Good Friday

I Come Unto My Own, an Easter Montage edited by Jenny Hatch

On a Thursday evening in 1989 I was gang raped by four orderlies who worked at the Clinton Valley Center in Pontiac Michigan.  I had been probated there by Beaumont Hospital on a medical certificate because I refused to sign myself into the psyche ward of that hospital. The center was a state mental hospital in Pontiac Michigan a few miles from my parents home.

I was 21 years old and had just given birth to my first child. In the months before my mental breakdown my husband and I had moved to Yellow Springs Ohio and had started a new life that revolved around our daughter and I was unable to cope with all of the many changes that had happened and lost my mind for a time.

I was not consciously aware of being raped for 12 long years.  I only knew that at Easter time I would struggle with all sorts of weird symptoms. When my brother died in 2001 I began the long process of healing from this traumatic event.

In this post I would like to explore the day after the rape occurred and the many miracles I experienced on my own Good Friday. Since tomorrow is Good Friday and the day we begin to truly celebrate the many miracles of Jesus Christs resurrection, I felt like I wanted to share this portion of my story, because it is not all dark.

I was first assaulted as a baby when my Father would mess with me whenever my mother was not around. Then at the age of six months, my uncle who was my Dads brother and some older male cousins orally raped my.  To them it was a game, “ha ha, let’s see what we can get this stupid baby to do.” And they would stick their cocks in my mouth.  My final memory of that night is me crawling around my uncles house looking for my mother. I found my brother who was six at the time and I snuggled safely next to him and fell asleep.  My mom told me that I always insisted on sleeping with Nathan after that.  And I was asleep in his top bunk bed when I rolled over him and landed on the hardwood floor and broke my collar bone when I was three.

While still recovering from the break, my parents moved across town to a new house and asked friends to tend me. The husband of the friend was approached by three men who asked to have access to me for an hour and they would pay him a thousand dollars.  So when his wife left to go shopping, he invited the three men to his home where they did ungodly things to my body after paying money.

My Father continued to molest and rape me during my childhood and teens. Occasionally I would offer myself to him to protect my younger siblings.  The men in our family have been diagnosed as opportunistic molesters, meaning they will pounce if they believe they can get away with it.  My father impregnated me twice during these encounters, but Satanists never worry about babies being conceived during their sexual assaults because they just use those babies for sacrifice.  Killing those two babies earned my parents a higher spot in the coven.  Apparently killing one of your own children gets you into the group, but killing one of your own grandchildren solidifies your membership. Props if the baby is conceived with a daughter or other family member.  It is much easier to cover it up.

I believe George and Lenore Romney were the head of this particularly nasty coven of demonic communistic activity in Detroit.

I was groomed to be an influencer through the arts, but when I lost my mind, drugging me senseless was about all they could do to help keep things under wraps because a few of the old timers understood that a breakthrough psychosis was a sign of the person attempting to heal by connecting the subconscious to the conscious mind. I was watched intently for any signs of remembering after that.

When I had the opportunity to get off the meds and move out west, we took it.  My mother really pressured us to move back to Detroit so she could help, but I knew in my bones that we had to get away in order to heal.

When I had the spring breakdown in 1989 and fell into mania and then psychosis my parents drover down to Ohio where we had moved, and took all three of us home to Michigan for treatment.

On that Thursday night I was raped by the orderlies while still strapped to a four point restraint table. Then they took me to a seclusion room and naked, tossed me onto a suicide mat and threw a suicide blanket over me.  Apparently these guys were in the habit of raping new patients and then when the patient showed signs of deep distress they could just blame it on the illness. There was also a gang tied to the hospital that used patients as fodder for initiation. New members of the gang had to participate in a rape to join the gang and the local state mental hospital provided all the people they needed.

I would like to point out that any institution that has people in it around the clock has two staffs.  The regular day time staff that comes in from 9-5 on workdays and the night time staff that shows up at holidays and weekends.  I believe most of the evil that happens in hospitals, nursing homes, prisons, boarding schools, and jails happens with this night time crowd.

Here is the miracle I mentioned at the beginning of this post.

When the four men rolled me into a private room to rape me, I felt an angelic presence join us.  I looked over and saw my maternal grandmother Leola Drake who died when I was twelve.  She was there with a group of women and they were angels filled with light.  They gently pulled my spirit out of my body and surrounded me and then shielded my eyes so I could not see what was happening to my body.

When the men were finished raping me in every possible way, my angels told me that they loved me and that I would be OK and then they slowly and gently placed my spirit back in my body.

I have been healing from this experience now for the past 32 years.

I have had one reconciliation rape that was very similar to the one that happened when I was 21 in the hospital.  I will not share the details of this event yet because it has been reported to the police and hopefully some justice will eventually happen. I will say that rape victims are particularly prone to additional rape because we have such a desperate need to make sense of what happened to us that we tend to get ourselves in situations where it can happen again. Working as a professional driver put me in that position.

I have had to live with the scorn of those who reject my claims, including members of my family who are in denial of certain people being involved in Satanic Ritual Abuse and all of the many rituals and practices that go along with that. The fact is that I have only been healing from these events for a couple of years now and although I believe I have mostly reconciled the fact that it did happen, I have mostly been shielded from what the scenes actually look like because I have been told by the Holy Spirit that if I were to remember the details of it, I would die. So, I leave that for a later safer day.  I do know that I was initiated into the coven when I was seven by people tied to my school and I was groomed to be an influencer using the medium of music.

I also know that satanic people use religion as a cover and my faith, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has shielded many of these people from scrutiny over the decades. I also believe that their time is now over and full exposure is on the horizon.

If I can help in any way to hasten that exposure I will because that will mean healing for many people who have been victims.

My message with this post is simply that in our darkest hours we are gifted with the visitation of beautiful angels, sometimes family members, who love us and want to help us through the darkest nights.  I know that my Grandma Drake showed up for me when I was twenty one and I know that others have helped me around the corners of my life as I have wended my way back home to Heavenly Father. I put together the video above weeping as I thought about Jesus Christ and his healing. His Atonement has covered my many aches and pains and I hope and pray as  you come to know him, and seek to be perfected in him, you can find peace.

Jenny Marie Hatch

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