Need to be reminded that I'm a person
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@cor-vent
Need to be reminded that I'm a person
I don't know where the other survivors in my country are, it feels so lonely. Idk how I'm supposed to find them, it isn't safe at all to ask online. But I somehow believe I'll meet others like me as my life goes on.
I remembered I was brainwashed into believing I have the duty to liberate the world, to realize communism by being a weapon of my country. I was special and meant to be Christ the savior. They made me believe I was guilty for not ending all human suffering, and they always used my existential guilt to control me. It worked so well.
But they also worshipped Satan and gave me the role of the devil's bride when they needed to. I've been living in a world full of contradictions since I was born.
Sometimes I don't want to be friends with people who's never been through RAMCOA/OEA anymore, it's so tiring. My trust is running low and my 'friends' just keep triggering me. They know my history but still joke about starting cults or treat human trafficking as an element for erotic fictions. I'm so tired.
"RAMCOA & OEA isn't real; it's fake or exaggerated for attention online. We'd see a lot more cases if it was."
Except you do see us.
We're on the front page of your favorite porn site. We're the tweaking homeless person you pretend not to look at on the street. We're your favorite political talking point. We're the infant in the emergency room screaming from a pain they can't comprehend. We're the black lines in classified files you make jokes about. We're buried in the backyards of farmhouses that have long since returned to nature. We're the ones who sold you drugs in high school. We're the classmate you bullied for growling and barking like an animal. We're the product of a $200 billion industry. We're the blood on your favorite politician's hands. We're alive and dead and existing as fragmented states in between.
You just refuse to look too closely because it makes you uncomfortable.
I've recalled more and now I'm certain that I was trained in the military. My father was born in a family with military officers for generations. My husband/trainer in the cult was a military officer too. It explains why I've always been so terrified of the country’s government, it's police and military, they were meant to hurt me and never to protect.
I want to be beautiful so badly. I feel that I'm not beautiful enough to be seen or remembered. I believe it's a program but I can't remember why it was implanted.
tw abortion
I hate myself for not remembering what happened to myself. I remember my owner put on a rubber glove and then stuck his hand inside my vagina to take away my baby; I even got bodily flashbacks of his hand in there sometimes. But someone told me it was impossible for him to just grab the fetus from my body, which tbh triggered me badly and sent me into a spiral of self-doubt.
There were at least two times of abortion, one in a hospital setting with professional tools, the other I described above. I don't remember when I got pregnant or how long I carried the babies. Sometimes I don't even remember anything about my life up till recent years. I'm scared that I can't trust my memory.
I feel so guilty that I need to die when I see others suffer the same as I. It's a program carved too deep in my nervous system and gets triggered so often. I was made to be a failed savior; I have the audacity to believe I could have saved everyone, but all I can do is to punish myself for others' suffering. I seeked punishment from my owner in the past so I could live on, but now he's gone and the program just keeps telling me I don't deserve to live.
I hate it that my mom was programmed too. I don't know if I can hate her for the sexual abuse and torture she did to me. I believe she was programmed to forget and deny everything about the cult. Maybe she'll never admit it was real and sides with my father the rest of her life. I don't even know what kind of person she is beyond the programs. I just feel disgusted about the fact that she's still playing her role of a good wife wholeheartedly, believing the man who raped and trafficked me my entire life is a good father.
I finally asked my mother if she remembers what she and my father did to me, but she still denies it all. She too was trafficked and tortured, but she denied it also. She now seems to be 'worried' about me and wants to take me to a mental hospital. I couldn’t tell if she was just pretending or if she genuinely forgot everything because of dissociation, but either way I just laughed.
tw murder, cannibalism
I miss him. Whenever I see anything about serial killers I think of him. I remember how he smiled as he killed people and ate their flesh. He was always smiling. It’s so painful that I can’t be like him; it feels like there’s always a piece of me missing that only he can fill. I'm a morbid thing. I wish I could be a better survivor.
tw urine, unsanitary
It feels like I was destined to be a urinal. Growing up I don’t know how many times I’ve drunk other people’s urine or showered in it. They really enjoyed doing this to me. My body remembers countless times I knelt down with my mouth open to let them pee inside. I had to have my hands cupped beneath my mouth to catch the spilled part and then lick it up. I don’t know what they'd gain from turning a child into a urinal, or why they liked this.
tw dehumanization
A part inside me want to kneel down again, just like before, mimicking a dog’s paws with my hands and sticking out my tongue, wearing a collar and a chain. I’ve been trained so well—a better dog than a real one. I want him to pet my head.
I want to know why a human being can be so cruel and so empty, and why I can’t be like him. I still miss his scent and his movements; it’s like he’s right in front of me. I'm fixated on him, and I need to know how to become him. It’s as if I’m forever trapped in a binary relationship, destined to be either the little girl kneeling at his feet or the man who takes his place, holding the chain.
Sometimes I feel like the Devil is watching me. I can’t escape. He’s always there. He was there when I lay on the altar, being raped by the man who was both my godfather and my husband. He was there when I was hung up and forced to listen to the name of Christ repeated in my ear. He must have been there when I bled to death after an abortion, nailed to the cross while they dipped bread in my blood.
Before recovering my memories at the end of 2021, I suffered from severe nightmares that caused me to wake up dizzy, hearing unpleasant voices in foreign languages I didn’t understand. In mid-2022, when I told my psychologist about these memories that were suddenly rushing back, I couldn't put a name to them because they were related to severe government abuse that made no sense; the only thing I knew was that it involved a blond Russian man who took me on long trips to prostitute me and record illegal content.
Over time, I discovered the term RAMCOA and finally began to understand what was happening to me; I gave it a name. I attended weekly sessions because once I knew the name of what I was looking for, my identities would try to abandon therapy, disappear, and attempt suicide. I understood terms regarding programming, and I began to remember more.
I never stopped remembering.
My recovery took up my entire adolescence, because we started therapy early due to us being very confrontational. We worked for a friend whom I love dearly, who helped us pay for the weekly sessions with the hope of seeing us improve.
Thinking that when I attend my last session, it will mean I’ve achieved functional multiplicity and will finally be free feels overwhelming.
But I’ve never desired that day as much as I have this year.