Failure

The greatest trauma of survivors who go on a healing journey must be that the courage and strength it takes to choose to pursue truth over the lies of the family or group that is responsible for and complicit in the abuse, is that this family or group, backed by the entire Western culture, turns against you and aggressively labels you as the exact opposite of what you actually are.

In the cult attempting to keep the world in its grip, success means that you go along - whatever level of awareness you are at and whatever political side you are on - with the subliminal edicts and agendas of the cult. Being successful, in the way it is generally presented in our culture, means gaining status and power. For many people this happens organically, as their talent and drive and the way in which their work impacts others positions them somewhere on the higher echelons of the hierarchical ladder. Many successful people never make it into the network because they are not pedophiles and don’t need or like the clubby vibe.

Recently I got it in my head to reach out to a man with whom I was briefly together, more than 40 years ago, when I was twenty and he in his late thirties. I was strongly drawn to his vibration, which was one of power, just the one I had been programmed to target in my childhood mind control training. As an artist, the connection was easy and natural, since I had also been slated to become a performer like him. During our time together, I had no relevant memories and automatically responded based on my programming. Without any conscious awareness, I slid into my sex slave persona.

Sex addiction is a great escape from the emptiness and loneliness that accompany fame, often itself an escape from childhood sexual trauma, in which the child loses its ability to trust that it is innately lovable, and programmed to believe that it now needs to perform in order to be loved. The child’s physical reaction to the trauma in the freeze state can provoke the body to experience pleasure. Moreover, perpetrators often communicate their excitement around the secrecy and “naughtiness” of their trespass, thus implicating the child and indoctrinating them into the belief that pleasure is to be obtained through illicit and illegal sexual play and activity.

The life that child had up until that moment, in which it could be freely and innocently present, is stolen with the abuse. What once was, can never be again; life can never again be joyful for its own sake. Hidden from life in the shadows, excitement and sexual pleasure replace joy. Dissociation from the fear and pain numb everyday life, making it seem boring and empty.

Artists often get stuck in the belief that the raw emotions or the depth of their work or the atmosphere surrounding their art, which they draw from a lingering sense about their own childhood trauma, would be lost if they ventured into the truth of their own story. With low self-esteem, also due to the childhood trauma, they often find their own history too banal, finding themselves too unworthy to attempt to look deeper into themselves.

In spite of the terrorizing and gruesome reprogrammation that I underwent as a child after I had disobeyed the man who thought himself my owner, I could still have chosen the life of an artist. Certainly that sphere was extremely familiar to me. My hidden trauma would have still yielded artistic moments, though of course I would never have become the flawless puppet as originally programmed - the femme fatale propped up on the world stage, loved by the establishment while lauded as a rebel for breaking supposed sexual taboos. Pushing towards the sexualization of everything, including, of course, pedophilia, thát would have been written about as courageous and risquée. No, I would not ever become that successful. But I could still be like most artists, struggling to make it.

This famous man had told me soon after we had met in 1983 that I “could do this too;” and he meant that, yes, I could be an actor, and also, I could be famous. As my sex slave part had been roused in his presence, he was able to see my potential, usually lurking underneath many heavy layers of guilt and shame, which had temporarily given way for the original artist program. That programmation being based on my natural talents, one can never think of mind control as a purely mechanical imposition on a person. Rather, its genius lies in using natural abilities and pervert them to serve a nefarious purpose in service of the network.

In spite of my familiarity with art and the artist’s life, and in spite of the reflection that this famous person offered me of my potential as someone who belonged in his club of lonely people, I chose the even lonelier path of truth.

With this performer, in that space beyond thought where we connected through sex and humor, I had fun. In my late twenties, once I started to heal and open myself to feel the horrendous heartbreaks from childhood, once I consciously felt the pain that could have surreptitiously fed my entire artistic career, once my vulnerable parts experienced the fear and betrayal of the past, the fun was over. In looking back, I can say that there was always a part inside me that was really missing the fun.

When I called this man from the past figuring it might be nice to meet once again, I suddenly felt very nervous, which had me question what was happening and why I wanted to reach out. Back in the eighties and nineties he and I had met a few times and he had kept wondering when I was going to make it.

In speaking to a friend about my nervousness, I suddenly became extremely vulnerable. Then the young part showed herself; the girl who had been a beloved child with a bright future one minute, and a worthless, vile, despicable and disgusting failure the next.

My disobedience, my moment of rebellion, was by no means extreme or even particularly rebellious for a normal child in a normal family. Only in the network, where the most immature men need complete control over others so as to keep their traumatized child parts suppressed, obedience is the first and most important rule. I had been told in no uncertain terms that I would have to always obey my owner. I had complained to him once before, letting him know that the training in Germany had been “really hard.” He had answered that it had been to make me stronger. (Some years ago, I mistakenly believed that it had been this moment in which he had completely turned against me.) In his answer the first time, I had felt the strain, the apprehension, the fear that I might not be a good slave, and the threatening look letting me know not to cause trouble.

In an environment where people see everything in black or white, in terms of life and death, I knew that I had been forewarned. And yet I tried once again to say something that was not completely positive, completely how he wanted me. My complaint was that the first and most basic promise, the one made to me a year prior when I had been nine, the one that had drawn me in, had been brutally and abruptly broken. That promise was that I would be treated with respect. I complained to my “owner” about having been horrendously humiliated. The result was that he switched so completely, that my life also switched completely. The reprogrammation was all about making it very clear that I was a complete failure.

That fear overtook me when I called the artist. The flip side of my successful sexual persona is the reprogrammed little girl, terrorized into believing that she is evil and worthless. Once I grieved more for her, I lost the desire to see him.

Reversal is the credo of the satanic cult. “Bad is good,” they say. It is the reversal of natural and wholesome living to the lies and secrets that are the domain of child abuse. The reversal of everyday life which has become an empty cover for illicit and horrific actions performed beneath the surface. I am grateful for my failure to blindly obey.