This is only the story of Charlotte's escape from her contract to join the Sea Org. The whole of her story can be found at www.offlines.org Part Three: The Sea Org
I was given magazines and more magazines to read, questioned about my staff-contract status with Philadelphia Org, and basically, recruited for the Sea Org. I tried to explain that I wanted to wait a while, that I wanted to go on staff at Philadelphia Org for a while, and go to college for a while longer. I also tried to tell them that my parents wouldn't like it if I suddenly decided to drop everything and join the Sea Org at the CLO, but my every argument was brushed aside, my motivations questioned, my parents' motivations questioned. I recognized the direction of that questioning and was very careful to say little about my parents, not wanting them to be considered suppressive and myself PTS. Surrounded by the recruiting posters emblazoned with slogans, as the Senior HAS and LC asked me, "Well, don't you want to clear the planet? What is more important, college or saving the planet?" again and again to my every objection, I just wanted to wait a bit; the guilt still sank in. I felt my resolve to wait being suppressed; the only way to be "approved," was to sign, and sign with the Sea Org, I decided I'd "handle" my parents, "handle" everything and everybody, quit school, move, all over a weekend break specially granted in my EPF, or Estates Project Force. The EPF was a period of "MEST work," or physical labor, done while completing basic Sea Org courses; at the end of that time, I would be a full member of the Sea Org.
When I finally agreed to sign, they brought out the contract. I read it quickly, it was very short, and signed. Immediately after signing, I felt the regret sinking in, the "spell" of the regging wearing off, the panic setting in. One billion years to Scientology. Starting tomorrow. No way out and no way back it seemed at the time. And the Senior HAS and LC seemed so happy, so congratulatory--I consoled myself in their approval, that I was a good Scientologist after all.
And yet, I wasn't consoled at all. I was running my hands through my hair again and again, nervous and shaky wondering how on earth I was supposed to "handle" my parents, non-Scientologists who hadn't heard the word until a month previous, with the facts at hand: "Well, I'm quitting school to move to New York and work for Scientology and wear a fake navy uniform for the next billion years..." and yet I knew asking for too much advice would put me under suspicion of PTSness, and my parents under suspicion of suppressiveness. I couldn't bear to have an abnormal, stilted relationship with my parents that consisted solely of "good roads, good weather" and "handling;" I had to preserve a real relationship, even if that meant keeping quiet.
I was hearing in the next carrel, one young girl--so many at the CLO were so young, their billion year contracts signed far before they were ever grown, born into Scientology, never knowing the world outside--was receiving some type of PTS handling--"good roads, good weather," her "handlers" reminded her--"make sure not to ARC break your aunt on Scientology..."; she was writing letters so bland, and so empty to her once-close relatives and friends, and I didn't want to be the next to experience that. I was already fearing falling out of contact with the outside world--as I quickly toured the CLO--the first few floors of offices, the basement "galley," the dorm "berthing" on the upper floors--noting there were no private telephones, and that all the mail entering and leaving the CLO from outside internal Scientology communication channels seemed open at the "comm center."
I was routed back downstairs to read the SO "2D policies," and read of the prohibition on all sexual activity before marriage. As a long-time advocate of sexual freedom, the policy seemed outdated and restrictive, and I justified it by remembering that in the SO, all of my intention must be focused on Scientology. I failed to also notice that it seemed another purpose was to separate the individual from the rest of humanity; one's life was lived for Ron, and no other; and one's human feelings and desires suppressed, all in the interest of "the cause." I was asked if I had a boyfriend and quickly assured that I would get a new one in the Sea Org, and told that as a Sea Org member, I should be prepared to not bear children. I sat and absorbed; it was almost too much all at once for me, the routing too fast and the pressure too intense, but I said nothing and kept my worries to myself as I received my personality, IQ and aptitude tests yet again before being presented with the "Leadership Survey" and "Life History." The "Leadership Survey" is designed to gauge a Scientologist's level of mental slavery to "LRH;" it is an index of one's willingness to abnegate self and all others in the interest of Ron and his "Church."
With the "Life History," it seemed the Sea Org now knew more about me than anyone else on earth, including my parents--the form was very long, and required listings of family, and all friends, and all medical procedures ever done, and any medical drugs ever taken, besides asking about illegal drugs, names of all "2D" partners and "any perversions;" it was in any and all senses a "Life History." The Senior HAS and LC looked it over, and found nothing to "out-qual" me, but took me to the galley so we could speak privately about the listed items they were most interested in--not surprisingly, my former membership in the Communist Party, USA--and rather surprisingly to me, my thyroid medications, which I carried with me. I had been diagnosed with Graves' disease several years earlier; both my mother and grandmother had shared the same diagnosis in their own teen years, and was taking several medications. The two looked over the pill-bottles, and asked if they "affected the brain" at all; I answered no, they were only medications to control my overactive thyroid and slow my rapid heartbeat caused by the thyroid condition. However, due to their paranoia about "psych drugs," they looked them up in a Physician's Desk Reference before being consoled that they were not, indeed, "psych drugs." Nevertheless, both were still disturbed by the medication itself: they questioned me about my symptoms and the necessity for the drugs; when I mentioned "weight gain" as one of the symptoms of my condition when untreated, as well as "rapid heartbeat," I was assured that "exercise" would take care of those problems, and informed that auditing could cure my thyroid condition, and "advised" to stop the medication so that I would be "sessionable." It had apparently been decided by the Senior HAS and the LC, two people with no medical training, that what I needed was auditing, and perhaps a PTS handling, some vitamins and exercise, and I would be fine; they told me I did not need my medication, and I indeed stopped taking it that evening.
I had not yet told my parents I was going into the SO--how could I when I at least half-wished I wasn't going into the SO? When I explained that my parents may worry, I was told that another SO member could come home with me for the weekend to tell my parents why I was going into the SO. When I told them I wasn't sure that would improve communication, I was given an "Ups and Downs in Life" course pack. This is a basic course which deals with "suppressive persons" and "PTSness." The LC asked me to read it over and tell her what I thought. I read the whole course book through and I knew what was happening--it seemed that she wanted me to say that one or both of my parents were suppressive, and I was "going PTS" to them. I felt I knew what was going on, and I did not like it at all.
When I could not find a suppressive parent, Lara, the EPF I/C and a truly nice person (who is now also out of Scientology), was called out of the courseroom to "drill" me on how to "handle" my parents, as apparently she had faced a similar situation. She acted as the parent, and I as myself telling my mother, and then my father, that I was joining the Sea Org. I told her enough so that she could mimic their reactions well, and she advised me on what to say to them. Not to be mentioned were the billion-year contract, and the 2D policies, and to emphasize that they could visit---as long as they arranged it in advance. It all made me even more uncomfortable, and this feeling grew when, after my parental drill was pronounced successful, I was put back on the meter for another sec check, this one with more questions about whether or not my parents would oppose my presence at the CLO.
After the short sec check was over, I returned to the Senior HAS and LC and "put on a brave face." I did more of my routing in to the EPF, finding the correct people to sign my routing form and so on, until all that was left was my swearing-in, which would be done that evening at the EPF night muster. The rest of the day was more MEST work, until dinner and room inspection. Room inspection made me uncomfortable, as the Senior HAS checked the EPF room for any sign of dust or dirt or misfolded belongings; I wished for privacy, and I wondered if I would ever have any again. I felt trapped, as if that whole outside world out there had been severed from me, and I was stuck in a bizarre alternate reality. I had come to my decision; I had no more doubt; after one day at the CLO, all I could dream of was going home.
The next morning, I showered and dressed in "civvies" for EPF muster; and yet I couldn't get the courage to say I wanted to route out, so I went back up and got my uniform. I lasted before and through breakfast before I finally said it, looking up at Lara on the next step and saying, "I want to route out." We talked for a while, she told me that of course this was the hardest time, but it wasn't working at all. I felt like I was arguing for my freedom, like this was the first obstacle, then I would get to rge Senior HAS, and then I could route out--even though more and more I was considering simply leaving everything behind and running out the door of the CLO. I was more and more desperate to get out, and when I got particularly upset, Lara took me out on to the CLO roof for "Locational Processing:" it's meant to calm an upset person by getting that person to really look at his or her surroundings and find themselves where they are. I looked out around the city as Lara pointed things out, and I looked and spotted, and recognized, and still wanted to get out. In fact, as I stood there, looking out from the roof of the CLO, I first wished that I could be like one of those action heroes in movies who ran out escaping across roofs, and then seriously, looking out, considered that if I simply stepped off at least I would die free, and that thought scared me intensely. I turned to Lara and said, with deadly seriousness, "Take me to see the Senior HAS." And she did.
The whole cycle began again, the questioning and the magazines and the hard sell and the guilt, the PTS/SP course pack--once again, I was encouraged to find an SP--and I kept saying, "I just want to route out, I want to leave, I want to go home," and I could not convince them. I felt like a prisoner. They took me for a walk around the New York Org to see the Sea Org film before questioning me further: "who was influencing me?" and on and on...it seemed nothing I said was good enough; I began to promise to come back if they would let me go and give me time to think about school, as afternoon wore on through evening.
I began to wonder if all the entheta was true, I began to wonder at my own desperate state, I even said aloud, "oh, I wish I'd never heard of Scientology," which brought on the questioning yet again. I read through the entire PTS/SP course pack that day. The Senior HAS and LC kept giving me hope that I could leave, and then sending me back to read more magazines, more references, more articles. Eventually, it was dark outside. I told them I'd contacted my mother and that she would call the police if I was not at home. I had already changed in the bathroom, before running upstairs, grabbing my bag, throwing on my coat and practically running out the door of the CLO and actually whirling down the street like a crazy woman, towards Penn Station.
At the station, just in time to catch the train home, I looked in my pocket mirror--I looked awful, I looked not just unkempt but emotionally ragged. Oh, God, I thought, "I look like I just escaped from a cult." And I curled up in the train seat, and eventually brushed and sprayed my hair, put on some makeup, and still I didn't feel right at all, I looked like myself again, but the feeling remained, that I had escaped something terrible.
I returned to the Org the next day, and I was assured that what had happened was all "off-policy;" when it was not. Looking back now, I know had I stayed on the EPF I may very well have been broken into Scientology for life or seriously emotionally broken. I am struck by the fact that quite simply, they would not let me leave; that while they berated and questioned my desire to "free the planet," they would not let me be free.
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