For most of my childhood, the kindness of the Witnesses was a welcome relief from the emotional abuse of my stepdad. From age twelve, though, I was sexually abused, and I think the depression started then. I was determined not to let the abuse change me in any way. Then I decided not to grow up. I kind of didn't.
At age 25, I found myself working full time, so I couldn't pioneer. I was not even able to make ends meet, with no education or marriage prospects or hope of improving my lot at all. I was always closely watched by the elders because I lived alone. The dysthymia I'd suffered from for years spiked when I ran out of my Zoloft and couldn't afford it for a few days. I tried to commit suicide, but fortunately didn't know what I was doing and just missed work and meetings for a week or so. No one called me.
That was about 4 years ago. I left suddenly, soon after, and I'm now married, a mom, and I never dreamed life could hold so many possibilities. The Witnesses offer nothing but empty promises and a present life of oppression and toil. I'm not one who resented the hard work, and I never had doubts until I really started digging, but I was unhappy enough to prefer death to the long wait. I know I'm not the only one.