Esther's own story (fragments part 2)


Aline Terpstra, GZ-psychologist, March 13th 2021

This is part 2 of a collection of fragments of the life story of Esther. In the previous collection of fragments, Esther described how she was tortured from a very young age, humiliated to the bone, exploited for torture pornography and prostitution, sold for a night or more to people in high places or those who paid, had to witness a cult world in which child murder and rape played a leading role, was forced to play the role of a perpetrator which made her a double victim and trapped her in extreme guilt and shame and more.

In this second part with excerpts we learn how she was used as a teenager and later as an adult to blackmail powerful and influential people in our society. A story you - like me - would rather not believe.

As I described earlier, these memories have also been stored fragmented in different personality parts. It is important to keep this in mind as a reader. During Esther's disengagement process over the past three years, the cult sent her, among other things, all kinds of pictures depicting the crimes she was forced to commit. The confrontation with these horrible images made the part of her personality that knew about them extremely anxious and guilt-ridden. So much so that she longed for the numbing of extreme pain and drugs that she was used to when she was still living in that world and very often could no longer believe that another life was possible for her. Because many parts of the personality knew nothing or only a little bit about these acts, it was each time again a heavy process of joint awareness and processing. This process of processing at record speed was necessary to prevent a dissociated personality part from returning to its perpetrators in fear and panic.

Now that the person Esther as a whole had to face the perpetrator's photos and memories, this unleashed an avalanche of strong emotions time and again. Suicidal tendencies were regularly expressed, sometimes set in motion by automatic parts, sometimes as a conceivable impulsive reaction to realizing the horrific abuse but especially the forced crimes. In this piece you read about Esther's struggle with her feelings of guilt and shame. But also about her struggle with the positive feelings that had also been there in situations of crime and violence. Feelings that only the dissociated part felt at the time, but now had to be faced by the whole person.

The whole thing is the reflection of a process of coming to terms with it, an inner struggle that is still going on. Who is guilty of these crimes? Unlike Esther, for me - who follows her struggle and process so closely - it is crystal clear that the people who pull the strings, the rulers and high-ups who orchestrate this world of violence, power, sadism and greed, are the real culprits in this story. The X, Y and other anonymous perpetrators in Esther's life story. Not Esther, in whose life the word 'freedom of choice' was meaningless from an early age. She was no more than a slave.

May Esther's courage in coming forward contribute to justice, freedom and life for her and many, many others.

Esther's own story by Esther

Abroad 11-12 years

I've been chosen. I don't know why, but I'm getting the knife. She's lying there, scared, but she doesn't say anything. When she does say something, I don't understand. It's not English or Dutch. I ignore every message from her, every question in her eyes or her stressed body language. My job is to carry out the assignments they give me with a cold look, so I can move on. A kind of inspection for the next round. I feel nothing, only alertness that I hear the assignment correctly and do it this way, like I was taught in the Netherlands.

Knife cuts into her body. They tell me what to do and where, and someone translates it. I do it. She screams. Another girl holds her down and a boy holds her legs. Meanwhile, he has his hand inside her. That was his assignment, she has to cum when I cut her, or else he gets taken by the dog. I cut the group symbol on it. They clap and run their finger along the cut lines grabbing blood and licking it up and sitting back down. I cut just deep enough. Enough vessels have been hit to make it bleed for a while, deep enough. Her belly is open and on her arms I cut the blood vessels lengthwise. She's hardly bleeding at all there. Her belly is oozing. I've also done the soles of her feet and her breasts. When there is cut what had to be done, I am pulled away and have to watch her slowly die. She is carried around and everyone licks her belly.

I get picked up and the man sits down on his chair. He opens his pants and wants me to sit on him. He has become excited by this scene. He speaks English and knows a little Dutch and knows my name, Blue. At these meetings I am Blue. In my passport it says Simone and when we check into the hotel I am Naomi. I know it all exactly and make no mistakes, Never. It's been rehearsed hundreds of times. Hundreds of times I've drilled it into my head, even waking up at night and saying my name. There'd be plane noises or someone talking a different language. I'd switch right away and react.

But this girl was dead. Sacrificed, by me and those who wanted to had sex with her dead mutilated body. The others continued with the living and I was allowed to go with them to the room of the one who had picked me up from the floor. He was friendly and enjoyed drinking and smoking together. Even though I was not yet 12, I had done it so many times and knew all too well that as long as he was drinking and smoking, I was fine. Then they were more accessible, nicer. We fell asleep after he had sex with me and pushed me out of his bed around 6. I walked back to my room and continued sleeping. I had another half hour but was so tired.

I woke up and had to freshen up. Without clothes, in a bathrobe to the meeting room. No. no, free day, they shout when we walk into the room. We are not welcome there and go back to our own room. I lie down in bed I am so tired. I fall asleep and am woken up by the security guard. Come, and more he says but I don't understand. We walk downstairs and outside to the stables. There are 3 cameras ready and there are 2 adult, almost naked women and a big man. There are 2 more girls with us and we have to pose one by one, smile to the camera and say something sweet and then jerk off an animal. Suddenly someone shouts stop and I am pulled away and have to sit on my hands and knees. The pig is helped on top of me and has sex with me. The hair, the sound, the rubbing of his skin, the smells of him and the stall I get overwhelmed and pass out. This is worse than with dogs. Not the pain but the sheer amount of stimulation.

I sort of 'wake up' when I hear 'cut' and the pig is off me. I still have to lick off his thing, the drops, but hearing this little word I stop. It turns black, a hole. The next moment I get a pat on the shoulder and feel super appreciated for a moment. Apparently I did a good job. Three more animals follow. After this I am free until the evening. I shower and sleep and process what has happened but it does not work. I can't get rid of the smell.

In the evening it is time for a party. First we get to make ourselves beautiful, wear dresses, much too short and sexy, but we feel special. Make up, new shoes and I long for the food. I had already smelled it and had been hungry for a while. I anticipate a disappointment, but my wish that it will be a nice, good evening is greater. I look forward to it, even though I should know better. I dance around the room a bit and everyone else looks at me in surprise. Most of them are younger than me, so I get that and 1 girl I see switches gears and starts dancing with me. We think and feel the same, I can see it in her eyes. We can't change anything, let's make it a party. We are going crazy for a moment, until the door opens. We stand still in one blow. They had heard us. They look strict but don't say anything. The 'guard' stays inside and we behave ourselves again, but we also secretly laugh at each other. That was our moment, how bad or stupid it will be, this moment we were the boss.

After a while we have to go down in a line. It is a very luxurious event with set tables and lots of food. There is a kind of 'stage' where 3 women sing and we have to settle ourselves between the men. His hand is on my lap while he talks to others. I feel used, but this is also a relaxed atmosphere where I don't have to do much. I get something to eat, but it is so mega little and the sips of water make the emptiness even more. They eat whole steaks and other strange rich looking food. The smells make me hungry. But am also glad just to get something. I wouldn't have lasted another day.

After this there is a party. They dance with us, around us and we drink along with the alcohol. Because of our empty stomachs it's quite heavy and one girl already starts spitting. I've lost track of time and everything because of how I feel, but eventually I go with T to his room. I stay with him until there is a knock on his door. He walks over and I have to come and join that 'guard'. I have to freshen up, the next session is about to start apparently.

I am picked up from the group alone and walked downstairs with them. I have to lie on a bed and someone tells me to undress. I start with my upper body, but he says no no and points to my legs. I undress further and lie down. I expect to be raped by him, although the situation is strange, but he feels inside with his hand. He gives me an injection in my leg, says something I don't understand, but makes me hyper alert inside and I have to go. The others go with the 'guard' and I stay in my room. Sometimes someone comes to check on me, but the hours are endless. I sleep the most. I have a stomach ache from hunger I think and when I sleep it goes away. I wake up when it gets too bad and the same man who felt me is sitting next to me. He is still giving me something in my leg but because of the stomach pain I barely felt it. He tells me to do the same again, take off my underclothes and I do and he feels again. Good job, he says and he walks away to come back soon. In the meantime everyone is back in their room, has to get dressed and we have to go downstairs. Me too. I am dreading it like a mountain, I feel sick and can't do anything anymore. I have no energy left, the pain is too much and walking is difficult. I really try not to make any noise, but I don't quite succeed. I notice that my tongue is broken from biting, it helps. Also the taste of the blood helps, I decide to focus on that.

Once downstairs the men stand in a circle and I have to lie in the middle. Well, just push the baby out, says X. He is impatient and doesn't find it very interesting. I now realize that I have a child inside of me and need to give birth. How super stupid I feel. Meanwhile they start their ritual with reciting texts. I am taken over by my hands which feel and I feel how I am going to push. I observe myself from a distance and it seems like I am following a program. It takes quite a long time and they are busy with their things while sometimes looking up and down at me. I feel that which is inside of me shift downward and am startled by it. I scream briefly when the head is almost there and theirs starts humming monotonously. It comes out with a strong contraction and I look at the little pile that lies between my legs. It is scary small, but it has a face, arms and legs and an elongated body. Bright red. It moves and seems to make a sound but nothing comes out of it and soon it moves less fast. I have to hurry, I feel by what they say and by the knife I get in my hands. The umbilical cord has been loosened by the man and I see where I have to cut where it still moves a bit irregular and do what I have to do on automatic pilot. It is as if a program is running in my head, only I am doing it for the first time. Everything is and feels new but I know it exactly.

When what was supposed to be out is out, I feel contractions coming on again and am afraid that there will be another child. I was already so tired. Push, says the man who had also touched me. Push. I push a couple of times and the placenta comes out. It is bigger than the baby, I am surprised. I am picked up from the floor and taken away and when I walk away with a thick towel between my legs I see Y trying to have sex with that. The guy who helped me walks with me and checks me again on the bed. He gives me 2 shots in my leg and I fall asleep. I don't wake up until we go back home.

13-17 years cult work

I was about 16 when I was hung by a rope around my neck with my feet on a stool. I just barely choked, but knew that if I lost my balance, I would hang myself. Another man was hung in the same way about 2 feet next to me. I didn't know him, but by the presence of another person I knew he would be from the underworld and that the man from the underworld had insulted the other man to say the least. This was an act of retaliation and he used me for it.

I was given a rope in my hands which was attached to the man's stool and the man was given a rope in his hands which was attached to my stool. It was connected to a system with a weight on the ceiling, which would fall down if I would let go of the rope. I had seen this before as a spectator and knew immediately what I should and should not do. If I released the rope from the man earlier, I was mentally stronger and had a chance they would save me. If he was earlier, he had more perseverance and I was lost. An unwinnable battle almost, in which I still calculated my chances.

The other person which I will call Mister S had a lot to say, outside this room as well as inside. He winked at me and said, if you dare I will save you. I was confirmed in my courage and had decided that as soon as the ropes were pulled tight I would let this man hang, so they would save me. A bizarre choice. The ropes are made tight and Mister S says let the game begin. I see that the other man is confused and scared and when I see his eyes I panic as well and I am startled by a door that opens and the rope comes loose. Immediately the stool is pulled from under the man's feet and he is hanging from the noose on the beam and his whole body is protesting.

Because he also let go of my rope, I feel the ground sink under my feet and am immediately strangled by the rope. A kind of freezing reaction of the strangling around my neck that makes me go out and stare at the walls that flash by because of the movement of the rope. Mister S grabs my waist and lifts me up a little and I feel how I let the first gulp of breath go through my sore throat. Now you are going to learn what we tell you, maybe we will let you go. I had to imitate them and make promises with the camera pointed at my face. Every time I took a second too long, he would let go and the rope would strangle me again. He untied me and walked out the door and my uncle caught me and brought me home. Next week same place and same time he said to me. I didn't know what would happen then.

A week later, that man was still hanging from the same rope in the same spot. There was a rotten, woeful smell in the whole room. Uncle had brought his dogs and Mr. S entered the room. So, he said, and now we're going to impress upon you what it is you keep forgetting, you just can't seem to forget things. They had tested me several times and every time it became clear that I still knew too many details of moments that I should have forgotten. But the important things that I had to know, I didn't know anymore at these moments.

I didn't know what he was referring to, I did know he was very serious and I was getting prepared for a very tough afternoon, where I had to be strong as long as I could. The codes came back and I had a lot of trouble reciting and remembering them. Every time I took a second too long, Mister S had some kind of angry moment during the sex he was already having and hurt me. My uncle cut off pieces of meat from the man who was rotting there and gave it into my hands. Eat slut, he said, time you made up for your sins. I suddenly realized that I had done something very wrong and was a renegade from the group. My mind went like an express train through all the recent events, but I couldn't think of it so quickly. Weeks later I found out. I had turned in 300 euros less to my uncle for my sex work because someone paid less. It was 1000 euros less, but I had added money myself, but didn't have enough to fill the last gap.

I got nauseous from eating the rotten meat and I spit in front of me while Mr. S behind me was still raping me. Lick bitch he said and like a good little dog I tried to swallow everything I spit out and then spit it out again. My stomach just couldn't handle it.

When they arrived with the arm, the light went out in front of me and another part came. This one grabbed the arm, pretended to love it and then shoved it into his body from behind.[1] My body, only I wasn't there then. This whole part has been gone like a black stain and now with processing it comes up again. He did what we could not do and made up for the sin I had committed in their eyes.

The next day was a school day and I was feeling far from well, but this girl always carried on, so I did then too, until I kept spitting on the toilets at school. I was sent home and ended up in my bed and lost days. I was deathly ill, I made my bed without being aware of it and my stomach needed weeks to get back to normal.

Crime Scene

Besides the torture moments and bizarre sex moments, there was also a whole other world that connected through everything. As a very little girl, I was already a victim of someone famous in this country. He wanted to possess me first and paid thickly for it, of that I have no doubt.

There was a book and later a website full of photos and videos where people could look at girls and boys like me and bid on them. Recommendations were also given and so you rose in the polls too. By the time I was just a teenager, this was split into two parts with parts of me. There was a part that had to do porn work and was rented out through a website and there was a part that did the work in a different world, negotiating who was taken to a specific meeting or situation. Often I heard from acquaintances with whom I shared the bed that they had asked for me and had heard of me. It made it more special for me.

In the years that followed, there were several times when I was specifically asked about and taken to special places with only 2 or 3 men and another girl. These were situations where one of us was going to be killed. They wanted to have sex with the other girl while I participated. These people also got together in a certain group and had meetings on a high satanic level and demanded a lot from the people around them.

They were people who wanted to get things done for others, and I was used for this. If I was allowed to come to a party and dance and be used as a prostitute, I would get an assignment beforehand about who I should be interested in and who I should try to get into bed with. I would then go with him to a certain room and he would be filmed there without his knowledge. The fact that I was underage was the blackmail to get him available for something else, so that he could be used for other things which the principals wanted.

The whole elite world is full of deception, manipulation and entanglements. Next thing you know, you've killed a child and there are pictures of it. Nobody wants that to get out. Women and children are also threatened and sometimes even killed. Just a car accident or cardiac arrest has been in the newspapers before. It was not strange that they kept quiet about it, because it is immediately clear to the person to whom it was addressed. They often walked neatly back into their streets to prevent a repetition. The pincer of the group is large.

And so I allowed myself to be used to manipulate others, to trap them. I was good at seducing others, at making them do things they didn't always want to do and if that didn't work, putting something in their drink wasn't difficult. They automatically became willing and I had no problem getting into bed with everyone. The fact that I was on those films myself was something that didn't occur to me until later. When I wanted to stop hurting and killing people, they came up with images of the things I had done myself. Held the hand of an important person and killed a child together. My hand was on top, I was guilty, it was so obvious.

Holding the knife during strangulation sex with a woman I knew well in real life She would never want to see me again, when she realized this and so there are hundreds, possibly thousands of images that I am downright terribly ashamed of. I did everything I could to feel in control of my life and the things I did, but in reality, I was not in control of anything. In reality, my life was run by fear and by what others wanted me to do, and I did what they wanted, even killing people. That is how I had been taught.

Important people 10 years to adulthood

When I was at parties, with an assignment I had been given by the important 'bigboss' I was very driven. I only had one goal and that was to make sure everyone liked me, that I was seen as safe and innocent and that I could do my job at the end. Sometimes that was to put something in their drink and when I was sure they had drunk it, I had to leave. If that didn't work, I had to cooperate in what came next. Sometimes it didn't work out, leave in time and then I was allowed to finish. Depending on the person and the situation, the person was forced to do something, like commit a murder or was blackmailed with his family. I have also taken a daughter off the street and taken her to a park temporarily, so the cult could blackmail the person into not coming back and kill her. The person would get a phone call, he could check where his daughter was and she would be lost. If he was called again, he could be blackmailed further. Or he was picked up from the street and taken away and then he got the chance to call his daughter. I have seen and experienced several moments.

If necessary I would have taken the girl to those who wanted me to take her. I didn't think anymore, I just did what had to be done. Sometimes I had to get them into bed and take pictures and send them in. Later on, I sometimes got the question why I had taken pictures and sent them. Their wife had not been happy, I had ruined their life. I got the blame, but I only did my job which was so ingrained.

Sometimes I had to get them in my car and take them somewhere. They would end up in a cult session and see what happened to a loved one who was trapped by the cult or a child. Usually they were drunk or under the influence of drugs and were happy to participate. Because of the drugs and the enormous confrontation and fear, they would behave strangely. Usually when we saw them another time, they were sober and you could see their struggle with themselves and the environment. Pictures were taken of them.

Some I saw weeks later and came more often, others did not. Mostly they avoided me, but I was so bold that I sometimes just stood at the door of their house and asked their wife if he was there. I had had a good time with him and wanted to give him back his tie, or he had left his phone with pictures of us on it. I've done dozens of situations and destroyed marriages. 

It was a power play and I was always mega nervous, but I also got a kick out of it. After all, I was doing what the cult wanted. Sometimes they would make demands. They'd be willing to cooperate if I would. They would have sexual fantasies they wanted to indulge and they wanted to check if I was trustworthy and capable of keeping my mouth shut. I always went along with it. Had no choice to say no, but I also went for it completely. Assignments were handed out to them so they could prove they were trustworthy and they were more and more in trouble. During sessions or other meeting moments they were suddenly put on the spot. Because of the enormous pressure and blackmail, they felt forced to participate. Small steps, such as putting your hand in someone's buttocks or dancing with a little girl, became bigger and bigger and went further and further. With every attempt to get out, I was allowed to blackmail the woman, the children or the network around them. We only needed one person who was trapped and could manipulate the people around it. If I got in touch with the daughter and could tell her at any moment what her father was going to do to someone, the father was afraid it would come out, but also when we had someone in politics trapped and he wanted to reveal what was happening and how he was being blackmailed, then getting in touch with his 'partner' at work was a very easy way to put him in a tight spot. After all, we had photos and videos of his actions and it would cost him his job and face. If someone's family was also in the group, or friends of the person we needed to keep in line, they were brought in.  

Most of my acquaintances, including politicians and other high-ranking people, had ties to the underworld. In my adulthood, I became a sort of errand boy of the underworld, working with the cult. I was paired with a person and he "took care" of me. Meaning he could make me and break me. He could use me when he needed someone to take the drugs for example, but he could also give me away when another group needed to be pleasured. Call it gang rape.

This little world felt pretty omnipotent. They were always aware of most updates and knew exactly when things would happen that could cost them their heads. They were always out in time for a police raid and no evidence was ever found where they did leave their mark.

Girls train as teenagers and adults.

I was sometimes a mother for some children in certain situations. Little girls who were being prepared for sex work, or little girls who had to be brought to certain situations, I cleaned them up, put make up on them and guided them, so they were a bit prepared. I told them what they should and shouldn't do and taught them things like blowjobs, how to open pants easily, what to do if they don't come to you themselves, etc. They trusted me completely, probably because I was a girl myself and I was nice to them, but really I just betrayed them tremendously.

Sometimes I would also take them to certain people or drop them off. Sometimes I knew that I would not see them again, I saw that in their character or fear and sometimes I knew that I had to invest extra in a girl, because then I was almost sure that she was very strong and like me could come far. I saw that as something positive. Not having to be afraid all the time that they will kill you, that gives a lot of rest. In some situations I learned girls rape a boy and boys rape girls. There are many ways that help to get less harm from adults, when you are used to much more as a child. I saw it as my purpose and calling to help them in this. 

It feels so tremendously fucked up now that I was able to think and act that way. It feels so messed up that I have abused children myself and learned to abuse them. From someone who was raped from a young age myself, everything that happened totally transformed me into a horrible child rapist and murderer and I was proud of it at times. Writing these facts make me sick to death and bitter towards myself. I spit up the toilet bowl full and can only be hateful towards myself. I know that's not the way or the way, but someone has to pay for these actions. My actions. But where does the blame belong? 

Who will ever pay for the pain others have caused you? Who will pay for everything they did to me? Does that include those who went through so much themselves as children? Who will pay for the children I hurt? Only the ones who did it without abuse experiences? I'm not sure, only God knows, but I do know that there is 1 way to turn this situation around and that is to be honest about it and open it up. That is how the group works and that is how those who love to abuse little children work. They keep the circle going and I was in it.

Hunting parties

I write down the word hunting parties and I feel the sarcasm in the word. Parties and hunting, together in one word and then thinking of the naked children running away, of which sometimes one is shot like a deer. What a word hunting parties, thinking of the context I have with it. Shouldn't I write down another word for this? Shouldn't I phrase this in a more nuanced way? 

I have written about hunting pheasants and hunting parties as a child before. Yet this piece has to be different. This piece comes from a different perspective. 30 years older looking back at situations 10 years earlier. I wasn't a running away kid anymore. I wasn't the one who had to take off his clothes and run away like wild and possibly get shot. I was a grown woman who joined in with the greats. I was a grown woman who liked to shoot with them, get drunk and make a game out of it and entertain the men who weren't shooting with sexual acts.

The fact that it usually happened to certain people made my role even more important. I was always screened first, searched. Usually I would take off my clothes to check everything and then I was admitted or taken to another place. I never saw a larger group than 12 people, apart from the children, but they were always people from the same family for the most part.

One day, I think it was 2003, but I am not sure, I was there again. There was a very casual atmosphere and the outside air was very soft. I was sitting relaxed between 2 other women and we were drinking some wine. The men were on the cognac and cigars and the girls I had prepared. That is, I had ordered them to take off their clothes and told them to wait for orders. They looked at me sometimes, but I ignored it. I couldn't let any of those kinds of eyes or feelings from them in, I didn't belong there. Not anymore.

I didn't have to do anything yet, they were relaxed talking first and the kids were called to run like that. X called me and said, come on honey, let's have some fun. The kids had to run, there was some shooting, but all the kids came running back. They were more fooling around with shooting, than trying their best to hit them. For a moment I felt sorry for the children when they came back, but I tried to get rid of it quickly. X was busy with my body and pulled off my panties under my dress while the kids came back around them.

One more time he yelled to Y and he sent the children running away again. Lie down he said to me and I obediently did what he wanted. For a moment I thought he wanted sex, but before I knew it, he pushed the gun between my legs. This way, I will hit her, he said to me, and for a moment I panicked. He was going to shoot like this, through me, and want to hit a girl or boy like this. He laughed at the sight of me, took out the gun and within seconds shot a girl right over me. Since that day I was alert again and knew that the rich lazy life I thought I had at those moments, was not there.

[1] Here, in the 'he' form, we are talking about the personality part that takes over consciousness at the moment when Esther has to anally rape herself with the severed arm of the rotting dead man. I have noticed that often-perhaps always-a male part takes over consciousness when anal rape is involved.