Johan

He took my baby

[lungarden]

🌹 || My name is Johan. I am a survivor of child sex trafficking and severe torture (RAMCOA). I was militarily trained by a russian neurosurgeon dedicated to Soviet programming, who made me believe I was a Soviet spy holding vital information about the people I worked with.

🌹 || I have achieved functional multiplicity, and I am studying medicine to become a Neurosurgeon-Neuropsychiatrist specializing in trauma, dissociation, and mental deprogramming for survivors of severe abuse. I am an adult; I do not speak with minors.

🌹 || My art is an apology letter to survivors of abuse, and I provide books for survivors if they need them so they don’t feel alone. You may write to me with questions if you wish; I always answer them as soon as I am available. I know several languages, but I am most fluent in English; however, if you want to write to me in your native language, I have no problem with that.

🌹 || My art is not pleasant. And I will not make it pleasant for you; I portray severe abuse. I do not take commissions, and I do not sell my art. There is nothing about my art to be sold. My art does not support pedophiles; it supports survivors.

🌹 || Johan Ahn.

[lungarden]

My abusers have heavy nazi heritage and are neo nazis themselves, thank you for bringing up the celtic cross, it is everywhere in my memories and i could never find the exact symbol, it was also used as a crosshair almost in my memories. I wish you the best and hope you are having a good night or day

I'm glad it helped, I hope you can get the information you need. I wish you the best too.

Thank you for your sweet words.

[lungarden]

It's me, Johan Ahn!

[lungarden]

I like anonymous questions. They make me think a lot. I think if they could see me, they would know that I overanalyze everything they say.

[lungarden]

I remember when the brunette exposed you, the blonde, in a fit of jealousy and rage, showed you that the brunette had talked. You were always a man who smiled a lot, a hollow smile from ear to ear without showing your teeth to anyone. When you heard what she had to say, you answered them with a kind voice.

I don't know how the conversation escalated. The only thing I remember is that you killed them both, peeled off their skin with a scalpel, and wrote things on the floor, later fixing them with formaldehyde. The skin you tore from one, you sewed onto the brunette's body, and the brunette's onto the blonde's. You glued their teeth, one by one, and after joining them together forever—just as you used to force them into orgies—you used a dog to violate their bodies and record pornography.

You never stopped smiling. But I could see that your sutures weren't like they always were—perfect, made one by one as if by the hands of an angel. Instead, the sutures on their bodies and their skin flaps were long, erratic.

That day, you didn't want to sew.

[lungarden]

Thank you for making this account. I never knew being crucified was an experience someone else endured ... it makes it all the less alienating to touch on my system's trauma.

Greetings. You can check out ChristLikeWhor3 art on Tumblr, they were also crucified and they tell their story. I'm glad my art makes you feel less alone. Hugs.

[lungarden]

I am a very controlling man. I've tried to improve, but I haven't succeeded. I tend to observe a lot; I do it so much that I feel like I can read you. And I count, forwards and backwards today, looking for strange things on your part to categorize you. I wish I didn't, but I observe a lot.

-Johan Ahn.

[lungarden]

Recovering memories has made me feel so lonely and alienated from the people I know, I could never feel the same again. I always knew something was wrong with me and it showed in my writing, in the way I thought, or simply in how I looked (disheveled, tired). But I guess today I felt lonelier than usual, because the person I consider my best friend told me he didn’t want to know anything about my memories anymore, 'because it's too much for him' or 'To be honest, I don't want to talk to you because you were in contact with your abuser.' I feel alone, completely alone. He told me he didn't want to talk to me for a week, and I don't care about that—but it just breaks my heart to see that I am so alone. He made me feel like a whore.

[lungarden]

I said in a comment that I was a RAMCOA survivor and someone replied that I wasn't, without knowing me. I don't need you to believe me, but I can show you interesting things my programmer taught me to torture ignorant people like you. I was taught to be a programmer.

[lungarden]

that ai generated image you just posted made my heart drop. it reminded me so much of a little girl who was also being abused alongside me. the man too. i know you're both not the same, but it's sickeningly and eerily close to the memories i have of both of them.

He was a blonde man with blue eyes. The girl next to him is me; I used to wear a blonde wig and blue colored contacts. It might sound a bit familiar to you for various reasons, but I wouldn't be surprised if your memories were related. That man seems to be everywhere.

[lungarden]

When I recovered my memories, I wanted people to understand how much your eyes terrified me. I never had any photos, but later, as technology advanced, I had the opportunity to create an image with AI so I could show my psychologist what you looked like.

I always remember your eyes. And even though I don't have a physical image of what you look like, here, beneath that censorship box, you look exactly the same. And you terrify me just the same.

[lungarden]

Today's scattered writings in my notebook:

He told me that V was very brave for staying alive while being a failure for not becoming a doctor like him. I wish I could say that forever, that I did. But I never did. I'm not lying like they said. Maybe not because of that, right? Why did you do that and why did you change at all? No, not at all. I don't hate you. I don't hate you. I don't hate you. I don't hate you, Johan. I don't hate you, Johan. Maybe your reality is part of a dream, isn't it? Isn't it? Ugh. Reality is not made by sin.

Why did you escape? I wanted you to stay with me forever. Why didn't you stay? Why didn't you stay? Why? Why? Why?

He burned my nose. He burned my nose today. I need to escape. I'm still in contact with him. That's why you can't remember his name. You did it. You achieved functional multiplicity, but you need to escape and you will be free. Mom sold me, but she's not making money from it. You need to escape. That's why you didn't get your period. He's raping you. You were pregnant and he forced you to have an abortion again.

Why do you hate me so much? Do you want to leave me, Katherine?

[lungarden]

I have a question if you don't mind me asking. How do you live with yourself knowing you were forced to hurt other living things, like animals and people? It's really been tearing me apart personally to reconcile with that reality

I live with it every single day of my life. The children and animals they forced me to hurt also had dreams, ideas, and families who, in one way or another, loved them. I never felt guilt—not because I wanted to hurt them, but because neither they nor I had a choice. Every time I think about that—or every time I think about how they forced me to be a child soldier—my heart sinks a little, but I think about how they would be happy knowing that I survived, and they would understand that I never wanted to hurt them. The truly evil people are the ones who force other children to cause harm, because they are so cowardly that they need to manipulate.

It is not your fault.

They would be proud that you are still alive.

[lungarden]

Sometimes I miss being abused and forced to have orgies. I know it’s not right, but it’s the only thing I know. That’s the hard part about healing—you have to restructure all your ideas.

[lungarden]

I have been writing erratically, but I don't like what I'm writing at all. I write alone, with my hand on the paper, and paragraphs and paragraphs and paragraphs of text where I explain how I'm still in the place of abuse, how he hurt me last night. But I don't remember anything; they are just isolated writings, and I don't understand where they are coming from.

[lungarden]

It's funny how part of the endogenic narrative is reading the DSM-5 backwards and studying absolutely nothing else. I spent more than 6 years studying DID from my adolescence into adulthood, and I will keep doing so until I graduate and can finally specialize, but you can't tell me all that knowledge is garbage just because people who haven't done a rigorous study to verify what can already be seen with the naked eye (that endogenic systems do not exist, and being neutral is directly or indirectly supporting the abuse of other systems) say so—just because you want to engage in deep roleplay and feel special in a fantasy world to which you will never belong, because your parents didn't love you enough and you weren't taught the core values given to another human being in kindergarten.

You cannot approach me, a survivor of child sex trafficking, to tell me that you are multiple and that you didn't survive trauma. That you are happy that way and that your life is all rainbows and butterflies because, according to your criteria and three Tumblr posts, that's fine. Let me remind you that the endogenic narrative subjects young survivors to befriending them because they are highly manipulable, and you, in your erotic madness, can abuse that child by saying it is an identity, because child abusers already do that without claiming to be endogenic.

They have problems, and serious ones. They don't even seem to have the gift of reading, because they read three paragraphs and shield themselves behind a supposed system that has DID, is endogenic, and is a psychologist. That kind of person is a danger to society; they should revoke their license for going against what is known as established studies.

The endogenic narrative is harmful.

[lungarden]

It's hard to say my name out loud, because he made a different birth certificate for me, a Russian passport. He changed my name so many times and repositioned me into multiple families within the cult, that I stopped knowing who I was a long time ago.