Cult Next Door

My Present November 1977

I am one month shy of my eighteenth birthday on the day Dr. Rogers conducts my orientation interview. He asks me why I have come and I describe the demons that torment me. Despite my relationship with Joe, I have frequent bouts of suicidal depression. The previous year I had locked myself in my bedroom during a three-day internal battle. The conflict was so intense that I missed school. With an enormous, crushing weight on my chest, I couldn't even speak to tell my mother what was wrong. A relentless voice in my mind commanded me to consume the entire bottle of my mother's prescription sleeping pills and end my life. However, another part of me couldn't permit that. I did sneak out to her medicine cabinet, but only swallowed three pills and slept eighteen hours until mercifully, the persecution finally lifted.

In addition, I am obsessed with food. I can't stop eating carbohydrates, even when I am so full that I am bursting out of my jeans. As a result, after always having been slim, I am terribly distressed over a recent gain of 30 pounds which has forced me into size 13 clothing.

Unbeknownst to me, George is eavesdropping from the adjacent office. Without warning, he enters, interrupting our conversation. Barely introducing himself, already an expert about me, he declares with assurance that I am exaggerating my problems to get people to feel sorry for me. They really aren't such a big deal, hardly worth the air time. My gut responds; I practically detest him. First impressions are often correct, but I feel vulnerable and confused and I still want to please my mother. So, I muster the willpower to push my instincts aside, and not for the last time. . . .

Soon George puts me on the biofeedback machine. Dimming the light he exits, advising me to "have a good time." Half an hour later he returns and slips into an armchair facing me. Together again, I give him the once over. George Enoch Sharkman is a six-foot, slim, rather handsome, thirty-eight-year-old man with curly, brown hair. His style of speech reveals his New York Jewish background. Aside from his abrupt introduction earlier, his demeanor is easy on the eye. George caressingly inquires what I have experienced on the machine and I reply that after several minutes I dozed off. I anticipate forthcoming advice about relaxing during the coming holiday week, but instead, from this moment on, the unexpected is destined to become routine.

Sitting at the edge of his chair he leans toward me and delivers my first dose of his true spirit. Completely intent on reaching for and discovering some "new information" through his conversation with me, he lectures, referring to incredible feelings, spiritual love and uncovering the ultimate truth in a sea of confused thoughts. His passion for this "truth talk" fascinates me. I have never heard such rhetoric and it captives me. What attracts me more than what he seems to be saying is the fervor of his performance and his charisma. After spending my last seventeen years watching Rachael chase one quack doctor after another, paying thousands of dollars, making a fool of herself, alienating friends and relatives with her obsessions, and never gaining anything of value, I am starving for a person who can deliver results. I yearn for a sense of purpose and I am desperate for a role model. I crave a mentor who will help me develop a stronger personality and a life different than my mother's. I want to accomplish big things: to be a mover and a shaker to change the world. George juggles his interpretations of life like balls in the air. He weaves together universal "truths" he has absorbed from books on Eastern religion, self-help and popular psychology into a patchwork quilt that compels me into a state of intellectual euphoria. This feeling sweeps me away.

George explains his working concept for achieving personal growth, overcoming the "fight or flight" reaction. "Animals operate by instinct alone. They are totally controlled by this reaction. We start out like animals too. For example, when someone insults you, you either want to punch their lights out, fight, or run away with hurt feelings, flight. Either way, their insult affects your physiology. Our bodies react as if we were about to be eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. Of course this is a big lie because we no longer live in the jungle where a challenge from another means our survival is at stake. There is only one way to get rid of these outdated reactions. When you are triggered, sit through them; neither fight nor run. It will be painful at first; you must endure the uncomfortable adrenalin rushes and a burning desire to distract yourself from the sensation. However, it gets easier, and when you finally triumph, you will be a bigger, more grownup person and closer to your true spiritual self. Pursuing personal growth consists of seeking situations which will trigger you to react and then facing your fears. I call this 'search and destroy.' Every time you confront the programming you absorbed from your parents and society and refuse to let it control you, you break a barrier in yourself; you reclaim another small piece of your freedom. The more reactions you break, the happier you'll be. These reactions also separate us from our true potential, locked inside our brain. Scientists have proven that we only use three percent of half the brain. Imagine what a wonderful life we are missing out on! This is our mission: to merge into oneness with each other and the universe, to realize our genuine, innate capacities. Instead of being separate, alone, we will become all one together."

He ends our session with these fervent words, "I don't care if it's a book or a chair, we relate to everything and everyone as if it was mother. We have never matured beyond our first and most significant relationship the person who gave birth to us. Everything is mother!"

I am impressed by the simplicity of this statement. It seems to cut through all possible entangled, intellectual analyses, right to the core nature of relationships. To me, these words hold great meaning, and I am determined to go out into the world and verify them. My mind becomes ablaze with abstractions, contemplations, and seemingly logical deductions. After my short conversation with George, I am hooked, and the painful first impression I experienced just one short hour ago is forgotten. It is incredible how such fleeting minutes can drastically alter the entire course of your life.

By the time my boyfriend, Joe, picks me up in front of Dr. Rogers' office, my mouth is a river of new ideas and theories. From the passenger seat of Joe's older brother's yellow Sebring, my mouth shifts into automatic pilot, and I can't shut up. I am overwhelmed and speak unceasingly about the incredible man I have just met. Infected with a virus of motor mouth babble, every word that springs from my lips is terribly significant, and I know that I have a future ally, George, with whom to share these revelations. I beg Joe to find a way to meet him. He just has to experience the exhilaration I feel!

I return to college and stay until Christmas break. I think about George a lot. From that single, one-hour session, he has quickly become larger than life. I spend hours filling the ears of my roommate, Pauline, with George's wisdom, to reinforce my ebullience. My mouth races to keep up with my mind as I strive for new heights of creative thinking, stemming from the seeds which George planted. As I attempt to make discoveries about "truth" myself, I anticipate our next meeting where I will run my ideas by him.

That month, Joe schedules an appointment with George. Because Joe has neither money nor physical problems, George concocts some phony ailment to justify billing the insurance company. With Joe, he is man-to-man and begins his new student's lessons about the "female game" and "female program." According to George, all females have the same intention to manipulate men. They do this through sex and by creating emotional dependency. "All females" includes me, the person who was, up until that moment, the love of Joe's life and his best friend. Joe begins to question our relationship, and when I return for winter break, the man I love so much, to whom I am totally committed, rebuffs me coldly.

Sitting in George's waiting room, listening to him joking with Joe on the other side of the wall, rage explodes in my chest. Faithfully parroting George's logic "hostility and anger are all lies stemming from the fight/flight reaction" I struggle to disqualify my negativity. Thus, I rationalize, This reaction must be evidence of my immaturity possessive insecurity which I must conquer. After all, Joe has the right to enjoy a relationship with someone other than me. But, despite my attempts to quash my conflict, it remains, just the same. During that vacation Joe and I are estranged from each other for the first time. He accuses me of playing childish games and manipulating him. Finally, he refuses to see or talk to me until I "grow up." He has absorbed George's attitude like a sponge and is projecting it onto me, and worse, George is encouraging him to do so. I am hurt and confused. I have done nothing to earn this rejection, and I feel powerless to repair the rift. Since the first day Joe set eyes on me, he has loved me more than anyone. Now, I have lost what is most precious to me and I can't understand why.