Abusers In Advocate Clothing

This will be my last post for 2016 as I move onward and upwards going forward. This year has been full of lessons for which I am grateful. I have become wiser and stronger. Now, I will give examples of how abusers hide inside of the world of advocacy work, sometimes further damaging people who are not strong yet.

Just like when I was a child, abusers also interweave themselves into societies where the vulnerable are. You see, for the predator, the abused are easy prey. They become prey for the abuser’s ego, dysfunction and their pocketbooks.

This is rampant in the society of “cult advocacy”, which is filled with narcissistic therapists and religious people trying to recruit victims to their kindler, gentler illusionary faith.

The predatory behavior of apologists and some of these baby booming era cult experts is interesting for me, as a child cult abuse survivor, to observe. They helped create a huge problem, with their free love hippy era; problems that they are now trying, but are unable, to fix. So they either excuse it or use it to their advantage.

What they don’t do, is take responsibility for this disgusting behavior.

When I have been non-compliant or firmly set boundaries with certain people, as I have had to with a couple such “advocates”, and I have done so harshly, they show their true colors openly as I will reveal to you below.

First, thank you to Amazon for requiring reviewers to have bought a product in order to review it. At least abusers have to pay a royalty to enact further abuse on me.

This particular person paid 9.99 to leave their abusive message. Thank you you for the royalty payment.
Here is a screen shot of the gang stalking review, along with my counter comment.

I decided to click the profile. Unfortunately for the “doctor”, her profile wasn’t so anonymous.


We see her reviews, where she lives, and most wonderfully, her name on a review she left on a cult deprogrammers book; someone she has made very clear that she hates.

After reading my counter comment, she came back to my book and deleted her nasty review, but not before I had taken screen shots of it along with her revealing “anonymous” profile.

Get some help, lady. You’re a mentally ill person and the state of Colorado should definitely be aware so you don’t abuse any of your actual clients, that is, if you haven’t already.

Additionally, we have extortionists within the anti-cult society. When people leave cults, 99% of the time they have nothing. They need shelter, clothing, food, transitional support to learn how to deal with the world and most of all therapeutic support.

Here are one “cult expert’s” fees; someone I observed very closely the first time I saw him at a conference. I don’t miss much. I may not say anything for a while, but I didn’t grow up in a deceptive, manipulative cult to not learn the art of quiet and introspective observation. He seemed to zero in on newly departed cult members, but apparently only if they have lots of money to give him, according to some accounts. Now back to his fees:

A licensed professional who understands the subject from the unique perspective as both a former cult member and as a clinical professional who has been working full time in the field since 1976. Fees range from $250 – $500 per hour with paid initial consultations.”

Six months in a cult as an adult doesn’t an expert make. The true cult experts are those of us who grew up in it, and we are rising in numbers, helping each other for free and speaking out. Soon, hopefully, these abusive shills will die off, leaving a fresh pallette for survivors to obtain the well intended support they need.

This is why so many ex-cult members suffer, because most of the people who can help them, won’t even look their way if there’s not money to be made of the backs of these abuse victims.

It is time for this old generation of swindlers and egotistical abusers who wear advocate cloaks to be stripped bare naked for all to see, so survivors will not be their next victim.

Going forward, I well intend to do just that; burst the dam, drain their life force and stand in the shoes of what true advocacy looks like, and that is ethically holding the hands of those who have suffered.

I have fought wars my whole life. Gangstalkers are nothing but swatted flies. #NotIntimidated

For those who are in the process of searching for a therapist, please take the time to read this article: 50 Warning Signs of Questionable Therapy and Counseling

Five Tips For Surviving Holiday Gatherings

Let’s face it, for many people the holiday season is a reminder of past and current emotional and/or physical abuse, missing family members, the gathering together of dysfunctional family, even abusers, alcohol consumption and more.

So, how does one get through a day which may possibly have to be spent surrounded by dysfunctional behaviors?

1. Remember that other people’s behaviors are not yours. If it becomes projected toward you, you get to get up and walk away. You get to gather your brood and keys, respectfully say your goodbyes and simply leave. On this day, and every day, you have the right to self preserve and exit from toxic environments. If you feel you may end up in an abusive encounter, arrange a way to be able to leave as soon as you can.

2. We live in an age of pressure. We worry over judgment and backlash. Not attending a family function can create an arena of hurt. We don’t want the family to be upset at us. We don’t want to have to rehash grudges still being held against us. We don’t want to experience any new wounds. Remember that your peace of mind belongs to you. If you feel it is safer for you not to attend, then you don’t have to. If you do decide to attend gatherings though, for yourself, focus on any moments of positive laughter and conversation.  Focus on the familial connections which feel positive for you.

3. If you encounter triggers such as passive aggressive comments made toward you, skewed stories told that are meant to make you feel bad or humiliated or other audio invasions such as high noise levels, remember to use some grounding tools. Have headphones with you to temporarily block out the noise and negative conversation. Not only does it silently make the statement that you are unwilling to participate in toxicity, it also allows you a temporary mental escape as you listen to soothing music on your phone. If you feel yourself dissociating, silently name five red, green, white or black items in the room. Grab some ice water. Run your hand over the couch material or a solid object beside you, focusing in on its texture in your mind to bring you present into the room . If there are children around ask one of them if they want to play catch. Toss a stuffie or ball or any small item back and forth with them. These tools can all help to bring you back into the present.

4. Stay sober. Try not to drink in an attempt to relax. Keep your mind aware and focused. Concentrate on breathing. Visualize a protective barrier between you and those who you are not comfortable being around.

5. Set a time limit on your visit, and have an exit strategy. If three hours is all you feel you can handle, then try and time your visit so that the family meal is starting and wrapping up within your time frame. Be okay with taking a “to go” plate to enjoy later when you are back in your own safe space.

In essence, please remember to not be guilted into placing yourself in anxious or stressful familial situations. Even if your family doesn’t understand you, or doesn’t try to, know that you have the right to reserve your own comfort zone.

Remember to stay in the present.

Remember that if you feel triggered you have the right to ground or leave.

Remember that many people are not mindful of others’ needs, so prepare a self care list that you can glance at if you feel your mind can’t focus on its own. Looking at a list of ways to ground yourself can, in itself, also bring you into the present.

To my fellow abuse survivors who struggle through the holidays, I am with you in my heart. Here’s to the passing of another year and the start of a new one.

Vennie Kocsis is a child abuse survivor and the author of “Cult Child“. She is an outspoken advocate for trauma survivors.

The Outhouse and a Sears Magazine

When I was a child growing up on Sam Fife’s cult compound in Alaska, we did not have electricity or plumbing. As a result, we used the bathroom in chamber pots and outhouses. We also did not have toilet paper. Our toilet paper was often a Sears magazine with anything that wasn’t “proper” for us to see torn out of it.

We would rip out a couple of pages, sitting bare butted on top of a wooden hole, softening the glossy paper with our hands so that we could wipe as gently as possible.

I also had a severe fear that a demon would rise from the pile of human manure and snatch me down into the outhouse hole.

It was here, that I would find the toy sections of the magazine, and I would see what all the of the kids outside of the compound were getting to play with. These toys were considered evil commodities for they fed the wants and desires of the flesh; to want to play and enjoy doing it. For all “play” and attention should be only on God and what he wanted for our lives.

Yet, they left those pages in the magazine for us children to have to use as toilet paper after stealing a few seconds to dream of what could be.

So I used these pages to clean my body, dropping them to float down into a mound of lime covered feces, urine and other, already melting pages.

Your face crinkles as you read this.

Gross“, you say.

Yes. The smell covers you, rancid and fuming, even with the lime to help counter it.

When we finally got toilet paper around 1981, it was rationed. Families were given toilet paper rolls based on how many people were in their family. Then the toilet paper roll itself was rationed.

One square for number one and two squares for number two.”

The rule of thumb in regards to the use of toilet paper.

We live in this society who doesn’t understand what’s it’s like to be without even the smallest of things like toilet paper and baby wipes, diapers and showers, toilets that flush and electricity; even the freedom to be exactly who we want to be if we so choose.

Toilet meditations often reveal a lot.

I’m grateful as fuck for toilet paper and toilets that flush. Not because of third world countries who don’t have them, but because I lived a third world childhood in a first world country that was and still is so focused on third world issues that the citizens of America never pay attention to the horror children endure here in their own camp.

and for the most part, they still aren’t.

I’m done dealing with humans who claim co-consciousness and oneness or follow religions that claim to be based out of love yet are the same people supporting things like hitting children. They call it discipline. I call it abuse that damages the spinal column.

Oh, that’s just science. What do they know… unless you’re dying. Then you care about science.

Yes, I’m talking directly to you.

How can anyone be love in any way while at the same time finding a reason to support hitting, neglecting or harming the most innocent and defenseless humans on the planet?

This oxymoron of take and shut down are like gnats.

I realized today in a big way, how much humans are stuck in duality; how they think they know all, and yet, if they silenced themselves to listen, if they read the voices of us survivors who have written out our experiences, they would understand how deeply they must open their minds in order to truly bring this planet to a place of peace.

They’d understand why people like me, are grateful for toilet paper, why we fight against mind control and shorten our allowance arena.

Until you’ve lived with nothing. Until you’ve carried the scars of a shattered sacrum from too many childhood spankings, memories of outhouses and dumping chamber pots into potty dump holes, working through aching bones, untreated split skin and bruises, you can’t know. You lived a life of electricity, television and secular luxuries like getting to go to grocery stores.

Until you’ve had that all stripped from you and lived wiping yourself with magazine pages holding treasures you can never have, oh, dears, you cannot know. You can only accept and ask yourself why you can’t open your mind to care.

Be grateful for toilet paper.

This Day Always Leaves Lumps In the Throats of Some

I am recalled to this video piece, Throat Lumps, linked below, from my poetry book, Dusted Shelves, that on days which celebrate the essence of love, my heart sits silently with the unloved; the child who has never felt a hug, the ones neglected and the humans dejected by lack of connection or touch.  Don’t fake love.  It is not something to give or take.  It is a state of being.  It is who you are in your heart which makes your character.  My tribe consists of all humans who understand the suffering of those who are triggered back to pain on days like these.

Throat Lumps

When Writing Out Trauma Is Crippling

A wise person once said, “There are three things you should never share; your relationship, your finances and your next move.”

It has become a mantra for my life.   Years of being both vulnerable and held back at the wrong times have left me speculating my own judgment.  Being alone is safer, away from the possibility of re-victimization.

I learned harsh lessons as I grew up. With no boundaries to define danger or relationships I was tossed out of a childhood that had been riddled with abuse straight into the very society I had been trained to fear, hate and one day even war against in the name of God.

With blinders on, I ran towards everything I’d been taught was sin.  I bathed in it.  I dove inside of it like it was a swimming pool.  I became prey, a seal pup in an ocean full of sharks.

A couple of nights ago, while working on “Rise of Sila“, the sequel to “Cult Child“, I had to write a trauma memory.  I had to get into the details of it, part of them being a time my sister wore long sleeves to hide the bruises her rapist left on her upper arms.    When I was finished with the section, nausea swept through me quickly, suddenly and filled my mouth with water to the point I had to curl up on my bed and do focus breathing until it passed.

Fuck.”  I thought.  “It’s starting.”

This is what happened while I was writing “Cult Child“.  The trauma surfaced in waves, and with it came years of sporadic vomiting, night terrors, migraines, days in bed weeping, high peaks of anxiety and agoraphobia and a lot of deep isolation.

I smiled in selfies to post on the Internet. I spun on the positivity pole as if I was the poster child of survival, and I hid the reality of how crippling writing trauma is for me.

I thought I would feel some kind of relief after getting “Cult Child” out.   Yet, I didn’t.  I felt incredibly proud of myself that I had accomplished the project.  I also felt an extreme exhaustion that still lingers as I continue on.   I feel weakened.  I feel that I have only spilled out a sliver of the truth about the reality that was my childhood.

Last night I had a dream which rocked me. When I woke up this morning, the emotions of the dream came hazily with it bringing short, flash images of children milling about, a lot of confusion and an inability to grasp the rest of the images.  There are no worse dreams for me to have, than the ones which involve children.  They take the longest to shake from my eyes and the hardest to re-balance my heart from.   [Click here to visit my Dreamscape category where I document them.]

I am pushing myself, because this story must be told.  It has to be left behind so my sons and lineage will have documentation of their ancestral life.  I have to tell the truth for myself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, after I am finished, there will be some reprieve.

But, right now, in this moment, I just feel like avoiding.

Stream of Consciousness | 1.6

duality / what an odd position / to both / thrive in solitude / drown in aloneness / behind the smile / an ache / that never goes away / arms to hold me / are shadows / only visible / in night dreams / clutching pillows / i have landed / on a planet / of shallow waves / a place / unfamiliar / far away from / beneath my sea / blue washes / my soft cheeks / they will / always leave / when the storms / get deep / no matter how much / the voices plead / stay / stay / don’t go away / but i am here / inside the gray / looking for realms / where the otherkin stay / i could leave today / make it a forever / would they say / i miss her / she was / a good kisser / survived / so much shit / it left a / mental sickness / i am weary of / being food for / the wicked / if i must / sleep alone / in this valley / let the ghosts rally / twist me / into cocoons / taking me / home soon / so tired / spirit endings ache / too much heartbreak / makes the body bend / until the moon / says it’s the end / and she / releases the tides for my / mothership to arrive / i float invisible / in a world of / crooks and cars / i won’t / make it far / unless i / start running now / i just / don’t know how

For Those Who Aren’t Merry

I feel reclusive during the holiday season. I feel withdrawn, and my skin crawls from the frenzy of human energy scurrying to appease their loved ones in the name of what they believe to be truth; over charging credit cards; bleeding themselves dry to have the best; to look the best; to hope their friends will say theirs was the best…

Appearances
Appearances
Appearances

They call it the North Star, which actually shines over the North Pole and couldn’t have possibly been shining over an alleged son of a god.

I realize that most humans don’t really care about truth right now. They are too caught up in appearances, what others will think of them, over compensating their children and giving way to consumerism while other humans starve, struggle and weep with pain.

I don’t feel “joyful, joyful we adore thee” when I see Christmas lights. Instead I think, “what a waste of electricity that the tax payers have to absorb.”

I’m not bah hum bug. I’m a realist who doesn’t believe in the birth of a messiah. I’m a person who refuses to give way to the mind control and the over-rated mass carnage that is Black Friday.

Social networking disappears for me during these times. I man my personal pages but hide away from reading my personal feeds too much. It’s emotional triggering and draining to me to observe how superficial humans can be.

Change is once again upon me; there are unknowns swirling all around in my life, and celebrating falseness is not on the top of my priority list. Surviving is.  I see people suffering in the same places I see people fawning and showing off their greed. Will they ever stop, for just one moment, and look around to see the vast needs of the suffering?  Will they ever say, this year, we’re going to help others, because maybe, that’s what this is all truly about.

I see apathy disguised as giving. I see narcissism disguised as care and concern. I see the realism that lies deeply under the surface of plastic smiles and over drawn bank accounts.

and I hide away. I hide in my cave where I don’t have to see the sickness in humanity; the mental illness that can bury my soul with the heaviness of it all.