We witnessed some of the most disgusting spiritualized sexual abuse in Installment 5 by Liz's own pastor, his wife, and an elder, no less. It was horrid to read. Something that no child - at any age - should go through. But that was not the end of Liz's story. Not by a long shot. She would continue trying to become the unattainable perfect being that she thought this church's god wanted her to be.
Finally, one night I delivered the comedic performance of a life time. This was on a Sunday after evening church service. The dining hall was in the basement of the girl's dorm. People had gathered there for a late supper. I had them rolling. And I was funny! I was ON!! And with every joke, with every burst of laughter, I died a little more inside. Finally, everyone left, the lights were turned off, and we girls headed upstairs. On the way, I grabbed a knife.
*****
Why by now my being hadn't just said enough! and imploded, I don't know. I wanted to die, but that was another sin. By my senior year, I was in full-on rebellion. Or reacting normally to the circumstances in which I was raised, to put it another way. I was going to hell. I firmly believed this. So I just didn't see the need to try any more. I was still miserable, but at least now, I wasn't heaping abuse on my own self.
My twin brother and I were the graduating class of 1987. I was the valedictorian, and as such, was awarded a scholarship to the church Bible college. Allegheny Wesleyan College in Salem, OH. I guess I decided to give myself another shot. Surely, being surrounded by holy people 24/7 would produce results. Maybe when I got out of dad's house, I could do it. Away from the abuse. Away from mom, whom I didn't like very much any way. Besides the fact that I didn't like her, she'd been diagnosed 10 years prior with cancer. Her fainting became the norm. I couldn't sleep at night, waiting for the bang! that meant she had fainted again. Then feeling the guilt for not praying with/for her. So, I decided to go to AWC, and even got excited at the prospect.
That fall, I began my journey away from the insanity that had been my life up til this point. I didn't know it yet, and indeed it would get a bit more insane before it got better. My first year was probably the worst. I don't have a lot of specific recollections. I barely recall myself during that year. I do know that I did not acquire holiness through osmosis. I still went to the altar every time there was an opportunity. It still did not work. I had other things on my heart, too. It seemed that no one liked me. I didn't have one good friend to talk to at all. Oh, they were my friends when they needed things. I had a car, so people could be very friendly if they needed to go to town.
One thing about me is my sense of humor. I have a wicked one. I love to laugh, love seeing people laugh; there's just too little laughter in the world. Somehow, my sense of humor lived through the stuff I barely survived, and it breaks my heart, but I turned the humor against myself. People started counting on me for laughs, and did I deliver. So many people told me of how I had made them laugh when that was just what they needed. I cheered people up, and I got good at it. I was dying inside, but hiding it behind the humor. I also gave good back rubs, so at one time or another, the entire girl's dorm had beat a path to my door.
When I needed to be cheered up, no one was there to make me laugh. When my back ached, no one was there to rub it. The things that I had been taught about myself were true: I was unlovable. Spiritually, I'd given up. I still desperately wanted to be good enough for god, but I had resigned myself to reality. It just wasn't gonna happen. Daily, I gave of myself to my fellow students, and nothing happened to fill myself back up. I became depressed; that seems like too tame a word for what I was feeling. A living death, that's what I was living. I began thinking of suicide. I just didn't have what it took to live through one more day. These thoughts scared me back to the altar, because suicide was an unforgivable sin; the express train to hell. I didn't talk to anyone about this. Just told them I was having spiritual problems, and since I'd obviously been having them all semester, they weren't alarmed in the least.
My twin brother and I were the graduating class of 1987. I was the valedictorian, and as such, was awarded a scholarship to the church Bible college. Allegheny Wesleyan College in Salem, OH. I guess I decided to give myself another shot. Surely, being surrounded by holy people 24/7 would produce results. Maybe when I got out of dad's house, I could do it. Away from the abuse. Away from mom, whom I didn't like very much any way. Besides the fact that I didn't like her, she'd been diagnosed 10 years prior with cancer. Her fainting became the norm. I couldn't sleep at night, waiting for the bang! that meant she had fainted again. Then feeling the guilt for not praying with/for her. So, I decided to go to AWC, and even got excited at the prospect.
That fall, I began my journey away from the insanity that had been my life up til this point. I didn't know it yet, and indeed it would get a bit more insane before it got better. My first year was probably the worst. I don't have a lot of specific recollections. I barely recall myself during that year. I do know that I did not acquire holiness through osmosis. I still went to the altar every time there was an opportunity. It still did not work. I had other things on my heart, too. It seemed that no one liked me. I didn't have one good friend to talk to at all. Oh, they were my friends when they needed things. I had a car, so people could be very friendly if they needed to go to town.
One thing about me is my sense of humor. I have a wicked one. I love to laugh, love seeing people laugh; there's just too little laughter in the world. Somehow, my sense of humor lived through the stuff I barely survived, and it breaks my heart, but I turned the humor against myself. People started counting on me for laughs, and did I deliver. So many people told me of how I had made them laugh when that was just what they needed. I cheered people up, and I got good at it. I was dying inside, but hiding it behind the humor. I also gave good back rubs, so at one time or another, the entire girl's dorm had beat a path to my door.
When I needed to be cheered up, no one was there to make me laugh. When my back ached, no one was there to rub it. The things that I had been taught about myself were true: I was unlovable. Spiritually, I'd given up. I still desperately wanted to be good enough for god, but I had resigned myself to reality. It just wasn't gonna happen. Daily, I gave of myself to my fellow students, and nothing happened to fill myself back up. I became depressed; that seems like too tame a word for what I was feeling. A living death, that's what I was living. I began thinking of suicide. I just didn't have what it took to live through one more day. These thoughts scared me back to the altar, because suicide was an unforgivable sin; the express train to hell. I didn't talk to anyone about this. Just told them I was having spiritual problems, and since I'd obviously been having them all semester, they weren't alarmed in the least.
Finally, one night I delivered the comedic performance of a life time. This was on a Sunday after evening church service. The dining hall was in the basement of the girl's dorm. People had gathered there for a late supper. I had them rolling. And I was funny! I was ON!! And with every joke, with every burst of laughter, I died a little more inside. Finally, everyone left, the lights were turned off, and we girls headed upstairs. On the way, I grabbed a knife.
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