I'm dead, I'm alive, I'm dead, I'm alive. Who knows, I barely survived.

The days that are wondering in my mind from a time that I was just a child.  I am stuck in the mystery of why?  To be so cruel to a child is torture as an adult.  I suffered from neglect.  I was left without supervision most of the time.  I spent many hours looking under rocks at the rolly-polly bugs.  I lived at 815 Balboa Street in San Francisco until I was nine years old.  I would ride my bike around the block and pretend that I was running away.  I was able to go to the playground in Golden Gate Park alone.  I used to be able to go to the corner market on Anza too.  I would by a candy bar for a nickel.  I felt such injustice when the price jumped to ten cents. I used to get fifty cents for an allowance and off to the store I would go to promptly spend it all.

I used to play in the basement of the house when everyone was yelling and it was best to get out of the way.  I was down there once and from the dark a man came putting a bag over my head.  I struggled to get free but he held tight around my neck. I began to suck the air in and out as hard as I could. There was no air, just the bag coming up against my mouth cutting off all the oxygen. It became wet almost and then it went black.  I was standing away from myself, staring. I couldn't figure out why I was looking at myself and then it occurred to me that I couldn't breath and I started to get very upset again. I was huffing, puffing and it seemed like I was sweating, I was freaking out because I couldn't breath.  I just stared, I didn't know what to do, I was scared of what I was looking at, but what I was looking was me. The next you know this thing went flying really fast behind my head.  I was so angry at the time.  I really felt and still do, that I had missed my ride out of here.  This may sound weird to you but I don't believe that I wanted to live, so the anger for missing my ride is or should be understandable.  I remember jumping back into myself, I very much knew that the entire time I was in the basement of the house.  You could hear them upstairs, the chairs being drug around, people walking, the yelling and the screaming made everything very real for me.  When I managed to get this thing off my head, I sat up looking at where I was just standing, trying to understand what had happened.  It has taken a lot of patience with myself and many years to be able to reflect more accurately with an adult verbiage to explain to the average reader what really went on that night.

The best way to describe it, is to say that when I woke I went to stand up and realized I had been missing myself.  I was quiet frightened at the time and I hid from everyone.  Looking back I understand that I had an out of body experience and that I was so angry that I wasn't dead.  I think that over the years that I am more angry that I missed my ride out of this place, than I am angry that it happened.  I just started to put some thought into this strange time in my life and I find it sad that I wanted to be dead instead of being alive, outside playing with friends.  It must have been a really tough life up to this point, to make you feel so convicted about not wanting to be around.  I know that I am still angry about it.  I wish that whatever had happened had been successful.  My life has been nothing but disaster after disaster since that time.  More importantly my family has never wanted me around, so the idea that this actually happened and coming to terms with it, is getting easier to do.  I used to wonder what I did wrong to miss my opportunity to exit life.  I used to think that if it happens again I will be more patient before I jump out of my body in a panic. 

As time marched on it happened again, this time with my brother.  He had been fucking me at night in my room which I shared with my older sister.  He would come in and sneak over to where I was and she would just roll back over and go to sleep.  He would do his dirty act and I would fight like hell, I never won but it doesn't mean I didn't try to take him out.  I even tried to tell my mother and she proceeded to tell me how filthy I was and what a dirty mind I had.  She consoled him and that was pretty much end of any idea that I might get some help at night.  The way he ended up trying to do me in was a bit different.   I would come bouncing down to the basement where he was and he would see me, turn, chase me, grab me, throw onto my back jumping on top of me.  His eyes would change, like nobody was home.  I began to see the changing of his eyes before he managed to grab me and throw to the ground. Sometimes I got away and most times I didn't. 

He would straddle the top of me, holding one hand over my mouth and with the other hand he would pinch my nose shut.  He sat on me with great force, the same force he used in the night, no matter what I tried I could not get away once he had me pinned.  I remember the sweat, or maybe it was just my spit as I flung my head back and forth, from side to side trying to fight him. Eventually he would get his knees up on either side of my head and pin me between them.  I could no longer toss my head back and forth, that is when I became screwed.  It's amazing because all of this takes longer than you would think and as the psychotic one is trying to relieve you of your life, they are also running out of the adrenaline rush that caused the psychosis to originally take place. At least that was what I had observed for myself.

I learned to breath very shallow and then to look like I was not breathing at all by doing this.  He would go through this scene with me like it was an action shot in a movie.  All of sudden it would stop, he would stare off into the distance, then look back at me.  I would pretend to be dead, which is odd that I even knew how to do such a dreadful thing but I did and it ended up saving my life.  After he completed what he thought was my death, he would get up and walk across the basement towards the basement door. It seemed that he would sometimes stall for a moment, almost like he was making sure I was dead and then he would leave.  I made extra sure that I never moved during this time, it was probably the scariest time in my life other than when I faced him in the upstairs hall and was not dead.  That was intimidation on another level. 

I never bothered to try to tell my mother about these things. I mean she did not believe me about the nightly visits, which I can still feel inside myself today, which I don't think is so cool.  Nobody ever helped me with much of anything, but when it came to my brother the entire family would flip upside down to declare his innocence in any sort of thing that he may have been accused of.  He was the golden boy for my mother and father,  he could do no wrong, much like them and much like my older sister.  I was the one who did all the wrongs, which is rather curious since I was the baby of the family at the time.

I cannot give you a good count on how many times this happened to me.  But for a reference it would go right along with him fucking me at night.  You could count on the next day or the day after being your potential "death day."  That was pretty much clockwork.  To bad nobody ever helped me, I was very alone, just like I am today, all by myself.  I guess family secrets for the golden children are held at the expense of the one that has been paying the price of this abuse the entire time.  I am tired of it being on my head, now it can sit on yours for a while.  Thanks for listening and thanks for reading, maybe I will meet someone who cares that this happened to me someday, until then I march on in life. I hope someday I meet you and I need a hug so bad, it's sad.

Why Do We Survive?

I am about to go to bed and I thought that I would write what was on my mind.  I keep wondering why we survive.  I have had some very bad things happen to me in my life.  I suffered severe neglect and was a victim of terrible torture at the hands of my step-father.  I have always taken it with a grain of salt as an adult, just passing it off as,"what happens, happens. That which does not kill us makes us stronger."  I have always believed in that saying and have quoted it many times as an adult.  The problem is what really is the source or beginning of my C-PTSD really is about surviving being smothered.  I had it happen to me more than once, two people were responsible for it.  I know that I survived incest from these same two people also.  But why now? Why is it so bothersome to me today?  It is so on my mind that I have had to increase the medicine I usually take because I am having such a tough time getting through the afternoons. I cannot go to sleep without it and I am going to sleep before it gets dark because I am so afraid.  I am back to sleeping in the closet where it feels safe.

Do you think that just because I was one of those children that didn't die before the age of five, that I am meant to do something?  I know lots of children don't make it through to adulthood, for Christ's sake I am not sure how we make through childhood.  The funny thing is we do.  Why?  What could saying what I had suffered from now make a difference in today's society or world. And for whom? 

I am troubled by this because it seems I am not the only one that knows.  I think that this troubles me even more. I am bothered that we fight so to live to be treated so terribly by our family and friends.  I know that my mother talks to much but I really did not feel that this would be something that would end up being common knowledge. I feel strangely odd and I don't like knowing that the people that had been close to me in my life know that this happened to me because it has been extremely traumatizing my entire life.  I had to have survived for some reason, it can't just be happenstance, can it?

I cannot imagine that we come all of this way to be worried about our weight, worried about what other people think about us and all we are meant to be concentrating on is what makes us happy.  I know that the advice is to put things down and try to live your life.  The thing is I have been living my life, I just have never shared my darkest fears before.  So up to recently I have been rather silent on this accord.  But the more it is pushed upon me to put everything down, the more my mind relates back to these very awful incidents.  I walked with death and I never knew how to explain to anyone what happened to me.  I am still not sure how to explain an "out of body" experience that I has as a kid. I was afraid that if I did talk abou it that I would be beaten and worse.  Even though I never spoke on these accounts, at least that is my recollection, I was still called the spawn of Satan and told I was full of demons the entire time I grew-up and on into being an adult.  This in itself was very taxing on my own psyche, let alone it is not something that you ever share with anyone.

The uncomfortable feeling I am having these days is that I feel my family knows of these very disturbing times. Like they are privy to me being suffocated. The more I think about it, it would make sense because I was a very small girl.  I do remember lots of yelling and screaming.  I remember not wanting to talk anymore about anything and I remember my father leaving, then my brother leaving, then my older sister leaving, none of them ever returned.  I was left with my mother, the cult whore, my step-father, the nanny S&M bastard, my two younger "perfect" siblings and that was it.  Basically I knew no one anymore.  My entire life in a very short time was completely replaced by new human beings that hated me.  I felt a lot like Cinderella, in fact, I was made to do all of the things that you would do or would be expected of that sort of position in the family.  You are lower than the dogs and you are an embarrassment that they seem to have to explain.

I don't speak on my mother being anyone I readily knew because I really don't know her at all.  I, of course know of her in the family dynamics but as far as a relationship or close family bond, that never did happen for me.  At the same time they replaced old friends with no friends, changed my school and moved me to a new neighborhood in San Francisco.  I would say that this was all disorientating but truthfully it was not.  I was more disturbed by being suffocated by a plastic bag and my brothers hands and  I was really afraid that it would happen again. In fact when I was sixteen my brother moved home for a short amount of time.  During which he held a gun to my head and played Russian roulette with live ammunition. This was really terrifying stuff. I ended up with no friends that I knew and there were no children in the neighborhood that we moved too.  All I know is that now I think of my father and he puts more fear in my heart than my brother.  It seems that this wanting to kill someone runs in the family.  I must say I don't feel very related to that side of them family at all.  In fact I never really have felt like my Dad is meant to be my Dad.  It doesn't help that every time we visited my Grandparents that Nana would ask my mother, "Who does she belong to? She doesn't look like the other two." 

I would say to you in all earnest that my family thinks that I am an idiot and that I don't remember everything that has happened to me.  That is a lot like asking you if you remember or don't remember Nursery School, 1st grade, 2nd grade, your first tricycle, going to the Zoo, etc.  Of course you have early childhood memories, why wouldn't you?  The difference my mind has been on record for sometime and now through flashbacks and what seems to be held inside of my body, (Memories,) it is all coming back with greater clarity.  It is not as if I have ever forgotten being smothered, I just never knew what to say or how because I kept being beaten left and right by my now step- in, step-father who used to be some guy who took us out on excursions.  We went to Playland, the beach and other like places.  So if I can remember the slides at Playland that burned the crap out of you if you did not sit on the gunny sack, why would I not remember my home life?  That is impossible to have happened.  I remember laughing Sal, the other nightmare of my life, I hated her.  It was like somebody knowing my little life, rocking back and forth just laughing at me personally.  I am 46 years old, so you can do the time line yourself with Playland and its closing date of Labor Day Weekend, 1972.  I am not off in the ability to remember what is real and what is not.

I hate that this is real in my life. I hate my father and my brother for doing this to me. I hate my sister for poisoning me with stuff from under the kitchen sink. I hate that I have had to hold this inside for so long. I hate my mother for never attending to my well-being or even acknowledging I was alive, leaving me to the care of my older siblings.  I hate my step-father for lying all this time to my younger siblings about his entry into this sick family.  I hate that two and a half years ago, my step-father put his arm around my neck and tried to break it as he dragged me around the dining room landing on the floor.  I hate my younger sister for telling me to take a gun and blow my head off because it would be the best thing for the family.  I hate that nobody is even upset that she said to me and I hate that no one knows the power that words can have on you. To tell me to do such a thing should shock you.  But it doesn't and I hate that you do not think it is that bad to have said.  I hope for your sake you never meet a malignant narcissist that says something like that to you.  I hate that nobody has ever helped me get through anything.  I hate that my mother is still spreading lies about me being a drug addict and incapable of caring for my two youngest children.  I hate that people gossip about my life and they have not been privy to my life at all in the past two years and certainly were never privy to what I am writing on here today.  I have never named them like I have in today's blog.  I hate that they are believed off the cuff and I hate that when you discover they are as wicked as they are, that you turn and run for the hills.

I hate that people in general do not find out the story of a person before the spread mean and defaming rumors about their life.  I would love to have my children in my life today but I have run out money to go back and forth to court with my ex-husband who seems to be financed by my mother.  I would love to be able to tell them, I love you in person, but nobody ever answers the phone or returns my letters or emails.  So, when you are all alone and you finally give-up and begin telling these very dark secrets about your past, maybe a stranger will step up to the plate and help you to do the next right thing.  Press charges in court for defamation of character, the last legal reprisal that I have against my family. 

To still feel the sweat of my brothers hand or the clinging bag on my face is surreal.  The fact that I remember my father slapping plastic bags out of the air and saying, "Don't ever put this over your head you will suffocate and die," sickens me.  My family has tortured me my entire existence, its now becoming the time to switch the roles around.  The torture is not mine, the memories are mine and as they refuse to allow all of these things to go by the wayside, I refuse to step aside but rather continue the vigil of the exposure of real, live monsters that probably live next door you and yours.

I think that we may survive to tell our stories.  We might survive to do what others cannot because they have been taken so early in life.  We survive not to live our lives in peace, that is quite impossible until you tell your story. I feel better as I spill the truth but I fear it must also be heard by somebody. I think that is why we survive, we need somebody to know that we existed and fought so hard just to take another breath of air. 

Plainly Speaking

Know not the suffering pain that has been laid at your feet,

for it is not ours to keep.

All we must do is never fall,

remember it all,

and speak with open review,

of this kind of child rearing, it's new.

We are what no one else can be, truly free. We earn our liberty every single day of our life. We earned what is taken for granted by every other human life. We are an example to the world about how resilience and perseverance will deliver to you the most valued gift of all; Independence. We were raised to never make mistakes, we were raised to be perfect, we were raised to smile through the pain that it takes to accomplish these goals. We were raised to be the adults and to be responsible for what is not ours to be responsible for in this life or any other. We were raised to be what only we can be, an example of everything you are not.

Taking care and not to hurt,

the ones who said that we were dirt,

it is O.K. 'cause on the way,

we learned to know what not to say.

Leave nothing behind, you are the miracle of life itself at its finest. You are shining through the generations that we have traveled. We are still so much more mature than the ones that babble.

Their words are useless but they travel,

into the lives that they unravel.

We must not do the things to you,

silence is our golden rule.

To always listen to what's not said,

to keep the secrets and not turn red,

from the embarrassment of all the dead.

To watch all you we must not change,

we are the only ones that claim,

nothing can be the same,

because you support the very insane.

To not grow-up and still throw fits,

to say to us that we must quit,

reminds me of this time in life,

where I must be so well equipped,

to deal with all your verbs,

and just to know that nouns don't quit.

Unfortunately, you raised us well.

We grew so fast, we couldn't tell,

that as an infant we lived in Hell.

Is it your shame that I raised you,

or should you change loving two.

Both are you and never me,

a twist of words that you do need.

As you wrinkle and as you ache,

as your bones begin to break.

Does your mind try to unwind?

To figure out what this is about?

Does your mirror say to itself,

that beauty has not changed?

Of course,it has not, it never will,

'cause that would take a Conscious till.

I have been taught to stay the same,

ever since my claim to fame,

it was my birth, I had no name.

Reality must begin to bake,

your mind so that you can take,

the words that I will share with you,

I'm fairly certain that you lose.

Ignorance is just so bliss,

unless you find you're changing this,

and you're the one that is so old,

that one day soon you will be cold.

Don't worry though I'll be the one,

to never say to anyone,

ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

The image of your dream will be,

living on in me you see.

I think you need to address yourself,

some change in life would bring you health.

Because I have to rear you still,

I must tell you that you are ill.

Here is your script, I wrote for you,

its just like mine.

Over

Changing Ourselves

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PKH7VbuJT8&feature=related


It is difficult to change what has happened.
It is impossible to see the future,
unless you know the past.

Changing ourselves can only happen if we realize that we do not need to change, they do.

This is our gift.
We are fighters, survivors and we inspire our own life.
We ask the difficult questions.
We fight a difficult War.
We are evolutions magical source of so much more.

We are the children of liars.

An Englishman that was a Nanny, became a Step-father and crushed me with his Militancy as a mere child that came along with the Marriage to a Woman, 16 years his Senior.

This is me, Karen Anastasia Placek, they (my new parents) changed my name to Karen Anastasia Meakin, when my mother and step-father married. At 18 years old I had to change it back because they had never changed it legally.  So growing up every person that I ever met would and will never find me because they do not know my last name.  Nice way to isolate someone for good, don't you think?

I had never been hit in my life before my step-father, who was my Nanny first. If you had said "Shame on you" to me I would fall apart. That was all you had to do to scold me.  I will never forget or forgive what he did to me and I will never heal from the belt and buckle scars on my body.

Close your eyes and know this verse,

I won't hold back for life.

Not anymore, I count!

Its to late to be sorry,

you beat me to silence me.

Do you see me now?

Whipping me was your plan?

Denial bothered me,

started the fight you see.

Witness's will testify,
it made me cry.
No more lies
truth speaks too.

 Remember the screaming?
Remember the tears?

Remember the stripes you left on my back?

I believe I didn't make it into humanity.
This is what they said to me.

A blame child to hide all we do,
they would shout!
No one will believe you,
we will proclaim you a liar.

You are an it,
and as a thing I can do to you what I please,
without the guilt of a human being,
my step-father would boast with gleeful insanity in his voice.

Mine for Eternity!

Dead On Arrival

  

I need to slow this all down for a while.  Life is beautiful and I need time to heal from a wicked past. This is a picture of my family before my Malignant Narcissistic Mother came after me again. Those of you that are familiar with such a person in your life know how exhausting it all is to take.  I know that I have been blessed to be able to take time out in my life to come to terms with the neglect and abuse that I have suffered.  I am a survivor and have been diagnosed with C-PTSD. Survivors do one thing very well, they survive.

Spring 2006, The last family photo taken.

Fighting For The Truth

Today he took a plastic bag,

rattled it behind me like my Dad.

Fright did fill my heart he's glad.

I am angry, rageful and not that bad.

There was this night and one black sack,

over my head and that was that.

Left my body, I was dead.

Stared at myself, scratched my head.

Took me moments to look and see,

figured out it was me.

In between and wondering,

why I am lieing on the floor,
 I fairly sure I was not board.

Went so fast, went so quick.

Slid right in and out did rip.

I was pissed, I did miss,

was my ride out of this.

Jumped back into my body.

Took off the sack and thought about that.

Had to hide from the parental side.

did this happen and I don't know why?

Did he feel guilt inside?
Suffocating me so crime did slide?
I've been scared, my brother tried,
seems it runs in family's like mine.


Never said, never lied,
just felt sick and did not find.
Anyone in this life,
that had a story full of this much strife.


Mother announced my worth to me,
said these things since I was three.
You dirty, filthy, minded thief,
your Satan's spawn,
and the devils whore!


You are the number 666,
you are a baby and a tryst!
The demon of silence,
commands your bed,
evermore you will tread.


Guilt will be what you do wed.
White will turn the color red.
Telling others of family dread,
will be your end, you'll be dead.

Such a threat was this to me.
I can't remember it all you see.
I was young, I was afraid,
most of these words they did lay.
Deep inside my mind to know,
I had better grow so fast,
so that I may leave at last.


A plastic bag wrapped 'round my head?
Sex is different when you said,
look this way you'll never say,
"infanticide," there she lay.


Made me white and ashen color,

looked like I was going to puke.

Only words of "Whoa!"

Coming from this flashback so,

live we went, what relief,
Do you think that parents blink?

To think about this time I shout,

help me, be me, don't kill me now.

I have survived horrible things,

won't you please come answer me?

I had a dream, this man I knew.

I want to be brand, spanking, new.

I want a man to hold me tight,

to take away the fear at night.

To fly me to the distant lands,

to re-write scripts and hold my hands.

I dreamt that my knight in shining armor,

would be the man that had the honor,

to ask me kindly to take the spot,

that would be safe and not just bought.

I cannot find my relief,

men just hunt me and want a piece,
of the narcissistic energy,
that I seem to still be.

I'm so stupid I fall for it,
takes me time to speak my peace.


Please stop doing this to me,
I don't want you or memories see.
I just want one certain thing,
it is not you or a fling.
Why did I tell my story?
To ease the pain inside of me,
 does it drop you to your knees?


That's how I know the difference now,
I can tell he wears a shroud.
Wrapped in so tight he is not right,
he causes me so much strife.
I was the one that survived at night,
with the fear of every life.

He just laughs at my horror,
begs me to tell him more.
Causes flashbacks to be worse,
turns out that he just has a thirst,
for my misery, I agonize,
is this men or every guy?

Do I stop and finally lie?
Making right the fact I tried,
giving up the family ties,
realizing why I died.

Out of body experience,
I was killed and murdered too.
Is there someone that can do,
anything to make me new?
I was young, can you undo,
this frightened girl who turns to you?



I refuse to give up!! My best friend had a name

I have been pushed out by my family for not conforming to what they require of me. Of course, I have not conformed with much of anything since I was a child.  I come from an upper class family in San Francisco. So facing the streets as a homeless person has been traumatizing.  Although my brother is homeless in San Francisco.  Maybe it will end up being a blessing and we could find some healing together.  I still will not give up my calling in life to do what I am inspired to do regardless of where I lay my head night.   Whether it is a cot in a public shelter or a bed in my own studio apartment, I have decided to continue my vigil and testify to the accounts of my life.  Speaking out against severe child neglect and torture. I know that there is a need for people to stand and speak against evil.  I know that my story inspires some and sickens others. I know that many still carry the guilt of turning their back on me. I also know that with every door that is slammed shut in my face with someone I know, a window will open and I will have the opportunity to know someone new, just like you.  Someday I will be able to call a person my friend and I will have the opportunity to be their friend in return.  With a lot of luck, someday I may know what a healthy relationship is all about and experience the growth that two people can enjoy together without the fighting and manipulative conduct I have become so accustomed to in my life.



I have done a lot of research, trying to find places, support groups or retreats for people with C-PTSD. To be honest I don't know how anyone can afford the prices of such places. What interested me was who ran the organizations.  I was in a position for many years with an employer where I was able to fine tune the skills and develop more skills to run workshops and speak publically on difficult subjects.  I became available to my staff where I had been employed so they could feel comfortable to discuss any trouble they may be having on the job or in life.   I took the job with my company so that I could compare notes against my mothers business ventures. I was in a search to find out how an actual money making business recorded its earnings. I had always been suspect in the activities of my mother and step-father.  I needed to learn how to properly run a business from the bottom on up.  I had only been taught how a company is run through ill begotten means. I needed to confirm with myself and my own conscience before I continued on with any sort of entrepreneurship in my own life.



I refuse to give up on my life's calling because it continues to be on my mind as an important thing to do for myself and for others.  I have put it off and turned away from it many times. I did not want to feel the heat of the embarrassment of my life and my family. I had such a troubled life, full of so many experiences with narcissistic people it seems almost impossible to have lived.  I know that there must be a need out there to help troubled people with expressing themselves and being able to disconnect from the person or persons that brought the distress into there life.  Being well-versed in the language of "brainwashing" and narcissistic communication, I can be a wonderful source for answering those gnawing questions you may have in the back of your mind about the abusive manipulation you suffered in or through the hands of a narcissist or malignant narcissistic person.  Being the daughter of a woman that has run a very successful con on the wealthy congregants of her church/cult enables me to give you the inside view and perspective not many people have been afforded.  I can speak on the events behind closed doors, the in's and out's of finacial manipulation on the brainwashed and I can testify to the planning that it takes to accomplish the goals that are set out by these type of human beings.



So many people in my life have tried to turn me away from trying to help others in this way.  It has become rather curious to me and I wonder why it is frowned upon. Somebody has to do it, why not me? It is a natural fit.  I am told that I should just get over things and move on. This is a difficult task with C-PTSD.  If you read about C-PTSD you will find that being told to "just get over it" is ill advised.



What I would like to say to all of you now, is that my family has been in service to the public for three generations.  My Grandparents had their own church in Roseburg, Oregon.  My mother had her own church and non-profit in San Francisco, CA. and I would like to carry the torch forward just not the same way that it has been done thus far.  What you need to know is that when you are a preachers kid, or the grandparents preachers kid, you are constantly donating your time while you are growing -up.  It is just expected.  So, I have been in the business of serving the public through the ministry and non-profit business's ever since I can remember.  One of the things that I was pushed to do as a teenager, was to become a pastor.  This did not sit well with me and I did not do it.  However, I had the ability to engage an audience and capture their attention, which is a very good talent.


For years I have contemplated how to take what has happened to me and turn it around in my life. I would like all that has happened to me to not be a burden to bare in my life but rather an opportunity to share the insight into a sadomaschist and malignant narcissists life  I thought that there might be an audience of people that have suffered the crime of a malignant narcissist and sadomaschist alike, tearing from you the right to be alive. Being with my mother daily, during the beginning of starting her church, I have a birds eye view of narcissistic behavior as it begins to envelope its audience through brainwashing, intimidation, manipulation, lies, threats and psychological torture.  I was on both sides of the fence each day of my life as she would speak in open about God, Religion and behind closed doors, speak of how to manipulate those same people out of their wealth..  It is why I am not religious but I do believe myself to be a spiritual person.  Not many of the people that are running the cult recovery centers have my experience. It is shrewd training from the malignant narcissist herself. Subbing as a cult leader and portraying herself as your mother on the side gave way to many different and sorted experiences that has left me dealing with C-PTSD.  This does not include the experiences with the rest of my family and the actual interactions with the congregation itself.  This type of insight seems to be unusual, as it is very selective in my mothers case because the abuse was so broad and they have been so discreet to date.  I do know that I would be a benefit to society, speaking against the ill's of narcissism and the affects of a cult or a cult-like experience on a persons psyche and on how difficult it is to pick-up where you left off.  Teaching methods to heal and to move through the damages that these people do to your character and to your life without regard is where I believe my talent may be.  To be destroyed by another human being is extremely damaging and can lead to suicide, permanent depression and loss of interest in living.



My best friend did commit suicide because of what had happened to us as children. My mother had instilled such fear in him that one day it did overcome him and he hanged himself.  It is the fear that grips us that causes such despair and anxiety in our lives. It seems to kill us silently in disguise.  I would like to begin a movement in this country that brings narcissistic, malignant narcissistic and the enablers of the persons that are supporting this behavior to the forefront of society today.  It has taken me so many years to even find these descriptions of such monsters that I feel if it was made more publicly known we could save lives.  I would like to begin a foundation that would eventually become endowed, so that people like myself and my best friend have a place to go to heal from this type of  abuse.  There are no places that you can go to face down your demons when you have been pushed out onto the streets by these monsters.  Sadly, it is just assumed that you are a drug addict, an alcoholic or a derelict when you end up homeless and on the streets.  You are treated as if you have been stupid enough to do this to yourself and you deserve what is happening to you. Being alone after suffering so much in your life should not have to happen to anyone. Especially when the situation your are trying to exit is the family that is still enjoying the torture you are still suffering. It is the loneliness and the fear that I believe kills us so slowly.  The infuriating thing about all of this is that a narcissist is in charge of everything in your life, so when they are done with you, they simply kick you to the curb without I.D., money, a phone, bank account and whatever else the control freak has decided to keep from you so that they are not found out for their cruelty.  Anywhere that you search for help is an embarrassment, if yesterday you had your own home and today you are standing on the street corner where you were dropped off by the offender.



In addition, it is difficult to think straight after being in this type of environment.  A lot of  times you just need a break and the comfort of a shoulder to cry on during this time of separation.  This is such an important thing to remember.  One problem you face and is very difficult to overcome is that once you are in the life of a narcissist you will never know a life without them.  They are relentless in their attack.  They drop you off one day, kicking you to the curb when things are bad for you financially and emotionally and  as soon as you begin to recover they will conveniently show back up in your life.  It is the internal radar that each one of them seems to possess for the successful and continued torture of you and yours.  Providing a safe environment for a person to exit this sort of relationship or in my case family problem is paramount in the entire success of you're own life going forward.  In doing this one type of rescue for a human being you would be enabling the victim of the abuse instead of the monster committing the abuse. Trust me on this one simple fact. These people do not need anymore help than the help they have received from every person that has run the other way after realizing the destruction that they havoc.



I am also passionate about writing my story for myself.  I want somebody to know that I existed at one time in this life.  I want somebody to know how hard I had to fight to maintain the ability to make an independent decision.  I want you to know that I cannot possibly be the only child that grew-up and told a story of dismay.  Even though I have not spoken until now, the pain, agony and the hidden lies had to have shown up on my face at sometime in my life. You would have thought that someone would have had to have recognized the assault on my life and would feel compelled to help to end it, as oppose to perpetuate it with more lies and gossip.  I believe that other grown children may be in similar circumstance as I . People do not stop the lies and manipulation that we have suffered through, they just go and find a new victim to victimize in your absence. I want to tell my story to expose the graphic nature of a person, claiming to be mother and a man that is my step-father who did the most diabolical acts in front of me, claiming normalcy the entire time.  I need to tell my story, I need somebody to care that I was so severely abused and neglected, because if nobody cares than I don't wonder anymore about why child abuse continues to perpetrate itself from generation to generation.  If this is the case and nobody cares about a story such as mine enough to act upon what I have spoken on here, then my life is not worth the effort that I have made to live it.



You must have human contact in order to thrive.  My family has perpetrated this crime of isolation against me ever since I can remember.  I would like to experience contact with human beings that is healthy and not harmful.  I would like my life to be a testimony to myself and to the people that need to see somebody that has a story about their life just like them.  I would like to be able to stand up straight, not be embarrassed and just let it show that I am proud to be alive because I was able to survive.



Fighting to live since I was a kid

I am a life,

I was alive,

my heart gave 'way,

I couldn't die.

Looking for another guy,

smothered me, it was no lie.

Fear did grip me from a distance,

looking back at my resistance.

Startled by the silent air,

jumped back in to my despair.

Gasped for breath,

I did take off,

hid until I did cough.

All the lies,

 all I did was try and try.

Made this girl just realize,

my worth was little,

in guilt compare,

I lived my life entirely from there.

Disappointment doesn't rank until you get older and realize that you fought so hard for something that people don't seem to care about themselves because for them in was a given. It was a battle for me. Freedom did not come naturally and I still have yet to win the War. So while my peers turn from me because getting through the day is such a feat, I am patient with myself. I have made the mistake of saying how neat it is just to be alive and found that this offends them. I persevere. I know that most people believe me to be stupid, ignorant and stuck in the past. I can tell you from my own personal experience that in order to be able to survive what my best friend committed suicide over means that you do not encourage yourself at all to even think of or on the past at all.  To believe that we are stuck there is ignorance on your part.  I lived through all of this once and I would never live through it again.  The other frustrating opinion of people is that they believe me to be an idiot because I do not have a sure fire plan to just "get over it." I have to stop in my life, dead in my tracks sometimes to not become full of the rage that I feel inside myself.  I have to do these things for myself so that I can continue at all in this life. I believe that everything has happened to us for a reason.  I refuse to give up on myself. I believe flashbacks are your minds ability to begin the healing process, so that you may be able to be privy to the entire story that has been hidden in the lives of your perpetrators. I think that this may happen so  that you can finally understand their refusal to acknowledge their guilt and responsibility towards you as human being. This way you may begin the healing process of  not the being the "it," nor the "thing" that you have been referred to most of your life. I have a name and so do you. Together we can move mountains to regain the innocence that I know we never lost, it is just hidden in a special place. I know that this has to prove to be the truth for the injured.  I know that "we" in the collective sense, continue to be the target for narcissistic and malignant narcissistic persons alike. Lets end the brain drain. Join the fight against the monsters that haunt you tonight and tomorrow we can stand together. We can face our fears and know that we have one another and we are still fighting for our friends that have been lost in this battle against the immorality that has plagued our society. 


Make room if you want to, don't make room for me if you don't want to, but whatever you do today know this, my best friend is dead.  I will never forget and I will not run from a fight and this is the fight of my life, I am still alive! 



Rules Of The Cruel

 

The rule is no mercy,

from step-fathers book.
Fourteen years younger than my mother.

a Sado-Masochistic man,

who beats me because he can.

Forced oral sex was a sight I did see.

Was a boy and it was not me.

Opened the door to take one look,

slammed it in anger, rage, it took!

I guessed I would soon be coming of age.
Not if I can help it,
I turned the page.

Six years older than I this boy was,
laughed at me just because,

he put his dick inside my place,

in sneaky nightime lies he raped.

Or is it incest that he did take. 

Mother said, "You dirty little whore in your mind."

Step-father beat me!
said he was kind.
I never did look to see any sign.

I could not confess,

or get any help.

All that was said behind closed doors,
what happens here is for the best.

Split yourself in pysho state,
you boy! you freak!

don't touch me!

I'm dead.

Practiced rape.
Smothering hand,
 of boy I survived,
guilt gets the best of anyones lie.

Anger, Rage that boy did feel,

the day I laughed and said surreal.

Held my breath, that parts real.

Did not die,

not from lack of suffocating tries.

No Mercy.

Jail me in the prison you keep.

Make it real, make it neat.

Horrific sight,

addicted right?
I have your mind in lock-up tonight.

Confusing lies, continued to try.

Welcome to my life,
it's do or die.
I may not survive.

I just turned five.

Happy Birthday to me,
good night.

Born a slave,

shuffled about to anyone's house.

There is no consequence,

play till your hearts desire.
or shout!
More from the baby whore.
I pout!

Beat me till I don't cry!

Fuck me if you're a guy,

I'm was a kid,
I didn't know,

that it was wrong,

till they told me so.

Now I'm dirty, minded, filth,

step-father beat me with is belt.
He loved the moments of the leather strap,
beat the dog, guess you knew that.

I don't think much of the affair,
my mother had with him while he was there.
He was the nanny, hired to take care,
moved right in on all the parental sin.
Spirtual not, religious zealot today.
Believes in exorcisms back in the day.

Sickness was the air to breath, I'm afraid.

Yelling, screaming, pounding fists.

Pulled the hair that I don't need.

don't worry I will never shout,
why bother when my sisters out.

No mercy, no childhood, so they say.

Be strong,

and remember,

the rules of the day.
Cruelty favors the unloved and wronged,
beat me 'til I am strong.

Now I'm ready for sacred spot,

encountered you and you must stop.

Caught in words of this girls verse,

speaking truth, its getting worse.

Graphic nature matches you,

don't forget to say you're due.

Shall we?

Resume Upon Request

Crucify me,

make me feel the pain inside.

Drive the nails deep,

I don't care if I survive.

I just want to feel alive.

I've been his slave since the begin.

I feel his whipping words,

they stripped me of my minds eye.

I was blinded in his dungeon,

hear my cry.

One day it was a life style,

the next an experience to be had and filed away in his indifference to my life.

I gave him my trust,

he took all the rest.

Now I am driven by my own appeal to advertise for another guy.

Jealousy pours from this person,

he claims that the safe word was never named.

Stepping forward yesterday to stop my advancement today.

Escape this cage with a Master of the Art,

where? my mind is in despair.

I will serve with grace.

Walk with dignity,

speak with silence,

rest when the wicked rise yet again.

I did it all honestly,

he did it not at all.

He keeps me from answering my call.

He beats me for asking at all.

I want my Master of Disaster,

Where is my lair, my life, my dare?

I cannot find it anywhere.

I can only try and repair.

He approaches yet again,

to tell me I am his friend.

Again his character of life,

shows itself in open strife.

Find me in my open call,

I do not hide from you at all.

Exorcism proof, I am. 

Degree in hand.

Crucify me!

Make me bleed, it is what I need.

Take each memory and erase them all for me.

Be my Master, be not appalled.

Speak the truth,

do not lie.

Tell me that you'll be my guy.

I'm just a girl that rates this way.

Not sick, not ill, just raised to be

your open Till.

Resume upon request.

The Colors of Content

I started my journey five years ago, 2006.  So far I have forged through my entire life and now I am stuck at around two years old. It is odd how I seem to understand things better when I go backwards in my mind to see what I don't always understand about myself.  Sometimes I try to reason with myself and say that these scenes in my mind cannot possibly be my life. The upsetting thing always ends up being that it is my life.

The fact is that I put everything into paint cans when I was eight.  I hammered the lids shut and stored them carefully in the corners of my mind.  I imagined this would be the easiest way to sort everything that had happened in my life so far.  Using the colors of the rainbow as a "Table of Contents" seemed perfect to be able to separate each trauma out by color.  I did not have the problem of running out of paint cans because it seems that colors are limitless. Leaving me there plenty to use for my complex problem.  Plus, when I saw a rainbow it always made me smile.  This was something I had planned while separating all the traumas one by one into their own color coated paint can.  I wanted to have good memories not bad ones, it really did work too. I used this process of compartmentalizing things up to a few years ago.

I wrote this on my birthday in 2009;

Paint Cans!!

Spread them out!!

I'm only Eight,

and I can't take,

all the weight,

from their mistake.

Colors,

Red, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange,

Nude, Not, Rot, Spot.

Keep them pure,

it's a lot.

Lids go here,

cans go there.

They do not need any air!!

Make some space,

clear the waste.

It's my mind

Post Haste!!

I need to drain the fear from me,

to late, don't shed a tear, it's clear.

That can, that lid, it's over here.

Close one eye and do not steer.

The Hardware Store is almost here.

Paint Cans, Paint Cans,

the shelves are strong

I'm in first gear.

I might be slow

but, I am here.

Paint Cans, Paint Cans

They were clear!!

K.A.P.

4/29/2009

It was as if the entire scene that I have painted here exploded in one fell swoop of my mothers attack on my life five years ago.  It was an ugly mess inside my mind.  Frustration, anger, and rage filled me to the rim.  I had spent so many years spending so much time keeping this all at the correct temperature so that the lids would not blow, then they did.  I guess my plan at eight had some flaws. I don't think that I knew that heat could make the top of a can blow off. 

 

I know that recently my frustration has been exposed.  I am not sorry, nor am I embarrassed to write what has come to mind after all these years.  Sadly, this is my life and I am angry that I have not been able to find what I set out looking for in the very beginning.  I remember making a decision when I was very young while staring at my mother.  I thought that I would do the opposite of her and then I would not be hurting people as I witnessed her doing daily.  So, I did, I watched and did the opposite of her, always.  I have not taken advantage of people, I do not run cons, I do not use the manipulation of brainwashing on others, I do not blackmail people, I do not beat them emotionally until they sign over their Trust Funds and Wills to me.  I have lived a life where I have worked hard for what I own. 

 

I was determined that if I worked hard that I could find all the things that I seem to see but do not feel or understand for myself.  I looked for love, peace, happiness, joy, positive growth as a human being, compassion and all I have found is more narcissistic people that rip me off emotionally and physically.  It has taken me forever to understand that this is what I have met and what I  have been surrounded with my entire life, even as an adult.  You see I did not find the word or definition there-of (Narcissist, Malignant Narcissist) until recently in my life.  Nobody tuned me in on the fact that there was even a description of my mother or situation.  I guess that goes to show I was in the midst of all of these monsters constantly.  I am so stupid that I did not know this and that I continued to take people at face value. I would believe everything that they told me.  I would not question what they said to me.  I did not think people lied constantly until just recently. 

 

Looking back I believe I am more angry now than I have ever been at anytime during my life.  Of course, every person that I know has turned their back on me.  This has all been since I have come to terms with my own tragedy and began to speak out in my defense of myself.  As soon as I began to defend myself and require friends just to allow me to express my own feelings on any said subject, they stopped talking to me, calling me or just hanging out with me.
 

All they have proceeded to do is make me drive harder into my past to discover what it may be that repulses them so much that they cannot see or speak to me anymore. Are each of them responsible for something horrific in my life? Even as an adult? Did they help to drive my children away from me when they could have helped them find me?  I know that the harder and colder that I have been treated by people whom I have told my diagnosis, the worse I get towards wanting to know all of the facts.  I am becoming driven to find the truth in my mind, no matter the pain that it causes me. I am trying to go back through things in my mind to understand and find reason for such deplorable treatment.  The last thing you are meant to do to someone with C-PTSD, is to isolate, tell them to get over it, tell them to shut-up, its done, there is nothing you can do about it, etc.

What has happened, has happened.  I am healing from the hurt of having nobody on my side and accepting my isolated existence.  I have been trying to heal myself by confronting what comes into my mind via flashbacks.  I believe that the flashbacks may be a sign of healing anyway.  I think it is a sign that my mind is capable of now looking at the horrors of my life.  It is an attempt to piece them together with the now running dialogue in my head. If you put that with the understanding and reasoning capabilities of an adult view, I think I can actually begin to come up with the answers that are so badly needed in my life.  I am encouraged by my attempt everyday to conquer yet another fear that causes me such grief and dismay.  I am now capable of realizing that being the person that I am naturally is more than O.K.  I am filled with the capability to express myself clearly. 

I am outraged by the behavior of not just the people in my life as a youth but the people in my life as an adult.  They thought that my company was suspect five years ago, imagine their surprise when one day I speak in an open forum of exposing monsters for a living and I tell the very personal stories of their life and interaction with me as adult.  As I tell the public at large about how much money has been taken from me, how items in my home have been removed and kept by them.  As I speak on how my trusting nature with trucks that needed to be sold, were sold and the money kept by that same person.  I will speak on how I tried to confront the issue at hand and they screamed and yelled saying that I was nuts just like my mother.  While I would stare and wonder why I did not see that this person like they were on that day.  I promise you that one day I will tell my story so that I can prevent other young and very innocent lives from going through the pain that I have suffered until I now.  I never knew that these monsters were defined and known by the public as I know them personally.  I will continue my march as I am, determined to expose the narcissistic and malignant narcissist alike.

I will testify to the trials of my life.  You see I took what I saw, what I knew, all the things I learned growing up and what I understood to be proper behavior in this world and threw it aside. I went on a search for peace, reason, love, acceptance and a life that I could lead without the terror and fear I felt as a child.  A life that would be respectable and not full of contempt or rage.  I pretended my entire life, I acted through everything so that I would be acceptable to you. I have been a victim of selfish, manipulative liars.  Knowing that you are aware of yourselves, I give you fair warning that I will not cease my life's journey to find and be a peace with myself.  It is just that now I will speak a more vicious truth, not disguising my words to protect your mind from reading the absolute and horrid reality that I have lived.  I am a testimony to myself, my survival, my own journey to find love and reason for your lack of morality.   I accept you as you are, with no changes, no conditions to any one way you behave, but you don't accept me the same way. It's O.K. I accept me as I am and that is the biggest and most difficult hurdle to face. I love myself and I am O.K. just the way I am, no conditions to place on my mind to just exist or live freely. 

I want to be able to help you right out of your lies and into my truth. I want it out there for everyone to read.  I will never quit on myself or the innocent lives of those that are stuck in the con you are running constantly on humanity. I  believe in the impossible becoming possible, I believe in me as I am. I am dedicated to being real and not having to act for you or anyone else anymore.  I quit.  Reality rules, no matter the graphic nature of its truth when it is spoken, written or felt by the individual that just survived in this life.

I am not sorry that I took all of you at face value up to now. I can never have the finger pointed at me, saying I was full of rage, anger and was oblivious to others in the plight of life. So thank you for your friendship, thank you for your lessons in life, it has molded me into the person that I am today.  Trust is thrown away permanently in my life.  It is no longer to be had by me.   I hate you and that's O.K. for me to say do now at this time in my life.  I understand what hatred is really about. I am working through that too. I do wonder sometimes if you know that continuing to hurt a person that has been so badly hurt is wrong to do.   I will not forgive what has happened to me, because what has happened to me makes me the unique individual that I continue to be.  Why would I want to be different than I am.  I like me, I have survived what is not survivable, so I am told.  I am still intact. I just come from the other side of things, with a different character base than you seem to possess.  But, truthfully I believe that the ones that have done these things to me to be evil and I am actually okay.