My First Religion:

I got out of a diasporic religion when I noticed that I had no power over my own life or feelings, they had given me a full plan on how to live my life with complete control over every aspect; diet, clothing, profession, friends, and acquaintances. It was in the year 2000, I was married at that time. They even gave me a full description of my husband's personality and traits of "goodness".

Of course the consequences for leaving; insanity, poverty, loneliness, and the destruction of my children's lives!

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Introduction

I left a religious cult that I dedicated 7 years of my life to. I believed that I was following God by obeying the organization.

What is their objective?

With this belief, the goal is to recruit as many members as there are people in the world. Global indoctrination. Through the members' labor and through any means they infiltrate schools, government, religious organizations, and any individual persons.

"We are one."
"Healing all nations."
"We must die, in order to live."

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Mom's voice on the line sounded concerned and slightly judgmental... "So, do you have a Christmas tree in your house?" With 2,000 miles between us I had the comfort of freedom to decorate knowing she wouldn't be stopping by unexpectedly. I had the freedom to try the things I'd been curious about.

The Christmas Spirit always seemed to me so good at the heart of it, though from the platform and literature we were admonished that as true Christians we knew Jesus was not in the holiday - with its pagan roots and symbology - and we were so lucky to be unencumbered by the financial burden of obligatory gift-giving and the stress of holiday shopping. Yes, how lucky - even non-believers would tell us so as they sighed under the weight of their to-do lists and gift lists. 

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I did not know until I knew
Shadows coming to life anew
Muted echoes, far-off calls
Familiar doodles on the walls
Illuminated in a flash
Unleashing in a tidal wave
The past

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I was born into and raised in an abusive, apocalyptic, religious cult. Instead of going to school and having a childhood, I was raised to be an obedient soldier with no will or value of my own, expected to follow orders blindly and without question.

Every day, it was ingrained in me that I was worthless, ugly, and stupid. I was NEVER to consider myself in any other way, as doing so would be "selfish." I had no rights as an individual and was NEVER allowed to say no. Personal belongings or emotional attachment to things or people was strictly forbidden and violently punished.

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I was born into a world that was designed out of fear, to lock me into a cage, program me to be an asset with no needs, desire and individuality of my own.

The world was designed to transmit the suffering of another.

I got out when I realised “the Family” was never mine. I was a subject, the slave for a cause that was never mine.

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***CONTENT WARNING***

I was sprawled, staring at the roof, trying to focus on dots of…something? I couldn’t tell what they were because my eyes wouldn’t focus and when they did, the dots multiplied.

My body was airbourne for less than a 10th of a second, but it still came down hard. Where are we? Is this a dirt road?

A sudden turn. This time, my body slid on the slick, white leather seat. I knew it was leather because the Man driving had made sure to tell us it was. At least twice. I was not impressed at all. It still feels like plastic, and I was sliding on it just like plastic.

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From the perspective of a first-generation survivor.

I was in the cult for 15 years (1975 - 1990). I was 17 when I joined and 32 when I left. My experience is that the cult evolved from an international group of dedicated Christians aspiring to preach the gospel and serve God, to a sex cult, and then a child sacrifice cult.

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~~~TRIGGER WARNING~~~

I wanted to speak, but I did not know the words for what I was seeing and feeling.

I was born into a “pedophile-led sex cult”. As a child, I did not know what any of those words meant; they did not exist in the vocabulary of the adults who raised me. Yet there were memories my mind could not process, that still haunt me today.

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Why would anyone want to rejoin a cult?

I was born and raised in the cult that my parents joined before they’d had any kids. I left as a teen to get an education and to get away from an organization rife with abuse and neglect, which functioned through forced labor of all members, including children. I’d been out for five years when I briefly (re)joined1. I’d only meant to go on an overseas trip with some friends, but I changed my plane ticket and stayed, telling myself that I’d finally found “home.”

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~~~CONTENT WARNING~~~

Excitement was in the air.

It was dress up night. This was a common occurrence in the cult. Since we were not allowed to mingle with "outsiders," we would often have themed dance nights.

Tonight was gypsy night. We spent the afternoon finding odd ball loose clothing to wear. Often our outfits were whatever we could make with the sheets on our beds.

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The cult I was born into exerted complete control over the people within it.

My parents gave up their careers and ambitions, donated their wealth, and severed ties to the outside world to be part of a community they felt purpose in. The cult removed outside influences such as TV, music, media, and school, and replaced these with cult propaganda. Anything that contradicted the cult's teachings was branded as ungodly and sinful.

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At the time I am writing this, I have just turned 50 years old.

I am four-and-a-half years out of my last group. Or two-and-a-half-years out of the other group. And twenty-one years out of the second group. And twenty-two years out of the first. And somewhere in there, there was another almost group. Or two.

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Before I put my toe in the water, I had to first get to the source. There had been no plans really to get wet, but when the shimmer of the sun hit the liquid, it was presented simply. Here it was, before my eyes, however just a puddle. Little did I know this fluid would become an ocean, nor did I imagine once I felt the texture of the liquid, it’s very essence and my perception of it would change beyond belief.

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When I was twenty -two, I uprooted from Southern California after completing a degree in theater at UCLA, got rid of everything I owned, moved Paris, France on a three-month visa. I had a notebook with a few people to contact there, and no other plan or preparation except a bilingual education and the intention of staying indefinitely. I was following my dreams.

I was also escaping my life in California.

My mother had jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge when I was 14. The incident was swept under the rug by most everyone while I struggled to blend in, to feel and act normal. I was living with my narcissistic father and his enabling second wife and family in an emotional wasteland, isolated within a group. I was only able to walk the bridge a few years ago.

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I want to talk about the little patch of sunlight
something like a silver lining, but painful.

When I was a child I was kept in an institution
a building like a hospital with a wing for a school
and annexes where about two hundred of us lived–
invisible kids, girls without options, abandoned by Community.

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For a few years in my early 20s, I was involved with a spiritual group that turned out to be a cult. And now, in my early 30s, that experience still haunts me. This writing is a way for me to work through my thoughts and feelings on what happened to me during that 4 year time period of my life.

My memories of what happened are still very clear to me. The whole ‘spiritual journey’ of the cult was a long process of me giving up myself, my family, my personality, all while super sad about it … feeling like it was for the betterment of my spirituality or my spiritual enlightenment. I was going to finally make it to where I needed to go as a spirit and finally come home to who I really was and feel whole and loved. (At least that’s what I was taught.)

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I was born addicted to alcohol.

At the age of one, I entered foster care, where I’d be tossed back and forth from my birth mom’s to 11 different homes. I started getting sexually abused by my birth mom from ages 3-5 years old.

When I was 5, my own birth mom sold me to her brother-in-law on Christmas Day for his own sexual gratification. After that specific abuse, I went back into foster care, never to see my birth mom again.

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“A symbol of transition and transformation, the frog supports us in times of change.”

It sounds insane to say, but a reckless road-hopping frog helped push me to decide to get out.

For the first year after leaving, I believed and said my time on the road was the best time of my life, filled entirely with adventure and excitement. For the following several years, I would try erasing that period from my memory forever.

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I got out of a group that I originally thought would help me become a more confident and effective person in the world. While I was in this group, I participated in several exercises that I now know are standard manipulation tactics in abusive cults and relationships.

I participated in these exercises with the full force of my being. I really believed I was helping others and, myself. I really believed I was special and had an opportunity to change the world for the better.

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