Confessions of a Cult Member

I attacked with a beautiful anger. Justification in every way; confined by this religion. My plans were suspended while being a doormat for these men. They travel; we stay behind. They teach; we learn. Hours of reading scribes on the weekends coupled with long hours of work throughout the week. How did all these children become my responsibility when I am barren? Being made for family and companionship turned me into a servant. Their god is unlike any. He wants to destroy. He hates a multitude of people. “We are above the entire world” they say. “Come follow our ways and you will be the wealthiest. Enlightened to the highest extent. Sons and daughters of the father.”

It was just fun and games until I started asking questions. Somehow, it felt as if I were drifting away. No conversations with the outside world; no way to share thoughts and opinions. My family supported me, but I was unaware. Blinder than the blind. Sick from entrapment. We had no privacy, and gave our earnings. Even the children were militant. They’d role play the soldiers marching back and forth from the pear tree outside of the temple. My health began to fade. Stressed from an acute feeling of my loins; crying every-night. Unwanted twitching in my eyes is accompanied by migraines. It was against our laws to trust in western medicine; however, no natural remedy was discovered.

Evil acts from leaders were ignored or exalted. I’ve seen things I cannot talk of. The women were required to work and care for children; while doing everything for the men. We sewed everyone’s garments and put on our rags. We were nothing less than objects for use. It was taught that an affliction to the womb was a curse that needed to be lifted. The barren were stuck in a somber state feeling as if their efforts were not enough. I can attest because I was part of many. Left believing that my inability to conceive made me less of a woman; contemplating suicide.

It felt like we were aliens in the entire world. The long stares, pointing, and laughing made us accept our sector. My creativity was stifled due to my covert radical thoughts. So many others withheld their thoughts and feelings. So many others continue to be trapped and I fear for them. I would ask for them but I don’t know who to pray to. The love and understanding in my soul pours out to them. I left; they shunned me to hell. Yet I try not to let their judgments consume me. They labeled me as a wicked whore and an infidel.

Today my heart bleeds and my soul shivers. Searching for love in a world where hate is apparent. Wanting to trust yet tired of disappointment. I’m free, so I thought. The cell has opened, but I can’t move from my seat. Needing some help and afraid to ask. Forming connections and cutting the cords. Hurting others because I’ve been hurt. For years I was living in the middle of a battlefield. Now I am still at war.

The damage is perpetual. Can you set a broken glass? Can you bring a frozen cadaver back to life? We do our own beds but sometimes I wonder if the covers have been tainted. Is the game rigged? I struggle to get my category, and my place. Maybe I belong here in another dimension. My hope lies in the unknown, along with my strength. They got me with anoxia; anxious and fearful. They have made up my resources, and my companions. However, I am grateful because they were not in a position to take my life.