The two of us were sexually abused together and were both electroshocked with bare electric wires to our genitals. I painfully remembered my brother sitting robotically while my father attached a bare wire to his penis and then inserted the opposite end in the electrical outlet, sending his little body into uncontrollable spasms. Tears flooded my brother's eyes and ran down his cheeks as he then was forced to watch as I was electroshocked. For years my mother told the story of how she continually found my brother hiding behind the couch shocking himself by inserting bare wires into the electrical outlet. She laughed a kind of confused, questioning laugh as she spoke this. She probably couldn't think to question where the bare-wired cord came from or why her young son was continually seeking to electroshock himself. I stuck a table knife in an electrical socket so often that there was a knife in the kitchen drawer that was notched from being repeatedly inserted into the outlet. This unconscious act reinforced our programming.
I was often awakened and drugged in the middle of the night by my parents in order to attend rituals that were performed in the empty lot behind the church and at other locations around Woodland Hills. Many of the gullies and outdoor places that were used for rituals when I was a young child have since been developed into homes or large cement drainage areas, but in the 50's these areas provided seclusion for this group. The whole congregation did not participate in these nightly horrors, only a select inner circle was allowed in.
At two, I was initiated into the inner circle with a celebration dedicating me as the bride of Christ. I was drugged, dressed in a long white lace gown, and passed around the circle of drugged members as they sat around a bonfire in a vacant lot, during the middle of the night. Each member fondled me sexually, then I was lain on an altar to be raped and dedicated to Christ and the group. The inner circle members wore black robes and participated in sexual orgies and the killing and ingesting of animal and human flesh. Their belief was that these cannibalistic and sexual acts would transfer the energy or life force from the victim to them in order to make them more powerful.
I was involved in endless rituals that included being burned with candles, having crucifix's jammed up my vagina as I lay on an alter or hung upside down on a cross, having pins inserted into every area of my body including my vagina and the roof of my mouth, and having animals and babies killed in front of me and being forced to eat their raw flesh and drink their blood or urine. Other children were involved in the rituals, and when we reached a certain age we were forced to participate in killing animals and babies. In order to psychologically survive these experiences, many additional personalities within me were created. Nothing was ever as painful as being forced to inflict pain on another or watch as others were tortured or killed.
I had a doll cabinet that my father had specially made for me. It was filled with dolls from all over the world, that were given to me to love. My father used my dolls to program different personalities within me, as he abused me night after night. Often when my father tortured me he would hand a different doll for me to hold in order to create different parts of me with different identities that in my young mind I could relate to the doll I was holding. He told me the doll in my hand was part of me but separate and then he would call it by name. There was the little doll with the red hair and freckles, the baby doll, Cyndy the bride doll, Rebecca, Sally, Thumbelina, Barbie and Madame Alexander, to name a few.
There were dolls everywhere around me, especially in that doll case that my father had made for me with the sliding glass window front so the dolls could be seen. Each doll was «displayed» which my father said meant they couldn't play until he said it was time for them to come out of the case. At night when he woke me for abuse, he took out the doll whose personality was to be the front, or presenting, personality of my inner system of created personalities. As he pulled a doll out of the doll case he'd say, 'she's no longer on display, she can come out and play now,' and at that tender age, I would switch into the personality my father called forth. Then he would say, 'You Susie, will step aside as Doll fully enters your body. Whenever I snap my fingers three times, Doll will enter the body and Susie will step aside, like this now,' and he would snap his fingers three times and I would follow my father's command, totally and completely.
Holidays always signaled times of trauma. One Christmas I awoke excited to see what Santa had brought for me. My two worlds and the personalities that lived in them were continually subjected to different realities, and this day was to be no different. Susie in her red velveteen robe got special treatment while other personalities had 'Xmas,' a very different painful and evil reality. While Susie got a Christmas stocking full of goodies, Sharon got razor blades and coal and parts of dead animals. «Sharon» was another one of my inner personalities my father created, which he developed as my 'inner twin' to Susie, my conscious everyday personality. One Christmas ritual trauma I vividly remembered was when my father laid me down on the rug in front of the fireplace and placed his finger inside my vagina while he readied a hot poker in the fire. Somehow putting me in a trance-state, he began, 'You won't feel this. You will only continue to feel the pleasure, just like I am rubbing now. Does it feel good?'
'Yes Daddy,' I robotically answered.
'Good, then when I do this it will only increase the pleasure,' he kept his finger in place until he got the hot poker out of the fire and as he put it inside me, he took his finger out and as hypnotically commanded, I felt only the pleasure of the hot inside me. Very lovingly he said, 'Very good, honey. You're doing very well. Now take a deep breath and count to three and feel like you have to pee. Then when I take this out, you will feel even more pleasure. Okay?'
'Yes, Daddy,' I said putting my little hand up in front of my face while I counted off, 'One,' as I held up one finger, then 'two,' putting up two fingers, then, 'three,' and when he had taken the poker out, I felt really happy. It didn't even hurt. I couldn't feel the pain of the red-hot thing. In months that followed, I reached out and touched a piece of red-hot angle iron when my father was welding, and when it burned my hand badly, I was surprised. I didn't understand that it would bum me. My father was an expert at those 'games.'
At other times he put something scary in front of my face to startle me before he did something traumatic to me. Then he would tell me to feel numb while he put a silver metal band around my wrist and forehead and would shock me with the black box that was attached to the bands with wires. He'd say 'you're doing very well,' but my face would be sweating and it stung when he gave me what he called 'a jolt.'
At odd times, even when other people were around, my father would say, 'Do you want a jolt?'
I'd say, 'No,' while I giggled nervously, acting like it was a game but it wasn't.
Often after one of these jolting experiences, I felt so sleepy and my mom would say, 'What's wrong with you? Are you sick?'
'I dunno,' I'd say, because I didn't know anything. To know was to 'know, and to 'know' was very bad and you got very hurt. So certain personalities within me took the pain and torture after which I would be switched back to Susie who had no knowledge of any of it.
There were nights my father would wake me out of sleep and devise ways to spin me until I was totally disoriented, after which he took me to look at myself in front of a mirror and called me by another name other than my own, 'Sandy, that is you in the mirror, and Sandy is my friend. She is going to help us. She is a friend of Susie's, but Susie doesn't know Sandy exists. Susie doesn't even need to think about you, Sandy.' And these were some of the tactics used to shatter and then create alternate identities within me from a very early age.
In hypnotic trance I was told, 'The balloons will take you away, take you to the rooms with the many personalities, but as you look at each one, you know that they are you. They are all you. But only one at a time. One room and one person at a time.'
Other nights, I was awakened from sleep and sexually abused to create the dissociative barrier and to create more personalities or attitudes. I was told, 'Now look into the first room. There's Darla. Isn't she cute and pretty, and she is always happy. Darla's dedicated to the stars. She always knows just what to say and do to make others feel good, to make them happy. Now look into the second room. There's Sandy. She's the dancer. She can dance very well and she is able to bend in all different directions … to everyone's amazement. She's not at all embarrassed to take off her clothes in front of people. She likes that, it makes her feel good. But she can only do that when the time is right.' My father also placed stars on my ceiling that lit up at night to remind me of the programming.
Over the years my controllers created programming for every single thing they could dream up. And they programmed in angel personalities intended to handle the pain when I could not.
But their spiritual short-sidedness left them in the dark when I transcended their created angelic personalities, and left my body escorted by real Angels. I owe my life to God and those beautiful loving Beings who kept my soul and my love intact as they continually interceded for the little girl they witnessed tortured
