What Are We Afraif Of?

(This was written by my sister Karen about being raised in the "Children Of God" and I thought it was amazing)

I was talking to my beautiful, intelligent sister this evening and discussing a recent post made by my brother-in-law, Chris. We discussed how true his post was and how it is that we, as former members and children of members of the Family International, are typically scared or afraid of posting thoughts such as these or possibly even voicing them. We, together, came to with the conclusion that the abuse suffered by each and every child (generally, at least), is still in bondage to some degree by the abuse we suffered during our upbringing. I use the term we, but really, I am speaking for myself.

Needless to say, it begs the question, what are we afraid of? Are we afraid of 50-something-year-old women and men who, without an education, lived their lives in by a standard that was called living by faith, or otherwise known as living on the backs of others? Are we afraid of rocking the boat, so as to say, we want to maintain the pittance of a relationship we have established with our parents and family members that remain in this organization? Are we afraid we would be viewed as whiny or bitter by not progressing in a manner sufficient to those that disbelieve our stories, or those that simply don’t care?

I am a product of a group of individuals who cared nothing for religion, nothing for god, and least of all, nothing for their children. A group of individuals who not only allowed, but condoned, some of the most obscene abuse of young children; sexually, physically and mentally. I am a product of individuals who wanted nothing more in life than to belong to a family; a spin off of some form of the hippie lifestyle, where there was no responsibility other than to preach the world of their god.

What do I mean specifically, you ask? Well, keep in mind there is only so much I can write in the little space provided to me by Facebook. However, we were raised to believe the world owed those of us who gave all and “forsook all” for the purpose of preaching the gospel. I can’t exactly tell you what gospel, only that it made sense to the individuals preaching it at the time.

The things were given up for the “higher calling” in life usually consisted of clothes, shoes, food, safety and simple necessities; only to have others provide it to us out of the goodness of their hearts. In addition, we gave up our childhood to provide for our parents and other random adults. If that still was not enough, we gave up our sexuality. Children were used as sex toys for the perverse. Children were used as money-making machines. Children were used as sympathy tools to enable adults comforts in life. In short, children were abused to an extent so unbelievable, that I have dedicated my life to prosecuting such offenses.

Some may argue with me, but only those who categorically deny any wrong-doing on the part of the Family International; others are entirely too weak to face these atrocities head on and do something to change it. Others may feel it is simply not worth the risk. Whatever the excuse may be, one has to question, what exactly are we afraid of? The only response given by members who are active in this group are: “Get over yourself,” and, “You’re just bitter,” or, “We have always loved you, why don’t you accept our love?” These responses, of course, are insufficient when facing a reality that will follow me for the rest of my life. I will never trust men the way that others do; I will never trust people who engross themselves in religion; I will simply never justify any actions of my parents, their colleagues, and any other person who backs the same lifestyle; nor will I trust any religion, period. They should be tried by a jury of their peers, and convicted of the atrocious crimes they have committed, then sentenced to the maximum extent of the law.



By Karen Summers.

Ugh, That feeling

Do you ever have a sick feeling in your stomach? And I don't mean from alcohol, drugs or bad sex. The feeling of being fascinated with a total liar.

Recently, my heart skipped a beat with him, my eyes were brighter and everything was happy and exciting. How fascinating was he. But, whenever I asked him if he wanted to go out, then he rejected the idea altogether. Last night, he said yes to going out. So, I as stupid as ever, decided to put make up on, dress up nice and wish for a good night. But, it did not come, now did it? He calls to tell me that he isn't showing up and that he is "so confused" about some situation in which I have no idea.

I sit on my chair for awhile, thinking to myself 'why lead me on, if you never wish to see me?' Yet, how can he help it? He's just a douche bag.


Farewell.

Louisiana The Whore

The sights and smells are the same as before. I am feeling toasty with my snugly toes and happy drinks. I have been doing a lot of GED these days, because I plan on going to LSUS (a University close by).

But, right now I am concentrating on this television show and the taste of cigars just sitting in my mouth. I was trying to be brave, trying to be manly and smoke a cigar, but it was disgusting and strong and pasty. I want to murder this taste in my mouth before it's too late.

I recently volunteered at the local "Humane Society" for every Monday and Friday. It is very sad because I want to adopt all the animals, but I can't. So, I will give the animals the best life they can while I volunteer.





auf Wiedersehen.

Botanical Gardens

Hans Von Strudel

All I know is that I love my car. He is beautiful and green and pooped on from birds at this moment. But you know what? I don't even care! All I know is that he is mine and we have been driving together as lovers..

Check him out, but not too much because he's shy.

Aha! You found me

Thank you so much drunk night with family.

Thank you so much old arguments that turn into laughter in the end.

We have officially decided to move to Alabama,(the land of the creepy people).
But, before we could enjoy the tenderness of pedophiles and sex offenders, we had to make a little stop in Shreveport, Louisiana. The other land of pedophiles and sex offenders. We arrived here around 8'clock on Wednesday evening with smiles, empty stomachs, and thirsty throats.

We needed alcohol and QUICK! Before all the hugs and love of Jesus, we had to get our "drink on". It was something that could not be helped. Something that was so sneaky and delicious that my throat would tickle with JOY!
In the end, the only sentence that people were admitting was "I'm not drunk, I am just over served".

I honestly do not know how we do every time we visit here, but somehow we are always willing to become so painfully "over served" that drunk is a lite word.


But, one question though. Why is it that each morning, after a good night of drinking, do my hands smell like corn-dogs?

Liamas with Hats

When I first saw this clip, my first reaction was that it sounded just like a conversation between my brother and I....

"I was hungry for hands, give me a break..."

The Home Of Wonders

In my small but bitter life, I have experienced many things. Sometimes I sit on my bed and wonder, “how did this happen?” Then I smile knowing that it was their fault. In case you have not already noticed, this generation has a little problem. No, I take it back. The problem is colossal. I have been to many places in my life, but not quite like this one. The second you walk on to the property, you cannot help but take a whiff of air and what do you smell? Yes, I smell it too. It reeks of sex, pregnant woman, and garbage. Although that stuff smells the same, I wanted to make them feel special by saying it did not. However, in my heart I felt differently AND that my friends, is the point of this. The fact I am about to lay on your chest. So, believe it and receive it.

Well, this all started in my early Teen years. I was indeed a chunky little number and had my share of rejection. Nevertheless, I lived to tell the tale. I lived in a big home when I was 12. And in that home, I had to replace the sweet smell of roses with rotting eggs and pregnant women. However, most people would find that very wonderful. I indeed did not, because in that “wonderful place” I was qualified in valuable lessons. Such as: How not to be caught by your shepherds, try not to be hit on by 30 year old men, smile big and pretend to love everyone. Oh, those were the days, my friends. Those were the days. In places like that, you must find a crowd, somewhere to be safe.

The whores were people who made your small life much worse. Not just by taking all the decent men, no not even. However, by making the whole home smell like their rotten vagina's. (Note: I am not personally referring to anyone in this, but if you think I am referring to you, then I probably am).

The idiots were people who truly believed they were smart. They would walk around the house, and talk to people about computers, (considering only the “smart” people knew about computers). I think they tried talking in Japanese once. That brought some laughter back into my humble life. Poor, ignorant men, they will never understand anything.

The bitter were good people. I appreciated them the most. At least they did not whore around making the home smell like fish, considering we had other people to do that for us. The bitter people were the smartest. They would make jokes that were not very funny then, but are very clever now. They should have run the home, I am sure it would have turned out better that way.

The stressed were maniacs. You would always look behind you to see if they were coming with a knife to kill you. You would toss in your bed at night hoping you would live to see tomorrow.
This did not always happen. Poor people, they never saw it coming. The crazy thing about the stressed is that you believe in the beginning that they are almost sweet. Therefore, you get all excited & your panties got in a twist, because you actually believe you will survive the dark ways of the stressed. No my friends, beware of them! They are your enemies and the stressed were my shepherds and I of course hid from them. I was not going to be another casualty. Right when you thought, you were safe. BANG! You are DEAD! He lurks behind your door and kills you instantly. It was merely impossible to have devotions with stressed people. You thought that any second they would have a heart attack. On the other hand, maybe they were a little to into word time. Who really knows the truth? I did not intend to find out.


Even after years of living silently in my room, I had the courage to look for that place.
Hell’s bells I called it. I assured myself it was a good name. However, the moment someone shoved me out of the car on to that property, I knew something was not right. I ducked down on the floor, wishing that someone would hear my desperate cries for help. However, then something struck me. Something very wrong and painful was coming my way. Someone was walking towards me. I turned in fear and started running the opposite direction, but it was too late, someone saw me. As this creature headed closer to me, a tear rolled down my cheek. I did not want to die this way. The creature grabbed a tight hold on me and smiled with its leprosy face and monstrous teeth. After a moment of strong tight hugging, the monster spoke. “I bet you missed Kira huh”. Then an even bigger smile, thrown my way, as the tightening of its grasp loosened. I signed with great peace in my heart. I am alive! I walked quickly through the property, and then I smelt something rather familiar. That same rotten vagina/pregnant women smell was here. I was back to my Teen years again. My full entire life flashed before my eyes in 5.2 seconds. My heart was racing faster and faster, until I fell to the floor in horror. A drop of sweat rolled down my face. Then my eyes had opened and I was still in this nightmare. This place I called my home for many years. This wasteland, I must escape somehow. But, it was too late. The damage seemed unchangeable. I did not want to become pregnant too. Like these creepy 20 year old's. They just could not keep it in their pants. Yet, I was to be another sacrifice. Nevertheless, I refused to bare their children. Ask one of the Whores to do it instead. I am sure they would not mind.


Then I woke up smiling the next day. Thankfully, it was all a dream. I did not plan instantly coming impregnated by mutants. My life was back to its normal state again.
Then the door suddenly swung open. Moreover, a tall figure appeared before me. "Hey, we’re going to ----- in a couple minutes, so get ready". Nooooooooooo!


The End