Friday, June 10, 2011

Do we just keep running? Or can I stop today?

I need to keep going before they catch me up in all of the lies that they continue to tell themselves.  I am running towards a private life to know love, happiness, peace, and to know what it is when people say don't give-up there is always hope.  I run like a mad man to know these things before I am absorbed by my past that is creeping up on me.  As my family begins the hunt once again I stare at no one, I have no one, I am alone. This is not any different than any other time in my life.  I know that it may seem to you as sad or shocking but why?  You just don't know because you never ask and when you do I am told, "lots of people have worse lives than yours." 

After many years and great thought I am ready and aiming at all the people that refuse to see that evil lives next door and answers the doorbell when it rings.  It has dinner parties, Wednesday Night Salons, Christmas parties, Easter Egg Hunts, goes out to dinner, entertains the Grandchildren, pays for boarding schools, goes on vacation, pays the bills, drinks coffee, enjoys a hot cup of tea, is unemployed, or employed, owns their own business, has a non-profit, donates all their time, loves their children to death, never questioned, lots of friends and this probably is somebody you know personally.  You may work alongside of them, you may be taking a walk in the park and pass them on the path.  You could shop in all the same places, spend the same money on the same things.  You probably share the same hairdresser or barber.  You might even go to church at the same place.  Your kids might play together and you may find that you go to a movie tonight look over and see a relation to me.

I have never heard one person offer to help me.  Never has anyone offered to expose the lie.  Never does anyone that I have ever met in my entire life feel sorry for me. This is not because I look for it or expect it, so don't jump on any high horse with me.  I have only done one thing, that is to look for everything that I do not know.  I was not loved as a baby and I have been told that this causes great problems as an adult. I learned how to behave with the public at large, through The Brady Bunch, Little House on the Prairie and other T.V. shows along this line.  At eighteen I decided to look for everything that I seemed to be missing. Never did I go out and tell strangers, nor friends about my childhood.  Anything that they did find out was always well after meeting me. No pity, no compassion, no evidence of anything other than flight or total abandonment after the light had been shed on my life, usually by my family.  You see, every person that I ever had as a friend also new my mother and according to her she knew them first.  It is all fine and dandy, they always sympathize with her as she tells them the story of her possessed and demonic daughter.  How she is on the loose and preys upon the innocent lives of others.  She goes on to tell them how I never go home for dinner, how she must pay for my children, she must care for my children while I am busy being addicted to prescription drugs.  She goes on telling them that I have written and published a book of scandal about the family.  I am destroying the innocent lives of my brother and sister.  All the dreams they have had are being destroyed and all they want to do is work in the family business, keep their heads down and make an honest dollar.  My mother explains that she began a non-profit business that is helping autistic people like her daughter.  She will say and exploit every avenue to do only one thing, destroy the friendship permanently.

No matter what the reasoning is today, yesterday or tomorrow I have suffered a life of great tragedy and yet it is remarkable.  This is a quote from a psychiatrist that did a full report and recommendation for my life going forward. As just a person existing on this planet I have found no one that is or can relate to my story in person.  I have found on this site many others that seem to suffer my plight.  What I am most discouraged about generally is the lack of persons that will confront and hold responsible the monsters that have delivered such despair to so many.  As the offspring of a cult leader, a malignant narcissist or medically known as a sociopath, I declare to who may interested in my declaration of life the following.  I will proceed forward in the battle I have been in privately so far to expose and hold responsible those persons that answer the character description of a soul shatterer. I am tired of people that do not believe others when the distress in there voice can be heard from the words written in letters on blogs.  The simple act of being a person that chooses to not just exist here for their own pleasure brings me solace.

I am compelled to deliver a story to you about the lacking of sympathy to a person that has knowingly lived a life of pain and twisted agony.  I have learned more from the interaction I have had in life about how what I watched on the television as a child is just a lie and an imagination of things that are not real.  The character assassination of the average person should come from the severely neglected children of the world.  Had the layman not turned a blind eye in my youth than I would be in a different state of mind.  All I have proceeded in learning as an adult is to never talk about anything upsetting if it is you.  If it is gossip and about another than for fucks sake never end the conversation or attention into that person's private life. It is this fact that makes me squirm.  I hate it when people talk behind your back and as you make it into the room there is this uncomfortable silence.  Never forget I was raised by two, then three, then four, then a congregation of narcissistic prone adults, just learning from my mother how to advantage there life and there pocketbook.  It is in the coarse action of other people that I have seen lack of remorse or proper acknowledgement of their action in the crime against my life and the far bigger crime against humanity itself.

I was born into slavery and cannot declare my innocence because the belief of such an act is dismissed readily by everyone.  I want you to log-on to the following site and start at the end, reading your way through the entire blog.  I want you to count how many times slavery is referred too.  I also want you to recognize that you are not well-versed in the tongue of the malignant narcissist that speaks between the lines to testify to the actions.  This is done so that they can say behind the closed doors on any day, but I told you what I was doing, it is not my fault you did not read what I wrote on this public venue.  The layman needs a narcissists dictionary that has never been written.  I need the relief of the pain that I feel for myself to end today.  As the person that took me out of school along with my mother to educate me at home is running a Christian Home Education program on the net. She purports herself to be something that she never was to me, a private tutor. Make sure you read the entire sight before you question me in an appeal of this horror of a life I survive and continue to live on a daily basis.  Being frank and totally honest with you today, I have had to use the public that I meet in passing as the parental reference to proper behavior to become socially acceptable as an adult.  I quit my appeal to anyone in regards to what is proper or improper behavior when I find an active site that supports the malignant narcissists that are so openly and proudly speaking of there work. I have to support myself and my memories of the horrors that this person and people just like her perpetrated upon my life with my mother as a support.

At sixteen years old she gave me an examine in my mothers home.  She graded this test, looked at my mother and said the following, "she has a sixth grade education. We should start with fourth grade material and if I were fortunate she will catch on before it is too late to educate her properly."  My mother screamed Hallelujahs, jumped around in her bathrobe and said, "I knew I was right to pull her out of the school she was in, they said they were going back to the basics but obviously they have not."  I looked at both of them, stood-up, shut the book in front of me and said nothing.  I never saw another book, I never was given any material to educate myself with, fourth grade or not. This so called educator never returned to do any sort of education in my mothers home where I was to reside for the next two years in silence.  I sat until I was eighteen in that home of ill-repute. I could not leave or I would have been a truant. I don't do anything without great thought and even greater consideration of the repercussions on everyone concerned. To suffer at the hands of so many that are so capable is reprehensible.

Maybe I am just hot under the collar, but if you read this website and find that the program they use to educate children with is as deplorable as I feel it may be,  then help me stop the pain, so no other children suffer the agony of sitting and waiting while never being educated at all.  Just counting the days and the years until they hit eighteen.  Please read this poem all the way through before you continue to the website that I have posted below.  The pain is real, the agony is not bearable by many.  By best friend committed suicide over what happened to him.  Help me by helping the be voice of the innocent victims that cannot be heard today.  Sadly, by the time we can be heard and can decipher the web of confusion brought upon us by our parental figures, it is too late.  The damage has been done and cannot be reversed.  PTSD are avoidable in this instance if you can understand that evil just finds a new venue to perpetuate its message.  You cannot stop that which refuses to heed anything other than its own protection of the crime that they are committing against humanity.

For the children who were broken

For children who were broken
it is very hard to mend......
Our pain was rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from friends.

Our parents said they loved us,
but they didn't act that way.
They broke our hearts and stole our worth,
with the things that they would say.

We wanted them to love us.
We didn't know what we did
to make them yell at us and hit us,
and wish we weren't their kid.
They'd beat us up and scream at us
and blame us for their lives.
Then they'd hold us close inside their
arms and tell us confusing lies
of how they really loved us
-- even though we were BAD,
and how it was OUR fault they hit us,
OUR fault that they were mad.

When days were just beginning
we sometimes prayed for them to end,
and when the pain kept coming,
we learned to just pretend
that we were good and so were they
and this was just one of those days
...tomorrow we'd be friends.

We had to believe it so.
We had nowhere else to go.
Each day that we pretended,
we replaced reality
with lies, or dreams,
or angry schemes,
in search of dignity ....
until our lies got bigger
than the truth,
and we had no one real to be.

Our bodies were forsaken.
With no safe place to hide,
we learned to stop
hearing and feeling
what they did to our outsides.

We tried to make them love us,
till we hated ourselves instead,
and couldn't see a way out,
and wished that they were dead.
We scared ourselves by thinking that
and scared ourselves to know,
that we were acting just like them
--and might ever more be so.

To be half the size of a grown-
up and trapped inside their pain....
To every day lose everything
with no savior or refrain...
To wonder how it is possible
that God could so forget
the worthy child you knew you were,
when you had not been damaged yet ...

To figure on your fingers
the years till you'd be grown
enough to leave the torment
and survive away from home,
were more than you could count to,
or more than you could bear,
was the reality we lived in
and we knew it wasn't fair.

We who grew up broken
are somewhat out of time,
struggling to mend our childhood,
when our peers are in their prime.
Where others find love and contentment,
we still often have to strive
to remember we are worthy,
and heroes just to be alive.

Some of us are healing.
some of us are stealing.
Most are passing the anger on.
Some give their lives away to drugs,
or the promise of like beyond.

Some still hide from society.
Some struggle to belong.
But all of us are wishing
the past would not hold on so long.

There's a lot of digging down to do
to find the child within,
to love away the ugly pain
and feel innocence again.

There is forgiveness worthy of angel's
wings for remembering those at all,
who abused our sacred childhood
and programmed us to fall.

To seek to understand them,
and how their pain became our own,
is to risk the ground we stand on
to climb the mountain home.

The journey is not so lonely
as in the past it has been ...
More of us are strong enough
to let the growth begin.
But while we're trekking up the mountain
we need everything we've got,
to face the adults we have become,
and all that we are not.

So when you see us weary
from the day's internal climb ...
When we find fault with your best efforts,
or treat imperfection as purposeful crime ...
When you see our quick defenses,
our efforts to control,
our readiness to form a
plan of unrealistic goals ...

When we run into a conflict
and fight to the bitter end,
remember ....
We think that winning means
we won't be hurt again.

When we abandon OUR thoughts and feelings,
to be what we believe YOU want us to,
or look at trouble we're having,
and want to blame it all on you...
When life calls for new beginnings,
and we fear they re doomed to end,
Wounded trust is like a wounded knee--
It is very hard to bend.

Please remember this
when we are out of sorts.
Tell us the truth, and be our friend.
For children who were broken...
it is very hard to mend.

by Elia Wise

Start here and then click on the site I have posted, I did.  I am sure that I will not have any support, as I never have known support in helping to stop or expose the crimes or cons of narcissists.  A con is con, a rose called by any other name is still a rose.  My older sister Tam and her words that I have grown so tired of hearing in past years but seems so appropriate today.

Rank And File

What rank do you give file?
Is it high or is it mild?
My mind closes Wild.
I am just a lost child.

Look left, look right, don't fight.
Tell yourself the truth!
Hold it in, let it go.
Which one?

Inside yourself it is all piled up.
Treacherous, nobody believes.
Lost in all the made-up lies?
Siblings Family, not me!

Use your brain to be your guide.
No response to this assembly line?
Poem or written verse,
just plainly spoken, not perverse.

Like a computer, a learned robot.
Testify is not the reason,
it is a lot.

Shaking voice. Fear to live.
Constant path of destruction,
this I must stop.
Say to yourself, Why not?

Years have past.
Time to hear from what was not last.
An IT, a THING, a girl,
a human being, "Hello."

Entry always denied.
Family was tightly tied.
Scapegoat has a final reply,
my turn to be free!
Back-OFF from what you have scoffed.

Never released.
Wild from Birth.
Never caged.
Doesn't rehearse.

Writes to be heard.
Speaks to be seen.
Words that come out,
are really very mean.

Do not turn from this; LEARN!
If all you know,
is stub your toe,
then read and show,
you are clueless to the tragedy,
that lives inside of me.

Pain is my agony,
agony is my joy,
joy is my temper,
temper is my happiness,
and that is the defender of all of this.

Emergency Clothes

A packed black bag by the bed.
Just in case.
Three months prior to disaster.
Life is such a joke.

Plan ahead with your failed friend.
Never enough to not help but sabotage.
Cut off my phone!
Leave me no options.

I called it to you, did you listen?
Your plan for me?
Leave me in a half-empty place, alone.
No phone? No idea of where?
You are just gone. Final.

Stop, You are scaring me!!

You will never leave me?
Impossible to be that sure.
Do not speak a half-truth, please.
You look ILL.

Did I say what you did?

1.) Make sure you plan in front of abused.
2.) Pack for obvious notice to the abused for impact affect on abused.
3.) Plan for later rational of
"I did it in front of you, I was not hiding my leaving."
4.) Keep very calm while act of impending doom is in action on abused.

FOUR.) Never think so loud that I hear you,
signed; the abused.
FIVE.) Do not fuck the permanently FUCKED!
signed; the abused.
SIX.) Hyper-Vigilance definition; SIXTH SENSE
signed; the abused.
Seven.) Advice; never plan an attack on the ritually abused. 
signed; the witness

1.) Don't ever say you are helping me.
2.) Then say you cannot help yourself. 
3.) Do not tell abused that you need an end to their story so you can write the book.
4.) Never go head to head with the abused.

Especially when,
she is the sister to a brother,
to a sister and the daughter of a mother,
that is a Malignant Narcissist.

It is all in the breeding.
of the perpetual rolling,
from one to the other.
Criticize within,

Criticize without.
Bad idea.
The end you will never see.
You will only receive from three,
and it will never be me.

Pandora's Box

Pandora's Box is opening,
the time is here,
the time is now.

The eye that sees,
the ear that hears,
has simply written the message!!

It is time for the message to be delivered,
there is power in numbers,
strength in knowledge,
there is clarity in our eyes.

This clarity allows us to see a vision of greater depth
and understanding to deliver to the generation of the blind.

Finally I remember where I put It! My HEART............

My sister had me by my shirt and she was moving as fast as she could with me in tow.  Up the stairs we went at 815 Balboa.  Around the corner and turned right into the Linen Closet.  She rushes to close the door behind us, pushes me in front and takes my shoulders and keeps on pushing to the back of the closet.  Looking straight ahead there were three bins that had holes drilled in the doors. The doors pulled down to open them and it was where we kept blankets, towels and sheets.  We get all the way to the back of this very long and narrow closet,  she stepped in front of me and pulled the lowest of the three cupboards down.  She pushes me to go faster. At that moment you here the knocking around of a person on the staircase we had just come up, then you could barely hear the noise of what I guess was going to erupt. 

I am in the cupboard now, the blankets were pushed aside from our last visit.  In climbs my sister and as she is turning around she begins to close us in.  I asked what was going on. She held her finger to her lips and said "SsHHH."  She always spit when she did this to me.  Apparently I had a problem with whispering and while we were in this little tiny hiding spot I cannot tell you how many times the SSHHH happened.  As we sat I noticed we were getting to big to be in there together.  It was much more crowded than it used to be and as usual it got stuffy very fast.  She would have to open the cupboard door regularly to allow the air to flow in side of the cupboard we were hiding in. I used to put my mouth up to the holes and try to get more air through those, it never worked very well.  I was always so impressed about how she knew just how long we could sit there before she had to open the door for more air allowing us to not suffocate.

By this time our wonderful parents had made it to the top of the stairs and the screaming and yelling were deafening.  Now they were looking for us to hit.  You could here my father banging my mother all around in the hall way. You could hear the screaming voice of my mother just about now, they were directly outside the linen closet.  This was always when my sister would hold her finger to her lips and stare, almost glare through the holes in the cupboard door.  She was looking to see if anyone was coming into the linen closet to find us.  She held the cupboard door and as we began to suck up all the oxygen and it became wet in there from our breath, she would just wait, not opening it for any circulation.

The fight would begin to get worse and worse but they were making their way to the master bedroom down the hall.  You could hear and almost feel as my mother was being thrown against the walls of the hall.  Then slam went the door of the master bedroom at the end of the hall.  Just then my sister would open the cupboard door for only a moment and then shut it quickly.  I was always so amazed that we did not suffocate, I thought to myself she really knows what she is doing.  From then on out on every other time she would make us stay in there for so long that I would fall asleep finally.

On this particular day before I fell asleep and after enough time had passed for her safety check. She had to sure that they were both in the bedroom and not pretending to be in there, while actually hunting the house for us to beat.   After she was sure that they did not have their ears up to doors in the house looking for our hiding places she would carefully and quite silently climb out and turn the soy lent green free standing hamper around so that it would be facing the door that lead out to the closet completely.  She would pile up the dirty clothes up on the hamper, push it as far back as he could, climb around it and back into the cupboard with me.  Then instead of fulling closing the door, she would pull the lid of the hamper as close as she could and let the cupboard door fall on it. Then take the blankets we were sitting on and fill it in a little higher. This way you really couldn't tell anyone was back there and we could finally breath easier.  Right before she was going to chance it and turn the hamper so that it would work for us, I said this to her.  "You are so smart and you always know how long we have to breath before we die.  I have to give you something because I don't need it in this place or here at all and you will know what to do with it, take better care of it and I don't want it.  I have to give you my heart, I can't have it here and I know you will keep it safe for me."

I don't remember what she said to me, but, she took it, just like a big sister would do for her little sister that is seven years younger.  A few years ago I remembered what I had done with my heart. I had been trying to remember for years what I had done with it.  I thought I had put it in a box and buried it under a tree.  I had a friend at the time and I shared this story of my missing heart.  I had told him that I had put my heart someplace I just couldn't remember where I put it and it was bugging me because I thought I should finally find it after all these years. I told him that I had put it down as a kid because I did not need it anymore along with my soul. We spent a lot of time searching everywhere. We went to old haunts, looked under trees I recognized and each time I would look at him and say, "No, this isn't where I left it, I know I left it in the safest place ever."  Then out of the blue one day I remembered, the linen closet, the drilled holes of the hamper door and my sister.  I called her right then and said. "You have my heart.!"  Silence filled the air and then, "I never thought that you would remember that you had done that to me.  Yes I have your heart."  I asked, "Is it still in good condition."  She answered "Yes."  She asked if I wanted it back now, I told her no she could use it better than I, plus you have had for so many years wouldn't it be like ripping out of you?  She replied, "Yes."  I said  "Keep it, you have taken care of it since I was small."  I asked her how old I was when this originally happened.  She told me I was three.  She thanked me for letting her keep it.  I told her that it was cool, I was just so bugged that I could not remember where I put it. I told her that I thought I had buried it in a box under a tree, but now I think that might have been my soul. She did this low half hearted chortle as if she did not mean it but it seemed appropriate for what I had said.  That was that, I told her I had to go.  It may have been the last time I spoke to her, I don't know.  I am just happy I found my heart again, it is safely tucked away with the most brilliant person in the world.  She kept us breathing while our parents fought and we did not get beaten or die of suffocation.  Smarter than I because the time the bag went over my head I ended up on the outside of myself staring at the scene of the crime.  There I was, still on the basement floor with a black bag over my head. I wasn't breathing.  I remember it like yesterday.