Everybody Likes Hannah
It’s funny what sticks with you when you’re a kid. There are a few defining moments, before the age of 10 that I remember like it happened yesterday.
When I was about five or six years old I remember a very important person coming to the Kingdom Hall (church). He was being introduced around, and I remember one of the women talking to him, and then looking down at me. They were talking about me, and I was pretending not to pay attention.
“Oh Hannah?” She said. “Everybody likes Hannah.”
I wasn’t sure why she said that. At the moment I was joking around, nearby, with my friend. But I remember thinking… “They do?” I liked that. I wanted everyone to say that. What a weird thing to remember, right? But suddenly that became so important to me.
I was an awkward little girl with big giant glasses. I was much taller than everyone else, and I was clumsy as hell. Wouldn’t that be great if EVERYONE likes me?
Fast forward…. I’m eight years old. I am just home from school and my mother is busy decorating a Chocolate Cake. It’s Thursday. Who is the cake for?
“It’s for Pop. It is going to be announced tonight that he is now a Ministerial Servant. People are coming over after meeting. Make sure your room is clean.”
A Ministerial Servant is one step down from an Elder (or Priest) in the Jehovah’s Witness religion. I could see that my mom was preparing to not only celebrate, but show us off. We were to play the part. She never said it to me – but I knew that was my job. I needed to be the “Preacher’s Kid” and set a good example.
Now I’m 12… It is time for me to be baptized. Unlike some other religions, when you are baptized as a Jehovah’s Witness it is forever. There are no “take backs.” It’s a very personal decision between you and God. But in my case, as the “Preachers Kid” it is getting to the point where I will be looked down upon if I am not baptized. So I comply.
The entire thing is staged. I am lined up in front of hundreds of people, along with a few others. I am wearing a bathing suit that covers me just enough. My father is one of the elders who baptizes people. When it is my turn I am to walk down. Hold my nose long enough for people to have time to take a picture. My father dunks me in the pool. I am to come up and hug him. Make sure to hug him long enough for a picture to be taken. Very good. Step out of the pool. Smile for the crowd. Click… click… click.
It is all very organized, and everyone is happy. Everybody likes Hannah.
When I describe my life growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness, I have many fond memories. But most of all I remember that I was under constant surveillance. I had to make sure that I looked good, and my family looked good at all times.
There were dinner parties every week. Beach Parties. Baby Showers. Wedding Showers. Picnics.
Don’t get me wrong – it was a very fun life. But it was a show. Always a show.
Everybody has to like Hannah.
When I get a little older… my dad rose up in the ranks of being an Elder. Now he is a traveling Elder and we have to go visit different Congregations in other towns. Everyone looks at us as we enter. Then we are invited to someone’s house for dinner afterwards, where we are introduced to a group of people from that Congregation. We must be kind, fun, part of the conversation, help with the dishes… All around model children.
Everybody has to like Hannah.
It wasn’t until I was about 17 years old, when I decided that I was leaving, that my mindset started changing. Call it rebellion. Call it being a teenager. Whatever it was – I was going for it. I was running!
I didn’t give a Fuck who didn’t like Hannah.
Over the next two years I was disowned by my parents, excommunicated from the Church, and in the middle of a murder trial.
I was a whole different person.
No one from my entire life spoke to me except my sister and my grandparents. Everyone else was new. And I was able to be who I wanted to be. But I really didn’t know who that was, did I? My whole life I had been told who I was. I was not allowed to think on my own.
And that is exactly why I went a little bit nuts.
I was running away from the hurt of my family and everyone else I had been close to my whole life. I was drinking, partying, and just over all wild. I thought I was invincible. I acted like no one could ever hurt me. No rules or warnings applied to me.
And maybe that’s why one night, when I was 18 years old, and I was cravings donuts at 2am, and decided to go out by myself, my naiveté caught up with me.
The man caught up with me. And forced me back in my car. Behind the fire station. With a knife. Cut my arm. Threatened me. Smashed my face into the car door to stifle my screams. Had his way with me. And then ran away.
I was invincible. So how could that have happened?
I never said anything. I went to work on time the next day. I was never late. Sold furniture and made jokes with the guys in the warehouse as usual.
Everybody likes Hannah.
Until a few weeks later I saw a story in the paper of a man who was chasing down a young girl in a car, ran her off the road, pulled her out and raped her. He had done this two other times that same night, until one of them got away and alerted police. He was arrested. And there he was. Face clear as day. The man with the knife… behind the fire station… that night. It did not take him long to convict him.
I even went to his trial, just a few doors down from my uncle’s. I watched as they presented evidence. No one knew why I was there. And I didn’t tell them. I just sat and watched. He never looked at me. But I looked at him. I wished him dead.
I still go out at night. And I still go to that donut shop. Every time I pass that fire station I remember. And I am defiant. Fuck Him.
But after that night I was forever changed. I would call it quite hardened. I developed some kind of crazy hives, that the Doctor nicknamed the Red Christmas tree, across my back. It took me about a month to get rid of it. But to this day I get them for no reason. It is usually caused by stress. But before the incident I had never gotten them in my life. Since then and to this day, at least once a month.
I was so angry that I was depressed, that I had these hives, that I let someone else – and other people – get the best of me. I was so pissed that others were controlling my happiness, or lack thereof.
I hated therapy. I hated “talking.” I knew exactly what was wrong with me. I just needed to get passed it. I didn’t want to talk about how I FEEL. I was FUCKING PISSED. And unless they could teach me how to get over this feeling faster, I had no interest.
I knew it wasn’t my fault. I just needed to shake the feeling.
I did not and do not blame myself for any of it. Family, religion, that night. Stupid mistakes, life decisions… some in my control, some not.
But now it was time to move on. But moving on to what?
The problem was I was still running away. And I was not done making life hard on myself…