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from Jules Saturday, July 07, 2007 - 16:25 (Agree/Disagree?) I know this is a bit lame, but my childhood fantasy was to have an older brother. I was the oldest in my family and always thought I needed to kick the ass of anyone who messed with my sisters, which I actually did in school and tried to do in other situations as well. My secret childhood fantasy is that someone else would not only protect me but my sisters and brothers as well. My fantasy was to find someone whom not only I could trust for myself, but would also care about my and protect my family and make them safe. My childhood fantasy is that I could find a brother, father, someone who cared enough to protect me and my siblings and that I might be able to someday exhale. (reply to this comment)

from Bleary-Eyed at 2:30 AM Saturday, July 07, 2007 - 02:28 (Agree/Disagree?) “My biggest fantasy is walking away from the life [they think] I lead”. –Pete Wentz. To begin on a lighter note, I fantasized about one day becoming a cashier at a supermarket, an immigration officer, a travel agent, any and all of the professions I had any kind of contact with as a kid, and pretty much anything that wasn't missionary work, childcare, dishes, sweeping, mopping, cracking hundreds of eggs, reorganizing the walk-in freezer, sorting rotten veggies, doing someone else's laundry, and especially postering, tapenessing, or videoing (period please). As the oldest of 8 and nearly always the oldest in any home, I did a lot of those "chores", but mostly my dad took me out as his outreach partner, expecting nothing less than excellence, and becoming incensed if I ever hinted that it wasn't my very favorite thing in the whole wide world. Well, he was more my partner than I was his; I was definitely the lead. I did the talking, the understanding, the translating, the smiling, the begging, the selling, while he played the token dumb adult, occasionally smacking me across the face and giving me nose bleeds if I "spaced out" after a 10 hour day on the streets in the middle of winter. Ah, yes, he was also the designated coffee drinker. I drew all the time. I drew and drew and drew. If there was a moment, I'd take out my sketch book and draw, and more often than not it was women I was drawing. The female figure in and out of clothing. Sometimes it was a Holy Spirit-esque female, other times it was two people having sex, and then sometimes it was a punky 80's looking systemite. Well, my version of that. Was this an early sign of homoerotic tendencies? Maybe. But all I was doing was mimicking the art I had grown up with. The True Comix: full of nudity, sex, breasts, and the occasional insufferable and blatant systemite in full systemite get up. I learned how to cut hair when I was 12, right before I got carted off to Victors, and from that point on I was one of the main barbers at the HCS. When I had first learned, as with other things I picked up, I fantasized about one day actually doing those jobs. But it was not an accessible wish. There was no assumption that I might have a chance to actually get paid for doing these things one day. I looked out at these very average possibilities from my little tiny basement window and saw feet walking by, the feet of people walking to work in a world I did not know. I later learned that it was upon discovering one of my sketch books, that a visiting leader recommended me for Victors. Nasty nasty child. Well, there were other things too. A blatant disregard for being treated like shit, a rebellion against growing up too soon, a very vocal distaste for brainwashing and all its freaky sisters. When an unavoidable pattern emerged in my world of my parents' consistent and growing frustration with me, and their eagerness to take the other side in any situation, never standing by me, and beating me into submission, life became a nightmare. At the age of 9 I started to show signs of needing serious help. I hurt other children the way I was being hurt. Suffice it to say, by the time I was 13 I had been contemplating suicide as a viable option for four years. For some reason, it never entered my mind to jump off a building, or I probably would have done it. I didn't have a gun. I couldn't very well slit my own throat, though I thought on it countless hours. My Mother never needs to know how very close I came to slitting my wrists in Hachioji. I stood in the kitchen just staring into the knife drawer, playing out different scenarios in my mind. These lapses usually took place immediately following some awful punishment or unjust encounter. Who would go first, how, why. But when I got to who would be left, and all the people I didn't want dead, the guilt set in. Terrible terrible guilt. The kind of guilt that brings with it instant sweats and dry mouth, and heart palpitations in the jugular. While I had no love for my father, I felt less sure about my Mother, and definitely wouldn't harm other children. My untrained, ignorant, foreign, abusive, unimaginative, brainwashed teachers were highest on the list. Some of them really are lucky to still be alive. To be fair, there were a few adults, even some who technically "fondled" me, who I have to credit with helping me through those years. Some in their twisted way, and some in very normal, supportive way. I fantasized about my mansion in Heaven, down to the tiniest details, trying to come up with the most far out unique ideas I possibly could, and drawing huge diagrams and tiered floor plans of my "mansion in Heaven". On the flip size, I had regular night terrors about the devil, represented either by the "AC forces" in some form or shape, or by a single dark character, chasing me. If I was caught I was murdered. Sometimes I could point my finger, or say a word, and I would be victorious. Sometimes I would beat my arms, working very hard to hover just high enough above the bad guys that they couldn't grab my ankles. Once in a great while, I soared, high above the trees, across lakes, over mountains, beyond my boundaries; away, away, away! I dreamed of running away from home, but would never have done it if I had been given the chance. I asked my father once what he would do if I ran away from home. His answer: I'd find you and beat the living shit out of you. That was a regularly applied tactic, so I knew he was serious. There would be no, "Honey, we're just glad you're safe". Meh. At that age when the fabric of my existence became a Picasso painting on top of a Pollack painting viewed while high on donkey (ketamine), a strange thing happened that continued into my late teens. When ever I closed my eyes, I saw demon faces that morphed from one to another, the next always more hideous than the last. These were not your garden variety closet monster either. There was no way to make them go away, and again, the guilt at being singled out for this mental torture. What had I done? I never even watched scary movies. Was this me sinking hopelessly into the a feared quick sand of "Mene-dom"? Was I actually surrounded by these demons whose faces I saw at night? Were they attempting to possess me? I tried everything I could think of over the years. Nothing worked. Until somehow I happened on an idea. I worked hard at developing the strategy and controlling my mind, and eventually, the faces went away, or at least I could cut them short and fall asleep relaxed. Curiously, though he knew nothing of this, my dear son has similar visions at night. I have taught him my technique and he is going to be ok. More often than not, I fantasized about peace. I wished I could just sit and read or draw without all the racket. I wanted to stay in one place for just a little bit longer. I wanted to play with the neighbor kids, at their house on the park. I wanted to learn ballet. I wanted to be allowed to do special things with my Grandma. I wanted to talk to my Grandma on the phone. When she asked about my singing and if I was going to grow up to be famous like Michael Jackson, I wanted to say, "Yes". I wanted to be sure of myself, I wanted my dad to feel comfortable hugging me, and I wanted a Christmas present that wasn't made out of cloth. I wanted my parents to stand by me and believe my side of the story. I wanted to be able to be able to smack my brother upside the head for being a little annoying terd. I wanted my own room. I wanted a doll that hadn’t been previously owned by an aspiring barber. I wanted to know my extended family. Fantasies. Hmm. Fantasies were for Heaven, for naturally, we could have and do anything there. If they were about earthly things, they were daydreaming and not encouraged. But I fantasized about being an FFer. Boy did I want to be an FFer. I thought I would have been great at that, and it took me time to get that out of my system when I left the Family. The best thing I can compare it to is Hollywood celebrities. A good FFer had it all, her kids had it all. I wanted it all. What little that was. If this remembering teaches me anything it that Dr. Seuss was right when he advised us to abandon our search for the truth and settle for a good fantasy. (reply to this comment)

from mad dreamer Wednesday, July 04, 2007 - 11:44 (Agree/Disagree?) I would imagine living in my own house by myself, washing my own dishes, cleaning my own bathrooms, and everything that I'd clean would stay clean without getting dirtied up again ten minutes later by some messy adult. As a child, a lot of my fantasies revolved around other kids and teens I'd seen in Family videos and usually had something to do with the Endtime. I remember when I was 5 or 6, playing with my tricycle on the flat roof of our house for hours, acting out my made up stories and fantasies. I'd also pretend I was hiding in some small closet or hidden nook in our house and imagine I had a stash of food and was hiding from AC soldiers. Geesh, I was a strange little kid. I guess I lived in my head back then, too. (reply to this comment)

from figaro Wednesday, July 04, 2007 - 11:03 (Agree/Disagree?) I started having a recurring dream when I was very young, and it lasted for several years. well, it was more like a dream that kept picking up where it left off last time. I would be on a huge red horse engulfed in black flames, at the front of hells hoard of demons leading an assault on heaven, killing angels and adult members spirits by the thousands. Of course, when I told my mom about it, I reversed it and said I was fighting hells army, but really I was leading it in the dream. It lasted a long time and the strange thing is, it didn't make me feel disturbed or scared like I was wrong. I felt like I was evil, but evil felt right! I was always told I had a demon in me, and that always made me feel good honestly. I was a VERY dark and disturbed kid. I still am, in fact I'm going to be committed into a mental health hospital sometime this week (reply to this comment)

from cass&eman Tuesday, July 03, 2007 - 15:06 (Agree/Disagree?) I used to day dream that I was an African princess, and that some day I would find my real family and live with them. Other times I would wish that I would wake up and be white with blond hair and blue eyes. When my mom was gone FF'ing I would imagine her dying in some awful accident, and then I would wonder what they would do with us when she was gone, I also had the Annie and Pollyanna fantasies, but alas they never came true. Reality was much darker and after being exercised a few dozen times, I began to believe that I was possessed I used to hope that the devil would rescue me, and I could torture my uncles, aunties and send my mom to hell for not sparing the rod. A bit twisted but what do you expect right? I also used to think that the movie White Christmas ment that Christmas was only for white people; did anyone else ever get told that black people were cursed because Noah's son was gay? (reply to this comment)

From figaro Wednesday, July 04, 2007, 10:51 (Agree/Disagree?) I think we all heard that story since it was part of the published "grandpas" interpretation of the bible. (more like made up some new things to back up his insane beliefs) I never did understand how we were all gods children, all equal, and we should love everyone, but the blacks are a evil cursed people because Noahs son was gay. First off, even if that were true, it wouldn't be any of his descendants faults. They are bad because of something someone else did 6 thousand years ago? Also, I didn't understand why if that were the case, that blacks were allowed in TF. Why would we want "evil, cursed" people into our little elitist click of soon to be space city residents? (reply to this comment)

from Kelly'ish Tuesday, July 03, 2007 - 00:33 (Agree/Disagree?) when I was a kid I’d look at the ceiling And imagine myself somewhere else In a world up side down To run wild and dance On the big open wide Space floor Clime up to get out of the door To the next space floor And even now still Like then, When I can’t sleep at night I like to look at things upside down I love especially to do this outside And call me crazy, but I can’t help but keep From wondering why I’m wondering, Why there’s something to be said for Looking at the sky… Rant: (In addition to looking at the ceiling I used to fantasize that DCF or the police would come and save us –lol! --what was i thinking? LOL! We used to have “rehearsals” for if or when the “Authorities came” –what to say—what to do—they even went through the trouble having us make fake home work— I remember seriously worrying about my education by age 9—“wow, I am going to grow up to be a dumb fuck!” I mean why not just do real school?? They gave us a day in a week (a day off cleaning or cooking or childcare—slave labor really) to cut out bits and pieces of encyclopedias and make “Homework”… and on the occasions we did have “school” if I couldn’t figure an answer out, like…say, none of the answers on a "test" –“no problem”-- they would have me sit next to an older kid and encourage me to copy the answers—that really built my confidence! then they used to tell me over and over how negitve I was--I wonder why? (I learned early on to keep quiet and avoid being noticed—it worked back then, kept me out of trouble….for the most part…) They even had us inventory all our stuff. Uhhh let see, 3 pairs of “inside” clothes. 2 pairs of “outside” clothes, "get-out" shoes, flip-flops, "witnessing shoes" …huh toothbrush, deodorant, and of course a Bible--- that’s what is was like in South East Asia or “ass crow” (ya, I don’t know how to spell it) what a crock of shit Fuckerssssss! Me Bitter?? Oh, I said too much--- I better shut up or Zerbie or Kelly might put me on their “lets pray against list!” and then my mommy and daddy are never, ever going to speak to me again---tragic! –Seriously? I hope their conscious eats them alive! well, having said that i feel better already..... (reply to this comment)

from Nick Monday, July 02, 2007 - 13:15 (Agree/Disagree?) Being able to have friends and GF's that were not in the cult was big for me. I mean your stuck in a home with 5 other people your age and they are the only people you can date or hang out with. If you don't like each other your screwed! (reply to this comment)

from Phoenixkidd Monday, July 02, 2007 - 12:46 (Agree/Disagree?) Childhood Fantasy 1. Owning a Dog or Cat 2. Living with just me Mom and Dad and my four siblings--No other missionaries please! 3. Being able to go to Highschool 4. Having a motorbike 5. Being able to hang out at Mcdonalds and listen to CD's 6. Being able to buy a pair of Jeans, or even just being allowed to wear them. 7. Not having to tramp around all day selling stuff and preach about Jesus Was that too much to ask?? (reply to this comment)

from anonymous apostate Tuesday, June 26, 2007 - 13:42 (Agree/Disagree?) Well, let me preface by saying that I may have been slightly more deranged than the average child, and more susceptible to psychotic, serial killer type fantasies. I use to fantasize about a variety of things, primarily being raised on American soil and going to regular school and having friends that I would play with after, have an allowance, go play ball, watch TV or movies, and basically to be allowed the freedom to leave the property on which I was imprisoned. I wanted to be part of a family that had money to buy me a pair of shoes that fit me or a pair of pants that I liked that hadn't belonged to someone twice my size earlier that day. I would also fantasize about killing certain of my 'uncles and aunties' and the different ways I could bring about the expulsion of TF from the country in which I lived. I would daydream about burning down the house and of trying to expose TF to the Muslim community we lived in as evil and abusive. I would imagine what it would be like to pretend to be possessed and to go on a violent spree during devotions of fellowship or one of the other many gatherings within our home and with the neighboring homes in our city. I used to imagine (again, remember that I'm twisted) when we'd get our nightly worm exams and be forced to shove cloves of garlic up our asses what it would be like to be able to force the adults to lube up one of the MO books and shove it up themselves and make them hemorrhage and cough up blood and then I would imagine mopping up the blood with pages from the Bible and any Family publication and watching the blood soak up the pages and then ask them if they were 'washed in the blood' and laugh while they choked on their words. I use to dream about being raided after reading the 'Victory in Babylon' stories and wishing I had been taken away from TF forcibly and allowed to live as a ward of the state and to testify against TF. I used to be so jealous of the kids in those stories but I was also baffled as to why they would defend TF and not try and assimilate themselves with the other kids there. When I saw the film 'Firestarter' I wanted to be able to light my teachers on fire when they punished me for not falling asleep quickly enough or for talking back or anything I felt was unfair. I could go on, but I'm sure I've scared enough people as to my sanity on here... :D (reply to this comment)

From Phoenixkidd Tuesday, July 03, 2007, 12:25 (Agree/Disagree?) Anonymous, although my fantasies were not as severe as yours. I did have burning fantasies though, like setting fire in the back garage of this one home I lived in....because I knew that the home would be disbanded...It was mostly because I absolutely hated the Uncles and Aunties that had come to that home after reorganization--A bunch of self-righteous, abuse-absorbed, ex-philipinno refugees circa 1987--20 years ago!(reply to this comment)

From lacy Monday, July 02, 2007, 19:13 (Agree/Disagree?) Anonymous apostate, you need help.-altho I can relate to a certain degree.-I used to, as young as 9, fantasize about putting curses on an auntie or uncle that was mean to me. There was always at least one in every home that I hated. I would dream that I had secret powers and could use them to cause problems for whichever adult was the meanest!(reply to this comment)

From figaro Tuesday, June 26, 2007, 15:49 (Agree/Disagree?) apart from being on American soil, and not in a Muslim community that is pretty much exactly how i was, except i was a bit more demented, still am. also, i really did catch the house on fire. and almost killed one of the "aunts" with a wire coat hanger she was beating me with. i was able to fight it out of her hand and swung it at her, the hooked part where you hang it caught her in the neck and ripped through a good portion of her throat. i dont know how bad it was exactly, i was only a kid, so i dont remember well.(reply to this comment)

From celestej Wednesday, August 20, 2008, 04:10 (Agree/Disagree?) good for you!(reply to this comment)

from nix Friday, June 22, 2007 - 11:25 (Agree/Disagree?) I used to fantasize about being killed in front of all the adults in the homes I lived in. It would be an accidental death of course, something tragic, maybe I was shot by a fanatical systemite or an engine fell off a plane crushing me to death. Then, as my spirit hovered over my dead body, they would apologize for being such bastards as they gathered around to see what happened. Oh so contrite and grief stricken they would be, weeping and repenting for how badly they treated all the children. I have often thought about that fantasy, wondering if I was really so disturbed. But I think I was ready to leave TF when I was born, and I always knew I would. That fantasy was my way of trying to convince myself that people cared even though showing love meant fucking someone or beating them. As if then, through tragedy, they would understand, and the phrase “I love you” wouldn’t merely be a prelude to a spanking. Well now that I have read this back to myself, I realize I may have actually been disturbed :P (reply to this comment)

From .... Tuesday, July 03, 2007, 01:41 (Agree/Disagree?) Thats wierd, I used to have similar fantasies. I have never actually told anyone about these as i thought I was just twisted. I would fantasise about being killed much the same, only it usualy involved rape and torture as well, and then of course everyone feeling really rubbish about the way they treated me and loads of people coming to my funeral. I thought i was just sick. I used to have recurring nightmares as well, from the time i was about 10 going on till about 16 - 18 yrs old, where i would be sleeping and my dad would come and have sex with me. I would wake up shaking and practically run to the bathroom to puke. I really thought there was something wrong with me... still do wonder sometimes, though thankfully they stopped when i was about 18. I have never been abused that i remember (other than all the child on child stuff we were involved in ... this was india) but I have often wondered if those nightmares were a form of repressed memory or if they could be explained somehow. Except as i understand it repressed memories aren't actually real. I guess i was just SERIOUSLY fucked in the head. lol (reply to this comment)

From rainy Tuesday, July 03, 2007, 01:50 (Agree/Disagree?) Although repressed memories seem to be hotly debated, I can tell you for a fact that they are real. As a child I was sexually abused, but told it was my fault. I was so confused about it it, and ashamed, I decided I would make it as though it never happened, and managed to forget about it. When the raids happened, the memory came back, and my friends told us I'd better forget it or we could all lose the case. I managed to forget it again, almost completely, until my first kiss at the age of 16, when the memory hit me like a truck and I ran away from the boy. My brother who was 5 at the time of the raids was fairly traumatised by them and actually forgot most everything that had happened in his life up till that point. He can still not recall the the raids or much at all before them. Here's Wiki on repressed memories: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Repressed_memory(reply to this comment)

from emokid Friday, June 22, 2007 - 04:01 (Agree/Disagree?) the only thing I ever dreamed of was sharpening knives... (reply to this comment)

from rainy Friday, June 22, 2007 - 03:30 (Agree/Disagree?) So many of the same, a long ongoing fantasy of being adopted by rich systemites who didn't know it was bad to eat white bread. My fantasies nearly came true once! We had provisioned dinner at a fancy Indian restaurant. We were so excited, and all on our very best behaviour, eating with our knives and forks and with our napkins on our laps. We'd always practiced our ettiquite at home just in case something like this ever happened. Just then, a nearby couple came over and talked with the adults. The adult came back to the table and said, "Wow! You kids are such a good sample! That wealthy couple thought you were privileged orphans, and said you were the most well-mannered children they'd ever seen and they'd like to take you for outings and treats, and have you visit their home! Of course I told them that you've just got good training, and you're missionaries!" That little wet dream almost come true kept us going for months. My other constant fantasy was growing up in one house, going to things like ballet lessons, playing without constant supervision, and not having ever heard of The Word so I wouldn't have to be accountable. That, and growing up and adopting all my brothers and sisters and living in a big fancy house with them. (reply to this comment)