Nolan returned to rescue. And “Church” aka Cult time.

*sigh* Nolan didn’t end well. In the end, he wasn’t dog friendly. At least not with dogs that planned to live with him forever. After too many fights, attempted fights, bruises, separation I decided it was best to give him back. I’m sad. But it wasn’t fair for either of us or the other dogs. I highly dislike this rescue and will most likely never use them again. They were 100% dishonest and misleading. Failed to advise of behaviors. Communication was awful. The new foster he went to had no idea. She asked me to send pictures before we met. I did. She had no idea he was huge. They hadn’t mentioned the aggression. In some random group they were trying to give him away they simply said “the dog in his new home won’t accept him”. Ummm, no – my dogs didn’t care about him. It was Nolan, extreme resource guarding, etc. I have the texts where the main person told me he should go to an only dog home and he obviously couldn’t be with other dogs inside. This new foster – had no idea. None. They just said here, you can have him. Ugh. I hate them. They set him up to fail. And he’s such a sweet boy. Mostly. I pray he does well.

So, life’s still going. It’s pretty calm and quiet here after the adventures of him. I swore I was done with dogs after all that. But I’ll never truly be done. I met two adorable puppies at work yesterday and my faith in dogs is restored. Didn’t take much but some puppy love.

Tomorrow night is my Grandma’s big church event. Also what I’ve labeled as the biggest cult meeting of the year. It’s essentially their Easter service. Of course, she always invites me. Sometimes I go. Sometimes I don’t. It’s an hour out of my life. And it makes her whole day if I agree to attend. We’ve discussed if I go not to have hopes I’ll join. I’m not ever joining again. “I’ll always have hope.”  Okay. I feel like I should go as she’ll be gone soon enough and it’s one of the few things I can do that makes her happy. I’m questioning how many steps back or forward this will be mentally. I’ve spent the last year or so realizing it is cult-like. Realizing that half my issues and traumas in life revolve around being born into that. The treatment of these people for 14 years of my life. Realizing I’ve accepted abuse for so long as it’s all I ever knew. So, I’ve came a long ways in that aspect.

Going will never make me return. So that isn’t an issue. But how triggering will all of it? How bad will the flashbacks and memories be? I’m remembering more and more as I do therapy. None of it good. It’ll be like scraping the scab off a festering wound. Really, I just want to know how many days will it take to recover? For the anxiety and panic attacks to go away?

But then I think – Maybe it’ll be healing. I know so much more now. I’m far more aware than I’ve ever been. It may be a good thing. To see it’s awful and to remind myself THESE are the things that messed me up so much. Not myself. Not something I did. But these people. Elders specifically. These teachings. The strictness. The shunning. The fakeness. The lies.

I’m really not fully decided. I’ll likely just go. Luckily for me I have therapy tomorrow so we can hash it out and come up with good coping mechanisms and activities for this. Or she can tell me to stay the hell home and I might. It’ll be a good session to say the least. My anxiety is already awful just considering stepping foot inside that building and smiling at people whom I wish the worst. Maybe I can request a Judicial Committee Meeting so I can tell them why they suck and turn the tables around 24 years later. I’m kidding. I know it doesn’t work like that. I’d be called an apostate and they would be awful. Their way is the only right way. I know this. And I sure hope deep down inside they know they suck and ruin lives.

So, that’s about it. I’ll be happy for Saturday. When that day is over. God I hated this day every year. Yet, as children they tried to make us love it – Here, you can have a new dress so you look perfect to praise Jehovah and thank him for sacrificing his son. Or something like that. Puke…. A new dress every year. Yay. Nothing like bribery.

I don’t want a new dress. Nah. I’d like a redo of my childhood please. One where I was taught to respect myself. Taught it was okay to think for myself. Encouraged to succeed and go places. Taught girls were as important as boys. One that I wasn’t forced to accept some crazy thoughts and never ask questions. One that I wasn’t forced to knock on doors, smiley sweetly & beg people to join us so they could live in Paradise. Encouraged to be a child, to be strong, to be me. Instead of told the world would end and all the awful things that would happen to us. Told all the ways I’d be damaged if I didn’t follow the script in those pamphlets perfectly. Scolded for doing anything “worldly”. Not allowed to have friends. Not allowed to do activities. Just meetings, door knocking, repeat.

No wonder I grew up to fear the world and worry endlessly. That’s all I knew. Worry. From day one.