I am the light you tried to strangle, the light you tried to stifle in your chokehold.
But my light bled all over the pages of your book, your preconceived narratives, your filthy words and your attempts to bring terror back into the blank space of my eyes.
Who am I?
I’ll tell you who I am.
I birthed revolution in my bones like the many women that came before me.
I ignited flames beneath my skin, using the fiery spirits of women who walked beside me
as matches; we breathed fire into each other’s hearts until the world could see us and from the ashes we were reborn.
Who am I?
I’ll tell you who I am.
I am the fear in your hatred, the pain that you tried to use to violate my sacred spaces, rip me apart until I was nothing,
but I knew I would always be something, somebody, and now I am.
I am layers and layers of the love and power that act as your kryptonite,
and with the words and actions of all those who rose with me, I’ll build an impenetrable wall.
Who am I?
I am the thing that nightmarish people have nightmares about,
wake up sweating about, thinking about —
their furrowed brows tense with self-doubt —
wondering if I and the other warriors I march with could ever come back to life.
Who am I?
I am the restless rebel you tried to bury,
the one you tried to pull out by the root and eradicate when she began to grow from the seed.
Who am I?
I’ll tell you who I am.
I am the girl you left for dead thinking she’d always fall and never rise again.
I am the girl you cut with your razor blade wrath, the girl you thought would never fight back.
I am the girl you underestimated, the woman you tormented, the child whose shackles you tightened.
Who am I?
I think you already know –
I think you understand.
I am the prisoner you tried to cage, the little girl you made afraid –
I am the woman who never gave up, the one who exposed your charade —
Who am I?
I am everything and anything that you will stand againstto try to regain control.
For every source of darkness, there is a bleeding soul,
one that shines so brightly that the entire war zone becomes illuminated.
I am the truth, your karma, the revolt —
I am the resistance, the pieces you tried to keep shattered, coming back together again.
I emerge quietly, but I resound loudly —reverberate through your skin.
My power was never yours, and it was never yours to take.
“There are no kings in America. Only gilded me we can topple again and again.”
-Aileen Cassinetto
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about our country for a moment. I don’t usually write much about politics on my blog. Social media is quite different. However, we are currently experiencing unprecedented times. Which is causing so much collateral damage that it could take several presidents to undo what is being done if that is even possible.
When my boys come to visit we always talk about current things like school, everyday life, personal wants, “would you rather” and the current political environment. And to be honest, I never thought I would have to explain basic human rights and how those are egregiously being destroyed. And now the decisions of a lot of Americans have put in power a want to be dictator.
I wrote a blog this past month that recently posted about how good we have it in our country. And now I must retract that statement by tell you that the United States of America, the threat to democracy and the very essence of our lives are now being tailored for a fascist society. And the “American Spirit,” which is not a person, is being made a mockery of the founding fathers’ original intentions. Let me break it down.
Our Foundational Ideas
· Liberty and Independence: The freedom to think, speak, and act as one chooses without infringing on the rights of others.
· Self-government: The belief that citizens are the ultimate source of authority and have the right to participate in the political process.
· Equality: The idea that all people are created equal and deserve fair treatment, respect, and dignity, with equal opportunities for success.
· Individualism: The belief that individuals are in control of their own destinies and can achieve self-sufficiency and independence through their own initiative (https:study.com, 2025).
Aspirations of the American Dream
· The promise of opportunity: Anyone can achieve success through sacrifice, risk-taking, and hard work.
· Upward social mobility: The change for individuals to attain a better life than their parents.
· A “democracy of goods”: The notion that everyone should have access to material comfort and goods, a vision popularized in the 20th century (https://www.wikipedia.org, 2025).
I now must again explain to my children how racism, at its core, is just wrong in every way. And how the example of the highest position, in our once revered democracy is being dismantled one freedom and one right at a time. And how if someone disagrees with someone’s way of life, you must not fear and/or hate them. I have instructed my children from day one that people and families are unique individually. And just because of their uniqueness, it doesn’t mean that they are wrong. I don’t care about your skin color, religious affiliation, political affiliation, sexual orientation, ethnic background, or gender identity. However, what I don’t like are bullies. And currently we have a bully in power.
I don’t hate no matter how far left or far right you are on the spectrum. But the idea of hating and inciting violence against someone because they are different is not ok. Do I like people like Charlie Kirk? Hell no. Do I think that he deserved to be murdered based on his views, regardless of whether I agreed with him or the fact that he was a racist and a homophobe, never. But when your whole premise of the stage that you voluntarily inject yourself onto is about treating those you disagree with by tearing them down, bad things are bound to happen. And when political views and votes are more important than lives of our citizens and our beautiful immigrants, our tears begin to fall.
When the president of the United States who has 34 felony convictions, and whose best friends were the vilest child sex trafficker and rapists this country has ever seen, while also having the support of others, it must be discussed and stopped. Jeffery Epstein and Ghislane Maxwell were convicted of some of the most horrible crimes against children. And it has been confirmed that Donald Trump’s name, as well as many others, were also listed in the Epstein files.
As a parent and someone who was also preyed upon by those in power, the only logical decision of our government should be to release the unredacted files and have total transparency. This shouldn’t be a tall order. I see a lot of people online who voted for Donald talking about how evil Jefferey Epstein was. And how pedophiles should be held accountable, unless you talk about the high probability that Donald Trump is also connected to said crimes.
I have never seen so many lies and an obvious cover up by the United States government in my life. I don’t care whose names, whether they be democrats, republicans, independents or royalty, are on the list. They should all be held accountable. And for some of us, whose perpetrators were never held accountable, this is a national symbol of that fight for justice. And just maybe the bad guys get caught in the end and have to pay for their actions that have ruined upwards of a thousand children’s lives.
When you are forced into something as horrific as sexual abuse, your life is forever changed. You will never view the world as “safe” again. You will never look at the average person the same again. And the most intimate part of a person’s life and body are forever damaged. The lies and manipulation that one has to possess to accomplish these acts are more than I can comprehend.
It is my hope and prayer that whoever has taken part in actions consistent with pedophilia, rape and/or the coverup of these crimes will see the day when they are forced to be accountable for everything that they have turned a “blind eye” to. I shouldn’t have to explain why blatant actions have been and continue to be ignored. I shouldn’t have to explain how and why our, once thriving and beautifully diverse country has systematically been sent down the tubes. And is also being controlled by a Russian dictator who is training our orange, “want to be dictator” in the ways of murdering democracy.
My children shouldn’t have to witness and be explained the purpose of “Alligator Alcatraz.” And how funny it is to the hard core “Triple Trumpers” MAGA movement. The only thing consistent are lies, deceit and the many times of the crashing of Grindr by down low politicians. Who are angry because they are scared of authenticity. I shouldn’t have to explain why our country is ok with standing by someone like Benjamin Netanyahu and watching as the genocide in Gaza continues. I shouldn’t have to explain why Vladamir Putin is allowed to continue with the horrific attacks on the people of Ukraine. I shouldn’t have to explain why a dictator across the pond poisons those that don’t agree with them. But here we are.
What I do have to explain are the constant sacrifices of our military service members, who many have laid down their lives for generations, in an effort to make sure that we retain those inalienable rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And how and why the Declaration of Independence and our Constitution was formed. Even though the president of our country clearly knows nothing about said rights which was caught on camera many times. Why “No Kings Day” protests are so important. And how our once love for the “freedom of speech” is being allowed to now be censored.
With tears in my eyes, again, I write this. And the grief of my soul as I watch the sometimes-comical players in this mockery of a democratic government, keeps me up at night. And a lot of times, I laugh to keep from crying. But the videos of children and adults being starved to death is not something that we are accustomed to witnessing. I don’t believe that those who take away the rights of others should have rights of their own.
The tensions in this country of the blatant abuse of power by turning the military on our citizens is uncalled for and scary. And the depths of these fears, I do my best to shield my children from seeing. But they are not dumb. They ask questions and I try to explain them on an age-appropriate level.
I enjoy watching and posting the satire of some of these views. But make no mistake, I will constantly keep at the forefront of our conversations about the importance of such figures in the civil rights movement, Nazi Germany, the extermination of the Jews in concentration camps and the importance of the Stonewall riots. And now, I must explain to them modern day concentration camps disguised as being something “good” for the American public.
People, life as we knew it is disappearing at a rapid rate. It is time for us as Americans to grow a spine and make a peaceful stand against tyranny. And this means doing “your part” in whatever way that looks. No longer is it ok to remain “neutral” as “neutrality” is now a vote for tyranny. You can make a choice to be red, blue or any color of the rainbow. And remember that staying neutral is also a choice. Our country is a collection of diverse groups of people, races, ethnicities, and religions creating One America. The colors that matter the most are the ones who are red, white, and blue.
Thanks for reading! And I hope that you, not only as an American, will stand up for what’s right instead of staying silent to what’s wrong. To our allies across the pond and abroad, your voices also matter. And I personally thank each and every one of you for not allowing the Epstein scandal to go unnoticed. Keep standing for freedom my fellow Americans as will I. And to our diligent immigrants, I will continue to do my part to fight for your right to live the American Dream that most of us took for granted. Thanks for your attention to this matter.
Affirmation: I embrace the opportunities and freedoms in the United States to build the life I deserve.
“If you aren’t silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”
-Zora Neale Hurston
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about some of the behaviors that fit under the umbrella of domestic violence. It wasn’t until I was out of the relationship for a while before I began to see information validating what I always knew. This is not comprehensive list by any means.
COERCIVE CONTROL OR CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR
· Control who a person sees, wears and where they go.
v This was considered normal in my relationship. He dictated everything that I wore. If I chose what I wanted to wear, he would tell me to, “go change. You look ridiculous.” And I was afraid to go somewhere without asking his permission.
· Monitor or track what a person does.
v This was also something that was done on a daily basis. He would call me wherever I was supposed to be and verify it by employees.
· Control a person’s finances, medicine, food, or exercise.
v He always told me that I was not allowed food that he didn’t approve. And I was required to be at the gym at 5:30 am every morning. And he would call and speak with those employees about what type of exercise I was doing. I was also not allowed to spend any money without permission.
· Force someone to have sex or do sexual things.
v I was never given the option to make that choice. I was threatened if I even spoke about that.
PHYSICAL VIOLENCE
· Hitting, punching, kicking, bashing, shoving, or pushing.
Thishappened more times than I can count. He did kick me in the face. But when he and his brother teamed up together, it was worse. The main reason is because my husband didn’t want to say that he participated. And because they always threatened and intimidated me into silence, I never said anything. His brother was his “yes man.” And my husband pulled the strings.
· Spitting on someone or pulling hair.
· Choking or suffocating.
v This typically happened during forced sex. Or whenever his brother would get mad at me, he would choke me as a form of intimidation.
· Throwing things at or near someone.
· Using a weapon.
v This was always pointed at me or laid out somewhere as a form of threats and intimidation.
· Locking someone in or out of space.
v This was often done to show control.
· Stopping someone from eating, sleeping, or having medication they need.
v Every piece of food had to be given an account. One of his favorite things he would allow me to have for a snack was ten olives and ten pistachios. He would come home from work and completely berate me if I weren’t already up. And it didn’t matter that I had just worked a 24-48 shift. He always told me that medication was a crutch. He got mad because I had been given muscle relaxers for a hurt back and proceeded to kick me in the face and throw my medication out into the rain. I was also not allowed to take any psychiatric meds for depression or mood stabilization because, “why do you need anti-depressants when I’m so good to you? And what if someone finds out that you’re taking this? I don’t want anyone knowing that my wife is crazy. Then it makes me look bad. Why don’t you care about that?”
· Forcing someone to drink or take drugs.
v I did this on my own to help deal with being under his crazy world of control.
SEXUAL VIOLENCE
· Touching or kissing someone without their consent.
v I was made to accept his advances.
· Pressuring or forcing someone to have sex or do something sexual without their consent.
v I was told, “Either you give it to me, or I’ll take it. Either way, I’m getting what I want. Make your decision.” Many times, I was bruised or bleeding by the time he was done with me. I had no voice in any matter. He was the “warden,” and I was his “prisoner.” My whole sexual relationship with him was simply RAPE.
· Pressuring or forcing someone to have sex without protection such as a condom.
v I was told early on, “I’m not using protection because it burns my dick. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t put stipulations on how I fuck you.”
*I know this is explicit. However, I want you to get an accurate description of the situation.*
IMAGE-BASED ABUSE
· Sharing private images of a person without their consent, for example images of them undressing or showering.
· Sharing culturally inappropriate images of a person, for example images in which they do not wear items of clothing that they would normally wear in public.
· Sharing intimate or sexualized images of a person without their consent.
· Producing and sharing images that have been digitally altered to suggest a person is nude or engaged in sexual activity.
· Threatening to do any of these things.
*I found out later on that his brother would secretly be filming or watching us having sex.*
EMOTIONAL OR PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE
· Criticizing a person and their choices or actions.
v In his mind, he thought that I was too stupid to make decisions that were considered “correct.” All he ever told me what how stupid and retarded I was.
· Isolating a person form their friends or their family.
v Some friendships I lost forever because they just thought that I abandoned them. What they failed to see was that I would get accused of all kinds of stuff if I disobeyed him. Those who have never been in an abusive situation can’t comprehend losing your power to stand up for yourself. It was just easier to do what he said. Some former friends haven’t even talked to me since that time. And that is about them not me.
· Threatening to harm a person, their family, their friends, their pets, or their belongings.
v He always made threats about things he would and could do with keepsakes or my innocent animals. And if he and his brother didn’t feel that I was getting the picture, they would show up at my parents’ house and start harassing them.
This topic will be spread over a few blogs. As you can see, when I add personal experience, the blog gets much longer. Stay patient and learn from this. It’s a hell that most people can’t understand. And I’m telling you that it’s all true. I was living in a prison without visible bars. Thanks for reading! And watch for the second part in the coming days.
Affirmation: I remember that it is ok to ask for help and receive support.
“Never stop fighting for your freedom, you are worth it.”
-DA Survivor-Anon
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negativity energy, go away. Today is the beginning of Domestic Violence Awareness Month. This month is when our voices from all over the globe will be heard. We as victims, survivors and warriors bring to light the horrors of domestic violence and the impact that it leaves on our lives and those around us. Let’s take time out for a little education on a few of the topics surrounding domestic violence.
Domestic Violence is a topic that I know a lot about. Well, I know how to function in it. And I know how to get away from it. But living with the aftereffects reveal a whole other set of problems. Where domestic violence used to be seen as something that only happens to women and their partners. There is more awareness on the abuse of men by their partners. No matter how you identify. It also happens to the most innocent, children and pets. This happens in all forms of relationships. And the statistics are staggering.
Domestic violence is violence committed by someone in the victim’s domestic circle. Which include partners and ex-partners, immediate family members, and other relatives and family friends (https://www.UN.org, 2025). The behaviors can include such things as:
· Physical
· Sexual
· Emotional
· Financial
· Psychological actions or threats of actions that influence another person.
This includes any behavior that intimidate, manipulate, humiliate, isolate, frighten, terrorize, coerce, threaten, blame, hurt, injure, or wound someone. The repetitive exposure to violence teaches children that violence is a normal way of life (https://dvcc.delaware.gov, 2025). And for those of us who leave, constant confusion and every minute of no knowing when something else will happen again, is our normal. And the many years of programming by our abusers takes years of therapy to de-program ourselves. But you will never be who you used to be.
Recovery is not for the faint of heart. It is hard and uncomfortable. And it takes years to undo the damage that was caused on so many levels. I was one of the lucky ones. Long story short, I survived. But the mental damage that was caused has left me crippled in some ways. And through the sleepless nights filled with tears, therapy, psychiatric medications, body memories, flashbacks, phobias, and panic attacks, I have learned that I have a voice that deserves to be heard. And no matter what people say or believe, I can validate my own story regardless of the opinions of others. Because I lived it.
The main thing I want to say to other women and men across the globe who are still in their own processes, “YOU ARE NOT ALONE!” Because it happened to me too. Thanks for reading! Keep smiling and pushing forward.
“Narcissism is a cover for a very weak self-image.”
-Dian Grier, LCSW
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk about narcissism. This doesn’t just occur in world leaders. This occurs within our family members and those we meet along the way. And narcissist abuse will leave a mark on all of its unsuspecting victims.
Before I go any further, I want to tell you about the specifics of Narcissistic Personality Disorder as a diagnosis. Let me see if I can describe these types of individuals, so that you will have a better understanding about what to look for. One thing to note about a narcissist is that they enjoy criticizing others for any little thing. However, if you begin to criticize anything about them, they will quickly lash out with discontent.
First, we must understand the difference between “personality” and “personality disorder.” Someone’s personality is influenced by experiences, environmental and hereditary. A healthy personality allows someone to cope with the normal stresses of life while developing and maintaining satisfying relationships. However, when long term patterns of thinking and behavioral responses are rigid, inflexible, and cause stress and impairment in functioning, the personality is considered “disordered.” To be classified as a disorder the person’s way of thinking, feeling and behaving deviates from the expectations of the culture while also causes distress or problems functioning and lasts over time. The behavior typically begins in late adolescence into early adulthood (psychiatry.org, 2024).
The criteria for a diagnosis of Narcissistic Personality Disorder in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-5-TR) defines the disorder as “a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and lack of empathy.” Beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts. To meet criteria for a diagnosis there must be at least five of the nine criteria. Having a grandiose sense of self-importance, such as exaggerating achievements and talents, expecting to be recognized as superior even without commensurate achievements.
They believe that they are “entitled” to special privileges and have unrealistic expectations for special treatment.
Demanding excessive admiration
· They crave excessive attention from others. And they seek validation and applause for their perceived achievements and abilities.
Sense of entitlement
Exploitation behaviors
They take advantage of others to achieve their own goals. And they lack concern for the harm they cause doing it.
Lack of empathy
They struggle to understand the feelings and needs of others while also dismissing or minimizing their experiences.
Envy towards others or belief that others are envious of them.
They want to see others envious of them.
Inability to handle criticism.
Preoccupation with fantasies of success, power, beauty, and idealization.
Belief in being “special” and that they can only be understood by or associated with other high-status people (or institutions).
They struggle to accept criticism or feedback and become defensive and angry when confronted.
Fragile Self-Esteem
Despite their appearance of how they exude confidence, they really have a very fragile sense of self-worth and are overly sensitive to criticisms.
Arrogant behaviors and attitudes(StatPearls Publishing, 2025 January).
Childhood trauma is one of the most common types of traumas that can contribute to the development of narcissism. And it can include things such as physical, emotional and sexual abuse, neglect and abandonment. When a child is subjected to things like this, the mind has to find a “work around” for dealing with the emotions. Some children deal with these seemingly “threatening” feelings and emotions by developing a sense of entitlement, a need for control, and a lack of empathy towards others.
This is exactly who my ex-husband is. Trying to form a close emotional bond with him was like trying to hug an iceberg. There was just nothing ever there. He got mad and pretended to empathize with others. The fact of the matter is that he considered him “the best” at everything. And he made a point to criticize everyone he had contact with once they left. He and his brother were at the mercy of his father’s physical and emotional abuse that was a direct result of his own narcissism. I’ve known and been around them all and I can tell you that it’s like being around the “Narcissism Entourage.”
I will post part 2 in the next few days. Keep reading. Keep Smiling. And always remember, “Tomorrow is another day to begin again.”
Affirmation: I am embracing my journey towards healing and growth.
“They want to make you suffer. And for you to take your own life. They really are very sadistic people.”
-Anna A., Victim Of 764
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today, I want to talk about online predator groups. I know that the videos that I’ve chosen have some length to them. However, I strongly encourage you to watch these videos. They are graphic in nature. So, please view them at your own discretion.
Some of these predators use platforms where they begin grooming children in areas that is plentiful with kids, online gaming platforms. One thing to remember is that predatory grooming takes on an infinite number of forms and ideas. And these groups that are preying on our kids are on a continuum. These groups seek to control, hurt, manipulate and kill our children. And the predatory group called 764 is one of the most sinister groups.
764 is an online decentralized and transnational sextortion network that is adjacent to the Order of Nine Angels (O9A), a right-wing Satanist terror network. And after gathering information on this group, they are definitely doing the devil’s work. 764’s online networks coerce children into recording themselves engaging in self-harm, sexually explicit acts and violence. This group consists of violent extremists who seek to normalize the production, sharing and possession of child pornography and gore material to desensitize and corrupt youth toward future acts of violence. The group members gain notoriety by systematically targeting, grooming, and extorting victims. They demand that victims engage in and share media of self-mutilation, sexual acts, harm to animals, acts of random violence, suicide and murder. It’s a way of causing chaos by disrupting society.
764 began with Bradley Cadenhead, a teenager from Stephenville, TX. His behavior began at age 8 while watching online porn. His fascination progressed to a fascination with violent torture pictures, videos and gore. He posted a lot on social media about violence. At age 13, he was put on juvenile probation for discussing shooting up a middle school. He briefly returned to a juvenile facility for violating his probation and he continued routinely watching ultra-violent gore content online. Court records have shown that he refused to participate in counseling sessions, repeatedly left home without permission, assaulted his mother, and ingested dangerous amounts of Tylenol and cough syrup which required hospitalization.
His online activities were also unrestricted. While playing Minecraft online he also met another user who deepened his interest in gore. And this is where he learned to groom children on a sextortion server called “CLT.” He then started a Discord server called 764 after the first three digits of his zip code. He along with dozens of others used the 764 Discord server and Telegram to seek out vulnerable children to victimize. Cadenhead moderated the server, which received countless videos and photographs of extreme violence, animal torture. He also posted “How-to” guides on sexually exploiting and extorting minors online to circulate in their channels. Discord reports that when they first identified hundreds of users, they reported it to law enforcement that year. And in 2021, Discord flagged Cadenhead’s online conduct fifty-eight times for sharing “images of prepubescent females and males engaging in sexual act, or in various nude poses.”
Captain Jeremy Lanier, of the Stephenville Police Department, helped to conduct the forensic analysis on Cadenhead’s devices. He is quoted saying, “This wasn’t run-of-the-mill child porn, this was darker. There was one video of a woman being held down and stabbed. This case was awful. It was the worst stuff I’ve ever looked at in six years of working CSAM.” Once a degree of trust was developed Cadenhead and other extorters threatened to harm families and to release the explicit photographs that had been exchanged. They have also convinced children to strangle their pets and bite the heads off pet hamsters on camera. This particular child was found in a bath one night saying that she was to “turn the water red” as requested. The group members also called her school principal and reported that she tried to murder animals which led to a police investigation by local police.
Richard Densmore also known as “Rabid” became popular in 764 by creating “Sewer” communities on Discord where children were recruited by infiltrating online gaming sites. A quote from Densmore would tell victims to cut themselves by saying, “I have all your information. I own you…You do what I say now kitten.” And he would even convince victims to carve “Rabid,” Sewer,“ and “764” onto their bodies with razors and box cutters. He also would sexually exploit the children (justice.gov, 2025).
“These online groups are some of the most egregious online enticement reports that we’re seeing in terms of what they’re seeing that children are being coerced to do.”
-Fallon McNulty, CyberTipline Director
Since 2021 criminal cases were brought again more than a dozen people linked to these types of groups in the United States, Great Britian, Germany, Romania and Brazil. And the US Department of Justice is pursuing federal grand jury proceedings. The group is connected to Eastern European skinhead group who members were also accused of random acts and killings in Ukraine and Russia. Prosecutors have cited Telegram and Discord as the primary means where 764 members operate. They use the platforms “to desensitize vulnerable populations through sharing extreme gore and child sexual abuse material.” However, dozens of Telegram channels remained active. Discord says that they have been shutting down these types of activities on their platform. Discord also said that they now work closely with the FBI and law enforcement agencies. In 2023 Discord blocked 130 groups and 34, 000 accounts linked to 764.
Instagram accounts linked to the extortion networks were still active at the time of this particular article. Despite the parent group Meta implementing bans on 764 related accounts. SoundCloud hosted self-harm and Satanism related playlists which were also allowed to remain online at the time of this information. Even though they release a statement saying, “We strictly prohibit any content that includes or suggests child sexual abuse or grooming on our platform and uses a combination of human moderation and technological tools to identify and remove infringing content.” Roblox, user-created skins for 764 themed characters with the groups sign with open references were also still available. Minecraft, where 764 members are known to be active, reports that there are several systems for removing harmful content including chat filtering, in-game reporting and parental controls. And has teams that participate in review and moderation. A spokesperson for Microsoft, which owns Minecraft’s development studio, states, “Pon private servers that are unmanaged by Minecraft, we will take action to investigate reported violations. However, 764 members have also managed to evade measures the platforms use to try and ban them.
“There’s a far larger pool of recruits and people interested in child abuse and pedophilia that an obscure Satanist sect,”
-Unknown law enforcement official
The FBI and other agencies are investigating 764 and terrorism because of their close ties with Order of Nine Angles, who long with their Satanist rhetoric are also aligned within militant neo-Nazi circles. They use Swastikas, Nazi memes and other propaganda glorifying homicidal members of white supremacist groups like the Atomwaffen Division which frequently appear in Telegram channels. And the urging of children to cut things into their bodies also resemble O9A rituals.
Bradly Cadenhead did admit to the group’s use of the server to do sextortion of individuals. They reported that sometimes they would do it for money. And sometimes they would do it just to have power over another person. And he also admitted that he had urged users in the server to carve his initial on their bodies as a form of homage. Therefore, many of the participants see him as a type of cult leader. Cadenhead pleaded guilty to all he was charged with and was sentenced to 80 years in prison. He is now 18 years old and currently incarcerated at Estelle State Prison in Huntsville, TX (wired.com, 2024).
I know you might be asking why I sometimes share horribly graphic information? And what I can tell you is this, “If you are grossed out and offended by this topic, good. You need to be. My life has been severely impacted by child predators on more than one occasion. And something that started out innocent progressed into a world full of horrors. We as parents seem to think that predatory people are easy to spot. They are the ones who act, dress and speak in a way that deviates from the societal norms. What I experienced was from people who I had already met. Some baby sat me as a child and were very seemingly genuine people. They were nice and built me up. They told me all the things I wanted to hear. And they gave me gifts so they could get close enough as a “friend” setting me up for their next moves. And then in a very carefully planned fashion, they got me to take the first step towards them and set their predatory trap. Then they very gently reeled me in hook, line and sinker. They were not strangers. They were in my church, schools, sports and anywhere else they can find their prey. Your kids might’ve found a new online friend who seems to be a very genuine person. They might pretend to have benign interests and just want to have a new online gaming friend. Remember that predators blend in not stand out. Standing out brings them unwanted attention and threaten to expose their evils. People, please understand that perpetrators operate in the shadows not the light. The light outshines darkness which makes it very uncomfortable for them to be unnoticed. So, they get their satisfaction from the thrill of the manipulative hunt seeking to kill and destroy your loved one.” And when one goes to prison, there are hundreds upon thousands of perpetrators looking to fill that spot.
I love my children and want them to enjoy their childhoods. However, I’m not ok with sacrificing their safety in order to appease someone’s sick curiosity. I’m not saying to not let your children play games online. What I am telling you is to form an even closer bond by challenging something in their behavior that is burning in your gut. And even if you don’t feel that, talk with them regularly about groups like this. Ask them if any of their “online” friends have reported such people. But above all, if something doesn’t seem right, check it out. Our children don’t even gasp the concept of evil predators like this. And I can tell you, that had this been an avenue that I could’ve gone down as a teen, I would’ve walked right into the woods with a clown for a handful of candy. My parents tried to shield us from most harmful things. But I still wasn’t safe from predators. I was taught to trust people until I couldn’t. And, unfortunately, when I understood that point it was too late. I was already in the grasp of a perpetrator. Thanks for reading!
“I’ve been praying for someone to get me out of there since day one. Where were you all this time? Where were you four months ago?!”
“Nothing is more creative…nor destructive…than a brilliant mind with a purpose.”
-Dan Brown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Wow. I had no idea that I would write about this topic today. And it’s a concept that has haunted me for many years. What is my purpose in life?
Is my purpose to see how many punches I can take and still walk out of the fire alive? Ok. I’ve done that and continued to do that on a daily basis. Is it to conform to societal standards of what “normal” is? That will never be me. Is it to tackle difficult subjects that make people cringe? You’re getting warmer. Well, let me see if I can discern the information that I know without a doubt.
1. I love helping people. Helping people is a burden on your soul. You don’t decide to help people because of a dollar sign. Helping people whether on an ambulance or in an addiction facility has always been my niche. My actions are done because of a calling that I was born to do. If anyone needs help and I can provide it, I will. That is one of the things that my family dynamics impressed upon me.
2. Helping and caring for animals. You also don’t just decide to have compassion for animals. Some people say these things and yet I watch them beat their animals without constraint. My ex-husband has always said that he was an animal lover. That is the farthest thing from the truth. I’ll never forget the screams of my animals when he would take a belt, in the middle of the night, and go beat them. And I was completely powerless to defend them. When I left that horribly abusive situation, my animals were killed. My animals and the other animals that I interact with are my kids. I learned a long time ago, that I could trust animals when I couldn’t humans.
3. Speaking up about difficult topics. I have no problem talking about really difficult topics in society. Sometimes it doesn’t make me the most popular person. And I don’t care. The topics of racism, mental illness, addiction, abuse, medical cannabis, suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse, puberty, predators, LGBTQ+ equality, rape, parenting or any other topic that makes us cringe. What you don’t see is how sometimes I struggle discussing them. Part of that is because of how I was raised. In the deep south, we are taught to not create any waves as it might reflect poorly on the family. And to know our places as children which was to always respect your elders without question. But what if you are a bystander to something that is abusive, and you don’t speak up? That’s what keeps me up at night. The personal information that I blog about that has happened or is currently happening in my life isn’t always pretty. And I realize that I’m not the savior who can swoop in and rescue people. I can, however, do my part as a human being. And, yes, I still worry about things that I cannot control and still become obsessions.
4. Writing is a passion. I began writing out of necessity. When I left my abusive therapist, I felt completely broken. The person I went to for help betrayed me in a way that continues to affect me. And unless you have been abused, you have no idea the hurdles that would have to be overcome to continue moving forward. And the complete disconnect between your emotions and your brain So, I began writing about topics that were affecting me in that moment. And suddenly, I began to get relief even if I hadn’t found the answers that I needed. I finally felt like I had a voice that deserved to be heard. I was tired of remaining quite as I had been expected to do my whole life. That’s when I realized that I wasn’t all those names that I had been called. I was someone who had information and experiences to share in order to help others. I have always felt alone no matter how many people I was around or despite the number of smiles that I put on my face. Blogging itself is a platform to help others in similar situations understand that they are not alone. Had someone just explained to me that my situations were not ok and that millions of people, worldwide, suffer in silence as I have, maybe that sense of loneliness would’ve diminished. However, when it’s happening to you especially all of the manipulation and brainwashing that occurs, you cannot see past the moment. Abuse leaves you questioning everything about the next person and even those in my family. I knew one thing for sure, I could not remain quiet.
5. Humor brings me enjoyment. Humor has always been one of my greatest coping skills. I go through life as a literal thinker. So, if someone has a “Freudian slip” I will laugh myself silly even if that slip up was from myself. Humor a lot of times was used against me to make me a public spectacle. And it was done in a very demeaning way. As a way of life, I learned how to beat someone to the punch on a smartass comment. I always try to see the humor in most situations. And when there is no humor, I will find a way to interject some of my own. This gets me in trouble sometimes because that’s not conforming to those around me. And I’m expected to just let crazy happenings go without acknowledgment. That’s like putting a plastic bag over my head and being expected to breathe when the air is gone. I will always point out the sometimes-ridiculous way a situation looks. And I’ll probably write a note about it in my phone to use at a later date. I’m not right or wrong. It’s just how I operate.
My passion and purpose is to help others understand that just because you have taken the broken road in life doesn’t mean that you still can’t achieve happiness and also help others. I write about a lot of maladaptive behaviors that I continue to struggle with. But I also share my experience, strength and hope with those need that need the validation that they are not inherently bad or unworthy of happiness, love and inclusion. I still struggle with that concept. If you are a human being, you will fail. You will fall. You will be forced to confront your demons head-on. And it will scare the literal shit out of you. You will be forced to look at your part in situations. If you do not, you will remain stuck. You except your responsibility and move on whether or not the others do the same. You are responsible for only your feelings and emotions that are constantly changing. If they don’t except their responsibility, then they will shift the blame back to you. Push that shit out of the way. Hold your head high. And leave those people like a boss. You are worthy. You are loved. And you are enough!
“Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”
“At first, addiction is maintained by pleasure, but the intensity of this pleasure gradually diminishes and the addiction is then maintained by the avoidance of pain.”
-Frank Tallis
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Today I want to talk to you about a topic that is very near and dear to me. The topic is Addiction. I have been on all sides of this issue. I have been an addict that began to struggle early on in my teen years. I eventually went to get my bachelor’s degree in Psychology. Then onto getting my Master’s degree in counseling. And then went on to work in the field of addiction. And I have seen the havoc this problem has caused both in my own family and in other’s as well.
As a thirteen year-old, I was subjected to horrible verbal and emotional abuse at the hands of a teacher. The abuse was absolutely the most stressful time of my life up until that point. I was given a set of rules that I had to follow that was not reciprocated by the adults who set them. I can’t tell you how emotionally and physically trapped I felt sitting in that closet and berated every single day for a year. I was also humiliated in front of my class of peers. I was also sent to the office with disciplinary forms for things that I did not do. That’s not to say that I was completely innocent. I would verbally strike out at that teacher a few times intentionally in order to get in-school suspension just to get a day or two break from her verbal aggression. Knowing now how underdeveloped a child’s brain is in this time period helps me understand the whys and hows of this horrible behavior and how it begins and continues.
My first time using it was during an emotional time that was so chaotic for me. The “perfect storm” had started brewing previously for approximately two years before I ever began. And as it appears, I wasn’t the only teen in my graduating class who would have some of the same struggles. I had suppressed a lot of the memories about my molestation at an early age. I always had a smile on my face and was laughing as much as possible. However, the underpinnings of addiction were looking for a way into my soul. And it would be the disaster that would follow me into my adult years.
In my life, addiction would not begin as a few substances here and there recreationally like some stories. My situation presented itself at a time where I could no longer handle both the wait of depression and ongoing trauma. I felt emotionally that I was trapped and that no one was there for me in any way. So, I took my first opiates and I was in love. I would be in this type of committed relationship for many years to come. I didn’t see the horns and pitchfork that it carried. I saw it as the best friend that always provided relief and was non-judgmental. It was there to comfort me when comfort was not around. And for the moment, the evil words and actions of that teacher would be drowned out even if it was only for an hour.
I have had several people since then say to me, “Why didn’t you tell someone about what was going on?” The truth is I did and no one believed me. I told my principals but my reputation for being a “class clown” was apparently stronger than the actual truth. When the teacher received word that I had told them, nothing was resolved. The abuse only got worse. Eventually not only would I develop a chemical addiction, I would also have a process of addiction by way of self-harm and eating disorders.
When I began self-harming I was, once again, sent to the office only for the object that I had been stuck into my hand to be covered up and sent back to class. Once I got back to class, I was put on display in front of the class and made to feel less than once again. To those that always say that self-harm is “attention seeking” behavior I can tell you this. I never wanted a trophy for the number of scars that I wear on my body today. I wanted the pain to stop. Not every behavior is about a Tik-Tok or Facebook challenge. And it certainly wasn’t for me. Maybe it was a cry for help. However, those cries fell on deaf ears.
I had begun to notice the amount of anger that was building inside of me daily. And I was scared to death of what that might look like if it ever got free. Sitting with those intense emotions might get buried for the moment, but they will surface. And no matter how much you try to further suppress them, they come out on whoever happens to be around when the “straw that breaks the camel’s back” gets laid down. The scars that you can now see are plentiful. But it’s the scars that you can’t see that outnumber the others by a long shot.
I continue to struggle hard with addiction despite a vast knowledge and experience working with other addicts. Addiction isn’t something that you can outthink. And to those that think it’s about “willpower,” consider it “willpower” the next time you struggle with diarrhea. You cannot imagine the hold that it can have on you if you’ve never had that hold on you. And if you can socially drink and use and it doesn’t reach the point of addiction consider yourself lucky. The bad part is that you don’t know if you’ll become addicted until you try it. And I cannot think of a more perfect game of russian roulette to play. A little felt good. And a lot was not enough.
The fact that I have not died of addiction and others have left me in utter bewilderment. And yet I know that there is a bullet with my name on it each time I pull that trigger trying once again to just be comfortable in my own skin. Addiction is so cunning, baffling and powerful in ways that many don’t understand. And I have seen it ravage the lives of people and those they love to a point where my jaw drops. Even with all of that being said, I still don’t have a healthy fear of addiction. And I’m not sure that I ever will.
As a parent, I can only hope that my own children will choose a way that is more healthy even when times are difficult. And that if they are in some way being harmed that they won’t stay quiet and be covered in shame the way that bullies and perpetrators expect them to be. Get help immediately if you see that you or someone you love has an addiction. I have been in therapy for several years now and I still struggle with this horrible thing called addiction. The name just the label that is given to the substance or behavior that presents itself as a caring and compassionate friend that is waiting to cut our throats.
“Recovery is not a race.You don’t have to feel guilty if it takes you longer than you thought it would.”
“Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness.”
-Carolyn Spring
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! Get comfortable because you need to finish reading this one. This took a few days to complete this blog. There is still a considerable amount of raw emotion associated with this topic. Okay, I will continue from where I left off.
When I encountered my next predator, I was 17 years old. He was 36 years old. He was nineteen years my senior. I acknowledge that the entire situation was chaotic at that time. Unfortunately, that chaos became the norm. I realized that I became terrified in the idea that when there was not chaos, I was terrified. I was suddenly thrust headfirst into a harsh adult world for which I was unprepared. It was received like a “turd in the punch bowl.”
Living in a small southern city in the “Bible Belt” region of Mississippi entails a unique set of rules. To put it bluntly, “Being gay should never be regarded as an accepted option.” You are expected to graduate from high school. Attend college. Consider marrying someone of the opposite sex. And to pursue careers while raising children.
I had no idea that my life would drastic 360 degree turn. I would endure a 14-year reign of severe and traumatic terror. What I did not realize as a teenager was that predators can take on various forms, each uniquely individualized. I believed he was my “Prince Charming.” However, every day I looked into the eyes the devil. I entered that relationship with a deep sense of commitment. I was also trying to engage in the “heterosexual game.” And I realized that I was different.
In the beginning, he had been a man with a silver tongue. He said all the right things, leading me to believe that he was a good man who genuinely wanted to love me and build a life together. That was undoubtedly the most misleading revelation of the truth. As he stated, “I was roaming the high schools looking for a wife.” Why did I not find that creepy? Since then, I have asked myself that same question every day thereafter. But what was done, was in fact done.
When I was an athlete, you recognize that pain is an essential component of your training regimen. It is an undeniable reality that managing pain is an inherent aspect of life. You consistently challenge your body in ways you never thought possible. Being in an abusive situation is fundamentally different.
In the four years that we dated, I remember thinking, “Something doesn’t seem right.” I couldn’t identify exactly what “it” was at the time. But I soon realized the harsh reality. I began to realize elements of his likewise traumatic past. Living with a very controlling and abusive father I heard his horror stories. And until his father died, I can tell you that there was some part of him that still feared his father. An interesting fact was that prior to going to visit his father I was directed about how to act. I was so uncomfortable each time. I would watch and listen to how they would interact. And the stories that they both told had a lot of similarities. This was just paranoia, right? No. There were reasons to be paranoid and scared. And I was.
“Your gut knows what’s up, even if your brain doesn’t want to admit it.”-
-Anonymous
**And also don’t forget to watch the video below!”
These Beautiful Walls
8.3.19
Some people see what others can’t see
These beautiful walls that keep me safe from me.
People think this is where we come to hide
But this is where I find members of a “trauma tribe.”
We are people who have been through more than most.
And more than not several of us have a host.
For we have seen and been a part of the evils of life.
And for us it has caused lots of strife.
We have fingers and we have toes
But with that comes many woes
Listen to me as I begin to close
We come here beaten down and come to
recognize ourselves as heroes.
“It doesn’t have a high potential for abuse, and there are very legitimate medical applications. In fact, sometimes Marijuana is the only thing that works… It is irresponsible not to provide the best care we can as a medical community, care that could involve Marijuana. We have been terribly and systematically misled for nearly 70 years in the United States, and I apologize for my own role in that.”
—- Dr. Sanjay Gupta / Neurosurgeon
Where our society and medical professions have advanced from the days of lobotomies, bloodletting, hydrotherapies and many other dehumanizing ways of treating mental illness, many attitudes and stigmas still remain the same. And still, there are those affiliated with religion that seem to think that mental illness is punishment for moral transgressions. And yes, I have also been told that even though trauma induced, my alters are actually demons that do not deserve a voice but should be cast out instead. I chalk a lot of this up to ignorance but still the target was me.
While living in Albuquerque Mel and I would come to realize, unbeknownst to us at the time, the complications that living with a mental illness would entail. I had lived with severe depression and anxiety since childhood which few people from school days realize. Even as a child and teenager I was well liked and was one of the favored clowns much like today. Before we left Mississippi there was very clear evidence that something was definitely wrong. Finally, breaking free of a 14 year abusive relationship just seemed to complicate life more than either of us could’ve ever imagined.
Albuquerque was a place where we could break free from the overly conservative south to have a relationship and family, or so we thought. With each passing day, though, my “quirkiness” would soon take on a life of its own. By the time our oldest, Marshall, was born it was like the flood gates had been opened. We were already seeing a very loyal and trusted therapist. I was now losing time for days and weeks. I was hallucinating and becoming increasingly suicidal and my behavior was becoming more erratic and at times very scary. I had also started becoming very aggressive which led to horrible rages. The scariest part about it all was that I had no memory of these things happening.
The level of trauma that I held within me was now bursting at the seams to a point that I couldn’t contain it. The harder I tried, the more I failed. I was seeing a psychiatrist and had run the gamut of psych meds and their subsequent unpleasant side effects trying to find some combination that could provide me, Mel and our new little baby some relief. I had been given several different diagnoses that never quite seemed to fit. And each time I would have to be hospitalized the re-traumatization just grew in intensity.
I eventually became toxic from all of the meds and was seen in the emergency room because the doctors thought that my kidneys were shutting down or that I might’ve had a stroke. I was admitted to the hospital but the next morning the doctor that came to see me was yet another psychiatrist. Again, it seemed, no one wanted to believe us. I politely told him he could leave and that I was going to leave as well since nothing was being done and the bill was going higher and higher. Mel and I left the hospital completely defeated and our trust in the system that was designed to help was becoming depleted.
Mel would soon begin capturing some of my strange behaviors on video in order to show the doctors exactly what was happening. Doctors and other professionals still didn’t seem to believe us despite the captured evidence. No one believed that it was possible to have these types of behaviors and to not be able to remember doing them. When Mel would show me the videos and tell me other things that I had done, I was appalled. There’s no possible way that I was treating her or our new baby this way. In some instances, after seeing the footage, I would collapse with grief.
After returning to my psychiatrist following the debacle in the hospital he said, “Hey, how about we try the medications again?” I simply replied, “You’re crazier than I am if you think I’m going through that shit again. I almost died from your pharmaceutical poisons.” Psych meds didn’t help they seem to complicate and exacerbate my symptoms but most of the time left me feeling “robotic” and unable to feel anything. That’s when I was put on medical cannabis and it has been a lifesaver every since. Anytime, I’ve had to be hospitalized for mental health issues I ALWAYS refuse the medications unless absolutely necessary like for sleep. The meds have never helped me because most of the time I feel so bad from the side effects of the adjustment period that I’ll just quit taking them. They simply made me a “chemistry experiment.”
For the first time in my life, I was able to have some type of quality of life while we searched endlessly for someone that could treat my complex traumatic past. Cannabis has its limitations just like any other medications. But, for once, something was actually working and “Big Pharma” just couldn’t compete with nature. These days I don’t ask for permission or have the willingness to wait on an already corrupt government and the decisions of the narcissist clown that currently runs the country to tell me when it’s ok to have a quality of life. I just simply do what I have to do to survive the best way I know how and most psych meds are still not a part nor will they ever be a part of that formula ever again.
I have taken much criticism for using cannabis as a medication to treat PTSD. Again, it’s ignorance that seems to fuel these criticisms. Until you have almost from synthetic medications then maybe an alternative way doesn’t seem feasible. Even as a recovering addict I have yet to have a single problem related to addiction with cannabis. Hands down this plant has and is continuing to save my life from some incredibly debilitating symptoms.
For some people cannabis seems to be the only answer. I take a medication that can replace any combination of psych meds. There are those times, though, when symptoms seem to just shoot through the medicinal ceiling of the plant. And this is when I will usually have a backup plan for anxiety meds and sleep meds. Some people mistakenly think that medical cannabis “cures” PTSD. I politely tell them that it’s a medication just like any other medication to treat the paralyzing “symptoms” of the disorder only it’s much safer and works better for me. Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the ability to “unbreak the plate” of the traumas that caused the PTSD to begin with. You still have to do therapy. You still can’t go around the issue to reach a resolution. Painful as it might be the only way for that to happen is to work through it. Cannabis helps with the very frightening flashbacks, migraines, insomnia, anxiety and any other unpleasant symptom that can lead to suicidal thoughts and behaviors. So while the presidential pumpkin and his posse are busy playing politics and searching for the next horrible hairdo. I’ve got therapy and a lifetime of trauma to work through. I and many others don’t have the luxury of being able to wait for them to get finished rolling around in the bed with “Big Pharma” and pass federal legislation so that this medication is legal everywhere. I, not anyone else, will die from my PTSD symptoms unless they’re controlled. Sadly, many people, as well as, returning soldiers have died by their own hand because of lack of access to a medication that can save lives in so many different ways.
I will always back this highly stigmatized and demonized plant that has helped give me some type of quality of life despite some people’s ignorance about the topic. My wife will tell you that being put on the cannabis program has saved my life. And even though functionality still fluctuates heavily sometimes from the disorder itself, it’s still so much better than it could be and has been thanks to a plant called exactly what it is….weed. Cannabis has had such a positive impact on my life that living without it seems inconceivable. And the only side effects I have to worry about these days are sleepy, happy and hungry.
“Grief is perhaps an unknown territory for you. You might feel
both helpless and hopeless without a sense of a ‘map’ for
the journey. Confusion is the hallmark of a transition.
To rebuild both your inner and outer world is a major project.”
–Anne Grant
Another sleepless night and I’ll just call I….grief and shame. It comes with no instruction manual or statute of limitation. To me it’s one of our body and mind’s deepest and purest emotions. Grief is one of these emotions that float around in our psyche waiting for its “perfect” time to be exposed. Its perfect timing usually does not equate to our perfect timing. Some of us prefer to grieve in private to hide whatever shame we’ve been intentionally or unintentionally exposed to about the process. No matter how heavy or light the grieving is on a more intimate level we would usually prefer to have someone close by for support.
My personal grieving process is one that’s very confusing and shame based. While still living at home with my parents prior to my relationship with my ex-husband, grieving was considered a natural part of life. Emotions were acknowledged and processed usually around the dinner table. At the hands of an abusive teacher at age 13, was the first time I very distinctly remember being shamed for my tears. Tears were no longer seen as an emotion but rather as a weakness. The lesson learned from this experience was “Ignore the emotion. Hide the tears. The abuse won’t stop but it shouldn’t get worse.”
Tried and true this method worked for this moment and many more years. I had no idea where powerful emotions other than anger went. They just seemed to dissipate as quickly as when they appeared. The grief has been out of sight from the naked eye. Though it was only buried and not gone.
Grieving around my ex-husband was never acceptable as you can imagine. His grief no matter how minute seemed to always be justified. My tears led to comments about being “childish and embarrassing” for him especially when in public. At home behind the dread closed doors, I was still called “childish” and “stupid.” I was also made fun of, laughed at and “taught a lesson about being an adult” by way of some sexual encounter. I very quickly learned how to also control those emotions with a shovel and dirt. So where do the emotions go? They are buried deep in the ground where your heart rests. They are festering sometimes for years one on top of another. Eventually maybe sooner rather than later a foreign substance or maladaptive behavior comes along that seems to provide some type of pseudo-catharsis. It presents itself as the dependable one who will always be loyal and non-judgmental and a best friend We buy into the rationalizations only to have the name ADDICTION tattooed on our foreheads like a scarlet letter. The substance and/or behavior soon becomes the “best friend” that will cut out throats leaving only a trail of destruction to show the quality of the relationship. This “stuffing” of emotions is in no way exclusive to grief.
Three years after the death of Sarah and I sit here quietly in the wee hours of the morning, in my bed facing this very emotion. A heavy heart and a lump in my throat that seems to be limiting my air flow is the result of this incredibly painful memory. From the time we were notified that she was terminally ill until she passed away from approximately 1.5 weeks. I felt as though I had no time for grieving because I had promised to do the difficult job of being with her until the very end. Out of respect, I felt that I needed a safer time and place to deal with this. However, tears just seemed to continue to fall despite the fact that I could not feel any emotion. I vowed to process this the minute I got back to Albuquerque.
Once I was able to line up another therapy session the weight of Sarah’s death and the miscarriage of Copeland’s twin got the best of me and I began sobbing like a child. I was being so vulnerable and raw with my emotions for the first time since the horrible days of not being allowed to grieve around my husband. I just needed to be able to cry as an adult child and parent for these heavy losses. I hungered for something as simple as compassion. This day and time “compassion” would be the illusive fugitive. The response I received from this “trusted” professional was, “Dana give me a break. She wasn’t your real mom and that wasn’t a real baby.” All I could do was freeze and try not to vomit. It was like another 1-2 punch experienced many times previously but all in their own unique fashion. I became numb and have no further recollection of the remaining time in session.
In the years since this happened any time emotions about the loss of Sarah make it to my throat but rarely do they leave my eyes. The shame for grieving even with so-called “safe” people now felt “unsafe.” This incident alone has made for some difficult therapeutic baggage. I don’t know how to put what happened into words but betrayal is how it felt then and now. Being able to address this topic with professionals on a level deeper than just superficial has been nearly impossible because of one thing…FEAR.
Luckily after this incident our trusted couple’s therapist of 6 years, at the time, was patiently awaiting the return with open arms as we come back licking our wounds. Unfortunately though the damage had already been done. The same actions by my former perpetrators had now rolled out of the mouth of my therapist. When I finally met “coach” in nothing less than a flamboyant display of behavior my distrust and subsequent hatred for professionals of any kind was very evident.
I’ve always said that compassion is my kryptonite. “Coach” hasn’t let me down in this area. It’s been a very slow process to learn to trust the right kind of “safe” people. As the boiling lava of grief surrounding the loss of Sarah and our unborn child continues to fester, I still find myself going into the closet in my bedroom to cry so that no one else in the house can hear me. The few times I actually do shed tears around others is simply because I consider them my very closest. As I continue to deal with the shame of showing intimate emotions I also realize that I’m working with someone who would never treat me like that. With all the complexity of untangling some very painful areas of my past, I must admit that I can leave that for someone other than me. When I met “coach” someone in the same professional position had planted a seed about the possibility that it could happen again. The pain of it slowed me down but again compassion is winning out. And slowly but surely my tears are finding their way out of my eyes again.
“Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change.”
“They are all innocent until proven guilty. But not me. I am a liar until I am proven honest.”
― Louise O’Neill, Asking For It
I have written and spoken several times about my life and domestic violence. Under the umbrella of domestic violence are several forms such as: physical abuse; emotional abuse; controlling or domineering; intimidation; stalking; passive/covert abuse; economic deprivation; endangerment; criminal coercion; kidnapping; unlawful imprisonment; trespassing; harassment and sexual abuse. I knew that several years after leaving him that something about our sex life continued to haunt me. I didn’t know what it was called but I always knew what it felt like….SOUL MURDER.
In the conservative deep south, I was brought up like many children to “save yourself for your husband.” This was not a tall order for me as sports was my number one priority. I would meet him at the age of 17 which was 19 years his junior. Naivety led me right into the cold awaiting arms of a predator disguised as “Prince Charming.” He used the one promise that he knew I couldn’t refuse to set the hook and reel me in “I will help you find your birth family.” Rolling off his silver tongue of manipulation would be the promises of a future with a man who would “treat me like his queen.” But like most things that seem too good to be true his promises would turn out to be lies.
I guess what made this so confusing was that I NEVER saw my dad treat my mom with disrespect. I was questioning the whole time, “This is what I saved myself for?” He was my first and the guy that finally trusted in such an intimate fashion only to have that trust betrayed in a way that is still too difficult to handle emotionally. I secretly wondered why I was never told about this side of marriage. The truth despite his “brainwashing” justifications for his actions was that no this was not normal and healthy marriages do NOT consist of this type of dominating behavior.
Many years later while looking for answers regarding the strange, threatening and coercive nature especially with the passages of the Bible about how a “woman is to submit to her husband,” I came across the term Marital Rape and I knew instantly that this was what had happened. The term marital rape describes “any unwanted sexual acts by a spouse or ex-spouse that is committed without the other person’s consent. Such illegal sexual activity are done using force, threat of force, intimidation, or when a person is unable to consent. The sexual acts include intercourse, anal or oral sex, forced sexual behavior with other individuals, and other sexual activities that are considered by the victim as degrading, humiliating, painful, and unwanted. It is also known as spousal rape” (https://definitions.uslegal.com/m/marital-rape/, 2018).
I personally have not been able to make sense of such an intimate form of betrayal. This type of violence destroys you from the inside out. Remembering how scared I was as a young child when the first time I was introduced to sexual abuse the rules of these types of scenarios were still very clear. The easiest and least painful way to get through the moment was to give in to their demands. If you try to fight them the abuse gets worse. If you don’t “perform” for them the abuse gets worse. And as I was told many times, “What are YOU going to tell them Dana? You’re the “head case” with the mental history, not me.” The puppet master continued to pull the strings to make sure that his needs and only his needs were met.
Even as I write this the nausea bubbling like a pot on a stove builds its way to the back of my throat as I think about and remember the vile ways that I was treated as property rather than as a human being. I was not a wife but rather a legal whore. Being told what I was going to do for him and then berated with humiliating and very damaging body image comments afterwards just seems to further rake into your soul with the devil’s claw. Consensual loving sex is not…
Forced sex. This should be obvious. But some men have the mistaken idea that marriage changes the rules. It doesn’t. If a husband holds his wife down, pushes her, or imposes sex by hurting her, it’s rape. Making love doesn’t include making someone cry.
Sex when the wife feels threatened. If a husband forces sex through verbal threats of harm to the woman or to people or things she cares about or if he comes to her in a barely contained rage, she can’t consent. She can only comply rather than risk being harmed either physically or emotionally.
Sex by manipulation. If a husband calls his wife names, accuses her of not being a good wife, or blackmails her emotionally by suggesting she’s so bad in bed that he will go elsewhere, he’s manipulating her. Some men even threaten to leave and take the kids with him if their wives don’t comply with demands for sex. When a wife falls for these tactics, it isn’t consent. It’s rape.
Sex when the wife can’t give consent. Loving sex is genuinely consensual. If a woman is drugged, asleep, intoxicated or unconscious, she obviously can’t give consent. Even if she says “yes” in such circumstances, the “consent” isn’t valid or truthful. She’s in no shape to consider the consequences or to participate as a willing partner.
Sex by taking a woman hostage. Some men keep themselves in a position of superiority by controlling all the money, by making contact with friends and family difficult to impossible, or by making sure there is no way for her to get transportation out of the house. The woman becomes a hostage in her own home. Like many hostages, she gives up and gives in to whatever he wants — including sex.
Sex when the woman feels she has no choice. Giving in isn’t the same as giving consent. When a woman feels that it’s just easier to give in to sex than to respect her own needs, she is being raped (https://psychcentral.com/lib/marital-rape/, 2016).
THE PSYCHOLOGICAL EFFECTS OF SUCH BEHAVIORS INCLUDE:
Short-term psychological effects include PTSD, anxiety, shock, intense fear, depression and suicidal ideation.
COMMON WAYS THAT ABUSERS AVOID RESPONSIBILITY FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT
Denial: Acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, boldly stating that it didn’t happen, calling you crazy for saying that it did, saying he doesn’t remember.
Rationalization: “You must have wanted it” “You could have stopped me,” “A husband is entitled to it”; Rationalization is also blaming you: ” If you gave me more sex I wouldn’t have to force you”
Minimization: I didn’t really hurt you” “You’re making a fuss about nothing” “I just wanted to make love to you.”
To say that I’ve lacked a fulfilling intimate sex life would be the understatement of my life. The level of fear that I experience even with the most supportive relationship cannot accurately be described with words. Whether it be child alters, teen alters or adult alters who step in to try and make this very part of my life possible, it always becomes a disaster. Oh and the mood gets squashed when you think, “Finally, I can do this!” But, yet, you find yourself running from the bedroom straight to the bathroom to vomit.
What I can say about this type of abuse over many years is this….
He not only raped my body, he also raped my mind and murdered my soul. I was very fortunate to meet someone like Mel who is one of the most caring, understanding and compassionate people I know. Our relationship has always been based on love and not sex. I married someone who loves me for the shattered and leftover parts of someone who use to be a fully functioning human being. It took me loving and bowing down to a monster to be able to recognize an angel. She and I walk hand-in-hand often with tears in both of our eyes trying to find a way through all the destruction. She didn’t ask to be married to a spouse with so many complex problems both physically and mentally. She does it because she loves me. Would I go through it all again just to have her? I go through it every day. The abuse has never stopped.
“Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.”
― Amanda Steele, The Cliff
“To be able to break free from prison, one must know how they became imprisoned to begin with.”
—Anonymous
One of the things I’ve learned through the process of trying to live with this disorder are “triggers.” Triggers are anything that can set off a memory that can take someone back in time to when the original trauma. It’s like being in an instant time machine. A trigger can be anything related to sight, sound, smell or taste. These seemingly innocent moments to most people can set off internal and external eruptions in others. This can often lead to strong and immediate reactions by those they affect.
I don’t have all of the answers about these little disruptive beasts yet. And no matter how much I want all of the answers immediately I have to always keep in mind that it has taken me 42 years to become this dysfunctional and repair work does not happen overnight. I guess to be cliché this process is “a marathon not a sprint.”
The ultimate goal of therapy is to be able to acknowledge these events but not let them overtake you. Before this can happen specific triggers must first be identified and the event can be processed. Recently, I did a therapeutic assignment related to this very thing. One of my personal and very strong triggers is the feelings of being trapped either physically and/or emotionally. This is one of the biggest reasons why I don’t have much success in lockdown psychiatric units and inpatient programs. My ultimate goal is ALWAYS TO GET OUT!
While doing this assignment I looked specifically at individual traumatic situations where these fears were imposed and I was instantly blown away. I had no idea how “trapped” I have felt the majority of my life. When I began breaking down the different time periods for these situations things have begun to make a little more sense. I felt myself becoming nauseous and beginning to float away while looking deep inside for these answers. Here are just a few that were identified.
Being molested by people older, at the young age of 5 years old, and not feeling powerful enough to make it stop while also holding these secrets left me feeling trapped. These abusers were also our neighbors and were always around me because of how close our two families were even at church.
As a teenager, I was trapped as some sick form of sport and/or punishment in a closet where I was verbally abused, humiliated and tormented on a daily basis. I was like a dog that was chained to a tree and forced into aggression. I was often sent to the office to face false accusations by the administration where no verdict other than GUILTY was ever considered. I always felt as though no one would listen and that no one cared what was happening. The times I reported that this teacher was “being mean” ultimately got back to her and the abuse intensified. I was often belittled and embarrassed in front of my classmates. The reality of that situation was that there was no way out….period. That was the first time that I ever had any type of suicidal feelings of any kind. Her words still burn deeply as the day that were first said.
Anyone who has experienced domestic violence, in any form, knows the fear and panic of wanting and needing to leave but terrified of the repercussions. I was also followed and constantly watched. The mental anguish from his degrading comments and vile actions left me feeling completely lost, broken and fearing my own decisions. No matter what decision I made it would always be wrong. He had me convinced that I would never be able to do anything without him because I was too dumb. The most powerful statement he ever made to me was “You’ll never get rid of me.” And so far this statement has not been untrue. I was trapped.
These are just a few examples of feeling trapped. And now….I’m trapped by all of the memories, images and statements that were made by those individuals. I still can’t seem to break free from the abuse as it torments me daily. The paranoia of being watched, followed or being attacked has me questioning the intensions of others. Instead of waiting to see if the paranoia holds validity, I protect myself by being very verbally aggressive to innocent people who just happen to making seemingly non-malicious comments or glances. Essentially, I’m in a perpetual state of being triggered. Waiting for a happy ending that never happened during my trauma and today only fuels my impulsiveness in this area.
Being around too many people with too much stimulation sends me and my “protectors” into overdrive and into a state of fight or flight. It seems to overload my brain, thus, making me think I’m in danger. The anxiety becomes so uncomfortable that the only thing I can do is just “get away” in whatever form that might take. I seem to tame this only by being alone and secluded from most people including those I dearly love. I have become a prisoner of myself and life. The dichotomous view of life leaves me imprisoned by my fears within four walls of my bedroom. Outside of these walls I’m simply prepared for battle in one way or another by indiscriminately striking out at anything that moves. The situation that comforts me is also the walls of my self-created but protective prison. My abuse was very real and still is. And I’m a work in progress.
“You save yourself or you remain unsaved.”
― Alice Sebol
Sometimes the simplest situations become a real struggle for me. The fear that developed many years ago is the fear of being touched. I’m not talking about just getting butterflies. My fear totally encapsulates everything about me. This makes it incredibly difficult to go to see doctors no matter the reason. I’ve been living with herniated disc issues with nerve impingement. It should just be a simple thing to go to a doctor and follow their advised regimen. For me….It’s like being put in a tub of boiling water and saying, “Be Still!”
This has to be one of the most frustrating areas of my life. I tend to stay in unneeded pain because of this intense fear. I luckily got an appointment same day I called to meet with someone about my back. When I hung up the phone from making the appointment I just started crying. The fear blankets me and the panic ensues. Knowing that I’m about to be touched by someone in a position of power and dominance is more than I can tolerate. I don’t think doctors even consider how it must feel for people who have been traumatized to be touched. There are a very small group of people that I will let hug me. And family don’t get a free pass just because they’re family. There is not one moment I like because socially it’s very embarrassing. Sitting before you is a woman who is very tense and has a smartass tone in her voice and comments. When you walk towards her she drops her head in shame only for her tears to begin dropping.
What the doctor now sees in an “immature” adult who is just being “childish.” Before I left Albuquerque, I got a respiratory infection that required antibiotics. This meant that I absolutely HAD to be seen by a doctor. This was not one of those ailments that I could stay at home and manage. I went to one of the local Urgent Care centers once again attempting to face my fears. The nurse calls me back and, of course, heads directly to the scales to be weighed. I politely tell her that I have eating disorders and that weighing makes me incredibly uncomfortable. She says, “Ok whatever. You don’t have to stay on their long. But hurry because I just pushed the button to zero out the scales.” As if the gates of hell just opened and said, “Welcome…” I quickly snap back and say, “yea I’ve had experience on scales all of my life. I would hate to inconvenience you by making you push a button again.” I completely understand that eating disorders are not something that people are typically versed in. However, the medical community I expected, at the very least, some compassion about the situation. And well…empty yet again.
Already edgy and completely irritated that my feelings were totally disregarded and invalidated, I sat up on the exam table completely embarrassed and humiliated. The hairs on the back of my neck were raised like I was about to be examined by Satan himself. The doctor soon walks in and says that she wants to listen to my chest. Not a big deal until you see that little internal child that sees another scary and painful situation where someone much bigger than you is about to touch you. It doesn’t matter what their intentions are at this point. My fierce protector began her warm up with the nurse and is waiting to pounce in protection of this child.
The closer the doctor gets the more I begin to shake uncontrollably in fear. I begin sobbing at the first step. The doctor replies quickly without one ounce of compassion, “What is this childish reaction? You’re being ridiculous.” I reply, “Ma’am I have been molested and raped during my life and being touched is very scary no matter the reason.” She says, “Well this reaction is just ridiculous. You are an adult and shouldn’t be acting like a toddler!” I said, “Ma’am why don’t you just give me some damn medicine so we can be out of each other’s life. You’re stomping on that one damn nerve that I had left before I even walked in here. You have a personality like a bag full of badgers and you have the compassion of a pit viper! Medical school has you guys so scared of transference that you’re practically dead from the neck up.”
What the doctor didn’t know was that I had gotten so scared that I peed in my pants. I left as soon as possible with tears still in my eyes and wet pants. I thought to myself, “Why did I even try again? This is why I don’t go see doctors. They don’t care and don’t listen.” Examples I can list for days about my interactions with doctors. Yearly pap smears, mammograms and whatever that needs to be checked have not been done in several years. Even with Mel going with me as added support it’s like dropping me right back into the situations that scared me to begin with. I can’t stay grounded and switching happens in fast forward depending on the type of doctor.
We have both spoken with doctors and asked if I could be sedated to have cancer screenings done. There answer’s always, “well we might could do some Xanax.” Mel’s reply is always, “not unless you want her to catch a charge. That medicine makes her very aggressive and well…she doesn’t need any help in that area.” They always reply, “I’m sorry there’s nothing that can be done.” Of course I have my own questions in return. I usually say, “Ok let me get this straight….so in the year 2017 we have dentists who can sedate because of adults and children with severe fears and anxieties about their visit. But for sexual assault survivors who fear being touched there’s nothing that can be done to simply help with cancer screenings? Doctor do you see how that rationale is about the dumbest I’ve ever heard of?” I’ve been told before, “well maybe you should see a therapist.” My smartass reply, “Oh well thanks for the advice. I never considered seeing a therapist to make things better. When do you think I should make an appointment? And by the way….I told you all of that at the beginning of this visit. Maybe active listening skills should be something you work on while I’m in therapy.”
What just happened was that I was highly triggered before I ever entered the office. But the visit turned out to be that I was touched and not heard. And well, that makes the visit counterproductive for us both. It really just hammers home the idea that my feelings don’t matter and they are touching me anyway, no matter the reason. Sounds a lot like what my perpetrators did. The only difference seemed to be that this touch simply came from someone in a white coat who was trying to help me.
Have you ever noticed how we as a society ask people how they’re doing but we don’t really want to know how anyone but ourselves and immediate family are doing? The reason is that we aren’t prepared to hear how someone is actually doing. We often don’t know how to respond and makes for a very uncomfortable social situation. In regards to medical professionals, some type of education needs to be taught about the long term effects of abuse on children and adults. Shaming patients is so damaging. Even saying, “This won’t hurt a bit” is a mute point.
I want and need my medical issues to be addressed desperately. But repeats of this situation keep me away because of the extreme embarrassment and shaming that typically occurs, maybe even innocently, at the hands of someone in a “one up” position. When this happens I don’t see a doctor. I see those same hands that caused the initial fear coming for me again.
For those that think abuse have no long term effects…..THINK AGAIN.
“An abuser can seem emotionally needy. You can get caught in a trap of catering to him, trying to fill a bottomless pit. But he’s not so much needy as entitled, so no matter how much you give him, it will never be enough. He will just keep coming up with more demands because he believes his needs are your responsibility, until you feel drained down to nothing.”
― Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men
In my seemingly unending quest for answers about my past and present, I’m constantly trying to make connections about my current belief system, every day decision making, the tears, jokes and, yes, even the smiles and laughter. What I’ve slowly learned about the effects of abuse is that no matter what form of abuse was carried out, your belief system about yourself and the world around you will inevitably be changed. I had very little physical abuse but i was subjected to emotional and sexual abuse.
Narcissism seems to be a common thread among abusers. They are their own God but most of all they make themselves your God. The only way I learned how to deal with them is by stroking their enormous egos. Today being around someone that makes even a narcissistic comment will usually trigger some type of a knee jerk reaction from me. Usually, it just ensures that you bought some form of argument with me at a sale price. I can’t stand it and it infuriates me. Even a person with a big personality triggers me. Depending on which alter is triggered, I’ll either be very aggressive or I’ll “cow tow” and avoid eye contact. Either way socially both are very problematic.
People sometimes seem to think that if you don’t have black eyes and broken bones that abuse couldn’t have possibly happened. What they don’t understand is that there are gaping wounds unseen by the naked eye that are looking back at them. As the partner your job is trying to help the abuser to cover their own tracks. And making continuous attempts at achieving their unattainable requests and demands. You become convinced over time that everything in the world that goes wrong must have some connection to you. His beliefs were the only ones that were right and your beliefs are now non-existent because they were seen as wrong and stupid.
One of the most hurtful comments I’ve heard about domestic violence of any kind is “Well he only did what you allowed him to do.” This insinuates that in some sick way I enjoyed or was ok with the things that I was being subjected to. This couldn’t be any farther from the truth. Some say that individuals who are narcissistic abusers lack the capacity to empathize. Personally, I think they can empathize but it’s with the ultimate goal of manipulation in the form of pseudo-empathy. The abuse creates trauma bonding with the abuser which makes it incredibly difficult for the partner to leave the increasingly abusive relationship.
The relationship pretty much consisted of my husband pretending through intense involvement and idealization which was quickly followed by devaluing. However, instead of discarding me when he was finished he would begin telling me everything I did that was wrong including myself for just existing. He would begin luring me back with his silver tongue of promises and things that I could do to make sure that never happened again. Once the idealistic narcissist has gotten their partner to commit, yet again, to the relationship the true self of the narcissist re-emerges.
First the belittling comments begin which then escalate to a narcissistic rage. Their feelings of inadequacy which are at the heart of the narcissist will then be projected onto the partner. And soon once the narcissist makes a mistake it then is transferred the partner as their fault. They also use manipulative abuse that leads their victims to questioning their own thoughts and behaviors. I was subjected to public humiliation when he would say something that seemed benign to the public but is very offensive to the me. He does this because he enjoyed the emotional reaction that it would provoke in all parties. Ultimately, the narcissist takes no responsibility for any relationship difficulties and shows no feelings of remorse. And then they believe themselves to be the true victim because their partner could not meet their expectations. The path of destruction this leaves within the psyche of the partner is colossal.
As every single day that I continue to try and recover from a total of 14 years of his abuse, my heart hurts for the woman who loved so hard that it nearly killed her. And now instead of exuding confidence she exudes fear, shame in her tears and the feeling that her soul is already dead. After all when she use to try to speak to him about her reoccurring depression he would say with laughter, “Depressed? What do you, of all people, need to be depressed about? You have it made living with me. For the love of God, Dana, get off the cross cause someone else needs the wood.” Comments like this all the time left me fearing my own tears that I couldn’t control falling many times. I felt guilty for always being depressed. And above all, I felt guilty for thinking that he was in any small way disrespectful towards me. Because I believed that it was ME that made him act and react the way he did. He couldn’t possibly be telling me lies about this because I was the dumb one who couldn’t see to get things right.
Crying which works as a medication to cleanse the soul has never done me any favors with abusive people. It always made the abuse that much worse because now you are seen as weak. I learned not to cry and didn’t for many years. Those tears seemed to go away but only to the inside where I felt completely alone but comforted. But, I did cry to my razors. And they were the ones that were the most non-judgmental. Living with and being abused by a narcissist I learned one thing….They don’t have time to consider your feelings because they’re too busy trying to make sure that you’re taking care of their feelings. And in essence they can’t see the beauty of a person because they’re always looking for what’s wrong with them. I have heard people say, “Well at least he didn’t break anything on you.” Shamefully and secretly I have thought, “He didn’t have to raise his hand to break me. He was my puppet master.”
“Compassion for animals is intimately connected with goodness of character; and it may be confidently asserted that he who is cruel to animals cannot be a good man.”
–Arthur Schopenhauer
It’s a scene that I’ve replayed many times over the last 10+ years. I drove that dirt road to the lot where our house had been built only 5+ years prior. A couple weeks before I had carried out a decision that had been planned for a few years. I was about to execute my plan to leave him for good. This was already 14 years later than I should’ve ever stayed with him. However, the way that I had been silenced for many years continues to leave its mark on me today.
The fears of food, body image, decision making, judgment by him and a diminishing self-worth was now fully engrained. Some of the horrors that I lived through at 22 Casey Lane, Petal, MS continue to torment me today. Everything that I knew about living life as an adult was done one way…..HIS WAY. I divorced him 10+ years ago. But did I really leave him? Part of me did leave him. But another has remained in that imprisoned life; on his arm and controlled every since. He told me that I would never get rid of him and thus far, that statement hasn’t let me down.
The day/night that I left him was shortly after his brother had come into our house drunk and pointing a gun at me. My husband told me that once again his brother would have no repercussions for how he had treated me. I soon found out that all of their scary antics over the years had been devised by my husband. “Like Father, Like Sons” I’ve always said about those two men. I had been looking for a way out for many years but was left only seeing myself as being helpless. But this night was different.
When he told me, after having been terrified by the recent gun issue, that nothing would be done to protect me or our house from his brother and hearing his brother screaming, “I have done everything you asked me to do to her!” I knew I had to get out. I still remember watching myself standup a few days later saying, “I’ve had enough of this shit!” I walked out to my awaiting blue Honda CRV while being screamed at every step of the way. What he was saying and calling me was a compilation of things he had said over the last 14 years of insults. I was beyond terrified at what I might’ve just brought on myself in the coming days. Like most cowards threats were made with no follow through.
Shaking from pure fear I drove to my parents’ house only a few miles away like I had done many times before. The typical end result was me listening to and getting sucked back into the house of a man with a silver tongue. He was my husband and my predator. This time I was determined to get out and stay out because it was just too scary now. I was just going to have to “white knuckle” the urges to want to go back. Through the tears and frustration I stayed true to my goal and did not go back.
The only analogy I’ve been able to use to convey how victimization feels is like a crime that has been committed but I did it to myself. You know that a crime was committed but the way of a predator is to negate his or her wrongdoing and put it on the victim. Often times I would be apologizing for something I had not even done. He had me so convinced that I was responsible for his and the world’s unhappiness that no matter what I did I would always be a failure. Hindsight is always 20/20. I didn’t see this while in the abuse. I just kept striving for excellence by his standards and before I knew it 14 years had passed me by. The damage to my psyche would not be realized for another few years.
I would go back a couple of weeks later to get a few more of my things and to pick up my animals. My cats Simba and Nalla, who I had raised from a bottle, and my African Grey parrot, Rocco were my first priority. I didn’t know what I would do with my hamsters, gerbils, cockatiels, ferrets, iguana, outside cats, rats and outside dogs. The rest of my belongings and furniture would have to wait for now. I had a neighbor who was watching my house and would know when he left so that I could get the things I needed safely. I was given the go ahead but was told to hurry. I had driven that bumpy ride down the dirt road and onto the driveway of our house and I was sweating and nauseous from the fear of going back to the house. The fear was paralyzing but my animals deserved to be out of his abuse as well.
When I unlocked the door and cracked it open the putrid odor of death hit my nose never to be forgotten. I didn’t know what it was but something was very, very wrong. I had no idea what I would find but it was about to be a very harsh reality. I didn’t know if he had been murdered. If he had gotten in an argument with his brother and was dead. I just had no idea what I was about to find. I walked down our hallway into our bedroom where the smell was so overbearing. I was already gagging but still had not found the source. I feared finding someone’s dead body. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary I began to walk across the hall to the animal room. What I found froze my tears in their tracks. This was the source of the smell was right here. I don’t even know how I felt in that moment. The animal room was filled with lifeless animals covered in maggots and blowflies. He had intentionally starved and not watered them. The exceptions to life were those couple of rodents feeding off others in their tanks.
I was frozen with fear and disgust that these animals that I had taken care of for years were all dead. Some were partially eaten. Some were cut in half by whatever he chose to do. This room where I was able to escape his torment, if only for a moment, had become a torture chamber for the other innocent ones. My cats and birds all had molded food and no water. My dogs were going crazy in their outside pen. Thankfully the outside cats had scattered. I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. I simply had to react and just save the ones I could and get out and fast. I got my cats and bird out of the “house of horrors.” I couldn’t save my dogs and was told that a few months later they were taken out of their pen and shot in the front yard. I left that day with the harsh realization that the abuse had not just effected me. How do you get over something like that? You don’t.
“Curiously, deep, deep down—and undoubtedly unconscious to them—they know they’re not really what they project. In fact, one of their central defenses (or stratagems) is to endlessly project onto others the very flaws (and fears!) they’re unable, or unwilling, to allow into awareness. As critical as they are about others’ shortcomings, they’re amazingly blind to their own.”
“If a believer demands that I, as a nonbeliever, observe his taboos in
the public domain, he is not asking for my respect, but for my submission.”
― Flemming Rose
Let me start this entry by saying that I am in no way putting in “jabs” to any particular religious belief or sect. I’m simply stating how religion can be used in an abusive nature. I have my own personal experience with Southern Baptist and Southern Evangelicals. I don’t dislike either one. Abuse has also been publicized within the Catholic religion. But let’s face it, abuse of any kind knows no boundaries and/or limits.
In the many years that I longed for and searched for my birth mom I heard the same story over and over about how she was put in touch with a pastor in the Petal/Hattiesburg, MS area and then like a bad explosion I was born. When I got older I had to be able to understand what all this meant. So the only way I could fully comprehend this was to call it “The Underground Railroad for Unwed Mothers.” To tell a few more of the details surrounding her prenatal arrangements and my eventual birth, my birth mom was from Indiana at the time. She was 16 years old and had gotten mad at my biological father and fled to put me up for adoption as soon as possible. This information I received when we met face-to-face.
As I stated in the first part of this blog entry being an unwed mother was not exactly as socially acceptable as it is now. We are not talking about 50 years ago either. In the 1970s was when my birth mom had me. In the 1990s when I graduated high school teen moms were still regarded as “less than” no matter the circumstances. These “less than” opinions were not only from the standpoint of the church where I personally saw people treated differently depending on socioeconomic, gender, race, sexual orientation and just about any other category where someone might “stand out” as being not “normal.”
Nevertheless my birth mom was actually suppose to go to the Bethesda Home for Unwed Mothers when she was pregnant with me. However, she was too far along in her pregnancy to be accepted there. This was the best outcome for me as the baby for her to not be allowed there regardless of the reasoning. For her, though, she has made it clear many times over that I was “an inconvenience in her life then and now.” Tell me even reading that you didn’t feel that punch to the gut. Now imagine that you’re that baby that grew up wanting nothing more than to find part of your identity and you’ve been forced to wait to find this woman that you inherently have longed for your entire life because of state laws. All the while hoping that your opinion of what “adoption” means to you is different. Only to be rejected again but now you feel that very deadly blow. I could do absolutely nothing. I could say nothing. Me being left speechless seldom ever happens.
To this day, when I am still and think back to that moment I have to change the subject because it’s just too painful to remember. To make matters worse, when I returned from finding the answers I needed my husband at the time told me “she’s a filthy and disgusting woman and she gave YOU up for adoption.” I can’t describe what that did to me emotionally. Every feeling and thought that I had up to that point about my self-worth came down to that one comment. I have never recovered from things like that that were said to me daily.
When she was turned down at the girl’s home she stayed with another local pastor and his wife until she had me and like clockwork she left never to think about me again until the phone call from my biological brother telling her that I had been found about 30 years later. She has had an incredibly difficult life. She and my biological father passed along some strong addiction genes and well…..not much else. The “Nature vs. Nurture” debaters would love to study this one. I was going to mention something about good looks but roasting myself has become somewhat of an art.
The point in all of this is that religion can be incredibly shaming to those that aren’t stereotypical worshippers. This means going to church or whatever your place to worship and acting a certain way or being vocal. Now, personally, I don’t care how anyone worships or who they worship because I consider this a very private matter between you and your higher power whomever or whatever that might be. Here’s a quote from an author on this very thing…
“Evangelicalism has taken the Extrovert Ideal to its logical extreme, McHugh is telling us. If you don’t love Jesus out loud, then it must not be real love. It’s not enough to forge your own spiritual connection to the divine; it must be displayed publicly. Is it any wonder that introverts like Pastor McHugh start to question their own hearts?”
― Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking
Pastor Marvin Winans is a gospel singer a member of the Winans Family a famous gospel group. He also leads the choir called the Perfecting Church Choir. He also has produced several albums with this choir while also being a part of “Tyler Perry’s House of Payne.” Winans also delivered the eulogy at Whitney Houston’s funeral in 2012. The comment from an elder in the church about his policy regarding baby dedication for unwed mothers and their children was this…..
“Pastor Winans has a strict policy — he won’t bless the babies of unwed mothers in front of the congregation”, Fox 2 Detroit reported.
Grace said “she felt degraded by the pastor’s decision. She’s hoping he reconsiders, even if it means having her son dedicated during the week by a church elder.”
Until then, she told Fox 2 Detroit “she has no plans to return to Perfecting Church.”
“I absolutely would not set foot back in the church right now because I feel like they look down upon me and my kind, meaning single moms and unwed mothers,” Grace said.
Pope Francis recently said in May that the Catholic Church should bless children born out of wedlock, because their mothers chose life over abortion.
“’Look at this girl who had had the courage to carry her pregnancy to term. … “What does she find? A closed door,” he said, according to Vatican newspaper L’Osservatore Romano. “This is not good pastoral zeal, it distances people from the Lord and does not open doors (http://archive.eurweb.com, 2013).”
What about those of us that can’t attend comfortably because of trauma either by clergy abuse, PTSD, social phobias, etc? Well, let’s just say that I’m open about many facets of my life regardless of ostracizing. Loud music which is usually the status quo in most churches sends chills all over my body. Not because of the words but because sensory overload and hyper startle reflex that will have me cringing and crying if I can’t get out of the situation. If I’m still unable to leave violence is my “go to when niceness doesn’t work. I’m openly gay and legally married with children, addictions, mental illness, phobias, PTSD, eating disorders and medical cannabis. Do I need to keep going?
I’m that baby that was refused dedication to the church because I was born to an unwed mother (figuratively of course). My point is this…..the church has lost sight of its mission if Christianity is your thing. I have my beliefs and questions just like most that keep that information in the dark. I don’t believe for a minute that the only relationship you can have with God or your chosen deity has to be within a church. Nor does it make you “less than” because you don’t chose to worship like others.
I’m currently surrounded by people who are loving Christians who understand mental illness and its roots. They don’t shame me into going to church with them it’s a choice that I make. And if I start having an issue I simply leave the service and it’s no big deal. Many churches have a room removed from the service area or provide ear plugs for this and many other reasons and conditions. God just knew that when the mold broke that I would be quirky but that I would SURVIVE and thus far that’s exactly what I’ve done.
“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly
The title of this post is very cliché in the 12-Step community. However, recent events from the last few months have finally answered, for me, how this fits into my life. I know…I’m a slow learner. “Living life on life’s terms” recently has come to have meaning by my own disorder that I struggle with both mentally and physically every single day I open my eyes. I manage my DID the best way I know how, at this point. I have excruciating body memories that often leave me in tears, migraines, diarrhea, severe anxiety, nausea, vomiting. Not to mention how crazy it can get ‘upstairs’ sometimes.
Just because I have Dissociative Identity Disorder or someone else has bipolar, or depression or whatever your current diagnosed or undiagnosed opinion of your situation is doesn’t mean that life just ceases to go on. This disorder in itself can be very tricky and dangerous depending on what alter is in charge at the time. This too is a work in progress. My point in general is that just because I have a disorder doesn’t mean that people won’t die, people won’t be self-centered, people won’t reject us as a family and as it’s been going lately even one of our own unborn children might die.
Yesterday was one of my proudest and saddest days of my life. I had it all set up before the day began. I was hoping for a therapy appointment so that I could process what I knew was soon going to happen a bomb was going to go off inside my head and body whether I wanted it to or not. Whatever was going to happened, I just didn’t want it to happen while I was alone. So, also knowing that grief was a part of this process that was about to ensue, and how acupuncture is helping with the release of trauma from a cellular level much like writing, I took my very sore and aching mind and body over to where I was to have acupuncture so that the grief could also be helped to be released soon after the service was over. Loneliness is a feeling that I don’t handle very well. I needed my wife, one of my therapists or someone to be there at that moment. But, alas, I was there to face yet another demon alone.
I took all of the medication that I thought I would need for this event and kept it very close at hand. Mom and Dad were going to try and FaceTime Sarah’s service for me. I begin getting so anxious that I would miss this service that I was nauseous. I was already in excruciating pains from body memories and knew that another bomb was about to go off in my physically and mentally. This wasn’t going to be an incident where not just one alter was going to be effected. All would be deeply affected and hurt.
And suddenly there was the call from my mother and the FaceTime camera was going perfectly and I’m so relieved at the moment that I’m able in attend. When Doug passed away, there was no possible way for us to get home so, I was bound and determined to see Sarah’s service. When the service started, I was once again thinking, “Is this funeral for the Sarah I called mom?” My heart begins to ache and my eyes fill up with tears as I keep my shades on and ear buds in. I try to be as inconspicuous as possible. Crying in public and around people tends to be dangerous for me in the past and shows that you’re weak and an easy target. I choke back what I can. Eventually when the reality hits me that she’s really gone and I’ll never be able to ask her for her levelheaded advice again, I’ll never be able to sit on her couch for hours talking and laughing about experiences both good and bad about being therapists. Or about what a handful of a patient I could be. Or about the precious woman she introduced me to and our little boy and one in the oven.
I cried but seemed to maintain a calmness all through the service. My heart was going out to her family and the friends and former co-workers that spoke. The things they said about her couldn’t have been any more truer words. With the many people’s lives that she touched, I was even able to say a very brief “hello” to one of the former therapists that worked with Sarah at the same time I was a patient. They played “good cop, bad cop” very well together. However, this person also is a very highly respected person by me to this day for what she helped Sarah accomplish….getting through my extremely thick skull. I’ll leave it at that for now.
I held most of the grief in until I said goodbye to my parents. In that lonely parking lot, I cried like a child that had just lost her parent and for me she was just that. I sat there and cried and cried until the cries switched over to crying about the pain in my body. The bomb had been set off and exploded. My legs are now throbbing and I’m sobbing uncontrollably while trying to keep anyone from seeing. Why?! I just don’t understand. She was suppose to be fine from the chemo. Oh how my heart still doesn’t understand. The emotional level of this grief has brought on nausea to a point that I’m terrified that someone will see me begin to vomit. I take a couple of hard swallows making sure I keep, I guess air in. I made sure with my eating disorder that it was ok to not eat since I was going to be dealing with something so difficult. The eating disorder agreed that food was not the best thing plus it would make me look horrendous. Even dry heaving would’ve embarrassed me to the point of never returning as a client even though no one was around to really see anything.
My body was screaming and my mind, heart and soul were in shambles. “What do I do now?” I keep asking myself. She was my voice of reason. I’ve lost all track of time and there she is, the one I’ve been waiting to help relief me of some of the agony. Yes, she’s an unbelievable acupuncturist but she’s also a human being. She instinctively knows that something’s wrong. I proceed to chat with her a moment about it. The tears as hard as I tried to keep them from falling and save myself some embarrassment, they just kept falling at a rate that I rarely do around someone other than my wife. I knew that I had no storage left in my body to hold anymore grief since many years of grief have accumulated. I had strategically schedule this appointment for this reason. I wanted to grieve and let it be released at the same time. I vividly remember stepping out of the vehicle, waiting to be made fun of for crying, and it never happened. I could hardly walk because with each step the fire in my legs became more excruciating. She took time with me to just let me talk about my grief but the pain in my legs and my soul was too much for me to handle.
I woke up to almost non-existent pain but more like soreness from the tenseness of my muscles. I was lying down which rarely happens because of the sexual trauma from my past. I wake up with a horrible headache and very disoriented trying to put together the pieces of how much time had gone by and what had transpired that I had no knowledge about. I know that something has happened because I was lying down. The embarrassment of her seeing me in the condition that I was in when I remember walking in was starting to flood me. Honestly, I’m glad that someone that I trust was there with me. I don’t know what all happened. It happened on life’s terms and so did Sarah’s death. What I do with that hole in my heart and soul remains to be seen. I’ve felt powerful grief when my grandmothers died. This grief while just as important was just different. She was like my guardian angel on earth.
I have little to no knowledge of driving back to meet my wife for another appointment or the rest of the day. I awoke this morning pain free with what I like to call an “emotional hangover.” I was greeted this morning with a migraine and nausea. But, for the first time in quite a while I woke up on my own and not courteous of excruciating body cramps.
This Puzzled Life 