MY SHATTERED LIFE
My
name is Jean (Trotter)
I can’t
say that I ever felt loved as a child. I
don’t ever remember being told by my parents,
“I love you.” I wasn’t hugged or told
that I was pretty. Every day before I
went to school, Mother would say,
“Remember who you are.” In
other words, don’t ever forget that I was a child of professing parents and
please don’t shame us. She didn’t say, “I love you,” or “Have a good day.”
I don’t recall my parents ever
teaching me anything about sex. Somewhere though I picked up the idea that all sex was
bad. My parents never explained to me
anything about sex; much less that before marriage it was a sin; and that after
marriage, it was all right and permitted.
THE ABUSE:
Because
I didn’t feel loved as I was growing up, I was very vulnerable and needy and
craved attention. A brother worker in
his thirties was kind to me, and I just ate up the attention he gave me. I
tried to impress him by playing the piano. I was just banging but it sounded
good to me. He would play the piano and
want me to sing with him. While he was playing, he would
touch me. He would touch me at other
times also. I thought I was finally
loved.
This
brother worker grew up in
While
he was playing Scrabble with our family, he would put his hand up my skirt and
play with my privates under the table. I
don't know why no one ever saw him doing this to me. He even did it when we were at the table
eating. Sometimes he would take his shoe
off and stick his toe up there. Then
after Mother and Daddy would go to bed, he would molest me. He would make me sit in his lap and feel his
penis. He would pull it out through the
slit in his pajamas and put it in my hand and would go “Huhaaaaaaaa.” He had blue PJs with darker blue piping on
them and they were nylon or something like that that was wrinkle free. I don't think he ever kissed me.
Then
he would put his finger in me. His
fingernails were square and long and he would scratch me and it would hurt so
bad. I would beg him to stop, and he
would just laugh with a low huffy, shaky breath. He stunk so bad. Lord have mercy! I had to hold my breath his body odor was so
awful. When Mother would iron his
shirts B.O. would come up in the steam like a bad cloud. Now, I cringe when I smell B.O.
and I hate the soft hands of the men that don't work--they feel like marshmallows. He would tell me not to tell anyone. He would
tell me that he was showing me how to love and be a good wife. He wouldn’t even
help with the dishes. It made me so mad.
Because I didn’t feel loved and
was not hugged at home, I thought this was what love was.
I was proud that I got the attention from someone like him, as the
workers were regarded as "better"
people. I
would do anything he said because that was the way I was raised. We were taught to follow the workers’ example
and to do whatever they told us to do.
We were to always respect and obey them.
If we didn’t, they would shake dust off their feet and leave. They were always to have the best, and we
were to obey them without question.
Daddy
caught the worker molesting me one time, and Daddy called me a dirt flirt and a
street walker. I was crushed. I was just doing what the worker told me to
do, which was what my parents had taught me to do. Why was Daddy calling me ugly names? Today, Daddy says this is just in my mind,
and that he did not say these things. The
worker told my parents that I had a crush on him. I ran to my Grandparent’s side of the house
to keep from getting beaten by Daddy.
Another
time Daddy caught me with the brother worker in my pajamas, and even though we
weren't doing anything, Daddy called me ugly names and slammed the door. It was
always my fault. The worker let these
incidents pass, allowed me to take the blame and continued to molest me. So I was molested for half my young life, and
my Father knew about it and turned his head. If you ask your father for bread,
would he give you a stone? Yes, mine
would and has. If this is not a stone, WHAT IS?
He didn’t rescue or protect me—and instead he blamed and punished me,
the victim. And later, Daddy even asked
me over when this worker was in
We are to look at our fathers as
we look at Christ. However, I have never
felt loved by my Daddy, and I don't feel loved by God. I know I shouldn’t feel that way about God,
but I can't seem to get beyond it. I was raised to fear God,
and not that God loved me unconditionally. I still cannot fathom God
loving someone like me. I cannot feel that. I have been made to
feel so unworthy of his love and care.
Through
therapy, I have come to see that what that worker did to me in my childhood is
the root cause for much of my depression today and for my inability to get back
on my feet emotionally. He basically
ruined my whole life, not just my childhood, but my whole adult life. In essence, he caused my family to abandon
me.
At
some point in time, the worker went to Mother and told her that he had touched
me in an improper way and wanted forgiveness.
Mother had heard Daddy call me the ugly names, so she must have known
what was going on. One time she asked
me, “Has he been touching your privates?”
I said, “Who told you that?” She never said another word. I wish I knew what had prompted my Mother’s
question to me. I was so mad at him
because he had told ME not to ever tell anyone what he did to me; yet HE had
talked to Mother about it.
FAMILY
BACKGROUND:
My
Father worked for Southern Railway as a car man for 30 years. He retired when my Mother became ill with her
second bout of cancer. Most of the time,
he worked the 3-11 p.m. shift, so we didn't see him much when we were in
school.
My
father was brought up in the
The
workers who invited my Mother’s parents, George and MaRina Reese, to come to
gospel meeting were Fred Kinglake and Murray Keene. Granny had a twin sister
named MaRanda and we called her Aunt Randy. Their children were older when my
grandparents professed. Stanley and I called my Mother’s parents “Granddaddy” and “Granny,” and they professed right up until they died. Mother had two brothers Paul and Gene, who both
lived in
I have
no idea where my parents met, but it may have been while Daddy was in the
service. Daddy must have professed before he left home, because he came to
Mother’s
parents sold their farm in
It
never seemed quite fair really, and I never knew why, but it fell our lot to
take care of Granny and Granddaddy.
Because of this arrangement, I felt I never really had a mother. I never got to go shopping and to do other
things with her, because Stanley and I always had to stay home with Granny and
Granddaddy, even when Daddy and Mother left the house just to buy
groceries. I never had much time with my
Mother because Granny and Granddaddy required so much of her time and attention. Granny had to be bathed and cleaned.
Granny
lost her mind suffered from dementia. Once she sat down on the plastic trash
can because she thought it was the commode. She was fat and Stanley and I
couldn't get her up--that trash can was like an accordion. One time she fell in the garden and Daddy had
to put her in a wheel barrel to get her back to the house. Granny thought
Granddaddy
was blind and learned to read Braille through a Braille teacher who came to our
home. Granny was jealous of the teacher and sometimes she would try to hit her
with a broom. Neither Granddaddy nor the teacher could see, so we had to watch
Granny real close! Granddaddy had a
record player provided by the Library for the Blind. I would listen to it, even if it was playing
the Bible, just to say I listened to a record player. I would sometimes borrow records and
Granddaddy and I would listen to them and set the volume real low. I sometimes listened to music if no one was
around.
Granddaddy
was kind to Stanley and me. Almost every
week, he would give us peppermint candy and a quarter. He was still alive when
my mother was sick. I would try to do
what I could to help. Granddaddy got to
where he couldn’t sit up so I would sit back to back with him to hold him up
and read the paper to him. He loved the
news and poetry. He memorized a lot of
poetry and would quote it to us. Our
favorite was a poem about a brown eyed maiden that was waiting. We would ask him to tell us that poem over
and over.
CHILDHOOD:
When I
was about 3, we were getting ready to go to Sunday morning meeting and Daddy
was brushing his teeth. He went outside
to spit and I went to watch him. He came
back in and slammed the door in my face.
I ran into the door and busted my head.
I was confused--why didn't Daddy care or see that I was there? I was nothing but trouble. I never felt like
my Daddy really loved me. When I was born and my father was told that I was a
girl, my mother apologized and said that was the best she could do.
I seem
to embarrass my parents often. Once I
took off my dress (stripped) in meeting when my mother was praying in meeting.
I would dance when I heard music in the stores. Daddy said dancing was wrong.
My
Mother always loved animals and I do too.
Animals loved me unconditionally and didn’t judge me. One time, Mother nursed an injured dog and
saved its life. He became my best
friend. Once I had to get rid of a
little dog because he kept killing chickens that belonged to the grouchy man
who lived across the street, and it broke my heart. Another time I found the
sweetest dog and cat in the sewer. They
were sick and the little dog died, but the cat lived a long time--until some
bricks fell on her. Once I was jumping
on the bed when I shouldn’t have been.
My hamster had gotten out of its cage and a bed slat fell and smashed my
hamster. I cried and cried. I believe
that was the day that President Kennedy was killed because we were to have
quiet time for him and I had quiet time for my hamster. We went to convention and
left my little puppy with my Uncle Tom to take care of. The puppy ate rat
poison and died. I was devastated. Daddy said it was only a dog, but it was a
dog that I dearly loved. We also had a Collie named Bessie (after sister worker
Bessie Hawkins).
I was
forever having accidents. When I was about 4, I accidentally let the brakes off
of Daddy’s old A-model and the car rolled into the uprights on the porch of the
chicken house and the porch fell. I felt
so bad and embarrassed. Daddy was so
aggravated at me. Once I stuck a button
up my nose and had to go to the emergency room to get it taken out. Daddy was really put out with me that time
because it made him miss meeting. The
Dr. tied me up real tight and left me there while he ate lunch; then he removed
the button. Once Daddy was playing ball
with Stanley and me, and I ran into a tree and busted my head open and had to
have stitches. My fault for not looking
up.
One
time the basement was flooded and I was playing in the water. My cousin Steve
threw a rock and busted my big toe. All
my life, I have been ashamed of how my toenail grew back and I thought
everybody noticed it when I went swimming or was barefooted. I would always hide that toe and cover it up
with my other foot. Now I have an artificial nail put on that toe so I can wear
sandals.
Most
of the time it was Daddy who disciplined Stanley and me. Both parents hit us,
but Daddy hit harder than Mother; and if she couldn't do enough damage, she
would let Daddy finish when he got home from work. They used a switch or a doubled up black belt
or the smooth side of a clothes brush on our back and legs. I heard them
discussing that it would hurt worse on our back. It probably wasn’t, but it
seemed like I was whipped about every other day. I would cry and beg for them not to hit
I
don't remember
Some
summers,
They
would get so brown and his little head was so cute. Daddy kept his hair cut real short in the
summer time. I was so glad to see him
come back home. Daddy would call Stanley his "little man."
I
remember occasionally getting to stay with my Grandmother’s sister, Aunt
Nell. She didn't profess and I thought
she was so neat and I felt comfortable with her. I wished I could have lived
with her. Aunt Nell was very aware of the rules set for us: No watching TV, no listening to the
radio. But Aunt Nell didn’t go by her
rules. She would take me out to a restaurant to eat. She would cut the crust
off the bread when she fixed me a sandwich.
(That was a sin at our house because it was wasteful.) She had the little cokes in a bottle--they
always tasted better. I got to watch her
TV. My cousin lived in the apartment
across the hall from her, and I got to listen to his Elvis Presley records and
watch his TV. Aunt Nell would let me put
on her jewelry and lipstick. I knew this
was wrong and that it was a sin, but I dearly loved doing it. We were not supposed to visit in the homes of
unbelievers. This was such a treat for me to get to go stay with Aunt Nell. When you are told not to do something, you
just want to do it that much worse.
Mother
had no end of rules. No sleeveless
blouses, no metal watchbands, no carnivals, no
When I
was a child I would sleep on the floor and let my dolls and stuffed animals
have my bed so they could keep warm.
They almost seemed real to me. When mother put one of my tore up dolls
on a stack of quilts in my closet, I got her out and covered her up because it
worried me that she was cold.
I was
good at art, and I helped make a Santa Claus with chicken wire and paper mache,
etc. at school. I worked harder than
anyone on it and was quite proud of it.
Then a reporter with The Atlanta Journal came and chose Missy Smith and
Tommy Warren to be in the picture beside the Santa Claus--and they hadn't even
worked on it! Missy and Tommy were rich and nice looking. I was sure the reason that I didn't get to be
in the picture was because of the way I looked.
DORKY!
I
thought I had to be extra special to be noticed. One Sunday I decided to make a record
player. I took a square piece of wood
and hammered a nail in the middle of the wood.
Then I broke a tomato stake and put a little nail in it. I nailed the boards together and cut out the
funnies in a circle and put them on the big nail in the middle. Then I put the stake with the little nail on
the funnies and I just sang and talked like that record player was really
working.
I had
a boy friend in Kindergarten. I used to ride him piggy back because he was
smaller than me. He kissed me one time. He didn’t see how homely I was. There was this big girl named Marlene
Harper. She would ride me piggy back. Everybody said she had both private
parts. I never saw this though. I so much wanted to be worldly like my
friends in school.
In 2nd
grade, I was in love with Benny Robinson, but he had a girl friend named Pat
Mobley. Pat broke her leg and Benny
would push her around in a wheel chair.
I tried to jump off the porch and break my leg also so Benny could push
me around. I would do anything for
attention. I craved to be loved.
An old
bicycle in the creek washed down after a bad storm. It was rusted and a lot of the parts were
missing. Daddy put on new chains, tires
and a new seat. Then a bunch of thugs
came and claimed it was theirs after we had fixed it all up. Daddy made me give it to them, because that’s
the way God wanted us to live. I cried so hard.
Then for my birthday, Granddaddy bought me a new bike! I rode it until the tires were slick. That bike was my horse, my car, my truck, my
motor cycle, any and everything I could imagine. That was one of my best memories.
I
remember getting a new sailor dress that I picked out. It wasn’t homemade and I
loved that dress so much. It even had a
crinoline attached under the skirt. A crinoline made your skirt stand out. The little girls in my class would wear so
many crinolines that their dresses would curl up and you could see all that
beautiful lace when they sat down. The
workers frowned on those worldly crinolines, so Mother wouldn’t let me wear one
because it was a sin. I BEGGED mother
not to cut the crinoline out of my new dress.
I remember going to my closet during the night checking to see if the dress
still had the crinoline. Mother said she would cut it out if I showed it. I
proudly wore it to school the next day and let just a little of the single
crinoline show. I wanted so much to look
like the other popular and rich girls. I was always wanting to be like someone
else and was never happy just being me.
We
went to visit my Uncle Oliver who had a chicken farm, and while we were there,
my brother threw a chicken with a broken neck at me. This chicken was still
alive and its head was flopping around and it scared me so that I jumped a barb
wire fence and tore my Sunday outfit. I
had bad dreams of that chicken for weeks.
Everybody thought it was funny, except Mother and Daddy, because I
shouldn’t be jumping fences and they had spent precious money on that
outfit. It seemed that I never could be
good enough for Daddy; he always found something wrong with what I did. Uncle Oliver had pigs too, and his boys and
Stanley and I rode the pigs. We would twist their tails and they would go under
this piece of tin that was in their pen.
We got in trouble for doing that because it made the pork tough and they
were too good for the market.
We
played all kinds of things when I was a kid.
We hooked a wash tub up to Daddy’s “come
along” and would ride down a rope on it.
This was Christopher Columbus’ ship, and we would discover
Sometimes
Daddy would call me Aunt Deck. (This was Daddy’s sister - Aunt Viola) Aunt Deck was
mental, crippled and lazy. Daddy would
also tell me I was going to be an old maid.
I still have nightmares about being an old maid, and how am I going to
pay the rent? My brother would make fun
of me, which is typical of a sibling, I know, but where it wouldn't hurt most
people--it killed me.
ADOLESCENCE:
When I
turned 12, the brother worker who repeatedly molested me thought it was time
for me to profess; told my parents he thought it might calm me down some. So, shaking, I stood to my feet in his gospel
meeting. I was just doing what I was
told. It was August 8, 1965. I was
baptized on September 18, 1965 in a stupid rain coat. All I felt was cold and
wet. I did not know what it meant, and I was scared of the unknown. I didn't want fish around my feet. I
was afraid I would get tickled.
I knew I had to do it. I was very self
conscious and hated all the people watching me.
I didn’t feel I was good enough to be baptized. I was always in trouble.
I thought the molestation was my fault and I was embarrassed. I felt dirty.
As we were going home afterwards, I talked to Mother and Daddy about being
baptized. I only did it to please the worker, Mother and Daddy. I just wanted them to be proud of me.
However, there was no response from the front seat—no praise, no
explanations. They just acted like it
was expected.
I felt
like it was my responsibility to let everybody know about “the Truth” because I
was one of the Chosen Few that knew about it. But I was constantly “falling short” myself. I remember wanting someone to talk to so
bad. It seemed nobody understood. The verse
“Him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not to him it is sin.” was often
quoted to me.
I
never got anything much out of the meetings. I wanted
somebody to love me so bad. I tried so
hard to be hot stuff. I would try to be
beautiful and look older by stuffing my bra with toilet paper. One time after
meeting was over, Daddy was ready to leave so he sent Mother back inside to get
“her” flirty daughter, because I was
talking to a boy. I was not flirting--I was just looking at his new car. He was as ugly as home made soap. (I was doing better than him!) It embarrassed me no end.
This
worker thought he could sing like an angel.
Anytime two girls would sit down at the piano, he would sit in the
middle of them and put his arms on the back of the stool on the outside of
their hips. His guzzle (Adams Apple) would go up and down and he would throw
that head back and sing. They would sing and flirt, and I would burn inside
with jealousy. I remember one of the
sister workers was sitting on the piano bench with him and when she got up she
had sweated and made a butt mark on our piano stool. It showed the crack and everything. It was a big ole mark too. He must have got her hot.
The worker wanted me to come to convention preparations on Labor Day so I lied
to Daddy and said I was out of school; that only the band had to go to school
that day and that was why the bus came by.
My friend told on me and I was beaten so bad when I got home. I remember hearing Mother tell Daddy to slow
down. He had a clothes brush and a belt
buckle hitting me. When I got home late, Daddy grabbed me out of the car and
slung me and hit me. It was always my
fault. (I tried to get home on time but I hit the railroad track and went
airborne and popped the air out of all my tires.
Ever
since I can remember, we had to set up the meeting room on Saturday night for
Sunday morning meeting. We had Special Meetings, Wednesday night and Sunday
night meetings in our home. Stanley and
I were the only kids at our meeting.
There were three Sunday meetings in
When we had a lot of workers at our house, I had to give up my bedroom and let the workers use it. One night, I knew two brother workers were going to sleep in my bed. I wasn’t old enough to use deodorant but my mother used one called MUM. I thought it smelled so good. I put MUM deodorant on my pillowcases so they would think I smelled good and love me. I even wore MUM for perfume. (Perfume was sinful.) I guess that was why I liked it so much. That preacher needed some MUM!!!!! Maybe he thought deodorant was a sin; some men did back then.
I felt
I was different than anybody else because I wasn't strong enough to stand up
for GOD and be happy to wear dorky clothes and disgusting hair-dos. I tried,
but I thought, “I just can't do this. I may as well go to hell all the way.”
Everybody was always telling me what to do.
I couldn’t make up my own mind and decide what I wanted because
everybody else was running my life.
Granddaddy
who I trusted with all my heart, always told me “the truth” was God’s only way
and I never questioned him. I never
questioned Mother and Daddy when they said it had been going on since
Christ. The only thing I knew was I
couldn't do it. I didn't know what was
right. I have heard so much all my life
that I wasn't sure. It's what my family
believes and they could do it, I could not.
I think everybody should know that it didn’t start with Jesus and that a
man started it in
I
thought this brother worker loved me, that I was special to him. Then one time, I noticed him flirting with
some sister workers at our house. I felt extremely jealous. When I found out I was
not the only girl he was giving his attention to, I was devastated. It shattered me. After that, I felt like
nobody in the world loved me. No
one. Here I had been taking all the
blame for his actions, and I wasn’t even special to Him. I felt like a piece of
used junk, and I thought everybody else thought of me like that also. I would go to my room and cry and cry. I knew what I was doing was very, very ugly,
and I thought this was why I had no friends.
It seemed like everybody was so much more than I was. So much better. I was very ashamed of myself. I may have had a nervous breakdown at that
time—I don’t really know.
When I
was 13, I started crying all the time and couldn’t stop and I was
uncontrollable. My Mother (bless her heart!) took me to see psychiatrist after
psychiatrist and chiropractors for years to try and help me be normal. I couldn't tell anybody I was going, since
the friends and workers viewed it as a sin to see a psychiatrist, because some
of them had weird beliefs and could guide you wrong. Unfortunately, I never told the psychiatrist
about what the worker was doing to me. I
never told any of them until I got sick with cancer, and the therapist really
started to delve into my past. Then I
finally broke down and told how I had been molested for years as a child.
I have
continued to visit various therapists ever since Mother started taking me when
I was 13, because I always felt I wasn't
normal. I so wanted to be happy but I
never was, except maybe when I was with my friends, Lane, Tommy and Mike. I went once a month most of the time. Sometimes I would get better and they would
see me every three months to refill my medications. Of course, I was medicated
through the years with antidepressants and tranquilizers. I am now on Wellbrutrin, Cymbalta, and
Zanax. I started out with Prozac, I
think. I can't remember because I have
been on all of them.
Even though I had no doubt that this brother worker was
doing it to others, I continued to do whatever he wanted and I never mentioned it
to anyone. However, I knew that he was also doing it to another
professing girl under 18. I was looking for love.
I became promiscuous. Some
professing boys found this out and pretended to like me.
APPEARANCES:
Vanity
was a sin. I was told this over and
over. Mother wanted me to look plain and
fixed my hair in pigtails and I felt so ugly. I decided to make money by
letting people take down my hair and brush it.
I charged a nickel. We lived
across the street from our elementary school.
Sometimes, Mother would come and catch me and re-braid my hair. She was always watching and she scared me by
saying that when she wasn't looking, God was.
I felt
I was ugly and I longed to be pretty, but vanity was a sin. I spent countless
hours on my hair. One time, Daddy’s sister gave me some hair curlers. Mother
caught me putting them in my hair and they got tossed out. (Curlers were
sinful). When I was in high school, an
old sister worker from
Like
many other professing girls and women, I HATED my long hair with a passion.
When I was in high school, I would let my hair down, put on mascara and roll up
the waistband of my skirt to make it shorter while I was riding the bus to
school. Then on the way home I would change it all back. I remember running in track with my hair up
and hair pins--would be shooting out everywhere from my bun. My P.E. suit was the only shorts I ever
owned. If I wore pants, like when it snowed, they had to be worn UNDER my
skirt.
I
wanted to dress like the other girls did in my school, but no, I had to wear
old long skirts. I was different and I
was told over and over that being vain was a sin, so of course, my parents
never told me I was pretty. Also my cousin Becky was very pretty and I always
wanted to look like her because she was so popular and cute. I always felt different because kids would
make fun of us having meeting in our home and singing.
When I
was in high school I was in the Beta Club, Honor Roll, etc, but I could never
be in the band; never could go to a football game; couldn’t be a cheerleader
and I wanted to so bad. I thought this
was how people would like you. Of course, my parents would not let me date any
outsiders. I couldn't do anything while
I lived at home. I wanted to leave so bad.
I often thought about running away. I tried to please everybody and
always have and still do and never ever succeed.
I was
so embarrassed when I had to ask off from school for convention. I was so lonely when I was there. I never
really had a professing friend my own age.
Nobody even stopped to talk to me.
All the kids were older than me. I didn't have any friends at convention. I wanted to bunk with one girl I knew, but
she moved my stuff. All the girls had
friends they slept with and I slept with Mother. I just played with the babies and walked up
and down the road. I would go in after
hot chocolate and cry because nobody would talk to me. The last convention I was in, I heard mothers
and daughters talking about me. Nobody wanted to be my friend.
All
year long I would dream of getting a boy friend at convention that year, but it
never happened. Year after year I would
go home disappointed. While there, sometimes I would meet a brother worker in
the tool shed and make out, but I couldn't tell anybody because they weren’t
supposed to be doing that. I often got
in trouble at convention. I remember
singing with some of the girls in the barn where we slept and a sister worker came and said it was pretty,
but that we needed to be quiet.
One of
my cousins was in the Army and stationed in
We
didn’t go on very many vacations and when we did they were usually to
TEENAGE
YEARS:
When I
was 16, I started working part-time for Southern Bell Telephone Company. Later, I went to work for them full
time. When I was 19 we had a keying
contest on a proof machine. I have very flexible finger dexterity and processed
a 100 characters per minute without a mistake.
I won. That felt so good. Everyone clapped for me. During the lunch
hour when everybody was out of the office, I learned to key with my nose too.
Southern
Bell paid for my college education and in 1976, I obtained a degree in
Psychology from Kennesaw State College located in
I
moved away from home when I was 18. I
could not stand living at home any more. I hated it. They were probably glad to
be rid of me. Of course, I went hog
wild. For the first time in my life, I
could do what I wanted to do and make my own decisions. Problem was I really didn't know how. I
became promiscuous. I continued to go to
meetings for a little while after I moved out, just to keep my parents off my
back. I stopped when Mother told me not to come to meeting if I was sinning,
and I certainly was.
I
moved into an apartment with another professing girl named Pat. She eventually went in the work. After not
too many years, she left the work and we’ve lost touch. While I was in college,
I had a boy friend named Wayne who had been to
I
reasoned that if I was going to hell anyway, I might as well go all the way and
enjoy the trip there. I have never felt
like a real person, and certainly not like a normal person, but rather a second
class citizen. I became afraid of everything
and everybody except my boyfriends. I
had nightmares. I hated myself and
wished that I had never been born or that I would die. I never really tried to
kill myself--I just wanted to. I did
try to drown myself one time, but I couldn't.
I felt so worthless and
guilty. I can't really explain
myself. But I felt like I didn't have a
friend in the world and I don't guess I did.
I never felt my father really loved me--not like most fathers love their
children. I felt like people were staring at me all the time. I always felt that everybody was better than
me. I fell in love all the time. I was in love with everybody, but nobody loved
me.
After
I moved to the apartment, I rarely dated.
I was attracted to bad guys after I left the truth. Mean guys.
I felt ugly and I tried so hard to be beautiful. My best friend (until
she married my husband) cut my hair real short and Daddy got real mad and told
me to tell her to leave my hair alone. I had been having my hair cut ever since
I left home, but never so short that I couldn't put it up. So I let it grow out long enough that I could
still put it up.
My
Mother died on March 23, 1980. She was just
62 years old, and I was 28. Mother had
arthritis and was treated with gold shots, which may have caused her breast
cancer. Her breast cancer went to her
liver and then stomach. She had two
surgeries and cobalt treatments. I
helped take care of Mother when she was dying because
When
Mother was in the hospital and was hurting so bad, I felt her pain
acutely. I think Mother loved me for
that. I cut my finger because I was
cutting a piece of cake with the knife upside down. (Duh!)
She said, “I am so sorry,” when
I showed it to her. Those words were
like an “I love you,” to a daughter
who had never heard her Mother say that to her.
I was a terrible person when I was growing up. I would do anything for attention. I caused my parents a lot of grief and
stress. I wish I could tell my Mother
how sorry I am. I know she worried so
much.
Not
long ago, I asked Daddy if Aunt Mae was still the executrix of his will, and he
said that
After
Mother died, Daddy dated Helen Lee for 20 years. She was a divorcee. They finally married in 1993, after Helen’s
ex-husband died. If they had married
before his death, they would be “living
in adultery,” or sin, according to their preachers. So they waited 20 years for him to die.
I met
my first husband, John Brown, (try
checking in to a motel with that name!) at the telephone company where I
worked. We were married in August 1979. I was so afraid that I would faint at
my shower. I got so nervous when I was
in the limelight. My mother-in-law had
to have the very best and it was at the Swan House. I hate being in the spotlight. Our wedding was held in the home of my
girlfriend, Lane. We paid for our
wedding, and Lane’s parents helped as a wedding gift. All my friends were there, John's family and
friends and my Mother and Daddy. And no
workers. I put my hair up for my
wedding because Mother was in the hospital and got a
shot just to come to the wedding. I knew
she wasn’t going to live long and I didn’t want to disappoint her anymore than
I already had.
John
and I had a good life. I remember the
thrill of having my first Christmas tree and John giving me my first piece of
jewelry (a necklace) at Christmas (except for my wedding ring.) He gave me a diamond engagement ring too, but
I really didn't want one, because I knew that Mother and Daddy would be so
ashamed of me. Mother died soon after I
married John.
John
and I had been married for 14 years when we divorced in August of 1993. Daddy went to court with me. I do not recall my
Daddy ever telling me he loved me, except when I got my divorce. And then Daddy did say that he loved me. I
stayed with Daddy after he had back surgery.
At the
time John and I divorced, we were both working for our drapery company,
Marietta Drapery, Classic Windows. In the divorce, I lost everything, except
the house and mortgage. John got the
business, even though I had put $50,000 into it, which was my buyout when I
retired from
While
I was married to John, I cheated on him but he didn’t know it. I should have
loved John with all my heart. He was so good to me;
he loved me in spite of how terrible I was.
We made good money, had the good life and we had a lot of fun going on
cruises, etc. For my birthday, he would
surprise me and have a trip planned. We
had a nice home, a swimming pool and
We
wanted children so bad, but I didn’t have any because my parents scared me with
a lie they believed. They said both the
children and I would go to hell if we had children and raised them outside “the
Truth.” Now, I feel sad and lonely at
Thanksgiving and Christmas because I don't have any children. I didn't give John enough attention and he
fell in love and married my best friend. Before we were even officially divorced, she
became pregnant and had twins right away.
Rick
Dickerson was one of my dear friends. We
met while I was working at the Telephone Company. I was very close to his parents also. Rick was very good to me. He was one of the funniest people I ever
knew, and kept me laughing all the time.
Then he quit his job and went all over the states on a motorcycle. He was killed going to the Daytona 500 when
the strap from his duffle bag got hung in the wheel and he hit the median and
was killed instantly. Rick and I probably would have married if he hadn’t
died. His memorial was held at a
Catholic Church. That was the 4th time I
ever set foot in a “false church.” We had to stand up and sit down stand up
and sit down again. When we kneeled to
pray, I got on the little stool backwards and my ex-husband had to straighten
me out.
I met my current husband, Johnny
Austin, through my ex-father-in-law. He was a 55 year old bachelor and is 16
years older than me. Johnny worked for
About
a year after my divorce, on December 17, 1993, Johnny took me to
Johnny’s
brothers and sisters had been praying for someone to take care of their mother
who had dementia. I was left with a big house and no way to pay the
mortgage. I had to sell my house and had
no where to go. So I went to work taking care of Johnny’s mother. This went on for 10 years. She died two years
ago when she was 98 years old. I sold my
car and fixed up their house and built a suite on the end of it. Johnny and his mother had lived there for 39
years and both were very set in their ways. It was hard for me to adjust to
this new living arrangement. I became
their maid. I lost all my friends
because I had to take care of her 24/7, and could not go anywhere. I still get
Christmas cards from my old friends, but that’s all I hear from them. I got a job part time at the Church and even
had to take her with me.
Johnny
and Daddy helped pay my mortgage until my house sold. I loved that house--it was perfect, and
selling it broke my heart. When it sold,
Johnny’s family came in and just walked off with almost everything I had. I felt raped.
Later, I had a yard sale and they got the rest of the nice stuff. I wanted it back but Johnny wouldn’t ask them
to give stuff back, and he still won't. His family has always been more
important to him than I am.
Johnny
is retired now. He got throat cancer 10
years ago. Johnny worked for
I went
to work at the City of Powder Springs as the Tax Commissioner so we could make
ends meet. I would come home at lunch
and feed Johnny through a tube. I took
care of his mother and him for two years without his family ever helping me
out. I feel like everyone hates me. I often feel down. I had a real bad wreck and I wondered if God
was taking me away from Johnny because he hated me so.
I had
helped care for my Mother and Granddaddy Reese who both died from cancer. I
cared for my husband Johnny, who had cancer.
My constant prayer for years was that I would never have cancer. So naturally, I was devastated to learn in
March of 2003 that I had s 3 breast cancer.
The
cancer had spread into my lymph nodes and one had spilled over. I had a radical mastectomy and reconstruction. Chemotherapy, radiation and other treatments
made me fat, bald, very sick and depressed.
I had a chemical imbalance, blood transfusions, etc. Going through
chemo, I wore a wig, had no eyelashes, no eyebrows, and my face was so swollen
that I could look down and see inside my eye sockets. I had to go alone to get my chemo and
radiation treatments. I was embarrassed
because everybody else had someone with them.
I was so down. I would just sit
there and crochet. I wondered if God
punishing me for all my sins.
Even
though I was sick and taking chemo, I still had to care for Johnny’s mother. Sometimes I was so weak that I had to crawl to the door to
let the dogs out. I rarely ever had a
good day. I was on steroids and
chemotherapy. I was so swollen I even had water around my heart.
I will
be on Chemo for the rest of my life. Not
the aggressive type, but Chemo all the same. I have taken Chemo ever since I
was first diagnosed with cancer, and this is why I am unable to work. I have no hormones. Now due to so many
hospital bills and being on Social Security, everything is so limited. It’s so hard when I have been self sufficient
all my life.
Now, I spend my days going to the gym, when I have strength, and that's
getting better. I make draperies, upholster, decorate, embroidery (I have
a machine). I do stain glass, I paint pictures. I study my Bible
everyday. I have audio, video, and work books on most of the books
of the Bible. I do taxes for people, I keep books for people. I did all the
finances for the Church until I left. I even mechanized their accounting
system. I processed the tithes and offerings. Were we supposed to
tithe in the Truth? I never heard of it until I went to a
"false" church. I never gave a worker a dime. I felt too
embarrassed to give them money. I used to tutor and keep children
but I had to stop because of my resistance to the diseases that children
carry. That broke my heart. I feel
guilty charging anybody for anything I do for them.
My
family is so disappointed in me because I don't go to meeting anymore. Worse yet, I go to another church, which is a
“false church” according to them. I
told my Stepmother Helen how much I appreciated my Church Family, and she said
they would send me to hell. Daddy told
our preacher that he was only in it for the money, and that they didn't pay
their preachers. That's bull. I’ve seen Daddy
giving them money lots of times. They
just don't pay taxes. Daddy had heart
surgery at the same time I had cancer surgery so most of my family was with
him, what little I have. I was thankful for my Church Family being there for
me.
Several
times when my husband or I have been in the hospital, our preacher has come to
pray for us. Daddy and Helen did not
even bow their heads. I was so embarrassed.
I hate “the Truth” church and what it stands for. Helen leads the singing in meeting. My mother also led the singing in meeting,
and I used to worry that she would start leading the national anthem in PTA at
school. She embarrassed me.
The
first time I went to a real church was to be in the wedding of my (now ex)
sister-in-law. It was the
For a
long time now, I have been attending Calvary Baptist in
During
my last bout with cancer, my oncologist sent me to a therapist at the cancer
center because I had become so depressed.
I sometimes wondered if maybe I deserved my cancer because God was mad
at me because I wasn't going to meeting. The therapist happened to be a minister's wife
and had a degree in theology. She
started questioning me about my childhood,
my life at home, my religion and other things. She seemed to understand my whole life just
like she had been there.
She
started asking about my first kiss and stuff like that. I busted open and told her about all these men
in my past who had loved me. She asked me lots of questions. Don’t you think that if they loved you they
would have wanted to take you to meet their mother? If they thought you
were pretty they would want you on their arm, no matter what? If they
were proud of you, wouldn’t they tell others about you? If they knew you
would be quiet, they would just use you and get their thrills from you. She
said that not one of these so called workers had loved me at all. I was just
their toy. I told her that some still write me and want to see me.
She asked me: Do they want everybody to
know that they are going to see you? Do they want your husband or family to
know? Have they ever taken you to a nice restaurant? Have they ever
told anybody how smart you were or how pretty you were and that they wanted you
to be theirs and they were willing to leave what they were doing and become
your husband?
All I
could do was scream and cry. I told her
almost everything. She was very kind.
This was the breaking point. She sent me
to another therapist to try to work this out because at this time I felt like a
fool. I felt useless. I felt so alone. I
felt like I was the only one in the world.
I didn’t have one soul to talk to--no one except this lady. I really didn't have a single friend. I had been used as a whore to the preachers
in “the truth” practically my whole life.
No one cared if I had cancer. Not
one cared if I wasn't loved. No one
cared if they had broken my heart.
Through
the therapy, I became aware that the sexual abuse I experienced as a child had
caused me to be like I am and that it wasn't my fault. I found out after all
these years that I was a good person after all. I took care of children, old
people and cared for animals and I had done many other good things as well. She
told me she thought my Daddy loved me but he didn't know how to show love.
My
therapist told me that I needed to let go of some of the burdens of my past.
She recommended that I (1) write a letter to my Abuser, Ira Hobbs, (2) talk to
my Dad, and (3) talk to one of the workers. She said doing these things would
bring me “closure.”
(1) I wrote a letter to the brother worker who
molested me, Ira Hobbs, but was unable to mail it to him because nobody would
give me his address or E-mail. I googled
his name and found it mentioned on the Truth-Meetings Message Board. Not knowing anything about this board, I
posted my letter to Ira there on September 17, 2006. I honestly didn't know
what I was writing to or on. My letter
caused a huge stir on that board. The thread went on for several pages and
eventually the Board Administrator quarantined, so now the general public
cannot see/read it. Even so, my letter somehow made its way to Ira.
(2) I wrote Daddy and told him that I was sorry I
had been such a disappointment to him and I also told him about Ira. He told me
I was a liar and had always been, but said that he would forgive me because I
was so sick. I told him I was the way I was because I wanted him to like me
because I felt like he hated me. And I
sure wasn't lying about Ira.
Later I
read Ira’s confession to Daddy and he thought it was a nice letter. I told him what Ira had done to me, and that
he should have stopped Ira when I was a little girl. Daddy said he didn't know anything about Ira
molesting me. But that's not true for he
called me all sorts of names when he caught us.
Daddy has an extremely good memory.
He remembers other things for over 40 years, but he has forgotten this
atrocity committed by Ira on his daughter??
He remembers every lie I ever
told. I told him if I had lied, it was
probably because I was trying to be something I wasn't--because he certainly
didn't love who I was and never had. I don't remember lying except for when I
was threatened, but I guess I did. He
remembers things forever. Maybe he suppressed the memory. I don’t know. I just don’t get it.
Daddy
was very hurt with me for talking like this and said he didn’t call me
names. The next day I called and told
him I was sorry I had hurt him, and he said that they knew I was very sick, and
that this is why I say what I do. It's
so hard to get this matter reconciled when Daddy refuses to remember that it
even happened. And then he blames me,
because he believes that the workers are never at fault. In their world, if a worker says jump, you
jump, and you can never be wrong for doing what the worker told you do to.
I also
talked to my brother, Stanley. He
listened to what I had to say and then he wrote to one of the head workers on
my behalf, but he didn't want me to tell anyone. He said Jesus didn't tell that Judas would
betray Him (which is wrong because Jesus did let Peter and John know that Judas
was the one who would betray him.)
I
wanted my brother, Daddy and Helen to know and understand what happens when a
child is molested, but they wanted the least amount of information
possible. My Stepmother called me back
about a month after I talked to my Daddy and asked, “Were you SEXUALLY molested?”
I told her yes, I was. She said
that was a long time ago and that my Dad can't do anything about it now. That I was a grown woman, and if I wanted to
stir up something, I was on my own.
My
family has harshly judged me no end.
They have told me that I just need to forgive and forget all that
happened to me. And that I will go to
hell if I die with an unforgiving spirit.
Daddy is in his 80’s and won't be around too much longer. I feel bad that as things stand right now, he
will go to his grave believing that everything was my fault; thinking that I am
disgusting. Maybe someday, he’ll know
the real truth…
(3) Talking to a worker was my last
assignment. I poured out my heart to my
cousin, Carol Castleberry (a worker). She is about 20 years older than me. Her
mother was Aunt Mae and her little sister was Becky. Carol lived with us for awhile when she
worked in
So
when Carol was in
We ate
lunch and she left. I thought she would
go to one of the head workers or talk to my Dad or at least do something. She wrote me back that she was glad we had
our talk because now she knew how to pray for me. Now, I have absolutely no desire to talk to
another worker.
A man
who read my letter on the Truth-Meeting Message Board let workers in my area
know about my letter. A
A year
went by after my letter was posted to the Message board, and nothing happened
that I could tell, besides a lot of talk on the Message Board. Then on the anniversary date of the first
time I posted my letter, a new thread was started on my behalf. My letter was reposted, along with Ira’s
apology, with the following introduction:
“A Year ago today, September 17, 2006, Jean
T. A. posted a letter on the Truth-Meeting Board regarding sexual molestation
she endured at the hands of a worker when she was 8-9 years old in
Georgia. This letter rocked the board
participants, as well as many others.
The heading of the thread was “Sexual Abuse Cover-ups.” Sad to say, to date, nothing has been done
about this matter, except for the worker sending Jean an incomplete,
self-centered apology. There were
numerous posts to this thread right up until the T-M Board was removed from
cyberspace. Many were sympathetic to
Jean, while others reacted vehemently against her and attacked her unmercifully
and unfairly.”
Two
months after my letter was posted the first
time. I received a letter of apology
from Ira, and as far as I was concerned, it only made things worse. I don't consider it much of an apology. His letter was all about him, was full of
bull and contained lies. The letter was
dated
He
disdained me lightly as a mere “distraction”
and referred to me as a “human interest;” while he minimized his gross behavior with
the phrase “not ideal actions of a
servant of God.” I THINK NOT! And the atrocity of the molestation itself
was merely a “carelessness and casualness
that developed.”
He
wrote: “In the process of time, I recognized that in my association with you,
there was too much human interest that diminished from my purpose of promoting
spiritual growth. There were times that my behavior with you was not the ideal
actions of a servant of God because of carelessness and casualness that
developed.”
He
also wrote: “It was then that I talked with your mother, confessing that there had
been distraction, and that I was purposed to alter that completely, so that I
could have the joy of totally seeking the welfare of the soul and not be
overtaken with human interests. It was then that I felt release in my conscience
as I purposed that all would be done in the proper manner.” Ira “confessed”
that he told my mother and said he never did it again. That’s a lie. After he
promised my mother that he was changed and found all this “joy,” he still continued to molest me. He certainly did not “completely alter” his behavior as he purposed. Far from it.
In some or maybe all the states he was shuffled off to preach in, he
continued to abuse young girls and ruin their lives. I was not the first or the last young girl he
ever molested. There is no telling how
many lives he has shattered over the course of his life.
Even
after he promised my Mother he would not repeat the molestation, he did on
times he came back to
He
wrote that: “I considered you and Stan like my sister and brother, and your dear
parents were like my father and mother…”
There is no way he felt like we were his brother and sister! He was thirty something years old and my
brother was 6 and I was 9. He could
easily have been our father. And a
normal healthy person or father doesn’t treat his “sister” like Ira treated me!
**********************************************************************
MY LIFE NOW
I pray
constantly that I could be a good person.
I feel like I have wasted my life.
I have no self esteem. I hate
myself and I don't know who I really am. I work so hard for someone to be proud
of me and often people just use me. I
would like to just feel normal. I take
abuse because I feel that I deserve it.
For a while, I even felt that I deserved my
cancer because God was mad at me because I wasn't going to meetings. I don't want to be around anybody. I can't
love anybody completely or truly let anybody into my heart, because I know how
much it hurts when they leave or trick me. I wish I didn’t worry constantly
about whether I’ve hurt someone or whether I’m being used. I do not trust anyone. I don't have any friends anymore. I feel so
lonely. I would like to have a friend,
but I find it extremely difficult to trust. I would like happiness and want to
be loved. I have been blamed for so much that now I think everything is my
fault. I feel so responsible for the grief
that I have caused my family that I can't get on with life. I pray and pray. I cry every day. I get very depressed and it is hard to
recover sometimes. I believe a lot of
these miserable feelings I live with every day are the result of being molested
by Ira Hobbs.
I have
been paying for psychiatrist appointments for counseling and to prescribe my
medications for most of my life. If I
had not had this type of care I would have committed suicide long time ago. I hated myself. I wanted to be outta here! The cost paid out for my therapy over my
lifetime is in the neighborhood of $465,000.00**. I started going to the
psychiatrist and therapist when I was 13.
I am now 56. So I have basically
gone for 43 years. AND this doesn’t include
the cost my medications.
Now my
therapist is strongly encouraging me to enroll in a program called Partial
Hospital Program (H. O. P. E.) Helping Our Patients Emotionally, which would
cost between $17,000 and $20,000.** After
that, there would be continued counseling at $100.00 per day for 1 time a week
for an indefinite length of time. I
don’t have the money, and my health insurance will not pay for it. I really don’t know what will become of me.
On top of that, because of the Chemo, I am losing all my
teeth. The bones are crumbling. I spent $20,000.00 on my teeth and
had them all crowned and now they are breaking off below the crowns. I am
so embarrassed. There is nothing more my Dentist can do. I am just
sick. The cost is astronomical! I feel like there is
never a break. I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. I would
certainly straighten up. I can't face much more.
Meanwhile, Ira Hobbs has been shuffled to various states in
his career as a preacher. His highest
place was as the head worker of
Are we a congregation of the dead? Prov. 21.16.
You may be wondering why I have made
my tragic story public? My whole life
has been affected by what this Perpetrator did to me. I have
absolutely nothing to gain by lying, and I risk much to lose by telling the
truth. I believe it is time for me
to speak. “...a time to keep silence, and a time to speak”
(Eccles 3:7). If your children, grandchildren or someone
you truly loved and cared for came and told you they had been molested, would
you find it hard to believe? It can and
does happen...often because no one will break the silence...the conspiracy of
silence. If telling my story will help to spare someone else from going
through the miserable life that I have lived, then coming out with my story
will be worth it. These lines written by Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886) express my feelings:
If
I can stop one heart from breaking
I
shall not live in vain;
If
I can ease one life the aching,
Or
cool one pain,
Or
help one fainting robin
Unto
his nest again,
I
shall not live in vain.
I welcome calls from anyone
who would like to write me.
I can be contacted through
the WINGS website.
By Jean Trotter Austin
***** with assistance from Cherie Kropp
The LORD executeth righteousness and judgment for all
that are oppressed...Ps. 103:6
P.S. From Jean: Cherie read my letter on the
TM-Board. We were in
Someone gave me a gift book
called “The Secret Sect.” I read it and I was really hurt
because I had been lied to by everybody (unless they didn't know it). I
was always told that “the truth” was started during the Christ era, and only
now in 2008 have I found out that it was just started in 1897 by a man named
William Irvine. I feel so deceived and betrayed. I had grown up
believing what I had been told - that “the truth” was the only right church and
the workers were special because they were God’s only servants. Because
of this - so many people kept the workers on a pedestal like I did. This made
me even more vulnerable to the abuse at the hands of one of God’s only true
“servants”. It looks like my Granddaddy would have been aware of the
history of “the truth,” and my worker cousin Carol Castleberry who preaches in
THE END
* Some
quote the words of Jesus, “If you do not
forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your
trespasses.” Some use this verse to
apply to a molester or unfaithful spouse who continues in their wrongdoing and
say that you must forgive him or God will not forgive you. Such an interpretation fails to reckon with
the rest of the scriptural teaching on forgiveness. The Christian is instructed to forgive others
in the same manner that God forgives us.
How does God forgive us? The
Bible says that if we confess our sins, God will forgive our sins. Nothing in the Old or New Testaments indicates
that God forgives the sins of people who do not confess and repent of their
sins. Jesus’ teaching is that we are to be willing to forgive as God is willing
to forgive—those who repent.
** The
cost paid out for my therapy over my lifetime is in the neighborhood of
$464,400.00. I started going to the psychiatrist and therapist when I was
13. I am now 56. So I have basically gone for 43 years. The Psychiatrist charges $100.00 a
month. 43 Years is 516 months at $100/mo
is $51,600. The Therapist charges $100.00 per visit and I usually went twice a
week. 43 years is 2,064 weeks at $200 a
week or a total of $412,800. $412,800
+ $51,600.00 = $464,400. AND this
doesn’t include the cost my medications.
** My
therapist is strongly encouraging me to enroll in a program called Partial
Hospital Program (H. O. P. E.) Helping Our Patients Emotionally. The first program lasts for at least 4 weeks,
5 days a week and costs $12,000.00.
After this I would be in an Intensive Out Patient Program for 2 days a
week at $588.00 per day. If I went for 4
weeks the cost for the 2nd session would be $4,704.00. This is a minimum total of $16,704.00.
After that, there would be continued counseling at $100.00 per day for 1
time a week for an indefinite length of time.
“So I returned and
considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun:
and behold the
tears of such as were oppressed,
and they had no
comforter;
and on the side of
their oppressors there was power;
but they had no
comforter.” Ecclesiastes 4:1
KEY
to TERMINOLOGY:
convention
– large annual church retreat
worker
– minister or preacher (both sisters and brothers)
friends - lay people in church
professing
= a member of their church.
“the truth” – nickname for the church Jean was raised in
JEAN’S LETTER TO IRA:
Date
September 17, 2006
TO IRA
After
more than 40 years I have suffered from you molesting me as a child. Because of
this disgusting thing you did to me, my whole life has been ruined. This
started when I was eight or nine. I was in the third grade anyway and lasted
for as long as you were in the
I have
never had any self esteem. I have always felt dirty because you blamed this on
me, even to my parents. Daddy said he didn’t know this but my mother sure did.
They should have had you locked up then, but because you were an “esteemed preacher,” they kept giving
you money, and you took it.
I
thought this was the only way to love because I never was loved or hugged at
home. I was seldom told that I was loved and I thought this was all there was.
Because
of my reputation boys in the “truth” came to my apartment not because they
wanted to be my boyfriend either.
Because
of my feeling I deserve less than what was good, I lost my husband of 13 years.
I wasn’t good enough for him. This made me feel so useless and ugly. I blamed
this whole thing on me because you made me feel responsible for everything that
was bad. I didn’t have what it took to even fight for what was mine and what I
deserved.
I have
had cancer and the suffering would have been unbearable for most people but I
thought I deserved it. Because I had been so bad and worthless.
Now I
can’t stand to be around a crowd. I have
no real friends, no children because you made me feel unworthy to be a mother.
I cry almost every day. I have had to go to a psychiatrist since I was a young
girl. My mother even took me because I was so unhappy.
Maybe
it made you feel less guilty because you blamed it on me. You told my parents I
had a crush on you. I wasn’t even old enough. You know how you touched me and
molested me and what a sick person you were and probably still are. I couldn’t
play scrabble without your hand up my dress in my panties. You made me come to
you at night and made me promise I would never tell anyone. You would have your
pleasure and act so innocent. You are a piece of trash. Plus you stink. You
must have never wash under your arms. It used to make me sick to my stomach.
But I had to mind the preachers.
If
anyone had cared for me during these days, you would be castrated. You should
be in jail and labeled as a pedophile. Carol Castleberry told me I should
forgive you and never die without not being forgiven. I hope this brings
closure.
My
whole life has been affected by what you have done to me and I think this
should be public knowledge. I don’t know how many more children you molested
but I know I am not the only one. I can’t even stand to shake hands with
workers and I will never come near “the truth” because I am terrified to be
around anyone and I have such a terrible reputation. The last convention I was
in, I heard mothers and daughters talking about me. Nobody wanted to be my
friend.
You
are a piece of junk. You are no good. You always made people feel bad because you
thought you were so wonderful. You are a slime ball. I think I will make this
public so you can suffer too. Daddy even asked me over when you were in
If you
are so wonderful and deserve to come into other people’s houses and use their
stuff, why didn’t you tell the truth?
People like you befriend the parents of children so you can have your
sick fun. How could you justify this and preach and tell others about their
sins. I never want to be anywhere around the likes of you ever again. If you
think you are an example of the way people should live to go to heaven, you are
terribly mistaken. You don’t have to be around the likes of you to go to
heaven.
Jean
Trotter
************************************************************************
LETTER FROM IRA
Spring,
October 18, 2006
Dear Jean,
I was deeply grieved when I became aware of
the perplexing cloud that has troubled your mind, after 40 years have passed,
as you recall my association with you while we were in
I considered you and Stan like my sister and
brother, and your dear parents were like my father and mother, and your home
was a quiet refuge for us. In the process of time, I recognized that in my
association with you, there was too much human interest that diminished from my
purpose of promoting spiritual growth. There were times that my behavior with
you was not the ideal actions of a servant of God because of carelessness and
casualness that developed.
It was then that I talked with your mother,
confessing that there had been distraction, and that I was purposed to alter
that completely, so that I could have the joy of totally seeking the welfare of
the soul and not be overtaken with human interests. It was then that I felt release
in my conscience as I purposed that all would be done in the proper manner. And
by the grace and mercy of God, I have maintained that standard these 40 years,
and have found deep joy and peace in the power of God that is imparted to those
who fear Him.
I am very sorry for being a disappointment to
you in any manner, in conduct, in word, or in spirit. I hope you will forgive
me for any and every way that I have in any wise not been discreet or careful
and respectful of you. Had I realized that I had created such a cloud in your
mind, I would have written to you long ago to clear the matter, and that you
could have peace. For I am very anxious that you will find comfort and joy and
peace of heart. I have heard that you have suffered with cancer, and I am
saddened by that news. I hope that you find complete healing in that manner
also.
The Lord is faithful, both in judgment and in
mercy, and He will comfort and strengthen you as you cast your cares upon Him.
And this is my hope and source of joy also. I'm glad that you have a strong
father and brother that stand by you. They have learned well to trust in the
Lord, and their stability in the faith of Christ will aid you also as you seek
God.
With great respect and hope for you.
Your humble servant,
Ira Hobbs
****************************************************************
JEAN’s PROGRESS REPORT:
RE: Molestation
by Worker
COUNSELING: Since age 13, Jean
has visited psychiatrist and therapists once a month most of her life, for
which her parents and Jean have been paying out of their own pocket.
APOLOGY: Mr Hobbs wrote an apology to Jean dated October 18, 2006, concerning his actions toward her. Lyle Schober, Overseer of Minnesota, wrote a letter to Jean dated February 13, 2008, apologizing for “others who have abused their position and subjected her to hurtful crimes.”
CHARGES: None
CONVICTIONS: Statue of
Limitations is expired
REACTIONS: My Daddy said he didn't know that Ira
molested me. It's hard to reconcile this
matter with Daddy when he refuses to remember it. My Stepmother said it was a
long time ago and my Dad can't do anything about it now. My family tells me
that I just need to forgive and forget it all; and that I will go to hell if I
die with an unforgiving spirit. My worker
cousin told me after we talked about it that now she knew how to pray for me.
OFFENDER: Ira Hobbs was
shuffled to various states. Workers Lists show he has been in the states of
On May 30th 2008, Ray Hoffman – overseer of Texas – distributed a letter to each of the friends in Texas stating that he wished to end the “speculation and rumours” as to why Mr Hobbs was no longer in the work. He openly stated that Mr Hobbs was under investigation for child sexual abuse issues and that several woman had made complaints. The letter can be read here: http://www.wingsfortruth.info/rayhoffmanfinal.pdf
VICTIM: “Through therapy, I have come to see that
what he did to me in my childhood is the root cause for much of my depression
today and for my inability to get back on my feet emotionally. He basically ruined my whole life, not just
my childhood, but my whole adult life.
In essence, he caused my family to abandon me.” One of my deepest regrets is not having
children. I attend Calvary Baptist and I
do not believe “the truth” is God’s only right way.
QUOTABLE QUOTE: He
would tell me not to tell anyone; that he was showing me how to love and be a good wife.