Stuck in a Cult

This is a place where I'll be writing reality-inspired fantastical letters to an imaginary receiver recording my experiences of being stuck in a cult that I have yet to escape. This is an add-on to a bigger project that I thought would be cool lol. Feel free to comment, review, whatever.

Dear whoever reads this,

Today marks another day I am imprisoned in this dilapidated castle. Another day where no one sees what I see and no one understands why I am so afraid. Everyday, I see rotten flesh continue to spread over his body from where his heart is supposed to be and my nose stings from the stench. I can hardly breathe in this place and feel like I will die at any moment.

Our daily sermon will go as planned over dinner, as he has a great love for food. However, this love is no greater than the love he has for himself and we will hear him preach the entire time. The man loves the sound of his own voice… There have been days when he speaks for over an hour and I feel like an unwilling participant in MK-ULTRA. His words are honey, alluring and sweet, but they are laced with a deadly venom that I have yet to fully cleanse out of my system despite all my efforts these past few years.

I have seen the effects of this venom when it has entirely engulfed a person. The victim becomes a host for him and they no longer have a mind of their own. Nothing you can say can save them. Their eyes are glazed over and a neon green viscous liquid oozes out of their mouth. Their flesh also starts to rot and their bodies are simply empty shells for him to occupy whenever he wishes. This horrific fate was almost mine until I broke free, but unfortunately, the woman who birthed me cannot say the same. My mother is dead even though her body still walks. I have never seen her alive.

You may ask how this parasite was able to kill my mother and have me trapped here. How could you let something so obviously horrid into your home? The answer is simple! I had no choice in the matter because I come from the parasite’s seed. I was born (and murdered) in this prison they call a castle and it has always been my home. I don’t know what freedom is and am afraid I will never taste it. It is difficult to believe I ever will when all I have are delusions to empower my will. They say that hope is dangerous for the imprisoner, but no one mentions how it is equally so for the imprisoned…

Dear whoever reads this,

Being the spawn of a parasite and its victim does a lot to you. Particularly, it ruins your self-perception. I feel like a monster, an abomination. Every time I look in the mirror, I see a creature. A creature that should not have been and is destined to suffer as punishment for doing so.

The mirror has always been my enemy. I am not much to look at, but I still take glances at the mirror hoping that that would change somehow. Pathetic, right? It doesn’t help that my mirror, unlike other people’s, is broken. It’s been broken since the day I was born. I have been working on putting the pieces together for a long time, but I can’t seem to figure it out entirely. It’s frustrating—and when I’m frustrated, I want to cry and when I want to cry, I get angry. I keep it all inside because I don’t want to hurt anyone…

When your self-perception is so warped you believe that no one can ever love you in any shape or form. I mean, a parasite can’t love and their host’s job is to keep you close, so you can continue to be a source of energy for the parasite. I don’t know what love is. All I have ever been is a tool. A tool’s job is to be used and a tool can never be loved. No one has ever loved me and if they have, I can’t feel it anyway.

The parasite has always told me that I am stupid and will never amount to anything. He says that he’ll always be better than me and will always be smarter than me. In his eyes, I am a failure and will never be good enough. I don’t really matter. I have days when that really gets to me and I believe that if I just disappeared, no one would notice. The progeny of a parasite is better off dead. I don’t know why I keep going sometimes…

I wish that I didn’t have a mirror. It’s so much work having to put the pieces back together over and over again. But the only way to not have a mirror anymore is to die—and I’m too much of a coward to do it myself.