Words Are Our Machine Guns

I need to write another post about Halloween. I’m not getting flashbacks of any sort, not even “feeling” flashbacks. Whether I have stuffed them all way down or worked through them I don’t know, but I do know I’m not having them.

It’s on my mind, though, that other survivors are having a horrible time and there is very little I can do to help them. I can say I am sorry, sorry they did that to you, sorry you are still having flashbacks after all these years, sorry you are feeling alone and frightened. I wish I could share what I did to stop the flashbacks, except I don’t know what that was. I can only hope that one day you will find your own way past them.

What’s happening today is also on my mind. I know that children are being used in rites. I know children are being tortured and programmed. I know they are being made to hurt other children and being told they are evil for doing so. And there is nothing I can do to rescue even one of those children.

And so many animals are being tortured before they are sacrificed. There is nothing the children can do to prevent this, except feel in their hearts that it is wrong. Pray silently, perhaps, for God to end their suffering and take them home to a loving place. And, if possible, know that it is not their fault and that they are helpless to stop it.

I used to fantasize breaking into a ritual gathering with a machine gun and mowing down all the adults. How a ten-year-old kid could get the money for a machine gun, walk into a store and buy the gun and bullets, hide it, learn how to shoot, avoid being taken to the ceremony, and overcome her total aversion to killing weren’t part of the fantasy. Neither was what to do with the terrified kids and animals and all the bodies. Just the killing part. This from a person who takes spiders outside when she finds them in the house and can only kill weeds without guilt.

Now I imagine the day, years and years from now, when enough of us have given our testimony that the majority of people in our society believe this happens right in their back yard. Then the adults will be believed and people will know enough to recognize signs that a child is being ritually abused.

There will be so much information out there that amnesia will crumble and the truth will be known universally. A whole lot of the perpetrators will be desolated at all the suffering they have caused and will stop doing it. Those few sociopaths that don’t care will become isolated and ever fearful of getting caught. The cults will be choked to death by truth.

I get great solace from the belief that speaking out in whatever way we can will hasten that day. Words are our machine guns.

14 thoughts on “Words Are Our Machine Guns

  1. I’m not a survivor of ritual abuse, but I started to read and inform myself about the subject after I came upon it in one of my books of criminology. My first reaction was one of horror and disgust, but not for one second I thought the survivors of this kind of abuse were telling lies. The terror, the evil, the fear, the pain… it’s all so vivid in these stories. After reading that the general public doesn’t know of this kind of abuse (even my therapist didn’t) or doesn’t believe it, I try to do the very little I can: spread the awareness. A lot of people don’t even want to listen to this, but that won’t close my mouth. I think the victim deserve the recognition for what they lived, and I strongly believe that knowing about ritual abuse is helping more kids and adults to be saved.
    It’s not a lot, but it’s what I can do with my power. Evil is stronger when it’s done in secret, and the weapon to defeat it is information.

    Sorry for my bad English, it’s not my fist language.


    1. Your English is great! What is your native language?

      You are doing a lot. It moves me so much when when somebody without a ritual abuse background actually cares about us. It’s pretty rare to have such an ally!

      Also, I think that people are more apt to believe a person without a ritual abuse background. It’s harder to dismiss you as crazy.


  2. This was poignantly written, Jean.
    Yes, our words are machine guns. One by one, we each make a difference. Put another hole of transparency into the secret world. Give another voice to the voiceless.
    We have to believe one day, we will blow all of the lies and the truth will be known by all.
    Thank you, as always, for this.


    1. Actually, our mouths are machine gun and the words our bullets. Judging how hard it is to find those words and actually say or write them, our machine guns are probably not automatic or self-loading LOL

      In dark days, remember you are an important part of this army.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh good point..:)
        Ty Jean. We are all important in this army. So glad to read the others comments.
        So glad to know you. We didn’t ask to be in the fight. It’s nice to know we are not alone.
        I love you, CC


        1. None of us volunteered, that’s for sure! And we all went AWOL!!! I love this army metaphor. An army of pacifists standing up to the cults.

          I feel very glad to know you, too, my comrade.

          Liked by 1 person

  3. This really spoke to me. Like you, I no longer have flashbacks of abuse, but experience the sadness of knowing children are being tormented. Thank you for reminding me that speaking out does make a difference, even if not an immediate one.


  4. Thank you so much for what you wrote today. I needed it. I no longer have flashbacks but this Halloween it feels awful. I think it is a combination of cult stuff and great uneasiness about what is going on in our country right now. It feels like when you have a bad case of the flu and there is nothing you can do to get comfortable. You just have to live through it until you feel better. I have those machine gun fantasies too and they help a little.


    1. Yes, there is a general feel of dread in the air, like smoke from a distant forest fire. So many people feel that way that I cannot believe it is cult memories — or at least not all cult memories. That doesn’t make me feel better one little bit. How are you doing otherwise?


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