Posts by TJ - iAmCleared2Land

62

Can raising a child JW contribute to later psychiatric disorders?

by journey-on in

i read about the high incidents of mental illness and psychiatric disorders among jehovah's witnesses and it .

started me thinking about why this is and how so.

then i made this list and realized how much a child's psyche.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

Can raising a child JW contribute to later psychiatric disorders?

ABSOLUTELY, YES!

That's a good list you put together, Journey.

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

How is your relationship with your parents now? I'm not sure I could stand to be around them...

Thanks for the hugs, babygirl. I need 'em right now!

My four natural siblings (two boys, two girls) have nothing to do with my folks and have all, in the past two-three years, left the religion. We don't talk to the parents at all.

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

Tij, thank you for sharing your experience, and please never apologize for long posts... (look at mine!). I am glad we all found each other and help each other through the muck of the past.

Here's part 4. (I'm writing this as I go, part 5 isn't written yet... I post a bit to you, then go write more, that's why it's taking so long). Thank you all for your warm comments, hugs, and, yes, sympathy. I love you all.

Part IV

While living at home, I found solace in music, reading, computer work (step-Grandpa gave me his old TI-99/4A when he upgraded to a Commodore 128 and Amiga). With it, I taught myself to program. It saved programs on cassette tape, and used a small B&W television as the monitor. Without it, I would have never been permitted to have a TV in the bedroom. Still, we were forbidden to watch TV on it... but my brother and I used to get up at night and turn it on, and we loved catching episodes of Airwolfe when we could.

Dad played the guitar (he couldn't hold a tune or play very well either, Step-monster was better at it than he), so I picked up a bit of that as well, and wrote my own music and songs. I had a crush on a sister in the hall – Wendy – and my brother had a crush on her sister. I enjoyed visiting with her at the hall, and imagined one day we might get married (I was 15 or 16 at the time). I'd write poetry and 'love letters' to her, none of which I gave her, just my own writings in my room while sitting on my bed... it was one of my 'escapes' to a better place.

I came home from school one day and Step-monster had found evidence of sneaked-in-food in my room. She proceeded to make me take off most all my clothes and emptied my backpack... and of course she found the food I'd brought home from the trash can at school, which disgusted her, but she also found my 'love letters' to Wendy. What she did next, though, began a long pattern of meddling with any relationship I tried to establish with other people.

She picked up the phone, with me standing there in the kitchen, and called Wendy's mom... I dearly loved her family, even her parents... they treated me and my siblings like 'real kids', and loved us as their own... I was just beside myself with embarrassment as Step-monster stood there and read all my love letters to Wendy's mother. Wendy looked at me a little differently after that—not in a bad way, either—I think she was tickled that I wrote love letters and poems about her. We never got together; she went on to be a need-greater in Guatamala or something like that.

This interfering with relationships is something that would continue through numerous relationships, not just with girlfriends, but relatives, other families in the hall, and so on.

It wasn't until many years after all this passed that I found out why so many of my aunts and uncles and cousins stopped talking to me. Dad and Step-monster had told them that I had been diagnosed with a mental disorder (scizophrenia) and had been given a prescription to deal with it, but refused to take it, and that I'd proven to be a danger to people, so they should be careful. NONE of that was true... not one word of it. But they believed it, and stayed away, not returning calls or seeking to talk to me.

They even would send letters to the body of elders at new congregations they'd learned I moved to, warning them about me, stifling progress and new opportunities, unbeknownst to me. Some progress was made when, at one new hall I moved to without their knowledge, the brothers got to know me for some months before my folks sent their introduction letter. Then, when their letter did arrive and it didn't 'jive' with what and who they knew me to be, the PO called me into the back room and read me their letter. NOW I finally understood what was going on... I didn't understand WHY they were doing this, but I understood at least what was going on behind my back with my name and reputation. I've since come to believe that by keeping my integrity and sanity in question, they protected themselves from anybody giving serious credence to any charges or accusations I or my siblings might bring against them.

Funny thing... I never ran away, though I wanted to. I just couldn't leave my younger siblings alone with them. I felt I'd be abandoning them. My eldest step-sister, however, did try to run away once, jumping from the second-story window and breaking her wrist. I always thought that odd, as she didn't get the kind of discipline and abuse we did, but in light of events that came to the fore recently, I wonder now if there was more plaguing that poor girl than I knew at the time.

Beatings were common, too, not just the emotional turmoil I've mentioned so far. Dad would use his belt, Step-mom a metal pancake turner (spatula) with slots in it (which would leave little pill-sized welts on the back of our legs), or they would hand us a knife and make us go cut a switch off the tree or bush in the yard, with the warning that 'it better be a good one, too, and you better not cut all the knobby things off it or I'll go and get a REALLY good one!!' The spankings weren't across the buttocks, either, but around the back of the knees, six inches higher or lower, which left nasty little cuts and welts that would swell up, blister and bleed.

I remember my baby sister (probably 8-10 at this time) getting in trouble once, and Step-monster wailing on her with the switch in the dining room. I was standing on the stairs, watching this happening, wanting to intercede but paralized with fear, for which I'm truly sorry and ashamed. My baby sister was so brave... and defiant. As Step-monster whipped away, my sister refused to cry. The lashes came more severely, as Step-monster yelled "YOU BETTER CRY!!" My baby sister yelled back "NO! I WON'T!" I remember thinking "Oh, sis, please PLEASE CRY!" But she didn't, and I learned a bit there about how to stand up to the monster.

The time that scared me the most, and also taught me the most about who these people who were supposed to be my parents really were, occurred after this as I decided to take the same sort of stand as my sister did. Step-monster was trying to get me to cry with her whipping on something I did wrong, and I wouldn't. I didn't SAY anything to her, I just didn't cry. And it DIDN'T HURT, EITHER! I thought at the time maybe Jehovah was protecting me... but I didn't FEEL her whipping me at all. It was GREAT! She was getting so mad that I wasn't crying, and I felt GOOD about that.

So, when I wouldn't cry for her beating, she called Dad in. He got up in my face and picked me up by the neck, put me up against the wall, and started screaming at me. My siblings were saying "DAD, NO!" but he told them to shut up and get out of the room. He dropped me off the wall, grabbed me by the back of the shirt and dragged me down the hallway, from the kitchen all the way to his room, and closed the door. I was petrified now, as he NEVER had taken me to their room before. I didn't know WHAT was about to happen.

He told me to drop my drawers as he took off his belt, and then he made me lean over and grab the top surface of Step-monster's makeup desk. Before he spanked me, he reminded me that this hurt him more than it hurt me, and that he was only doing this because he loved me. He asked if I understood that, and I nodded. Then he started to spank me, repeatedly. Again, I didn't cry, I refused to grant him the satisfaction of a single whimper. If my baby sister could do this, so could I. He told me, "You better cry, boy!" He kept repeating that phrase, with more and more intensity in his voice, as he continued to spank me. I could hear my siblings crying elsewhere in the house.

And then it arrived; the moment that provided clarity to me. I happened to tilt my head up and I saw his face in the mirror as he "lovingly spanked me"... and I saw the anger, the twisted lips, the demon eyes, as he BEAT ME. This was NOT a man who was loving me and disciplining in love. And I KNEW THAT RIGHT THEN AND THERE. His face told it all.

That's about enough of 'growing up'; let me tell you how I got OUT of the house, and then I'll pick up the rest in another story.

After graduating early, in December, I stayed at home and started working for my Dad's new janitorial business, cleaning floors and polishing tile at grocery stores. I regular pioneered, the goal (along with Bethel service) that the folks had held out for all of us once we graduated. Dad sold me the 12-person van he'd bought from Grandpa, so I'd have wheels to get out in service. They told me I could continue to live at home as long as I regular pioneered, until I was ready to move out. I was READY, but didn't have funds to do so! :-)

I was responsible for my own schedule when it came to service, though I had to plan out my week and post the schedule on the family information board so they'd know when I intended to go out. I woke up very sick one morning, the following February, and Step-monster came in my room at 8:45 to tell me I was going to miss the meeting for field service. I told her I was sick, that I'd go out another day. She said I needed to stick to my schedule, and I told her "LOOK! I said I'll go out later this week—can't you see I'm SICK?!"

She shut the door, then a few minutes later Dad came in, with a suitcase, and started emptying my drawers. He told me to get up, put on my clothes and shoes, and get OUT... I wasn't sure what was happening. I thought he was making me go out in service, at first, but it was more than that. For "being disrespectful to my mother and not keeping my word" about my service schedule, he was terminating the lodging and employment agreement, and kicking me out, then and there.

I protested that I didn't have a place to live, or an income. His reply was that was MY problem, not his, and that I should have thought about that before 'lipping off' to his wife.

And thus it was that I was out... living, in the middle of winter in Washington State, in a van, with no job, no money, no food, and no family. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my siblings—and I just realized that I still don't know what story they were told when they got home from school that day. I'll have to ask my sibs.

I expected they'd ask me home after a few hours or days... that it was just a "shock treatment". I parked my van in the parking lot where Dad was doing his floor accounts... I was the only other vehicle in the lighted lot at night, he had to have seen me, with the big 12-passenger blue van with windows was unmistakably mine. He'd walk out of the hardware store he was cleaning, down to the grocery store, get a pie and a milk or coffee and go sit outside the hardware store and eat it while he waited for the wax to dry... I used to sit with him and eat those pies too. Now, he sat facing the van I was in, hungry, as he sat and ate it alone.

I'll admit to some wrongdoing here... several nights later, when it was obvious he wasn't going to invite me back home, and when he went back into the store to buff out the wax, I went up to his truck and pulled the valve stems out of all his tires, ran back to the van, fired it up, and drove away... god, that felt good!

To be continued....

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

Thank you all for listening. Thank you for caring to listen. I know this is a long story... here is part 3.

I forgot to mention that at some point before the move to the new house, my dad was reinstated, and gradually was appointed as an MS and then an elder. He loved giving talks out, and we traveled the circuit as he'd give Public Talks on Sunday. He loved the attention, the admiration of others about his family.

Everything focused around appearances. NOBODY else knew what was going on at home. From the outside, we looked like the perfect family, and that's what people said about us, and why we were interviewed at circuit assemblies, ate with CO's, and such. And that's the way my folks wanted it... they wanted everyone to think we were the perfect little JW family. Not even our own extended relatives knew what was wrong, or the extent of it, although you would think they would have gotten a clue after some time, me always "in trouble, on restriction" when we came over.

Dad and New-Mom had two more children (boys) after the move to the new house, so now it was eight of us, me the oldest, four boys and four girls. The two girls from New-Moms first marriage, and the two new boys, were always treated differently than us four original kids. Softer rules, lighter punishments; there were always "good reasons" (lousy excuses) why they were treated differently and given special treatment.

The parents took the religion to an extreme. They thought that strict adherence and indoctrination in it would bring Jehovah's pleasure and save their sin-inclined children. We had a regular family study (WT, actually, since Dad was the conductor and needed to get it prepared). Field service was regular. We each had to enroll in and prepare for the TMS, and study for it each week, including researching and writing a 3-page report on some topic from the weekly Bible Reading, and presenting it at the family dinner table.

This will sound odd in the light of everything I've said so far, but there was "love" in the family too... lots of hugs, actually. Of course, they were given when "accepted back in" at the end of restrictions. It was feast or famine on the emotional level.

I loved Jehovah, too. I prayed to him ALL the time to help save me and my siblings from the injustices at home. I prayed and cried that he'd make me a good child, so they would not beat me, so they would love me instead. I tried hard to make sure I did what was right in his eyes. I got baptized at 14 and left high school 6 months early, having finished all my graduating requirements, and started to regular pioneer. My folks told me that there was no reason for me to stay for the last six months of high school, since it was wrong for JW's (in their eyes) to participate in a graduation ceremony, and I wouldn't be allowed to attend anyway—so I got my diploma in the mail instead.

Before graduation, though, things got worse. As a teen, my folks took 3-day restriction and turned it into months-long "disfellowshiping from the family", as they called it. This started after a road trip we took, when I was about 13, to visit one of New-Mom's married friends. While we were there, I saw and took a couple dollars worth of quarters from the family's counter. I had gotten in the habit of picking up all the change I found (on the street, hallway at school, etc.) and saving it for the times I couldn't find food in the cans at school... in which case I would stop at a corner grocery store on my walk home and buy some crackers to stave off the hunger at "no-dinner" time.

On the ride home, it was discovered what I'd done (I think some change fell out of my jacket or something). My folks put me in my room for a week while they decided what should be done about me. The "family study" that week was a marking talk by Dad, to my siblings, explaining how Jehovah hates a thief and a liar. He used the scripture about how you "throw such a man outside", and explained that he couldn't do that literally. However, spiritually they could. And they did. I spent that summer vacation "disfellowshipped from the family".

What that meant was this:

- I did not eat with the family ("not even eating with such a man"). On the nights I hadn't wet the bed (and thus could eat), they would prepare a plate for me, put it in the laundry room on top of the washing machine, where the dog ate, just around the corner from the dining table. They would all sit down to eat, would call me in from my room. I'd stand in the doorway while they offered the prayer and read the Daily Text. After the prayer, I'd go silently into the laundry room, eat my meal and listen to the family talking, then when I was done go wash my dish, put it away, and go back to my room.

- My siblings were NOT allowed to converse with me. I shared a room with my fleshly brother. If he or anyone else said ANYTHING to me, they had been threatened that they would be disfellowshiped too.

- My 'reinstatement to the family' was dependant on their whim. There was no set time for the punishment to end, no 'goal' for which I could reach... it was not until THEY decided that I had demonstrated repentance that they would let me back into the family... and then, of course, I'd get the hugs I referred to above. Dad would hug me big and hard, with a "Welcome back to the family, Son!" I was so grateful for the hug; that's what's really sick to me now, looking back on it.

Disfellowshiping from the family occurred several times over the rest of the time I lived at home. That is, until the CO found about it. I don't recall the circumstances of how he learned, but I do remember him and some other elders in the hall having a conversation with my parents explaining that they COULD NOT do this, that it was WRONG. So my parents did away with "disfellowshiping from the family." The next time I got in trouble, they "disassociated me from the family", instead... with exactly the same set of rules and punishments. Legalistic at heart, he complied with the 'letter of the law', but not the spirit of it.

During that first summer DF'ing from the family, I was given a special punishment to occupy my time. I was given a set of notebooks and pencils. Rather than my usual "reading from the Awake! bound volumes", which they knew I actually enjoyed, I was to write out, by hand, in cursive, the entire Bible book of Proverbs. When I was done, I was to bring it to them and then they would consider my reinstatement to the family.

I spent weeks (and many hand cramps) writing out the entire book. I wrote a letter of apology for my waywardness and stealing the coins, and finished it one night as the family was going to bed. I still remember what happened then.

I went to my door, and called for them. "May I come see you?" "Yes, we're in our room, come here." I went to their room at the end of the hall, and proudly presented them with multiple spiral bound notebooks. I was smiling, glad that I was done with it, and ready to be off restriction and reinstated to the family. We had a family gathering that weekend we were going to attend and I had worked hard to get the project done before then.

They sat there on the bed and looked at me. "Well?!" they asked. "I'm very sorry for what I did and will never do it again... am I off restriction?"

"Well, we need to read over what you wrote!"

"Huh?"

"You've been proven a liar and a thief, son. You don't think we're just going to 'take your word' that you finished the assignment, do you?"

The tears started to well in my eyes, my chest started to heave. I tried to maintain my composure as best I could.

They continued... "Your mother and I will look over what you did over the next few days. I'll read her the Proverbs, from the Bible... she'll follow along in what you wrote. If you skipped so much as one word, you're doing it all over again. Do you understand me? Now get back to your room til we tell you we're done."

I don't think I've ever been so crushed... I had NOT skipped anything, thankfully. A week later, after I missed the family gathering, I was called back to the living room and was relieved to find that they didn't find any errors in my copyist skills. They welcomed "Ezra the copyist" back to the family. To this day, I don't know if they ACTUALLY read it or not... it really didn't matter, I was just grateful to be able to go outside and ride my bike and play with my brother and sisters.

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

WTF - they claim to be annointed now!!! That makes me want to puke up side their heads. What kind of relationship do you have with them now?

Nina, me too. I've not spoken to them in over two years. I refuse to do so. They continue to try to poison my life, sticking their sick little hands into things to try to needle me to a reaction. I have the power now... I don't react. I don't respond to them. The silence from me is driving their power-hungry minds crazy.

This is like Flowers in the Attic bad. I do not know how you could ever speak to your Anointed parents......I could sure use some of your coping mechinisms.........bless you..............oompa

Oompa, thanks. As I told Nina, I don't speak to them. Neither do my other three natural siblings. What is "Flowers in the Attic"? Must be a movie or book?

Thanks so much for sharing with us, this must have been painful for you to re-tell the story! I couldn't help but cry while I read your story, b/c this brings me back to such unpleasant memories of my childhood. I can't tell my story in full detail to this day...

MMO, I've told this story so many times... the elders, my wife, most recently my therapist. When us kids get together, we used to tell each other and hug each other and cry together as some sort of group therapy (that's slowed down somewhat as we try to push past this). It took a long time to feel ready to share it here, in public. Someone I trust told me that telling your story here can help others accept you more readily, as they know what led you to leave. Since I was an elder, I feel it doubly important for you all to know why I'm here. MMO, I hope you can tell your story soon.

I'm so sorry for your pain!!! If I had anything helpful to say to you I would. Love and hugs, MMO

You just did...

I really don't like that lady.

Me either!! :-)

This is so sad. Thank you for sharing your story.

Thanks for taking the time to read it, Lisa. I certainly don't want to bring anybody down. We all have different roads that led us here... what's amazing is the commonality in the threads. For example:

I am the eldest like you TJ and my parents were married less than a year when they went to Spain in the 70's to serve where the need was great and slightly exciting since Franco was still dictator and arresting witnesses for meeting together. I was their mistake, but they certainly made me feel like it was my fault for coming along in that first year.

Nina, I'm so sorry... no kid should be made to feel they ruined their parents life, and then be punished for it the whole time the lived at home, and after that, too... ((hugs))

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

Oh christ, i said at the point where i read that the mucking fother made you suck on the wt sheets. Are those monsters still alive?

It's worse than that... they now both claim to be of the anointed... I'll get to that and how much that influenced me to leave the rucking feligion, as you'd say. :-)

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

Thank you ALL for your support and hugs and comments. Writing this all out is harder than I thought it would be. Here's the next part, I just finished typing it out...

The "3-day restriction" became stricter, if you can imagine that. The first day of restriction came to include no dinner—go to bed hungry. My siblings would try at times to sneak some food to share with me (with six kids, and one income, the meals weren't what you'd call sumptious, anyway). You could not leave your room without asking first—not even to use the bathroom. Instead, you'd stand at the doorway, and call to them: "Mom and Dad, may I use the bathroom, please?" If they felt you hadn't gone too recently, they'd grant permission. "Get to the bathroom, and get right back to your bed."

This process of emotional rape, isolation, and withholding of food, love, and conversation left me dysfunctional in social situations. I didn't know how to talk to friends, or engage in conversation. I was always afraid I'd say the wrong thing and get in trouble again. At school, we got free lunches due to the family's (can you call it a family?) financial standing. I'd always take the salad bar rather than the normal lunch line, because you could take more food as you served yourself. The kids would tease me that I had the "Mt. Rainier" plate, heaped with lettuce and sprouts and sunflower seeds. I would sit in the stall in the bathroom next to the lunchroom, listen for someone to throw away the rest of their brown-bag lunch in the bathroom trash can on the way to the playground, and try to time it so I could get to that food, pilfer it, and hide it in my backpack or in the back of my tucked-in-shirt, under my coat, when I got home, so I wouldn't go hungry that night, just because I'd wet the bed the night before. I wasn't always fast enough to get the food out of the can without someone walking in and seeing me, and that led to being called a "scrounge" by the other kids...

On the bright side, I was getting very good grades... I really applied myself to school, both for fear of bringing home a bad grade, and because I was enjoying learning. I thrived on praise from teachers over good work, of being "first" in the class on something, anything. Of course, this alienated me from a lot of the kids, who viewed me as a teacher's pet.

With all the 3-day restriction reading I was doing, I was an excellent reader and speller. I surprised myself by winning the spelling bee in my class, then my grade, and was able to represent my school at the District championships. My folks made it clear to me that District was as far as it would go... going to State or National (Washington, DC) would be out of the question, as it would certainly be an 'extra-curricular' activity by then. Therefore, my alternate went to State.

My step-sister, who also had a bedwetting problem, was the step-monster's natural daughter, so of course she didn't get the same 3-day restrictions for bedwetting that I received. When I'd get up the nerve to push the issue and ask (for which I'd be punished for showing a disrespectful attitude), I was told "she has a medical problem—you DON'T!" I would plead with my parents that I couldn't FEEL myself have to go... WHY would I want to go through the restrictions, no dinner, etc.?! They insisted that I was just being defiant, that I had no "problem" like my step-sister had, and I just needed to stop wetting the bed.

Claiming financial burden for hot water and electricity, we were confined to baths or showers twice per week, with a sibling. This meant going to school smelling of urine. I still remember in sixth grade my name being called over the PA system to "please report to the office." The kids all said "oooooh! BUSTED!!," as they would when anybody was called to the office. I wondered what I'd done wrong. Turns out I stunk so bad, the teacher had asked the office to have the nurse call me down and have my parents come get me to shower. I was a distraction to the class. Guess what? Step-monster showed up, CHEWED ME OUT THE WHOLE WAY HOME FOR EMBARRASSING HER, made me sit on the wet bed the rest of the day, after she made me suck on the wet sheets.

Dad supported all of this punishment. When he woke up from sleeping (he slept days, worked nights at a local drug packing warehouse), they talked, called me in, and explained how my bedwetting problem was strictly a case of me being lazy. I was too lazy to get up and use the bathroom, and chose to instead just lay there, pee on myself, soil their home, and make more work and embarrassment for everybody else. Therefore, starting then and there, I was to write 100 sentences each time I had an accident... and for good measure, they assigned a scripture I still can quote to this day.

Hebrews 6:11,12: "But we desire each one of you to show the same INDUSTRIOUSNESS so as to have the full assurance of the hope down to the end, in order that you may not become SLUGGISH, but be imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises."

I believe my brother had to write these sentences too when he wet the bed, but I do not recall with accuracy his punishments, and for that I am sorry, bro.

Part III to come...

42

Do you sometimes feel really disconected from people?

by Aphrodite in

jw
friends

i thought i had been going really well in my life until my mothers recent attempt at shunning me.

now im feeling like i don't want to connect with anyone.

i'm kind of disconnecting myself from my friends even, withdrawing.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

I go through phases where I feel really connected and happy and outgoing followed by phases where all I want to do is shut myself away from the world and never be seen again. It's awful, and yes I do believe it has to do with being shunned and alone for a long time.

Amen to that... I go through the same thing... I think it's common to those that have been emotionally raped.

115

My story: "Pop!" goes the Little Circuit Breaker

by TJ - iAmCleared2Land in

jw
friends

i guess it's about time i write my story.

i've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while i thought my story was bad, i've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here.

i think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

I guess it's about time I write my story. I've put this off for a long time... primarily becuase, while I thought my story was bad, I've read so many worse and heart-rending stories here. I think, though, there is some therapeutic value in 'letting it all out' with others who know what 'it' was like. I'll start at the end, and then jump back to the beginning. I've been 'out' for two years now—instant fade, not DF. I was raised in the religion, baptized in '84, went through the usual JW progression of 'spiritual progress': aux-pioneer, reg-pioneer, get married, kids, MS, elder. What I was really doing, I see now, was trying to validate my worth as an individual by confirming to somebody else's standards and expectations. I'd been conditioned since youth that nothing I ever did would be good enough to please those in power... and I kept reaching and stretching to try to be 'accepted' and 'worthy', but, of course, I never was.

Some of this story I will present 'as I knew it then'; the things I learned, which changed my viewpoint on relationships with family members, will be revealed as I learned them.

Part I

My earliest memories were not good ones. My mother and father fought a lot. Both were Witnesses, though only my father's family was JW's. My mother was a foster-child... her foster parents were also JW's, but her siblings and real parents (who she maintained contact with) were not.

I remember moving from place to place, as my folks tried to make ends meet. Dad was always spending money on himself, little on us. He had a boat, motorcycle(s), took trips to Hawaii, but we had a one-wage-earner income, a little one at that, and little food on the table. The house was always dirty and we often fended for ourselves for food and things, even as I was just five years old with three younger siblings, Mom was depressed over all the fighting and abuse, and would drown her depression with alcohol, which didn't help the situation.

Some scattered memories:

We would go out on Dad's boat; he hit my Mom so hard she fell OFF the boat... I was crying, my aunt was threatening to kill him if he laid another hand on her sister or us kids.

All of us kids being in the hospital for several weeks, deathly ill with salmonella poisoning from eating off unwashed plates. We all survived (unfortunately?).

Mom trying to get away from Dad on one of his motorcycles... and losing control at the curve behind our house as she sped away, and going full speed into a large old growth of blackberry bushes... she was pretty cut up when they got her out of there.

Being moved from aunt to aunt, to foster-grandparents, as my folks worked through their issues. The foster-grandparents I dearly loved... they were them gem of our little lives. Auntie also protected us... she was not a JW, but loved us like kids should be loved.

Dad used to tell me that he and Mom were special pioneers in Kansas before they got pregnant with me—that he had plans to be a circuit overseer and I ruined that for him. He actually called me, repeatedly, his "little circuit breaker." He was serving as a ministerial servant while we were babies.

Mom and Dad eventually divorced, after just six or seven years of marriage—I was just six at the time. Dad blamed the divorce on walking in on Mom having sex with another man while they were in Hawaii (yeah, he told us kids all about it). Of course, he'd done nothing wrong.

Mom and Auntie had us kids, or took us kids—not sure which, as I got one story from Dad and another from Mom—and we spent a year running from Dad, hiding us from his whereabouts. A step-cousin, male, tried to molest me sexually, but I told him NO! I remember missing Dad, wondering what had happened to him, as time went on. Things were safe with Mom, but not good (her drinking, money problems).

One day while playing in the courtyard of the apartments with my brother and two sisters, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. It was Dad, over by the fence... he'd found us. In short order, and some court appearances, he'd proved Mom to be unfit as a mother, and regained custody of us, while Mom got bi-weekly visitation on the weekends.

Dad used his victory to prove he'd been justified before Jehovah, that he'd done nothing wrong with us kids... otherwise, he reasoned, Jehovah would not have let him win in court. This 'victory' simply emboldened the monster.

He took us to meetings, and used us kids as his 'sob story' to gain attention from the sisters... and he did play them. I remember him having sisters over, and him going to their house... and they'd get into doing things that unmarried people weren't supposed to do, and I was old enough to know something wasn't right. When I walked in on him with a sister named Cathy, I was told to keep quiet, or else he'd make sure I kept quiet.

Fast forward a few months—Dad had attracted the attention of the woman who would become my step-mother—and step-monster. I apparently aided in this effort when I approached her at a gathering and, as they tell it, 'looked up at her with puppy eyes and asked 'do you have a daddy?'. She was recently divorced, and had two girls. She'd make Dad apple pies and leave them in the bed of his pickup truck.

They decided to get married, but the elders warned her to stay away from him, as there was pending judicial action on him. She ignored their warnings, married Dad in front of a civil judge, and the following meeting he was disfellowshipped—for his affair(s) with the sisters and for lying to the elders about it when they inquired. Nice way to start off a new marriage.

New-Mom stayed with him, though... and we now had six in the house—two boys and four girls. I entered elementary school, and enjoyed the time I had at school. Home was not an enjoyable place to be, and just got worse as I grew older. As the oldest, I was held out as the example, expected to "set the bar" for my siblings. If I strayed at all, I was disciplined, often severely or irrationally.

It's worth mentioning here that me, my younger brother, and the oldest step-sister all had bedwetting issues... this was a problem that persisted into the teens, and will play a factor later in the discipline area.

Somewhere along the line, Dad and New-Mom instituted "3-day restriction". For any transaction, such as fibbing, not cleaning your room adequately, wetting the bed, we'd be put on "3-day restriction".

"3-day restriction" consisted of no family or social activity outside of school. If you wet the bed on a Friday, this meant you went to school, then when you got home you were "on your bed" for the rest of the weekend (Friday, Saturday, Sunday). Having an accident over the weekend extended the punishment accordingly. Obviously, we got creative at ways to "hide" the bedwetting, which would incur longer punishments for lying if we got caught. "3-day restriction" meant the only thing you were allowed to do, for three days, was read the Society's literature, particularly bound volumes... I grew to love the Awake!, as the WT volumes were so dry... at least the Awake!s had interesting stories about animals and places and people.

No toys, no dessert, no talking with anybody else, even those you shared the room with. If they got caught talking to you, they were put on restriction, too. (see why I liked going to school?!) We had family on New-Mom's side that we'd go visit, because they had a pool. I never ONCE in all the years we visited got to actually go swim in the pool. They'd leave me sitting in a dark room, on restriction, and I'd just lay there and cry myself to sleep. No matter how good I'd been, something would serve to get me in trouble enough to be on restriction while we traveled.

After a while, New-Mom and Dad found a nice big house to buy, and we moved to a new home and new congregation/Kingdom Hall in the same town. I was hoping things might improve with the change of scenery, the big house, etc. I was wrong.

Part II to come...

216

I'm a Pioneer Married To a Wonderful Brother Reaching Out to be an MS...

by cognac in

and petrified... i just recently became a pioneer and always had nagging questions in the back of my mind.

so, i decided that when i have get a study i would research all the questions as i go along so as to prove everything in the truth... i got 4 studies in about 2 months.

all was fine, until i reached i think chapter 6 in the bible teach book about the resurrection.

TJ - iAmCleared2Land

Welcome to the board, cognac! This is the start of a long process for you, and you'll find lots of support and help here. I was raised in the truth, third generation witness, regular pioneer for a while, 'example family', an elder (that's when my eyes truly got opened).

Your comment about what the anointed brother told you -- there are some things you may never get answers to -- reminded me of one of my now favorite phrases. I hope it will help you:

I would rather have questions I cannot answer, than answers I cannot question.

((hugs))