Forever and for Always: Jehovah's Forbidden Love Stories

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For Jonny

For Marling

And for everyone who loves someone

Introduction:

I knew the truth about the truth.

But it wasn’t always that way. The Truth about the Truth is well hidden from the rank and file.

When I first met Nichole, I was genuinely curious about the religion, and I hadn’t given up on the idea of a God.

I feared death; my uncle had recently passed. Learning about the world while getting my first taste of adult stresses and wondering when it would be over made me vulnerable. The door had unlocked, and she knew exactly how to convince me to let her in once she started knocking.

The way she spoke was tantalizing. The way she presented my questions back to me, making me feel like I was answering them. She validated my fear of death by telling me it’s because humans were never meant to die. She explained that imperfection was a genetic defect passed down from Adam. And finally, the sugary sweet promise of a perfect world that was just around the corner. I gobbled up every lie like it was the savoriest of truths.

She could make me believe in Santa Claus again if that was her goal.

But I felt like I was learning, truly learning about the Bible, God, and life. The spirit world became real to me, immortality was reachable, my fears of death quenched with the unbelievable promise of never dying.

She built upon beliefs fellow family members had subtly instilled in me already. My uncle, a staunch Catholic, told me before he died that he didn't fear what laid on the other side, he awaited it. My grandmother studied with the witnesses, albeit casually. She even took me to the hall a handful of times when I was a young girl. And finally, my mother was a non denominational Christian for most of my life. She put a heavy emphasis on following your heart, because that's where Jesus was.

The network was there. My belief in the bible was there. Nichole was connecting the dots for me while I believed I was holding the marker and drawing the lines on my own.

And through our studies, I was happy.

Being a Jehovah’s Witness gave you this wonderful rush of superiority. You felt better than everyone around you, because you had the truth. Then, your false egotism gets stroked further by the many hands of those in the congregation who were seemingly elated with your progress.

The love bombing made you feel wanted. You got addicted to the rush of smiling faces around you, congratulating you, and encouraging you. It was like a drug pusher giving you your first hit free, so you come back for more. In exchange for that rush of love that can get any insecure individual hooked, you had to sign your soul away.

I’m not kidding, or even slightly exaggerating. Baptism holds far more importance to Jehovah’s Witnesses than it does to your everyday casual Catholic or Sunday Christian. To Jehovah’s Witnesses, baptism was a covenant, a holy contract between you and God. That dunk under the gentle surface into a pool of chlorinated water was not a quick bath while hundreds around you cheered you on. The moment your hair got wet your life now belonged to Jehovah, and there was no going back.

I didn’t know this when I first met Nichole. I didn’t know how deep the rabbit hole went or what I would be subjected to on the way down.

I didn’t know that I would fall deep down into a pit of tender hellfire that engulfed me with emotion and confusion.

I didn’t know I’d fall in love with her, and I didn’t know what to do about it once I realized it happened.

∞

The fall began in Autumn, it began when my jaded gaze met her cheerful face. It began when I glanced at a sign that read Learn the Truth About God standing out in vibrant colors against the pale graying landscape.

It was I who approached her, I opened that door. It was my fault that I got into this mess. It was my fault for tripping and falling down the rabbit-hole.

But her intoxicating smile warmed me to my core, and all I could think about was how much I wanted that. I wanted true happiness too. I wanted to be able to smile at strangers and give off an aura of elated relatability.

She began to study with me shortly after our first chat. In the beginning, our meetings together were short and sweet. We would meet at this cute little coffee shop up the road. We’d sit at the same cozy green chairs and I’d gaze upwards at the same paintings of children playing with animals in various backgrounds and settings. I’d order the same pumpkin spiced something and sip at it while she fit pieces of a blueberry muffin into her mouth. And then we'd open these little beautifully illustrated books and read aloud tales of hypocritical Godly love.

Between these study sessions, we’d talk about our lives, our relationships, our struggles. I got to know and appreciate the young woman who I spent my free time with, she became a friend of mine, one of very few. And I confessed to her that I didn’t have many friends, and that the time she was spending with me meant a lot.

That’s when she began harassing me into coming to the Kingdom Hall. I was swamped with work and school, but I did eventually begin going. I didn’t even realize that she had guilted me into it, but once I finally went, I felt obligated to return and see my new friends.

That’s how they get you. They introduce you to all these new people, interesting men and women with amazing stories from their youth. All who firmly hold true to the values you have received, the personality you’re now expected to have. If you say no, they don’t leave you alone. They keep going, they keep chipping away unless you really put your foot down. Once you give in, they shower you with love, because you have made the right choice. You have made the choice that will provide you with everlasting life and a chance to see your dead loved ones again.

And to keep you going, you’re suddenly cutoff from your worldly friends, of which I didn’t have many to begin with. In fact, it got to the point where the only non-JW’s I spoke to were my immediate family and my boyfriend.

Our chats grew longer, our studies became more frequent. Even just missing one meeting due to school or simple exhaustion sent us both into a bout of mild irritation.

I gave up school, I wasn’t happy with what I was learning anyways. The Kingdom Hall was my new school, Jesus was my teacher, Jehovah was the dean, and the Governing Body's literature were my textbooks.

Then came the point where Nichole started meddling in my personal life. My boyfriend and I hadn’t been doing well regardless, and he had no interest in tying the knot even if I had wanted to. I knew he was fucking around with other girls and it had gotten to the point where I didn’t care anymore. We had tried to work things out, but Nichole’s talk of immorality being disgraceful to Jehovah made the breakup easier to finally accomplish.

You broke up with Ben?

Yeah. I sucked in my lip and smiled with a giddy feeling. I never thought I would feel happy about telling a friend that I had broken up with my boyfriend. But I was proud of myself for taking a step for Jehovah, and I felt like she needed to see that.

Nichole did not seem convinced in my happiness. I am so sorry; you must be in a lot of pain right now.

I gave her a confused look as I responded, Nichole, he was so, I searched for words, but decided to keep my talk of my ex short. It really isn’t as bad as you’d think. It was coming. I delayed the inevitable for months. Your encouragement made me realize it was something I needed to do.

She reached out to hold my hand gently, cold fingertips resting against mine. I felt a butterfly make its way from my stomach into my neck, and I looked at her expectantly as she spoke, even so, I’m here for you.

Those subtle flirts kept me going during the nights when I thought about ending it, going back to school, and resuming my old life. I kept going regardless, yes, but I didn’t realize how much I was doing purely so that I could be around her more.

I informed her that I wanted to get baptized and she in turn began bringing me in service and taking me to JW gatherings. When I felt uncomfortable or nervous when out preaching she’d hold the small of my back to show support. She held my hand after answering at meetings, her thumb running over my skin, and she would always say I’m so proud of you! and I’d smile in return and say, I have a great teacher.

And just like that, I was being strung along the Elder’s baptism questions like a rake over sand. They

showed up at my home two at a time, stayed for thirty minutes to get through the questions, then arranged for the next pair to come a week later.

Thanks to Nichole’s