För den som letar lite på nätet är det inte så svårt att hitta vildsinta angrepp på mig. De kan ta sig olika former, och för det mesta är det en förvirrande blandning av lögner, halvsanningar och en och annan sanning.
En sak som definitivt är sant ä'r att jag sedan 1993 har haft åsikten att det som kallas "rituella övergrepp" inte kan reduceras ner till en folksägen, inte till en uppsjö av falska minnen, inte till en "hysteri ".
Men faktum är att jag en gång hade liknande åsikter. Dvs jag trodde inte det handlade om terapeutiska suggestioner, utan snarare om förvrängda, av en skräckslagen fantasi bearbetade omformningar av minnen av andra övergrepp.
Det som mest av allt startade en process där jag efter ett tag kom fram till att det finns en mycket distinkt otäck verklighet bakom minnen av den typen var nedanstående artikel.
Jag läste den den 10 juni 1993, och det är väl en av de få enskilda artiklar som kan sägas verkligen förändrade en stor del av min världsbild. Den enda parallell jag faktiskt har var en artikel om Vietnamkriget i Ny Dag den 21 december 1964, som startade en process där jag kom att omvärdera mina åsikter inte endast om Vietnam utan även om världspolitik och "kalla kriget". (Och ja, jag VAR nio år 1964.) .
På samma sätt startade den artikel i "Body Memories"som jag läste 1993 en process, och en intensiv läsning. som efter ett tag kom mig att se frågor om övergrepp och trauman på ett helt nytt sätt.
Den 17 juni 1997 fick jag förresten kontakt med artikelns författare.. Internet har sina fördelar.
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On ritual abuse
/Från Body Memories 5/6 1993. Inlagd med författarens tillstånd./
I was born into a satanic family whose practices trace back to Europe. By day my family was proper, even dull, with minor little human flaws. By night they were satanists, and like all committed parents, they raised their children to adhere to their practices. For me as a child, this meant physical and emotional sadism, lots and lots of group sex and animal sacrifices, some human sacrifices and cannibalism, and acting in pornographic films. As an adult, after I had broken free, it meant endless years of depression and fear, accomplishment sucked dry of every bit of pleasure, a dread of life, and a frustrated desire to disclose what had happened and find some peace.
Did it really happen? Well, how do you teach a preschooler to have S/M fantasies? Where did that preschooler, who had no television or conventional religious training, learn about the devil, being buried alive in coffins, bearing the devil´s baby? What do you have to do to a child to make it believe, in 1945, that people are selfish, power-hungry, and sadistic, and that the only protection in life is to offer yourself to satan so that you can be the predator, not the prey? If it wasn´t satanic abuse, what did they do to me, that I organized my life around this fantasy? Must have been pretty awful.
I was taught, threatened, coerced into keeping my abuse secret. The time I slipped and revealed something, people outside the cult usually didn´t notice. When they did, all they saw was that I was odd, different from other children, difficult. In 1945, children´s problems where assumed to arise from within, from innate flaws or badness. The expression of children´s pain required suppression and correction rather than serious attention. Is it much difference today?
My life has been blessed as an adult because I managed to escape, and no longer had to be tortured or torture others. I raised my children non-abusively, and that is a miracle. And today I am blessed because I can speak out about my experience, and I can share my life with others who had lived through the same atrocities. I suffer the same old despair, but it feels a little less alone to be accepted, believed comforted and even (dare I say it) cherished by a few people.
And yet, socially, ritual abuse survivors are as alone as we have ever been. We are keenly aware of the powerful voices trying to still us with accusations of being narcissistic hysterics jumping on the abuse bandwagon. We hear threats of lawsuits, but do not even have the credibility to be arrested for crimes we were forced to participate in. We feel our aloneness most when we disclose and are met by disbelief, total silence, or comments about the weather.
All who lived through ritual abuse are deeply impaired. Who wouldn’t be scarred by just one incident of the type we suffered day after day? Many survivors can´t keep a job or a relationship. Many of us are chronically suicidal and self-mutilate or cover our pain with amnesia, drugs, or alcohol. We routinely get scapegoated for our symptoms. Most of us don´t have the resources to get assistance from society, and we settle for patronizing crumbs.
There are some brave and competent people without cult experience who try to understand and help us, but they are few and far between. So we reach within for understanding and solace, and we band together, as best we can, to create for ourselves what society withholds from us. Our deep and precarious friendships clothe our suffering in moments of beauty.
I have never been believed by society, and I do not expect to be. For if we were to be taken seriously, we would expose that the very foundation of culture, throughout human history and in every country, is abuse, aggression, power hunger and sadism. If you believe in the existence of hidden ritual abuse, you will start to be able to identify open ritual abuse in every institution and family you come in contact with.
For ritual abuse is simply systematic physical, emotional, sexual and/or spiritual abuse in the name of a defined ideology. It is abuse rationalized as ´for your own good´ or for the good of society. Under this definition, the vast majority of ritual abuse is out in the open and sanctioned by many people. A child who is told he is going to hell for lying, a teenager who beats up people of different races, ethnic cleansing, and the list goes on and on. The difference between my experience and everyday life is only one of degree and secrecy.
If I were to be believed, people would not be able to live with themselves and continue to tolerate such horrors. They would have to change themselves and society. My life has taught me not to dare expect so much from people.
Jeannie Riseman
