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With serious, but caring faces, the three elders took me aside after the "field service" meeting and talked to me in the back. I could see by the expressions on their faces that they took no pleasure in what they were about to do. I felt bad about what I did. However, I felt bad for the fact that I was alone in the room with the guy. I wasn't even prepared for the reason they came up with for putting me on "reproof". I did not scream. Being alone in the room with him studying was not wrong. Not screaming, when he became physically violent was a sin. It did not matter that I froze and was unable to react. I could not be a pioneer for six months. I would not be allowed to answer questions at the "Kingdom Hall". I was not supposed to socialize with other witnesses outside of meeting related activities. I must still maintain my time and attend all meetings and study so that I could be back in good standing in less than a year. I got a slap on the wrists. I also got a warning. I was not supposed to tell anyone about my punishment or why I was being punished.

I was flabbergasted. I have never heard of such things in the Bible until they pointed it out. I asked around a few sisters if they ever knew that if you were raped and didn't scream that you commit fornication. To my surprise, almost no one had heard of that rule in the Bible. Of course, people were able to figure out why I was on "reproof" and I was called on the carpet again to keep my mouth shut. I apologized. I also attempted suicide the next day.

When I was hospitalized, the elders and a few sisters came to see me. I could feel the judgmental condemnation in their eyes. I did not want to live at that point. The flashbacks went from bad to worse. I told the doctor what was going on. I was diagnosed schizophrenic. A label that was untrue, but stuck with me for a few years.

My parents insisted I come home. I did. I didn't have much of a choice. My grandparents couldn't handle me anymore. I could not hold down a job to support myself. I was extremely depressed. The year was 1986. The end was coming sometime soon. I knew I would never qualify for "Bethel" or "Gilead" now. However, I was not going to give up. When I came home, I went straight to the congregation and met all of my requirements. I was in and out of the state mental hospitals. They put me on some medications that blurred my vision, dried my mouth, made me shake and turned me into a zombie. I could not focus or concentrate. It only made my depression worse. Going to the meetings was the only thing to make me happy. I was doing Jehovah's work in direct opposition to my "apostate" mom. I was in and out of awareness for the next three years. I have total amensia about certain events, like the time I was with a friend who was a heroine addict who was trying to stay clean. I met him after I left the "truth" when I started to experiment with drugs. We were going to be clean together. I had to since I was on the meds. My mom forced me to take them although they did more harm than good. Anyway, I met him at the mall where we had a couple of drinks. He wanted me to come with him to take care of business. We ended up at his pusher's home. They offered me a Pepsi. I took a sip. That was the last thing I remembered until I came back to awareness. I was half dressed in a motel with six guys. One offered to take me home. My friend was beaten up and thrown in a ditch. I supposedly was there when it happened. I don't remember a thing.

That was years later, of course, but while I just moved back and lived with my parents, I tried to be as good as possible. I wanted to save my family from a horrible end. I needed to do what it took. I had to compromise though and went to a community college. I had no luck. I tried to study Occupational Therapy. I literally could not see or focus well enough to do the work. I tried school again to become a secretary. Again, couldn't see and no attention span.