​Ten Ways I Can Tell My Family Is Actually a Cult

By 9-year-old Tommy Langston

​When I first arrived, they forced a name on me and expected me to answer to it the entire time I’m here. 
 
They limit who I can and can’t see and ban me from leaving the compound after dark.
 
I’m told to give complete respect to the eldest members of the tribe and I am not allowed to call them by their real names.
 
They control all of my finances.
 
Before I was even old enough to know what it was meant, I was indoctrinated into a routine of hugs, kisses and saying “I love you” to the powers that be.
 
They tell me what to eat, what to wear, and when to go to bed.
 
I share a bunk with another captive and he’s not even allowed to bathe unsupervised (use the bathroom by himself.)
 
I’m rarely, if ever, left unsupervised. If the leaders do leave the compound, they hire a guard to “baby sit” me while they are gone.
 
They force me to go to indoctrination classes eight hours a day, five days a week… with even more work to do at home. Then they rank me against other captives based on how well I can regurgitate their dogma.
 
Kool-Aid. So much freakin’ Kool-Aid.