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Finding your way after leaving the cult of Scientology

Self-Destruction at Its Best

Another exposé of the true state of Hubbard Technology by Kathy Elliott. Her experiences parallel mine and that of many others who attempted to follow the “tech” as it was written. The technical reason for our failure to get repeatable results on these e-meter drills appears at the end of the article.

“Is the date besquirreling-2cd8g0gfore 1990?”

No read on my meter.

“After 1990?”

Again, no read on my meter.

“Is the date 1990?”

And, once again, no read on my meter. Just a slow, creeping rise of the needle as my coach’s eyes glazed over.

I threw my pen down on the table and sagged back in my chair.

This had been going on for over an hour with no results. I just couldn’t continue.

My coach slowly surfaced from the mesmerized condition that he’d settled into and blinked. He looked dazed and puzzled. He had no clue what to do. He’d had no auditor training and, of course, had never done any of the e-meter drills. He was a student from the theory course room who’d been cajoled into holding the cans for me in exchange for my help later with one of his drills on the Student Hat Course.

“FLUNK!!!” snapped Bill, the course supervisor, who had spotted my slouched position and total lack of activity.

“What’s going on here?” he asked more kindly but with a touch of frustration in his voice.

“I just can’t keep doing this!” I cried. “I’ve been on this drill for three weekends now, and I’m not getting anywhere with it.” I was almost in tears. For three weekends – six whole days – I’d been beating this drill to death. Or, more accurately, it had been beating me.

If you’ve ever done The Hubbard Professional Metering Course, you know what I’m talking about.


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Did You Ever Wonder About OTs?

Kathy Elliott has favored us again with a story from her life as a recovering Scientologist. You have read her stories of life in the Sea Org written while she was under the radar and using the pen name of Theodora Farnsworth. This story is from the period after leaving staff but before leaving the church to become a free being. Fair warning to new readers, there are some Scientology terms in her story.

http://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photos-disapproval-image1359933I could hear the screams coming all the way from the classroom down the hall. It sounded like 8 year old Bryan again.

As his teacher half led, half dragged him along, the sounds grew louder and louder.

“NOOOOO!!!” Bryan wailed.

I listened as they progressed down the hall. Then they seemed to get hung up. I peered around the door into the hallway.

They had reached the iron railings of the stairwell leading down to the floor below. Bryan had wrapped his little hands around the black metal poles and was clinging desperately to them like an octopus.

I watched as his teacher disgustedly pried his grubby fingers loose from death grip on the railings and got him moving again. It was like an Upper Indoc drill gone horribly wrong. I tried really hard not to laugh out loud.

The teacher, her hair and clothes in complete disarray, dragged the little boy the last few yards onto the porch where my “office” was located.

It was 1986 and I was the ethics officer for Mace-Kingsley’s lower school and my workspace was a folding table and chair on a wide, covered porch on the second floor of the school building.

Bryan sank in a sobbing heap onto the floor at my feet.

“Are you sure you can handle him?” the teacher asked looking at the child with obvious aversion. She sounded apologetic for having brought me this “problem”.

And of course, to her, Bryan was a “problem”. She obviously had no clue how to handle him other than to get him out of her space.

She was okay with kids as long as they sat quietly at their desks like little robots but once they went over the edge like Bryan obviously had, she was helpless – and hopeless – and heartless. Bryan had become a “thing” to be gotten rid of so that she could get back to her classroom of perfect little angels.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be just fine,” I assured her, hoping she would just leave quickly.

She scuttled away without a backward glance.


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