how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 9)

part 1 is here part 2 is here
part 3 is here part 4 is here
part 5 is here part 6 is here
part 7 is here part 8 is here



summer, fall, winter, spring
of the seasons i will sing
to help you through your birth
as you spend your time on earth
in the wind ~ steve miller

you have to let it go. you need to get over it. put it behind you. forget it. move on.
i can’t tell you the number of times i’ve heard well-meaning people say these things about my experience with bob. they don’t get it. this stuff has a way of getting inside of you and hiding, only to surface when you thought you had let it go.

here’s what i mean:

it was november 23, 1999, over 2 years had passed since i had sat in my perch on the northern slope of the santan mountains. i was standing outside talking on the phone with my father. he was ecstatic to hear me so filled with joy. i was euphoric. moments ago, i had held my wife in my arms as she delivered our second daughter, a beautiful blue-eyed, fair-skinned, strawberry blond baby girl. we named her ellie [name changed].

“i’m serious dad, i said. “it’s not just because she’s my daughter, she is so perfect, so beautiful.”

i couldn’t believe it. my wife was fantastic. she sailed through labor and delivered this bright-eyed baby girl with no medication, no epidural, just miles davis, john coltrane and a bit of monkey-hip gumbo and mothball stew playing in the background--the same music that was playing when our daughter was conceived.

we left the birthing center three hours later, heading home with our new baby.

at home, our oldest daughter, her stuffed dog, kimberly, and i, gathered together in our king-sized bed with mom and the new baby. we were a happy family.

this time was especially meaningful to us, because we had been forbidden from having any more children in the bob's cult. though we were older than many parents of newborns, now that we were out, we could have all the children we wanted. this one was precious.

six months after ellie was born, i was on the phone once again. my wife had called me at work, i could hear deep, deep fear in her voice. our 6-month old girl was about to be transported to the hospital in an ambulance.

i hung up the phone, raced to my red t-bird and hauled ass toward the e.r. i was scared. “bob's wife had told us not to have a baby,” i thought. then…“whoa! where did that come from?”

i hit cedar crest blvd, took a hard right and put the pedal to the floor. i didn’t know that this event was going to change our family forever--that it would redefine our lives.

this wasn’t the first time we’d been expecting since we left the cult. once we were gone, i bought health insurance as soon as i could come up with the money and we went to work, trying to have a baby. it didn’t take long. a month later, my wife gave me the good news. we were thrilled.

then, three months into the pregnancy, my wife started bleeding. she was broken-hearted when the doctor told her that we’d lost the baby. i was broken-hearted as well--sad that our dream had been squashed, sadder still for my wife, who was devastated.

being fresh out of the cult, both of us wrestled with the feelings that we were being punished for going against bob's wife. though we knew in our minds that she had no real power, deeper still were the phobias that had been planted within us. not only did we have to question whether or not we’d been wrong to go against bob's wife, whether we had killed a child in the process, but we also had to try to shake the overwhelming fear that we’d never be able to have children again—that bob's wife or perhaps even the universe itself, wouldn’t allow it.

i had to try to hide these fears from my wife. i had to reassure her that bob's wife had no power. this incident had nothing to do with the cult. she needed me to be strong. so i focused on putting the fears aside and giving my wife what she needed.

in time, we were able to push forward. it was a testament of will. we would not allow ourselves to be ruled by a false god. my wife became pregnant again and nine months later ellie was born.

now this.

when i arrived at the emergency room my wife was able to better explain what had happened. she was at the grocery store, ellie was in her baby carrier, which was attached to the shopping cart. all of the sudden our baby started to shake violently. “it looked like…a seizure?,” she said. she had run, pushing the cart and our daughter, to the in-store pharmacy. the pharmacist called 911.

the doctors were reassuring. it was likely a febrile seizure, a seizure caused by having a fever. they said it was quite common. we needn’t be worried. we were relieved.

a few weeks later it happened again.

this time it wouldn’t stop. we rushed her to the hospital. finally, they gave her ativan, a powerful tranquilizer, to stop the seizure. there was all kinds of testing. our 9 month old daughter was diagnosed with epilepsy.

the neurologist said that our daughter needed medication, phenobarbital, a powerful and highly addictive barbiturate. we asked all the questions: what are the potential side effects? will this affect her development? how long will she have to take it? and of course, is this the course of action you would take if this were your daughter?

i couldn’t imagine giving this drug to a little girl. i was quite familiar with the drugs effects, both as a n addiction counselor and a former barbiturate user. but the doctor was clear, without this medicine our daughter would continue to have seizures. and so here it comes again, this time in the form of bob’s voice in my head, “these fvckin’ doctors don’t know what the fvck they’re doing. what!…you gonna turn her into a drug addict?”

this one was even harder to fight. i was afraid of this drug…all drugs. now nearly 2 and a half years after leaving the cult, still believing all drugs were evil, i had the doctor on one side and bob on the other. i was going to give my baby girl, who didn’t even have a voice in the matter, this powerfully addictive drug. fighting everything within us, my wife and i pushed forward. out of will alone, we gave our daughter the medicine she needed.

we had to crush the pills and put them in her baby food.

we were comforted by the neurologist, who was excellent in regard to both her medical skills and her bedside manner. she told us that most seizure disorders are well controlled with medication. as long as she took her medicine and stayed healthy, she might never again have another seizure. even more promising was the fact that she would likely outgrow the seizure disorder. hers didn’t seem that serious and many children outgrow epilepsy, never having to take medication as adults.

we became students of epilepsy and neurology. we read every book, every website. we learned about the many different types of seizures. we also learned about different and rare seizure disorders. some of these rare seizure disorders were serious. some had high rates of death. some caused the victims to become mentally delayed and/or physically disabled. as a parent, reading about these debilitating conditions, i couldn’t help but become fearful at times. what if our daughter has one of these rare conditions, lennox-gastaut, syndrome, west’s syndrome, dravet’s syndrome? then i would talk myself out of it. “these illnesses are so rare,” i would tell myself. “it would be as likely as getting hit by a meteorite.”

also, as parents, we couldn’t help but notice some thing wasn’t quite right. as we learned about different kinds of seizures, some, like absence seizures, where there may be just a brief staring spell, we began to be concerned that there may be more to our daughters condition than we had originally thought.

at some point, the phenobarbitol, stopped working. our daughter began having status seizures, meaning once they started they didn’t stop without medical intervention. trips to the emergency room became more and more frequent.

ellie became accustomed to seeing doctors, having blood drawn, going to the hospital. tubes, iv’s and sticky patches attached to electrical leads became a normal part of her life. her loving spirit and outgoing, friendly personality were unaffected. when the nurse would walk into the room with a needle or an i.v. lead , emily would hold out her arm. “just a little pinch, right mommy?,” she would say. then tears would stream down her cheeks, never complaining, never resisting, as the needle was punctured her skin.

in time, she would take the punishment without tears. “i didn’t cry, mommy.” “you are so brave,” mommy would reply. “it’s just a little pinch, right mommy?”

even with the medications and the seizures, ellie developed nicely. the seizures continued to increase in frequency and severity. we tried over a dozen medications and combinations of meds. nothing seemed to help. we took her to johns-hopkins and washington university for more thorough testing—including a video e.e.g.

for her video e.e.g. she was fitted with electrical leads covering her entire head. the leads were connected to a backpack which held a device that sent the electrical information to a machine that measured seizure activity. her hospital room was equipped with video cameras so that she was monitored on video and e.e.g. 24 hours a day. we learned that she had been having about 200 seizures a day, many unnoticeable to the untrained eye. it was clear that her condition was serious.

we also learned that she had an above average iq and was on track as far her development was concerned, a rarity among children with seizure disorders of this severity.

ellie is loved by everyone who meets her. with a wide-open heart, she has always been quick to let people know her love for them. ellie loved to run and play. she loved to swing on the swing which hung from the elm tree in our backyard. full of life and with a sense of adventure, she liked to camp out in the backyard and go for neighborhood adventures with dad.

among our fondest memories is that of watching ellie glide down the giant slide at the fair, wind blowing back her hair, or seeing her ride the kiddie roller-coaster, next to her big sister. she would race down “the big hill” arms in the air, mouth open, smiling unashamedly. she would run from ride to ride, excited to take on the next new adventure.

sometimes she would walk around the house, wearing nothing but her diaper and daddy’s big black cowboy boots which went all the way to the tops of her legs. other times she'd romp around the house in her fluffy, pooh-bear costume or dance with daddy wearing her princess belle costume. aside from her seizures, she was like so many other little girls.

that all began to change between her 3rd and 4th birthdays. during this time we watched, helpless, as our bright, joy-filled little girl began to deteriorate both mentally and physically. she began to lose her balance and her coordination. at times she would fall out of her chair. her language became affected. communication became increasingly more difficult for her. she could no longer do many of the things she loved to do. when she ran she would lose balance and fall. then she began to fall while walking.

though ellie has lost many of her skills, her courage and spirit remain unaffected. like many kids with special needs she has a way of getting into your heart. today, at 10 years old, ellie goes to a regular, public school and spends most of her day in a regular 4th grade classroom. the other students in her class are a testament to the beauty of the human spirit.

each day ellie has a “buddy,” another student who plays with her and watches over her at lunch, in gym class, and on the playground. the students compete enthusiastically for the opportunity to be her “buddy” for the day.

when we take her to school, we are always inspired by seeing the children’s reactions. they run up to her and circle around her, each vying for their opportunity to hug her. last year, at the end of the year school fair, her classmates guided her up the steps of the big inflatable slide and caught her as she reached the bottom. they held her hand, smiling and laughing with her, guiding her, as she attempted to run from one attraction to another.

sadly she is rarely invited to birthday parties. it’s not because the children don’t want her, but because many of the parents don’t. they lack the courage, love and tolerance that their children possess. they’re afraid of her “condition.”

bob would call her a “bent frame,” or maybe a “retard” (though she’s neither). he would be disgusted by the same child who is loved by so many others. he would complain if he had to stand in line behind her at “sea world” or “disneyland.” he would probably make cruel comments just loud enough so we could hear. he might lean over her, smiling and talking to her, only to walk away making disparaging remarks.

ellie’s illness has had a tremendous impact on her big sister. by the time she was in 2nd or 3rd grade, it had become clear to everyone that roxanne [name changed] had, as they say, a beautiful mind. she had excelled in school to the point where it became difficult to find an environment where teachers and other students could keep up. in math and science she is able to visualize concepts that most people will go their entire lives without the capacity to see or comprehend.

unlike many people with high science and math skills, her language skills are off the charts as well. she was finishing each year with the highest gpa in every school she attended. she changed schools several times in an effort to find a challenging environment. she skipped a grade and and entered the international baccalaureate program, as a freshman, at 13. she will graduate at the at end of this school year and start college with 2 years of college credit already completed. she is 17. i call her “killer.”

she plans to complete undergrad, with a double major in chemistry and premed in 2 years. then she will enter medical school at 19. she wants to be a pediatric neurologist.

as parents, the bulk of our time and energy has been devoted to watching over ellie and trying to find the medical care she needed. sadly, roxanne was often on her own in many ways.

she has learned to take responsibility for her growth and education. she has also learned to care for her little sister.

one christmas morning, roxanne opened a box and was thrilled to find a necklace, a heart-shaped locket, she had wanted. inside the heart, we had placed a picture of our family. she was overjoyed.

ellie saw her reaction to the present and wanted a necklace as well. “where’s my necklace?” she asked. we could tell she was sad that she didn’t get a necklace like her big sister, whom she adored.

without prompting, as we continued to unwrap presents, roxanne slipped away to her room. she returned a few minutes later with a small wrapped present which she placed under the tree while ellie wasn’t looking. the tag on the present said, “to: ellie from: mommy and daddy.”

when ellie opened the box she was elated to see that mommy and daddy had also given her a necklace (roxanne’s necklace that she had boxed and wrapped) just like her big sister’s.

roxanne has never complained about the time and energy, rightfully belonging to her, that has been given instead to her little sister. in fact, she has been fully determined to become a pediatric neurologist since shortly after ellie was diagnosed. ellie's illness has driven her. she wants to find a way to help children like ellie. someday, she will master the powers of science and mathematics to ensure that other children can be free from the from this debilitating illness.

i can’t help but be thankful that rebecca was introduced to disabilities in this way as opposed to the way in which she would have been taught to view disabled children if she were in bob's organization, raised by “the family.”

she doesn’t talk about ellie a lot. she never complains about the lost vacations, last minute cancellations of family outings, the frequent late night visits by teams of firemen and paramedics, or the necessity to often have only one parent at academic awards ceremonies, concerts, and competitions, as the other parent stays home to take care of ellie.

she never complained about having to spend nearly her entire summer with my parents and my sister’s family, away from her home and friends, while her sister underwent brain surgery and stayed in the hospital, out of town, with mom.

i try to compensate taking her to rock and roll concerts, ball games, or out to dinner--just the two of us.

she is well aware of the danger her sister faces. she has taken it upon herself to research epilepsy.

sometimes late at night, we’ll sit outside on the back porch, which overlooks the neighborhood park to the south and the mountains to the west. we’ll talk. on occasion, she’ll discuss her fears, namely the fear of losing her little sister. she knows that there exists a significant chance that ellie could die from a seizure. the thought of life without ellie’s smile is too painful to consider. she realizes that ellie will probably never have the potential that she has. she fears that ellie will never be able to care for herself, live on her own, have a family.

roxanne operates in a highly competitive school environment with about 30 of the district’s brightest minds, doing 2nd year college level work. she excels in all areas of study and has won numerous academic awards. she is still committed to becoming a pediatric neurologist. she wants to cure epilepsy. and although she tries to avoid causing her mom and dad to worry about the impact of ellie's condition on her emotional state, i am sometimes able to coax her to share her feelings with me.

lately, we have been sitting out back together, talking. late at night, roxanne, looking to me with the mountains behind me, wants to talk about the cult--how it has affected her. she talks about what it was like to have her “friends,” the people who said they were her “family,” suddenly abandon her. it still hurts.
 




and high up above or down below
when you're too in love to let it go
but if you never try you'll never know
just what you're worth

lights will guide you home
and ignite your bones
and i will try
to fix you ~coldplay
on the third night, as i sat perched on the northern slope, santan mountains to my back, lights below, stars overhead, roxanne was on my mind. i knew i could not allow her to grow up in this environment. i knew that if they managed to destroy my family, to split us up and cast me aside, they would ultimately cast my wife and child aside as well, but not before destroying them both.

virtually everyone in bob’s past had been destroyed and cast aside. this was the program’s dirty little secret. this was the thing we all knew, but never talked about—never thought about. all of the past leaders of the universal fountainhead of spiritual consciousness, were ultimately beaten down, cast aside, demonized, and left alone with nothing and no one.

that was the secret i would share with orlando, sitting on the curb behind our coffee shop, months later. it would be the last time i would ever speak to him.

i had found myself, but would still have to fight the virus with which bob and his destructive cult had infected the deepest parts of me. it was an enemy that was often difficult to find. it was difficult to separate myself from the evil, death in the name of life, truth mixed with lies, poverty disguised as abundance.

i knew i wasn’t a killer. that was bob’s claim to fame. he had claimed that he had been responsible for the deaths of several other men. i could imagine the travesty of being imprisoned for murder while he came off looking like a hero, an altruistic rehabilitator senselessly killed by a monster whom he had helped to overcome the wrath of addiction. that’s how the headlines would read. that’s what my daughter would believe.

killing bob was not an option. it was not me. i needed to be smart, creative. i refused to allow these people to break up my family. i refused to allow them to infect my daughter. i also refused to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.

steve hassan's book, combating cult mind control was written in part to help people open communication and free their family members from cults.

i wracked my brain trying to remember the book’s content. i was able to recall some of the techniques outlined in the book. cult members are most reachable when they are being ostracized or right after they’ve been “barreled,” as we called it. the cult victim’s family members can often reach beyond the cult mind-set by talking about life before the cult, causing the member to think about difference in freedom and happiness between life inside and life outside the cult. the book instructed loved one's to talk about hobbies and other activities that were important to the victim prior to the cult—things they’d given up to devote their time and energy to the cult.

there was a lot couldn’t remember, but much that i could. “i can do this,” i told myself. “i love my wife. she loves me. regardless of the contrived efforts and crazy ideas the bob and his wife have placed in our minds and emotions, i know this one thing to be true…constant. we love each other. we belong together.”

i made my final decision. i would free myself, free my wife, and free my daughter. i would do it without even the threat of violence. i would play the game, use hassan's techniques. i would connect with my wife. not the pseudo-personality created by the cult, but the with the woman i had fallen in love with.

i would return home, strong and secure. over time, i would be able to help my wife reconnect with her passion, her true self. i would make everyone believe that i was fully invested in the program. i would use the fact that i was indispensable to the organization to hold them at bay. i would wait for my moment.

i spent the rest of my week in the mountains preparing myself. i spent the better part of my days transforming my mind and body. i ran, walked, exercised, and lifted heavy rocks. i developed a deep tan. i wrote in my journal. i cleared my mind of the poison. i reviewed my life, my dreams, my achievements.

at the end of the week, i awoke at sunrise. i went for a run and reviewed my plan. i had made a decision to be on guard against fearful thoughts, mainly the fear that bob would win. i took a hike into the mountains. i realized i hadn’t heard a coyote since my first night out. i returned to the residential facility, took a shower, gathered my belongings, jumped in my red t-bird, and dropped the pedal all the way to the floor.

i pulled over near my house and sat, smoking, thinking, preparing myself to deal with whatever i might face when i returned home. in truth, i didn’t even know if my family would still be there. they could be anywhere in the country at this point.

with full resolve, i pulled into my driveway and into the garage.

i was in excellent physical condition. my mind was clearer than it had been in years. i knew exactly where i was headed.
 
i didn’t know what i would find when i walked into the house.
 
freight train, each car looks the same
and no one knows the gypsy's name
and no one hears his lonely sighs,
there are no blankets where he lies.
lord, in his deepest dreams the gypsy flies,
with sweet melissa ~greg allman

how i was spiritually raped and left for dead (part 5)

part 1 is here
part 2 is here
part 3 is here
part 4 is here

and when the band you’re in starts playing different tunes…
i’ll see you on the dark side of the moon ~ roger waters

my study of cults and thought-reform began, in large part, by accident. i had had some exposure to the topic during my second attempt at college where my studies were split between human services (mental health) and journalism. music was pretty much off the table and i had hoped to ultimately become a writer, focusing primarily on mental health, sociology and social-psychology issues.

in sociology, psychology and even political science classes, i was exposed to information related to the use of influence, thought-reform, and cults in general. this area was fascinating to me, but i would not do any follow-up study for some time.

i was happy being back in college. as a teenager, i had hated school. it was boring. after graduating from high school, i immediately started college as a music major. the truth is, i probably never should have been allowed to graduate high school. i was heavily involved in the music programs at my high school and was allowed to “slide by” missing classes and hanging out (usually high)because of my involvement in music. f’s were magically transformed into d’s or c’s by my “normal” teachers. i had learned that i could be excused from missing classes by simply telling teachers that i had “a music thing to take care of.”

the first time around, college wasn’t so easy. i was severely depressed. i never went to class. the level of competition was high. i was high. i was thrown out of school halfway through the second semester with straight f’s.

it would be 2 years before i would go back to college.

after being tossed out of school, clearly sick with major depression and self-medicating with the abuse a variety of drugs, i moved back in with my parents. shortly thereafter, with my dreams of having a career in music gone, i received a call from a high-school friend’s mom. it was may, 29 1983.

she explained that my friend had been out drinking and was passed-out in the basement. she asked me to take him to an aa meeting.

my parents were out, so i took their car. i had secretly made a copy of their car keys..

i sat in the aa meeting, high on pot, and listened to these people tell dramatic stories of desperation and redemption. i began to believe that these folks might have an answer to my problems. perhaps if i “got sober” i could find happiness too. i had made some halfhearted attempts to stop using drugs. i had also tried to cut down.

after the meeting, we were invited to go with the group to have coffee. that felt good as well. i had forgotten about stealing my parents’ car. i had totaled my own car and was forbidden from driving their cars due to my numerous accidents and driving violations.

at coffee, the guys from the aa group devoted a great deal of time and energy to me. they told me that only i could determine if i was an alcoholic/addict, but spoke to me as if they had already determined that i was one. they suggested that i enter an inpatient rehab. i told them i would consider it.

driving home, my friend and i discussed whether or not i was “chemically dependent,” the 1983 buzz word for alcoholic/addict. he told me about his rehab experience and suggested that i admit myself into the same program. it seemed like it might be a good idea. after all, i was unemployable, too unreliable to get a music gig, and had no commitments. i felt constant pressure to be productive, but was unable to motivate myself. my parents were at their wits end.

by the time i dropped off my friend and returned home, my parents had also returned. as i pulled into the driveway, my father came out and was standing outside. arms folded, he was clearly angry. i was busted for taking the car.

i immediately jumped out of the car and said, “ i am chemically dependent and need to go to drug treatment.”

my father is the greatest man i have ever known. he is everything a man should be. he was devoted to his career and worked his way up from shoe-store stock-boy to president of a fortune 500 company. yet he never neglected his family. he never missed one of our games or performances. he has always deeply loved my mother. that love was demonstrated through the respect and affection he showed for her both privately and publicly. though he has been a highly successful businessman, traveling all over the u.s. and abroad, he has never been unfaithful to my mom.

my father is compassionate, empathic, fair, loving, dedicated, spiritual, generous, and honest. i have never heard him speak badly of others. he treated his employees like family. he treats his family like we are his heart.

he has cried, prayed, fought, struggled, counseled, sacrificed, punished, worried, provided, encouraged, strengthened, affirmed, held, and loved me and my sisters in his efforts to help us meet our potentials.

when i told him i needed to go to rehab, he dropped the issue of me taking the car and sat with me at the kitchen table where we had a long talk.

he told me he loved me. he told me he would support me. he asked me where i wanted to go for rehab. i told him. it was late, but he contacted the rehab facility the next morning and made arrangements for me to be admitted. i would enter treatment the following morning.

the night before i was to enter treatment, i took more drugs than i’d ever taken in my life. when i returned home, i had several grams of hash. already wasted, i went into the bathroom and smoked as much as i could; then i ate the rest.

my parents roused me early the next morning and, still high, i showered. we made our way to the rehab facility.



she has a way about her
i don't know what it is,
but i know that i can't live without her ~ billy joel

i'm intense. burdened. serious. she set me free.

for as long as i can remember, i've had difficulty living in the moment. i've always been that way. maybe i was born that way.

as a teenager, i was an outsider. i was involved in the church music program. i played music at school as well. and although i participated, hung around with other teens, i never really felt connected.

on the inside i felt vulnerable. i was too sensitive...easily hurt. but on the outside, i seemed impenetrable. at times, i held others at bay with my serious demeanor. other times i would act out, fighting, pranking, teasing people. adults at the church i attended would sometimes say, “i don't think i've never seen seekingintongues laugh or smile.”

i met her on may 31st 1983.

in 1983, drug treatment centers were generally not beautiful facilities. this one was harsh--painted cinder block walls and large steel doors. each door had a small square window with thick glass reinforced with thin diagonal steel wires which crisscrossed inside the glass making diamond shapes.

the facility was surrounded by razor wire. the steel doors were locked. the patient rooms were bare, with twin beds, cheap, weathered nightstands and flimsy wood-grain veneered dressers. there were no sharp objects. the mirrors in the bathrooms were made of polished steel, rather than glass, so that they could not be broken and used to harm one's self. the place reminded me of the hospital from the movie one flew over the cuckoo’s nest.

as a privileged kid, who group up in a beautiful home around other privileged, middle-class families, i did not feel that this was the right place for me. additionally, after the long admission process, i was coming down from the drugs i'd ingested the previous night. i wanted to get high again.

i finally had to say goodbye to my parents and, after hugs and tears, i was escorted back to the nurse's station.

during the long walk to the nurse's station, i began to think that i could probably convince them that i didn’t need to be here. they had yet to take a drug history from me and i assumed that, if i told them i hadn’t really used drugs that much, they would call my parents to pick me up. i didn’t realize that i had probably been diagnosed as an addict before i even hit the door. in drug treatment in 1983, “no one gets here by mistake,” was the mantra. virtually anyone with health insurance who showed up at a drug treatment center would be admitted.

as i stood at the nurses station, staring at the locked steel doors, contemplating my “escape,” she approached me.

she bounced toward me bubbly, blonde and beautiful. she had long tan legs and was wearing short-shorts and tretorns with no socks. outgoing and confident, she came right up to me and, standing a little too close, she tilted her head to one side. she smiled and said, “cool, you have an earring.”

“who is that girl?” i decided to give rehab a shot.

we became fast friends. we hung out all the time. we even had a mock wedding ceremony, officiated by one of the counselors, where we exchanged leather rings that we’d made in art therapy. she was discharged before me and when i had day passes, we attended church together. she was my pal and my girlfriend.

i was in rehab for 7 weeks. i had good insurance and length of stay was directly related to insurance coverage. the rehab did me good. i was drug-free, had reconnected with my religious beliefs, been given hope, and found a really great friend and girlfriend in the suntanned girl who’d approached me at the nurse's station.

after rehab, my family welcomed me back home in a celebratory manner…the prodigal son. they loved me and forgave me. i also, hooked up with the local chapter of palmer drug abuse program, a support group and counseling center for teens and young adults.

pdap provided me with a social outlet. it was a way to have friends while avoiding those people i'd used drugs with in the past. she went to pdap with me. she drew me out of myself.

she was outgoing, open and vulnerable. she got me to talk...long discussions into the late hours, talking about dreams and demons.

she made me laugh. like kids, we'd walk through the grass and trees—blue sky overhead. she would run from me, daring me to catch her. we would poke and tease one another. she would sit on my chest and tickle my ribs. then she would jump to her feet. “you can't make me kiss you back,” she would say. then she would close her lips tightly and open her eyes wide. she would move her head from side to side, holding back laughter, resisting, as i tried to place my mouth on her tightly closed lips.

as my lips touched hers, she tightened them even more in defiance...until she surrendered. we fell into eachother's arms and the world drifted away.

then we would lie together, staring at the soft, airy, cumulus clouds, assigning meaning to the shapes we'd imagined they made.

pdap was a national non-profit organization which had support groups and counseling centers in several cities around the country. up until 1980, it had been run by bob. following two national news stories, one on 60-minutes and one on 20/20, bob was fired. he was exposed for using manipulative, brutal and cultic methods to control staff and clients and for taking money from private, for-profit hospitals fo referring kids from the non-profit program he controlled.

to a large degree, pdap had cleaned-up its act. it had a fantastic counselor training school with a strong multi-disciplinary faculty. however, most of the organization's directors had worked for and were trained by bob. there was still a strong machiavellian component within the program's hierarchy. heavy confrontation was commonplace. and the staff, which consisted almost entirely of former clients, were treated as though we were still clients. we were subjected to the leadership's assessment of the quality of our sobriety and spiritual development. this meant that we had to attend staff purpose meetings (originally implemented by bob) and that the directors generally played the role of counselor and 12-step sponsor to us.

i entered the pdap with 7 weeks sober and got my 30 day monkey-fist--a token recognizing 30 days of continuous sobriety--after attending pdap meetings for 30 days. immediately, upon receiving my monkey’s fist, i was asked to serve on the steering committee, a volunteer service-oriented group made up of members of the support group. at 6 months sober, i became a counselor aide.

she was with me throughout all of this. at times, i would realize how close we'd gotten, how vulnerable i'd become. i would try to push her away. i ignored her. sometimes, i was cruel to her.

she would come out, wearing shorts or a flirty skirt, flitting about. her eyes were bright, either green or blue depending on what she was wearing. she would go about her business, talking to other boys, her blond hair gently touching the soft, tan skin of her bare neck, smiling as though she was unaffected by my indifference to her. she always looked and smelled ethereal. she would walk right past me, subtly switching her hips. she would continue in this manner until youthful jealousy would win out and she would draw me in. she would cause me to expose myself to her once again. it was as if she knew parts of me that were hidden from the rest of the world, hidden from me.

i was not ready to return to college. i knew that music was out of the question due to the prevalence of drug use in the music culture. since i loved helping others, i pursued a career as a counselor. i went to michigan for my first paid job in the drug treatment field. after a few months, the michigan pdap board of directors sent me to texas to attend a counselor training school..

after working as a counselor for pdap, and becoming a bit turned-off by the controlling, confrontational drug treatment culture, i decided to go back to college. also, the director for whom i’d been working was contacted by the pdap national staff while i was in counselor training. they had told him that they did not believe he would be able to keep me. they had fought with him to let them place me in a larger program where they could advance my career. this made him angry. rather than recognizing that a small organization like the michigan program did not have the resources necessary to develop young talent, he saw it as a personal affront to his abilities as a director.

he refused to allow the national staff to place me and insisted that i return to michigan. he took out his anger on me, accusing me of making the national training coordinator think i was a “hot shot.” he also kept a close hold on me. i was frequently confronted for “secretly thinking about leaving michigan,” thereby betraying my him. it seemed as though this was personal to him. if i left, it would mean that the national team was correct, that he wasn't capable of hanging on to me.

i hadn’t thought of leaving michigan, but with the constant suggestion that i was going to leave, i began to consider it. pdap wasn’t fully cultic at that time, but the ghost of bob’s cultic ways was still present. also, my boss was a holdover from the bob days, he tended toward being manipulative and controlling.
in 1986, i returned to st. louis where i worked for st. louis pdap for a short time before going back to school.

i was on the honor roll and dean’s list right out of the gate. i had decided to pursue journalism. i took a lot of writing course and made a’s. i also began to take more psychology, sociology, and human services classes. i did not intend to return to the field of drug and alcohol counseling, but my journalism professor recommended that i load up on classes related to the areas on which i wanted to write.

i was also working as a prep-cook at a local bar and grill, teaching drums at a local music studio, and working, as a volunteer, with young people who were being sent to me by various local ministers. there was no shortage of substance abusers in need of help on the college campus either. i had the opportunity to help some of them as well.

i joined the music society at school and became friends with the music society’s president, a red-hot, professional studio guitarist, who was severely addicted to alcohol. i was able to get him a bed in a treatment program (he had no insurance) and became his sponsor. we started jamming together and got a band going with some sober kids from the program.

i wasn’t very good. i didn’t have the time to devote to practicing. we played a graduation party or 2 and often played for the local pdap group. we were pretty bad, didn’t make any money, but had a lot of fun.

i was in college when i met bob. the st. louis pdap program had been on the verge of closing and he had positioned himself as the man who would save the program. he got me to volunteer at the “new” st. louis pdap (later the program changed its name). the program had broken its affiliation with pdap national and bob had taken control. even though he had been fired years earlier, he was still a legend in pdap.

i became increasingly more involved in bob's st' louis program. bob, jim and al opened an inpatient hospital program and offered me the directorship. i worked full-time as the hospital's director while attending college full-time. i continued with school, completing 2 years, until i was convinced, by jim. and bob, that school was a dead end. they wanted me to quit school and go to atlanta to run a new program they were starting.

while i had been in school, i had begun to learn a bit about cults. but more importantly, i became a voracious reader.

i moved to atlanta and delivered pizza, while working on licensing and opening the atlanta program. it was 1988.

i hated being in atlanta. i wanted to be in my home town. i wanted to be in college.

my girl had moved to atlanta too and in september of '88 we took a trip back to st. louis to get married. the suntanned sweetheart i'd met in rehab became mrs. seekingintongues.

during this time i was reading a lot. m. scott peck was one of my favorite authors. i’m pretty sure that the first book on cults i ever read came from the bibliography of peck’s book, a different drum.

among the cult books i read was steve hassan’s landmark text, combating cult mind control.

this book, combating cult mind control, would ultimately save my family.

it also saved bob bob’s life.
 
 
i remember the girl of my dreams
found my soul
and she placed my heart back
in my "missing-heart hole"
and my child like passion and wonder
and pride
returned, and i started to glow
from inside~seekingtongues (1997)


i had left her when i went to michigan to become a counselor. i was determined to become the greatest drug and alcohol counselor ever. i was going save lives. i didn't intend to allow anything or anyone to become important enough to me to distract me from this goal. this was my excuse for leaving her.

ultimately i couldn't let her go. in the quiet moments, i longed for her. it was as if she was sweetly seducing me from 800 miles away. i finally gave in and called her. i convinced her to come to michigan to be with me.

late one night, we stood on the shore of one of michigan's expansive lakes. there were a billion stars overhead. the stars lit up the lake...a billion wavering points of light. as a challenge, we tried to last an hour without touching each other. laughing, we would move our hands as close as possible to the other's body without making contact.

ultimately, desire won. we embraced. tenderness and passion. tension and release.

the past didn't matter. everything we'd been through, all our experiences, our difficulties, had led to this union. everything had a purpose and that purpose was us. she found me. we found eachother. we would always be together. she would always touch me. i would always touch her.


arizona 1997

i was just about finished getting bob's residential program launched. under rachael's (one of bob's girls) watch, i was, putting the finishing touches on the policy and procedure manual.

my marriage was in shambles. we lived in the same house but not together. our connection had been destroyed. the girl i'd met in rehab, my love, had left her body and and someone else had moved in. her essence had been destroyed by bob and his wife's relentless demand for total allegiance. they had uncovered and destroyed everything we loved until nothing was left...except them.

i hadn't touched her in months.

i knew my wife was reporting my actions to bob and his wife, so i did not feel safe at home. bob's wife had ordered my wife to destroy or sell box-loads of my books, mostly stuff related to synanon, counseling, psychology, sociology, and cults. i had no friends and had not spoken to my parents and siblings since the 1995 confrontation. our contact with my family had been restricted and supervised prior to that.

my father , having not heard from me and having written and called numerous times, had flown to arizona and tried to make contact. he knocked on our door while my wife, my daughter, and i hid in the bathroom. afraid that his spiritual darkness would harm us.

bob was on the phone. i was at rachael’s house, literally an hour away from finishing the policy and procedure manual. i could tell by rachael’s demeanor that it was bob on the phone. i could also tell that he was attempting to find out when we’d be finished and that they had already concocted some kind of plan to “deal with me” once the manual was complete.

rachael hung-up the phone and said, “bob wants you to go to george's house when we’re done. he wants to see you.”

my heart raced with fear. then, i had the strangest experience. one i’d had only once before, in the 1995 confrontation. i was looking down from above my body, detached from myself.

“hey! hey! hey!!” rachael was shouting. i snapped back into my body. “i need you to be a martian right now,” she said. “i need you to focus. let’s finish this.”

i had assumed that while i was working with rachael, bob had moved my wife and daughter out of my house. it was almost impossible to finish. it was excruciating. i’m pretty sure, however, that bob and george didn’t feel a thing. for them it was another day.

after completing the work with rachael, i went straight to george’s house. i had been instructed not to go home before going to there.

george greeted me at the door with a smile and a hug. he guided me to his backyard where bob was smiling and sitting quietly, legs crossed-- a buddah on a garden bench at the edge of the brick walkway that meandered past george’s swimming pool and through his backyard garden. he was holding a big stick.

bob sat silently, stick in hand, staring at me. he looked at my eyes, then slowly down to my feet and back up to my eye’s. he held his gaze, staring directly into my eye’s. i did not dare to break eye contact. after a long pause he stood, pointed at the bench with his stick and said, “sit.”

i sat.

bob remained quiet pacing in front of me, with george watching silently from the background.
he finally broke silence.

“you’re a pussy,” he said. another pause.

“i’m tired of hearing your wife complain about wanting to leave you. she can’t stand the sight of you because you are a fvckin’ broad [meaning woman]. i’m tired of hearing her say she doesn’t love you. what am i supposed to do, send her back to her mother?”

he was right. i was broken. i was afraid to have an opinion, afraid to express an idea or thought. i didn't laugh or smile. my intellect, my sense of humor, my passion, they were gone. i simply did what i was told. i was unaware that they'd been telling my wife that i didn't love her as well.

he was silent again…pacing.

“you are full of fear,” he continued. “you have too many feelings. men don’t have fear. men don’t have feelings. men don’t care about romance.”

“you think i give a sh!t about my wife? she cleans the house and cooks my meals. a couple times a week i bend her over the bathroom counter and get what i need. she has a vibrator. if she wants to get off, she can go crazy with that thing for all i care.”

“do you think i cared when stan [his stepson] died. i cared that my wife was too fvcked up to clean the house and cook my meals…that’s what i cared about. i didn’t cry. i didn’t have feelings. i didn’t even like the fvcker.”

“feelings are bullsh!t! romance is bullsh!t! fear…is bullsh!t!!

“none of it’s real. fear...isn’t...real”

whap! he hit me on the shoulder with the stick. i didn’t flinch. my shoulder was burning, but i didn’t really feel it. i had reverted to floating above my body.

“that’s real,” he said speaking of the pain in my shoulder.

he pulled up a lawn chair, sat across from me and laid the stick across his lap. george pulled up a chair and sat next to him.

i remember thinking, “i was afraid you were going to hit me with that stick. was that real?” i was too terrified to speak.

bob, with george beside him, unfolded the plan he had hatched to keep things in place until the residential center was launched.

“you need to find your true sociopathic male self,” he said. “you need to take all those fears and feelings and stuff them deep down inside…in place where they’ll never again see the light of day.”

george sat beside him nodding and making his best “serious” face. in retrospect, i’m not sure george had the capacity to understand anything bob was saying.

bob explained his plan. i was to go spend a week in isolation, in the desert at the foot of the santan mountains, using the empty residential facility as my base. i was to have no contact with anyone. i was to spend my time fully and finally ridding myself of any and all emotion.

bob, in a classic eriksonian hypnotic approach, began planting suggestions. i was already in an altered state.

he said, “when you get out there you’re going to be overcome with every fear imaginable. you’re going to constantly be afraid that we have somebody at your house, fvcking your wife’s brains out. i can make that happen if i want. you’re going to be afraid we are moving her to another city. when you come back, you’re not gonna care. you’re gonna be a man…with no more feelings. you won’t give a sh!t about anything except whether that b!tch does your laundry.

“go home.” he said. “don’t say anything to your wife except ‘i’ll be back,’ pick up some sh!t and don’t come back for a week.” he handed me a twenty dollar bill. “get some food,” he said.

that was it. i walked out the door, went home, told my wife i’d be back, grabbed a couple shirts and a pocket knife and headed for the santan mountains.

on the way there, i stopped at a little rural grocery store. i grabbed a 1 lb. block of cheese, some water and some bananas. while i was picking up the food and water, i was struck by the woman who was ringing me up. i assumed that the little store was family owned and that she was wife and mother to the family. what caught my attention was that she was smiling. she seemed genuinely happy with her simple life. she was kind and friendly. this was a world i didn’t know.

at this point, i still believed everything bob had said. soon i would be reformed once and for all.

but i couldn’t stop thinking about the woman in the store. she was unencumbered by any mission to save the world…or her soul. my thoughts would continue to return to this woman.

the list
1. a gallon of gasoline
2. two glass mason jars
3. two rags
4. pants, shoes, shirt—fished out of a dumpster
5. a handgun

my plan to kill bob and his wife would come to me shortly.

to be continued...

how i was spititually raped and left for dead (part 4)

part 1 is here
part 2 is here
part 3 is here

according to “the story of [seekingintongues]” in george's book, “many of his [seekingintongues] co-workers and subordinates became angry with [seekingintongues] and they eventually confronted him. [he] finally resigned from the treatment facility…”

reading this, one would assume that, as a result of the confrontation, i resigned shortly thereafter. further, the reader may think that i simply refused to stop being “abusive” and was hell-bent on finding the flaws in my superiors.

here's what really happened.

part 4
 
i'm gonna find myself a girl who can show me what laughter means
and we'll fill in the missing colors in each other's paint-by-number dreams
and then we'll put out dark glasses on
and we'll make love until our strength is gone
and when the morning light comes streaming in
we'll get up and do it again ~ jackson browne
 
before i go on, i want to acknowledge that there were a few people that helped me make it through the next few months following the “confrontation.” j.h. pulled me aside one day and said, “look, all of this is going to turn out okay. your wife will never leave you. hang in there.” he also told me to watch my back with bob's wife. he said in so many words that she could not be trusted.

one of the women on staff accompanied me to an na meeting. i’ll never forget that. when everyone else was ostracizing me, she reached out. i had been clean and sober about 13 years at the time, but was told that none of my sobriety counted—that although i had avoided drugs and alcohol, i wasn’t really sober. i changed my sobriety date to the day after the confrontation and went to an na meeting to receive a desire chip.

i got to the meeting late (after the chips had been given out). when they asked if anyone had a “burning desire,” i spoke up. i stated that i needed to get clean and sober and had come to get a desire chip, but “i got here too late.” i was in tears and had a hard time getting the words out. someone said, “it’s never too late.” they gave me a desire chip. i am thankful, not only to the woman who accompanied me to the meeting (and i hope you know who you are; thank you), but also to the members of that na meeting who were loving and empathic. of course they had no idea that i had actually been clean and sober for 13 years.

also, bart was assigned to be my new sponsor. since i was “newly sober,” it was no longer appropriate for bob to sponsor me, so they chose bart. he helped me a lot over the next several months.

then there was eric, my coffee shop partner. he was always safe. he never talked down to me. he made me feel as though i had nothing to prove to him. i found myself trying to hang out around him as much as possible just because it felt good to be around him.

another person who gave me respite and respect was a guy who wasn’t in the program. his name was james. james did sound and lights for many of the events i produced. he knew things weren’t right with the program, but never said so. he believed i had a unique talent for planning and facilitating raves, dances and other events. he was making 3 times more than me and tried to convince me to let him set me up in the entertainment business. later, after hearing me play drums at a round robin, he again said he felt i was very talented and offered to get me a job playing drums with a touring band that was making money.

i never considered leaving the program, as i knew that leaving meant losing my family, but his affirmations helped me feel a little better about myself. i never told him what i had been put through, he just believed that what i was doing in the program was a waste of talent. i also never told anyone about his proposals for fear that the bob would prevent me from using him for events or from having any contact with him.

finally, the local chapter of aa held marathon meetings around the clock on christmas eve and christmas day. i spent most of christmas at those meetings, because, having broken ties with my parents and siblings, being “out” of my so-called family (the staff), being in a position where i was a guest in my house while everyone was waiting to see if i was going to “make it, and also being pretty much ostracized by my wife, who was reporting on me to bob and joy, i was alone on christmas. ”i’m not sure i would have survived christmas without those aa meetings.

back to the story

bob was an ex-con. he once explained to me the process used in prison for making someone into a punk. for those who don’t know, according to bob, a punk is basically someone an inmate owns. they give the owner their cigarettes, money, and other stuff, they also serve as the inmate's serial-rape victim. a punk has no existence other than to serve at the pleasure of the inmate who owns him.

here is how the process works, according to bob. first, a new inmate/recruit without street smarts is chosen—someone who isn't a hardened criminal, someone who is still sensitive, human. after selecting the recruit, the hardened prisoner will beat him within an inch of his life. the recruit may spend weeks recovering in the infirmary. the beating would be the worst the recruit had ever experienced in his life, bad enough to cause him to believe he is going to die, to cause significant emotional trauma.

at this point, the recruit is ruined. he will never be the same. next they wait for him to recover, not only physically, but mentally. when the recruit feels as though he’s going to be okay—when his confidence is almost restored and he begins to feel safe--they beat him again…within an inch of his life.

after the second beating, when he’s almost physically recovered, but still traumatized, they corner him. they begin to beat him again. but this time they tell him, “i’m not going to fvck you, but i just want you to suck my d!ck.”

all that is necessary to force the recruit into performing sexual acts is the threat of violence...a raised hand or a quick movement. he has been removed from his environment and placed in prison among violent sociopaths. he has little contact with family and friends. there is no hope of escaping his current situation. he fears for his life.

once the recruit performs oral sex, usually in tears, he is fully broken. he is so ruined by the trauma he has experienced and devastated with shame because he has given in to the rapist, he becomes the property of the inmate and can even be rented or sold to other inmates. they knock him down further by constantly reminding him that he is a loser, a weakling who would rather suck c0ck than defend himself.

the recruit/punk now performs any sex act demanded by the inmate. he may be forced to wear women's clothing and makeup. the essence of the individual, who has been converted to punk, is gone--destroyed.

bob also claimed that the forced sex is more about destroying the punk than it is about sex. it's about power. when speaking about raping young inmates, i heard bob say, "i couldn't get a nut [climax] 'til his tears hit my c0ck."

once destroyed, the punk becomes a deployable agent—a slave. he is dead.

the hardened inmate that turned him has no remorse, no empathy for the person he has destroyed. human life means nothing to him.

the infirmary

metaphorically speaking, i was in the infirmary from november of 1995 to the fall of 1996. i began to regain my confidence toward the end of '96 and winter of '97.

during most our time in arizona we had only one car. we couldn’t afford another. after a while we were allowed to purchase a pickup truck for my wife. in february of 1997, i was allowed to trade our old ford escort and buy another car.

i’m not even going to try to explain the insane process of trying to buy a car while having to call bob's wife from the dealerships throughout the negotiations. i’ll just say that: 1. she can’t perform basic arithmetic and 2. i was humiliated having to present her proposals to normal people, who thought i was an absolute lunatic for suggesting what i was told to suggest and for my (her)inability to do basic math.

i knew better than to cross her. when she said 2+2=5, i agreed.

with my new car and feeling as though i had done penance, had been taken back by my wife, and been taken back (kind of) by “the family,” i was less afraid.

more specifically, rather than being in a panic, i had adopted ongoing moderate-grade fear as a natural state. i functioned in a passionless, depressive state of post traumatic stress disorder. however, i began to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

then i was blind sided.

it was time for the grand opening of the new coffee shop, of which i was half owner. i had devoted a tremendous amount of time, along with my partner, to designing and building the shop. i had performed dances, raves and other events that brought a lot of revenue in to the shop. the shop was beautiful.

that friday i was called over to bob’s house and verbally beaten. i was told that, while this confrontation was going on, brian, bob's muscle, was out in the desert digging a hole (for my body). i don’t remember the specifics of my supposed transgressions. here is what i do remember.

-bob and his wife made a direct threat against my life.

-that night i went to staff purpose and the topic was me...again.

-bob and his wife had to explain what was “wrong” with me to the rest of the staff, because no one else saw it. they told the staff that it would be difficult to understand what was wrong with me, but continued to explain it until everyone “understood.” they told the staff that the things i’d done to harm them (the staff) would not be things that they would know had been harmful, but that whatever, difficulties, fears, bad feelings, etc. that any of them had experienced recently were the direct result of manipulative things i had done to harm them. they were told to think of whatever difficulties, fears, etc. they had experienced lately and then they assign blame to me.

-my wife was told that she must sit in a place where she could not see my face during the confrontation. she was told, as were the others, that if i seemed hurt, became tearful, apologized, tried to be nice to people, helped someone, showed empathy for anyone, or anything else that would normally be considered a sign of remorse, i was conning them. therefore, i was not allowed to be contrite, emotional, apologetic or helpful. this was a brilliant double-bind created by the otherwise tree-stump-stupid, mrs. bob. if i was mean i was an as$hole. if i was nice…i was an as$hole.

-i was told that i used my sexual prowess to “con” my wife into wanting to be with me—that i should be less effective in the bedroom.

-once again, i spent several hours, powerless, as the staff attacked me, accusing me of creating a variety of problems for them and manipulatively planting fears within them.

-a well known rock star, and bob lapdog, was present in the purpose for some reason. he was also a member of bob's inner-circle and an honorary graduate of the the counselor training school. go figure. his friend, a former music partner from childhood and leech of the rock star was also present. so i was forced to endure this confrontation while two people, one i barely knew and another i’d never met before, were present and participating.

-after the purpose, i was sent home alone while the males gathered at one house for social time and the females, including my wife, at another.

aside from the rift created between my wife and me, the most hurtful part of the experience was a comment made by a woman on staff whom i had taken under my wing. in the past, i had seen her beaten down, ostracized and kicked out of the house where she had lived for years with a family in bob’s inner circle.

she had no relationship with her family and i was afraid she would ultimately be kicked out on the street with nowhere to turn. secretly, i had made it my personal mission to protect and nurture her. for years, bob had made fun of her, claiming that she was an idiot. in working with her, i found that she was brilliant and talented. during the purpose, she said to me, “i’ve worked too hard to get where i’m at to let you fvck it all up.” she had no idea that i had been devoted to advocating on her behalf. i don’t blame her and was never angry at her. i was saddened by the “fact” that in trying to help her, i had hurt her. later, when the fog cleared, i was saddened by the fact (no quotes) that the person who was in her corner was portrayed as someone who was trying to “keep her down.”

the next night was the grand opening of our new coffee shop.

the coffee shop was a drug and alcohol free nightclub for teens and college-aged kids. we had taken a rented warehouse property and transformed it into a desert-themed dreamscape. a silhouette of desert mountains lined the walls from the floor up to about 5 feet. the brilliant colors of the sunset arose from behind the mountains, darkening to purple and then midnight blue which covered the very top of the walls and the ceiling. the ceiling was midnight blue with stars.

there were malibu lights mounted every 6 feet along the baseboards and the light hit the walls just above the mountains, accentuating the sunset and then fading into the night sky.

there was a stage on the back wall. i was positioned behind the mixing board on the side of the stage. the bar was positioned on the wall opposite the stage. the room was packed with hundreds of enthusiastic young people. looking over the tops of their heads, i could see the wall behind the bar. halfway up the wall was a 12 by 5 foot mirrored mountain scape. a shelf, lined with bottles of coffee flavorings, vanilla, caramel, pomegranate, cherry, etc., ran across the bottom of the mountain scape. a purplish hue radiated from behind the bottles, reflecting off the mirror-mountains.

the rock star and his deadbeat friend were on the stage. they had come to perform the star's hit songs for our grand opening. the room was electric. the audience was bouncing to the beat, singing along. looking across the stage, i could see my wife on the other side. she, like everyone else was intoxicated by the music, the excitement, the happening.

it was 20 feet between where i stood, behind the mixing board and where she stood on the far end of the stage. i looked up at the stars of the universe above my head. i imagined floating and flying through the stars. i thought about times i had been away from my wife, my soul-mate.

in our younger years, when circumstance had caused us to be in different cities, we had both looked up at the same night sky, each of us knowing that the other was seeing the same stars. we took comfort in knowing that although we were physically separated by hundreds of miles, we were together is spirit.

with my eyes, i followed the painted night sky for 20 feet across the length of the stage. then, lowering my head, i looked down to see the woman i loved, a million miles away.

this was to be my night. not mine completely, i did have a partner and we had created this place together. as long as i could remember, my desire to be creative had been an unquenchable longing. art, music, writing, i was passionate about these things. the coffee shop and everything that went with it, dances, raves, parties provided a creative outlet which kept me going in an otherwise stifling environment. like most artists, i wanted to be recognized for my work. i needed to create, but i also needed others to see the product and recognize my achievement.

my partner in the coffee shop was brought on stage and applauded for “the beautiful coffee shop that he had created.” i was in the corner running the mixer. no one would talk to me. i received no recognition.

that night, when i should have been applauded and been allowed to celebrate my achievements, i was instead made to be a pariah. i fully believe that this entire thing was orchestrated by bob's wife so that, my partner, her “spiritual son,” did not have to share the spotlight with anyone else.

my wife stood at the edge of the stage applauding as well. she wouldn’t talk to me either. at one point, i went over and stood behind her. later that night, she was livid that i had “tried to ruin her fun by standing near her.” this idea had been planted by bob's wife. later, i was harshly confronted by bob and his wife for attempting to keep my wife from celebrating the grand opening of the coffee shop of which i was half owner...by trying to stand by her!

the image of my wife, celebrating with her new “family” at the grand opening of “my partner’s coffee shop” while i was banished to the corner to mix the sound—which i’d better not fvck up, if i knew what was good for me—is still burned in my brain.

i can still see her standing there, stepping out of her shoes, head tilted, glowing at my partner’s success. i felt betrayed. i hated her for this.

for all intents and purposes, they had caused my wife to be unfaithful. she was with them. her primary loyalty was not to her husband, but to them. in my mind, it was no different--what happened that night and the following months—than if she would have been sleeping with another person. they manipulated her, lied to her, rallied the troops against me, and caused her to cheat on me, metaphorically.

i have tried to reframe this for years, but cannot because it is the truth.

furthermore, our intimate relationship ended there. she was coached by bob's wife, to whom she reported my actions on a regular basis. it didn’t really matter what i did or said, because everything that happened was interpreted as an attempt on my part to hurt my family and everyone else.

at some point, our 4 year-old daughter, who had gotten a new camera, asked to take a picture of mommy and daddy. my wife was livid. she accused me of “setting our daughter up” to ask to take a picture of us. “i don’t want my picture taken with you,” she said. this was reported to bob and his wife. as a result of being poisoned by their convoluted, conspiratorial meddling, she thought that i was trying to use our daughter to get close to her. she couldn't have been more wrong. i hated her.

whatever love i'd had for her was gone.

i need to step out of the story to explain that it wasn't my wife's fault. she was being carefully manipulated by bob's wife. bob and his wife were scripting nearly every discussion my wife and i had. she would return to bob's wife several times each week to report on our “progress.” bob's wife would then interpret every word, every action, telling my wife what the words and actions “really meant.”

bob's girls would be together in a group where my wife was present and they would openly talk sh!t about me. they would call me a loser. no one challenged bob's girls.

bob's daughter, muffy, was part of this crowd. muffy had grown up in this group. nearly every friend she had ever had, had been handed to her by bob and his wife. in fact, she didn't have friends, she had lapdogs—people who followed her around and did whatever she wanted to do, whenever she wanted to do it. she wanted my wife to be her best friend. she wanted to hang out with my wife night after night. she wanted my wife's world to center on her.

as a tool to manipulate my wife, they also used a method which thought-reform expert, dr. robert j. lifton, referred to as mystical manipulation.

in his landmark book, thought reform and the psychology of totalism, a study of “brainwashing” in china, lifton defined mystical manipulation as : “the manipulation of experiences that appear spontaneous but in fact were planned and orchestrated.”¹

here's an example: those of use who had reached a certain level within the organization believed that bob's wife had mystical powers. she could enter people's dreams while they were sleeping, read minds, and interpret the words used by people to decipher unknown desires and motives. she could also read tarot cards.

the girls would gather together at muffy's house and joy would help them find answers to life's most important questions. one of those questions for my wife was: “will i ever have another baby?” bob's wife did a reading. the results indicated that my wife had done a great deal of spiritual work to invite the right people into her life [bob's girls] and distance herself from the wrong people [me and her mother]. now, after finally achieving what she had sought, she was on the verge of sabotaging everything. a baby represented a destructive instinct in my wife. it would cause her to be trapped—tied to the undesirable spiritual vampires while creating a time-consuming task (taking care of a newborn) which would separate her from her true family [bob's girls].

what appeared to be an answer to an important question was in reality just a con. bob's wife wanted my wife to continue to avoid her mother and me. she made the question and the cards fit the message that she wanted to deliver.

she also knew that my wife had struggled for much of her life to have strong friendships with other girls. difficulty along these lines had caused her a great deal of pain. being accepted into the fold and having these friendships with bob's girls made her happy. the underlying message, "you have to choose us or your husband," planted a powerful fear within her.

bob's wife was a student of eriksonian hypnosis and neuro-linguistic programming. she knew how to plant fears.

exit counselor, mental health professional, and mind-control educator, steven hassan calls this technique of planting fears “phobia indoctrination.” in his book, releasing the bonds: empowering people to think for themselves, he defines phobia indoctrination as: “programming of irrational fears of ever leaving the group or even questioning the leader’s authority. the person under mind control cannot visualize a positive, fulfilled future without being in the group.”²

for my wife, the deeper fear was that, if she questioned the guidance provided by bob's wife, she would die, at least spiritually, and more importantly, destroy her daughter.

it may be difficult to understand how an intelligent person could turn her life over to an obvious charlatan. the truth is, if my wife had met these people and they had immediately tried to lay this crap on her, she would have walked away. but this was after years of indoctrination. we had no contact with the outside world. our ability to think critically had been stifled. all questions were answered either by the doctrine of the group or the leaders directly. from the beginning we were told, “your best thinking got you here,” meaning our attempts to solve our own problems had led to ongoing drug abuse and had nearly destroyed us. we needed someone else to think for us.





bob sat me down and told me, “your wife doesn’t love you. she doesn’t want to be married anymore. they [his wife and the girls] are trying to figure out where to send her.” he told me, “she hates you man. she told my wife she can’t stand the sight of you.” these were bob’s words.

he said that they couldn’t afford to support my wife and daughter and had nowhere for them to live. he said he couldn’t send me away—that he needed me in arizona, because “i can’t do this thing without you.” he also indicated that they didn’t have another man available to hook her up with.

somehow, i had screwed everything up. my marriage needed to be split up and i was putting the burden of dealing with this problem on the program. they couldn’t send me away, couldn’t support her and my daughter, couldn’t find a guy for her to marry who could support her and my daughter, didn’t have anywhere to send her…and it was my fault.

“i’m gonna have to fix this thing [meaning find a way to make my wife stay with me and get joy and the girls to go along with it],” bob complained.

at this point, i was trying to get his residential center licensed and opened. bob needed to hold things together long enough for me to finish the job, which i’d been working on for months. bob's wife was trying to end my marriage and in reality had succeeded. she just couldn’t get bob to agree to put the final nail in the coffin because of the residential center.

i had enough sense to realize that bob and his wife were interfering with my marriage, my family. i had seen them split other marriages. i had always believed that, when they split couples in the past, it was in the best interest of the couple. now, on some level, i began to see things in a different light.

my wife and i were estranged, but it was because of their meddling. they may be the chosen spiritual leaders, but in this situation they were wrong. if i didn't do something they would destroy my family forever. my daughter would grow up calling some other man daddy. they would see to it that she would grow up believing i was evil.

this is the point where bob hatched his plan to hold things together long enough to get the center opened.

it was also the point where i hatched my plan save my family.

i decided to murder bob and his wife.

to be continued…

notes:
1.lifton, robert j.; the psychology of totalism, a study of “brainwashing” in china, 1981 (reprint) university of north carolina press.
2.hassan steven a.; releasing the bonds: empowering people to think for themselves, 2000 aitan publishing company.