I had a closed life. A sheltered, closed off life. No one really knew who I really was. Sometimes, when I was in the backseat of my parents car as they drove me home from grandma and grandpa's house, I looked up into the window, and I could see my reflection. As I gazed at myself, a feeling of mysteriousness overwhelmed me. I became mesmerized seeing my reflection, with the stars in the background. I knew, that there was something hiding inside me, that had no words, and no name; but there was a mystery inside. I promised that reflection, that one day, I would find me. I would no longer be such a mystery anymore.
"Why didn't any one tell me life would be so hard as a teenager?" I ranted, to no one in particular. I was downstairs in my bedroom. 13 years old. Trying to understand my life. I flipped my pen down onto my journal, closing it off with a signature swirl with 2 crosses on it, and closed it. I sighed as I layed back in my empty little bedroom. How safe I felt in my loneliness, where I could be me, and not fear that someone wouldn't like me. It was me and my angels, or demons, or God, just me and the limitless bounds of my imagination. In my safe little world there was love and peace. Upstairs, who knew what would happen next. Perhaps my dad would come home from work and sigh at the mess, and then head downstairs to work on his computer programming. Perhaps my mother would wake up from her all day nap to sit at her desk and look at her messy papers that meant so much to her.
"I have a good life" I lied to myself, forgetting that a minute ago I felt dazed with confusion. Growing up is so hard, I wish I had a mother who could help me. I have to admit, I felt very jealous of my Sunday school friends. Their mothers all loved them, and talked to them about growing up and what it meant to be a woman. But, my mom is not bad. She is not mean or angry. She is always very nice. But she just doesn't act like most moms. She just has a hard time thinking very well. She seems to be in another world most days, locked into her mind. The doctors have her on medicine to prevent her from going delusional like she did when her 3rd baby was born. They say she has manic depressive disorder, something I see sparks of from time to time, such as when she is terrified of watching an evil movie since it is pg-13, or when we all decide to go to camping and then at the last minute she makes us all go home because she can't handle it.
The movie issue, it triggers a spew of pornographic images. My mind fills up with them, but I quickly bury them. Pornography is evil, and I shouldn't think of such things. But every second and minute of ever day is filled with these thoughts. They tantalize me, getting worse and worse, and my inward guilt and shame just grow. I never did get over the feeling I got when I masterbated last year. I felt as sticky guilty as possibly can be, and I finally confessed to my dad. I felt I needed to talk to my bishop, but he talked me out of it and said I was ok and I didn't need to worry about confessing to any one else but him.
Tomorrow I am going to have to go to band. I love practicing the flute, it gives me something to do when there is nothing else to do. I enjoy the tones, and I like just playing one note at a time. I open my flute case that sits next to my dresser and gaze at the beautiful silver of my high grade student flute. It is so beautifully romantic, with that beautiful blue velvet high lighting the silver plated instrument. I zip it back up, turn off the light, and rush to the safety of my bed before the darkness settles in around me.
14 years later...
I sat up in bed, my head swirling. It was him, it was my band teacher! I shout out. I had just relived a scene where my junior high school band teacher had tried to have sex with me, now that I was married and living in the same state again. He had come to my apartment, and I had told him to leave, though my heart was wrenched out of me, I told him, "I did not choose you." I had married someone else, and though I loved my old school teacher, I knew I never would have loved him if he didn't rape me in junior high. I had developed a very strong stolkholm bond with him, and I was determined to break it, survive, and live to tell the tale. I had to tell. Even if no one would listen. People need to understand what Satanic Ritual Abuse is. People need to understand what the CIA really does with all of their free time and money.
I ripped out of my bed and looked for my journal underneath it, wait, no, in the closet, uugh, "Has anyone seen my journal?'I should out? remembering that my kids are too young to care. Ok, I scramble searching around and make a mental note, I will have to write down my memory next time I find it. The kids are awake, so I have to get going. I get dressed and help them get their cereal, stopping to contemplate what this dream meant, and all of the feelings that come with such a revelation. It looks like today is just one more day of trying to survive the whirlwind inside. I focus on housework, helping me oldest with his school, and make sure to play with my little ones, as they crawl on top of me, I tickle them, and giggle with them, and sing with them. They are worth everything to me. Each day I see my little ones, I am reminded of myself when I was little, and how I never deserved to feel the amount of shame I did when I was small. I was just like these little ones, innocent. I make it through the day surprisingly well, but, in the afternoon, when I have the kids down for the afternoon quiet time watching a show on tv, I run into my bathroom and cover my mouth in several towels. I turn on the shower, and let out a scream. Sobs and screams rack my body. Heaves come and go. I feel the pain inside will never end and never go away. "God Help Me" I pray, "God Help Me," "God help Me". I pray. Tears finally buckle through my eyes as my tolerance for the inner turmoil surges and releases. The pain is coming out. I am almost through. I sit back. I breathe quietly. I blow my nose. I wipe my eyes. I put some essential oil on. And I get up, to do some laundry and make some dough to make dinner with. The pain is leaving, and soon, Robert will be home. He reminds me about everything good about life. Everything will be ok for today.
Behind the Veil Chapter 2
I had to go to band class. This is my 8th grade year. Last year, I surprised my band teacher and played all of my major scales in 25 seconds. He let me go to the 10th grade band. I was first chair, having played the flute for 6 months, in the 10th grade band. This year, I felt a little more normal, because some other 8th graders were also in theSymphony band. I was still first chair, but the rest of the flute players were kind to me. They wished they could be first chair, but they couldn't compete with me because I practiced 4 hours a day, and I had a good tone. I felt guilty being so good. I wished sometimes I was just normal like every one else. They didn't know that the flute was all I had. I didn't have friends because my mom couldn't handle me going anywhere, not even up the street to a friends house. So I was trapped inside a prison, and the only company I had was the sweet tones of my flute. My mother bought me a very nice student flute, and she did it because she believed in me. She had decided I was worth a nicer flute because I always practiced the piano, which I did. I always woke up at 6 am when I was 11 so I could practice my piano for 45 minutes.
Last year, I was out of place, being the only 7th grader in Symphony band for the second semester. The first semester I had tested out of the Beginner band, and so I started off the year in the Middle band. I had made an impossible goal to be in the top band by theend of the year. I never thought it would actually happen, but after I played my scales so well, my band teacher had told me, "we need to get you in Symphony Band!" as he gave me a high five. I was shy and said "ok", and not much else. It was what I wanted, but it was also a little weird to be noticed for my efforts when I was so used to being a piece in the background.
I had a solo this year, just like last year. And by now, I wasn't so afraid. The first time I had a solo, I practiced it nonstop over and over, and when my turn came to play, it had to be perfect. Now that I was in 8th grade, every one knew I was a good flute player, and no one expected me to ever mess up, which I never did. I was more confidant. I knew when it was my turn to blow, the perfect noise would come out.
Well, the class was actually pretty normal today. We practiced the song, "Shenendoah" and I played my flute solo pretty well. Of course, it is hard to play in tune with the other flutists. It just is something I cannot figure out how to do. Is it my fault, or is it theirs? As we pack up our instruments to go to the next class, I wonder, should I leave my flute here or put it in my locker? I will take it to my locker and then I don't have to come here after class.
My next class is social studies. This is the class I sneak my math homework in when we are done doing our book work. I hate homework because I feel like the teachers already own 6 hours of my day, and they still want more of my time to do the work they didn't teach me in class. I loathe it, and do everything I can to finish it before I go home. But today, I finished my math homework in math, and there was nothing to do for the last 15 minutes of class.
"You love Mr. McGrady" Max taunted me. I looked to the side, and it was Max. Uugh, if there was anyone who intimidated me, it was him. He was everything that I wasn't. He was very social, he had friends, he was confidant, and he didn't care if he made a mistake in band class that every one could hear. He was just cool with himself. I did not know how to respond so I gave him an incredulous look and looked down at my desk. I was embarrassed. "You know he has a receding hairline?" Again, I did not know how to respond. I kind of laughed at the thought and Max chuckled deeply. I comforted myself knowing there was no way he could know how embarrassed he was making me feel. Thetruth is, I had a hard time thinking about anyone besides Mr. McGrady. It is not that I had a crush on him, it is just that I deeply admired my band teacher. He was what I wanted to be, but knew I never could. I could never be a charismatic, humorous, band teacher. I was way too shy. He loved music, and made us all laugh. I did think about him several times while practicing, not because I wanted to, but because he was just there. It was almost like he was always watching me, in the back of my mind. And, the whole process made me uncomfortable.
Behind the Veil Ch 3
"Jennifer, get out of the bathroom!" I called. My daughter was in there again, hopefully not playing with the toothpaste. I sighed relief because she was just pretending to clean up with a rag. I sat down to work on my story, and Jennifer sat down beside me. I turn on the heater and we just enjoy each other.
Last night, I had just received a golden key in my dream. I had flipped open to thescriptures and it read, "the Greater light to rule the day, and the lessor light to rule thenight." In my dream, I used the golden, heavy key to open the doorknob of a bathroom. Then, at the top of the lock, where the dead bolt should be, I pulled out a smaller, silver key. I knew that the dream signified that my brain, the golden, masculine side, and thesilver feminine side, was finally in my power. In the dream, I painted a demon on the floor and stepped on him. The demon was no longer real. I was also taught in my dream that in this world, everything is divided between good and bad, but in reality, there is only wholeness. A knowledge of evil and bad does not make it real. The only thing that is real is truth, and that is love. In reality, there is no evil, hatred or shame.
I have my keys. The last 3 1/2 years I have struggled to find these keys. A host of cartoon demons had chased me out of my own mind, and taken the keys from me, in their own words during a dream.
I am a product of God's mercy, and He healed me from what this fallen world has defined as Satanic Ritual Abuse. I had been programmed and split into pieces so that others could control me. When I was a child, in my Mormon faith, I was taught that in thebeginning, before the world, we lived in heaven, and a council was held. Satan had a plan to take away everyone's agency and make them into robots, obedient and perfect. Heavenly Father's plan was to give every one their agency, so that even though we would misuse it, we would finally learn to obey and have experience along with our obedience. We would do the Father's will because we understood why, not because we are forced to.
Well, I have learned from personal experience that both plans are in effect. For those who want to be commanded in all things, their is satanism. For those who want freedom, their is Jesus Christ. He gave us our agency. I had to use my agency to stop being controlled by Satan.
Satan doesn't just have a spiritual plan. His plan is carried out physically on earth. They call it the occult. What it really is, is the practice of abusing children so that they become controllable.
When a child is sexually abused, they do not know what is happening to them. The way the brain learns is by association. Because a child is young and innocent, it has no way of associating sex with anything in its known world. The child is forces to put sex in a universe of its own, completely unconnected to the rest of its associations.
The evil minions in the world know this. They know that sexual abuse of children is how to gain power over them. And if you can gain power over children, you can gain power over the whole world, because when those children grow up, they will pass down the abuse to their own children. This is not because the children are inherently evil, it is because they have not associated their experiences with reality yet, and in order to integrate, they will pass them on to their offspring, in hopes of becoming whole, as opposed to having parts of them split off from their known world.
When you combine childhood sex with torture, with a denial of love, with hatred, and fear, you further cut off a child's ability to re associate the experiences, even after the child becomes an adult. That is where you find references in the bible to Molech, and passing children through the fire. A simple torture technique to scare the child to repress theexperience far away in the deepest recesses of the mind.
In fact, the occult has learned exactly how deep the recesses of the mind can go. They have calculated the frequencies the brain resonates at during trauma. The cognitive facilities shut down in a child when they are abused. This process is enhanced with drugs, which further shuts down the cognitive mind.
When the torture becomes intolerable, the brain will sever itself. It will cut in half. It will disassociate. There will be a break between the right and left brain. It is much like a divorce. When a man and woman divorce, the children go with one of the parents. When the right and left brain split, the power the brain used to generate to help a child grow, becomes controllable by the abusers. The abuser becomes the parent, and the parent can control the split in any way he or she pleases.
In this way, children are born to satan, or Satan's minion, the master programmer. Children who have been through this process and are actually discovered are diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Unfortunately, a great many people have Dissociative Identity Disorder and are never diagnosed, and are never able to integrate the horrible experiences they had as children. They pass the abuse on to their children, and then blame their children when their children are unable to stand in the real world. They call their own posterity names, such as "snowflakes", to make fun of them. If they only knew what I knew. People would not be so quick to blame the growing generation.
Unfortunately, Satanism is promoted by public education. Satanists have free access to children in daycares and schools. The parents are not around. Who can say what happens to these children? What would you do if you were a satanist, and had a way to abuse children in such a way that the child would not be able to integrate, and therefore, cognitively express what had happened to them? Perhaps the child would become autistic, or special needs, or depressed, or bi polar. Perhaps the parent who had not integrated would become chronically fatigued, struggle maintaining relationships, and constantly forget things. Perhaps the elder adult who had not integrated would develop Alzheimer's disease.
For some reason, it was God's will to teach me all of this. He wanted me to know and integrate all of my personalities, born through trauma and sexual abuse. I was not even aware they existed in my cognitive mind. But, when I learned the truth, I was set free. It is my hopes in writing this book to set you free, too.
One morning, I fell asleep on the couch while my kids were playing. They had been watching a movie, but when I woke up, they were playing elsewhere in the house, and the tv was off. These words came to me from I believe my Father and Mother in heaven. The words were, "when the seed is planted, the garden would grow." I was so excited to hear their voices, but my excitement woke me up too fast to hear the rest of their words.
Later on, I had another dream. As I woke up, I could hear my Heavenly Mother's voice. She said, "There is so much you can learn from this so that you can help others. We are proud of you."
I know that my Lord Jesus Christ wants me to write a book about my experiences to help people find healing that right now don't have a clue as to what the true cause of their emotional, mental, physical, and social problems are. Just because an experience is hidden from the mind, does not mean it is hidden from our hearts. If you can relate to my story, perhaps your heart is trying to remind you of some healing that needs to occur in order for your mind to be whole and sound. I invite you to read the rest of my story and ponder on how widespread satanism is in the world, and how you can join God's army to aid in the cause of freedom, through the use of your own agency.
I do not blame any of my abusers. They are all innocent in that they were abused as children. I have even had many of my abusers apologize to me. I do not want to put any one in prison. I want healing to commence. I do not want any one to cast a stone at another person because of my words. I am doing my best to post the truth, so that the truth can set us free.