The Truth About NATLFED

March 10, 2018


Filed under: Cult,NATLFED,Politics,Uncategorized — ghostwriter1984 @ 18:18

Sometimes, things past come to the forefront of our minds.  Such things can be pleasant while other times troubling.  Today is one such day.  I was happily tapping away at the keyboard when a thought occurred.  This isn’t a royal typewriter.  Tap, tap, tap; not the same as furiously pounding away on an old manual that relied on a dictionary and an eraser for auto correct.  Some of you are probably wondering how us old gals used to manage 75-100 wpm on those old things.  If you remember the good old days of typing pools, the incredible sound of fifty typewriters clacking away is first to come to mind.

My school did not introduce computers until I was a senior.  The program floppy disk went in one drive, the save disk went in another.  It was modern technology.  The first portable computer weighed fifty pounds but you could work away for an hour or so before having to plug it in to charge.  I had an entire shelf of old disks, the floppies long tired in dusty sleeves accompanied by the next generation that looked like reject props from an old sci-fi series.  I don’t think you can even get those old tape readers anymore except antique stores.

I was hoping to find something that I had written twenty years ago and stored away on such a disk.  I called a couple of computer stores around town and I swear those kids just laughed at me.  One old-timer politely suggested an idea.  Even he abandoned such things a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.  So I continued looking around and found someone with an ancient machine in their attic.  I don’t know if it was the machine or the disks, but nothing could be salvaged.  Oh, a few words or paragraphs could be recovered and viewed, but no way to transfer to modern mechanisms.

I did the only thing that I could: I threw away the disks.  What may have been important twenty years ago is less so today.  The fact that it took so long to dust off those disks should have clued me in any way.  I was thinking about a testimonial someone shared.  It was around the same time I was unceremoniously exited from the Organization.  She spoke about what happened when her grandmother died.  The Organization pressured her to get the money and give it to them.  They sent a cadre with her to Philadelphia.  She even stayed in the local office while she was tidying up her affairs.  Then she gave the cadre the slip.

There was something she said that my memory was failing to recall.  It was something along the lines of, if they just would have let me take care of it I would have given them the money.  She made no particular name for herself while in the Organization, just another worker bee pecking away at an old royal.  She was a loyal adherent, spoke plainly, and enjoyed camaraderie.  No one worried too much about her.  She was trusted to take care of things and rarely got sick.

The timing was unfortunate.  This happened during the time of the lawsuits that resulted in six persons going to jail.  That also started with an heiress cheated out of her monies.  The Organization was desperate to get her dollars and didn’t trust her to do the right thing.  She felt suffocated.  Yes, that word comes to mind very strongly.  She didn’t like being considered untrustworthy.  I can’t remember the reason why the cadre left the room but when he did, she told the lawyer she was afraid he was going to steal her money.  The lawyer hid her in another room and told some story to the cadre when he returned.

I’ve been trying to remember some of the details of what happened after she made her lam.  I think she started teaching in high school before returning to the university as some sort of professor.  She married some loser who spent her inheritance before dumping her for a younger and prettier model.  Unlike some that left, she made no prideful claims of building something better.  She walked away with a realization that it was a scam.

I was thinking about her because the subject of the trials came up in a correspondence with another ex-cadre.  She was once a friend.  The two of us would never have been friends if we had met outside of the Organization.  I remember an awkwardness when chance brought us together again.  She wanted me to know that it started out about the money.  She wanted to return when her head cleared but the phone calls compelled her to do otherwise.  I think it may have been FCFD who was calling all of the relatives trying to hunt her down, I simply can’t remember.  It could have been FCADC, a rising star at the time in great favor with Oldie.

Life has ups and downs.  Not everything can be blamed on the cult.  She had trouble adjusting to a ‘normal’ life when she first left.  When things went wrong, she did what she learned: she blamed herself for her inadequacies.  She hadn’t been committed enough, allowed herself to succumb to exhaustion when she should have been working, fell sick at the wrong times, needed someone to tell her what to do.

I wish I could remember that day with the clarity of a crystal glass but it’s hazy and shattered.  Then I realize it’s not that important.  She didn’t tell me what happened so it could appear on some crappy blog.  We both exited the Organization and in very different manners.  She wanted on the bandwagon to help others escape.  Her sufferings from epilepsy ended that aspiration.  What was it?  A grand mal seizure?  She wasn’t penniless and some brother scooped up what was left.

Maybe she wanted closure.  That seems to be important with some people.  The idea of never knowing what happened to someone once considered a friend.  Maybe…

No one joins a cult knowing that it is a cult.  Some getting out know that it is a cult while others simply realize it’s not what they thought they joined in the first place.  Some of us were unceremoniously ousted flat on our asses straight into hospitals.  At least two were dumped off in front of mental hospitals.  Not to worry; someday someone from the group will come along to piss on our graves and then continue begging for quarters while carrying a tin coffee can in front of the super store all in the name of progressive change.  There’s not too many of them left.


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