Ritual Abuse: A Survivor’s Tale -- By: Anonymous
ATJ 24 (1992) p. 80
A Survivor’s Tale
The author has asked to remain anonymous due to the nature of the material shared. For questions or assistance, please contact the editor.
I was asked to tell you my story. I need to start by saying that this is a story of hope. It about the Grace of God and about victory. It is about my escape and recovery from a childhood of ritualistic abuse in my family’s involvement in a Satanic cult. It is important that you be open-minded. I believe that if you truly work for the Lord, you will have an opportunity to encounter Evil. I want to help you have some idea of what it will look like and how to deal with it.
I am the oldest of three children. I have a younger sister and a younger brother. The first eight years of my life we lived in a small town in North Carolina and my Mother’s family were the “up-town” people. They had a lot of power and a lot of control in that small town. My Father’s family were the people that were called “country folk;” out of the city limits. They had a lot of land and were farmers.
Up until about two years ago I didn’t have any memories of those first eight years. I had a few vague memories of some good times I had spent with my grandfather but I really didn’t remember much. We moved away from that town and in moving, left the Coven. I always knew that my family was abusive. Both my parents and my brother and my sister are, today, alcoholics, active alcoholics, and also use drugs regularly. We never went to church as children, and when I was young I used to jokingly and in an off-handed way, tell people that my father was Satan. I really didn’t know what I was talking about. Today if you saw a picture of my father it would stop you in your tracks and you would wonder who it was that was looking back at you. The man is walking evil.
When I was little I knew that there were a lot of really bad, really crazy things happening to me and I made a deal with God, as I knew God, as I imagined God. I would build a closet down somewhere in my soul. Whenever something happened that hurt me, or confused me, or frightened me, or that I didn’t understand, he would just fast-forward me through that experience and lock it up in the closet. When I got older and in a safe place, I promised to open the door, look at it and try to figure it out. God made the deal, and when I was little and I was being tortured or abused, I would imagine this little man in a long white robe and a long white beard coming and sitting on my shoulder. He would say, “ I will never leave you. You will never be alone.” I never knew who it was until two years ago. I went back and looked at a children’s Bible with pictures. It was Moses. While these things were happening, I would go away and play with Moses. I ha...
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