Well, let me start off by introducing myself. My name is Marilyn Samson. I was born in a little town that no one's ever heard of, somewhere in Pennsylvania. I grew up in a strict Christian family and was often beaten when I asked too many questions. I remember once I accidentally took the Lord's name in vain when I was telling my father what a boy in my class had said to me that day. I was beaten for the next four hours with one of my mother's high heel shoes.
For a while, I didn't think it was right for them to beat me, but then I was reading the Bible one day and found the verse that said: 13:24: "He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him." From that day on, I took my beatings with a smile. I was so glad to be participating in an activity sanctioned by the Lord himself. It felt like with every bash to my skull, I was getting closer to God. I think I even felt the hand of God touching me in odd places during one of my father's daily beatings on several occasions.
But soon after, my life took a turn for the worse, when some evil men from Social Services came and took me away from my parents. They kept telling me this nonsense about how they were "saving me", but I knew that the Devil had sent them. I could tell by the color of their skin that the Devil was behind their blasphemous intrusion upon my life, and their attempt to strip me from the hands of the Lord and cast me into a sea of sinners. I could just smell it.
After many years of moving around to different foster parents, I was finally of age and was permitted to live on my own. (I never kept a foster family for long, mainly due to my attempts to baptize them in their sleep.)
Now that I was on my own, I went took look for my parents, who I was sure missed me terribly. After a few months of searching, I found, to my horror, that they had been shot and killed in a heroic attempt to bomb a Slayer concert. My heart ached for my lost parents, and I sometimes rubbed the scars on my body that were left from my father's loving beatings so long ago to remember a better time. I could almost feel the tingly sensation of God's embrace in the form of a belt breaking the sound barrier and smacking my face. I missed them so very much.
After a long period of mourning, I finally moved on and went on with my life. I worked at a small diner in my hometown so I could make ends meet. It was there I met the love of my life, Gerald Hymenschweitzer. He was a German exchange student who was attending a school nearby. He became a regular at the diner, and we would often talk over coffee. Soon, our discussions moved from coffee to dinner dates, and later, from dinner dates to cheap hotel rooms. We were very much in love, and sometimes, he would beat me just like my father once did. This brought me even closer to Gerald, and we quickly made marriage arrangements.
We married in the following fall, and went to the Iraq for our honeymoon. It was so romantic my heart could barely take it. In fact, my heart couldn't take it. I went into cardiac arrest that night, and was only saved by the pouncing of my husband's fist against my chest, snapping me out of my little heart attack.
For the next few years, Gerald and I lived together. It was the greatest time of my life. Sometimes he would give me a concussion from being too physical in his showing of love for me, but I didn't care; I could take it.
One day during the summer, the worst that could have happened actually happened. Gerald was away on a business trip in Mexico. He was in his hotel room minding his own business when a gang of prostitutes came out of nowhere and violated him while forcing him to take drugs as well. He died of an overdose. The police said that it was all consensual and he had chosen to take the drugs, but I know conspiracy when I see it. He was murdered.
After I lost Gerald, I began drinking heavily. Sometimes I drink so much that I wake up in a different country. It's very irritating. I also drink when I'm in Church. I know God doesn't mind. I mean, he could turn water into wine; of course it's chill with him if I have a little drinky-drinky during worship.
Well, that basically leads up to where I am in life right now. I just felt the need to get my voice out there and my story told. Thank you for listening, and God bless you all. Any input would be appreciated.
Thanks again,
Marilyn.
For a while, I didn't think it was right for them to beat me, but then I was reading the Bible one day and found the verse that said: 13:24: "He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is careful to discipline him." From that day on, I took my beatings with a smile. I was so glad to be participating in an activity sanctioned by the Lord himself. It felt like with every bash to my skull, I was getting closer to God. I think I even felt the hand of God touching me in odd places during one of my father's daily beatings on several occasions.
But soon after, my life took a turn for the worse, when some evil men from Social Services came and took me away from my parents. They kept telling me this nonsense about how they were "saving me", but I knew that the Devil had sent them. I could tell by the color of their skin that the Devil was behind their blasphemous intrusion upon my life, and their attempt to strip me from the hands of the Lord and cast me into a sea of sinners. I could just smell it.
After many years of moving around to different foster parents, I was finally of age and was permitted to live on my own. (I never kept a foster family for long, mainly due to my attempts to baptize them in their sleep.)
Now that I was on my own, I went took look for my parents, who I was sure missed me terribly. After a few months of searching, I found, to my horror, that they had been shot and killed in a heroic attempt to bomb a Slayer concert. My heart ached for my lost parents, and I sometimes rubbed the scars on my body that were left from my father's loving beatings so long ago to remember a better time. I could almost feel the tingly sensation of God's embrace in the form of a belt breaking the sound barrier and smacking my face. I missed them so very much.
After a long period of mourning, I finally moved on and went on with my life. I worked at a small diner in my hometown so I could make ends meet. It was there I met the love of my life, Gerald Hymenschweitzer. He was a German exchange student who was attending a school nearby. He became a regular at the diner, and we would often talk over coffee. Soon, our discussions moved from coffee to dinner dates, and later, from dinner dates to cheap hotel rooms. We were very much in love, and sometimes, he would beat me just like my father once did. This brought me even closer to Gerald, and we quickly made marriage arrangements.
We married in the following fall, and went to the Iraq for our honeymoon. It was so romantic my heart could barely take it. In fact, my heart couldn't take it. I went into cardiac arrest that night, and was only saved by the pouncing of my husband's fist against my chest, snapping me out of my little heart attack.
For the next few years, Gerald and I lived together. It was the greatest time of my life. Sometimes he would give me a concussion from being too physical in his showing of love for me, but I didn't care; I could take it.
One day during the summer, the worst that could have happened actually happened. Gerald was away on a business trip in Mexico. He was in his hotel room minding his own business when a gang of prostitutes came out of nowhere and violated him while forcing him to take drugs as well. He died of an overdose. The police said that it was all consensual and he had chosen to take the drugs, but I know conspiracy when I see it. He was murdered.
After I lost Gerald, I began drinking heavily. Sometimes I drink so much that I wake up in a different country. It's very irritating. I also drink when I'm in Church. I know God doesn't mind. I mean, he could turn water into wine; of course it's chill with him if I have a little drinky-drinky during worship.
Well, that basically leads up to where I am in life right now. I just felt the need to get my voice out there and my story told. Thank you for listening, and God bless you all. Any input would be appreciated.
Thanks again,
Marilyn.
Dearest Marilyn, Our Father says He has plans for you, plans to prosper you ..and .. not to harm. People have harmed you terribly, please from my heart and tears do not believe that this is love for it isnot love. Beating up on someone. No. not love.
