My Parents Were Members of a Cult – This is My Story
There, in the far corner of the room, crouched a little girl. She had sad, brown eyes that were welling over with enormous tear drops. Whats wrong? I asked soothingly. Her only response was a sniffle as if she didn't hear. I couldn't reach her; I didn't know how. Frantically, I began screaming and yelling, waving my arms violently in the air. Why wouldn't she look at me? What was wrong with this child?
My parents were divorced when I was only two. I was too young to realize what had happened. Their separation had little effect on me at the time, but I would later realize how much this had hurt me. I was left to live with my mother ...view middle of the document...
It was called "Christ Church in Action." Before long, we were packing our bags and heading to Smithfield. It was a place I had never heard of, but would later learn to love. We moved so that we could be closer to the church. One problem, we didn't have a house to move into. Over the course of a year we moved seven times before finally settling on a blue Cape Cod house in Greenville, Rhode Island. That is where I spent the rest of my teenage years.
It wasn't long before people started leaving the church left and right. Things began falling apart. It no longer seemed like a church, but rather some form of a cult. My parents had been sucked in. They allowed themselves to be manipulated and brainwashed. They thought that it was the right thing, that they were honoring God by being involved in this church. The life I had vanished before my eyes and the hell I had heard so much about became a reality. That little angel I once was disappeared and was replaced with that sad, frightened child alone in the room.
Say them, say them, screamed Wade, the leader of the cult. Say your ABCs without mumbling or else Ill put you in the corner until you do. The little girl couldnt stop crying. Her letters came out all jumbled in slurs. Whack! Something cold and hard hit her face. It was the open hand of a man slapping her, her face stinging. Burning. The tears poured from her eyes as she slowly turned toward the wall and slid down in the shadows. It was here where she thought she could be alone, without the fear that he would hurt her. Why cant my parents see how awful he is? They were too caught up with spreading the Gospel.
I often found myself fighting my inner thoughts, struggling to grab hold of myself. I was a very tormented child. My step-brother and older sister found every way possible to make my life a nightmare. Growing up, we spent a good part of our life at home, alone or with a baby-sitter. During this time my siblings found it necessary to chase me around the house screaming, "She has demons in her eyes." My eyes did tend to look evil: scarlet red and puffy. It was from the many tears I had shed in fear and sadness. I was afraid of so many things, especially him.
Crouched over a red milk crate saturated with charcoal tar sat a girl about eight years old. She had sun streaked blond hair and large, curious eyes. In her right hand was a crummy rag and in the other a can of gasoline. Back and forth, she scrubbed with all her might. The frigid weather was so lifeless. Her eyes began to sting. Her fingers became numb. She slowly rose and went inside to wash her hands. The moment her frozen body felt the warmth of the house, she felt a prickly feeling run through her body. The sound of laughter thundered from the connecting room. She ran to see where it was coming from only to find her entire family crammed into one room watching a movie and having a great time. She quickly washed up and returned to the tedious job outside. She was so alone....