The Wound that Never Heals
There was a time when I was at a friends home when some of his extended family dropped in. I was used to this happening when I visited this particular friend. He had a large family and his aunt usually dropped off her daughter to play with us. This time, however, there was a boy, a toddler. I was about 10 or 11 at the time. I walked over to greet the youngster, and as I lifted my hand for a high five he recoiled into a full-bodied standing fetal retreat. The adults in the room all immediately chastised him "Stop that bobby! No one is going to hit you." I, having been on the receiving end of corporal punishment had never seen anything like that in my short life. When I got home I told my parents about this boy and they're responded flatly "Someone is abusing that boy." And that was that. There was no caution or alarm from my family. Though I never saw that boy again, I wonder how he's doing and if he ever escaped whatever horrors caused him to fear even the open hand of a smiling 10-year-old.
If this boy is still alive, there is a great likelihood that his wounds are still dressed with a fresh tourniquet. Looking back, I have to figure that in some ways it was good that he still believed that he could escape and defend himself physically. I've come to learn that some abuse victims' fight or flight responses have become so dulled that they can nary muster the strength to block the incoming blows.
This is how life starts when you're one of Jehovah's Witnesses. One of the first lessons I was taught was to have an innate ability to ignore brutality. Every horror in the world or delivered upon a particular individual (including myself) was an aberration of living in Satan's world. Further, this idea of living in a hopeless vacuum extended from a far away from global disenfranchisement - to a very personal nihilism.
As an awoken former member, I find myself terrorized by everything that I missed. Things like personal slights, acquiescence to authority, satisfaction with mediocrity, the caricaturing of unbelievers.
Even more unsettling are the things I saw, yet did not react appropriately. The savaging of children, the abandonment of friends, the wars, famine, disease, and racism. The pathetic uninformed pontificating of barely literate men. These things were nothing more than a shaking awake from a bad dream and their tangibility only mattered to the extent that they brought me closer the end of the world.
I don't remember the first time I heard the word Armageddon. I often wonder if I feared it before I actually heard it. After all, my mother read me watchtower publications as bedtime stories. I have an idea that this kind of indoctrination led to my somewhat unorthodox interpretations of reality. The earlier you subject a mind to fear especially sustained fear, the better the chance to cause catastrophic rewiring.
My earliest fears were to do with demons. The invisible phantoms that with a hunger for Jehovah's Witnesses. For most children suffering from night terrors, or irrational fears, there was always a loving parent willing to cool their white-hot fear with reason. A peek under the bed, or a flick of the light switch revealed that their fears where misplaced. We, however, were given no safe harbor. Our nightly screams and fearful trembling were not quelled - they were, in fact, reinforced.
"In these wicked days of the “time of the end,” the demons appear to be intensifying their attacks against Christians and against those who are just beginning to learn God’s truth. What, then, if a person who wants to do God’s will finds that demon powers are pressing an attack against him, trying to wear him down physically and mentally by disturbing his sleep? What if one is hearing “voices” that pretend to be “good spirits”? What if “voices” try to turn one away from God’s kingdom and his Kingdom witnesses?
When wicked spirits assault one, the sedatives and tranquilizers and drugs that are useful in nervous and mental disorders are not able to bring relief, since the cause of the trouble is an attack from demon powers. Only God provides the remedy for resisting successfully in this wicked day. This is “the complete suit of armor from God.” Hence the “fine soldier of Christ Jesus” will put on this armor and fight, resisting demon forces in this wicked day.—2 Tim. 2:3."
w63 3/15 p. 186
Imagine not having a parent to tell you that the monsters under your bed weren't real. Imagine them telling you that they could not protect you from these monsters and that only your ability to comprehend a complex biblical metaphor would keep you safe.
I remember there was a bear that my sister bought from a thrift store. It was bright yellow and wore a denim herringbone cap with little pairs of shirts and pants stitched in and a matching vest. It was large (about the size of a 5-year-old). It was a big silly bear. Nothing about it was frightening. It had big round cartoon eyes and a sly smile, however, there was something that I knew about things. Even at this tender age, I had an understanding that things could be possessed and that Demons were clever. I knew they had no material form, but were capable of using objects to connect with the material world.
"Even if you have not practiced spiritism, get rid of anything having spiritistic uses or overtones. This includes books, magazines, videos, posters, musical recordings, and objects used for spiritistic purposes. Also included are idols, amulets, and other items worn for protection, and gifts received from practicers of spiritism. (Deuteronomy 7:25, 26; 1 Corinthians 10:21) To illustrate: A married couple in Thailand had long been harassed by demons. Then they got rid of objects associated with spiritism. What was the result? They were relieved of the demonic attacks and thereafter made real spiritual progress."
Knowledge That Leads to Everlasting Life p. 114-115
In my home growing up, there was a walk-through closet between me and my sisters' rooms. Some nights after having a nightmare, I'd walk through to sleep with my sister and there high on a shelf was this bear. As I walked through the eyes would follow me. One night, I braved the walk just after dusk. I can still hear my sister's exasperated sighs as she heard my feet tipping through the closet. As I made it to the bed she was already back to sleep. I fixed myself just behind her as she lay forward of the closet and the bear. At first I was still and planned to go to sleep myself, however, the reason I woke that night was due to a dream I'd had that this bear was actually alive and could talk.
So I raised my head above my sister's sleeping body and just stared into the dark corner of the closet. The bear was affixed in a way that made it face directly toward me; the closet was nearly pitch dark. I was only about 8 years old at the time, maybe younger. I can't remember the time of night, but I remember being dead tired. I rested my head on my sister's hip and watched this bear in the dark corner. The longer I stared the more of the I could make out bears features. I focused on its eyes and its smile.
Soon I began to notice its eyebrows, which usually arched invitingly upward - were starting to slump into an angry downward slant. I also noticed it's pupils seemed to be moving from their normally off-center positioning to a direct alignment with my own eyes. I lifted my head slowly, hoping not to escalate the already tense situation. I got an idea that I better wake my sister so she could see what was happening and maybe help me pray this horror away. As I reached down to shake hear my hand fell into the bed.
My sister was gone! My heart sank. I was alone. It took everything I had to raise my eyes back to the dark corner of the closest and as I did, I saw that the bear was also gone my head darted around the room looking for the bear and my sister and all at once I could site of something my young mind failed to fully comprehend. There on the edge of the bed were three small yellow fingers creeping their way up and onto the bed.
That's when I woke up. I'd fallen asleep on sister's hip and the bear was still there in the dark corner. I don't have a happy ending to this story. No one came to save me from it or to tell me that my fears where irrational. In fact, in the following years, my mother implied that she too was having fears related to this bear. I recall her saying something like "We bought it at a thrift shop, we don't know who owned it before us or what they may have down to it."
I got over my fears of the bear by convincing myself that it wasn't possessed by demons, even as I still believed the entire ordeal was possible and still believed in demons.
One day my best friend and I tore the bear apart and left it in my backyard. I still had dreams about it for at least two years after this event.
These kinds of themes were normal. There was always a demon harassing someone in their sleep or causing bad things to happen. To this day I don't think I know exactly how much damage this did to mind. Then there was disfellowshipping. Most of the conversations I've read relating to this topic have been to do with shunning, which is absolutely horrendous, however, it was not my primary fear growing up. Disfellowshipping represented something more than separation from human beings. It also represented a separation from God and his protection.
Shunning was a given, we were dangerous filth that didn't deserve to be fellow-shipped with. This thinking was normal. There was no outrage or push-back. It was objectively true and I lived with this truth as an indictment of my self.
With this in mind, we move to the results of our uselessness and we began to learn how to live as unimportant trash. As I entered my teenage years, I started to see more and more people getting disfellowshipped and with the exception of a few instances of meeting attendance redemption, many simply vanished or at least that's the way I processed it.
The friend (and his family) I mentioned at the beginning of this entry, was one such person. One day his family was at the kingdom hall, the next they were gone and no one batted an eye.
I don't even remember asking what happened to them. There is something rotten in that. Something that smells like it's gone bad inside of me and there is no way to cleanse it.
For all the long skirts and cheap suits attributed to the dull drudgery of being a Jehovah's Witness, there is also an unprecedented palpable level of derangement. Yes, their brand of mental dysfunction rises to a level of emptiness that debases every notion of human sociology. The average believer is at all times prepared to sever even the most intimate relationships in order to maintain their allegiance with the Watchtower.
It kind of mental engineering is particularly damaging to the minds of children. They having the greatest imaginations and ability to parrot what they are taught without fear of reprisal. Ask any former Jehovah's witness who had the displeasure of learning about Armageddon as a child, and they will be able to tell you a variety of nightmares they experienced related to "the war of the great day of God Almighty." I was no exception.
I have vivid memories of two recurring themes:
Uncertainty
Many of my dreams about the end revolved around the following
Seek Jehovah . . . Seek righteousness, seek meekness. Probably you may be concealed in the day of Jehovah’s anger.”—ZEPHANIAH 2:3.
This scripture was stood out in my mind as a child. I recall it being used often in talks and the emphasis was put on the word "probably." It was used as a means for the Watchtower to tell it's members that they could never do enough and never be sure.
In many of my dreams, I recall sitting in the kingdom hall believing that I was safe only to look around the hall and see everyone encased in a bubble, while I was fully exposed.
Abandonment
In my introductory blog post, I spoke about an obscure Watchtower doctrine I call "parental merit."
"However, the children whom God counts as holy on the basis of parental merit are those children who are not yet old enough to understand fully all that is required of those who serve God. They are unable to make the momentous decision for themselves that is required of those who become baptized disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ. But it is a very important fact to keep in mind that even such young children must know what obedience means. They must be obedient to their parents. They must be children that are not unruly or practicers of what is bad. (Prov. 20:11) This would make it imperative that the parents, or the parent who is a believer, teach the children obedience, and also teach them the truth of the Bible at every opportunity."
w72 6/15 p. 362
This doctrine set the stage for a new kind of abuse in my mind. One where I would constantly face the notion that this religion and the salvation it promises, were more important than my life. From a very early age, I became aware that might face a situation where they needed to leave me to die while they moved on to live forever.
The dreams related to this reason often revolved around my parents walking hand in hand into some kind of light; behind me was some version of the terror-inducing angelic massacre.
Usually, I would start out with confidence, running fast and feeling like I would catch up. Then, I would start to question whether I'd committed some sin that I hadn't confessed, or if I was paying enough attention at the meetings or studying enough.
As I went through the mental Rolodex of potential transgressions my gait would slow and I'd see my parents, fully confident and walking faster than I could hope to run.
At this point, I would be screaming for their attention, for help! Most times they never looked back, however, sometimes they would. Sometimes they would turn around and silently watch me struggle to reach for them as the howls of the dying wicked crept up my spine; and though they did not speak, a message was relayed to me "We tried to warn you."
Imagine waking from such a nightmare and not feeling relieved by the warmth of the morning sun. Imagine living day to day believing that such a scenario was not only possible but probable.
This brings me to the waking nightmares. The painful lashes of indoctrination that we unleash on ourselves in the real world.
There were times I would miss a meeting due to illness and would worry whether this was the day they may have given the instructions on where to go for survival. If my parents were late, I'd wonder if perhaps they had gone to this place of concealment without me.
You see, the true fruitage of the Watchtower spirit is Trauma.
It is the perfect weapon to use to subdue a particular population because it inflicts a wound that never seems to heal. Even as we may have moved past all the debates of truth in relation to the Watchtower, we are still saddled with these scars of all that was done to us.
However, whether we were abused physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually or all of the above. Or if we suffer from PTSD, C-PTSD, dissociative disorders, depression, anxiety, or any form of mental illness caused your time in this insidious organization, there is hope.
In 2015
Leela Corman produced a series of illustrations that outlined how she dealt with the death of her daughter and the crippling effects of being traumatized. I am attaching some of the illustrations here and the link to the full article below.
If this boy is still alive, there is a great likelihood that his wounds are still dressed with a fresh tourniquet. Looking back, I have to figure that in some ways it was good that he still believed that he could escape and defend himself physically. I've come to learn that some abuse victims' fight or flight responses have become so dulled that they can nary muster the strength to block the incoming blows.
This is how life starts when you're one of Jehovah's Witnesses. One of the first lessons I was taught was to have an innate ability to ignore brutality. Every horror in the world or delivered upon a particular individual (including myself) was an aberration of living in Satan's world. Further, this idea of living in a hopeless vacuum extended from a far away from global disenfranchisement - to a very personal nihilism.
As an awoken former member, I find myself terrorized by everything that I missed. Things like personal slights, acquiescence to authority, satisfaction with mediocrity, the caricaturing of unbelievers.
Even more unsettling are the things I saw, yet did not react appropriately. The savaging of children, the abandonment of friends, the wars, famine, disease, and racism. The pathetic uninformed pontificating of barely literate men. These things were nothing more than a shaking awake from a bad dream and their tangibility only mattered to the extent that they brought me closer the end of the world.
I don't remember the first time I heard the word Armageddon. I often wonder if I feared it before I actually heard it. After all, my mother read me watchtower publications as bedtime stories. I have an idea that this kind of indoctrination led to my somewhat unorthodox interpretations of reality. The earlier you subject a mind to fear especially sustained fear, the better the chance to cause catastrophic rewiring.
My earliest fears were to do with demons. The invisible phantoms that with a hunger for Jehovah's Witnesses. For most children suffering from night terrors, or irrational fears, there was always a loving parent willing to cool their white-hot fear with reason. A peek under the bed, or a flick of the light switch revealed that their fears where misplaced. We, however, were given no safe harbor. Our nightly screams and fearful trembling were not quelled - they were, in fact, reinforced.
"In these wicked days of the “time of the end,” the demons appear to be intensifying their attacks against Christians and against those who are just beginning to learn God’s truth. What, then, if a person who wants to do God’s will finds that demon powers are pressing an attack against him, trying to wear him down physically and mentally by disturbing his sleep? What if one is hearing “voices” that pretend to be “good spirits”? What if “voices” try to turn one away from God’s kingdom and his Kingdom witnesses?
When wicked spirits assault one, the sedatives and tranquilizers and drugs that are useful in nervous and mental disorders are not able to bring relief, since the cause of the trouble is an attack from demon powers. Only God provides the remedy for resisting successfully in this wicked day. This is “the complete suit of armor from God.” Hence the “fine soldier of Christ Jesus” will put on this armor and fight, resisting demon forces in this wicked day.—2 Tim. 2:3."
w63 3/15 p. 186
Imagine not having a parent to tell you that the monsters under your bed weren't real. Imagine them telling you that they could not protect you from these monsters and that only your ability to comprehend a complex biblical metaphor would keep you safe.
I remember there was a bear that my sister bought from a thrift store. It was bright yellow and wore a denim herringbone cap with little pairs of shirts and pants stitched in and a matching vest. It was large (about the size of a 5-year-old). It was a big silly bear. Nothing about it was frightening. It had big round cartoon eyes and a sly smile, however, there was something that I knew about things. Even at this tender age, I had an understanding that things could be possessed and that Demons were clever. I knew they had no material form, but were capable of using objects to connect with the material world.
"Even if you have not practiced spiritism, get rid of anything having spiritistic uses or overtones. This includes books, magazines, videos, posters, musical recordings, and objects used for spiritistic purposes. Also included are idols, amulets, and other items worn for protection, and gifts received from practicers of spiritism. (Deuteronomy 7:25, 26; 1 Corinthians 10:21) To illustrate: A married couple in Thailand had long been harassed by demons. Then they got rid of objects associated with spiritism. What was the result? They were relieved of the demonic attacks and thereafter made real spiritual progress."
Knowledge That Leads to Everlasting Life p. 114-115
In my home growing up, there was a walk-through closet between me and my sisters' rooms. Some nights after having a nightmare, I'd walk through to sleep with my sister and there high on a shelf was this bear. As I walked through the eyes would follow me. One night, I braved the walk just after dusk. I can still hear my sister's exasperated sighs as she heard my feet tipping through the closet. As I made it to the bed she was already back to sleep. I fixed myself just behind her as she lay forward of the closet and the bear. At first I was still and planned to go to sleep myself, however, the reason I woke that night was due to a dream I'd had that this bear was actually alive and could talk.
So I raised my head above my sister's sleeping body and just stared into the dark corner of the closet. The bear was affixed in a way that made it face directly toward me; the closet was nearly pitch dark. I was only about 8 years old at the time, maybe younger. I can't remember the time of night, but I remember being dead tired. I rested my head on my sister's hip and watched this bear in the dark corner. The longer I stared the more of the I could make out bears features. I focused on its eyes and its smile.
Soon I began to notice its eyebrows, which usually arched invitingly upward - were starting to slump into an angry downward slant. I also noticed it's pupils seemed to be moving from their normally off-center positioning to a direct alignment with my own eyes. I lifted my head slowly, hoping not to escalate the already tense situation. I got an idea that I better wake my sister so she could see what was happening and maybe help me pray this horror away. As I reached down to shake hear my hand fell into the bed.
My sister was gone! My heart sank. I was alone. It took everything I had to raise my eyes back to the dark corner of the closest and as I did, I saw that the bear was also gone my head darted around the room looking for the bear and my sister and all at once I could site of something my young mind failed to fully comprehend. There on the edge of the bed were three small yellow fingers creeping their way up and onto the bed.
That's when I woke up. I'd fallen asleep on sister's hip and the bear was still there in the dark corner. I don't have a happy ending to this story. No one came to save me from it or to tell me that my fears where irrational. In fact, in the following years, my mother implied that she too was having fears related to this bear. I recall her saying something like "We bought it at a thrift shop, we don't know who owned it before us or what they may have down to it."
I got over my fears of the bear by convincing myself that it wasn't possessed by demons, even as I still believed the entire ordeal was possible and still believed in demons.
One day my best friend and I tore the bear apart and left it in my backyard. I still had dreams about it for at least two years after this event.
These kinds of themes were normal. There was always a demon harassing someone in their sleep or causing bad things to happen. To this day I don't think I know exactly how much damage this did to mind. Then there was disfellowshipping. Most of the conversations I've read relating to this topic have been to do with shunning, which is absolutely horrendous, however, it was not my primary fear growing up. Disfellowshipping represented something more than separation from human beings. It also represented a separation from God and his protection.
Shunning was a given, we were dangerous filth that didn't deserve to be fellow-shipped with. This thinking was normal. There was no outrage or push-back. It was objectively true and I lived with this truth as an indictment of my self.
With this in mind, we move to the results of our uselessness and we began to learn how to live as unimportant trash. As I entered my teenage years, I started to see more and more people getting disfellowshipped and with the exception of a few instances of meeting attendance redemption, many simply vanished or at least that's the way I processed it.
The friend (and his family) I mentioned at the beginning of this entry, was one such person. One day his family was at the kingdom hall, the next they were gone and no one batted an eye.
I don't even remember asking what happened to them. There is something rotten in that. Something that smells like it's gone bad inside of me and there is no way to cleanse it.
For all the long skirts and cheap suits attributed to the dull drudgery of being a Jehovah's Witness, there is also an unprecedented palpable level of derangement. Yes, their brand of mental dysfunction rises to a level of emptiness that debases every notion of human sociology. The average believer is at all times prepared to sever even the most intimate relationships in order to maintain their allegiance with the Watchtower.
It kind of mental engineering is particularly damaging to the minds of children. They having the greatest imaginations and ability to parrot what they are taught without fear of reprisal. Ask any former Jehovah's witness who had the displeasure of learning about Armageddon as a child, and they will be able to tell you a variety of nightmares they experienced related to "the war of the great day of God Almighty." I was no exception.
I have vivid memories of two recurring themes:
Uncertainty
Many of my dreams about the end revolved around the following
Seek Jehovah . . . Seek righteousness, seek meekness. Probably you may be concealed in the day of Jehovah’s anger.”—ZEPHANIAH 2:3.
This scripture was stood out in my mind as a child. I recall it being used often in talks and the emphasis was put on the word "probably." It was used as a means for the Watchtower to tell it's members that they could never do enough and never be sure.
In many of my dreams, I recall sitting in the kingdom hall believing that I was safe only to look around the hall and see everyone encased in a bubble, while I was fully exposed.
Abandonment
In my introductory blog post, I spoke about an obscure Watchtower doctrine I call "parental merit."
"However, the children whom God counts as holy on the basis of parental merit are those children who are not yet old enough to understand fully all that is required of those who serve God. They are unable to make the momentous decision for themselves that is required of those who become baptized disciples of the Lord Jesus Christ. But it is a very important fact to keep in mind that even such young children must know what obedience means. They must be obedient to their parents. They must be children that are not unruly or practicers of what is bad. (Prov. 20:11) This would make it imperative that the parents, or the parent who is a believer, teach the children obedience, and also teach them the truth of the Bible at every opportunity."
w72 6/15 p. 362
This doctrine set the stage for a new kind of abuse in my mind. One where I would constantly face the notion that this religion and the salvation it promises, were more important than my life. From a very early age, I became aware that might face a situation where they needed to leave me to die while they moved on to live forever.
The dreams related to this reason often revolved around my parents walking hand in hand into some kind of light; behind me was some version of the terror-inducing angelic massacre.
Usually, I would start out with confidence, running fast and feeling like I would catch up. Then, I would start to question whether I'd committed some sin that I hadn't confessed, or if I was paying enough attention at the meetings or studying enough.
As I went through the mental Rolodex of potential transgressions my gait would slow and I'd see my parents, fully confident and walking faster than I could hope to run.
At this point, I would be screaming for their attention, for help! Most times they never looked back, however, sometimes they would. Sometimes they would turn around and silently watch me struggle to reach for them as the howls of the dying wicked crept up my spine; and though they did not speak, a message was relayed to me "We tried to warn you."
Imagine waking from such a nightmare and not feeling relieved by the warmth of the morning sun. Imagine living day to day believing that such a scenario was not only possible but probable.
This brings me to the waking nightmares. The painful lashes of indoctrination that we unleash on ourselves in the real world.
There were times I would miss a meeting due to illness and would worry whether this was the day they may have given the instructions on where to go for survival. If my parents were late, I'd wonder if perhaps they had gone to this place of concealment without me.
You see, the true fruitage of the Watchtower spirit is Trauma.
It is the perfect weapon to use to subdue a particular population because it inflicts a wound that never seems to heal. Even as we may have moved past all the debates of truth in relation to the Watchtower, we are still saddled with these scars of all that was done to us.
However, whether we were abused physically, mentally, emotionally, sexually or all of the above. Or if we suffer from PTSD, C-PTSD, dissociative disorders, depression, anxiety, or any form of mental illness caused your time in this insidious organization, there is hope.
In 2015
Leela Corman produced a series of illustrations that outlined how she dealt with the death of her daughter and the crippling effects of being traumatized. I am attaching some of the illustrations here and the link to the full article below.
I love your blog, Leon. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. Many of the statements you've made in last couple of posts echo my own, recorded in my diaries.
ReplyDelete