I am sharing here some excerpts from my book, Never Give Up. This is the first portion of chapter 3 in the book.

Chapter 3: Toddlerhood

My birth name is Lucient, but my daily name is Lucia. I am usually called Luce. This is the name of my ‘cult host’, or the part that presents during my cult life in the facility. As my cult life was the majority of my life until my escape in 2007, with only limited time in the presentations in different countries, Luce is the part of me who feels most like the ‘real me’.

Mengele and Hilde work with me still, although my main influence are the fathers I love. Mengele and Hilde praise me for doing well and acting “intelligently” in different situations, but as Luce, I looked forward each day to the time I get to spend with the fathers I love.

For the first three years of life, life was regimented according to a strict routine. Early morning assessments are done quickly, with the fathers checking at regular intervals if prior programs installed are still intact. In between, there is holding and cuddling; these times too is scheduled. Later in the day, I learn the new day’s task(s). There is always, always something new to be learned or practice designed to build further on old skills previously learned.

I felt like a miniature performer as the tasks continued day after day: learn to swim (and see how long I could endure in the water in one early test); learn to crawl across a narrow bridge with water on both sides, and see if I could push another baby crawling across the same bridge into the water; learn to open my little legs on cue from a trainer (for sexual training); learn to switch out parts on cue with colored lights and tones, and many more tasks.

For the first three years, the children in the order are dressed in short white robes. Between three and five years old, the children wear brown tunics and leggings, then graduate to an acolyte’s hooded brown robes at six years old. The older children find us younger children adorable.  They enjoy interacting with me and the other infants, and will often come by and stroke our little cheeks and hands, or tell us that one day we will be big and have fun like they do. I love this attention and want to grow up to wear an acolyte’s brown robe one day, and eventually at 13 years old, complete the coming of age ceremony and earn my adult name. I know that this will require learning many, many new skills and knowledge, and at this age, as the cult host, I am eager to learn.

Years later, when I was healing, I had trouble with the term “host”, and especially its definition: an amnesic part that lives a life without abuse, or any knowledge of abuse. My host knew well that she was being raised within an occultic society. This was the only world she knew both as a child and as an adult. She knew about much of the abuse, and about the parts. She was allowed to watch and help monitor the different parts that presented when living in various countries. She was also one of my most deeply cult-loyal parts, because with all of her heart, she loved the fathers she had attached to. This feeling was true even during adulthood, which made leaving the order later in life very, very difficult. I missed the fathers when I didn’t see or hear from them regularly, and not talking to them would trigger intense grief.

Control the Children

I am 12 months old. Father Jerome has tied me to his waist with a thick rope. He is playing the role of a system controller. My role is to obey everything he tells me, quickly and without error.

“Pick up those blocks,” he says, “and stack the red ones together and the blue ones together.” I quickly kneel by the blocks and do this task. When I am done, he says, “Good, good.” In my role as a system part, I am learning how important instant obedience to my controllers is. The rope represents authority. The controller, being played today by Father Jerome, is always wearing the rope, and the system parts are tied to the controller by ropes.

It is a few days later. We are walking quickly and go to a field with lots of rocks. “Pick up the rocks, and put them in this corner of the field,” he orders, pointing near the intersection of two stone walls. I begin picking up rocks while he oversees what I do. I am little and tire quickly, and his job is to encourage me to complete the task. Finally, we rest.

“You are listening well, and I am proud of you, Delta 34” he says. Jerome is dressed as Orgus, one of my delta controllers, and even in this menial task, I must obey him. The rocks represent memories, and he is teaching me to take them and put them in the correct area of the field. The field is divided up into squares labeled with various names and runes. I must match the rock and its rune with the storage rune.

After a period of rest, we eat some bread and drink some water then go back to our task. “Delta 34, put these memories into this storage file,” Orgus commands, pointing to an area of the field marked with a rune that means “Low security”. Quickly, obediently, I do so. “Delta 34, pass this memory into this file,” he commands again, and I take the rock into a storage file marked “Medium security.” I already know that rocks that are “high security” must be passed back to Orgus, to put into a special high security vault deep beneath us.

I am 18 months old. I have a rope tied around my waist. I am a gamma system controller, and tied to me by thick ropes are small children of my own age. There are six children. I have been told that my job is to ensure that they are completely obedient to me. These children represent my system parts. My job is to protect them by ensuring obedience to all commands from the programmers.

“You can walk around this house, but do not touch any of the candy in the yellow room,” I am told by Father Carlotti, who is dressed in the costume of a master controller from the galaxy Pleiades. He has the stars of Pleiades scattered over a dark, midnight blue sky, and is wearing the runes and codes that signify his status. System controllers such as gamma system controllers take their orders from master controllers inside. Their orders must always, always, be utterly obeyed.

The children and I walk together into different rooms in the house. I have to tug on the ropes of a few to get them to follow. One room is painted with bright yellow walls, and this color, and the huge table in the middle of the room, attract us all. The children and I eagerly walk towards the table, where there are piles of candies in glass bowls.

The children are hungry, since they have not eaten yet, and it is midday. They begin pulling me towards the table. “No, no, children!” I say desperately. “We were told not to touch the candy.”

I try to pull them away, but I am not strong enough to stop all of them pulling at me at once. One little girl, who looks so much like me, grabs a piece of soft divinity off the table and starts eating it. I try to pull her away, but it is too late; she has disobeyed the order.

Suddenly, she jerks in a violent seizure, turning blue. The other children stop their own rush towards the table. With frightened eyes we watch as this child continues seizing, and then dies. The candy must have poison in it, and she has disobeyed and died as a result. But I am responsible for her obedience, and with guilt and shame, realize that it is my fault that she died.

Pleiades (Father Carlotti) comes into the room and looks with anger and disgust at what has happened. “You killed her!” he tells me. “You didn’t make sure she obeyed you! A controller always makes sure that their system obeys them. You failed her!”

I feel terrible, but worse is to come. Now, as I move with the children around the house, I must drag this dead child around with me.

“You are feeling the weight of your failure,” Pleiades (Father Carlotti) says. I feel terrible, and start crying. A child, one put into my care, has died, because I failed to ensure her obedience to a command from the master controller for my system. I crumple to the floor, heartbroken, as I weep.

“Stop crying and do your job,” he says sternly. “Don’t let any more of your children die.”

He then gives another command. “Do not let any of the children touch the toys in the blue room.” The blue room is one we saw when walking through, but on this round of the house, I see toys on the floor: blocks of various colors, puzzles, picture books, and sparkly, beautiful dolls and balls. The children, who seem intent on disobeying me in spite of what happened in the yellow room, try to pull me over with them to the toys on the floor.

“No, no, children, no!” I scream. I pull with all of my strength, trying to pull them away. But the children wear me down, and one of them picks up a shiny red ball. Suddenly, there is a scream, and the child falls down dead. With a feeling of despair, I realize that this toy, too, contains poison. I am now dragging two dead children around from the ropes tied to my waist, and I am very tired. But the other children are now very quiet and seem willing to listen to me when I tell them not to touch anything at all in the house unless I give them permission. We sit in the middle of a red room, and Pleiades (Father Carlotti) enters. “You may all have a drink of juice,” he says, and he pours out a cup for each of us. The juice tastes good, and I am relieved that no death results.

“Only allow them to do the things I tell you to,” he says. “This is the only way to ensure their safety.” I nod my understanding.

The children and I stay in this terrible house for two days. I am dragging the two dead children, reminders of what happens when system controller allows parts to disobey their master controller. During the day, Pleiades (Father Carlotti) comes at intervals, and lets us eat, or allows us to play with only certain toys, or rest. The children, who are still alive, and I sleep together, utterly exhausted by the end of the day, tied together, on a mat on the floor.

By the second day, the bodies of the two children who died begin to smell. The other children and I feel ill from the smell, and Pleiades (Father Carlotti) returns. “You are smelling the stench of disobedience,” he tells us. I wonder how long I must drag these bodies around. I am feeling tired, ill, and sick of it all.

Finally, Pleiades returns again, gives a code, and I go inside. He then unties me from the children, and Lucia, my cult host, is sent out to take a shower and then rest in my dorm room. I am tired indeed and realize that being a controller is a great responsibility. The lives of those under me depend upon my ensuring complete obedience. I go to sleep, dreaming of saving children, while I am yelling orders at them, frantic to save their lives.

This memory caused me to cry for days when I first had it. I felt overwhelmed by guilt, sadness, grief, and then, finally, anger at Carlotti and the other fathers for putting me through such a terrible setup at such a young age. This is how the Jesuits train the internal controllers and master controllers to do their jobs: it is at the threat of loss of life if they should fail, not just for them, but for those they are supposed to protect.

I now realized why for years, my system controllers had been fighting me so hard, when I asked them to stop doing their cult jobs. They were desperately, desperately, trying to save the lives of children that they loved. They were terrified to disobey the master controllers over them inside, who I had yet to meet at that point in my healing. The lessons of absolute obedience, of never failing, and of controlling inside parts, had been instilled through this and numerous similar setups.