Born Crazy: A Video Poem

You’re crazy.”

How often have you heard this phrase thrown around, either flippantly, in jest or to victim blame someone who has overcome or is recovering from abuse?

I heard this often as a post-cult teenager and well into my adult years. While I was actually dealing with the behavioral aftermath of being an extremely abused child, instead of receiving support, caring and nurturing I was told that I was crazy. When a child is told enough times that they’re mind is insane, we begin to believe it.

This poetry piece is from my spoken word album, Dusted Shelves, which is available on Amazon in paperback and c.d. Written in 2013, it is a representation of a life by which I was conditioned to believe that I was crazy.

Some abuse survivor work is considered to be dark and oddly psychotic. This piece would fall under that theme.

**Trigger Warning for those who are sensitive to these themes**

Born Crazy

Cults and Cult Apologists Who Gang Stalk

Gang stalking (also known as “organized stalking”) “is the covert organized surveillance and harassment of a targeted individual by multiple perpetrators. The goal is to systematically isolate and harass the victim using tactics whose cumulative effects amount to psychological torture.”

Tactics include:

* Flooding your book/website/online presence with negative comments to drive down the ratings
* Making websites in an attempt to discount you
* Leaving negative comments and thumbs down on YouTube videos
* Blogging about you negatively
* Calling you a liar
* Attempting to trigger you emotionally in any way possible, even attacking your mental health
* Hacking into websites
* Re-selling your book/item for profit
* Digging up parts of your past in an attempt to discredit your present as if humans do not change and/or grow

Some cults go further and actually physically stalk individuals; slash tires, harrass family members and even murder individuals. If one has ever watched Deadly Devotion they can see examples of this. 

I deeply observe the mindsets of my critics, who so far have been seemingly either current members of Sam Fife’s Move of God cult or ex-members who are cult apologists.

A few days ago, a negative review was left on my Amazon link for Cult Child. I expected this behavior long before I began to write. This is what cults do. I have never been overly concerned with it. 1. I find that the guiltiest yell the loudest and 2. I appreciate their reviews because each one of them proves even more, the validity of my story.

Here’s why:

This last review alleged that my book was filled with lies and that it was vague. So my first response, naturally, is, how could you possibly know that unless you were on the cult with me, because that would be the only way anything the critic had to say could be valid. They would have to have been there. Therefore this person either is one of my abusers or witnessed the abuse.

Here say doesn’t stand up in court. Just because Sister Marie calls me a liar doesn’t make it so. She has to prove it. Even in court, the burden of proof is not on the victim.

**update** I responded to the commenter who called my book a farce. I asked them, if it is so, they must have been there, witnesses or participated.  I asked them which compound they were housed in to know?  The next day, the commenter had deleted their comment.

I happily welcome the opportunity when I might step before a judge with my evidence. I’m ready for what they’ll possibly do to hide the truth. No matter what, the truth is now out there in print, and the truth will live long after I leave this planet.

It will live in every word of Cult Child’s pages, in the words of this blog and from the mouths of my siblings and every other source who verified these memories. It will live through my sons who will insure it’s continued copyright. It will live through my grandchildren. It will live through every person who has a copy of it. It will live always.

and this is why my critics don’t count.

How I Was Trauma Bonded With God

I was introduced to a man named God when I was just a little girl. He was a massive figure emerging from the clouds, often with furrowed, gray eyebrows, pointing a finger at the sinners below him. He was a magician who created a planet with a wave of his hand. He had a dramatic story, with a top soldier who abandoned him and took part of his army. But he protected the ones who were loyal to him.

and if I was a good girl, God would love and protect me too. If I could become clean of the sin through which I was born, God would love me forever and ever. Yet, if I could not become pure in his eyes, God would set his rage on me, dooming me to burn and scream in pits of fire.

So began my journey into being the victim of a learned love/hate relationship with my apparent spiritual father and the only man to whom I should ever be the most loyal. One day, though, I would begin to reason in my mind.

“How are there pictures of someone whom no human has ever seen?”

“Why is it, no matter how well I behave, I am still molested and beat?”

“Why won’t God fill me with the Holy Spirit so I can understand his tongues language?”

“What have I done wrong that God is not protecting or loving me?”

“Why is God so mad at me?”

God made me walk on eggshells, wishing I could hide beneath a blanket or a tree so he couldn’t see me, but he allegedly spies constantly and has eyes so big he can see everything at all times. There was no hiding for me. Humans watched me, and so did God.

I yearned for God’s love. I longed to fit in with the rest of the cult children. Yet, there I was, feeling as if I always stood on the edge, looking in on a fervor I could never quite achieve. So then…

I must be bad like the adults say I am.
I can’t identify the badness.
It’s my fault I’m scared.
It’s my fault I don’t say no to Brother Ray.
It’s my fault because I take the cookies.
It’s my fault I talk loud.

It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. Those words will stay, long after I grow up and escape God.

But I’m only eight, and right now God owns my mind. God started owning my mind when I was three.

I will strive for God’s love, beg for His forgiveness for whatever I may have done wrong, even if I don’t know what it is. I will accept his hatred of me. I will teeter on this wire, traumatically, mentally fragmented, long after his illusionary existence shatters into a million pieces.

I have escaped a plethora of narcissists in my lifetime, but of all the trauma bonding that was injected into my journey here, God’s ripped me apart the most. God’s ego left caverns of echoing scars, repeating threats in my head, leaving me to battle his aftermath even after I came to know that the idea of good behavior buying a golden ticket to a fantastic resurrection show was a hoax.

I would forsake him proudly, but the words of his messages, spoken through the mouths of vile humans, would remain the silver balls traveling the ping pong game that my brain was molded into.

I have a little coping skill I use. Whenever I begin to doubt myself or speak negatively to my own existence, I tell God to shut his imaginary mouth. His ghost doesn’t get to manipulate me anymore. And he does. He shuts the fuck up, because the echo of his programming is under my fingertips now.

Control. Alt. Delete.

A Letter To the Defense

In this assignment, let’s write a letter to our defendant/s. There may be one. There may be many. The Defendants are the people who should stand trial for hurting us as children. Write this letter in the voice of you as a child, saying what you want to say to them now.”  The Artist’s Way

Dear Abusers in Sam Fife’s Move of God Cult:

I wish you cared about how much you hurt me. Sometimes I sit in contemplation trying to bring out understanding of how you people can be so wicked, sadistic and cold.

Why don’t you think you did anything wrong? Do you know you were wrong and you’re too scared to admit the truth? Why? You don’t want to be judged? But you deserve to be judged.

What do you think your God’s final ruling will be when you stand in front of him? I am confused sometimes when you say “what is done to the least of us you do to God.” Why do you beat God? Why do you molest him? Why do you tell him that he is nothing but sin? Why do you say he is worthless? Why do you withhold his meals to make him comply? Do you think God will love you for what you do to him?

Maybe I’m not the least among you just because I’m a kid. What does the least among you mean to you?

I never trust you to keep me safe because I am never safe. My heart beats really hard when I’m scared of getting in trouble. Sometimes I think I’m floating halfway in the air and halfway in my body.

Mom, sometimes I look at you, and I think you are pretty. But sometimes you feel scary. I wish I could tell you that I only see demons in mean people. It’s in their eyes. Do you know that’s where evil can never hide, Mama? That’s why evil people wear sunglasses a lot, unless they have eye problems, maybe.

Do days feel this long to all the people in the world? They feel like forever to me. Mom, and how come we never get to talk to our Dad? Why do you hate him so much? Does he really not want us like you say? And please don’t marry Leis off to that man from India. He smells weird and then I’ll be all alone and you will make ME do all the cleaning in the cabin.

Mom, Brother Ray did a lot of dirty things to my body when we were living in the Tabernacle. And I am more than a sinner now. I can never tell you because then you will hate me for being a whore of Babylon. I didn’t know that little kids could be whores, but maybe I am what everyone says girls are.

I want to tell you all, how long this will follow me. It will tear apart my teenage years, leaving me void of an identity. It will send me to jail. It will make me choose boyfriends who abuse me. It will take all of my trust. I will trust the wrong people so many times I will stop trusting anyone at all. I will have months of not leaving the house. I will fail my children. I will have night terrors. I will have flashbacks of your torture. I will meet others like me, and I will despise your existence more. I will attack my own body with food and cigarettes.

I will dig my way out of your rubble. And I will find the real me. I will cease continuing your abuse by abusing myself.  You will stop owning me.  And then I will find you. I will spend lifetimes following you, haunting you, and I will tell all of your secrets. I will destroy your core and rip open your lies. I will survive.

I think you hate me because you can’t break me.

I have more to say, and I will keep writing you letters. And you will listen. Maybe we should tie you all to chairs, beating the truth out of you like you tried to beat fake demons out of us kids. Isn’t that what the Bible says? An eye for an eye?

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and other publications.  She is a also a poet and hostess of the podcast Survivor Voices Show.

Who Is Teaching Children Abuse Education Classes?

When I was a child I wasn’t aware I was being abused. It’s just how it was. I knew it hurt. I knew I hated it. I knew it made me angry. I knew how it made me FEEL, but I didn’t know it was wrong. I thought it was my fault. I thought I was a bad child.

Yet, I was a beautiful child with talent and gifts. And the ultimate irony of it, for me, is that through all of the blaming me for my sins, my shortcomings and my exuberance, still the raw DNA of creativity wasn’t altered.

There seems to be a vast difference between emotion towards being hurt and the understanding that you ARE being harmed. I ached deep inside because of the abuse I was taking, yet had no clue it was lawfully wrong.

Who educates the child on what their parent is or isn’t allowed to do to them? Who cares about that communication? Sex education says “don’t have sex” or “wear condoms” depending on whether it’s religion based or not.

So, who is teaching the child about the definitions of abuse, so they know when touch is wrong; when speech is wrong; to be wise and advised. Who is teaching abuse education?

“Cult Child” Amazon Review – Heartbreaking

By a. estrada on April 14, 2015

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
I don’t know how else to say it The book will break your heart. It will make you cry. It will make you mad. And somehow, little Sila still brought a smile to my face, even an out loud laugh, or two!
The book is written beautifully, despite the sadness. I love how the story was told through the child’s eyes. It makes it easier to connect with the her in this way. To feel, see what she is feeling and seeing. More personal. I loved it. Anxious to know what happens after Alaska…
Visit the link below to purchase Cult Child and read more reviews:

Invisible Diagnoses

There are many of us who carry invisible diagnoses.  Because others cannot visually see them, we are often cast aside.  This is on my mind as I share these vlog thoughts to shed light.