Unasked help

I really did not know whether there was any connection. I suspected getting accustomed with failure would not good to any person, not even one who was much stronger and mentally stable than myself. With so much humiliation to remember, I often felt worthless, which cut off the wings of my achievement.

As though I did not have enough trouble, Máté sent me a new letter.
Last occasion, I answered his email, merely to be polite. Yet he wrote again.

Dearest Mina,
Hopefully we will meet soon. We could help you with your problems. You would be interested in our stuff anyway.
Máté

I did not have a clue what was that certain "stuff", but I did not want to find out.
The fact that even a foolish man could notice my problems anytime still bothered me endlessly.
I knew my unsure mental state, my loneliness, and uncertainty made me an easy target for swindlers. How many times they could had deluded me!
Like that unhappy relationship. Had my self-esteem been all right, it could have never happened.

Years ago, I always used to have my worries - was I beautiful enough? Was I attractive? Did somebody love me... appreciate me?
In that relationship, I got pleasant-sounding promises that somebody did indeed.
However, I had to pay the price.

And the scientologists...
I met them first when I was eighteen. I was walking on a street of N*, when a young blonde with a questionnaire came up to me.
"Hello" she said, smiling. "Would you like to make your life any better?"
Of course I would. I stepped closer to her tentatively.
"You certainly have problems like so many others. Nowadays several people are depressed. Perhaps you are one of them."
I nodded eagerly. Those days I used to hope that somebody could help me.
"Would you like to make your comprehensive abilities better... your IQ higher..."
I offered her a broad smile.
"Come with me then, please. In our centre, I can show you some books..."
I followed her to a nearby street, where we entered a building. We got into a big hall which looked like a fine café, with shining white walls. The people there must be well-off ones.
We sat down a table, and I could see a publication on it, with the word scientology.
I turned the girl's offer down immediately - I knew that several esteemed psychiatrists condemned them.
Only after leaving the hall, a thought hit me. What had I done again? One does not enter an unknown building with a stranger who she just met.

A few months passed by, and, without any side-thoughts, I have read Ron L. Hubbard's novel which I borrowed from the library. I don't know its original title which was translated "Terror" into Hungarian. The book was a moderately intriguing dark fantasy/horror about the dreadful hallucinations of a man who had gone mad and attacked his friend and his own wife with an axe.

Two years later, when I had that vile relationship (which made me more desperate than I have ever been), I searched for the scientologists willingly.
I still could hope for help from others.
The young people I found in the dianetics centre were friendly and helpful with me.
I told them honestly about my personality disorders and the medicine called Zoloft I took for a month half a year ago (in the doctor's opinion, actually I should had taken it for at least six months, but, as I was afraid of side-effects, I quitted taking it).
The scientologists said I was right, such medicines could damage one's mental health even more than it was damaged before.
Well, I don't know much about scientologists, but on that point, they were right indeed. Anti-depressants are, like psychiatrists suggest, different than average tranquillants, and they do not lead to addiction, yet they can change one's personality dramatically.
(Years later, I refused to take medicines even when I was in the possible worst mental state, and for a reason.)

In that dianetics centre, a dark haired, slim girl gave me a test of a well-known university. It was about one's mental state and mood.
The result was surprisingly credible, and saddening at the same time.
According to the test which measured one's state on a scale between -100 and +100, I had the worst results of mental well-being in general, zest for life, and hopes for the future (from -95 to -60). Whilst my willingness to change, my will-power and the hard work for good and better achievements were above +30-40, which was a spectacular difference.
They told me the wrong ones held down the impressive efforts, and I should change.

I was enthusiastic. Perhaps they would really help me use my abilities and skills properly and change my life into a better one.

I have read Hubbard's book 'Scientology', I have learnt what was reverie (a special expression for a meditation-like state) and auditing (one leads you back to ancient bad memories which are suppressed in the subconscious and have a bad effect on your life, and, recalling and reliving those memories many times, they will supposedly lost their painful edge).

Fortunately I got bored with the entire thing and did not have enough patience to visit the centre several times. Besides, my psychiatrist (who could not help either, but he was a very fair and clever man and it was a pleasure to talk to him) talked me out of contacting scientologists.

Not as though that unwanted relationship did not do much more harm than any scientologist.

This time I had a more than a bit odd acquaintance with supposed helpful intentions.

I had to think it through that, as all my good friends - Vanda... my lovely Vanda... and Zentai... - fled from me, and even my parents had enough with me; whilst idiots were sticking to me, I apparently must did something wrong.