The comination of Witness culture and my father's unrestrained rage led to a terror of a childhood for my siblings and my mother, so gentle, was beaten more severely than we were. This situation was so different from the images presnted in the Kingdom Hall. The Witnesses deny the level of abuse. Sick people are attracted by religosity. Paul's letter imploring children to be subservient and the old spare the road and spoil the child were used for legitimacy as we risk our very lives. I've posted elsewhere concerning my story. His actions were over the top. The psycholgocial abuse of being told as a young, impressionable child that I was so bad no man would ever want me. His publicly declaring to the overseer's wife how bad I was but what a delight my sister was hurt me to my very core.
A large part of life is spent combatting the impact of those years. I wrote to a teen fashion mag for advice. They wrote back to a friend to get in touch with a family service bureau. I was certain Jehovah would slay me for speaking against them. Many times I called and hung up at the last minute. I crumpled the paper up and hid it in my room. My mom, the snoop, found it and called herself. The outside world saw us as subservient but I could talk about my father and the Witnesses. The lies were no longer internalized. I had an ally. I placed an order for guns an knives to level the playing field. A mom occurred where I realized my life was just as precious as his. No one else was protecting me. A rape monitoring system went into effect.
My mom was adamant that the brothers would back up and any reference to Witness teachings would only increase his feelings of grandiosity and narcissim. The agency, used to allying with religions, were shocked. My mother was right. They were lingering when I was quite young. I saw my mom being beat and perhaps even raped on a frequent basis. I prayed my heart out to Jehovah for my father to be active. My prayers were answered. I shared my dream with my mom. She was upset that I prayed for it. He would only become hugely worse which did happen. His outrageous sayins, desinged to pummel me, were said at Kingdom Hall to leaders. No one moderated his views or pointed out that I was fine. They agreed with him. I was too afriad to look at boys, I never knew a school dance, etc. They saw him pinch me severely and even kick me. Only now, later in life, do I begin to appreciate the waste, the unnecessary ruining of me.
A boyfriend and I were in Southampton on Long Island on the main tourist commercial strip. A fat woman came along, very downscale, screeching berating things at a two or three year old. Everyone, perhaps at least 100 people, cease their activity and stopped. We all wanted to be witnesses to her hitting the child. No cell phones existed. I superconcentrated to get the detials correct.
He was over the top. What Christian watches the torture of Christians and looks the other way.