"you are just going to milk your rape for everything it's worth."
Trigger Warning.
so in the year 2013 for no salary i painted the huge basement spending my student loans on cleaning supplies, air fresheners, flooring, paints, garden plants, lawn chairs.
i began in earnest with good will, to clean. but as the abuse leveled at me became excruciating, i worked ever harder trying to make a meaningful impact, so that my younger siblings would feel there to be more of a homey home.
the lack of heartland feelings, i felt that i could re-inspire via kitsch and furnishings.
recently i discovered that the engs have thrown away the lawn chairs i purchased 8 for 8$ and four for $10 and a few more for seven or 12$.
i rented u-hauls to go get them.
the engs also destroyed my newspaper collection which i longed to have time to read. now on a sunny day i am confronted by the fact that there is not a lawn chair to sit on to type read write or study, due to the destructions of my family.
there is scarcely a newspaper to read. i guess they are against literacy for the people they use for domestic toil.
when mother kicked me out in may and in october, most of my belongings i took way, got dumped at thrift stores, as i was always operating under the duress and strain of the threat of domestic violence.
i gave away one of my computers, as her anger began to liquidate my meagre assets.
the loss is huge.
the woeful fact that i flee to abusive men, to escape my abusive family is not lost on me.
the flooring i purchased included two mats at 15$ a piece and at least five huge jute rugs at $80 a pop.
on two occasions i rented a u-haul for the moving of the chairs in addition to ottoman sets and other chairs i purchased in 100 dollar batches from the goodwill.
i purchased with my portland community college student loan a two year gym pass for my brother's girlfriend after they both screamed at me and cornered me january 20, 2013. anyone who doesn't believe you can be effectively "mugged" in your own home hasn't met my family, where the systematic psychological abuse will empty your pockets of even borrowed or subsistence money in the eagerness to "purchase" some peace and quiet and respect free of drunken tirades.
then my brother michael emerges from a twenty-year drunken blackout to call my father a "douchebag" and degrade the work i have done for mother's house, ridicule my friends.
i couldn't get to square one of explaining that his SEXIST condescending rant at me didn't work.
i felt sorry for him, as he uttered profanity after profanity at me as if i want to hear such trash.
i do not think all the furniture purchases were necessarily "wrong" as even with the family taking out their hostility towards me on the furniture, after i have once again left my home as a refugee, under my mom's calling the police on my friend, and threatening to incarcerate me as she screams at me.
the book collection of all my expensive philosophy and literature books i lost in 2002 sadly haunts me. so too, my teenaged art, thrown away by brother michael.
they didn't throw away the ransom eng art but they threw away the mary eng art.
maybe the furniture is the buffer.
i was accused of abandoning my property. what they failed to get is that i was threatened with violence, ridiculed for being a rape victim, and threatened with forced incarceration of me and my friend.
i was leaving under duress, for my own safety.
mother is now claiming i have "false memory syndrome" about her slamming plates on the floor at my dad when i was three, yet admits she did it, because he was "insensitive."
i explained to her "false memory syndrome" was pseudo-science created by rapists and pedophiles for rapists and pedophiles, and her pulling that one out of a hat really let's me know her mental state.
living with an abusive parent has the de facto "maiming" potential to ruin your whole life, self-esteem.
worst case, you end up dead of a suicide or an overdose, like the others in my generation. what do those of us who choose to live do though?
for me, on a pitiful disability income, to get embezzled by my family under psychological duress and coersion, to clean and renovate a house in which i have no equity, in which i was stripped of my civil rights as a 21 year old under false accusations by my abusive mother----is a demonstration of abuse of disabled people.
disabled people should not be abused financially or for domestic slavery. as the filthy house my mom purchased was largely uninhabitable without major renovation, and still is due to heating problems, all my work has been necessary to get the locale into a basic health standard.
the fact that my mother stole a house my grandfather bought for me and my siblings in 1984, and took all the inheritance for my father for wasteful gambling, and stole my trust fund, does not impel her to try to make restitution for verbally abusing us, abusing my labor as a child or adult, or denying me the right to my good name free from her defamatory psychiatric witch-hunt she orchestrated to cover-up her child abuse and embezzlement.
in may 2013 after i painted her basement, cleaned her house, and planted her garden with supplies purchased by my student loans and disability income, she told me to move out one day she was bullying me with names i said were im-polite.
i was covered in paint and sweaty with my work, hungry as she towered over me scrreaming at me and slamming the door.
she then told me to move out into a hotel.
not only am i never "paid" for my labor, but i am heaped with verbal abuse.
my misplaced sense of trust led me to hope i would ingratiate myself in the unspoken nonverbal contract of quid pro quo.
while my family did not respect me pre-eminently, maybe they would when i did a lot of physically demanding work.
i was wrong.
her tendency is to corner me when i have been working for hours in some physically treacherous role, scraping the cruddy choking chalk out of the rafters or painting the entire five rooms of the basement floor, with no lunch or tea.
then when i am in the most pitiable state she likes to lash into me, accusing me of not being socially available.
i realize she wants me to be a Stepford wife, or give off the "Stewardess Effect" of a Geisha-like servility and graciousness. she has not the intuition to see the toil i produce under duress is beyond my physical capacity to then baby-talk her sweetly like a perfect housewife.
i always wrongly believed the more i work for her, or her house, the more respect i will be granted. but it's the opposite. the more i work for her, the less she respects me, and the weaker i am under her attack and the overwork.
in october, she began raising her voice at me, ridiculing me after asking me to move some furniture which was too heavy for me to move.
i told her that when she becomes verbally abusive, she reminds me of the rapist who verbally abused me, and that it triggers a Post Traumatic Stress Response.
anne eng said: "you are just going to milk your rape for everything it's worth."
my own mother said this about my second rape: "you are just going to milk your rape for everything it's worth."
My first rape i did not report to police, because my mother had called police on me already and they brutally tackled me, shoving my nose into the ground, to handcuff me and take me to a psychiatric hospital due to my mom calling them and blaming her psychotic episode on me.
i was hiding out from my abusive mother across town.
i did not want to have another police brutality or psychiatric malpractice situation in addition to the rape.
i told no one.
for a long time.
what i realize now, is that my mother raged at us and verbally abused us so frequently as a child, that i already had operable PTSD symptoms as a child, where i would recoil, withdraw, and avoid her triggering behavior.
she walked into the room, and we cringed, our knees weak, ever trying to outsmart her next outburst.
father included.
he also lived in dread of her next screaming rampage.
my father steve eng had a battered husband syndrome of his own, too weak to get out, too financially dependent on his abuser.
one day when i was sixteen, after giving me forty dollars for gasoline and lunch, she slapped me across the face and called me "bitch."
that would have been 1994 or so.
in october 2013 she lunged at me as if to hit me. i asked "are you going to hit me?" as i flinched. she said "i want to."
people will ask, why do you return to your abuser? sadly, it's the economy. i'm poor.
for all the destructiveness of my family i never expected them to get rid of all the lawn chairs.
how symbolic, how painful!
i've had eight dollars this week to live on thanks to spending 400 on my eyeglasses and 300 on my friend's eyeglasses.
the main reason i went on a furniture buying spree, is for the health of my brother gabriel. i felt that if he thinks it's okay to fly off in alcoholic rages at me, cursing at me and cornering me, maybe he just needs to sit down and relax.
my mother's sense of workaholicism and stocism, is such that ZERO lawn chairs is her comfort zone, as when would she ever sit down while working every night of the year creating severe complications in a hip arthritus she was told to have surgery on in the 90's only to wait another ten years.
it was torture to watch her work herself to death.
she was in extreme pain on all her night shifts at the hospitals. we were all alone with dad. she likes to demonize dad for "making" her work. but he never wanted children, and never demonstrated financial worthiness of children. mother pushed kids on him, only to ridicule him for his lack of money, while she worked so much we were surely neglected.
the minimization of my father's contribution to the family is a classic example of how child-rearing or "house-wifery" is considered non-monetized non-rewarded insignificant female labor in sexist american capitalism. the fact that my dad was there, really counted for something, even if he was no good at cooking, and his memory problems put us in dangerous situations.
the classic sexism in american economics, ridicules the domestic toil which is largely female. mother played the role of the macho economic bully, wielding her financial weight like a weapon to humiliate everyone else, even if we were working as hard as her, without the monetary reward.
in our case, i as a pre-teen, teen, and even as a child, was taking care of the babies, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. all my work for the eng family was non-remunerated and non-pensioned, due to my mother's inability to see how feminine child labor exploitation is wrong, evil, abusive.
my father's work as a house-dad was non-remunerated and his work with us was constantly devaluated by my mother. in some ways he was the world's greatest private tutor. but my mother could not ever respect him, as she heaped scorn on him my entire childhood for his financial "failure."
i mentioned to mother how especially psychologically warping it would be to grow up as one of her male children, and to see the way she constantly verbally humiliated and ridiculed my father on basis of her sexist view about money.
i never expected her to call police on me in 1998.
i had been above and beyond perfect, slaving away in father's office, his pride for my witty school writing essays, a scholarship kid, a super reader.
i was clean and sober, always had been. i thought the police were there to arrest my brother michael for his drugs. instead they arrested the clean vegan who just fed the homeless at food not bombs after getting screamed at by my mom when i came over to borrow a pan.
in 1994 or so i called her on the phone to tell her my sister cried all the time, my brother was cutting himself. all her neglect was piling up.
so when she chose to scream at me in 1998, and then called police on me to eliminate me, after abusing me, she was clearly de-humanizing the person who had politely asked her in 1994 to stop abusing my siblings and give them half a chance for a healthier life.
she told me she was jealous of my fifth grade teacher Mrs. Burch at St. Joseph's elementary school, because i talked about how much i loved school. this is news to me now, but it does help me understand that my mother's jealousy and paranoia about me goes back to an early age. i was just a happy go lucky nerd who liked school. but to my mother's paranoid world, me liking a teacher was proof that i hated her.
for about 25 years mother has accused me of "hating" her. i have told her i reject this language and the concept of "hate" and i do not "hate" her and i do not like being thusly demonized, as the "villain" daughter.
when i was seventeen, anne got mad at us about a restaurant experience. i believe i only wanted coffee and she flew into a rage and drove home. we followed in the next car. she was then standing on the front porch of 328, telling us she would slit her own throat in a bath-tub.
that was prior to me having any cathexes towards suicide. but i realize now, how such a horrendous contagious situation, could cause a child to feel horrible.
what was most horrible, was the affluence of growing up going to rich schools, knowing the economy would not support the continuation of the affluenza bubble of the nineties.
getting $6.50 and hour whilst attending a 50K a year school was all too ironic. i could do the math.
she had this anger towards me, i never understood. like the time she whacked a bristley hair brush across my face when i was three.
i never forgot it.
father did not believe in spanking, and largely discouraged her.
he would also say, "anne, do not scream at the children, you will do more damage by screaming at them, than by spanking, and you don't believe in spanking."
but father is not around anymore to stop her from screaming at us.
on wednesday she proclaimed "and i am raising my voice . . . " as she began to shout at me.
she thinks i should rewrite the eng family history as an idyllic PG thing. that i owe her a mythical appraisal, and that i should keep her secrets for her.
she doesn't seem to realize that keeping these secrets is killing me.
i only wish i could have squealed when i was twelve. if the school system had empowered kids to speak out about child abuse, i could have safely relocated with either sets of grandparents.
the fact is, i said: i don't want to be a part of the cover-up.
she abused us, and i am not going to hide it from the world. she is concerned that her current big money job may be undermined if people know what she did to us. they deserve to know. i don't know whether or not she abuses her patients as well, although i frequently imagine she treats them better than her own family.
calling 911 on my friend in august 2013, when we were explicitly united against police brutality---set the stage for new levels of fear.
i wrote my sister about the shabby disrespect she tends to show me in preference to all the other kids.
sometimes i think she abuses me more, because she knows she exploited me the most, and i am the most harmed and the most vulnerable.
in december it was made known to me by my brother all my property would be destroyed. i left in fear. i felt mugged.
Hey Mary,
so in the year 2013 for no salary i painted the huge basement spending my student loans on cleaning supplies, air fresheners, flooring, paints, garden plants, lawn chairs.
i began in earnest with good will, to clean. but as the abuse leveled at me became excruciating, i worked ever harder trying to make a meaningful impact, so that my younger siblings would feel there to be more of a homey home.
the lack of heartland feelings, i felt that i could re-inspire via kitsch and furnishings.
recently i discovered that the engs have thrown away the lawn chairs i purchased 8 for 8$ and four for $10 and a few more for seven or 12$.
i rented u-hauls to go get them.
the engs also destroyed my newspaper collection which i longed to have time to read. now on a sunny day i am confronted by the fact that there is not a lawn chair to sit on to type read write or study, due to the destructions of my family.
there is scarcely a newspaper to read. i guess they are against literacy for the people they use for domestic toil.
when mother kicked me out in may and in october, most of my belongings i took way, got dumped at thrift stores, as i was always operating under the duress and strain of the threat of domestic violence.
i gave away one of my computers, as her anger began to liquidate my meagre assets.
the loss is huge.
the woeful fact that i flee to abusive men, to escape my abusive family is not lost on me.
the flooring i purchased included two mats at 15$ a piece and at least five huge jute rugs at $80 a pop.
on two occasions i rented a u-haul for the moving of the chairs in addition to ottoman sets and other chairs i purchased in 100 dollar batches from the goodwill.
i purchased with my portland community college student loan a two year gym pass for my brother's girlfriend after they both screamed at me and cornered me january 20, 2013. anyone who doesn't believe you can be effectively "mugged" in your own home hasn't met my family, where the systematic psychological abuse will empty your pockets of even borrowed or subsistence money in the eagerness to "purchase" some peace and quiet and respect free of drunken tirades.
then my brother michael emerges from a twenty-year drunken blackout to call my father a "douchebag" and degrade the work i have done for mother's house, ridicule my friends.
i couldn't get to square one of explaining that his SEXIST condescending rant at me didn't work.
i felt sorry for him, as he uttered profanity after profanity at me as if i want to hear such trash.
i do not think all the furniture purchases were necessarily "wrong" as even with the family taking out their hostility towards me on the furniture, after i have once again left my home as a refugee, under my mom's calling the police on my friend, and threatening to incarcerate me as she screams at me.
the book collection of all my expensive philosophy and literature books i lost in 2002 sadly haunts me. so too, my teenaged art, thrown away by brother michael.
they didn't throw away the ransom eng art but they threw away the mary eng art.
maybe the furniture is the buffer.
i was accused of abandoning my property. what they failed to get is that i was threatened with violence, ridiculed for being a rape victim, and threatened with forced incarceration of me and my friend.
i was leaving under duress, for my own safety.
mother is now claiming i have "false memory syndrome" about her slamming plates on the floor at my dad when i was three, yet admits she did it, because he was "insensitive."
i explained to her "false memory syndrome" was pseudo-science created by rapists and pedophiles for rapists and pedophiles, and her pulling that one out of a hat really let's me know her mental state.
living with an abusive parent has the de facto "maiming" potential to ruin your whole life, self-esteem.
worst case, you end up dead of a suicide or an overdose, like the others in my generation. what do those of us who choose to live do though?
for me, on a pitiful disability income, to get embezzled by my family under psychological duress and coersion, to clean and renovate a house in which i have no equity, in which i was stripped of my civil rights as a 21 year old under false accusations by my abusive mother----is a demonstration of abuse of disabled people.
disabled people should not be abused financially or for domestic slavery. as the filthy house my mom purchased was largely uninhabitable without major renovation, and still is due to heating problems, all my work has been necessary to get the locale into a basic health standard.
the fact that my mother stole a house my grandfather bought for me and my siblings in 1984, and took all the inheritance for my father for wasteful gambling, and stole my trust fund, does not impel her to try to make restitution for verbally abusing us, abusing my labor as a child or adult, or denying me the right to my good name free from her defamatory psychiatric witch-hunt she orchestrated to cover-up her child abuse and embezzlement.
in may 2013 after i painted her basement, cleaned her house, and planted her garden with supplies purchased by my student loans and disability income, she told me to move out one day she was bullying me with names i said were im-polite.
i was covered in paint and sweaty with my work, hungry as she towered over me scrreaming at me and slamming the door.
she then told me to move out into a hotel.
not only am i never "paid" for my labor, but i am heaped with verbal abuse.
my misplaced sense of trust led me to hope i would ingratiate myself in the unspoken nonverbal contract of quid pro quo.
while my family did not respect me pre-eminently, maybe they would when i did a lot of physically demanding work.
i was wrong.
her tendency is to corner me when i have been working for hours in some physically treacherous role, scraping the cruddy choking chalk out of the rafters or painting the entire five rooms of the basement floor, with no lunch or tea.
then when i am in the most pitiable state she likes to lash into me, accusing me of not being socially available.
i realize she wants me to be a Stepford wife, or give off the "Stewardess Effect" of a Geisha-like servility and graciousness. she has not the intuition to see the toil i produce under duress is beyond my physical capacity to then baby-talk her sweetly like a perfect housewife.
i always wrongly believed the more i work for her, or her house, the more respect i will be granted. but it's the opposite. the more i work for her, the less she respects me, and the weaker i am under her attack and the overwork.
in october, she began raising her voice at me, ridiculing me after asking me to move some furniture which was too heavy for me to move.
i told her that when she becomes verbally abusive, she reminds me of the rapist who verbally abused me, and that it triggers a Post Traumatic Stress Response.
anne eng said: "you are just going to milk your rape for everything it's worth."
my own mother said this about my second rape: "you are just going to milk your rape for everything it's worth."
My first rape i did not report to police, because my mother had called police on me already and they brutally tackled me, shoving my nose into the ground, to handcuff me and take me to a psychiatric hospital due to my mom calling them and blaming her psychotic episode on me.
i was hiding out from my abusive mother across town.
i did not want to have another police brutality or psychiatric malpractice situation in addition to the rape.
i told no one.
for a long time.
what i realize now, is that my mother raged at us and verbally abused us so frequently as a child, that i already had operable PTSD symptoms as a child, where i would recoil, withdraw, and avoid her triggering behavior.
she walked into the room, and we cringed, our knees weak, ever trying to outsmart her next outburst.
father included.
he also lived in dread of her next screaming rampage.
my father steve eng had a battered husband syndrome of his own, too weak to get out, too financially dependent on his abuser.
one day when i was sixteen, after giving me forty dollars for gasoline and lunch, she slapped me across the face and called me "bitch."
that would have been 1994 or so.
in october 2013 she lunged at me as if to hit me. i asked "are you going to hit me?" as i flinched. she said "i want to."
people will ask, why do you return to your abuser? sadly, it's the economy. i'm poor.
for all the destructiveness of my family i never expected them to get rid of all the lawn chairs.
how symbolic, how painful!
i've had eight dollars this week to live on thanks to spending 400 on my eyeglasses and 300 on my friend's eyeglasses.
the main reason i went on a furniture buying spree, is for the health of my brother gabriel. i felt that if he thinks it's okay to fly off in alcoholic rages at me, cursing at me and cornering me, maybe he just needs to sit down and relax.
my mother's sense of workaholicism and stocism, is such that ZERO lawn chairs is her comfort zone, as when would she ever sit down while working every night of the year creating severe complications in a hip arthritus she was told to have surgery on in the 90's only to wait another ten years.
it was torture to watch her work herself to death.
she was in extreme pain on all her night shifts at the hospitals. we were all alone with dad. she likes to demonize dad for "making" her work. but he never wanted children, and never demonstrated financial worthiness of children. mother pushed kids on him, only to ridicule him for his lack of money, while she worked so much we were surely neglected.
the minimization of my father's contribution to the family is a classic example of how child-rearing or "house-wifery" is considered non-monetized non-rewarded insignificant female labor in sexist american capitalism. the fact that my dad was there, really counted for something, even if he was no good at cooking, and his memory problems put us in dangerous situations.
the classic sexism in american economics, ridicules the domestic toil which is largely female. mother played the role of the macho economic bully, wielding her financial weight like a weapon to humiliate everyone else, even if we were working as hard as her, without the monetary reward.
in our case, i as a pre-teen, teen, and even as a child, was taking care of the babies, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. all my work for the eng family was non-remunerated and non-pensioned, due to my mother's inability to see how feminine child labor exploitation is wrong, evil, abusive.
my father's work as a house-dad was non-remunerated and his work with us was constantly devaluated by my mother. in some ways he was the world's greatest private tutor. but my mother could not ever respect him, as she heaped scorn on him my entire childhood for his financial "failure."
i mentioned to mother how especially psychologically warping it would be to grow up as one of her male children, and to see the way she constantly verbally humiliated and ridiculed my father on basis of her sexist view about money.
i never expected her to call police on me in 1998.
i had been above and beyond perfect, slaving away in father's office, his pride for my witty school writing essays, a scholarship kid, a super reader.
i was clean and sober, always had been. i thought the police were there to arrest my brother michael for his drugs. instead they arrested the clean vegan who just fed the homeless at food not bombs after getting screamed at by my mom when i came over to borrow a pan.
in 1994 or so i called her on the phone to tell her my sister cried all the time, my brother was cutting himself. all her neglect was piling up.
so when she chose to scream at me in 1998, and then called police on me to eliminate me, after abusing me, she was clearly de-humanizing the person who had politely asked her in 1994 to stop abusing my siblings and give them half a chance for a healthier life.
she told me she was jealous of my fifth grade teacher Mrs. Burch at St. Joseph's elementary school, because i talked about how much i loved school. this is news to me now, but it does help me understand that my mother's jealousy and paranoia about me goes back to an early age. i was just a happy go lucky nerd who liked school. but to my mother's paranoid world, me liking a teacher was proof that i hated her.
for about 25 years mother has accused me of "hating" her. i have told her i reject this language and the concept of "hate" and i do not "hate" her and i do not like being thusly demonized, as the "villain" daughter.
when i was seventeen, anne got mad at us about a restaurant experience. i believe i only wanted coffee and she flew into a rage and drove home. we followed in the next car. she was then standing on the front porch of 328, telling us she would slit her own throat in a bath-tub.
that was prior to me having any cathexes towards suicide. but i realize now, how such a horrendous contagious situation, could cause a child to feel horrible.
what was most horrible, was the affluence of growing up going to rich schools, knowing the economy would not support the continuation of the affluenza bubble of the nineties.
getting $6.50 and hour whilst attending a 50K a year school was all too ironic. i could do the math.
she had this anger towards me, i never understood. like the time she whacked a bristley hair brush across my face when i was three.
i never forgot it.
father did not believe in spanking, and largely discouraged her.
he would also say, "anne, do not scream at the children, you will do more damage by screaming at them, than by spanking, and you don't believe in spanking."
but father is not around anymore to stop her from screaming at us.
on wednesday she proclaimed "and i am raising my voice . . . " as she began to shout at me.
she thinks i should rewrite the eng family history as an idyllic PG thing. that i owe her a mythical appraisal, and that i should keep her secrets for her.
she doesn't seem to realize that keeping these secrets is killing me.
i only wish i could have squealed when i was twelve. if the school system had empowered kids to speak out about child abuse, i could have safely relocated with either sets of grandparents.
the fact is, i said: i don't want to be a part of the cover-up.
she abused us, and i am not going to hide it from the world. she is concerned that her current big money job may be undermined if people know what she did to us. they deserve to know. i don't know whether or not she abuses her patients as well, although i frequently imagine she treats them better than her own family.
calling 911 on my friend in august 2013, when we were explicitly united against police brutality---set the stage for new levels of fear.
i wrote my sister about the shabby disrespect she tends to show me in preference to all the other kids.
sometimes i think she abuses me more, because she knows she exploited me the most, and i am the most harmed and the most vulnerable.
in december it was made known to me by my brother all my property would be destroyed. i left in fear. i felt mugged.
Hey Mary,
It's Christmas break so I have a bit of free time and am helping Mom clean up her house. We're clearing out the basement and we'll be shipping most of it off to the Salvation Army. I thought I should check with you in case you had anything important down there.
Hope you're doing well out at ...
Gabriel
so when my friend's subsequent outbursts caused me to lose my property as i constantly packed and repacked under threats from him, one thing should be known. due to my constant fears about my mother's abuse, my overall goal of finishing me degree which i could never finish under the refugee status the constant calling of police on me induced as i fled to california to escape mother's tyrannies---was my primary agenda. when it became clear that i needed a male bodyguard to protect me from both my brother's outbursts and my mother's implicit threats and now increasingly overt outbursts, i took on quasi-boyfriend-type people, all of whom were in financial distress and could benefit from assisting me to live at anne's. so as i utilized the "buffer" men to protect me against my mother's outbursts, i felt very constrained that i could not get basic respect sans men. the fact of my mother's sexism, is that i was under attack when my alcoholic brothers could do no wrong. with these new male bodyguards i could continue to "save money" by living in the eng home and feel less threatened that mother might call police on me or threaten to lock me up in psych hospitals if i began to speak with her about her child abuse.
so around 2013 when she began having worse meltdowns than i have seen from her since the late 1990's i became worried that her temporary remission around 2006 had given way to this behavioral lapse.
i told her truth is the therapy and she is resisting treatment.
i like honesty, and if anything ever happens to me, and i am taken somewhere and threatened with electroshock and life-long incarceration in an asylum, you need to know why.
now, mom thinks i should keep this all secret. i explain that the best way to gag a witness is to kill them. and if she is not willing to kill me to keep our family secrets secret, she needs to deal with the consequences that all the forced drugging hasn't completely obliterated my memory.
i was fuzzy in my brain for years, including the first time i was raped, i was under the influence of nonconsensual psych-drugs which worked like date rape drugs for my rapist and police brutality.
my liver was toxified.
my heart was crushed. that's the worst part. i told david house in england that i had been so tortured by my incarceration in malpracticing mental hospital due to my mother, that that is why i have such an interest in human rights atrocities like at guantanamo. his eyes got kind of big, and i don' think he totally grasped the severity of it.
i told him i was tortured.
many times as i flashback to my left wrist being crushed as they tie me up to cut off all my clothes and inject me, i remember looking up at this huge 6 foot seven white pych tech at MTMHI with cornrow braids saying "you are hurting me, you know you are hurting me. you like hurting me don't you." as he crushed my wrist all the more.
that was after the second time i was raped. they had me strip to take pictures of my bruises. i asked why the pictures were not a part of the prosecution. nurse valerie said "those bruises are from when you fought police" i did no such thing. after i was raped and strangled i couldn't speak for weeks, i was weak, could barely move or eat. i was in shock.
what i thought was criminal evidence against my rapist was being twisted against me.
so when my mother says, "you are just milking your rape for everything it's worth" in 2013, eleven years after that particular rape, i know it's not therapeutic. it's not modern. it's not pro-victim.
it hurts.
it will hurt me to my grave.
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