You’ve Been Part of This
I’m writing a memoir and I want you to be part of it.
Here’s one scene from the book that I’ve written so far — totally raw and unfinished.
At 16 the cult I was born into was coming for me.
I made the decision to run away, so one day I left and I never went back.
This book is about how I survived.
I was interviewed by the San Diego Tribune about being raised in a Cult..
I was sick with a 104 degree fever. It was winter in the desert. People don’t realize how cold that gets at night. I walked miles to find a payphone. The last thing I wanted to do was call my mom. But I was so sick I knew I had to do something drastic.
I called her collect for her help, and said she was coming.
I waited outside a donut store at midnight in just a t-shirt. One hour. Two hours. Three.
A worker came out and shouted across the parking lot.
“Hey. They’re not coming.”
She had called the donut store to leave a message.
I called her back. Devastated. Angry. Sick.
She said: “Whatever it takes for you to be with us.”
She meant the cult. She was willing to let me suffer until I had nothing left and agreed to join them.
I hung up. I walked miles back to the abandoned house, wrapped myself in the drapes I’d taken off the windows, and tried to sleep.
I survived because of “other mothers” who fed me, friends who opened their doors, girls who saw something in me worth seeing, and punk rock that gave me a home when I had none.
They all saved me.
You’ve been showing up for me every week and I don’t take that lightly. Thank you. Genuinely.
Now I want to invite you in — not when the book is finished, but right now, while I’m still writing it.
Two questions. Reply with whichever speaks to you:
If you could ask me anything about my life — anything at all — what would it be?
Or:
What’s one chapter of your own life you wish someone would write about honestly?
It stays between us. I read every single one.
— Neon