It seems this way. What I mean is that every day about this time I get depressed and I don’t understand why exactly. I’m generally happy – not super happy, but a content happy. I enjoy my home. Love my home in fact! Yet this darkness invades my soul like a chaotic mix of dread and anxiety. Images pop into my head that are not healthy. I think dark thoughts about hurting myself but quickly push them away.
I decided to write today because I have a burning desire in my heart to get out an emotion that is as old as me. That emotion is tears. It seems that I cannot cry when my heart is hurting. I wonder of that is because of the torture I went through in the cult, being told how horrible I was, and then judged if I was really sorry about how bad I was. The reality is that I wasn’t being bad. Is asking a question bad? Is wondering about something that someone said a bad thing? In my case only if I showed any expression on my face. The explicit use of expression was a violation of the cult leader. Only approved expressions were allowed. So whenever I was caught making any other expression than the approved expressions I was invited into a “session” with the leader and his wife.
What would happen is that he would point out a flaw in my expression and put a name on it such as, “being critical”. I would deny the accusation because I honestly was not being critical. I may have squinted, I may have wondered about a statement but not critical! Regardless, scripture was thrown at me like darts at a dart board. Scripture about how bad I was and was being. Scripture about needing to repent. I did not ever, the many times this happened, ever believe I was wrong. I did know however that unless I confessed to being wrong I would not be allowed to leave their presence.
So I did what any normal person did, I said I was sorry. That never worked. This is where she came in: Judge, jury, and prosecutor! I have memories of hearing endless statements that I really was not sorry. That I was not truly repentant. Even when I cried it was not enough. I had to be broken, and broken is what I became. Eventually I sobbed that I was so sorry. Not saying sorry as in I made a mistake, but that I am a sorry individual, a real mess. Only then was she satisfied that i was truly repentant.
It makes me sick now that those people who claimed to care had such hold on me and brought me to the point of no hope. I didn’t know anything about religion, so I got sucked in easily. I was needy and they are narcissistic. I use present tense because they are still alive, still sucking the life out of people under the guise of a church and “real” christianity. I left them long ago, but the loathing of self is still present. It is almost intolerable at times, like in the evenings. A lot of my abuse happened in the evenings.
Therapy is helping. Maybe being open and writing about it more will help. You see I am quiet even though I am an extrovert. Silence is the only thing that kept me alive in many of the cult situations. But I don’t have to be silent any more. I don’t know how to share myself. I don’t really know how to socialize, or make friends with people. I prefer the safe zone. Safe is where I keep my feelings inside and my tears too! But not really because I am crying to be heard. I feel better just writing this out. I shall endeavor to be silent no more.
butterfliescanfly 