I sat in the back of the car as the social worker drove me away from the school. All I was told is that I was no longer allowed to live with my parents. I was now in the custody of the state. I wanted to cry but I managed to hold back my tears. I did not want anyone to see how confused, angry and afraid I was. I would show everyone that my parents raised me to be a good, proud and brave girl. The whole idea that social services wanted to remove me from my parents was so daft. I doubt that there was any child in the country that was treated as well as I was. The social worker drove through the countryside. She did not look nice. She looked so stern and it was obvious that I was just another statistic for her of a child being removed from her family.
The child's home was a huge old building. It looked so old and cold. The social worker told me to follow her. I felt like running away, but where would I run to? We were in the middle of nowhere. The halls of the place had high ceilings and wooden floors and panels. You could hear echoes as we walked. I had an image in my head that I would be forced to polish the floors on my hands and knees. The Child's home was also Catholic and run by nuns. This seemed to be an insult. They knew that I wanted nothing to do with God and yet they wanted me to live in a Catholic institution!
The Social worker took me to the Abbeses office. She was an old woman that had a lot of wrinkles. I stood there as if I was invisible while they signed some papers. The Social worker finally left. I was now in the hands of some old nuns. The Abbess looked at me and said, “Welcome to Saint Catherine's. We hope that you will be happy here. I know that being removed from your family must give you conflicting emotions. It must be hard coming to a place where you do not know everyone. We will do our best to make you feel safe and happy here. You just have to follow the rules. This means attending mass every day, attending classes, doing your chores and being nice to others.”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9KaCrmEtoS
“When can I go home?”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYxTpnIVlUF
“The courts will decide if you can go home. Social Services are afraid that your parents are doing bad things because of their religion. The courts will decide if it is safe enough for you to go home.”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyRBvivuYT3
“My parents never did anything wrong!”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhUlmiZo3P4
“The courts will decide. Now get settled in and remember the few rules that we have.”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE2Z0tt0hLd
“I will not go to Mass!”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ97a2jcYa1D
“When you are here at Saint Catherine's, you are not a Satanist! I do not want to see you talking or promoting him and his evil ways. I do not want to see you worshipping him or praying to him. Only God is allowed here!”
I left the abbess as a young nun showed me my bed. I do not know if they heard me saying “Ave Satanas” under my breath. The nun seemed nice. Her name was Sister Mary. She talked about all the things they did at the child's home. Some children here had very bad experiences, and some were orphans. She thought aloud by saying that she thought it was sad that some children did not have the love and comfort from loving parents. I wanted to shout that I did but decided to keep quiet. She showed me my room and told me that she would let me be alone to get settled in. She suggested that I try and mingle with the other children and make new friends. I was also welcome to speak with Sister Mary anytime I needed someone to speak with.
There were two beds in the bedroom. I hoped whoever I slept with did not snore. There was also a cross above our beds. Otherwise, the room looked very bare. I could see that there was a teddy bear on the other bed. On the wall, there was a picture of Jesus smiling as he was speaking with some children. Cute... but where was Jesus when the social worker forced me to come to a place like this where I should not be? I just sat on my bed. I did not want to mingle with the other children. It was obvious that no child wanted to be friends with me. They thought I was evil and even could be a demon. I remembered how happy I was when Ethan wanted to be my friend. Now he hated me. That hurt so much!
A girl my age finally came in the room She introduced herself and told me her name was Kate. She would be sharing a room with me. She wasted no time in telling me that she was excited about sharing a room with a Satanist. She asked me 50 questions at once. Did I have horns? Did I have fangs? Did I want to murder her? Was I hear because my parents abused me? Kate admitted that everyone at the home was talking about me. They knew that I was Satanist and they said I was here because my parents abused me and I was treated badly in sacrificial rituals. This upset me a bit. I told her that I was like any normal girl and had the best parents in the world. Kate smiled as she shrugged her shoulders. She asked me if I wanted to be her friend. I did not answer. There was no way that I would go through the same hurt that I felt when Ethan said we were no longer friends.
The next day I did not go to mass. I knew that it was not the best start to being at St. Catherine's. This did not bother me. I was not going to let the place change me. This would make me feel like a traitor to my family and myself, I did go to class though. The other students just gawked at me as if I was a criminal or someone like that. Kate sat down next to me and was the only one that was nice. I admit that I was not so nice to her.
Kate wanted me to hang out after class. However, Sister Mary wanted to speak with me. She noticed that I was not at mass. I was about to go into self-defence mode and shout back at her. This did not happen as she told me that she does not believe that anyone should be forced to pray and go to mass. It was something that each person wanted to do. There was silence for a while and then she said that she was doing her best to respect that I followed Satan. Sister Mary did ask me if I would be a Satanist if my parents were not. Then she told me that she had a present for me. She gave me a Bible and told me that it was now mine. I wanted to throw the Bible at her, but she told me that I was raised in the Satanic Church and lived in a Christian society. At some stage, I will need to decide for myself what I believe in. It cannot be my parents, friends or teachers that decide. It had to be me. The only way to do this was to know what both sides believed in and in that way, I could decide what I believed in.
“Why can't I go home?” I asked her, “My parents are the best parents. They never harmed me or hurt me. Why can people not see this?”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAGkp3chnn0
“There will be a court hearing soon. The court has to see if your parents and their faith are harming you in any way. Satanists are known for doing the worse things possible. The court and indeed everyone just wants to make sure that you are safe.”169Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBq4BB2kABp
“This is religious persecution..”
I went back to my bedroom. I threw the Bible on my side table. It was a nice gesture from Sister Mary to give it to me. There was no chance that I would read it. It was just Christian propaganda. They say that It was the word of God. How could this be? It was written by ordinary men that wanted to start a church. It was the most successful propaganda campaign in history. I do not know why Christians did not be more critical of the Bible. From what I noticed, the God in the Old Testament was a mean and vengeful God, while in the New Testament, he was a loving and forgiving God. How could that be the same God? Sister Mary was right, maybe I should not just accept what I have learned. Maybe I needed to find the truth for myself. This was not just me. Everyone had to find the truth.
People did not seem to want to know the truth. If people wanted to respect the truth, then I would never have been removed from my parents. I missed them so much. I felt sorry for them. They were most likely worried about me and wondering how I was coping. I wanted to speak with them and tell them that I loved them and I wanted to go home. I hoped they knew how much I missed them and that none of this was their fault. This was because people did not understand us. It was religious persecution.
Over the next few days, my fears have been confirmed. It was easy to see that my family were being judged and punished. The media was very interested in this story. I had to read story after story about how bad my life was. The media would tell about how I was raised as a Satanist. Our house was full of Satanic symbols. My parents were evil and wanted me to be the mother of Satan's child. The stories would tell how I was taught to hate people and want to convert them to the dark side. This is supposedly why I was sent to a Catholic school. I was brainwashed and abused. None of this was true.
I needed to speak with someone about all this. I went to Sister Mary and told her that the stories in the media were wrong. How could the media write such lies? Once again, I told him that my parents never hurt me or tried to teach me bad things. Sister Mary advised me not to pay attention to the media. I should not read the newspapers or look at the TV when it was about me. This was of course the right thing to do. It was also impossible. Sister Mary told me that I needed to trust the court system.
I continued to hide in my room. I did not want to mingle around with the other children. They most likely have read the same stories about my family as I did. Experience told me that this meant that they would judge me and hate me. I did not want the drama so this meant that the only people I spoke with were Kate or Sister Mary. Well, this is not true. I also spoke with the police that asked me question after question about how my parents treated me. They did not seem to accept my answer that I had a normal family. They thought that I was truly brainwashed.
Being in the child's home was hard. I was confused, depressed, angry and afraid. I know that some of it was my own fault. If I did not isolate myself and missed my parents so much, maybe I would have been happier. One evening, I was walking around the child's home. I found myself walking into the small chapel. I sat at one of the pews and just looked around. Jesus was dying on the cross. There were some statues of saints. There were lots of candles.
Then a thought came into my head... What if I was a Satanist because that is how I was raised and all I knew? What if being a Satanist was wrong?
ns 15.158.61.54da2
