these people". I could not respond, I just sat and shook with fear putting my hands up to rest my head. This took place on March 5, 2009.
Not to many hours later the flashbacks began. There I was at 850 Bryant Street, a police station downtown. I was surrounded by people yelling and screaming. I was handcuffed and having my picture taken. They asked me where I lived and I told them that I had just been arrested out of my mothers home where I had been residing for the past six weeks. This was to be the beginning of a six-week stay at the city jail in the worst pod you could be assigned. I ended up being released and all charges dismissed.
How is it possible to achieve your own independence while put into a predicament like this one. Well, first you go slow, very slow and do not panic, if at all possible, don't panic. I asked myself, "what makes you happy and what makes you sad?". I took a deep breath and thought about it for a while. I reminded myself that I am no longer four years old, (that is a plus), and, that I have a voice. Lastly, going from first to last seemed to make so much sense, I took the time to say to myself in silence, "I believe in myself and I know my story is true!" This is what I did and it is what I have been doing every day since.
When the flashbacks began I was both horrified and terrified. I felt like my mind was on a split screen television and was running movie reels in my brain. It did not matter which way I turned, whether my eyes were open or shut, the tickering of the movie projector continued. I felt as if I were in a surreal world of make believe, being both there, in the past and here, in the present. It was nightmarish.
There I was, 2 years old being raped, by whom, I could not see. How was this happening? I did not know. I was physically choking in the very live moment, while in my mind something was being rammed down my throat. I looked around me and I was standing in the middle of my jail pod with a deputy yelling at me. "Whats wrong with you", the screaming echoed. "Can't you here me call your name?" I snapped out of it and became lucid again. This how it has been since. I am getting better but apparently it will never end, its strange to honest with yourself this way.
I would like to be angry, but, how can I be? It's me. I have had horror after horror and yet if it had not happened I would not be the person I am today. I may be screwed-up, definitely in need of many things, but I love me. I have survived something that apparently should not be survived and I am present in the moment. That in itself is a miracle. I was baptized in the church of Satan, raped and molested, spiritually abused, abandoned, beaten before and after school to keep me from talking and I am still here. Fighting for my life is an everyday affair for me.
I often tell myself, "I did not survive this for nothing". Then I ask myself, "what did I survive it for". Interesting question if you ask me. Apparently, survivors, survive, it is just what we do. Regardless of the situation or circumstance it is our nature and we are professionals at it. It is like a job of sorts, I, am actually very passionate about my survival, I am still here. I believe I am here to "right the wrongs", but in all truth I don't think I know exactly what that means. However, it is what has pulled me through very difficult times.
I do still spend a lot of time asking myself and thinking about "why am I here". I am sure you ask yourself the very same question and that it is not unique to me. I do believe that making a difference is paramount and to do this is extremely important. How you choose to do this can be a priceless gift of love. My gift to you is my story, my perseverance, my truth, myself and my peace of mind.