Kathleen Sullivan - Unshackled by A Survivor's Story of Mind Control (2003)

Author:A Survivor's Story of Mind Control (2003) [Control, A Survivor's Story of Mind]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Published: 2003-11-10T08:19:02+00:00

WRITING - 1989

-HAND

LEFT

REVERSING DAD’S GUILT MESSAGES – 7/29/02

Death

Gone

A month later, in January of 1990, my abreactions and flashbacks increased in intensity and frequency. Although I’d been consulting with a local therapist, she wasn’t used to working with sexual abuse survivors, and didn’t know how to help me–other than to listen.

I learned about an eight-day Intensive Experiential Program (IEP) at Charter-Peachford, a psychiatric hospital north of Atlanta. The next IEP

session would start in one week. I signed up for it, believing it would give me the strength and tools I needed to keep on going.

That Monday night, Bill and I went to a banquet hosted by a fundamentalist Baptist Bible college that we both attended. Sometime between that night and the following Wednesday morning, Dad died.

Dreaming of Justice

On Wednesday morning, I awoke from an unusually strong, vivid, symbolic dream. In it, Dad was dressed like a desperado cowboy. Chased by a big gray wolf, he rode a brown horse down a steep hill. At the bottom, he crossed a stream; the wolf stayed on the other side. Knowing he was finally free, Dad smiled. I smiled too and felt happy for him.

Then, as Dad looked at the gray wolf, a huge black wolf, its hackles raised, emerged from a dark cave above Dad and his horse. As it moved stealthily towards them, a bell slowly tolled.

The dream changed. I saw a huge, blond male angel, robed in white.

As he stood and watched the wolf kill Dad (I didn’t see it), he held the oldest child witness in his arms. The angel said, “Now justice is served.

The child is mine.” I woke up, trembling, still hearing the bell toll.

The dream was so powerful, I never forgot any of the details. At that time, I believed it was a message from God.

194

Death

195

Phone Call

Several hours later, as I stood behind the counter at McDonald’s, I was still dazed by the dream. As I pondered it, my stepmother called on the phone and said, “Kathy, your father is gone.” I felt relieved, thinking that she meant Dad had gone underground to start a new life. She elaborated:

“Your father is dead.” My hands and body turned to ice and I became robotic. My manager told me to go home. I never went back to that job.

At home, I called my stepmother. She said Dad’s body had been found on the back seat of his Grand Prix in the garage that morning by his apartment manager and his criminal lawyer, who grew alarmed when Dad didn’t show up for an appointment.

She said because Dad’s body had started to decompose, making the time of death impossible to determine, the coroner had instead used the time of the discovery of his body.

Believing God must have given me the dream to prepare me for the news of Dad’s death, I told her about it. After I hung up the phone, I dropped to my knees and cried with grief while at the same time thanking Him for having protected the children.

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