nausea. Bile rose in my throat. Just thinking about church makes me want to puke. As my friend wrote, “…the narcissist’s use of God…[is almost] enough to make you an atheist.”
Darn straight! And yet, even though narcissists have created a hateful, judgmental idol of God in their image, many of us, by some miracle, still cling to it, the rock of the ages, like a free climber clinging to a bruised and bruised cliff. Bloody nails.
We lost everything and said goodbye to everyone. For many of us, despite everything, it is our last and best hope.
Evil network
This article has been a long time in coming. I brought this up a year ago in a very popular article, When a Narcissist “Gets the Debt,” You’re Being Scammed!
As you may recall, my recent studies have convinced me that narcissistic dynamics and cult dynamics are largely identical. Scratch a cult and you will find a narcissistic leader.
So, at 1 a.m. this morning, I lay in bed with a snoring husband, two dogs, buttered toast, and the book, Web of Evil: A True Story of Cult Abuse and Courage by Mary Rich and Carol José. I spent the next three hours reading, crying, and physically bashing back and forth in an agonizing tug of war between shock (“Oh my God! Some of that mental, emotional, and spiritual abuse in the Evil Web was committed in my own home… to me!”) and denial (“No. Alice!” This is normal!? It seems normal to me. This is just a normal Christian family. Right!?”
Finally, at 4 a.m., I drifted into a restless sleep. When I woke up, something clicked in my head and I said, “Now! Write this damn article now. I hope my story supports, affirms, and motivates wonderful ‘aha’ moments for you, you, you.”
Related: 8 Ways To Deal With A Malignant Narcissist — The Most Evil Type Of Narcissist
Backstory
I was born into a very religious, insular, orthodox Protestant home, as you already know. I got my first (light) spanking at six months old. After all, as they were fond of snarling, “You were a sinner from birth.”
Just like the abused children in the movie Evil Web, when I was three years old, I was “perfect,” sitting still and quiet in public while other children ran and screamed and played. At the age of three, I also prayed to invite Jesus into my heart, whatever adults meant by that. It’s one of my only early memories.
At the age of six, I entered a strict Baptist school that practiced corporal punishment.
Visiting preachers were dripping with sweat, hitting the pulpit, yelling, and screaming at students at weekly church services. Bible studies were daily (and boring!) and Bible assignments were plentiful (and boring!).
Writing biblical verses was used fifty or a hundred times as punishment. Chastity was taught, while, behind the scenes, the fact that some teachers were raping students was swept under the rug.
At 14, I wondered “why?”
Why was the family Protestant Christian rather than Muslim, Buddhist, Catholic, or one of the many other religions?
It was an honest and innocent question. It was also the day that devastated me by saying, “We knew this day would come.” When I had an innocent question, they injected doubt. Suddenly, the sky became unreachable.
From then on, I felt like the infidel Lenora, the hell-bound Lenora. They condescended to me by euphemistically describing my “spiritual condition,” preaching, lecturing, and talking to me for hours, sometimes with tears, sometimes with anger. They preached, saying: “All your good deeds are as dirty as used menstrual clothes.” (Isaiah 64:6)
They gave me reading assignments during the summer vacation: the Bible and books on apologetics. During six hours of secluded daily study, which they called “home school,” I had to memorize long passages of Scripture and many hymn passages in addition to studying Greek and Hebrew.
They gave me a two-page list of things I had to believe in order to sincerely pray the prayer of salvation in order to be born again. It was overwhelming.
Since then, they have aggressively tried to save my eternal soul while also accusing me of being obsessed with witches and subjecting them to demonic attack. They picture me guilty of every vice from disrespect and rebelling against them (never!) to porn addiction (um, no!) to “buying sex” (what?!?).
Sunday church always brought on tension headaches, and they refused to relieve them with any medication until I was in pain. And I believed them, and I felt myself the worst of all, knowing that I was destined to spend eternity in hell.
