I was stuck in an abusive cult ashram in India where I was absolutely miserable, everyone my age hated me because I was the only foreign child in the entire town, and I didn't believe in the guru who was supposedly God (but didn't dare say so.) I was flunking all my classes because my Hindi sucked, and was about to be held back and have to repeat grades indefinitely until I could pass classes for native speakers, which was never going to happen. And did I mention cult? It was horrendous and there was no way out because both my parents were there.
Then my father fell for another woman at the ashram (also American) and they ran off together, back to America, leaving me behind with my mother. I knew my mother wasn't going anywhere. (Thirty years later, she's still there.)
I wrote to my father every day for six months, begging him to let me come live with him, making arguments for why this would benefit him, guilt-tripping him, demanding, coaxing, etc. Finally he couldn't take it any more and told me I could come live with him in America.
I was twelve.
To be fair to him, he told me later that he had always intended to collect me at some point. However, 1) if so, he sure didn't tell me, 2) he had no reason not to tell me because my mother didn't object to me leaving, 3) the first time he told me that had been his intent, I was thirty-five. So I kind of doubt it. I think I wrote my way out.
(America turned out to not be the haven I imagined, or at least not until I turned eighteen and could do my own thing. But it was one hell of a lot better than where I'd been. And also, I had a future there, which I sure hadn't at the ashram.)
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Date: 2016-02-10 10:22 am (UTC)Then my father fell for another woman at the ashram (also American) and they ran off together, back to America, leaving me behind with my mother. I knew my mother wasn't going anywhere. (Thirty years later, she's still there.)
I wrote to my father every day for six months, begging him to let me come live with him, making arguments for why this would benefit him, guilt-tripping him, demanding, coaxing, etc. Finally he couldn't take it any more and told me I could come live with him in America.
I was twelve.
To be fair to him, he told me later that he had always intended to collect me at some point. However, 1) if so, he sure didn't tell me, 2) he had no reason not to tell me because my mother didn't object to me leaving, 3) the first time he told me that had been his intent, I was thirty-five. So I kind of doubt it. I think I wrote my way out.
(America turned out to not be the haven I imagined, or at least not until I turned eighteen and could do my own thing. But it was one hell of a lot better than where I'd been. And also, I had a future there, which I sure hadn't at the ashram.)