The Disclosure of Process

For a while now, the word, process held many connotations. In the beginning, it was about my job that I once had, but later on, that word, began to conceive a form that took shape to look something like this.

I blamed and cursed at any speck of thought that decided to ruminate in my thoughts for a tad bit too long. I became obsessed with perfection. I was like a exorcist. Exorcising purity to fit in amongst the Oneness pentecostals or apostolics, whatever you will call it. It damaged my mind for a very long time. So much so that I feel like sharing my service with those guys. I feel sorry for anyone who was as naive as I who is going to get clawed in by those dim wits. Yes, that is right, dim wits. I have no apology. I have been morbidly scarred.

I read all the stories of others in my shoes, be it male or female, that had to endure the reality that they were trapped. Not trapped in the sense that a dog is trapped in his cage. But trapped like a foot stuck in a large unmovable stone and forced to watch like Stanley Kubricks, Clockwork Orange’s main character, who is glued to a seat, with straps holding him down, and with tweezers forcing his eyes wide-open, to watch an innocent girl get gang-raped. This really has been a tragic experience for me personally. Tears well up in my eyes just thinking about the days I was made to look like a barbie doll, talk less, look down at the floor, and make peanut brittle at homes behind the kitchen, never given a voice to be free.

The casual but intimidating encounters with men in that regime, who F***ed with my mind so much, was a daily occurrence. After awhile I just got so depressed. I developed clinical depression and was taking drugs to cope with it. I was able to work part-time, but with little social interaction. Mainly because many of them knew I was diagnosed with depression, so they avoided me like a disease.

The UPC, whatever they call themselves has mentally f***ked up my head. I don’t remember any “best” times I have ever had there and still ache and wish for an apology from all those that took a small or large part in totally decapitating my freedom. I wished it all NEVER happend, but it did! I wish I can die hearing an apology but I strongly doubt those prideful Bastards will ever do that. E

The grinding of my teeth has stopped at least. Maybe, despite all this real-life drama, complexity, and honest to goodness, anger…there is HOPE. If not hope, than what else? My hands feel frozen as I think about what else I should say. But nothing comes to mind. I am afraid to focus. I am a disaster.

Here goes, POST 😦


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