Do. The. Love.'s Testimony of Satanic Ritual Abuse
Posted: Mon Jun 05, 2023 1:37 pm
Originally Published at https://www.srastories.com/
My testimony to the best of my knowledge is an affidavit of fact. It is not meant to accuse or slander anyone.
I grew up as a normal person, except for all the stuff that wasn’t normal. My dad said not to talk to others about my mom’s mental illness because other people wouldn’t understand. She was dealing with Bi-polar, and all my life I watched her go to therapy and take medicine for her condition. Many times in my childhood, I watched my mother experience episodes where her behavior was based on feelings of fear and not logic. Oftentimes when this happened, her behavior also affected me in a negative way. For example, we would plan an outing, and a panic attack would cause my mom to cancel the trip for the whole family. There was a lot of fighting between my parents whenever this would happen, and it would cause everyone to feel miserable. My dad seemed to suffer from depression because my mom was unable to meet his expectations in many ways. I often felt sorry for my parents and family as a child, to the extent of not feeling worthy of having my own sense of self. I often felt like our family was far different than most families, and because of this, I grew up feeling isolated and disconnected from society.
I grew up wanting to find answers for the conditions of mental illness; and also with the fear that I may develop mental illness myself.
One of my most embarrassing moments growing up is when my mom let my friend come over to the house. It was rare that a friend was ever allowed to come over. After fifteen minutes, she was told she had to go back home. I was a teenager! I was so embarrassed! But, these types of embarrassing situations were somewhat common for me. I don’t have a single memory of my mom brushing my hair or helping me pick out clothes to wear; or helping me do my homework. I do have lots of memories of doing the dishes while my mom was in bed. I also have a memory of my parents over-talking with my grandparents about whether or not it was right that I should be doing so much housework. My grandparents’ response was that “it is alright for her to help with the house.”
Before Christmas, if family was ever to come over, I would slave away cleaning the house so that other people didn’t see how messy the house usually was. I wished so bad that we could just have a clean house. I would regularly throw away garbage bags full of papers that were cluttering the house up, a side-effect of my mom’s obsessive compulsive disorder.
We usually didn’t have friends over, so I spent most of my childhood from 11 years on, practicing the flute. After spending five years of watching “Black Beauty,” and “Justin Morgan Had a Horse,” over and over again, it was nice to have something else to do. During those prior years, age 6-11, I recall that horses were my favorite animal. I loved everything about horses. I drew them, watched movies about them, and visited some of the horses in our neighborhood before they were replaced with houses. I used to pretend I was a horse when I walked or jogged around. It felt safer to pretend I was a horse than to be a human. One time my older sister remarked that I was weird for always thinking I was a horse. I knew she was right. I remember feeling like I was too old to act that way.
When I turned 11 and got the flute, it became an instant joy for me. My mom said she knew buying me a brand new flute would go to good use, since I always diligently spent my 45 minutes practicing the piano every morning before school. When my mom bought me my brand new Trevor James flute, I knew I was worthy of something very valuable. My obsession with horses was replaced with playing the flute.
After summer band, I spent my first week of Junior high in the beginning band class.
We were practicing whole notes, and I felt it was a bit boring. The band teacher asked if anyone wanted to move up to the intermediate band to talk to him after class. I was shaking with nervousness, but I went to him and asked if I could have a try. He let me play a passage from the band book and thought it would be alright to bump me up to the intermediate class.
When I was in the intermediate band class, we played the song “The Holly and the Ivy.” This song’s first two notes started out with a low “b flat” and then went to a “g”. For the flute, that meant switching embouchures between those two notes for them to come out correctly. I was so bad at it, I was afraid of what people might think of me if I couldn’t play it right. So I would go home and practice for hours trying to get it right. Truth be told, even having been to college in the flute performance major; I still struggle with my registers! I would practice and practice, to wake up the next day and have it be as if I hadn’t practiced at all the day before. I practiced a lot of long tones, fingering every note of every scale to get the tone out perfectly. What happened then; was in an extra attempt to fix my register issue; I was developing quite a good tone on my flute; one that others noticed.
Because of my good tone on the flute; and since no one noticed my register issue when we played in a group; I became first chair in the intermediate band. By now I had a reputation to keep up, and having an identity as a flute player gave me confidence and self esteem. By mid-semester, we had a scales test where I performed the 12 major scales in 25 seconds. By the second semester of my first year of junior high, I went to the symphonic band, the highest band in the school. And I made it to first chair.
The next three years I found lots of joy in music, playing the flute, and even doing steel drums and the flute choir. I really wanted to be part of a music school, but I was denied this by my parents. I didn’t have the social life I wanted; but I at least had music. And that was good enough.
When I turned 17 and applied for the BYU music school, I didn’t know it at the time, but I was in the beginning of a downward cycle of depression. My desire to play the flute had gone down quite a bit. I just didn’t get the joy I used to get out of it. But I also knew it was my talent, and I ought to be appreciating it. I didn’t make it into the BYU music program, and I considered switching to a different major. At this time a friend told me I had to do the flute, because it was my niche. I knew he was right, and decided to go to the music program at BYU-Idaho instead, after completing a year of general classes at BYU- Provo.
At my high school graduation, my band teacher allowed me to conduct the orchestra as they played “pomp and circumstance.” I am happy that my dad at least admitted to me that he was at fault for not noticing. He told me my aunt sitting next to him remarked “How come I am the one to point out to you that your daughter is leading the orchestra?”. This was actually normal for me. After any of my flute performances or recitals, I would ask my parents how it went. I didn’t get much of a response. I had to really dig for it. One time my dad said I sounded like I owned the music, and that gave me satisfaction. I wished very much to get my parent’s attention. Every time there was some to be had, it was like a morsel of heaven. To be fair, my dad said he was never one to speak very much. So much so that saying “here” at roll call as a child in school was traumatic for him!
When I was about 14 years old, I learned to ask my dad for attention. At that, we would have long talks into the night discussing all the things on my heart. My bishop at the time said he wanted to call my dad to work with the special needs ward; but that the Lord had told him no, because he was needed at home. I knew that the bishop was inspired, because it was me who needed my dad at that time.
So that is a very basic overview of my life from ages 11 to 17. But what needs yet to be explained, is the mental battles I was having through these ages. I didn’t know at the time that obsessive compulsive disorder was more than hoarding and needing to wash your hands too often - these are symptoms of OCD I never dealt with. I remember reading a book about OCD as a teenager; and trying to understand it better so I could understand my mom’s illness a bit better.
It wasn’t until college at BYU-Idaho where I learned through a friend what obsessive compulsive disorder really is. It is being plagued by constant negative sexual thoughts. When I learned this, it was like a lightbulb went off in my head. Because from ages 11 to 17, I was always dealing with negative sexual thoughts. I would have unwanted images of naked men come into my mind. Or I would have sexual attraction to men that I know I should not have for my age, and it caused me to feel disgusted with myself. Some people would laugh it off as just growing up. But for me, it wasn’t normal. I knew it was way over what should be normal. There was not a moment of the day where my mind was not plagued by these distressing thoughts. I even told my dad about it one time, and he gave me a priesthood blessing for it. I still remember in the blessing he said “these thoughts don’t originate from you.” At that time, I believed it meant that the thoughts must just be from Satan tempting me or something. But still, to suffer such constant temptation was stressful and sometimes the pain of it was unbearable. By coming home and playing my flute note by note, I was able to gain some mastery of the negative thoughts. I struggled for six straight years. One day, my bishop at church spoke to my class: young womens. He said “Women don’t struggle with pornography, men do.” Whether that statement was true or not doesn’t matter. Just hearing that gave me some sort of a lift. It took the fear away. The next time I had a pornographic thought enter my mind, I thought “women don’t struggle with pornography,” and like that, I was healed. I never struggled with worrying or obsessing over these negative thoughts again.
But what had started to come on, was a type of depression, a flatness, a not caring anymore about anything. It was mild my senior year of high school. I was getting ready for my music audition, and working two jobs. In a way, I was too busy to worry about my mental state. But my first year of college depression hit me so hard it was like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t feel joy at all. I wanted to enjoy a pretty little robin on the way to class, and I couldn’t. There was no joy in me at all. Every day was mercilessly difficult. I worked at the BYU Bookstore in retail selling shoes. Sometimes I would go into the shoe closet and beg God for help because I could barely survive. I would think to myself: “Why be happy? Why not be sad?” And I couldn’t rebuff the argument. It turned out, God did help me. One of the other employees at the bookstore also suffered from depression. I opened up to her about it, and with her encouragement, I was able to get on antidepressants. We also worked out together and supported each other. With the medication, the pain lifted. I opened up to my roommates about my depression, and that I had started taking medication for it. When I did, they both told me they were glad. They said they were so worried about me, that I hadn’t been myself (One of my roommates I had been friends with all through junior high and high school).
My second year of college, I was at BYU-Idaho practicing the flute three hours a day, working three hours a day, and taking a normal course load for college. At this time I met my husband. During the summer semester I was reticent about going home and visiting my family. I spoke to my bishop about it, and about how I suffered from depression. He asked me what my triggers were. I told him that going home was a trigger and certain things pertaining to that. He advised me to stay in Idaho during the summer. I took that advice and was able to keep dating my husband. We decided to get married in August that very summer.
My husband and I took a break to live in Chicago for four months before school started back up in January. It was an opportunity for him to look for internships. During this time, I decided to go off antidepressants in case I might get pregnant. While I still felt flattened emotions; being newly married brought me joy. And the fact that I was having regular sex really seemed to reboot my brain. I started feeling much better than I had in a long time, even though there were some underlying sad emotional tones I carried with me.
We had two children and my husband graduated from school. We moved down to Utah while he started working. During this time, I could feel a bit of depression coming on. But I was determined to fight it. I made a goal to serve someone every single day, the least of which meant saying “hi” to someone; and the most of which was to visit the elderly. Doing so brought fresh air into my life. I gained a circle of friends and began to feel very supported and loved. It was an amazing thing.
Everything on the surface was great. But there was something about me that was not great. I tend to be a bit creative and also very passionate. And one of the things I was always passionate about was my relationship with God. I read the scriptures every day during my teenage years. As a young mother, I began to wonder what it would be like to see Jesus. I had a book about people who had had experiences seeing Jesus, and I was very much wanting to see Him myself. I would read the Sunday school book on Joseph Smith and contemplate on the things he taught. I read the doctrine and covenants and the Old Testament during this time. I remember sitting in a camp chair one time as my children played outside, pondering some of the words from the Joseph Smith Manual. One of my favorite quotes of his was in response to a civic official when asked how he was able to lead such a large group of people; to which Joseph Smith replied, “I teach them correct principles, and let the people govern themselves.”
During this time, I made one of my most embarrassing mistakes. My mind was so caught up on what it would be like to see Jesus, and I involved myself in talking about Jesus so much with my landlady, that one time when we were in church, there was a man sitting there. This man was very composed. I wondered what if he was Jesus! I know now, looking back, that that is a very big sign of mental instability. Later when I heard him give a talk in church, I knew for certain it wasn’t Jesus, and I felt bad for ever having entertained the notion. Unfortunately, I had disclosed my thought that I had seen someone like Jesus at church, making the point that, if Jesus showed up at church, how would we recognize him? I sent the email to my family, and that sent off red flags to them.
In discussing the issue with my landlady, she told me maybe I had had those thoughts because this particular man had a very strong testimony of Jesus. And the fact of the matter is; he did. He had come out of drug addiction and other things. He had an amazing testimony. But to have thought he actually might have been Jesus! That was too embarrassing!
I was able to recognize my mistake. Unfortunately, my parents did not agree. After reading my email my dad emailed my grandma and told her that his wife had acted the same way before she had a psychotic breakdown back in the day. (I was two years old when my mom went to the mental hospital for believing she was hearing loud noises at night when there were no loud noises). In fact growing up, my dad would say my mom had to stay on medication because if she didn’t she would open the door and think a sales associate were an angel or something and let him in the house.
In 2013 when I was 24 years old, my grandma invited my family to dinner and told everyone that I was mentally ill and needed to be on medication. I felt humiliated that she would address me like that in front of my husband, my children, and my parents and siblings. I later called her and she admitted to me that my dad had told her that I had been acting “crazy” but when it came to specific examples of what I did that was “crazy” she had none.
After that incident, our family decided to move out of state to get away from my family. I didn’t really feel like I wanted to be friends with people who believed they had the right to determine whether or not I needed medication. I felt unfairly judged by them.
I remember when I went to BYU-Idaho I took a religion class, and one of the days the teacher said he felt a prompting to talk about abuse. I was surprised because I had the strange idea to research “abuse” right before the class. One of the students raised their hand and said “abuse is like being under someone’s thumb” and he made the motion of squishing his thumb down on his finger hard. That description put it just about right when it came to how I felt my parents were treating me during that incident. But it wasn’t the only incident where I felt heavily controlled in the environment in which I grew up.
To say that my mother was controlling growing up is to put it lightly. She had episodes of being quite rigid. Our family often couldn’t decide on one destination when we were going somewhere; due to my mother deciding plans had to go differently than originally planned. It was difficult for all of us. One time we had decided to go camping for one night, something that rarely happened. Once we made it to the camp ground, we had to pack up and go back home because my mother decided that is what we had to do. Other times the family would be on the way to Lagoon or a restaurant, only to turn around and go back home because a course of action could not be decided and followed on. Many times fun things would be promised to us growing up, like getting to sleep outside or go for a camp night out; only for us to be told “no” in the end. We did eat-out a lot though, which I was always grateful for that. It made up for all the other nights when there was just nothing to eat. The pantry was full of dried beans, flour, and left over bits and pieces of packaged items. My favorite thing to do was to make macaroni and cheese and no-bake cookies. We never had cocoa in the house, but we did have hot chocolate in the food storage, so we made no-bake cookies with that instead. Other than that, we just didn’t eat dinner at our house. When I was older, I would make a quesadilla for myself when I got home from school, and wait until the next time my parents ate out for a real meal. We at least got good meals during school. And we did learn how to cook and bake with flour, which was usually in the house.
I remember one time a neighbor brought home some spaghetti pie for our family. I had been making breadsticks with flour. When she got to our home she could smell the bread and remarked ‘looks like you already have been cooking!’ Perhaps she went home not realizing how appreciated that spaghetti pie was.
When I was 26 years old, I gave birth to my third child. I had now given birth once with an epidural and twice naturally. I think there is something about giving birth that gets you in touch with your body. When it’s time to push, the baby’s head hits the vagus nerve. They say the vagus nerve is a major trauma reflex. After my daughter was born, I had my first full blown flashback. I was abused sexually by an older teenage boy when our family stayed over at a relative’s house. I called this relative’s father and had a long talk with him. He told me his son would never do anything like that. I later learned that this relative had another son that had passed away. I believe this son that had passed away visited me in a dream and said “I never meant to hurt you.” I am glad I followed the relative’s advice to do nothing, because had I said something at that time, I would have been wrong. I didn’t know this relative had an older son. And the age I would have been when this incident occurred was too young for me to know the difference.
After this flashback came up, I started to feel dizzy. But then, it’s like I felt parts of my brain click into place. After the dizzy episode, I felt much better. I felt more put together and more grounded. I wondered if when my mom had her psychotic breakdown, if she also had been reliving a flashback of abuse. But no one else seemed to think much of my breakthrough. One time I spoke to a friend who told me she was a child when some planes would practice sonic booms over her house. Apparently the noise was so loud it completely traumatized her. She said it was illegal for them to practice that now. I wondered if my mom had had a flashback of a sonic boom in her sleep, and that’s why she had to go to the mental hospital. That would explain her reliving hearing loud sounds. She also seemed to relay to me later after I was an adult that she thought she was Jesus and her hands were tied on a cross. To me, that sounded like she was having a flashback of being through a satanic ritual.
I don’t remember how many months later it was; if it was six months or a year; but I had another memory come up in a full blown flashback. By that I mean, I re-lived the abuse as if it were happening in real time, hearing the sounds and feeling the body sensations. I experienced waking up at night with pressure on my hands and someone ramming me in-between my legs. I was waking up and someone shoved an injection needle into my back to make me pass out. After that, having flashbacks of being drugged by injection or taser were somewhat common.
The majority of my flashbacks from here on out were small episodes of spinning, say thirty seconds here or thirty seconds there. Most of the spinning was painful, scary, and intense. It was enough to make me blank out when it happened to me as a kid; thus the re-living it later as an adult. Even as an adult in a flashback it was painful.
I seemed to have one visual memory of a building. My cognitive mind can make sense of it the best I can, in believing that I was being taken to a programming center during summer school break. This building seemed to have a movie theater along with some indoor rides that would spin you around. They also seemed to have some virtual reality programming devices. For example, you could project yourself into some sort of military training exercise. I have no idea how that works in real life, but that is what seemed to be going on from what I gather of having pieces of visual memory come up.
I seem to have a visual flashback of being able to type coding into a DOS computer, and another of playing a video game where my shooting is near perfect. I don’t know how to do coding in real life, nor can I play video games very well. One of the visual flashbacks I am on the phone, and being told to insert my photo into a computer disk drive. I am telling the person on the phone no, but the person on the phone is telling me I have to do it, saying so with a tone of cruel pleasure about it. I saw a scene in the movie “The Stupids” where a photo is inserted into a disk drive. I saw this movie with my husband after I retrieved this flashback. That movie scene was exactly like my flashback.
Another piece my cognitive mind seems to have put together, is that I was sent to a black-wooded home somewhere on a plain (maybe in Idaho?) for several weeks or so to be programmed. I believe my programmer was Dr. Cameron, because even though wikipedia says he died long ago; he was the person in my memories; if I were to compare my memory with his photos. He seemed to have a cane in his old age and walked bent over. He had white sideburns on the sides of his head and was bald on the top. I have a memory of being an adult and he raped me so bad in a hotel room that I left the hotel room and told another guy “he brutally raped me!”, who in turn just laughed. He would stick needles in my stomach and suffocate me during it. It was so painful I chose not to fight it. But when I was a child, he was more spry. One time I tried to hide in the closet with a blanket over my head. He found me and said “gotcha!” And he put me over his arm like I was a dog or something. I wonder if this visual memory of the black-wood house was where some of the mind control programming took place. During this time, I had a memory of being in a house full of cats wearing diapers, and I was to change the cat’s diapers. I also was required to crawl on all fours, and not speak. One time I accidentally spoke. The man laughed at me for breaking the rule and put me in the washing machine on spin cycle. After it spun me around fast enough to make me blank out, the water ran on my face, as I was in the washing machine upside down. I could hear some other children laughing at me.
I have another flashback of a woman putting me in the washing machine on spin. Perhaps this was done to me regularly. At this time, the other people went to go eat lunch at McDonalds. I got out of the washing machine, and was kneeling inside the laundry room closet, hearing them go out to eat. I knelt down and felt so sorry for myself that I couldn’t eat lunch, because I was so hungry.
One flashback I have a visual of a man telling me to act ‘proud like a cat’ so I tried to change my posture to be like a proud cat.
Another flashback I have is an audio memory of a woman telling me to imagine a fish tank. There are three goldfish that have enthusiastic personalities. Then the male fish suck on the teets of the goldfish. Then there are the sad fish. I responded to her in this memory “let me guess, you want me to become the fish tank.” She says “yes”. I then have a sensation where I feel like I leave my body, as if I were a cloud. It occurs to me that I may have been electroshocked so as to separate into fish personalities.
This same woman was in another memory where I was reporting to her I had just created “22 personalities, and one of them was the underdog.” I remember in my elementary school class one of my school teachers in one of the younger grades explaining to me what an underdog was. I think that after hearing about what an underdog was, I decided to make a personality to match it during my next programming episode.
One of my flashbacks was that I was approaching a house at night with a gun. I won’t say what I did with the gun, but I will say that I hid in the bush while the police came and took someone away. I don’t know if this memory was real or not. I hope it wasn’t.
Another flashback there was a sliding glass door, and some animals on the other side. I don’t know what was going on, but I blanked it out.
My flashbacks sometimes have a person’s head blanked out so I cannot see the face clearly. I have a flashback where to the best of my ability it sounded like a father figure was talking in one ear and a mother figure was talking in the other. I was reporting to them “A1 Wendy”. I think they were having me name my personalities that were designed in a grid like format.
I have a flashback of being in a cage and there were cats outside of the cage. I thought it was a father figure in this memory. In this memory, the cats got to eat nice food. But I had to eat dog food. I said to myself “I must not be very important if they [the cats] get to eat good food and I have to eat this food.” And it seemed it was the father figure who laughed heartily at this.
I had a flashback of giving oral sex in a licking manner. This memory was very short.
I had a memory where I felt a lot of “G-forces” pushing down on me. It almost felt like I was in a rocket. My cognitive mind does not understand how this could have happened.
Perhaps I was in some sort of simulator? In this flashback, I injured my thumb. When the G-forces were pushing down on me, they pushed my thumb against something that ended up cutting into my thumb. In this flashback, after re-living the G- forces and the pressure on my thumb, I could hear myself speaking to someone over a radio com. I said “I need a bandaid” and the response was “this is an important mission!” as if the bandaid was not important. I said “Do you have telepathy?” He paused for a moment, as if he were paying attention to my wound telepathically. Then he said “There should be a first-aid kit in the front there.”
I have some visual memories of an island. I believe there was a long rectangular swimming pool there, and a helipad on the side. It seems there was a type of programming done there called ‘mermaid’ programming. It also seemed there was a restaurant there that had leather menus and cement walls. There was a booth sitting outside of the main restaurant in the hallway. There was also a bedroom in a corner of the building. I remember there was a bible on the small round table at the foot of the bed. For some reason I believe that there was cannibalism at this restaurant.
I had a flashback of a mother figure opening an oven door. Two baked babies are inside.
I had a flashback of being on the toilet feeling all kind of pressure on my bottom. I reach down and pull out a baby. Then I am walking around holding the baby in my hands with the cord stuck in my bottom, not knowing what to do.
I seem to have some visual flashbacks of being in the back of a helicopter, or even going to airports, but they are hard to understand. I had a flashback of being outside and there was a truck driving two beds of logs. The truck driver stopped and gave me a water bottle. When I opened the water bottle, there was a piece of paper with a few letter codes on it. When the paper hit the air, it disintegrated. Three men saw me looking at the paper and shouted “informant” and then they jumped on me. In another flashback, I seemed to be in a doctor’s office and there were people in the background speaking Russian. For some reason, I wonder if this had anything to do with Romania.
It was years later where I had the second half of this memory return. In the second half of this memory, one of them men with a Russian accent asks me in English, with great emotion; “Why are you hurting my country?” I didn’t have an answer. At one point they were asking me where I was from, and I seemed to know that I would be punished for telling the truth. I said I was from Australia. One of the men said “this is going to suck” and they gave me one electric shock. (I re-lived the experience of being shocked). In the flash-back, I felt like the man felt horrible for doing this to a child. I assume I was around 11 years old, but I don’t know for sure.
For some reason I believe the Russians softened their hearts toward me, and maybe even started trying to help me. It must have become evident I had no clue what I was doing or being used for; but that I was a mind-controlled dummy. (For this reason, when Putin says he is trying to rescue and de-satanize certain areas, I am apt to believe him. I believe the Russians are not torturing children in their military programs the way Americans do or have done. My feeling is that the Russians are trying to help save children who are being tortured, and they don’t have any desire to participate in the horrible abuse our country has been willing to participate in, for the purpose of “getting ahead.”)
One flashback was of a long table and men in brown robes. For some reason I believed this was the Knights Templar. It seemed like they had a special sword with two cross blades on the handle, to make a double cross.
In one flashback someone used a sharp blade or sword and very softly made a double cross mark on each of my butt cheeks.
One flashback I was in a room all by myself and three men came in. One of the men said, “I just need you to open your legs a bit” and then stuck his penis on my clitoris. When he did that I could feel my body open up and he raped me.
One flashback I was talking with a man. It seemed like he was in my bedroom. We were talking about the Romulans. Then he confessed to me, “I wish I wasn’t a pedo,... but I still am.” Then he raped me. He also told me “You know your parents have a trap door in the basement”.
I don’t know if this was true or not, or had anything to do with my house growing up. I grew up in two houses, the first one we lived in until I was six, and I have very little memories of that.
One flashback was a doctor showing me a crystal. He told me that having lots of sex would make me pure like a crystal.
One flashback, one of the first flashbacks I had, was of me being maybe two years old on a table. At least I think that is how old I was. I was surrounded by men in white coats. They said “You will never have a maternal influence again.”
One flashback was being in the back of a white car and being driven in a forest-like area, possibly in the mountains. Then another flashback I seemed to be in a boxcar rolling down a train track in a cave. Yet another flashback I was in a facility on a tram and someone said “Let her think it is a dream, but it is really a fully operational torture chamber!”
One flashback I seemed to have all the body sensations of giving birth. I seemed to relive a baby being born and stabbed to death on the spot. In this flashback, I had left my body and seen my son in the spirit world. When I saw him, I said, “How many times has this happened?” He said “Five” and I said “You will get to come back.”
I have several flashbacks of my hand being coerced to do something that must have been unbearable for me to remember. I often felt someone’s hand on top of mine, and I believe I had rolled the eyes to the back of my head.
I believe there was something to do with being forced to watch certain movies and there being sort of brainwashing. There is a script in a book I read where they brainwash young girls to be horses. This script is found in the book “Deeper Insights into the Illuminati” by Fritz Springmeier.
I had a flashback of being in a building where witches wore masks and pioneer dresses, I think. And there was a doctor who had killed a baby.
It seems I had a flashback of being in a warehouse and there were loud buzzsaw noises. I believe I was forced to do something bad because if I didn’t I was scared to death of what would happen to me. I also had a flashback of someone taking lots of pictures of me.
When I was little, I used to have visuals when I would go to bed of being in a warehouse and being in some sort of cage or something, and there were these scary cameras there that would move on long necks. I also had visuals of puppets and drum sets.
I had one flashback of being on a chair that seemed to be flying around a room where there was a theater stage. I am not sure if these was some sort of demonic levitation or what, but that is what it felt like it was.
I had a flashback of watching a puppet show and the music lyrics said, “Little Miss Muffet, went to the sluthouse.” It showed the puppet slamming a door or a stage house.
Another flashback was watching a girl wearing a puppet costume she couldn’t see out of. She was sliced in half with a sword. The idea was that then I had to put on a puppet costume and maybe the same thing would happen to me.
Another flashback was of a cafeteria with a couple rows of ovens. I seemed to be put in the oven in between prostitution sessions. The idea seemed to be that if you were not a good prostitute, your oven would get turned on and you would be baked. In the flashback, one of the ovens was turned on and the girl was baked. She seemed to be junior high school age. She seemed to have been served on a platter to a group of people sitting at a long rectangular table, like the plastic ones they often have in cafeterias. She was served still wearing her jeans and shirt that did not look charred; so I am not sure if she really was dead or not.
Another flashback I am sitting in a semi-circle with other girls sitting in chairs. We are probably around 8 years old. Each girl has to take the gun and shoot herself in the head. There is this knowing that one of the times there will be a real bullet in it and someone was surely going to die. But I didn’t see if anyone actually died.
I had one flashback of having frozen water bottles tied to me when I am wearing a swimming suit outside to keep me overly cold.
As my memories came up, I referred to Gary A Flint’s Process-Healing method; Karol Truman’s book “Feelings Buried Alive Never Die”; Traditional therapy; Fritz Springmeier’s book “Deeper Insights into the Illuminati”; and Sharon Reece’s book “Healing Broken Wings.” All of these resources gave me strength and understanding while I went through this difficult process. I also relied on priesthood blessings from my husband, sometimes daily. I remember one of the first blessings I got, my husband blessed me to go on a journey to become single minded.
I also used a form of EMDR eye-movement-desensitization-reprocessing by looking in the mirror and moving my eyes from focusing on one eye to the other eye. When I did this, I sometimes could see that my eyes would be different looking than normal. After a flashback, I would often see that I had a new personality and it caused my eyes to have a different appearance. I also felt lots of clicking in my head.
Some of my flashbacks included feeling electroshock. It seems one flashback I was hooked up to electrodes on my vagina, fingernails, and toenails. When the electroshock got so bad my heart had too much pressure on it. I also had one of my arms behind my back pushed up so it was like my shoulder was dislocated as part of the electroshock. I believe when this happened I had a heart attack, but I am not certain. I had another flashback where I felt the defibrillator on my chest give me three electric shocks.
I had a flashback where I was in a doctor’s office and the doctor gave me a drug that made me spin out of my body. I spun out of body and floated to where he was at the counter. He said that he wished he could have taken the drug. But I didn’t agree, because when he gave me the drug I felt pain like I was being jerked out of my body.
I had a flashback where I was on a table and the Mormon “General Conference’” was playing in the background. A mother figure listed off a list of several hard to name drugs I think she had administered to me before the father figure began doing his thing.
I had a flashback where a father figure had a skeleton and a mother figure seemed to be in a trance on some sort of drug.
I had a flashback where it seemed a parental figure had put drugs in my food.
One of my flashbacks is being put under the water with my face pointing up. It seems I had other flashbacks of feeling as if my mouth was taped shut. Several body memories surfaced that seemed to make me feel like I was raped orally, vaginally, and anally.
I seem to have one visual memory of a cross or post on some sort of cement block where the post itself could spin. There seemed to be rats at the bottom of the device.
I had a dream where I was explaining to myself someone had raped me that was dressed up as Mickey Mouse.
I seem to have a visual memory of a church-like hall where there is a live organ in the center of the room, and benches in the rest of the room. I had a flashback of being on a table and a comb put through my hair. Someone is speaking through a microphone to a congregation. He is speaking to the congregation about missionary work and the Holy Ghost. I seemed to have a visual of yellow wood cabinets that are pulled out from the wall, and behind it is a hole large enough for humans to comfortably walk through.
I seem to have a flashback where a mother figure is demonstrating how she should obey her husband in all things, even if it means participating in the act of killing.
I had a flashback where a mother figure is telling me “you must do this...you have no choice.”
I had a flashback which was mostly the body memory of where a pipe was put down my chest and then my stomach filled to exploding with water or some other substance.
I had a flashback of feeling a baby move inside my womb. For some reason, I believe that I was at BYU-Provo when this occurred.
As I have gone through this process, I have realized that the brain likes to fill in details and put in cover stories of what really happened. When I have a flashback and relive the body memories, I believe I am getting a more accurate memory. But putting together the entire puzzle of the situation is one that I can only speculate about.
I am fascinated by the latest breakthroughs to support mental health, such as those being made by the Peak States Institute and Renova Worldwide.
I believe that healing has allowed me to be more grounded as an individual. My research into trauma has allowed me to have compassion for myself and for others who have suffered from ritual trauma. I hope to do all I can to support others on the journey of healing. This is why I have the website SRAstories.com
A lot of people in the 90s had a satanic ritual abuse scare. My concern is that another generation of people have been abused because trauma is at the base of these types of situations. Had it been properly treated in the 90s, perhaps my generation would not be dealing with it now. As it is, I am hopeful that this generation has access to new tools and modalities to make healing easier. I believe that every effort should be made to prevent false accusations. I believe that truth has the ability to awaken minds and to provide a way to move humanity forward. I want my story to be used in a way that moves humanity forward. Part of moving forward is to better understand the nature of trauma and the root causes of mental illness. It means overcoming fear such that healing can take place.
I have had many negative emotions surface in my healing journey; and when they do; I choose to process them by making a vocal determination that they and their roots be healed with unconditional love and complete forgiveness. Choosing unconditional love and complete forgiveness to heal emotions from the past has always succeeded for me. I am hopeful that humanity is on the cusp of uncovering the root causes of evil such that those with evil designs and hearts are not able to outsmart those who are good.
Dialogue must take place as part of the search for finding solutions to evil crises. For example, the Peak States institute has uncovered about 14 different roots underlying evil behavior. Understanding and resolving root causes can solve many of the issues that humanity struggles with today in terms of dealing with evil in society.
Until the whole truth can be uncovered; humanity must tolerate dialogue and not jump to conclusions without proper investigation. Perhaps solutions to these paradigm disagreements cannot be had without humanity making leaps forward in understanding mental health. Therefore, for this information to come out; it is done so with the agreement that such dialogue will be used to further the freedom of humanity and not to cause further enslavement. Making false judgments and accusations shuts down dialogue and makes it more difficult to overcome paradigm conflicts. Throwing accusations and hate toward others when there is no founded evidence is not only criminal, but stalls attention from focusing on finding solutions.
When my memories first started coming out, I felt like I finally had answers. I finally understood why all my life I felt like I wasn’t normal. I wanted everyone to believe me, and I tried very hard to get people to listen to me and understand. Through the years, I learned that this is an unreasonable expectation. It is not possible for everyone to believe me, and I have come to accept that. It it still empowering for me to tell my story, because I know the many other survivors of satanic ritual abuse will understand. I believe that for now, finding proof or finding acceptance is not what is relevant. Finding healing is what is relevant. I believe when it is time, and when humanity believes it is safe; the truth will be revealed, along with evidence and proof needed to put these questions to rest.
Even if these stories are true; humanity still has the potential to overcome evil. Perhaps the origins of evil began with a single tormentous; forbidden thought. Maybe in a moment of spontaneous creativity, some human ancestor wondered what it would be like to hate God, the Creator of all things. Such a thought would indeed be harmful, and quite forbidden. And yet, it would be a thought that would need answers. A thought that could spawn whole dimensions and realities of darkness. A thought that would need to be laid to rest once and for all.
When I was a little girl, I used to ask myself “What if all there was was nothing”. I contemplated what it would be like, if all there was was just blackness. It seemed to be a riddle that needed solving.
I think the answer to that riddle is to have gratitude for what is. Gratitude for life, for creation, for new life, and for love. The nature of human creativity, is that if it is left alone for long enough, a human being will learn to create something. Humans are never alone because of their creativity. Even in a dark room, the mind will want to create something beautiful.
In times of sorrow, I have played a mental game. I have wondered, if I were to go dig a hole in the backyard, and sit in it, in complete darkness...how long would I stay there before wanting to come out? With all the offenses that have come to me; is life still worth living? Or would life be better living in the hole? Usually, after attempting to stay in the hole for a few minutes, I feel the need to step back into the light. To re-engage with the world. No matter what creativity has been destroyed in the past; joy can be restored in re-engaging in creativity now.
I am impressed with human nature, in that it tends to create at all costs. Even with nothing, a human being will want to build something. Be it a thought, a word, a mound of mud, a bed of weeds, a pile of sticks, a collection of rocks, a structure of poles, a roof of thatch, a building of logs, a fireplace of cement, a home and hearth, a road and a yard, a community and store, a giant building, an air balloon, a boat, an airplane, and on and on and on. It is human nature to create. It is human nature to become. Sometimes in this urge to become; things are built that are not so helpful. Things are associated that bring pain and suffering, death and illness. But we don’t have to live in a hole forever after such losses; the best thing to do is to learn from the mistake and keep moving forward engaging with creation. The most important thing one can do in response to suffering, is to build anew with the information on how to avert future crises: A fence along the cliff, A seatbelt in the car, engagement of proper rehabilitation protocols so that mental suffering can be done away with forever.
The best way forward is to complete our understanding of human weakness and learn how to resolve it so that the children of tomorrow are guaranteed to be born on a planet that provides freedom to them; both physically and mentally.
My testimony to the best of my knowledge is an affidavit of fact. It is not meant to accuse or slander anyone.
I grew up as a normal person, except for all the stuff that wasn’t normal. My dad said not to talk to others about my mom’s mental illness because other people wouldn’t understand. She was dealing with Bi-polar, and all my life I watched her go to therapy and take medicine for her condition. Many times in my childhood, I watched my mother experience episodes where her behavior was based on feelings of fear and not logic. Oftentimes when this happened, her behavior also affected me in a negative way. For example, we would plan an outing, and a panic attack would cause my mom to cancel the trip for the whole family. There was a lot of fighting between my parents whenever this would happen, and it would cause everyone to feel miserable. My dad seemed to suffer from depression because my mom was unable to meet his expectations in many ways. I often felt sorry for my parents and family as a child, to the extent of not feeling worthy of having my own sense of self. I often felt like our family was far different than most families, and because of this, I grew up feeling isolated and disconnected from society.
I grew up wanting to find answers for the conditions of mental illness; and also with the fear that I may develop mental illness myself.
One of my most embarrassing moments growing up is when my mom let my friend come over to the house. It was rare that a friend was ever allowed to come over. After fifteen minutes, she was told she had to go back home. I was a teenager! I was so embarrassed! But, these types of embarrassing situations were somewhat common for me. I don’t have a single memory of my mom brushing my hair or helping me pick out clothes to wear; or helping me do my homework. I do have lots of memories of doing the dishes while my mom was in bed. I also have a memory of my parents over-talking with my grandparents about whether or not it was right that I should be doing so much housework. My grandparents’ response was that “it is alright for her to help with the house.”
Before Christmas, if family was ever to come over, I would slave away cleaning the house so that other people didn’t see how messy the house usually was. I wished so bad that we could just have a clean house. I would regularly throw away garbage bags full of papers that were cluttering the house up, a side-effect of my mom’s obsessive compulsive disorder.
We usually didn’t have friends over, so I spent most of my childhood from 11 years on, practicing the flute. After spending five years of watching “Black Beauty,” and “Justin Morgan Had a Horse,” over and over again, it was nice to have something else to do. During those prior years, age 6-11, I recall that horses were my favorite animal. I loved everything about horses. I drew them, watched movies about them, and visited some of the horses in our neighborhood before they were replaced with houses. I used to pretend I was a horse when I walked or jogged around. It felt safer to pretend I was a horse than to be a human. One time my older sister remarked that I was weird for always thinking I was a horse. I knew she was right. I remember feeling like I was too old to act that way.
When I turned 11 and got the flute, it became an instant joy for me. My mom said she knew buying me a brand new flute would go to good use, since I always diligently spent my 45 minutes practicing the piano every morning before school. When my mom bought me my brand new Trevor James flute, I knew I was worthy of something very valuable. My obsession with horses was replaced with playing the flute.
After summer band, I spent my first week of Junior high in the beginning band class.
We were practicing whole notes, and I felt it was a bit boring. The band teacher asked if anyone wanted to move up to the intermediate band to talk to him after class. I was shaking with nervousness, but I went to him and asked if I could have a try. He let me play a passage from the band book and thought it would be alright to bump me up to the intermediate class.
When I was in the intermediate band class, we played the song “The Holly and the Ivy.” This song’s first two notes started out with a low “b flat” and then went to a “g”. For the flute, that meant switching embouchures between those two notes for them to come out correctly. I was so bad at it, I was afraid of what people might think of me if I couldn’t play it right. So I would go home and practice for hours trying to get it right. Truth be told, even having been to college in the flute performance major; I still struggle with my registers! I would practice and practice, to wake up the next day and have it be as if I hadn’t practiced at all the day before. I practiced a lot of long tones, fingering every note of every scale to get the tone out perfectly. What happened then; was in an extra attempt to fix my register issue; I was developing quite a good tone on my flute; one that others noticed.
Because of my good tone on the flute; and since no one noticed my register issue when we played in a group; I became first chair in the intermediate band. By now I had a reputation to keep up, and having an identity as a flute player gave me confidence and self esteem. By mid-semester, we had a scales test where I performed the 12 major scales in 25 seconds. By the second semester of my first year of junior high, I went to the symphonic band, the highest band in the school. And I made it to first chair.
The next three years I found lots of joy in music, playing the flute, and even doing steel drums and the flute choir. I really wanted to be part of a music school, but I was denied this by my parents. I didn’t have the social life I wanted; but I at least had music. And that was good enough.
When I turned 17 and applied for the BYU music school, I didn’t know it at the time, but I was in the beginning of a downward cycle of depression. My desire to play the flute had gone down quite a bit. I just didn’t get the joy I used to get out of it. But I also knew it was my talent, and I ought to be appreciating it. I didn’t make it into the BYU music program, and I considered switching to a different major. At this time a friend told me I had to do the flute, because it was my niche. I knew he was right, and decided to go to the music program at BYU-Idaho instead, after completing a year of general classes at BYU- Provo.
At my high school graduation, my band teacher allowed me to conduct the orchestra as they played “pomp and circumstance.” I am happy that my dad at least admitted to me that he was at fault for not noticing. He told me my aunt sitting next to him remarked “How come I am the one to point out to you that your daughter is leading the orchestra?”. This was actually normal for me. After any of my flute performances or recitals, I would ask my parents how it went. I didn’t get much of a response. I had to really dig for it. One time my dad said I sounded like I owned the music, and that gave me satisfaction. I wished very much to get my parent’s attention. Every time there was some to be had, it was like a morsel of heaven. To be fair, my dad said he was never one to speak very much. So much so that saying “here” at roll call as a child in school was traumatic for him!
When I was about 14 years old, I learned to ask my dad for attention. At that, we would have long talks into the night discussing all the things on my heart. My bishop at the time said he wanted to call my dad to work with the special needs ward; but that the Lord had told him no, because he was needed at home. I knew that the bishop was inspired, because it was me who needed my dad at that time.
So that is a very basic overview of my life from ages 11 to 17. But what needs yet to be explained, is the mental battles I was having through these ages. I didn’t know at the time that obsessive compulsive disorder was more than hoarding and needing to wash your hands too often - these are symptoms of OCD I never dealt with. I remember reading a book about OCD as a teenager; and trying to understand it better so I could understand my mom’s illness a bit better.
It wasn’t until college at BYU-Idaho where I learned through a friend what obsessive compulsive disorder really is. It is being plagued by constant negative sexual thoughts. When I learned this, it was like a lightbulb went off in my head. Because from ages 11 to 17, I was always dealing with negative sexual thoughts. I would have unwanted images of naked men come into my mind. Or I would have sexual attraction to men that I know I should not have for my age, and it caused me to feel disgusted with myself. Some people would laugh it off as just growing up. But for me, it wasn’t normal. I knew it was way over what should be normal. There was not a moment of the day where my mind was not plagued by these distressing thoughts. I even told my dad about it one time, and he gave me a priesthood blessing for it. I still remember in the blessing he said “these thoughts don’t originate from you.” At that time, I believed it meant that the thoughts must just be from Satan tempting me or something. But still, to suffer such constant temptation was stressful and sometimes the pain of it was unbearable. By coming home and playing my flute note by note, I was able to gain some mastery of the negative thoughts. I struggled for six straight years. One day, my bishop at church spoke to my class: young womens. He said “Women don’t struggle with pornography, men do.” Whether that statement was true or not doesn’t matter. Just hearing that gave me some sort of a lift. It took the fear away. The next time I had a pornographic thought enter my mind, I thought “women don’t struggle with pornography,” and like that, I was healed. I never struggled with worrying or obsessing over these negative thoughts again.
But what had started to come on, was a type of depression, a flatness, a not caring anymore about anything. It was mild my senior year of high school. I was getting ready for my music audition, and working two jobs. In a way, I was too busy to worry about my mental state. But my first year of college depression hit me so hard it was like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t feel joy at all. I wanted to enjoy a pretty little robin on the way to class, and I couldn’t. There was no joy in me at all. Every day was mercilessly difficult. I worked at the BYU Bookstore in retail selling shoes. Sometimes I would go into the shoe closet and beg God for help because I could barely survive. I would think to myself: “Why be happy? Why not be sad?” And I couldn’t rebuff the argument. It turned out, God did help me. One of the other employees at the bookstore also suffered from depression. I opened up to her about it, and with her encouragement, I was able to get on antidepressants. We also worked out together and supported each other. With the medication, the pain lifted. I opened up to my roommates about my depression, and that I had started taking medication for it. When I did, they both told me they were glad. They said they were so worried about me, that I hadn’t been myself (One of my roommates I had been friends with all through junior high and high school).
My second year of college, I was at BYU-Idaho practicing the flute three hours a day, working three hours a day, and taking a normal course load for college. At this time I met my husband. During the summer semester I was reticent about going home and visiting my family. I spoke to my bishop about it, and about how I suffered from depression. He asked me what my triggers were. I told him that going home was a trigger and certain things pertaining to that. He advised me to stay in Idaho during the summer. I took that advice and was able to keep dating my husband. We decided to get married in August that very summer.
My husband and I took a break to live in Chicago for four months before school started back up in January. It was an opportunity for him to look for internships. During this time, I decided to go off antidepressants in case I might get pregnant. While I still felt flattened emotions; being newly married brought me joy. And the fact that I was having regular sex really seemed to reboot my brain. I started feeling much better than I had in a long time, even though there were some underlying sad emotional tones I carried with me.
We had two children and my husband graduated from school. We moved down to Utah while he started working. During this time, I could feel a bit of depression coming on. But I was determined to fight it. I made a goal to serve someone every single day, the least of which meant saying “hi” to someone; and the most of which was to visit the elderly. Doing so brought fresh air into my life. I gained a circle of friends and began to feel very supported and loved. It was an amazing thing.
Everything on the surface was great. But there was something about me that was not great. I tend to be a bit creative and also very passionate. And one of the things I was always passionate about was my relationship with God. I read the scriptures every day during my teenage years. As a young mother, I began to wonder what it would be like to see Jesus. I had a book about people who had had experiences seeing Jesus, and I was very much wanting to see Him myself. I would read the Sunday school book on Joseph Smith and contemplate on the things he taught. I read the doctrine and covenants and the Old Testament during this time. I remember sitting in a camp chair one time as my children played outside, pondering some of the words from the Joseph Smith Manual. One of my favorite quotes of his was in response to a civic official when asked how he was able to lead such a large group of people; to which Joseph Smith replied, “I teach them correct principles, and let the people govern themselves.”
During this time, I made one of my most embarrassing mistakes. My mind was so caught up on what it would be like to see Jesus, and I involved myself in talking about Jesus so much with my landlady, that one time when we were in church, there was a man sitting there. This man was very composed. I wondered what if he was Jesus! I know now, looking back, that that is a very big sign of mental instability. Later when I heard him give a talk in church, I knew for certain it wasn’t Jesus, and I felt bad for ever having entertained the notion. Unfortunately, I had disclosed my thought that I had seen someone like Jesus at church, making the point that, if Jesus showed up at church, how would we recognize him? I sent the email to my family, and that sent off red flags to them.
In discussing the issue with my landlady, she told me maybe I had had those thoughts because this particular man had a very strong testimony of Jesus. And the fact of the matter is; he did. He had come out of drug addiction and other things. He had an amazing testimony. But to have thought he actually might have been Jesus! That was too embarrassing!
I was able to recognize my mistake. Unfortunately, my parents did not agree. After reading my email my dad emailed my grandma and told her that his wife had acted the same way before she had a psychotic breakdown back in the day. (I was two years old when my mom went to the mental hospital for believing she was hearing loud noises at night when there were no loud noises). In fact growing up, my dad would say my mom had to stay on medication because if she didn’t she would open the door and think a sales associate were an angel or something and let him in the house.
In 2013 when I was 24 years old, my grandma invited my family to dinner and told everyone that I was mentally ill and needed to be on medication. I felt humiliated that she would address me like that in front of my husband, my children, and my parents and siblings. I later called her and she admitted to me that my dad had told her that I had been acting “crazy” but when it came to specific examples of what I did that was “crazy” she had none.
After that incident, our family decided to move out of state to get away from my family. I didn’t really feel like I wanted to be friends with people who believed they had the right to determine whether or not I needed medication. I felt unfairly judged by them.
I remember when I went to BYU-Idaho I took a religion class, and one of the days the teacher said he felt a prompting to talk about abuse. I was surprised because I had the strange idea to research “abuse” right before the class. One of the students raised their hand and said “abuse is like being under someone’s thumb” and he made the motion of squishing his thumb down on his finger hard. That description put it just about right when it came to how I felt my parents were treating me during that incident. But it wasn’t the only incident where I felt heavily controlled in the environment in which I grew up.
To say that my mother was controlling growing up is to put it lightly. She had episodes of being quite rigid. Our family often couldn’t decide on one destination when we were going somewhere; due to my mother deciding plans had to go differently than originally planned. It was difficult for all of us. One time we had decided to go camping for one night, something that rarely happened. Once we made it to the camp ground, we had to pack up and go back home because my mother decided that is what we had to do. Other times the family would be on the way to Lagoon or a restaurant, only to turn around and go back home because a course of action could not be decided and followed on. Many times fun things would be promised to us growing up, like getting to sleep outside or go for a camp night out; only for us to be told “no” in the end. We did eat-out a lot though, which I was always grateful for that. It made up for all the other nights when there was just nothing to eat. The pantry was full of dried beans, flour, and left over bits and pieces of packaged items. My favorite thing to do was to make macaroni and cheese and no-bake cookies. We never had cocoa in the house, but we did have hot chocolate in the food storage, so we made no-bake cookies with that instead. Other than that, we just didn’t eat dinner at our house. When I was older, I would make a quesadilla for myself when I got home from school, and wait until the next time my parents ate out for a real meal. We at least got good meals during school. And we did learn how to cook and bake with flour, which was usually in the house.
I remember one time a neighbor brought home some spaghetti pie for our family. I had been making breadsticks with flour. When she got to our home she could smell the bread and remarked ‘looks like you already have been cooking!’ Perhaps she went home not realizing how appreciated that spaghetti pie was.
When I was 26 years old, I gave birth to my third child. I had now given birth once with an epidural and twice naturally. I think there is something about giving birth that gets you in touch with your body. When it’s time to push, the baby’s head hits the vagus nerve. They say the vagus nerve is a major trauma reflex. After my daughter was born, I had my first full blown flashback. I was abused sexually by an older teenage boy when our family stayed over at a relative’s house. I called this relative’s father and had a long talk with him. He told me his son would never do anything like that. I later learned that this relative had another son that had passed away. I believe this son that had passed away visited me in a dream and said “I never meant to hurt you.” I am glad I followed the relative’s advice to do nothing, because had I said something at that time, I would have been wrong. I didn’t know this relative had an older son. And the age I would have been when this incident occurred was too young for me to know the difference.
After this flashback came up, I started to feel dizzy. But then, it’s like I felt parts of my brain click into place. After the dizzy episode, I felt much better. I felt more put together and more grounded. I wondered if when my mom had her psychotic breakdown, if she also had been reliving a flashback of abuse. But no one else seemed to think much of my breakthrough. One time I spoke to a friend who told me she was a child when some planes would practice sonic booms over her house. Apparently the noise was so loud it completely traumatized her. She said it was illegal for them to practice that now. I wondered if my mom had had a flashback of a sonic boom in her sleep, and that’s why she had to go to the mental hospital. That would explain her reliving hearing loud sounds. She also seemed to relay to me later after I was an adult that she thought she was Jesus and her hands were tied on a cross. To me, that sounded like she was having a flashback of being through a satanic ritual.
I don’t remember how many months later it was; if it was six months or a year; but I had another memory come up in a full blown flashback. By that I mean, I re-lived the abuse as if it were happening in real time, hearing the sounds and feeling the body sensations. I experienced waking up at night with pressure on my hands and someone ramming me in-between my legs. I was waking up and someone shoved an injection needle into my back to make me pass out. After that, having flashbacks of being drugged by injection or taser were somewhat common.
The majority of my flashbacks from here on out were small episodes of spinning, say thirty seconds here or thirty seconds there. Most of the spinning was painful, scary, and intense. It was enough to make me blank out when it happened to me as a kid; thus the re-living it later as an adult. Even as an adult in a flashback it was painful.
I seemed to have one visual memory of a building. My cognitive mind can make sense of it the best I can, in believing that I was being taken to a programming center during summer school break. This building seemed to have a movie theater along with some indoor rides that would spin you around. They also seemed to have some virtual reality programming devices. For example, you could project yourself into some sort of military training exercise. I have no idea how that works in real life, but that is what seemed to be going on from what I gather of having pieces of visual memory come up.
I seem to have a visual flashback of being able to type coding into a DOS computer, and another of playing a video game where my shooting is near perfect. I don’t know how to do coding in real life, nor can I play video games very well. One of the visual flashbacks I am on the phone, and being told to insert my photo into a computer disk drive. I am telling the person on the phone no, but the person on the phone is telling me I have to do it, saying so with a tone of cruel pleasure about it. I saw a scene in the movie “The Stupids” where a photo is inserted into a disk drive. I saw this movie with my husband after I retrieved this flashback. That movie scene was exactly like my flashback.
Another piece my cognitive mind seems to have put together, is that I was sent to a black-wooded home somewhere on a plain (maybe in Idaho?) for several weeks or so to be programmed. I believe my programmer was Dr. Cameron, because even though wikipedia says he died long ago; he was the person in my memories; if I were to compare my memory with his photos. He seemed to have a cane in his old age and walked bent over. He had white sideburns on the sides of his head and was bald on the top. I have a memory of being an adult and he raped me so bad in a hotel room that I left the hotel room and told another guy “he brutally raped me!”, who in turn just laughed. He would stick needles in my stomach and suffocate me during it. It was so painful I chose not to fight it. But when I was a child, he was more spry. One time I tried to hide in the closet with a blanket over my head. He found me and said “gotcha!” And he put me over his arm like I was a dog or something. I wonder if this visual memory of the black-wood house was where some of the mind control programming took place. During this time, I had a memory of being in a house full of cats wearing diapers, and I was to change the cat’s diapers. I also was required to crawl on all fours, and not speak. One time I accidentally spoke. The man laughed at me for breaking the rule and put me in the washing machine on spin cycle. After it spun me around fast enough to make me blank out, the water ran on my face, as I was in the washing machine upside down. I could hear some other children laughing at me.
I have another flashback of a woman putting me in the washing machine on spin. Perhaps this was done to me regularly. At this time, the other people went to go eat lunch at McDonalds. I got out of the washing machine, and was kneeling inside the laundry room closet, hearing them go out to eat. I knelt down and felt so sorry for myself that I couldn’t eat lunch, because I was so hungry.
One flashback I have a visual of a man telling me to act ‘proud like a cat’ so I tried to change my posture to be like a proud cat.
Another flashback I have is an audio memory of a woman telling me to imagine a fish tank. There are three goldfish that have enthusiastic personalities. Then the male fish suck on the teets of the goldfish. Then there are the sad fish. I responded to her in this memory “let me guess, you want me to become the fish tank.” She says “yes”. I then have a sensation where I feel like I leave my body, as if I were a cloud. It occurs to me that I may have been electroshocked so as to separate into fish personalities.
This same woman was in another memory where I was reporting to her I had just created “22 personalities, and one of them was the underdog.” I remember in my elementary school class one of my school teachers in one of the younger grades explaining to me what an underdog was. I think that after hearing about what an underdog was, I decided to make a personality to match it during my next programming episode.
One of my flashbacks was that I was approaching a house at night with a gun. I won’t say what I did with the gun, but I will say that I hid in the bush while the police came and took someone away. I don’t know if this memory was real or not. I hope it wasn’t.
Another flashback there was a sliding glass door, and some animals on the other side. I don’t know what was going on, but I blanked it out.
My flashbacks sometimes have a person’s head blanked out so I cannot see the face clearly. I have a flashback where to the best of my ability it sounded like a father figure was talking in one ear and a mother figure was talking in the other. I was reporting to them “A1 Wendy”. I think they were having me name my personalities that were designed in a grid like format.
I have a flashback of being in a cage and there were cats outside of the cage. I thought it was a father figure in this memory. In this memory, the cats got to eat nice food. But I had to eat dog food. I said to myself “I must not be very important if they [the cats] get to eat good food and I have to eat this food.” And it seemed it was the father figure who laughed heartily at this.
I had a flashback of giving oral sex in a licking manner. This memory was very short.
I had a memory where I felt a lot of “G-forces” pushing down on me. It almost felt like I was in a rocket. My cognitive mind does not understand how this could have happened.
Perhaps I was in some sort of simulator? In this flashback, I injured my thumb. When the G-forces were pushing down on me, they pushed my thumb against something that ended up cutting into my thumb. In this flashback, after re-living the G- forces and the pressure on my thumb, I could hear myself speaking to someone over a radio com. I said “I need a bandaid” and the response was “this is an important mission!” as if the bandaid was not important. I said “Do you have telepathy?” He paused for a moment, as if he were paying attention to my wound telepathically. Then he said “There should be a first-aid kit in the front there.”
I have some visual memories of an island. I believe there was a long rectangular swimming pool there, and a helipad on the side. It seems there was a type of programming done there called ‘mermaid’ programming. It also seemed there was a restaurant there that had leather menus and cement walls. There was a booth sitting outside of the main restaurant in the hallway. There was also a bedroom in a corner of the building. I remember there was a bible on the small round table at the foot of the bed. For some reason I believe that there was cannibalism at this restaurant.
I had a flashback of a mother figure opening an oven door. Two baked babies are inside.
I had a flashback of being on the toilet feeling all kind of pressure on my bottom. I reach down and pull out a baby. Then I am walking around holding the baby in my hands with the cord stuck in my bottom, not knowing what to do.
I seem to have some visual flashbacks of being in the back of a helicopter, or even going to airports, but they are hard to understand. I had a flashback of being outside and there was a truck driving two beds of logs. The truck driver stopped and gave me a water bottle. When I opened the water bottle, there was a piece of paper with a few letter codes on it. When the paper hit the air, it disintegrated. Three men saw me looking at the paper and shouted “informant” and then they jumped on me. In another flashback, I seemed to be in a doctor’s office and there were people in the background speaking Russian. For some reason, I wonder if this had anything to do with Romania.
It was years later where I had the second half of this memory return. In the second half of this memory, one of them men with a Russian accent asks me in English, with great emotion; “Why are you hurting my country?” I didn’t have an answer. At one point they were asking me where I was from, and I seemed to know that I would be punished for telling the truth. I said I was from Australia. One of the men said “this is going to suck” and they gave me one electric shock. (I re-lived the experience of being shocked). In the flash-back, I felt like the man felt horrible for doing this to a child. I assume I was around 11 years old, but I don’t know for sure.
For some reason I believe the Russians softened their hearts toward me, and maybe even started trying to help me. It must have become evident I had no clue what I was doing or being used for; but that I was a mind-controlled dummy. (For this reason, when Putin says he is trying to rescue and de-satanize certain areas, I am apt to believe him. I believe the Russians are not torturing children in their military programs the way Americans do or have done. My feeling is that the Russians are trying to help save children who are being tortured, and they don’t have any desire to participate in the horrible abuse our country has been willing to participate in, for the purpose of “getting ahead.”)
One flashback was of a long table and men in brown robes. For some reason I believed this was the Knights Templar. It seemed like they had a special sword with two cross blades on the handle, to make a double cross.
In one flashback someone used a sharp blade or sword and very softly made a double cross mark on each of my butt cheeks.
One flashback I was in a room all by myself and three men came in. One of the men said, “I just need you to open your legs a bit” and then stuck his penis on my clitoris. When he did that I could feel my body open up and he raped me.
One flashback I was talking with a man. It seemed like he was in my bedroom. We were talking about the Romulans. Then he confessed to me, “I wish I wasn’t a pedo,... but I still am.” Then he raped me. He also told me “You know your parents have a trap door in the basement”.
I don’t know if this was true or not, or had anything to do with my house growing up. I grew up in two houses, the first one we lived in until I was six, and I have very little memories of that.
One flashback was a doctor showing me a crystal. He told me that having lots of sex would make me pure like a crystal.
One flashback, one of the first flashbacks I had, was of me being maybe two years old on a table. At least I think that is how old I was. I was surrounded by men in white coats. They said “You will never have a maternal influence again.”
One flashback was being in the back of a white car and being driven in a forest-like area, possibly in the mountains. Then another flashback I seemed to be in a boxcar rolling down a train track in a cave. Yet another flashback I was in a facility on a tram and someone said “Let her think it is a dream, but it is really a fully operational torture chamber!”
One flashback I seemed to have all the body sensations of giving birth. I seemed to relive a baby being born and stabbed to death on the spot. In this flashback, I had left my body and seen my son in the spirit world. When I saw him, I said, “How many times has this happened?” He said “Five” and I said “You will get to come back.”
I have several flashbacks of my hand being coerced to do something that must have been unbearable for me to remember. I often felt someone’s hand on top of mine, and I believe I had rolled the eyes to the back of my head.
I believe there was something to do with being forced to watch certain movies and there being sort of brainwashing. There is a script in a book I read where they brainwash young girls to be horses. This script is found in the book “Deeper Insights into the Illuminati” by Fritz Springmeier.
I had a flashback of being in a building where witches wore masks and pioneer dresses, I think. And there was a doctor who had killed a baby.
It seems I had a flashback of being in a warehouse and there were loud buzzsaw noises. I believe I was forced to do something bad because if I didn’t I was scared to death of what would happen to me. I also had a flashback of someone taking lots of pictures of me.
When I was little, I used to have visuals when I would go to bed of being in a warehouse and being in some sort of cage or something, and there were these scary cameras there that would move on long necks. I also had visuals of puppets and drum sets.
I had one flashback of being on a chair that seemed to be flying around a room where there was a theater stage. I am not sure if these was some sort of demonic levitation or what, but that is what it felt like it was.
I had a flashback of watching a puppet show and the music lyrics said, “Little Miss Muffet, went to the sluthouse.” It showed the puppet slamming a door or a stage house.
Another flashback was watching a girl wearing a puppet costume she couldn’t see out of. She was sliced in half with a sword. The idea was that then I had to put on a puppet costume and maybe the same thing would happen to me.
Another flashback was of a cafeteria with a couple rows of ovens. I seemed to be put in the oven in between prostitution sessions. The idea seemed to be that if you were not a good prostitute, your oven would get turned on and you would be baked. In the flashback, one of the ovens was turned on and the girl was baked. She seemed to be junior high school age. She seemed to have been served on a platter to a group of people sitting at a long rectangular table, like the plastic ones they often have in cafeterias. She was served still wearing her jeans and shirt that did not look charred; so I am not sure if she really was dead or not.
Another flashback I am sitting in a semi-circle with other girls sitting in chairs. We are probably around 8 years old. Each girl has to take the gun and shoot herself in the head. There is this knowing that one of the times there will be a real bullet in it and someone was surely going to die. But I didn’t see if anyone actually died.
I had one flashback of having frozen water bottles tied to me when I am wearing a swimming suit outside to keep me overly cold.
As my memories came up, I referred to Gary A Flint’s Process-Healing method; Karol Truman’s book “Feelings Buried Alive Never Die”; Traditional therapy; Fritz Springmeier’s book “Deeper Insights into the Illuminati”; and Sharon Reece’s book “Healing Broken Wings.” All of these resources gave me strength and understanding while I went through this difficult process. I also relied on priesthood blessings from my husband, sometimes daily. I remember one of the first blessings I got, my husband blessed me to go on a journey to become single minded.
I also used a form of EMDR eye-movement-desensitization-reprocessing by looking in the mirror and moving my eyes from focusing on one eye to the other eye. When I did this, I sometimes could see that my eyes would be different looking than normal. After a flashback, I would often see that I had a new personality and it caused my eyes to have a different appearance. I also felt lots of clicking in my head.
Some of my flashbacks included feeling electroshock. It seems one flashback I was hooked up to electrodes on my vagina, fingernails, and toenails. When the electroshock got so bad my heart had too much pressure on it. I also had one of my arms behind my back pushed up so it was like my shoulder was dislocated as part of the electroshock. I believe when this happened I had a heart attack, but I am not certain. I had another flashback where I felt the defibrillator on my chest give me three electric shocks.
I had a flashback where I was in a doctor’s office and the doctor gave me a drug that made me spin out of my body. I spun out of body and floated to where he was at the counter. He said that he wished he could have taken the drug. But I didn’t agree, because when he gave me the drug I felt pain like I was being jerked out of my body.
I had a flashback where I was on a table and the Mormon “General Conference’” was playing in the background. A mother figure listed off a list of several hard to name drugs I think she had administered to me before the father figure began doing his thing.
I had a flashback where a father figure had a skeleton and a mother figure seemed to be in a trance on some sort of drug.
I had a flashback where it seemed a parental figure had put drugs in my food.
One of my flashbacks is being put under the water with my face pointing up. It seems I had other flashbacks of feeling as if my mouth was taped shut. Several body memories surfaced that seemed to make me feel like I was raped orally, vaginally, and anally.
I seem to have one visual memory of a cross or post on some sort of cement block where the post itself could spin. There seemed to be rats at the bottom of the device.
I had a dream where I was explaining to myself someone had raped me that was dressed up as Mickey Mouse.
I seem to have a visual memory of a church-like hall where there is a live organ in the center of the room, and benches in the rest of the room. I had a flashback of being on a table and a comb put through my hair. Someone is speaking through a microphone to a congregation. He is speaking to the congregation about missionary work and the Holy Ghost. I seemed to have a visual of yellow wood cabinets that are pulled out from the wall, and behind it is a hole large enough for humans to comfortably walk through.
I seem to have a flashback where a mother figure is demonstrating how she should obey her husband in all things, even if it means participating in the act of killing.
I had a flashback where a mother figure is telling me “you must do this...you have no choice.”
I had a flashback which was mostly the body memory of where a pipe was put down my chest and then my stomach filled to exploding with water or some other substance.
I had a flashback of feeling a baby move inside my womb. For some reason, I believe that I was at BYU-Provo when this occurred.
As I have gone through this process, I have realized that the brain likes to fill in details and put in cover stories of what really happened. When I have a flashback and relive the body memories, I believe I am getting a more accurate memory. But putting together the entire puzzle of the situation is one that I can only speculate about.
I am fascinated by the latest breakthroughs to support mental health, such as those being made by the Peak States Institute and Renova Worldwide.
I believe that healing has allowed me to be more grounded as an individual. My research into trauma has allowed me to have compassion for myself and for others who have suffered from ritual trauma. I hope to do all I can to support others on the journey of healing. This is why I have the website SRAstories.com
A lot of people in the 90s had a satanic ritual abuse scare. My concern is that another generation of people have been abused because trauma is at the base of these types of situations. Had it been properly treated in the 90s, perhaps my generation would not be dealing with it now. As it is, I am hopeful that this generation has access to new tools and modalities to make healing easier. I believe that every effort should be made to prevent false accusations. I believe that truth has the ability to awaken minds and to provide a way to move humanity forward. I want my story to be used in a way that moves humanity forward. Part of moving forward is to better understand the nature of trauma and the root causes of mental illness. It means overcoming fear such that healing can take place.
I have had many negative emotions surface in my healing journey; and when they do; I choose to process them by making a vocal determination that they and their roots be healed with unconditional love and complete forgiveness. Choosing unconditional love and complete forgiveness to heal emotions from the past has always succeeded for me. I am hopeful that humanity is on the cusp of uncovering the root causes of evil such that those with evil designs and hearts are not able to outsmart those who are good.
Dialogue must take place as part of the search for finding solutions to evil crises. For example, the Peak States institute has uncovered about 14 different roots underlying evil behavior. Understanding and resolving root causes can solve many of the issues that humanity struggles with today in terms of dealing with evil in society.
Until the whole truth can be uncovered; humanity must tolerate dialogue and not jump to conclusions without proper investigation. Perhaps solutions to these paradigm disagreements cannot be had without humanity making leaps forward in understanding mental health. Therefore, for this information to come out; it is done so with the agreement that such dialogue will be used to further the freedom of humanity and not to cause further enslavement. Making false judgments and accusations shuts down dialogue and makes it more difficult to overcome paradigm conflicts. Throwing accusations and hate toward others when there is no founded evidence is not only criminal, but stalls attention from focusing on finding solutions.
When my memories first started coming out, I felt like I finally had answers. I finally understood why all my life I felt like I wasn’t normal. I wanted everyone to believe me, and I tried very hard to get people to listen to me and understand. Through the years, I learned that this is an unreasonable expectation. It is not possible for everyone to believe me, and I have come to accept that. It it still empowering for me to tell my story, because I know the many other survivors of satanic ritual abuse will understand. I believe that for now, finding proof or finding acceptance is not what is relevant. Finding healing is what is relevant. I believe when it is time, and when humanity believes it is safe; the truth will be revealed, along with evidence and proof needed to put these questions to rest.
Even if these stories are true; humanity still has the potential to overcome evil. Perhaps the origins of evil began with a single tormentous; forbidden thought. Maybe in a moment of spontaneous creativity, some human ancestor wondered what it would be like to hate God, the Creator of all things. Such a thought would indeed be harmful, and quite forbidden. And yet, it would be a thought that would need answers. A thought that could spawn whole dimensions and realities of darkness. A thought that would need to be laid to rest once and for all.
When I was a little girl, I used to ask myself “What if all there was was nothing”. I contemplated what it would be like, if all there was was just blackness. It seemed to be a riddle that needed solving.
I think the answer to that riddle is to have gratitude for what is. Gratitude for life, for creation, for new life, and for love. The nature of human creativity, is that if it is left alone for long enough, a human being will learn to create something. Humans are never alone because of their creativity. Even in a dark room, the mind will want to create something beautiful.
In times of sorrow, I have played a mental game. I have wondered, if I were to go dig a hole in the backyard, and sit in it, in complete darkness...how long would I stay there before wanting to come out? With all the offenses that have come to me; is life still worth living? Or would life be better living in the hole? Usually, after attempting to stay in the hole for a few minutes, I feel the need to step back into the light. To re-engage with the world. No matter what creativity has been destroyed in the past; joy can be restored in re-engaging in creativity now.
I am impressed with human nature, in that it tends to create at all costs. Even with nothing, a human being will want to build something. Be it a thought, a word, a mound of mud, a bed of weeds, a pile of sticks, a collection of rocks, a structure of poles, a roof of thatch, a building of logs, a fireplace of cement, a home and hearth, a road and a yard, a community and store, a giant building, an air balloon, a boat, an airplane, and on and on and on. It is human nature to create. It is human nature to become. Sometimes in this urge to become; things are built that are not so helpful. Things are associated that bring pain and suffering, death and illness. But we don’t have to live in a hole forever after such losses; the best thing to do is to learn from the mistake and keep moving forward engaging with creation. The most important thing one can do in response to suffering, is to build anew with the information on how to avert future crises: A fence along the cliff, A seatbelt in the car, engagement of proper rehabilitation protocols so that mental suffering can be done away with forever.
The best way forward is to complete our understanding of human weakness and learn how to resolve it so that the children of tomorrow are guaranteed to be born on a planet that provides freedom to them; both physically and mentally.