Story of a Failed Mind Control Subject

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 4
Sex and Torture

There were other tortures to be endured. I suppose a laundry list isn’t really necessary, because so many of them are typical. Beating, slapping, hitting, being tied up, locked into closets. The standard things you hear about in horrific abuse cases.

But I rarely hear of some of them. I don’t know if it’s just because it hasn’t happened to others, or because they’re so terrible, or because to those of us who it has happened, we don’t bother to speak of it. You’ll often see me say, “Who would ever believe me?” And that’s because this has been reinforced all through my life.

Most of the people whom I’ve told only parts of my story to didn’t believe me. I think that most people don’t want to believe it. I’d like to say that I judge them for that, but let’s face it– I know it’s true, I was there. I don’t even want to believe it.

But this was one of the ways that they controlled me. They told me that no one would believe me. And throughout my life, this has been reinforced. People usually don’t believe me.

When I do meet people who believe me, I don’t tell the whole story. “The truth? You can’t handle the truth!”

The truth is, I was subjected to shock treatments with homemade machines. A battery is really all you need. It really hurts like hell, and so do the burns left behind. I was given some medication so that I’d vomit violently for hours. Can I just say, that’s excruciating. Seriously. After a while, your stomach is empty, and it just violently jerks and heaves and your throat closes and you get really sore.

All while they laughed. They laughed a lot when they tortured us.

I sometimes think that I could sort of understand if someone became so angry that they lost control. I lose control and scream my daughter’s name at the top of my lungs sometimes when I get mad. I guess someone might do a lot worse.

But they weren’t always mad, really. Often, they laughed. I guess really that’s what boggles my mind the most. The misery and their laughter. It’s so bizarre. Somehow, this seems to be the most inhuman (not to mention inhumane) thing imaginable.

Their laughter would ring in my ears as I cried in pain. And often that would infuriate them the more– when I cried, they got angry. They didn’t want me to cry so that they could laugh, I think.

I was stripped naked and slapped. This, they thought was funny, too. They’d even compare the handprints on my body.

They were very good at doing things that wouldn’t show up or leave marks. Usually at the same time as they did things that did leave marks.

They’d drag me slowly behind the car– too fast for me to walk or run to keep up. I’d be bruised and scraped. Then they’d stomp on my stomach. Sometimes hard enough to bruise me, but not usually. Just hard enough to hurt. And if they did bruise me, it wouldn’t matter, because I’d already be so badly scraped and bruised from my “fall” that it was just another among the many.

Part of the torture for me there, though, was watching the others suffer. The girls were brutalized far more than the boys were. The boys were, after all, boys. And boys, they were always careful to inform us girls, were better in every way. There was a hierarchy there, and us girls were at the bottom aside from poor Kevin. The dogs were better treated.

This leads us to sexual abuse, and the fact that I saw one of the girls get a baby stomped out of her. Eventually, Natalie did escape, while she was pregnant, even. But that wasn’t the first time she’d gotten pregnant. I know because the first time she got pregnant, I was going to the bathroom to go potty, and I saw Ava stomping repeatedly on Natalie’s stomach.

She was calling her a whore. She was accusing her of seducing Bill. Sound familiar? Sound a little bit like Edna and my mother? Yeah, to me, too. Anyway, there was a lot of blood, and Ava was screaming about killing the baby and how Natalie was a useless whore. She saw me watching, and she made me clean up the blood. After she kicked me a few times for good measure, that is.

There was standard sexual abuse of all of the girls, so far as I know. Natalie, I think, had it the worst on the standard stuff. I have no doubt that this was just a continuance of the more sinister things, which she’d outgrown the usefulness for. More on that in a bit.

I personally experienced the standard stuff. “Touch my cock.” “Kiss it.” “Say you love me.” “No, run your hands up and down like this.”

“Tell anyone about this, and I’ll kill them and you both. Only you’ll really be dead this time. Forever.” Maybe that was the threat that let me tell. I did tell, in a roundabout way, later on. But I was afraid of getting the other person killed more than for myself.

That was in the light of day. In the open spaces of the house.

Elsewhere, though, what I experienced was far stranger, and is far more difficult to talk about.

Written by sandit4glp

July 30, 2010 at 1:43 pm

Posted in Chapter 04

2 Responses

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  1. Hi Sandi… it’s me, “V”.
    I believe you!!!!!


    December 1, 2010 at 8:54 pm

  2. Sandi, I have read some things you posted on GLP and I followed your link here. I read your story and much of it resonated with me. I have very few memories of my childhood, but what I do remember isn’t pretty. I know I was sexually abused by my grandfather, and I have other fragments and snippets of memories that scare me. I’ve always felt that something horrendous must have been done to me, but I can’t remember what it is. I frankly don’t know how you survived…and why you didn’t go insane. Just what I do remember of my abuse makes me feel insane sometimes. No living person should have to endure what you did. The thought that there are such hideous evil people out there that do this routinely to children almost makes me want to exit this planet. I’m so sorry for your suffering, but you have an amazing gift as a result. I’ve often thought that my ability to “read” people (not like you do, but sense their real intentions, motives etc) comes as a result of my suffering. Like you, I am slightly autistic. I believe I must have been a doctor in a past life or something akin (shaman perhaps) because I’ve always felt like I need to HEAL people, help them get well and be strong. I feel responsible for their well being. It’s weird. And I KNOW I have to ability to heal them…or to show them how to be healed. Anyway, I’m rambling. Just wanted to tell you that your story made my insides tremble. I know what it feels like to be lonely. I never felt connected to anyone, but I too had a horse when I was a kid, and that horse was also taken away from me. Until I met and married my husband (of 35 years) I was totally alone. He and I are (cliche) soulmates. I think we’ve been together in many past lives. I’m so happy that you’ve found happiness and comfort. Don’t let the raging religious loons stop you from sharing your gift and giving others hope. May you continue to rise up and your soul enlarge…Ilene

    Ilene Mann

    June 27, 2012 at 6:41 pm

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