As surreal as this may seem, this is the honest truth. Even though names are changed and some identifying details are modified, this is my story. It is painful to write, but it was even more painful to live. Because most people with an eating disorder have been through trauma, I have decided to share many details, not just my struggle with anorexia. While I've had many traumatic events, I do detail abuse a lot. While I've been able to process my anorexia with professionals, I've never had the opportunity to process the abuse with anyone so this is the best (free) therapy I can find for right now!
**Please forgive my poor grammar, repetitive phrases and typos - most days, it's too painful to read through this and edit.**
**Please forgive my poor grammar, repetitive phrases and typos - most days, it's too painful to read through this and edit.**
I was born to normal parents, who started out living a normal life. They were young and poor, but my Dad was ambitious and didn't settle with the norm. His ambition and drive would be a blessing and curse.
The older I got, the more my parents' wealth grew, and the more privileged I became. By the time I was in high school, I had anything and everything I wanted. My parents had become wealthy through my Dad's savvy skills. I didn't have to work, in fact, my parents preferred that I didn't, and enjoyed my teenage years. We vacationed several times a year, which picqued my long-standing interest in other cultures and my wanderlust. If I wanted something, I just had to ask and I got it. If I wanted money, I just asked and I could have as much as I wanted. My Dad had several airplanes and would fly me to summer camp, or to a friend's house. One summer I wanted a fishing boat, so my Dad bought me one and all the fishing tackle I needed so I could fish as much as I wanted. Another time, he bought me and my next youngest sister brand new snowmobiles. I had all school parties at my house, complete with live bands, root beer kegs and any activity I wanted. I went to a private school.
My Dad was a leader in our community, well-known by all, and also the chair of our church's board. He had a lot of power (still does to this day), and is very smart financially. When I was in high school, we started researching which private Caribbean island we would buy, as my parents talked of early retirement.
People raved about my house and I actually got made fun of, in this expensive, private, International boarding school, for being 'rich'.
I was pretty, funny, outgoing, a thrill seeker, hyperactive, lively and many have described my personality as magnetic. I played tennis, basketball and ran track. I had a 4.0 GPA my Freshman year. I always had a boyfriend; most were two years older than me. I did some modeling in junior high (I looked way older than my age) and by the time I was in senior high, was an accomplished pianist. In my later years of high school, I became the lead vocalist of a traveling singing group. My senior year of high school, I became the pianist as well as the female lead on our worship team. People contacted my parents about a recording contract for me. I didn't find this out until I was an adult and another friend asked why my parents didn't let me record. I was dumbfounded and confused, until I talked to my parents and found out it was true - they were just trying to shield me from a wicked industry.
My life looked perfect.
It was anything but perfect.
I was being physically, emotionally and mentally abused by my parents. I say 'parents' because even though most of it came from my Dad, my Mom sat silently. Her silence meant a stamp of approval on my Dad's behavior. My Dad was horrid. I never knew when his temper would flare, what instrument he would beat me with, what words would come out of his mouth and if I would come out alive. I also watched him abuse everyone else in my family; my Mom included. I was told to keep quiet and every time I threatened to go public with it, my Mom got vicious, defending my Dad.
I was also briefly sexually abused by another family member occasionally until I was twelve, but that was minimal compared to the torture I experienced at home.
In fourth grade, I started hanging out with kids who smoked. I stole cigarettes from a neighbor and started doing the same thing.
Things weren't good at home. I can't remember much, but I know they weren't good.
Around fifth grade, I became popular. I hadn't been popular before, but my Mom bought me a pair of jeans, which happened to be the most prestigious brand of jeans you could have in fifth grade. The most popular girl in school saw me wear them to school, befriended me, and from that point on I was popular. Overnight. But being on the popular list in fifth grade is a shaky place. You can easily be left behind with one wrong move, the wrong outfit or not keeping up with any of the trends. Around this time I began to throw away my lunch. I didn't even know what anorexia was, I just didn't want to eat and wanted to be skinny.
Having a lot of my Dad's drive in my blood, I set my sights on being the Queen. In order to do that, I had to have something, be something, do something, to keep getting recognized. It started mostly with boys.
By the fall of sixth grade, when I was 11 years old, I had done everything but have actual sex. While many sexual abuse victims abhor anything relating to sex, I was the polar opposite. I was the first girl in my grade to do such things. And I made sure everyone knew by performing these acts publicly. First with my sixth grade boyfriend, and weeks later, at parties with older guys. My parents were in counseling for their marriage, which was hanging by a thread, and they started sending me to the same counselor as well. I refused to talk and just stared out the window.
Around this time, I got horribly sick. We were Catholic, and a priest was even called in to read my last rites. Amazingly, I recovered. I thought it was an STD and God's way of punishing me. It was a slow process that left me very depressed. I was taking morphine for pain relief, and one day while still home from school recovering, I overdosed. One of my younger sisters came home from school and found me passed out. She just thought I was sleeping.
I attempted suicide many times throughout the years, but only got caught and was hospitalized three times.
I attempted suicide many times throughout the years, but only got caught and was hospitalized three times.
A few days later my Dad started on one of his tirades at dinner. He made me come and sit a the dinner table and eat supper with the family. It was incredibly painful for me to sit because of a procedure I had done and up until that point I had been on a liquid protein diet because my body wasn't able to handle food after weeks of illness. I complied with his request, but couldn't eat, which infuriated him. At supper, he decided he wanted my room clean and he wanted it clean now. My Mom started arguing with him, saying that I was too sick to even walk and I couldn't possibly clean my room, but my Mom has never had the power to get him to stop or listen. I had no choice but to do what he asked.
My mom and one of my sisters would sneak into my room and helped me clean a bit, away from my Dad's angry and watchful eye. At one point though, some of the trash in my room had to be brought to the garbage. As I was slowly bringing it to the garbage, my Dad started yelling at me about how slow I was going. He chased me to the garbage to get me to speed up while hitting and kicking me and calling me names. He stopped me to slam me against a cupboard door and strangled me by the neck while holding my ear - one of his favorite ways of torture - and screamed some more. I'm sure at some point I talked back and he saw that I had a piece of gum in my mouth. He exploded! He started ranting about how I couldn't eat supper but yet I was chewing gum. He pushed my head into the garbage can and shoved as much of his hand down my throat yelling at me to spit out the gum, while intentionally kicking me over and over again in the area where I had had the procedure done. I couldn't even breathe the pain was so intense. But my heart hurt worse.
I lay on the ground after he left, bleeding from my mouth, shaking, holding onto the garbage can, and scared to see what damage had been done to the sensitive area he had kicked. Someone brought me back to my bedroom and put me in bed. I fell asleep only to be awakened by my Dad raging that I was in bed and now as punishment I had to clean my bathroom too. I had no choice but to get up and get back to work. Hiding my tears, I hobbled to my bathroom and began to try to mindlessly clean.
At that point, I drank toilet bowl cleaner and perfume trying to kill myself.
It obviously didn't work as I sit here and type through this.
I had to go back to the doctor because we were worried about the damage my Dad did to me, but of course, there was no mention of my Dad beating me. We pretended I had an accident.
These episodes were common, but I will only share one in this writing as many others I can't remember. Most were unprovoked. When you were assigned a work project with Dad, you never knew what or who you were going to get. My Dad can be the kindest, most fun man ever, but he can also be unbelievably cruel and hurtful. One minute I could be helping him on a project and two minutes later I could be being beat, while my Mom softly told him to stop, something that would only enrage him and cause him to retaliate against both of us.
I was very bitter that people spoke so highly of my Dad, the same guy who almost took my life and made me do meaningless tasks like picking up every leaf in our several acre yard on my hands and knees for hours for punishment. Or throwing my brothers outside naked during a snowstorm. Or making my sister sleep in the garage with the pets because she chewed too loud at the dinner table.
But yet I loved and still do love my Dad dearly. In a way, I am my Mom; hiding who and what he can be.
At the end of sixth grade, I made a decision to be bad. I decided I would be the worst of the worst from that point on.
Seventh grade started, and I was the shit. Smoking, skipping school, vandalism, parties, stealing, boys, not eating, drugs, porn and horrible music were my life. I was stripping for guys at parties, making money (remember, I looked a lot older than 13), and had quite a reputation in school. I sold my body on several occasions in the years to come. I was in the FUCKING sixth grade, looking and having the experience of a 17 or 18 year old. Makes me sick to think about. I remember other girls looking at me in the hallway with envy as I walked past them, cigarette smoke wafting from my clothes, and whatever boy I wanted and whenever I wanted him on my arm.
By this point I was also sexually experimenting with girls too - I was open to anyone and anything. I started cutting around this time. The first thing I ever cut was with a stick, right into my shin was "DY", meaning die, but I told everyone it was my boyfriend's initials.
In sixth, seventh and eighth grade, I starting practicing Buddhism, but found that wasn't dark enough for me. I got into some satanic and occult activity as well...it was the goth age after all.
By this point I was also sexually experimenting with girls too - I was open to anyone and anything. I started cutting around this time. The first thing I ever cut was with a stick, right into my shin was "DY", meaning die, but I told everyone it was my boyfriend's initials.
In sixth, seventh and eighth grade, I starting practicing Buddhism, but found that wasn't dark enough for me. I got into some satanic and occult activity as well...it was the goth age after all.
I was living the dream, but between my persona at school and my horrible life at home I was very depressed and suicidal. I felt used and dirty and caught in the perpetual spin cycle of fail, feel bad, repeat.
I had been slowing stealing and stockpiling whatever pills I could find. In addition to the leftover morphine I had, my stash was filled with anything and everything - legal and illegal. I had planned out my day to die. I planned to take them at school and hide where no one would find me.
I had been slowing stealing and stockpiling whatever pills I could find. In addition to the leftover morphine I had, my stash was filled with anything and everything - legal and illegal. I had planned out my day to die. I planned to take them at school and hide where no one would find me.
The day came. I went to school, and asked to be excused during 4th hour choir. It was a chaotic class, and I knew the teacher wouldn't even remember I was gone. I went and found the least used water fountain and took pill and pill after pill. By the end, I had water, saliva and pill remnants running down the front of my shirt as I tried to gag more and more down. I can still remember what shirt and pants I was wearing. It was one of my favorites because not only did I feel like it made me look thin, but it was full of new age symbols. I wanted to die looking good.
The effects of all those medicines came on quickly. Before I knew it, I was scared. Everything was spinning and I was nauseated. I went back to choir confused and shaking. My good friend saw something wasn't right and I told her I took too much medicine. She said we need to tell the teacher. The teacher was really busy and she told us she had to work with some other students, then she would assist us. When it was our turn in line, the bell rang signaling the end of the class, but my friend told the teacher that I had taken too many pills. All the teachers in the school knew I was on the edge, and she freaked out and called the nurses office, then the counselors office (they had recognized some of the trouble I was in and had started working with me). I refused to talk and was losing my grasp on reality.
Someone rushed me to the hospital emergency room, where frantic doctors and nurses tried to get me to tell them what I took. My mom showed up from her lunch with Pastor Mark's wife, as someone found a few of the pills I hadn't managed to take. Some of the last things that I remember is a doctor trying to analyze the pills, finding several that were acetaminophen and calling poison control. The next thing I remember is vomiting over and over and over again. I later woke up in a secure room with tubes and machines.
I was hospitalized for a week in the mental health ward. Even though I was in a hospital, it brought me great comfort and I slept with no fear. I felt very safe, but feared what would happen once I got home.
Of course, I was right about my mistreatment by my Dad once I was home. In addition, I lost all privileges, my bedroom door was taken away, my room was stripped of anything that I could injur myself with (pens, pencils, even paper clips), my journals and all my artwork was taken and destroyed because it was deemed 'too dark' and I was grounded in addition to the physical and verbal beratement that I received.
I was highly medicated, so nothing seemed to bother me too much.
Of course, I was right about my mistreatment by my Dad once I was home. In addition, I lost all privileges, my bedroom door was taken away, my room was stripped of anything that I could injur myself with (pens, pencils, even paper clips), my journals and all my artwork was taken and destroyed because it was deemed 'too dark' and I was grounded in addition to the physical and verbal beratement that I received.
I was highly medicated, so nothing seemed to bother me too much.
Because I had overdosed on school property, I wasn't allowed back into my classes. I had to sit in the office where all the school counselors were and work with the school police officer. I had been an honor student, in all advanced classes, but now I could barely concentrate on basic tasks.
Eighth grade I was allowed back into the regular classes with the promise to the school staff and my parents that I would be good. I lasted a month before I was going the wrong direction again. My parents sent me to the private Christian school in town and I did OK there the rest of the year.
My family had switched churches the year before, and started getting really religious, so they thought the Christian school would straighten me out. I HATED church and rebelled against anything with God. I sat in the back of the church, drawing sexual sketches and saying, "Fuck you all! Fuck God!" under my breath.
That didn't go too well at a private school either and I made a name for myself there as well. When I transferred there, I tested into a math class two years ahead of my grade. This pissed all the goody-goodies off. I still kept busy with various guys, gals and occasional partying.
That didn't go too well at a private school either and I made a name for myself there as well. When I transferred there, I tested into a math class two years ahead of my grade. This pissed all the goody-goodies off. I still kept busy with various guys, gals and occasional partying.
In ninth grade, I decided to be good. I got involved with our new church and became quite the star - musically and because of the transformation my life had taken. We all know every Christian loves a glory story. The problem was, I was just trying to fit in and doing it all on my own strength.
The newest pastor of the church started pursuing me sexually right before 9th grade started. He (we'll call him Ben) told me that he believed the whole reason why he took this job was because of me - that he loved me and thought I was drop dead gorgeous from the first time he saw me, loved my long legs, my green eyes, my blonde hair, was mesmerized with my singing voice, blah, blah, blah. Ha! How many times had I heard that before!? We were destined to be together, but no one could know. Being the smart girl that I was, I knew I could get something out of him. Pastor Ben had money, so I took advantage of that. At the start of our relationship, I gave him what he wanted. We'd disappear together for weekends (I cannot for the life of me figure out how disappearing for a weekend completely bypassed my parents' radar - Ben and I must've made up stories) and spend nights driving around, finding dark, lonely roads to be together. I'm not sure if I cared for him or just appreciated the gentle attention, but Ben really did care for me. He just forgot the fact that not only was I fourteen years old and a minor, but he was a grown man, a pastor.
Ben told his dad at the beginning of our relationship that we would enter a courtship eventually. His dad, Pastor Mark, the senior pastor, met with my parents and said that this was God's will - we would someday be married but for now, it was nothing serious and we were just friends. Pastor Mark made my parents keep it secret: no one would understand God's will for our lives.
Ben told his dad at the beginning of our relationship that we would enter a courtship eventually. His dad, Pastor Mark, the senior pastor, met with my parents and said that this was God's will - we would someday be married but for now, it was nothing serious and we were just friends. Pastor Mark made my parents keep it secret: no one would understand God's will for our lives.
Ben bought me fancy clothes, took me to fancy restaurants in a big city that was three hours away, sent me dozens of roses at school, picked me up in his convertible, and enforced strict rules on me. Long skirts only, long hair, only classical music or hymns, no contact with other guys, and no one could know about us. Incredibly possessive and I'm a wild flower, going whichever way the wind blows, so that was difficult. He was also very particular about my size. I couldn't be any wider than measurements that he predetermined. I had to bend over and he would measure my ass and make sure his hands fit around it perfectly. I hadn't even got my first period yet, but I was already in a secret, immoral relationship with a grown man, who helped further my eating issues. Ben showed no guilt for the life we were living in secret. He'd preach a sermon against secular music and immorality and then whisk me away, Mariah Carey songs playing in his car, while he begged me for oral sex as we drove away for the weekend. I was quite disgusted by him physically and while in previous relationships I'd normally oblige to any request, I tried to limit sexual contact with him.
Somehow the senior pastor found out about Ben and me going beyond "just friends" ... or maybe he knew all along because our relationship was physical from the beginning.
Somehow the senior pastor found out about Ben and me going beyond "just friends" ... or maybe he knew all along because our relationship was physical from the beginning.
At that point, the senior pastor (Pastor Mark) began making subtle moves on me. He was in his late fifties and a lot more cunning and wise than this his son. He was very subtle at the start. Touching my hand, hugging me for too long, playing footsie while our families ate dinner, sitting next to me, making sure our thighs were touching. It was like that the first year or so. He waited carefully, like a predator, and covered his tracks. Since I'd never told a man no, I felt powerless when he was around. Paralyzed is the only word I could use as a descriptor. I still feel this way when I think of him or other men who have held me captive this way. My parents had become best friends with Pastor Mark and his wife. My Dad had money, access to many resources, is very influential and was very generous. I know that is the only reason Pastor Mark pursued my Dad as well. He wasn't friends with people unless he could get something from them. We went on family vacations together, in which Pastor Mark would make sure to get some alone time with me there. I spent a lot of time with Pastor Ben and Pastor Mark always made sure he had a few minutes to flirt with me as well. I still to this day don't know if Pastor Ben knows that Pastor Mark and I had developed an inappropriate relationship. Pastor Mark was for sure no longer Pastor Mark most of the time at this point. He was Mark to me. Sometimes I'd tease him and call him by his full name.
The spring of my freshman year, I became a Christian, meaning I was purposing in my heart to turn from the way I had been living. The day after I became a Christian, I called it off with Pastor Ben and felt great for doing so. I wasn't even attracted to him as another man, his father, was capturing my heart. I met with Ben at the Dairy Queen in our small town, told him we were done, and he left the DQ furious and crying. I was depressed and felt awful about my relationship with him. After that, I could still tell he wanted me, but instead decided to ostracize me and speak horribly about me around others in the church, particularly other kids in the youth group. I had to keep my mouth shut as I heard some of the stuff he said about me, but on a couple occasions, I told him off publicly. This greatly concerned some of the other leaders of the church and they wanted to meet with me to try to understand why I treated Pastor Ben so disrespectfully. And I couldn't say a thing. I just had to pretend that I was just an emotional teenager. I got all the blame. Pastor Mark was never involved in the confrontations, but always provided me comfort afterwards. He was always on my side, always a friend I could rely on.
A couple years later, Pastor Ben moved on to another job and like the good prodigy worship leader I was, I got to sing the most popular CCM song of the 90s, Ray Boltz's song, "Thank You", all while crying and cursing him under my breath. Ben was still highly attracted to me but he responded to that attraction by trashing me to others. I despised him and had pity for him at the same time.
At the end of my freshman year, I was doing OK, my eating issues were very prevalent, but I was surviving. I was just glad to be free of Pastor Ben.
A couple years later, Pastor Ben moved on to another job and like the good prodigy worship leader I was, I got to sing the most popular CCM song of the 90s, Ray Boltz's song, "Thank You", all while crying and cursing him under my breath. Ben was still highly attracted to me but he responded to that attraction by trashing me to others. I despised him and had pity for him at the same time.
At the end of my freshman year, I was doing OK, my eating issues were very prevalent, but I was surviving. I was just glad to be free of Pastor Ben.
By the time my sophmore year started, I felt like shit. I was used by so many, I decided to let it all go again. Back to drugs, more guys, smoking, skipping school. My grades and my weight plummeted, I was a walking red flag.
Everyone was concerned.
Everyone except for me. I had zero regard for my life. I would do anything and everything. I was completely reckless. Hours of skipping school, meeting older men, making weird drug concoctions, skipping meals and smoking nonstop. My parents tightened the reins some more, but their rules didn't make sense.
For the next two years, while I gave of myself sexually, I also had a few guys take advantage of me. One guy in particular was a repeat offender, stalking me and forcing me to perform oral sex on him.
One time he hid in my dark vehicle, waiting for me to get done with play practice. He then made me drive to a park, but while we were there, a cop came. The officer questioned me and the guy and the guy said we were just talking and we got off with just a warning since the park was closed after 10 PM. I would've never had the courage to speak up at that point. This guy was an older honor student, a spiritual leader in his class and had a great reputation in school. Who would've believed me, the slut, anyway?
My junior year of high school was one of my worst, starting with an official diagnosis of anorexia nervosa. Not only was I suicidal, but I got extremely thin, was previously an honor student and was now failing every class, and became obsessed with my weight. This was the year I started purging. I fooled around with whoever, whenever, while still continuing the innapropriate relationship with my senior pastor.
Mark gave me my OWN room at the church, free of charge, to teach piano lessons. I later found out the room he gave me was the most private, the room he used to call 1-900 numbers and what he considered his blow job room - he could get a blow job, all while watching who was coming in and out of the front doors of the church via the large window. While he was getting "serviced" he'd wave and smile at the parishioners. I was very talented musically, and I just thought Pastor Mark was doing me a favor by giving me such a nice room when I previously had to share an office with someone else! Only pastors had their own offices and here he was so kind to get me my own private, isolated, filled-with-couches room. (Perfect for fucking you, my dear.) He was charismatic and alluring and I wanted more time with him. He always took such good care of me. Visiting me late at night while I was teaching and making sure I was OK, then, walking me to out of the building and slapping my ass or rubbing my breast or whispering double entendres into my ears or getting so close to my lips and talking to me. It was never all of those things. He would only pick one. It felt like he was torturing me. He would talk to me about music and how God had so many plans for my life. The potential I had, my intelligence, my capacity to befriend everyone, my winsome personality - he told me how much greatness I was destined for. He believed in me.
He ALWAYS knew where I was in the church and quite often I'd be working and be startled to catch him out of the corner of my eye spying on me. He'd wink and smile. He also had me over to his house frequently to go swimming or use his hot tub. His eyes saw all and told all. I'm convinced he watched me change through bedroom windows as well. I remember one time, I was sunbathing at his house by myself (this sounds abnormal, but we were all best friends, so they wanted me there often) and of course, I was in my itsy-bitsy bikini. Pastor Mark's pool was above ground, with a deck and fence built around it. He was outside doing work the whole time, except at one point I caught him pretty much eye level, peeking past the fence, watching me. I'm sure he did that on and off all day, while I unsuspectingly laid there, swam, put sunblock on, adjusted my swim top and just generally did normal things - probably all very arousing for him. I laughed at the time and was slightly honored. He must enjoy my body ... maybe my body is OK.
Thinking back, it was awkward because his wife was always there. Speaking of his wife: she loved me like a granddaughter and we'd frequently do each other's hair, give each other massages or I'd fall asleep cuddled in her arms as she read the Bible to me. In some ways, it sounds so elementary, but in other ways, I missed much of my childhood and never felt peace and love like that so I loved when she'd read to me and hold me. My heart still feels warm thinking about how much she loved me, how she'd pray over me, cry for me and tell me stories of her life. Sure, she had her faults, but I think she really cared about me. Sometimes I'd just cry quietly. I'm pretty sure Mark got off on all of that because he always encouraged it.
Mark was into porn and kept it all at a mentally ill and verbally incapable congregants house. The walls plastered with pornographic posters, videos on the console, and magazines varnished every table surface. He asked me to come with only one time as he was VERY cautious about being seen together in public. When we visited this poor man's house, which was littered with pornography, Pastor Mark went crazy - breathing heavy, getting so close to me, showing me explicit sexual material, all while acting like he was protecting me and being disgusted that someone lived this way. I was grossed out but also feeling inexplicably drawn to to him. I remember stepping out of the house because if I didn't, something was going to happen while a drugged up, elderly man watched a rabid, sexual encounter between Pastor Mark and I. I've seen and done some crazy shit, but that event left my jaw gaping and me feeling like I needed a shower.
Another time, while on vacation together with our families and his grandkids, I stayed at the house with him while everyone else was golfing and swimming. He was watching a TV show about animals mating while no one was around. I walked in on him and he had that same crazy, sexual look all over his face. He was nothing but sick smiles for me when I came into the room and he mimicked the motions and sounds of monkeys having sex. Animals mating just doesn't do it for me, so I was repulsed, but laughed in my inebriated state around him. He was incredibly sexual to me that day - he did something to me for the first time right around then, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. I know it was intimate. I have blocked much out in order to persevere.
I am proud to say I NEVER pursued him one time because 1. I was paralyzed in his presence and even though I wanted him because he made me feel SO good, I just couldn't even move when he was around. 2. I loved his wife and didn't want to hurt her. 3. I was horribly confused - did he want me or not??
Instead, I blamed myself for it all and 100% believed if I wasn't so "beautiful" and "alluring" and such a "naughty girl" these things never would've happened. I was leading him into temptation. He loved my young body, of course, and he loved that I wasn't fat and instead praised me whenever I lost weight. While I never told him 'no', I never said yes either. I'm still angry that I didn't tell him no or yes and that I gave him all the power. Part of me wishes I would've pursued him, had as much evidence as the other lady did, then prosecute so all these people would stop putting him on a pedestal. However, in spite of everything that was happening between us, in the weirdest way, I was convinced at times that it wasn't sexual and he was the close Grandpa I never had. He cared about me in ALL areas. He wanted the best for me because he loved me so much.
I would soon find out that all of this was just part of the grooming process and a big scheme. Keep in mind: these things happened over years, not days or weeks. He was tricky. From the time I was about 14 until right before my 18th birthday. Actually, it started before that: but he was never physically inappropriate before that. He just used his words and made me feel special. He was crafty, thoughtful and patient. Like the best and most successful predators in the wild. It was very confusing because one day, he'd casually press his genitals against me, then it would be weeks until he'd touch me or talk to me inappropriately. I also began to think I was imagining things. No guy had ever had that much self-control.
I wanted desperately to get out of the mess I was in, I just had NO idea how. Patterns, in thought and deed, had been well established for years. My heart was broken and I had no idea if repair was even possible, or who would even take the time to get me out of this mess. My parents couldn't be trusted - my Dad's virulent temper and my Mom's constant disappointment left them out of the equation.
My parents had exhausted all the counseling resources in our area and nothing and no one was really getting through to me. They heard of a counseling method in a large city that was three hours away, and I started going bi-weekly and eventually weekly to meet with this counselor to do an outpatient program. That meant lots of missed school, but my teachers loved me and saw great potential and they were gracious. At that point, it was either lose me or take a chance that I may not finish school.
I loved my counselor and we got along great. She started getting through to me and I opened up and shared bits of my life. I never, ever, ever mentioned the abuse that I still endured at home, because I was terribly afraid of what might happen to my family. Obviously, I never mentioned the relationships with my pastors either because at that point I wasn't sure they were wrong.
I got better slowly. My senior year started wonderfully. I had gained a lot of weight and my teachers loved me; a me that they had never seen before. Because I had missed so much school through the years, through cutting class or for doctors appointments, I was not set to graduate. The principal of my school had watched me as a bright ninth grade student and knew that I could graduate, I just needed help. So he became my tutor. I am forever indebted to him. He took so much time out of his busy schedule and took a lot of heat from some faculty members that thought I had wasted many years of my life and should just be expelled. He was also the first man in my life, outside of my dad, to maintain an appropriate relationship with me.
Then, IT happened, the day before my 18th birthday. It came out that my senior pastor, Pastor Mark, had been having an affair with another church staff member. It was all over the news and all over my entire small town. Because she originally came to him for help and counseling and he pursued her (the same EXACT things he had done to me, he did to her first - I've read many of the court reports), he was not only removed from leadership and stripped of his title, but he also faced personal lawsuits and criminal persecution. I was upset he had someone else, but at the same time
I found out that the other lady knew about me, and went public about it before I turned 18. I'm not sure if it was sacrificial or jealousy or both. I stayed quiet, because I didn't want my parents to know, although I believe they started piecing things together at this point. I watched silently as the church and community ripped her to shreds for being the Jezebel that brought this "awesome man of God" down. It wasn't true. At all. Sure, Pastor Mark had been a pastor forever, and everyone knew him and loved him as one of the most top three pastors in our community, but he also had a sick addiction, which was candidly detailed in court documents. She could not have brought forth this information at a better time, and I'm thankful that she did, because Pastor Mark had convinced my parents that the next time I was having a hard time, I should move into his house with he and his wife, so they can mentor me. He had a little basement area, that he was going to fix up as my own little apartment and rent out to me. He kept mentioning it to me: passing me in the hallway, placing his hand under my armpit and on the side of breast, with lascivious eyes, hotly whispering into my ear, "If you're a naughty girl, you can come and live with me. I'll teach you how to behave." Translation: This will be a convenient way for me to fuck you whenever I want, particularly my wife is at Bible study, with the grandkids or the washing machine is on.
This lady told me that Pastor Mark had been grooming me for years, waiting until the perfect opportunity, my 18th birthday, so what when we had actual sex, it could be labeled as consensual. He told her he fantasized about me and a couple other women at church. It all started making sense: Mark would use me, a little touch, a kiss, dirty words to make me blush and lose my breath, when he couldn't be with the other woman. He restrained himself because I was underage and also because he was fulfilling his fantasies with her. Maybe dreaming of me at times, but still with her.
After watching this lady get torn to pieces for years, I wasn't going to bring my relationship with him to light. Besides, I had ZERO physical evidence with him. I kept all the evidence from the younger pastor, Pastor Ben, and still have it locked away, but I knew with the older pastor it was my word against his and I was way too fragile to spark such a storm. And really, he could use my past, mental health records and all, against me. I felt sorry for his wife, but it came out she was aware of his philandering and just kept quiet. At first, I was angry at her for not saying something, but then I remembered how quiet his power had kept me. I do wonder if she prayed and held me for all those hours, hoping to instill in me the strength to say no to her husband. Maybe she knew he couldn't or wouldn't change, knew I was his next option and prayer was all she had. She prayed for sexual purity for me quite often and that I wouldn't be led astray by men any longer.
He ended up being convicted of criminal sexual misconduct and spent some time in jail and also had to register as a sex offender. She and I still keep in contact, but never talk about those incidents. As I've read some of the court documents, some of it is very triggering. For one, it wasn't me. I know that sounds bad, but this guy worked me over for years. Then he had sex with someone else. It felt like he cheated on me. But also, when I read the documents, he said many of the same things to me. When I read them, since I've blocked so much out, I remember more details about what he did to me. In the court documents, it stated that he'd leave the other lady semen-filled tissues on her piano on Sunday mornings. He did that same thing to me. I didn't remember it until I read the records.
After his removal and conviction I didn't see him and it rocked my world. I cared for him (I know, it was sick because he is 40 years my elder) and enjoyed the attention I got from him. He and his wife were always there for me.
Nowadays, I still get to listen to people in the community praise him, my in-laws send him money occasionally and I get to hear about how repentant he is and how awful that "other lady" is. Bullshit. I know him. He's sorry he got caught. Someone that sick doesn't change overnight. I recently saw him and even though he's a 70-something year old man and I avoided him completely, I could still feel his power, charisma and charm over me. There was NO embarrassment or avoidance when he looked at me - he knows he still "has it". All he'd have to do is say my name in the sing-song way he always said it, look at me with his big, brown eyes, and tell me how wonderful and special I am. I feel powerless. I saw his wife as well but I couldn't talk to her because he was there and I don't want any part of that. I've seen her once since then, randomly in a restaurant, and she just hugged me for the longest time.
After all the fiasco was made public, I started going downhill again and FAST. My principal stepped in and became a real father figure in my life. I never told him of anything that was going on at home or what had happened between Pastor Mark and me, but pretended that all my angst was built upon the fact that Pastor Mark had been removed. I think my principal knew I was lying though - he knew something else was going on but he couldn't pinpoint it. He continued to support me greatly, and even once I got engaged to my soon-to-be husband, he had a serious chat with me that this was now the only man I could be with physically and emotionally. We are still friends to this day.
I started getting better at hiding what was going on in my life and also started loosing weight again. I started to consider what I was going to do with my life and seriously planned on prostitution. I told my principal my plans and the look of sadness in his eyes as he tried to laugh and brush off my disgusting career plans told me he really cared. My only value was in sex and sexual performance.
I was offered to star in a porn film with a friend but thankfully, I had all the money I wanted through my parents, and had the wisdom to say no. If she wouldn't have been involved and it would've been a random girl, I probably would've taken the challenge. I know there are pictures out there of me in VERY compromising situations, but I cannot imagine what course my life would've taken if I would've said yes to producing a video.
I graduated, barely. Right after graduation, I went to India for a month with the singing group that I was in. India changed my life. I felt like I had purpose. But I saw things that were horrendous and when I got back home, I struggled with guilt. Mark was officially charged with criminal sexual conduct and I felt my world shaking. Again, I fell hard back into the anorexia, sexual activity with random men and women, drinking and marijuana use. I heard of a mission organization that I wanted to join and planned on joining in the fall, but first I had to get a physical and a doctor's approval that I was healthy enough.
My doctor wouldn't sign the consent form and said my weight was too low. My anorexia was back in full force. I had to gain 20 pounds, then she would sign it. I was determined to go, so I quickly gained the weight. My mind wasn't in the right place, and because of the weight gain, I slipped into a deep depression, ultimately overdosing again.
Because this was my third attempt and I was a brand new adult with a long psychiatric history, one of my doctors set up for me to be hospitalized for two years in a long term program. Over the years, I had been diagnosed with everything: bi-polar, anxiety, depression, borderline personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, some other personality disorder and anorexia and no one really knew what I had or what the hell was wrong with me. I think my issues were based on deep trauma.
We were scheduled to go to Hawaii about two weeks after my overdose, but the doctors were saying I wouldn't be released in time. My Dad stepped in at this point, worked his magic, convinced the doctors to discharge me and a couple of days later, I was Hawaii bound for a couple of weeks. My Dad had promised that I would be returned for intensive treatment, but instead, I boarded a plane to the mission program and joined that. Straight out of the psych ward, baby!
I loved all that I learned in this mission organization!!! My life was turned upside down because of it. I had my first long-term experience with unconditional love, community and gentle support. There, I met a gracious God, who I had never known before. My heart was really healing! I was delivered from so many demons that held me captive. I still couldn't totally keep completely away from guys, cutting, and anorexia, but I surrendered my anorexia and was truly freed from it for the first time in my life! I said 'no' to several guys who propositioned me. It was a painful process, but SO worth it! I started to get my value from WHO I was, not based on how I could sexually please a man. I began to care for my body. I embraced the gifts God gave me and started running towards Him.
Things weren't perfect, but I was on the right track. After all, there really isn't a quick fix for 19 years of dysfunction.
I came home after some time overseas and started dating my future husband. We fell in love immediately, as he saw the drastic changes in my life, and got married just as fast. We spent the first two years of our marriage in the church - he was already a pastor at the church, and I jumped right back into leading worship. Things were good, but there was always a secret edge to me. I battled wanting to go back to my eating disorder and felt very depressed that I wasn't stick thin. Even though quite some time had passed since Pastor Mark's removal, I could see him everywhere in the church and people were still in pain from his dismissal. Amidst very public court battles, I heard nauseating details of his life and at that point, in the same breath, I thanked God for His deliverance and cursed Him that I ever went through what I did with both Ben and Mark, but mostly Mark. Mark played me so well and I had guilt that I ever even liked him. I overdosed, again, about a year after we were married. I lied my way out of the psych ward in two days. We were able to keep that incident under wraps, otherwise, we both probably would have lost our jobs in the church.
After a couple of years, we decided to join the mission organization that I was originally a part of. The thought of no longer being under the watchful eye of the church, gave me great freedom.
Unfortunately, I took it too far and relapsed with anorexia again, but only for about 7 months. I still couldn't deal with any of the abuse issues I'd faced and I think some of those are the root of the resurgence of my anorexia. We spent the next couple of years all over the globe. It was amazing!
I always battled bits of the past, but worked hard at overcoming. My husband has been amazing and gentle and supportive, and my God has been even better. I did have one married man pursue me and stalk me for a while, but after years of never saying 'no', and being taken advantage of, I avoided him. Even though I felt paralyzed in his presence, the same feeling I had whenever a man of power, particularly Mark, pursued me, I stood strong. I got help, some others saw that he was pursuing me (driving his car and watching me while I'd jog, requesting I worked with him privately on projects, always keeping his eye on me - stuff that I recognized as abnormal instantly), confronted him and I stayed faithful to my husband. I still felt immense guilt that I was an attraction magnet to older men in power. By this point in my life, I was RARELY talking to men beyond my husband but these men would just find me. I have since been prayed over many times over this issue and consciously have minimal relationship with men, unless they are safe. It's a bummer because I naturally get along with men better than women.
A one point, we went to Afghanistan, and I loved it there so much! I could cover my body and face completely - no one could look at me or see me, therefore, I wouldn't be a temptation to anyone. When it was time to leave, my life was forever changed and I was extremely traumatized and felt a lot of guilt because so much work still needed to be done. After a few months of floundering back in the States, I relapsed again.
This time, it lasted for years, until my most recent recovery in 2008. I was diagnosed yet again, with anorexia nervosa, binge purge type. I had never binged much before, but with this episode - my longest and most medically severe - I found I couldn't stop myself from bingeing. Throughout this time, I was amennorrheic and anemic, had ketosis, livdeo reticularis (mottled skin), osteopenia, enlarged salivary glands, insomnia, lenugo, hair loss, massive dental problems, hypersensitive gag reflex, addiction to laxatives, low heart rate and shockingly low blood pressure.
Things aren't perfect in my life. I still have down periods and remember a lot of the trauma. Certain songs, smells, people can bring me right back to the hurt.
My Dad has mellowed a lot. I don't know if it's because he's getting older, or he has dealt with his issues. He is still very successful and very supportive of me.
I've overcome big hurdles that have plagued me almost my entire life - abuse from my Dad, manipulative, predatory relationships and the eating disorder - to name some of the big ones.
Even though many of the things I've gone through have sucked, I do believe I am a stronger person. A person that is full of empathy. I'm highly sensitive to hurting people. Abuse, eating disorders and sexual trafficking are my hot-button issues. I know what it's like to be wounded, to have nothing and to feel horribly lost. I know what it's like to feel dead while alive.
Everyone was concerned.
Everyone except for me. I had zero regard for my life. I would do anything and everything. I was completely reckless. Hours of skipping school, meeting older men, making weird drug concoctions, skipping meals and smoking nonstop. My parents tightened the reins some more, but their rules didn't make sense.
For the next two years, while I gave of myself sexually, I also had a few guys take advantage of me. One guy in particular was a repeat offender, stalking me and forcing me to perform oral sex on him.
One time he hid in my dark vehicle, waiting for me to get done with play practice. He then made me drive to a park, but while we were there, a cop came. The officer questioned me and the guy and the guy said we were just talking and we got off with just a warning since the park was closed after 10 PM. I would've never had the courage to speak up at that point. This guy was an older honor student, a spiritual leader in his class and had a great reputation in school. Who would've believed me, the slut, anyway?
My junior year of high school was one of my worst, starting with an official diagnosis of anorexia nervosa. Not only was I suicidal, but I got extremely thin, was previously an honor student and was now failing every class, and became obsessed with my weight. This was the year I started purging. I fooled around with whoever, whenever, while still continuing the innapropriate relationship with my senior pastor.
Mark gave me my OWN room at the church, free of charge, to teach piano lessons. I later found out the room he gave me was the most private, the room he used to call 1-900 numbers and what he considered his blow job room - he could get a blow job, all while watching who was coming in and out of the front doors of the church via the large window. While he was getting "serviced" he'd wave and smile at the parishioners. I was very talented musically, and I just thought Pastor Mark was doing me a favor by giving me such a nice room when I previously had to share an office with someone else! Only pastors had their own offices and here he was so kind to get me my own private, isolated, filled-with-couches room. (Perfect for fucking you, my dear.) He was charismatic and alluring and I wanted more time with him. He always took such good care of me. Visiting me late at night while I was teaching and making sure I was OK, then, walking me to out of the building and slapping my ass or rubbing my breast or whispering double entendres into my ears or getting so close to my lips and talking to me. It was never all of those things. He would only pick one. It felt like he was torturing me. He would talk to me about music and how God had so many plans for my life. The potential I had, my intelligence, my capacity to befriend everyone, my winsome personality - he told me how much greatness I was destined for. He believed in me.
He ALWAYS knew where I was in the church and quite often I'd be working and be startled to catch him out of the corner of my eye spying on me. He'd wink and smile. He also had me over to his house frequently to go swimming or use his hot tub. His eyes saw all and told all. I'm convinced he watched me change through bedroom windows as well. I remember one time, I was sunbathing at his house by myself (this sounds abnormal, but we were all best friends, so they wanted me there often) and of course, I was in my itsy-bitsy bikini. Pastor Mark's pool was above ground, with a deck and fence built around it. He was outside doing work the whole time, except at one point I caught him pretty much eye level, peeking past the fence, watching me. I'm sure he did that on and off all day, while I unsuspectingly laid there, swam, put sunblock on, adjusted my swim top and just generally did normal things - probably all very arousing for him. I laughed at the time and was slightly honored. He must enjoy my body ... maybe my body is OK.
Thinking back, it was awkward because his wife was always there. Speaking of his wife: she loved me like a granddaughter and we'd frequently do each other's hair, give each other massages or I'd fall asleep cuddled in her arms as she read the Bible to me. In some ways, it sounds so elementary, but in other ways, I missed much of my childhood and never felt peace and love like that so I loved when she'd read to me and hold me. My heart still feels warm thinking about how much she loved me, how she'd pray over me, cry for me and tell me stories of her life. Sure, she had her faults, but I think she really cared about me. Sometimes I'd just cry quietly. I'm pretty sure Mark got off on all of that because he always encouraged it.
Mark was into porn and kept it all at a mentally ill and verbally incapable congregants house. The walls plastered with pornographic posters, videos on the console, and magazines varnished every table surface. He asked me to come with only one time as he was VERY cautious about being seen together in public. When we visited this poor man's house, which was littered with pornography, Pastor Mark went crazy - breathing heavy, getting so close to me, showing me explicit sexual material, all while acting like he was protecting me and being disgusted that someone lived this way. I was grossed out but also feeling inexplicably drawn to to him. I remember stepping out of the house because if I didn't, something was going to happen while a drugged up, elderly man watched a rabid, sexual encounter between Pastor Mark and I. I've seen and done some crazy shit, but that event left my jaw gaping and me feeling like I needed a shower.
Another time, while on vacation together with our families and his grandkids, I stayed at the house with him while everyone else was golfing and swimming. He was watching a TV show about animals mating while no one was around. I walked in on him and he had that same crazy, sexual look all over his face. He was nothing but sick smiles for me when I came into the room and he mimicked the motions and sounds of monkeys having sex. Animals mating just doesn't do it for me, so I was repulsed, but laughed in my inebriated state around him. He was incredibly sexual to me that day - he did something to me for the first time right around then, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. I know it was intimate. I have blocked much out in order to persevere.
I am proud to say I NEVER pursued him one time because 1. I was paralyzed in his presence and even though I wanted him because he made me feel SO good, I just couldn't even move when he was around. 2. I loved his wife and didn't want to hurt her. 3. I was horribly confused - did he want me or not??
Instead, I blamed myself for it all and 100% believed if I wasn't so "beautiful" and "alluring" and such a "naughty girl" these things never would've happened. I was leading him into temptation. He loved my young body, of course, and he loved that I wasn't fat and instead praised me whenever I lost weight. While I never told him 'no', I never said yes either. I'm still angry that I didn't tell him no or yes and that I gave him all the power. Part of me wishes I would've pursued him, had as much evidence as the other lady did, then prosecute so all these people would stop putting him on a pedestal. However, in spite of everything that was happening between us, in the weirdest way, I was convinced at times that it wasn't sexual and he was the close Grandpa I never had. He cared about me in ALL areas. He wanted the best for me because he loved me so much.
I would soon find out that all of this was just part of the grooming process and a big scheme. Keep in mind: these things happened over years, not days or weeks. He was tricky. From the time I was about 14 until right before my 18th birthday. Actually, it started before that: but he was never physically inappropriate before that. He just used his words and made me feel special. He was crafty, thoughtful and patient. Like the best and most successful predators in the wild. It was very confusing because one day, he'd casually press his genitals against me, then it would be weeks until he'd touch me or talk to me inappropriately. I also began to think I was imagining things. No guy had ever had that much self-control.
I wanted desperately to get out of the mess I was in, I just had NO idea how. Patterns, in thought and deed, had been well established for years. My heart was broken and I had no idea if repair was even possible, or who would even take the time to get me out of this mess. My parents couldn't be trusted - my Dad's virulent temper and my Mom's constant disappointment left them out of the equation.
My parents had exhausted all the counseling resources in our area and nothing and no one was really getting through to me. They heard of a counseling method in a large city that was three hours away, and I started going bi-weekly and eventually weekly to meet with this counselor to do an outpatient program. That meant lots of missed school, but my teachers loved me and saw great potential and they were gracious. At that point, it was either lose me or take a chance that I may not finish school.
I loved my counselor and we got along great. She started getting through to me and I opened up and shared bits of my life. I never, ever, ever mentioned the abuse that I still endured at home, because I was terribly afraid of what might happen to my family. Obviously, I never mentioned the relationships with my pastors either because at that point I wasn't sure they were wrong.
I got better slowly. My senior year started wonderfully. I had gained a lot of weight and my teachers loved me; a me that they had never seen before. Because I had missed so much school through the years, through cutting class or for doctors appointments, I was not set to graduate. The principal of my school had watched me as a bright ninth grade student and knew that I could graduate, I just needed help. So he became my tutor. I am forever indebted to him. He took so much time out of his busy schedule and took a lot of heat from some faculty members that thought I had wasted many years of my life and should just be expelled. He was also the first man in my life, outside of my dad, to maintain an appropriate relationship with me.
Then, IT happened, the day before my 18th birthday. It came out that my senior pastor, Pastor Mark, had been having an affair with another church staff member. It was all over the news and all over my entire small town. Because she originally came to him for help and counseling and he pursued her (the same EXACT things he had done to me, he did to her first - I've read many of the court reports), he was not only removed from leadership and stripped of his title, but he also faced personal lawsuits and criminal persecution. I was upset he had someone else, but at the same time
I found out that the other lady knew about me, and went public about it before I turned 18. I'm not sure if it was sacrificial or jealousy or both. I stayed quiet, because I didn't want my parents to know, although I believe they started piecing things together at this point. I watched silently as the church and community ripped her to shreds for being the Jezebel that brought this "awesome man of God" down. It wasn't true. At all. Sure, Pastor Mark had been a pastor forever, and everyone knew him and loved him as one of the most top three pastors in our community, but he also had a sick addiction, which was candidly detailed in court documents. She could not have brought forth this information at a better time, and I'm thankful that she did, because Pastor Mark had convinced my parents that the next time I was having a hard time, I should move into his house with he and his wife, so they can mentor me. He had a little basement area, that he was going to fix up as my own little apartment and rent out to me. He kept mentioning it to me: passing me in the hallway, placing his hand under my armpit and on the side of breast, with lascivious eyes, hotly whispering into my ear, "If you're a naughty girl, you can come and live with me. I'll teach you how to behave." Translation: This will be a convenient way for me to fuck you whenever I want, particularly my wife is at Bible study, with the grandkids or the washing machine is on.
This lady told me that Pastor Mark had been grooming me for years, waiting until the perfect opportunity, my 18th birthday, so what when we had actual sex, it could be labeled as consensual. He told her he fantasized about me and a couple other women at church. It all started making sense: Mark would use me, a little touch, a kiss, dirty words to make me blush and lose my breath, when he couldn't be with the other woman. He restrained himself because I was underage and also because he was fulfilling his fantasies with her. Maybe dreaming of me at times, but still with her.
After watching this lady get torn to pieces for years, I wasn't going to bring my relationship with him to light. Besides, I had ZERO physical evidence with him. I kept all the evidence from the younger pastor, Pastor Ben, and still have it locked away, but I knew with the older pastor it was my word against his and I was way too fragile to spark such a storm. And really, he could use my past, mental health records and all, against me. I felt sorry for his wife, but it came out she was aware of his philandering and just kept quiet. At first, I was angry at her for not saying something, but then I remembered how quiet his power had kept me. I do wonder if she prayed and held me for all those hours, hoping to instill in me the strength to say no to her husband. Maybe she knew he couldn't or wouldn't change, knew I was his next option and prayer was all she had. She prayed for sexual purity for me quite often and that I wouldn't be led astray by men any longer.
He ended up being convicted of criminal sexual misconduct and spent some time in jail and also had to register as a sex offender. She and I still keep in contact, but never talk about those incidents. As I've read some of the court documents, some of it is very triggering. For one, it wasn't me. I know that sounds bad, but this guy worked me over for years. Then he had sex with someone else. It felt like he cheated on me. But also, when I read the documents, he said many of the same things to me. When I read them, since I've blocked so much out, I remember more details about what he did to me. In the court documents, it stated that he'd leave the other lady semen-filled tissues on her piano on Sunday mornings. He did that same thing to me. I didn't remember it until I read the records.
After his removal and conviction I didn't see him and it rocked my world. I cared for him (I know, it was sick because he is 40 years my elder) and enjoyed the attention I got from him. He and his wife were always there for me.
Nowadays, I still get to listen to people in the community praise him, my in-laws send him money occasionally and I get to hear about how repentant he is and how awful that "other lady" is. Bullshit. I know him. He's sorry he got caught. Someone that sick doesn't change overnight. I recently saw him and even though he's a 70-something year old man and I avoided him completely, I could still feel his power, charisma and charm over me. There was NO embarrassment or avoidance when he looked at me - he knows he still "has it". All he'd have to do is say my name in the sing-song way he always said it, look at me with his big, brown eyes, and tell me how wonderful and special I am. I feel powerless. I saw his wife as well but I couldn't talk to her because he was there and I don't want any part of that. I've seen her once since then, randomly in a restaurant, and she just hugged me for the longest time.
After all the fiasco was made public, I started going downhill again and FAST. My principal stepped in and became a real father figure in my life. I never told him of anything that was going on at home or what had happened between Pastor Mark and me, but pretended that all my angst was built upon the fact that Pastor Mark had been removed. I think my principal knew I was lying though - he knew something else was going on but he couldn't pinpoint it. He continued to support me greatly, and even once I got engaged to my soon-to-be husband, he had a serious chat with me that this was now the only man I could be with physically and emotionally. We are still friends to this day.
I started getting better at hiding what was going on in my life and also started loosing weight again. I started to consider what I was going to do with my life and seriously planned on prostitution. I told my principal my plans and the look of sadness in his eyes as he tried to laugh and brush off my disgusting career plans told me he really cared. My only value was in sex and sexual performance.
I was offered to star in a porn film with a friend but thankfully, I had all the money I wanted through my parents, and had the wisdom to say no. If she wouldn't have been involved and it would've been a random girl, I probably would've taken the challenge. I know there are pictures out there of me in VERY compromising situations, but I cannot imagine what course my life would've taken if I would've said yes to producing a video.
I graduated, barely. Right after graduation, I went to India for a month with the singing group that I was in. India changed my life. I felt like I had purpose. But I saw things that were horrendous and when I got back home, I struggled with guilt. Mark was officially charged with criminal sexual conduct and I felt my world shaking. Again, I fell hard back into the anorexia, sexual activity with random men and women, drinking and marijuana use. I heard of a mission organization that I wanted to join and planned on joining in the fall, but first I had to get a physical and a doctor's approval that I was healthy enough.
My doctor wouldn't sign the consent form and said my weight was too low. My anorexia was back in full force. I had to gain 20 pounds, then she would sign it. I was determined to go, so I quickly gained the weight. My mind wasn't in the right place, and because of the weight gain, I slipped into a deep depression, ultimately overdosing again.
Because this was my third attempt and I was a brand new adult with a long psychiatric history, one of my doctors set up for me to be hospitalized for two years in a long term program. Over the years, I had been diagnosed with everything: bi-polar, anxiety, depression, borderline personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, some other personality disorder and anorexia and no one really knew what I had or what the hell was wrong with me. I think my issues were based on deep trauma.
We were scheduled to go to Hawaii about two weeks after my overdose, but the doctors were saying I wouldn't be released in time. My Dad stepped in at this point, worked his magic, convinced the doctors to discharge me and a couple of days later, I was Hawaii bound for a couple of weeks. My Dad had promised that I would be returned for intensive treatment, but instead, I boarded a plane to the mission program and joined that. Straight out of the psych ward, baby!
I loved all that I learned in this mission organization!!! My life was turned upside down because of it. I had my first long-term experience with unconditional love, community and gentle support. There, I met a gracious God, who I had never known before. My heart was really healing! I was delivered from so many demons that held me captive. I still couldn't totally keep completely away from guys, cutting, and anorexia, but I surrendered my anorexia and was truly freed from it for the first time in my life! I said 'no' to several guys who propositioned me. It was a painful process, but SO worth it! I started to get my value from WHO I was, not based on how I could sexually please a man. I began to care for my body. I embraced the gifts God gave me and started running towards Him.
Things weren't perfect, but I was on the right track. After all, there really isn't a quick fix for 19 years of dysfunction.
I came home after some time overseas and started dating my future husband. We fell in love immediately, as he saw the drastic changes in my life, and got married just as fast. We spent the first two years of our marriage in the church - he was already a pastor at the church, and I jumped right back into leading worship. Things were good, but there was always a secret edge to me. I battled wanting to go back to my eating disorder and felt very depressed that I wasn't stick thin. Even though quite some time had passed since Pastor Mark's removal, I could see him everywhere in the church and people were still in pain from his dismissal. Amidst very public court battles, I heard nauseating details of his life and at that point, in the same breath, I thanked God for His deliverance and cursed Him that I ever went through what I did with both Ben and Mark, but mostly Mark. Mark played me so well and I had guilt that I ever even liked him. I overdosed, again, about a year after we were married. I lied my way out of the psych ward in two days. We were able to keep that incident under wraps, otherwise, we both probably would have lost our jobs in the church.
After a couple of years, we decided to join the mission organization that I was originally a part of. The thought of no longer being under the watchful eye of the church, gave me great freedom.
Unfortunately, I took it too far and relapsed with anorexia again, but only for about 7 months. I still couldn't deal with any of the abuse issues I'd faced and I think some of those are the root of the resurgence of my anorexia. We spent the next couple of years all over the globe. It was amazing!
I always battled bits of the past, but worked hard at overcoming. My husband has been amazing and gentle and supportive, and my God has been even better. I did have one married man pursue me and stalk me for a while, but after years of never saying 'no', and being taken advantage of, I avoided him. Even though I felt paralyzed in his presence, the same feeling I had whenever a man of power, particularly Mark, pursued me, I stood strong. I got help, some others saw that he was pursuing me (driving his car and watching me while I'd jog, requesting I worked with him privately on projects, always keeping his eye on me - stuff that I recognized as abnormal instantly), confronted him and I stayed faithful to my husband. I still felt immense guilt that I was an attraction magnet to older men in power. By this point in my life, I was RARELY talking to men beyond my husband but these men would just find me. I have since been prayed over many times over this issue and consciously have minimal relationship with men, unless they are safe. It's a bummer because I naturally get along with men better than women.
A one point, we went to Afghanistan, and I loved it there so much! I could cover my body and face completely - no one could look at me or see me, therefore, I wouldn't be a temptation to anyone. When it was time to leave, my life was forever changed and I was extremely traumatized and felt a lot of guilt because so much work still needed to be done. After a few months of floundering back in the States, I relapsed again.
This time, it lasted for years, until my most recent recovery in 2008. I was diagnosed yet again, with anorexia nervosa, binge purge type. I had never binged much before, but with this episode - my longest and most medically severe - I found I couldn't stop myself from bingeing. Throughout this time, I was amennorrheic and anemic, had ketosis, livdeo reticularis (mottled skin), osteopenia, enlarged salivary glands, insomnia, lenugo, hair loss, massive dental problems, hypersensitive gag reflex, addiction to laxatives, low heart rate and shockingly low blood pressure.
Things aren't perfect in my life. I still have down periods and remember a lot of the trauma. Certain songs, smells, people can bring me right back to the hurt.
My Dad has mellowed a lot. I don't know if it's because he's getting older, or he has dealt with his issues. He is still very successful and very supportive of me.
I've overcome big hurdles that have plagued me almost my entire life - abuse from my Dad, manipulative, predatory relationships and the eating disorder - to name some of the big ones.
Even though many of the things I've gone through have sucked, I do believe I am a stronger person. A person that is full of empathy. I'm highly sensitive to hurting people. Abuse, eating disorders and sexual trafficking are my hot-button issues. I know what it's like to be wounded, to have nothing and to feel horribly lost. I know what it's like to feel dead while alive.
But I also know what it is to find life again....
