And, again:
Molly told the pastor that she knew from whence the Wars came. She then described to him a series of drug-induced hypnotism sessions, in which we were "programmed". One of the programs was the Rakhas Wars...something to keep the mind busy so as to not ask too many questions. As soon as Molly mentioned certain terms and phrases, I knew she was telling the truth. Once this information was out, a great wall crumbled Inside, and fresh information seeped out as if blood from a wound. For instance, there is a code to activate me: that code being 719, and here I am, using it frivolously as an e-mail screenname. I never knew why that number had such intense meaning to me; I just knew that was who I am. Of course, that makes sense too...there were times, inexplicible before, that the uncle was able to call me forward specifically to assault, because he knew I would fight, and that was arousing to him. And I wonder: am I just this number? As silly as it may seem now, I had hopes that God had created me. The thought that I was a mere instrument to perpetrators, programmed to do as they desired, is insidious. To be created by them is a thought I cannot entertain.
And my purpose, even that may be compromised by the afore-said programming. I see myself as a protector, but a protector does not have bouts of rage. A protector is gentle, nurturing. I have only begun to encompass that in the past six months. What was I before? It is quite possible, I was told, that I was a destructor working under the guise of protector. Someone to keep everyone in line by means of fear and threat of violence. A "trauma-by-rescue" bond is difficult to break, I know. It fits my earlier character, to be sure: rage for days, then compassionate at the drop of a hat, and always ready to lead the collective down the avenue I thought best, despite what anyone else may think. It would explain why I shut the body down and sabotaged therapy sessions, and was crass and violent toward clergy who dare cross me.
And then the memories flood: living as the object of assault whilst being photographed, the wounds being "cared for" without anesthetic, hallucinations induced by narcotics and sleep-deprivation, the crude medical exams to check on the "Baby Messiah" within the womb. And then, the punishments inflicted, the guilt, as the child is miscarried. The mindgames, the constantly changing reality, the mask of deceit we wore so no one would know about the nightly activities. The candles, their flames mocking our pain. Blood and saliva as lubricant for the shredded cervix that physically cannot bear another intrusion...but is forced to anyway. And then the Shadows; whether they are hallucinations or demons, I do not know. But we gave them our blood nonetheless.
I cannot help to wonder what abuses were connected to that time period. What is described above was from chronological ages nine through thirteen. But there were other instances. I cannot ignore the fact that the biological father was best friends with the uncle, who was the main perpetrator. He seemed rather flippant about the little abuse that had been leaked, and refused to offer shelter when we requested it. There was a time, at age four, the biological father left us with a family for a period of time. I do not recall the incident, but Molly and Nicholas had spoken of it in great detail. We had done something bad--that is, questioned the appropriateness of a pornograghic film playing for all to see--and were taken to the bedroom, forced to give oral sex, and raped. As far as we know, that was one of the earlier splits. The mother found out that we had been left there, and she came to rescue us, knowing these people were dangerous. Talking to her about it now, she validates all but the rape, as she did not know and will never know. She remembers it being odd that we, at that age, were locked in a room for being "sleepy and uncooperative" at noon.
And oddly, the Host is drawn to pleasing men, whatever the cost. She tends to shy away from sexual favors, but will do all in her power to be accepted and loved by whomever she deems as a father figure.
I do not know where I was going with this. It seems to be a jumble of thoughts...I hope I have not confused anything. There are merely some things best left unsaid.
And my purpose, even that may be compromised by the afore-said programming. I see myself as a protector, but a protector does not have bouts of rage. A protector is gentle, nurturing. I have only begun to encompass that in the past six months. What was I before? It is quite possible, I was told, that I was a destructor working under the guise of protector. Someone to keep everyone in line by means of fear and threat of violence. A "trauma-by-rescue" bond is difficult to break, I know. It fits my earlier character, to be sure: rage for days, then compassionate at the drop of a hat, and always ready to lead the collective down the avenue I thought best, despite what anyone else may think. It would explain why I shut the body down and sabotaged therapy sessions, and was crass and violent toward clergy who dare cross me.
And then the memories flood: living as the object of assault whilst being photographed, the wounds being "cared for" without anesthetic, hallucinations induced by narcotics and sleep-deprivation, the crude medical exams to check on the "Baby Messiah" within the womb. And then, the punishments inflicted, the guilt, as the child is miscarried. The mindgames, the constantly changing reality, the mask of deceit we wore so no one would know about the nightly activities. The candles, their flames mocking our pain. Blood and saliva as lubricant for the shredded cervix that physically cannot bear another intrusion...but is forced to anyway. And then the Shadows; whether they are hallucinations or demons, I do not know. But we gave them our blood nonetheless.
I cannot help to wonder what abuses were connected to that time period. What is described above was from chronological ages nine through thirteen. But there were other instances. I cannot ignore the fact that the biological father was best friends with the uncle, who was the main perpetrator. He seemed rather flippant about the little abuse that had been leaked, and refused to offer shelter when we requested it. There was a time, at age four, the biological father left us with a family for a period of time. I do not recall the incident, but Molly and Nicholas had spoken of it in great detail. We had done something bad--that is, questioned the appropriateness of a pornograghic film playing for all to see--and were taken to the bedroom, forced to give oral sex, and raped. As far as we know, that was one of the earlier splits. The mother found out that we had been left there, and she came to rescue us, knowing these people were dangerous. Talking to her about it now, she validates all but the rape, as she did not know and will never know. She remembers it being odd that we, at that age, were locked in a room for being "sleepy and uncooperative" at noon.
And oddly, the Host is drawn to pleasing men, whatever the cost. She tends to shy away from sexual favors, but will do all in her power to be accepted and loved by whomever she deems as a father figure.
I do not know where I was going with this. It seems to be a jumble of thoughts...I hope I have not confused anything. There are merely some things best left unsaid.
posted by Logan Nambiet at
1:58 AM
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