Esther's own story (fragments part 4)

Introduction, Aline Terpstra, 23 March 2020 (updated on 14 September 2026)

Anyone who has read Esther’s previous testimonies will already have an idea of just how extreme the consequences are if you make even the slightest mistakes in the eyes of the cult. In the years that I have now been treating Esther, one of the extreme emotions that has sometimes brought her to the brink of returning to the cult is an overwhelming sense of guilt. Guilt, above all, because people are talking about it. Time and again, the emotions surrounding this have been very intense, and some parts of her have ‘longed’ for the pain and punishment that the cult used to inflict in this regard. For after the pain and the ‘punishment’ (= torture, in many different forms) came a feeling of extreme relief, that the slate was clean again, if only for a moment. The overwhelming longing of some parts to be able to feel that relief led, time and again, to the processing of the memories underlying this. Memories that were often deliberately triggered by the cult through the sending of photos or films, or by the use of trigger words that brought them to mind. Of course, the power of lifelong, ingrained habits also plays a major role in this. Through this processing, the intensity of these feelings diminished rapidly.

In the first excerpt below, you'll read how 6-year-old Esther feels tremendously guilty for not immediately refreshing herself after a gang rape. She describes her struggle with the feeling of guilt, the felt rightness of the 'punishment', the self-condemnation and the enormous pain this torture causes to the exhausted child. In the second fragment, Esther describes how daily life was also interwoven with cult and the same principles were applied. Maximum performance at school was required. Anything less led to rape, or even to having to trap another child.

Esther's own story, by Esther

Zolder/Convicted cult member: 6 years

Attic/punishment with a well-known cult perpetrator and four men. I have to sit and lie in various positions and satisfy them with my mouth. The cult perpetrator said I have to learn not to spit. That’s how you learn. Practise it loads and then your throat gets used to it and it feels good. It’s in my room in a house I often visit. Men are standing around me and coming on my stomach. Before that, they’d raped me. One by one, whilst the others watched or shoved their cocks into my mouth until I gagged. I’m not allowed to gag; if I do, they do it harder. It had been an order from the cult leader. ‘If she gags, just push harder, but make sure she doesn’t die.’ They’d been laughing about it.¹ . I just assumed. Numb, waiting for it to be over, so that it would all seem like a dream. I was so tired by the time they’d finished. I was so tired. They gave me a kiss and walked out of the room. I’m still lying there when the abuser comes in. He’s angry that I haven’t washed and drags me upstairs by my hair. The loft. I think I’m about six years old, maybe younger. I’d taken some time to recover. Wrong. I’m ashamed. I’m dirty. I feel dirty. I’ve messed up again and wasn’t strong enough to pull myself together and tidy up for… I’ve no idea who. Just because I have to. I’m tired and can expect anything. Or so it feels. I just feel stupid, so stupid, and I almost want to scream that I deserve a punishment. But I already know I’ll get one, so I don’t. Dark, wooden beams and ceiling, lots of boxes and bits and bobs. At the back left in the corner, chains hang from the top beam with leather bracelets attached, and underneath is a rocking horse with a sort of club on top. The rocking horse is where the punishment takes place. Sometimes it’s in my room without the club. But in the loft, it’s always ready with the club. I have to sit on it in my birthday suit. The perpetrator puts something on that club, and then I have to sit on it. Apparently, I’ve already learnt how to do it and use my hands to make sure it fits so nothing gets pinched. I can’t lower myself all the way down; that hurts. And I hope he hangs me up quickly. My desire to be punished has gone; I’m just afraid of the pain now. My arms up, and then I pull myself up a bit – that way I don’t have to support my own weight, but it starts to hurt after a while too. I’m hanging in the air with my arms in the cuffs. They’ve hoisted my arms up, so my feet are slightly off the ground and the baton doesn’t have to go all the way inside me. My arms, my wrists and, above all, my shoulders. That thing between my legs is also painful but bearable; however, after hanging there for a few hours (I think), it really does hurt, and when I move, everything feels like it’s on fire. After a while, I can’t take it any more and I beg for forgiveness. I shout that I’m sorry and want to be punished, and that I’ll never do it again. I don’t know what it is I’ll never do again, but that’s what the cult leader wants to hear. At that moment, it doesn’t matter what I must never do again – that pain has to go. It feels as though my hands are being wrenched from my wrists; I need air. The cult perpetrator comes back up, laughing, and calls me his sweet little girl who has finally realised once again that she needs punishment to be cleansed. I look at myself and I am indeed filthy. I know the punishment is that I have to sit on that horse for hours until the next day, and then I’m allowed a cold shower, and that’s it. Those hours are awful, and after a while I regret having regretted it, but ‘I deserve it,’ I hear myself say, and that soothes me. Over and over, I tell myself, ‘You deserve it; it’s your own fault.’ Bitch. Stupid little wretch. I hear the voices of others in my head and I repeat after them as if I were them, speaking to me. It feels reassuring. The chains loosen slightly and for hours I sit there, cold and in pain, sometimes almost falling asleep, but moving hurts so much that falling asleep does too. After hours, I’m fully convinced of just how awful I am and sort of resign myself to my fate. This is what I have to live with, and this is it. I sort of consciously choose to feel and see myself as this bad, so that I can cope with anything.

WC, about 10 years

Anytime you don't walk completely within the lines, you have to ask for forgiveness. You can't walk outside the lines. It's forbidden. If you do, it's not them bringing you inside the lines, it's your thoughts and your feelings convincing you that you are so bad and need forgiveness. Asking for and receiving forgiveness is not saying sorry. Forgiveness is giving something back in exchange for your bad thoughts or actions, so that it is equalized again. That one is worse than the other is a fact. For bad deeds, like betrayal. Telling someone what the cult is doing is actually punishable by death. But letting someone else carry your punishment is okay, but you'd have to sacrifice someone in the cult. If someone wants out, you don't have a choice. Sacrificing, killing someone for your sins, is really not what you want anymore. You don't want to hurt others, and you start to realize that you will when you pay your penalty. But the guilt is so great. You just have to redeem yourself. You have to do penance. The weight that is placed on it is immense. I could give my life, willingly, to get rid of this enormous debt. It's such an intense, heavy feeling.

It’s such a habit to think that way. To think that you always deserve punishment when you don’t do something the way they – the cult – want you to. If you’ve accidentally said you’re going to ‘cultdader’, when you were actually meant to say you were going to the dentist, it eats you up inside. You’ve made a mistake. You have to atone for this. Make amends. The severity of this depends on your age and the magnitude of the sin, but in your mind you’re constantly preoccupied with how to atone for your sins and start afresh, so that you can grow towards the higher purpose the cult has devised for you.

I went looking for why I struggle with this so intensely. Why is it so difficult to stop thinking in terms of punishment and control? Why can't I just experience that I am human and make mistakes? Why is someone else always better than me and do I want to 'make up for' everything and am I at times, intense, almost convinced that I have to go back to cult, because I am bad. I have sinned and need forgiveness. My soul yearns over and over again to want to right my wrongs as I learned them in the group. While wrestling with this I thought about school:

I hardly ever got bad marks, but if I did in primary school, I’d feel worthless. I thought everyone was looking at me and would think I was the worst person on earth. I was nothing. Worthless, incapable of anything and unimportant. The fact that I usually got good marks was beside the point. It didn’t matter what I brought home from school. Nobody listened to how my day had gone, and I didn’t even have to show my school report. That was never a source of stress, but when I heard I’d got a bad mark at school, the ground seemed to vanish from under my feet. I didn’t realise I was being punished for it. Now that Amy(1) is able and brave enough to speak out, it’s coming to light, but my life was simply such that punishment was just part of the deal. You could always find a reason for a punishment for just about anything – a bad mark once in a while, dirty shoes, a bed not made properly, whatever – any of those would be reason enough. My life consisted of trying to avoid punishment and enduring it.

I can see the headmistress standing there. She never went by her first name; everyone had to call her Mrs X, but she only told me her real name. Because we looked so much alike and we both have the same surname. How lovely is that? She smiled when she said that and looked very sincere. She thought I was such a cheerful, sweet girl that she was so happy I was at her school too. She asked if I’d mind fetching her a coffee now and then or doing some photocopying. Of course I enjoyed that. I found the lessons boring, always finished my work quickly and was often bored out of my wits. I did want to move about a bit, because my legs wanted more than just to stay under that table. I was always nervous and on my guard, but if I could move around, it took my mind off things. If I couldn’t move, I’d just stare into space. That kept me calm and let me switch off, but then I’d sometimes miss the questions and wouldn’t have an answer, which made me look stupid.

But the headmistress had noticed that I could do with a bit of exercise and would sometimes take me out of the classroom. She’d stand by the side window next to the door, look at me and at the teacher, and then we’d both know I was allowed to leave the classroom. Just a quick extra task. She’d take me to the toilet block where there were four toilets side by side. It always smelt a bit in there, and I’d much rather go at home. I could hold it in for ages, so I avoided those grubby, smelly toilets. But when the headmistress tells you to go to the loo, you go. So I’d walk into the toilet cubicles and she’d close the door to the toilet block.

Just as I’m about to open the toilet door to do as I’m told, a man suddenly appears in front of me. ‘Hey, pretty lady, fancy coming over to me for a bit?” I look towards the door, hoping the headmistress will come to my aid, but she’s not there and the door is shut. ‘You don’t need any help; I’ll help you,’ says the man. He takes off my shoes, helps me with my trousers and undoes his fly and button. ‘Come and see Daddy for a moment; I’ll be gone in a jiffy’ . I’d already gone quiet and was cooperating fully, but when I realised my fly was open and my trousers were down, I freaked out. I had to pull myself together. I lay down on the floor of my own accord and he had sex with me. He grabbed a toilet roll and handed it to me. ‘Clean yourself up, lady,’ he said. I wiped away as much as I could, whilst he walked out of the toilet cubicles. ‘See you next time,’ he called after me…

I stood up and the headmistress came into the room. ‘Have you been to the loo yet?’ she asked. I shook my head and went to the loo. That way, as much as possible can come out and I’ll feel less dirty. I was quite glad about that. I flushed, got dressed, and she asked me to come with her to her office. She had a small office with a window looking out, and I had to sit on a round wooden stool next to her desk. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘you’re very special, because we’ve both got the same name. And you’re just as brave as I am. But if you want to be just as clever as me, you’ll have to work harder. You can’t get low marks; “satisfactory” isn’t good enough. If you don’t try as hard, you’ll have to pay the price – and that’s easily done by coming with me to the loo for a moment. So from now on, you’ll come over to me when I’m standing there and make amends for your poor work, and then you can start again. Agreed? I nod in agreement. I’ll do my very best, because that’s what’s expected at school and the headmistress will be proud of me. Luckily, I’ve now paid my debt and can start afresh.

She’s standing by the window again. I’m startled; I don’t want to, but I go anyway. The teacher nods to the headmistress and gives me a stern look, which tells me I’d better get a move on. I walk with her, thinking we’re going to the toilets, but I have to go with her to the gate leading to the playground. ‘Over there,’ she says, pointing to a car. I walk over to the car and the man sitting inside flings the door open and tells me to get in. The rule about not going off with strangers hasn’t really sunk in with me. I’ve heard it often at school and at other times, but these people aren’t strangers at all, because they know me. Because the headmistress says I have to get in, and they open the door for me and know my name. I don’t know them, but they know me. I get in and we drive off. He starts telling me that I have to do something very important, and because I’m a girl and a child, I can do it.

He tells me to go inside somewhere later and then bring a girl with me. I find her in the toilet cubicles in the building and he shows me a picture of the inside and where the toilets are. You wait there and if you meet a girl you tell her you need her help and she has to walk with you. But because it's a surprise for her teacher, nobody can know. I nod. It does sound exciting. If she wants to help with the surprise, she has to come to the outside door and you wait for her there. If she is there, point to my car and say we have to go there for a while, then she gets her surprise. I'm super nervous, but I just do it. I can always say I'm lost if someone sees me. But no one can see me and I have to play very shy.

We do drive a bit, I don't know exactly what school or town I'm in. He shows me the picture again, we look to see if anyone is coming through the door, so it's really open, and I have to get out. As I walk into the square, he drives off. It scares me, but I only have 1 plan, so only 1 choice and I decide to follow it. In the corridor I meet someone and he asks me what I am doing here. I have to go to the toilet I say, as if I am a student of this school. She looks doubtful, but continues walking. My heart is high in my throat. At the toilets I try to recover and I wait. I'm super nervous, but I also realize that I can wait here forever. Nobody misses me, except for that man, so I am in no hurry. That relaxes me.

Suddenly the door opens and a girl goes to the loo. I wait until she’s finished and then walk over to her. ‘Hi, I’m …’ I say. ‘What’s your name?’ She tells me her name. I ask who her class teacher is and she says she has a male teacher. I tell her I’m here to surprise her teacher and ask if she’d like to help. She nods enthusiastically. I explain the plan to her and tell her it’s top secret, so nobody must see us, but it’ll be over in a flash. She nods in agreement again. I walk to the outer door first and don’t bump into anyone; I can already see her following behind me. I spot the big grey car parked there again and wave my hand. He gets out and we walk over to his car. ‘You need to get in,’ he says as soon as I’m close to the car, and I do so straight away. He says to the girl, ‘Just get in for a moment, then I’ll tell you what’s going on.’ She does as she’s told and he gets in beside her. In the car, he tells her that he’s taking her away and that as long as she stays quiet, nothing will happen. He tells me to wrap the tape around her hands so she can’t run away, and to tie her to the seat. That way she can’t reach the door either. I feel the ground slipping away from under my feet. It’s not how he said it would be. They’re taking her away and she doesn’t want to go. She looks absolutely terrified. Yet I do it. I don’t say a word to her; I just do it. My emotions are switched off and my robot mode is on. She looks so scared, but I look at him and he looks satisfied.

I'm being dropped off at school. Well done girl, go back to your class. I get out and leave her, with her frightened eyes.

1) Amy is Esther’s ‘central child part’. Esther describes here that she used to know she experienced a great deal of stress at school as a child whenever she didn’t get a high mark. And that this stress wasn’t caused by how people reacted to it at home. Now that her child part, Amy, is able and willing to speak out,