Making inroads into understanding oneself and the ways events have impacted a person involves perceiving the information in stages as a person gets stronger. In this way, the process is akin to that of peeling an onion. The layers within the human psyche scarred by long-term trauma exist with the least threatening material lying closest to the surface, followed by layer after layer of progressively more difficult material to deal with. The peeling of these layers takes persistence and time; sometimes a very long time.
I used to wonder in dismay why I could not just get my life together. I tried to learn ways to be as healthy and functional as I could and inevitably every path would end up in insanity and complete collapse. More times than I can count, I was fighting a life and death battle and came close to suicide over and over again. After all, everyone else in my family seemed to just be able to “pull themselves together”, but for some reason I could not; or could not for any span of more than three or so years.
My family was always critical of me for doing what they considered “digging up the past”. They could not understand that what I was doing was about survival. They could never understand that my whole life had been survival. I was not satisfied with living a life of mere survival. I wanted to live a free, full life, and some kind of cancer was eating my soul and keeping me in terrible bondage. My lifelong quest has become to find out what has been keeping me bound and to find out how to free myself.
I never wanted to find the terrible things that came from peeling those layers back. I only wanted to find the truth. My whole life felt like some kind of gigantic puzzle that I needed to solve. There were so many missing pieces. I so very much wish that the unspeakable things I have found contained in those layers were not true. Oh, if it were so simple as to be explained by haywire neurotransmitters, then maybe there would be a pill which would make it all just truly go away. But sadly it is not so simple. To deny that these events happened is like choosing to not see the blackened fingerprints of a burglar in one's house. Indeed, those fingerprints were covering my soul and remain on the souls of my childhood family simply because they have denied their presence for so long that they most likely don't even see the dirt. In their blindness they see a clean surface perhaps marred by regular use and accidental injuries; nothing more. This fact makes me very sad. It is hard to maintain one's own witness in the face of denial.
No one has ever put words to the events I have endured and witnessed until now. Words put onto the ghostly memories of events which everyone but me would most likely deny became the substance which carried those memories to another place where they had substance and form and could become a solid piece of my history instead of wraiths, forever pursuing me across the darkened landscape of my mind. It was for life most full, and because of my love for God, my children, and my husband that I pressed on, and keep pressing on.
I have often been preoccupied with wondering how many people I have spoken these things to believe I am insane. I am sure my family of origin deems me insane. Of course they would. They must. The alternative to them is unthinkable. How can I be so sure I am not insane? There are many reasons I could go into as to the reassurances I have been given by many people that I am not insane, but the single greatest reason I believe I am not is this:
Only since finally unlocking and becoming aware of the organized aspects of the abuse I have suffered throughout my life have I finally been able to move forward. The center of the onion has been laid bare, and I am finally moving on. The fingerprints are being acknowledged and removed. For real. The past is becoming the solid past and I am becoming saner and freer. I am finally able to define joy, and even embrace it. Never could I do that prior to 2005. I didn't even know what joy was. I no longer need an anti-anxiety drug just to get through a day halfway normal. I now have hope for the future and I am not struggling with suicidal thoughts and urges constantly. I am now able to learn skills I should have learned in childhood, but as I was too busy surviving I never learned them. My family had repeatedly told me to “pull myself together”. Well, pulling myself together means KNOWING.
If all of these claims of mine were the products of some fevered psychosis, wouldn't it stand to reason that in indulging in these “fantasies”, not to mention others around me agreeing with them, I would be catapulted further along the trajectory of insanity? Wouldn't the “crazy” seep into all areas of my life? What has actually happened is the complete opposite. I am now more whole, solid, grounded, and sane than I have ever been in my whole life. Knowing about my history as a ritual abuse and mind control survivor and taking responsibility to become free of outside control and trafficking, as well as free within has provided me with sanity. Now I wish to reach back into the darkness and help others who are trapped there to find their hope and freedom also.
For years I struggled with my inability to cope with ordinary life. It seemed like everything I touched turned to chaos. I was forever spinning my wheels, struggling through till the next total collapse. I went to therapists, participated in support groups, and ran to God again and again, begging for understanding and freedom. I was hospitalized in the psych units twice and given drugs and more drugs to make me functional, but all they served to do was to make me an active puppet on strings, instead of a collapsed puppet on the ground. In short, I spun my wheels for 20 years.
So what changed? 2005 came and with it came earth shattering awareness. 2005 is the year I “woke up”. Looking back, its like my whole life prior to that year is filmed in black and white, and changed to color that year. The ominous fingerprints of ritual abuse in some distant past began to become visible. As I followed this path forward and traveled into the darkness within, I began to learn more; more about hidden societies within society, more about double lives, and what people will do for money, status, and power. The shattering realization that my own family had been in collusion with this evil and had even handed me over to criminals and mad scientists for money was more than I could bear.
Worse than that was the dawning realization that this shadow world and the terror within it had not stopped with my flight from my home town, or the state. It had followed me and kept me bound wherever I ran to. And it wasn't just in my mind. By the end of that year I realized that I had lived my life as a completely fractured person, living as a “normal”, albeit troubled mother, wife, Christian, and student, but also living as a terrified, trapped slave in an occult world of blackest darkness.
One would think that this kind of awareness would complete a descent into madness, but in my case, it has brought liberation. I am still in the process of filling in the gaps of my history. The castaways floating through my mind are coming home. We are becoming One. At last my tortured soul has found rest.
These days I am having to devote the bulk of my time and resources into the recovery of my physical body. All of the abuse and stress of the past has led to serious illness at this point where I am no longer able to work. My career as an RN is in the past. Fibromyalgia, and now Chronic Fatigue Syndrome have brought me to a place where every day feels like I am coming down with the flu and sunlight causes searing pain. Doing a load of dishes and cooking dinner are the monumental accomplishments of the day, every day. But even though I am ill, I am at peace. I have hope. Everything is going to be okay.
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It’s gonna be a bright Sun-Shiny day.