Holy Freaking Exit Strategies, Batman!

Holy Crap! I forgot completely about celebrating my exit from the cult of Jehovah's Witnesses last month. I believe that June the 10th is my official liberation day. Apparently, Real Life came and went, and I forgot to both ponder and pontificate on that eventful day.

The lead-up to dismissal was swift and surprising. I was pretty much drifting away in the first place, but the whole event was precipitated by an old ex-boyfriend who wanted to go out with me again. He was studying with the Witnesses at the time, and I had nearly finished my first year of college. We had been through for an entire year, but he wouldn't let it go. I have that effect on people. >:D

When I said I wasn't interested in going out on Friday, I got a call the following Tuesday from some elders who wanted to "clear up a little matter" of the relationship we'd had in the past. Turns out the fucker went in and got down on his knees for Jesus and turned over every piece of paper we'd ever exchanged. I was 17 years old when I wrote some of those things.

To sit across from three old men at 18 years old and watch them recite chapter and verse of your brain that you so considerately logged for all to exploit was...well, if I said it was Orwellian, that would be a gross understatement. One old codger was half deaf and slept through most of the event. He'd wake up and yell, "Do you know that in Matthew blah blah it says blah?!" To which I'd respond, "Yes, I do know that." "Oh, well,...snore." Which, that would've been grounds to get the case appealed, but I'd have had to care. I think I was secretly glad to be out, although at the time it hurt like hell. They took 30 minutes to deliberate and kick me out, on the grounds that I wasn't "repentant enough" and an "influence to the congregation." I can't in good concience say they were wrong.

Considering that my family was still reeling from my father's suicide, the local elders were unhelpful, to say the least. They never offered to rehab me or try in any way. One said of my behavior (my completely normal teenage behavior that at this point involved NO sex), "It's as if you're trying to put a band-aid over a gaping wound." So, instead of giving me to the ER, they kicked me out on the street. I guess they were hoping I'd bleed so badly that I'd beg them to sew me up.

WHOOPS. Guess I forgot to do that.

I ran into some girls who were kicked out after me a few years back. You look so good! They crowed. Yeah, honey, you don't turn into ashes when you go.

I can now proudly say that having come through the Vortex you fall through when your Official Rug is yanked from under your feet, that I am happier, braver, smarter and stronger than when I was in the cult. And if my 28-nearly-29 year old behind could go back in and say something to those crotchety SOBs, I would go (first in jeans, not a dress) and give them something to scribble in their little Elder Notes. I would make it Extremely Unpleasant. Fortunately, after 10 years of being out, I no longer have those fantasies (well, most of the time :P ), which just eat up the good in life. I let most of it go. I was raised in the cult, so I'll probably always have to grapple with it in the corners of my brain.

But, I'll accept that as the price of my ticket to the outside. Happy Liberated Anniversary, Me!