Start of a Journey

As of a few hours ago, I am homeless. I am sitting at the local Mini Mart, trying to figure out my next move. I’m messaging people, and waiting to hear back from a friend I trust. Worst case scenario, I sleep in the hotel by the fairgrounds tonight.

For most people, including myself up until this point, this would be a moment of terror. I have thought of facing this situation and going to pieces, worrying about what every new corner turned would bring without the stability I have grown to know. But, after crossing this threshold, I feel more free than I ever have before. The roots of abuse run deep, and having left the house where many of these memories transpired has unlocked a new sense of vigor for life.

For so long, the attitude that I have lived my life with has not served me. If anything, it is the quicksand on which I have built my house, my character. My childhood taught me I was worthless, and that lack of self-love has only stood in my way. Inhibited, my own doubts and fears have forced me to be less than I can be.

I am reminded of when my ex-girlfriend and I set off on an adventure for a brave new life together across the country exactly one week under a year from today. While I was full of excitement for what we were creating, my greater need to escape from my father was a huge factor in me making that extreme choice. Living in his house devoid of love pushed me to be so bold.

It may seem drastic, but the level of sabotage I was experiencing there made all other attempts of forward movement impossible. I could not get a job, let alone hold one. The volatility I experience just living where everything happened ensures that my day was certain to spiral into an uncontrollable torrent of intrusive thoughts and synchronous reminders of failure.

I feel ashamed reflecting on how much of that brash choice was driven by my desire to escape such a triggering environment. I was desperate and reckless, which is exactly why the cult was able to manipulate me so well. The situation I was in was exactly what they preyed on. There were others who reached out to Earth Nation in equally desperate situations, looking to make ends meet or otherwise misguided in their search for something meaningful to dedicate their life to.

More so, I am ashamed that my vulnerability led to me dragging another person into the situation. Awen was just as enthusiastic as I was getting on the plane, but the moment we were picked up in the community van, those feelings slowly faded over time. While the sociopaths in the cult deliberately set us against each other, many of the feelings we expressed in anger were genuine. It took an adventure that ended with me cutting into my arm to try and get to the hospital for us to realize our relationship was held together with duct tape and abandonment issues.

While that story is tragic, it ultimately taught me what was necessary to make this foray today possible. Not only did it give me the perspective to break free from the boundaries of my limitations, but it showed me how vital it is that I love myself and stop living in denial. While I love my ex-girlfriend, it was not meant to be. I was sacrificing my dreams and desires in order to make hers come true. Our first love is self-love: if the gardener does not take care of themselves, then who takes care of the garden?

By stepping into the unknown like this, finally casting off the shackles of my own nightmare as I awaken my power, I escape as a phoenix rising from the ashes of hell. Reborn, I see so many avenues to success stemming before me. I have so much untapped potential, being previously unable to be my full self. It is impossible to be one’s highest, most authentic version of the self if one has to wear a mask. Having worn one for so long, conditioned to be a fearful mouse, I know I have a long journey of healing ahead of me. However bumpy the road ahead of me may be, I know for a fact that I am heading in the right direction. I am determined to beat my greatest demon: me.

I have lived in denial for most of my life. While I have a masculine side, there is a sensitive, feminine side within me that I have ignored, opting to hide it away to survive. My father has made it clear that he accepts me however I am, but like most narcissistic parents, he remains willfully oblivious to how much he has hurt me. Nothing can assuage the pain of the scars he left on my soul every time he called me a “faggot” or a “cocksucker.” It goes without saying, the physical abuse did its part in turning me into a submissive little girl.

All of which leads to the moment where the dam broke and I walked away from that living situation. After Awen and I broke up for a second time a month after getting back to New York, I went back to live with my father. It was the only safe option I felt, but I realize that was a mistake. That house is filled with ghosts which haunt me. It was ultimately living in a literal pigsty that broke the camel’s back, but I say that in the same way that forgetting to take out the garbage was the trigger for my father beating me and destroying everything my mother ever made me.

I finally snapped and broke a couple objects in the house while I was alone. After he got home, my father came up the stairs and commanded me like he has done in the past. There was no attempt to understand or help. There was a problem in his house and he was solving it. I have always felt like another one of his pets, having been conditioned by his subtle cues and methods of control. It is impossible to describe how menacing he can be. My step-mom has broken down in tears complaining about the things he does, but like me she has been warped by learned helplessness to just take it.

Even though I have lived with this my entire life, it amazes me how mentally dominating and emotionally draining he can be. The audacity of the gaslighting and intentionally seeding the conversation. His straight face and bulging eyes while denying the past. The put-downs and degrading ways in which he crushes your spirit. The same things that Daniella, the sociopath who manipulated us the most in the cult, would do. It’s obvious that people raised in abusive situations are prime victims for cults and other predatory organizations.

In tears, I tried to bring up the issues from the past. With the triggering environment, there were many things which surging into the front of my mind, consuming my thoughts for the past several weeks. But, he didn’t smash my head into the kitchen floor after the sewage line broke; that was a misunderstanding. Nor did he make me stand until I passed out after being ungrateful, which is really the issue revolving around taking the garbage out. But, that simply never happened. He also never slammed my head into the passenger side window of his car for not being able to ice skate. All these things only exist in my mind, just like when he charmed the cop when I called 911 at thirteen, terrified because he threatened my life.

It always flabbergasts me how twisted he can make reality. There’s no way to bring these things up without immediately getting shut down. Incredulous, I asked him how everything my mother ever made me was broken. That’s when the conversation shifted into new grounds about how I have to get out.

He’s hit me with that before. It’s to break my will. I was in therapy earlier that day, and we had gone over how most of my problems revolve around self-esteem. Abuse completely warps ones world. I have felt so helpless for so long. I certainly stood in my own way holding onto the past. Now I’m letting it go. I’m letting it all go. My mental illness is completely tied up with that man. Leaving him behind feels like I’m leaving something vile of myself behind as well.

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