Bill Zeller's suicide note

[BASSENCO]

Here is Bill Zeller's suicide note. He was raised in a Dispensationalist, Christian Fundamentalist Church, (Middletown Baptist, CT) and was a victim of a child molester who Zeller never identifies. He does indict his church for its manipulation and hate further down in the note
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I have the urge to declare my sanity and justify my actions, but I assume I’ll never be able to convince anyone that this was the right decision. Maybe it’s true that anyone who does this is insane by definition, but I can at least explain my reasoning. I considered not writing any of this because of how personal it is, but I like tying up loose ends and don’t want people to wonder why I did this. Since I’ve never spoken to anyone about what happened to me, people would likely draw the wrong conclusions.

My first memories as a child are of being raped, repeatedly. This has affected every aspect of my life. This darkness, which is the only way I can describe it, has followed me like a fog, but at times intensified and overwhelmed me, usually triggered by a distinct situation. In kindergarten I couldn’t use the bathroom and would stand petrified whenever I needed to, which started a trend of awkward and unexplained social behavior. The damage that was done to my body still prevents me from using the bathroom normally, but now it’s less of a physical impediment than a daily reminder of what was done to me.

This darkness followed me as I grew up. I remember spending hours playing with legos, having my world consist of me and a box of cold, plastic blocks. Just waiting for everything to end. It’s the same thing I do now, but instead of legos it’s surfing the web or reading or listening to a baseball game. Most of my life has been spent feeling dead inside, waiting for my body to catch up.

At times growing up I would feel inconsolable rage, but I never connected this to what happened until puberty. I was able to keep the darkness at bay for a few hours at a time by doing things that required intense concentration, but it would always come back. Programming appealed to me for this reason. I was never particularly fond of computers or mathematically inclined, but the temporary peace it would provide was like a drug. But the darkness always returned and built up something like a tolerance, because programming has become less and less of a refuge.

The darkness is with me nearly every time I wake up. I feel like a grime is covering me. I feel like I’m trapped in a contimated body that no amount of washing will clean. Whenever I think about what happened I feel manic and itchy and can’t concentrate on anything else. It manifests itself in hours of eating or staying up for days at a time or sleeping for sixteen hours straight or week long programming binges or constantly going to the gym. I’m exhausted from feeling like this every hour of every day.

Three to four nights a week I have nightmares about what happened. It makes me avoid sleep and constantly tired, because sleeping with what feels like hours of nightmares is not restful. I wake up sweaty and furious. I’m reminded every morning of what was done to me and the control it has over my life.

I’ve never been able to stop thinking about what happened to me and this hampered my social interactions. I would be angry and lost in thought and then be interrupted by someone saying “Hi” or making small talk, unable to understand why I seemed cold and distant. I walked around, viewing the outside world from a distant portal behind my eyes, unable to perform normal human niceties. I wondered what it would be like to take to other people without what happened constantly on my mind, and I wondered if other people had similar experiences that they were better able to mask.

Alcohol was also something that let me escape the darkness. It would always find me later, though, and it was always angry that I managed to escape and it made me pay. Many of the irresponsible things I did were the result of the darkness. Obviously I’m responsible for every decision and action, including this one, but there are reasons why things happen the way they do.

Alcohol and other drugs provided a way to ignore the realities of my situation. It was easy to spend the night drinking and forget that I had no future to look forward to. I never liked what alcohol did to me, but it was better than facing my existence honestly. I haven’t touched alcohol or any other drug in over seven months (and no drugs or alcohol will be involved when I do this) and this has forced me to evaluate my life in an honest and clear way. There’s no future here. The darkness will always be with me.

I used to think if I solved some problem or achieved some goal, maybe he would leave. It was comforting to identify tangible issues as the source of my problems instead of something that I’ll never be able to change. I thought that if I got into to a good college, or a good grad school, or lost weight, or went to the gym nearly every day for a year, or created programs that millions of people used, or spent a summer or California or New York or published papers that I was proud of, then maybe I would feel some peace and not be constantly haunted and unhappy. But nothing I did made a dent in how depressed I was on a daily basis and nothing was in any way fulfilling. I’m not sure why I ever thought that would change anything.

I didn’t realize how deep a hold he had on me and my life until my first relationship. I stupidly assumed that no matter how the darkness affected me personally, my romantic relationships would somehow be separated and protected. Growing up I viewed my future relationships as a possible escape from this thing that haunts me every day, but I began to realize how entangled it was with every aspect of my life and how it is never going to release me. Instead of being an escape, relationships and romantic contact with other people only intensified everything about him that I couldn’t stand. I will never be able to have a relationship in which he is not the focus, affecting every aspect of my romantic interactions.

Relationships always started out fine and I’d be able to ignore him for a few weeks. But as we got closer emotionally the darkness would return and every night it’d be me, her and the darkness in a black and gruesome threesome. He would surround me and penetrate me and the more we did the more intense it became. It made me hate being touched, because as long as we were separated I could view her like an outsider viewing something good and kind and untainted. Once we touched, the darkness would envelope her too and take her over and the evil inside me would surround her. I always felt like I was infecting anyone I was with.

Relationships didn’t work. No one I dated was the right match, and I thought that maybe if I found the right person it would overwhelm him. Part of me knew that finding the right person wouldn’t help, so I became interested in girls who obviously had no interest in me. For a while I thought I was gay. I convinced myself that it wasn’t the darkness at all, but rather my orientation, because this would give me control over why things didn’t feel “right”. The fact that the darkness affected sexual matters most intensely made this idea make some sense and I convinced myself of this for a number of years, starting in college after my first relationship ended. I told people I was gay (at Trinity, not at Princeton), even though I wasn’t attracted to men and kept finding myself interested in girls. Because if being gay wasn’t the answer, then what was? People thought I was avoiding my orientation, but I was actually avoiding the truth, which is that while I’m straight, I will never be content with anyone. I know now that the darkness will never leave.

Last spring I met someone who was unlike anyone else I’d ever met. Someone who showed me just how well two people could get along and how much I could care about another human being. Someone I know I could be with and love for the rest of my life, if I weren’t so fucked up. Amazingly, she liked me. She liked the shell of the man the darkness had left behind. But it didn’t matter because I couldn’t be alone with her. It was never just the two of us, it was always the three of us: her, me and the darkness. The closer we got, the more intensely I’d feel the darkness, like some evil mirror of my emotions. All the closeness we had and I loved was complemented by agony that I couldn’t stand, from him. I realized that I would never be able to give her, or anyone, all of me or only me. She could never have me without the darkness and evil inside me. I could never have just her, without the darkness being a part of all of our interactions. I will never be able to be at peace or content or in a healthy relationship. I realized the futility of the romantic part of my life. If I had never met her, I would have realized this as soon as I met someone else who I meshed similarly well with. It’s likely that things wouldn’t have worked out with her and we would have broken up (with our relationship ending, like the majority of relationships do) even if I didn’t have this problem, since we only dated for a short time. But I will face exactly the same problems with the darkness with anyone else. Despite my hopes, love and compatability is not enough. Nothing is enough. There’s no way I can fix this or even push the darkness down far enough to make a relationship or any type of intimacy feasible.

So I watched as things fell apart between us. I had put an explicit time limit on our relationship, since I knew it couldn’t last because of the darkness and didn’t want to hold her back, and this caused a variety of problems. She was put in an unnatural situation that she never should have been a part of. It must have been very hard for her, not knowing what was actually going on with me, but this is not something I’ve ever been able to talk about with anyone. Losing her was very hard for me as well. Not because of her (I got over our relationship relatively quickly), but because of the realization that I would never have another relationship and because it signified the last true, exclusive personal connection I could ever have. This wasn’t apparent to other people, because I could never talk about the real reasons for my sadness. I was very sad in the summer and fall, but it was not because of her, it was because I will never escape the darkness with anyone. She was so loving and kind to me and gave me everything I could have asked for under the circumstances. I’ll never forget how much happiness she brought me in those briefs moments when I could ignore the darkness. I had originally planned to kill myself last winter but never got around to it. (Parts of this letter were written over a year ago, other parts days before doing this.) It was wrong of me to involve myself in her life if this were a possibility and I should have just left her alone, even though we only dated for a few months and things ended a long time ago. She’s just one more person in a long list of people I’ve hurt.

I could spend pages talking about the other relationships I’ve had that were ruined because of my problems and my confusion related to the darkness. I’ve hurt so many great people because of who I am and my inability to experience what needs to be experienced. All I can say is that I tried to be honest with people about what I thought was true.

I’ve spent my life hurting people. Today will be the last time.

I’ve told different people a lot of things, but I’ve never told anyone about what happened to me, ever, for obvious reasons. It took me a while to realize that no matter how close you are to someone or how much they claim to love you, people simply cannot keep secrets. I learned this a few years ago when I thought I was gay and told people. The more harmful the secret, the juicier the gossip and the more likely you are to be betrayed. People don’t care about their word or what they’ve promised, they just do whatever the fuck they want and justify it later. It feels incredibly lonely to realize you can never share something with someone and have it be between just the two of you. I don’t blame anyone in particular, I guess it’s just how people are. Even if I felt like this is something I could have shared, I have no interest in being part of a friendship or relationship where the other person views me as the damaged and contaminated person that I am. So even if I were able to trust someone, I probably would not have told them about what happened to me. At this point I simply don’t care who knows.

I feel an evil inside me. An evil that makes me want to end life. I need to stop this. I need to make sure I don’t kill someone, which is not something that can be easily undone. I don’t know if this is related to what happened to me or something different. I recognize the irony of killing myself to prevent myself from killing someone else, but this decision should indicate what I’m capable of.

So I’ve realized I will never escape the darkness or misery associated with it and I have a responsibility to stop myself from physically harming others.

I’m just a broken, miserable shell of a human being. Being molested has defined me as a person and shaped me as a human being and it has made me the monster I am and there’s nothing I can do to escape it. I don’t know any other existence. I don’t know what life feels like where I’m apart from any of this. I actively despise the person I am. I just feel fundamentally broken, almost non-human. I feel like an animal that woke up one day in a human body, trying to make sense of a foreign world, living among creatures it doesn’t understand and can’t connect with.

I have accepted that the darkness will never allow me to be in a relationship. I will never go to sleep with someone in my arms, feeling the comfort of their hands around me. I will never know what uncontimated intimacy is like. I will never have an exclusive bond with someone, someone who can be the recipient of all the love I have to give. I will never have children, and I wanted to be a father so badly. I think I would have made a good dad. And even if I had fought through the darkness and married and had children all while being unable to feel intimacy, I could have never done that if suicide were a possibility. I did try to minimize pain, although I know that this decision will hurt many of you. If this hurts you, I hope that you can at least forget about me quickly.

There’s no point in identifying who molested me, so I’m just going to leave it at that. I doubt the word of a dead guy with no evidence about something that happened over twenty years ago would have much sway.

You may wonder why I didn’t just talk to a professional about this. I’ve seen a number of doctors since I was a teenager to talk about other issues and I’m positive that another doctor would not have helped. I was never given one piece of actionable advice, ever. More than a few spent a large part of the session reading their notes to remember who I was. And I have no interest in talking about being raped as a child, both because I know it wouldn’t help and because I have no confidence it would remain secret. I know the legal and practical limits of doctor/patient confidentiality, growing up in a house where we’d hear stories about the various mental illnesses of famous people, stories that were passed down through generations. All it takes is one doctor who thinks my story is interesting enough to share or a doctor who thinks it’s her right or responsibility to contact the authorities and have me identify the molestor (justifying her decision by telling herself that someone else might be in danger). All it takes is a single doctor who violates my trust, just like the “friends” who I told I was gay did, and everything would be made public and I’d be forced to live in a world where people would know how fucked up I am. And yes, I realize this indicates that I have severe trust issues, but they’re based on a large number of experiences with people who have shown a profound disrepect for their word and the privacy of others.

People say suicide is selfish. I think it’s selfish to ask people to continue living painful and miserable lives, just so you possibly won’t feel sad for a week or two. Suicide may be a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but it’s also a permanent solution to a ~23 year-old problem that grows more intense and overwhelming every day.

Some people are just dealt bad hands in this life. I know many people have it worse than I do, and maybe I’m just not a strong person, but I really did try to deal with this. I’ve tried to deal with this every day for the last 23 years and I just can’t fucking take it anymore.

I often wonder what life must be like for other people. People who can feel the love from others and give it back unadulterated, people who can experience sex as an intimate and joyous experience, people who can experience the colors and happenings of this world without constant misery. I wonder who I’d be if things had been different or if I were a stronger person. It sounds pretty great.

I’m prepared for death. I’m prepared for the pain and I am ready to no longer exist. Thanks to the strictness of New Jersey gun laws this will probably be much more painful than it needs to be, but what can you do. My only fear at this point is messing something up and surviving.

—-

I’d also like to address my family, if you can call them that. I despise everything they stand for and I truly hate them, in a non-emotional, dispassionate and what I believe is a healthy way. The world will be a better place when they’re dead—one with less hatred and intolerance.

If you’re unfamiliar with the situation, my parents are fundamentalist Christians who kicked me out of their house and cut me off financially when I was 19 because I refused to attend seven hours of church a week.

They live in a black and white reality they’ve constructed for themselves. They partition the world into good and evil and survive by hating everything they fear or misunderstand and calling it love. They don’t understand that good and decent people exist all around us, “saved” or not, and that evil and cruel people occupy a large percentage of their church. They take advantage of people looking for hope by teaching them to practice the same hatred they practice.

A random example:

“I am personally convinced that if a Muslim truly believes and obeys the Koran, he will be a terrorist.” – George Zeller, August 24, 2010.

If you choose to follow a religion where, for example, devout Catholics who are trying to be good people are all going to Hell but child molestors go to Heaven (as long as they were “saved” at some point), that’s your choice, but it’s fucked up. Maybe a God who operates by those rules does exist. If so, fuck Him.

Their church was always more important than the members of their family and they happily sacrificed whatever necessary in order to satisfy their contrived beliefs about who they should be.

I grew up in a house where love was proxied through a God I could never believe in. A house where the love of music with any sort of a beat was literally beaten out of me. A house full of hatred and intolerance, run by two people who were experts at appearing kind and warm when others were around. Parents who tell an eight year old that his grandmother is going to Hell because she’s Catholic. Parents who claim not to be racist but then talk about the horrors of miscegenation. I could list hundreds of other examples, but it’s tiring.

Since being kicked out, I’ve interacted with them in relatively normal ways. I talk to them on the phone like nothing happened. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I like pretending I have a family. Maybe I like having people I can talk to about what’s been going on in my life. Whatever the reason, it’s not real and it feels like a sham. I should have never allowed this reconnection to happen.

I wrote the above a while ago, and I do feel like that much of the time. At other times, though, I feel less hateful. I know my parents honestly believe the crap they believe in. I know that my mom, at least, loved me very much and tried her best. One reason I put this off for so long is because I know how much pain it will cause her. She has been sad since she found out I wasn’t “saved”, since she believes I’m going to Hell, which is not a sadness for which I am responsible. That was never going to change, and presumably she believes the state of my physical body is much less important than the state of my soul. Still, I cannot intellectually justify this decision, knowing how much it will hurt her. Maybe my ability to take my own life, knowing how much pain it will cause, shows that I am a monster who doesn’t deserve to live. All I know is that I can’t deal with this pain any longer and I’m am truly sorry I couldn’t wait until my family and everyone I knew died so this could be done without hurting anyone. For years I’ve wished that I’d be hit by a bus or die while saving a baby from drowning so my death might be more acceptable, but I was never so lucky.

—-

To those of you who have shown me love, thank you for putting up with all my shittiness and moodiness and arbitrariness. I was never the person I wanted to be. Maybe without the darkness I would have been a better person, maybe not. I did try to be a good person, but I realize I never got very far.

I’m sorry for the pain this causes. I really do wish I had another option. I hope this letter explains why I needed to do this. If you can’t understand this decision, I hope you can at least forgive me.

Bill Zeller

—-

Please save this letter and repost it if gets deleted. I don’t want people to wonder why I did this. I disseminated it more widely than I might have otherwise because I’m worried that my family might try to restrict access to it. I don’t mind if this letter is made public. In fact, I’d prefer it be made public to people being unable to read it and drawing their own conclusions.

Feel free to republish this letter, but only if it is reproduced in its entirety.
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Bill Zeller’s family attends Middletown Bible Church. His father serves as an assistant to the pastor.

Thanks to Joel Johnson, whose post of this letter I copied. Please pass it on.

[BASSENCO]

I have posted Bill Zeller's suicide note on my blog, and I do think Bill Zeller's life and torment indict Christian Fundamentalism for its lunacy, lovelessness, and harshness. But I'm not perfectly sure Bill Zeller was actually molested. I tend to think he was, but I don't think it's a closed case.

A lot of people are pointing at the father, George Zeller, and it is pretty clear from his copious writings against John MacArthur, which get down to some pretty tiny hair splitting, that George Zeller is a humorless, obsessed man who is constantly trying to micromanage all religion into his own precise format. Gosh, it must have been beyond horrible to grow up with a parent like that. But that doesn't make him a child molester.

In fact, I'm not sure Bill Zeller was molested. I *think* he was, but his note might have been a deliberate attempt to shame his father and the church for the harshness, narrowness, any other abuses (like beatings), coldness, indifference, etc., that they have demonstrated, and for which Bill Zeller may have blamed them.

Zeller's note makes it clear that, whatever else he was suffering, he fully intended to deliver a crippling and public blow to his parents, especially his father, to force them to confront their assumptions and practices and utterly disable them from continuing to live as they have lived.

My guess is that if a member of the church staff abused children, that now we will see others come forward with accounts of being abused. If the father did molest his son, we will likely see the mother divorce him within a year. But if the real issue of Bill Zeller's torment was George Zeller's obsessive control and micromanagement of his children, then I would not be surprised if any other children in the family remark on that eventually.

Bill Zeller clearly suffered *something,* and he felt abandoned by his family, and he seems to have felt enraged that his valid questions/objections to their beliefs could not be answered, and their only ultimate answer was to distance themselves from him. He was clearly depressed and was punishing himself in a lot of ways and blaming that on his "shadow" or "darkness".

The truest thing about his note was that it reveals the torment of his mind. It should be accepted as valid on that value, but more will probably come to light that will either corroborate or question his claims.

[Scorpio]

I'm almost at a loss for words after reading the note. Whew. So heart-wrenching to read someone who was so tortured internally. A couple of observations:
I think he was molested. The 2nd paragraph specifically says he was raped and mentions physical problems with being able to go to the bathroom.
While he does not mention who raped him, one could easily conclude that it was someone in the church. I base that on his later description of his family and him having to be in church 7 hours a week. Those type of people generally have very little contact with the outside world.
Based on the years listed, I gather he was around 23 years old. So young. I can't help but think that he never got the proper help (counseling, and not the pastoral kind) he needed that very well may have helped him. It sounds like he never talked about his secret. I am no expert but I think talking about bad things that happen in your life is the first step in overcoming the damage done.
I also can't help to think that maybe he never got the help he needed becasue he was brainwashed his whole life into thinking that non-pastoral counseling is of the devil.
It really is sad that his parents cut him off from the family because of his refusal to attend church.
I also can't help but think he could have done so much more by naming his molester. He may save others from this monster and may have given other victims the courage to come forward.
OK. I've said enough.

[Tony Mel]

(01-11-2011 03:10 PM)Scorpio Wrote:  I'm almost at a loss for words after reading the note. Whew. So heart-wrenching to read someone who was so tortured internally. A couple of observations:
I think he was molested. The 2nd paragraph specifically says he was raped and mentions physical problems with being able to go to the bathroom.
While he does not mention who raped him, one could easily conclude that it was someone in the church. I base that on his later description of his family and him having to be in church 7 hours a week. Those type of people generally have very little contact with the outside world.
Based on the years listed, I gather he was around 23 years old. So young. I can't help but think that he never got the proper help (counseling, and not the pastoral kind) he needed that very well may have helped him. It sounds like he never talked about his secret. I am no expert but I think talking about bad things that happen in your life is the first step in overcoming the damage done.
I also can't help to think that maybe he never got the help he needed becasue he was brainwashed his whole life into thinking that non-pastoral counseling is of the devil.
It really is sad that his parents cut him off from the family because of his refusal to attend church.
I also can't help but think he could have done so much more by naming his molester. He may save others from this monster and may have given other victims the courage to come forward.
OK. I've said enough.

I agree with you.

[RJW]

I would guess that he *was* molested. He mentions feelings of "wondering if he is gay" even though he is attracted to girls. That often happens to people who are molested.

[steviusthedevious]

(01-11-2011 08:52 AM)BASSENCO Wrote:  Thanks to Joel Johnson, whose post of this letter I copied. Please pass it on.

did you pull this from gawker/gizmodo? if so, do you comment there?

[fundyvangelicalcatholic]

That church is wacko. I just got done perusing their site. Hate filled garbage is too nice of a term.

[exIFB]

I'm not sure how you managed to read hate on their site. I'm quite familiar with it, and while I am no longer part of the free grace community, their work and literature was very helpful in me leaving fundamentalism and quelling my doubts about my acceptance with God. Unlike other people (ie, Jesus is Savior .com) who write polemic pieces, middletown's polemic papers are written with grace and respect, not insults. It surprised me to read that George Zeller and his wife did not accept their son, because it is contrary to a lot of things that George has written and you can read on Middletown church website.

It is sad that this has happened to the son of the assistant pastor. I emailed the church in regards to this (I wondered whether they had issued a statement), but they have not responded yet, and probably won't which is unfortunate.

[fundyvangelicalcatholic]

From the Middletown Bible Church "The need for an oasis":
"For example, a 22 year old son runs into some problems and needs a place to stay. The parents are concerned and want to help and open their home. The son has no interest whatsoever in attending services at the local assembly and the parents do not require this at all. Reasonable and right HOUSE RULES are not made, or they are not enforced. The parents allow this situation to continue and nothing is fixed. Time passes. Finally after several months the son finds a "better" place to live and moves in with friends. The problem has gone away. The son is no longer there. But the problem was never resolved and there was no victory."

This is garbage. Your son is your son. The church advocates that you shun your son unless you make him attend church. How does that even make sense? This statement implies that a "reasonable house rule" is that church attendance is mandatory and if you don't enforce this there is no victory? Since when is parenting your child a battle between you and your child to be won in front of God? We are to train up our children in the way they should go. Do you really think it is normal to be adversarial towards your children to be right with God? Do you see any correlation between this type of adversarial teaching and this poor kid's suicide?

This is one example and I could spend a day disecting all of the "literature" up on their sight. To summarize, their "literature" will twist and bend scripture to make their position seem like the only correct way a "Bible Believing" Christian should live. If you disagree with any of it, you are an apostate. To me, that is hate filled garbage. CHRIST DID NOT PREACH THIS!

[exIFB]

Yeah.... I think you kind of missed the point on that one. The next part of the article talks about a man who commits adultery over and over again with the same woman. When the woman dies, he stops committing adultery, but he never solved the problem or gained a victory.

Likewise, parents wanting to help their child get off drugs or whatever, need to set up some guidelines in the house, rules to help them. Not for the parents benefit, but really for the son or daughter, because it will determine whether or not they really want to be free and gain help from their parents. The article never suggests kick them out. It suggests that the parents actually help their son, instead of giving him a free ride. Church may not have been the best example, since going to church isn't meant to be some kind of behavioural improvement program. But it is a church site, and of course one of the suggestions will be to get them into a different group of friends that can support them, and church can often provide that.

The problem being addressed in that article is two things - i) The son didn't really want help (he moved out as soon as he could). ii) The parents didn't really want to help - they did nothing except provide him a home, which is loving, but they then let him make his own decisions under their roof, when it would have been evident that he was unable to do so.

Also, in case anyone is wondering, it was written in 1987, and not by George Zeller, so it's not describing an actual event that happened.