My So Called “Crazy” Life: A True Story of an Escaped Scientologist

337 Pages·2019·2.421 MB·English

by  Aurora Rucker

MY SO CALLED "CRAZY" LIFE

A True Story of an Escaped Scientologist

By Aurora Rucker
My So Called “Crazy” Life
A True Story of an Escaped Scientologist.
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2019 Aurora Rucker
First Published 2019,
Second Edition Published January 2020,
Third Edition Published March 2020.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part
by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without express
written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Dedication

Although your names might not be written out in this book,
I want to dedicate this book to my friends.
Those that helped me in my darkest hour,
Who were honest and true to me,
Those that stood in my corner,
Those that gave me a hand, when no one else would.
For those that did so, you know who you are.
And I thank you.
It is because of you, that I am still here, still breathing.
With all my love, I dedicate this to you.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication
Introduction
Chapter One: Poverty in Paradise
Chapter Two: A Whole New World
Chapter Three: Lions, N’ Tigers, and Bears, Oh My!
Chapter Four: Fair Game
Chapter Five: Ohana (Means Family)
Chapter Six: Homebound
Chapter Seven: Strip or Starve
Chapter Eight: The Middle Finger and Rumormongers
Chapter Nine: The Great Divide
Chapter Ten: Smitten or Bitten?
Chapter Eleven: On the Run
Chapter Twelve: The Final Attempt
Chapter Thirteen: Gaslighting
Chapter Fourteen: The Doctor Is In
Chapter Fifteen: Turn the Page
Chapter Sixteen: The Other Woman
Chapter Seventeen: Infiltration
Chapter Eighteen: On the Mend
Chapter Nineteen: Bullies
Chapter Twenty: “Happily Ever After”
Epilogue: My Inglorious End
Appendix 1: Draggin Me Down
Appendix 2: Claim to Fame
Addendum: Anger Coping Skills Worksheet
About the Author
INTRODUCTION

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels.
The troublemakers.
The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently.
They’re not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo.
You can praise them, disagree with them,
quote them, disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.
Because they change things. They invent. They imagine.
They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire.
They push the human race forward.
Maybe they have to be crazy.
How else can you stare at an empty canvas
and see a work of art?
Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written?
Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?
While some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius.
Because the people who are crazy enough
to think they can change the world,
are the ones who do…”

─ Jack Kerouac
What is it like being raised in the Church of Scientology? Much like the
Amish, alcohol use, and premarital sex are certainly frowned upon.
However, we certainly had television sets, electricity, and all the luxuries of
any child growing up in America had access to. Some would say a
Jehovah's Witness could be called the closest in a description, with
similarities in its strict beliefs and practices.

However, you could liken a child raised in Scientology, to the characters in
the Harry Potter series, where one would be going off to Hogwarts School,
to receive higher education in magical studies, whilst the muggles remain
unaware. At least this is how I saw it growing up, and the closest
description from a child's view that one could give.

Born not only of Scientology parents but also of those that had themselves
dedicated their lives to this very church. I was by default, at birth, now the
unofficial property of the church. My parents took me at the age of six
months, from my birth town of Austin, Texas to join them, as they had
joined the Sea Organization. The highest echelon of dedicated staff to the
Church of Scientology… That is quite a different standard of living.

My youngest memory was of when I was just about one or so, in our one-
bedroom “apartment” in Los Angeles, California, at the infamous Pacific
Area Command Base (PAC), also locally known as “the blue buildings”.
My mother, who was stationed at this location, was my caretaker in the
evenings. Although in the day, I was watched amongst the other “Sea Org”
babies and toddlers, in the nursery. I honestly do not remember what these
facilities looked like, blissful ignorance you could call it.
However, I do have a very vivid memory of my father—seeing as he was
stationed elsewhere and almost never home—taking me by the hand, his
extremely tall 6'4" frame having to stoop to the side, just to hold my little
two-year-old toddler hand and walk me down to breakfast. I remember the
pride I felt, seeing as I almost never got to see my father. I was so happy to
see him and so proud that he was holding my hand…

Immediately lighting up, as I see the large pyramid of small boxed cereals
stacked up high, my eyes start to bug out, as I take it all in. So excited that I
would get to pick out my choice of cereal. This was quite the treat! I got to
walk to breakfast and eat with my father, where he eats, and now pick from
this large pile of cereal. My own choice? I was elated.

Other than this, one distinct memory and a hazy idea of our dorm styled
studio apartment, I do not remember being a child within the Sea
Organization. From babyhood to toddlerhood, I was raised, amongst this
environment—till the age of three, when my parents departed.
My mother said that as a child—seeing as I did not get to see my father
very much—I would scream so loud, and cry so hard every time he had to
leave, nothing could appease me. Now in retrospect, I see that this was the
seed planted, for my latent mental illness and depressive state to come, with
a constant underlying gnawing feeling of abandonment. Even later in life,
changing from an outgoing and extroverted personality, into a recluse, with
social anxiety, trust issues, and certain spite in the very heart of my soul that
I couldn't quite put my finger on. But in looking back now I see it very
clear, that feeling of vulnerability, of being a small abandoned child,
unloved and alone.
This is my story of how the Church of Scientology took not only my
parents from me, my family and friends; but as well took my certainty and
confidence of myself and life, my stability, my mental health, my name, my
privacy, my Civil and Constitutional Rights.

Little did I know, I would be reliving this abandonment over and over
again, like a never-ending nightmare of Groundhog Day...