Self-sufficiency and Folly: History and Severing ties.

This is not chronological, but I have nothing left to hide.  It’s been a rough several months, I’ve been in the ER a few times, waited on surgery since June, and finally received it.  Only to awaken in worse condition than I anticipated.

Natasha

Natasha, my eventual service dog.

Natasha, my eventual service dog and current very loving companion dog even untrained.

When I first “won” disability, my diagnosis allowed for me to be put on a list for a service dog.  I declined.  I have C-PTSD, the dogs for my condition mostly go to veterans and I am no veteran.  I have not served our country in war, and I have a husband when many people have no one at all.  On occasions I’ve called or received paperwork, sometimes the service-dog info is still in there and I ignored it.  “A vet needs them more.” and I told them to stop asking me.

I had surgery last week- I didn’t expect it to be as serious as it was and I spent four hours on the table as they removed a pound of built up scar tissues from my prior hysterectomy as well as discovering my last ovary was nothing more than a cyst wearing my ovarian skin like Buffalo Bill wears a jacket.  I woke up confused and in the midst of menopause, knowing immediately something “wasn’t right”.  I begged to be kept overnight, and I was…it was awful.  I was without proper pain management and what pills they did give me were one’s clearly listed on my allergy bracelet.

My heart meds and anxiety medication was ignored entirely.  I was unable to walk, needing 1-2 aids, and a walker to make it 5 feet to the bathroom.  I could not sit up alone….and in this condition I was released “because insurance would not cover more.”  My primary care doctor and my social worker were angry and asked permission to file complaints on my behalf.  As for me, I was overwhelmed with strange and embarrassing emotions I could not control- mostly sobbing or wanting to hide in fear.

I have been on SSDI for C-PTSD since 2012…and there seemed to be no answer for my psychological symptoms I had not tried over the years, so in the delirium of pain medications, fear, and desperation, I asked to be taken to the kill-shelter nearby.  We met and played with Natasha, but I was so ill I couldn’t imagine being well enough to match her energy.  I remember she whined every time I stepped away from the cage.  She was a black dog in a kill shelter…but when it was discovered Ed and I owned land, the facility introduced us to a fully-trained Russian Ovcharka named Ivana that responded to commands in Lettish and was allegidly a service dog prior to being bought by an Amish puppy mill and bred half to death.   Luckily for Natasha- The Ortchaka apparently survived leaving the mill by a diet of eating cats… when we went to pick her up the next day the ladies behind the counter were white and wouldn’t go into what happened, and Ivana was behind two locked doors looking incredibly sad.   Along the ride- Ed asked if I would consider Natasha again even before we got there, so- instead of a bear, we came home with a friendly Border Collie/Pitbull mix who seemed desperately eager to please and protect.  Sitting next to me in the car ride and somehow, being careful of my stitches.  Since then, I have learned she qualifies for service dog training.  So far, she is a quick learner for what basic dog commands I know how to teach.   I have only worked with wolves and my “dog” as a teenager was selectively friendly coyote-hybrid who liked me, my father, and select others.  We wanted to call Persephone but she ended up called “Imp” instead.  My parents had her destroyed when I was in my early 20’s when I lived in an apartment that did not allow dogs and she “chewed through a wall” during a thunderstorm where they left her alone with no companionship in her fear.  They tried to make it “my fault” I could not find her a home- but they didn’t even give me a full day to try and I was working doubleshifts at that time to pay the rent on my apartment.

So, anyway, here I am, with this dog, and I have a great deal I need to write. Natasha helped me smile again- and I learned on Monday my painkillers were necessary for my mental health.  My surgery was more serious than expected and there is much internal that needs healing.

To be fair, I neglected doctors orders for bed rest up until the last two weeks prior to the surgery and I was always filled with a baseless need to consistently “prove” myself TO myself since I have felt honestly ashamed at the fact that I am on SSDI (for those of you outside the US- Disability.) Despite months of pain, I still managed to finish an unfinished basement, move into our new house (pack, clean, unpack, organize) with the help of my husband, his family, and  good friends- but mostly I would ask Ed to drop me off on his way to work so I could tile a floor, rip up carpets, replace everything but the tub in the bathroom with a friend who is the daughter of a plumber, and hold “painting parties” where my friends and husband would paint while I continued to cats-paw up carpet strips in some rooms and lay flooring in others mostly by myself with my music and maybe one friend out of the entire group with which I felt comfortable.

My past

I was always a hard worker- I moved out at age 17 from a several-times near fatal abusive home life and I guess it could be said I never stopped running until the horrors I was running from and through finally caught up with me during college in my late twenties. At age 18, I attending the college at which my grandfather was Vice president for a calendar year before joining the Americorps for a full year (In Oklahoma and Boston), followed by a short, abusive, internship at a wolf refuge in Minnesota that ended in me leaving to live in New York with friends- working two retail management jobs full time with no health insurance- which began a decade of constantly being on-the-move for better opportunities.  Staying in my grandfather’s college was impossible- I was a C- student in high school and I was too raw and suspicious to trust that my newly “perfect” grades were not purely nepotism.

I applied to University of Colorado in Boulder while in the Americorps and won a full scholarship until my parents claimed me falsely on their taxes.  I lost everything and was devastated- and told I could not enter college by my own income alone (despite no financial help from my family) until I was 26 as I watched my peers excel and score the jobs I applied for while they still lived at home in comfort and I struggled alone.  I believed a degree would solve everything- so I did everything else I could trying to make up for this shortcoming.

In the Americorps, I tried EMT training- I made it halfway through the course before seeing a video of the worst deaths imaginable.  I remember the sunlight shining through the eyes of a human head missing it’s top and brains from a suicide-by-train, and that was the day I walked out into the hallway for the rest, then admitted with shame I did not have the stomach for the work.

I try to seem brave, but I have a sort of dangerous and fragile pride that I never moved “back home” with any relatives after the Americorps- the longest staying with anyone blood related was a week at my brother’s house during a week-long ice storm where the home I was renting was out of power and far from civilization.   On the other hand, I cannot pretend it was even an option to have a “home” to move to.

At my lowest point in life, college,  I even lived out of my car for a time when I discovered my roommate was stealing my medications to give to her boyfriend for his recreational use, I recall sneaking into what I used as an office in the college library, turning off the light and  hiding until the students locked up, and migrating to the couch downstairs with an alarm on my phone after the doors locked after midnight… or staying with random, far-flung friends for a few days here or there pretty much anywhere from Wisconsin to New Hampshire depending on the length of my breaks.

I am now 33 years old.

During my 20’s, I was usually employed in multiple jobs at once to make ends meet, I sublet out my second bedroom of my apartment and lived on Raman, tuna, and other low cost foods.  I was in a 7 year long relationship with a person who spent most of that time either unemployed or underemployed at Gamestop… and when he finally did have a well paying job and I returned to school- suddenly, the years of supporting his “walk outs” of various positions he saw as “beneath him” were rapidly forgotten by him- and I was now a “leech”…which lead quickly to the last of my patience walking out and me with it to finish my late- attendance of college without the constant worry of how his parents were going to twist his testicles to make my life hell, despite my best efforts to improve myself.

I wasn’t “pretty” enough; I had too many tattoos, I was too cynical… No. My problem was my self worth was too low and I had no “ground” in which to base anything at all being degree-less and mostly without family which divided themselves neatly into two categories: “People I didn’t want to worry” and “People I wanted nothing to do with.”

I even mistakenly believed my brother and I were close up until last month only to discover his “kindness” wasn’t out of love- it was out of some sort of psychological guilt from him watching me getting beaten when he was a child and him doing nothing to stop it. There was nothing he could do- and later, I learned he did not care for me at all but for a misplaced sense of “duty” with the expectation that with “all he did for me” (by giving me a safe place to stay once in a while- and permission to clear out the leftovers in the back of his fridge)  I would acquiesce to his every demand as soon as I had something he wanted  (use of my property to store his growing hoard of broken “things”- in this case, an abandoned car, which I my grandmother had room to accept where I did not considering I was not yet even moved into our new home. He was 4 years younger, and my mother raised him to believe I was evil because (ultimately) she drugged my father and used her pregnancy with me to “trap” him.

I can tell you there is no worse feeling than knowing your birthday is the anniversary of the worst day in your family’s history and symbolic of “when there was no going back.”  I was an infant, but beyond being a means to my mother’s selfish ends, I was just a superfluous child my grandparents felt obligated to try and raise when given the chance away from my mother who blamed me for the loss of her childhood…despite the fact it was her dedicated choice to get pregnant at age 17.  For the record, I am STRONGLY pro-choice.

I worked as a bartender, a travel agent, various retail positions up to regional manager- my only “raises” being when my endless searches for “better” employment were successful. I could not attend college until I was at least 26 on account of a tax error where my emancipation was not recognized= meaning my parents’high income entirely prevented me from being ineligible for aid.  I had PTSD then too.  I dealt with it the best I could, along with a myriad of genetic problems that affected my lady-parts for a series of surgeries I managed the best I could. Despite stories spread by family, I never left a job without someplace else waiting for me…and even while on unemployment, I would scrap metal and deliver pizza and work towards something.   In my early years- it was police academy-  I excelled at the tests but consistently failed the oral interview time and time again, likely over my lisp.  I felt spiritually bereft since having cervical cancer at 19 as a virgin without HPV (which I kept to myself since my grandfather was diagnosed with prostate cancer the same week) and enduring surgery without anesthesia- and then being promptly cheated on by my first sexual relationship with a male who “couldn’t handle it” (which was a strong factor in deciding to leave for the AmeriCorps)

Later, I was accepted after a two year vetting process to become a fish and game warden for my county along with several other trainees- despite the amount of effort it took to “get there”- I declined in favor of moving to Saskatoon, Canada with my then-fiance’.  What “woke me up” out of my spiritual darkness was an engagement to a Canadian Swede/Scottman who had unfathomably difficult challenges- when we parted, he made me promise I would return to school for religions to be a chaplain.  My plan was to dedicate myself to my studies without distraction and then the second I had my religion degree in hand- apply to the Canadian military and make my home address near distant family members of mine in Vancouver.   We never met, but to the Canadian recruiters, the relationship was biologically close enough to “work”- sadly, unlike the US, Canada offered no assistance financially- I was not a Canadian citizen and they could not provide the education up there- however, I was promised, if I completed my coursework in the US my loan debt would be forgiven.

In the short time I was gone, the park’s service was defunded and the Fish and game commission was reduced to two employees per county in the 2008 recession; even if I stayed, I would have lost my job.  I do not regret Canada- I do regret that the ex I left for the Canadian I was weak enough to return to and that I stayed in Canada past a point to which I became traumatized.  My Canadian ex had DID– the person I was in love with was literally just a fraction of a human- and the the other parts were not so kind. My biggest mistake was equating abuse only with physical action rather than psychological or verbal distress or profound neglect. His condition was discovered via a sleep-study, and neither of us had heard of it before- in the beginning, it was thought in treatment the “bad parts” were not real and could be “removed”.  When that proved not to be the case, I was cheated on (again) and stayed longer than I should have convincing myself that what would be unforgivable in any other situation- his case was different since it was “not him” but his disease…I couldn’t rationalize it was both.

I could pretty much sum up my 20’s as follows: I blamed my lack of success on not having the opportunity to earn a college degree, and each job I had was a “potential career” I would follow to it’s inevitable deadend and supplement my income with bartending, and odd delivery jobs as long as I was able.  My grandparents were critical of this, seeing me as an unreliable “job hopper” despite changing jobs by choice for improved pay, working conditions, and health insurance.

When I scored a short career as a travel agent making fantastic money- they showered me in money as if to encourage me to make more of it….where when I struggled, it was “my own fault” for not working hard enough.  My ex gladly accepted the largess- I usually declined and handed it back saying I didn’t need it.  I don’t think they ever understood they insulted me.  Their love was conditionally based on how “brag-worthy” I was to their little rich friends- and they seemed to continually strive to be as anti-Pennsylvania Deitsch as possible and distance themselves from their upbringing of personal responsibilities to maintain family harmony- as my father and I watched them sew strife and discord with all extended family to the point where my line from them- both sides, was entirely isolated and unwelcome until I personally had to represent us all at my Great Aunt’s funeral.  My Nana’s family has been so mistreated by them both they wish no contact from any of us.

My family religion on that side came from the luck of being born to a family of several generations “young mothers”- my great, and great great grandmothers lived for a significant enough time after I was born to keep family integrity and allow for my father to develop morality intentionally separate from his parents and their confusing, materialistic standards of determining human worth. (I hope not to be in any will or deed, and if so, I will give my portion to the Philadelphia Zoo so “the family” can fight the zoo lawyers and leave me out of all conflict.)  When I was a child, my Nana was my closest family member, and as we both aged, we still maintained a very mutually rewarding relationship where she would tell me all about being raised “Plain” (even though they were technically “fancy” or “gay” Deitsch)  About how important our family were to Pow-wow and although she wasn’t taught in it- what it was like to see Braucher-doctors and the few customs she still practiced as a matter of habit (or obsession-regarding cleanliness).  It was almost as if since they were raised to not care about “things”- their rebellion was to become rich assholes who cared more for appearances than for actual, extant people.
The further I moved into public Heathenry, the less pleased they became with me.  The older they became, the less they wanted to admit they came from the farms and could speak German. Even at our wedding, despite my Nana “not being able to speak German”- she criticized our Braucher for his pronunciation.

My other side is Latvian- another German speaking people (in addition to Lettish).  When I speak of my “Grandmother” in my blog post, I am referring to my 83 year old Grandma from Latvia, who I learned over the years had been pretty much ignored as “silly” or “ditzy” despite the fact English was likely her third language and a kind nature does NOT indicate a lack of intellect- I am grateful, always, Freyr/Janis has allowed her to stay here so long so far with strong health- and she is active in her own religious community with the Lettish who do not associate with American Heathenry in any way, but choose the Druids instead focusing on the “pan” of “pan-polytheism”.  I am proud of her, she “came out” after Ed and I married under the names of the Gods of what she calls “The Earth Religion”- Where Frigg/Holle is Mara, Freyr is Janis, and Perkuns is so clearly Donnar there is no dispute.

My mother is abusive, my brother is now abusive, my uncle despite feeling uncomfortable with being Lettish, still holds that he is “put upon” being the youngest son taking care of my grandmother when by tradition it “should” be the eldest child, my mother.

If I had my way, my grandma would be enrolled in every service available to her and I would attempt to convince her to sell her home to move into one of the Latvian communities either staying near Philadelphia or perhaps the Catskills, NY. Sadly, she does not want to leave the home my grandfather bought and died in- and we have no other family left except for neighbors who watch out for her with more kindness than her children.  It is absolutely horrible I am restricted from having a more active role in her life since I will not speak to my mother unless she takes responsibility for her violent actions and turns herself in to the authorities for all physical and verbal assault committed against myself and others and serves time for it in the spirit of true remorse- which I do not believe she is capable.  My brother is indifferent to the existence of our Grandmother, and here i am desperately trying to write down everything she has been able to translate from her three-story house worth of Library of three or more generations of Vilde (Wylder, in my case) collections of books on all subjects but written in Lettish.  All I hope is when Janis calls for her- her library will be preserved somewhere for what remains of the Lettish speaking people- even if it needs to be sent to Latvia for its preservation.

I honestly avoided all things “Latvian” as a child because I associated them with my mother; which meant “pain”.  Further, it is no “new” thing for Heathen God worshipers to be racists.  My father being Pa Deitsch was treated terribly by almost all Latvian people for not being Latvian- and I was “only half”.   I considered myself lucky- those my age who were “full Latvian” were subjected to intensive classes to “Take back Our Homeland” they never even saw from the Russians with such fervor, the generation before mine of Lettish people mostly abandoned the culture early into adulthood to blend into their respective countries of birth rather than ancestry.  My grandmother’s friends are mostly deceased, but they tended to be kinder than most and still taught what little I was willing to learn as a child- which amounted to “divination” and not much else. I can interpret melted aluminium poured into cold water at the New Year and I know the traditional Latvian card spread for playing cards- it was what I learned before I learned tarot or runes. Other than that, I can mend almost anything- but I cannot embroider (my brother can), and I cannot weave or bead- both arts my mother excelled at which made them entirely unappealing then- and now- with the shake of my hands, the only “Latvian talents” one can even try to ascribe to me are in chess or descriptive writing…but that is a stretch.  I haven’t been ranked in chess since high school and it was far from impressive.

I am just happy my grandma is alive.  My mother treated her like a servant to be ordered around, my uncle treats her like an annoyance. Grandma’s mother was as abusive as my own.  There is a theory that Eastern Europeans are subject to severe vitamin deficiencies that make some into sadists, it seems.  If there are any of my grandma’s friends reading this; doubtless, they judge me for cutting off contact with the mother who tried to kill me repeatedly as a child and I have the medical records and witnesses to prove it.   I judge them for allowing my mother to make an 83 year old woman cry for no reason other than her rabid animal heart of coal… but then I offend rabid animals.

Some tradition should have some common-sense exceptions made- a woman who beats and attempts to destroy her own progeny and disrespects her own mother should be the one shunned, not the child of such a person for establishing boundaries against further abuse, nor should my calling the police against her for my grandma’s sake be seen as shameful. It should be shameful that they accepting of a woman who causes her 83 year old mother who has never harmed anyone to cry for any reason other than joy.

Without my grandma, well, I don’t really have people I am descended from who care much for me.  That is embarrassing as well, but I married well into a very loving Irish family who live the way I remember my Dad’s side used to be when I was a child.  I hope my inlaws never change the way my “German” grandparents have.

Slowly, things changed- my ability to drive in snow/ice was the first to leave me after being hit by a truck, several negative experiences regarding genetic gynecological conditions taught me I was better off suffering with the bare minimum of pain killers and some rum on bad days, and I had given up on romance (until Canada).  I felt so poorly regarding myself I believed the the neglectful, self-important mother’s boy I wasted 7 years of my life with was the best I deserved, despite his inconsistency, mood swings, and penchant for abandoning me every single time I needed more help than I could provide for myself.

It was my fault for putting up with it- and I would have broken up with him then if I had a plan at the time.  Instead, I had to wait until I was able to afford to move.

I had a hysterectomy- my brother and friends came daily to assist me as my ex would sit in front of the television complaining of his bipolar disorder while I was on morphine and barely coherent.  To be fair, it couldn’t have been all bad- but the way my memory works, I honestly do not recall ever feeling anything other than frustrated, embarrassed, and ashamed at my self-perceived failure- mostly mistakenly tied to the idea that without a degree, I was literally worth-less than my peers who had opportunities not open to me at the time. My ex’s parents found every moment to reinforce that feeling.

In earlier years, I saved up, I attended bartending school- and each job that offered training or certification I accepted the opportunities with gratitude. I can fix most computer software programs, negotiate with airlines for friends (since I learned SABRE), and worked at a bank long enough to know how to protect myself and my husband from the attempted theft by our former apartment complex by putting a lock against all companies related to the slumlords under which we lived and have the the pages on the tenant rights’ laws that supersede any illegally coerced attempt to try to get more money out of us than our security deposit.  I spent 6 months fixing my husband’s credit score by taking each credit reporting agency to case over the fact our last name is so common many debts ascribed to him were logistically impossible and therefore, dismissed.  I fixed my husband’s student loans and had my own dismissed.

In college, I did exceptionally well academically up until my last semester- my living situation was with a former classmate which began wonderfully but ended slowly as she chose to become addicted to drugs in an effort to “keep” a man who was a recreational user of pretty much everything.   I had a professor who played mind games which at the time I thought were like chess, but were in fact more akin to game hunting with my personal writings being what he sought to translate and make his own.

For the record- I graduated cum laude (without that last semester, I could have been Summa Cum Laude) Honors, and some other random accolades I do not even care if I claimed with two degrees (Religions and Philosophy) and a minor in international studies in which I spent most of my actual time in academia- with tutors and classes in other affiliated universities.

I began to lose my hair, psychologically I was basically already destroyed after years of punishing myself in endless self-criticism for flaws that both mirrored the insecurities of others as well as frustrations at my own limitations which I had increasing difficulty in hiding; I was/am afraid of driving in winter on account of being hit by a tractor trailer in an icestorm and a head-on collision on a one-lane bridge later when I could not afford car insurance for a week.  I even asked my family for help, and they declined telling me to “quit school and get a real job”

We were in a recession, school was my only chance to change my circumstances.  My grandfather only achieved his position as a college administrator by being one of the the first computer programmers in the US.  My father is a government contractor who designs security systems.  There was really no niche or opportunity I had found as easily as either of them without education….they both had disdain for academia.

The hardest limitation was my constant insomnia which usually was coupled with flashbacks.  I abused caffeine and ADHD medication to write essays and study for tests- and I probably caused my own tachycardia through my own special way of passing finals by drinking two 5-hour energy shots, a handful of strattera, and “ghetto expresso” I made with a small coffee pot where I kept running the same thickening black slime through the pot until it poured more like syrup than coffee.

But!  I was excelling.  I had two college majors, I was invited into a special program that was intended to allow advanced students begin their MA thesis early- and on top of all of this, I was invited to become educated (on my own time) in Iranian diplomacy- where I was easily manipulated by many into the belief that I could somehow change the world by learning fluent Farsi and immersing myself into a world of political sciences, current events, linguistics, and doing something I knew no one else personally was doing.  I was given chances to study abroad for free (which I took eagerly) and since my family had a history of government employment, I assumed (incorrectly) that I was “safe”. Having PTSD already made me feel like “Nothing else could harm me”.    Since my Latvian ethnic group will hardly survive another generation and I lived through the end of the cold war of wire-taps and family friends being treated with less-freedom than I was told America represented, I related to the Iranian diaspora and their situation well- except instead of Communists stealing and destroying their culture, it was religious zealotry.

I enjoyed studying Zoroastrianism…but mostly split my time between the Sufi and the Baha’i’ at the time- my interaction with the Heathen community was minimal at times on account of my own kindred’s ignorance and racism at that time and I decided to leave.  I attended vague events and moots but felt more in common with the Sufi than the idiots dressing up as “Vikings” and treated every natural death like “Valhalla” was Heathen Heaven- neglecting the whole “dying in battle” part as well as the fact that Christian Hell and Helheim have little in common.

I felt surrounded by idiots- but at least they were idiots who worshiped the same Gods, and there were enough persons of gold among the tailings to be interesting and supportive for that period of time….even if they turned out to be nothing more than Mercury later.

The day of my graduation, I stayed at a friends house and drank myself ill. I didn’t go to commencement, and my “congratulations” was a couple of cupcakes from my sister in law and a card from my kind grandmother.  Everyone else was disgusted with me.

I had latent agoraphobia that became crippling to the point where after my coursework was completed, I would not leave my home without a “safe place” to go- whether it be my brother’s house or the homes and haunts of friends, I would cry in supermarkets in sudden bursts of fear. I thought I had friends in Heathenry, instead,  I found that people are pretty shitty with their own selfish motivations.  I was mortified later to discover that many people I considered “friends” only wished to be near me to “wear me down” into eventually date them despite believing I made it clear that I possessed no such interest beyond friendship…and once that became apparent, all memories that may have been positive with those people were seen in a new and sickening light that disgusted me in my naivety.

I recovering from a nervous breakdown, planning to move to Maryland, and in no shape to date anyone.  The idea that even one person thought that was a great motivation to false-befriend me is disgusting to me- that’s not okay, the two most guilty parties?  One is in a BDSM relationship with a woman whose former master made her fuck a dog, and the other was a married man I was close to in high school who decided to give his wife a “makeover” the day Ed and I announced our engagement to make his woman look like a carbon copy of me, from hairstyle, make-up, and right down to clothing and small details to be a perfect recreation of how I looked at age 20.  Considering I managed a Hot Topic at that age…it’s pretty safe to say it was no coincidence.

As far as I am aware, I was not the only person to block him out of my life that day as for the BDSM guy? I am humiliated I was so stupid to think he was benign.  He attacked people I was interested in as if I were “property” and spent months insulting me through blog posts I never bothered to read.

My Current Struggles.

I was wrong in that “nothing could harm me”.  Now that the politics of the world have changed, I feel I can now freely state that my MA program in Linguistics was cancelled in 2012 after the Canadian embassy in Iran was sacked and defiled with anti-American graffiti, leaving me not only with no place to go after graduation- but also landing me in 5 hours of interrogation.  Not about Iran, not about any illegal activities, but just screaming threats for 5 solid hours as I begged for a blood test to prove my innocence- since I couldn’t think of any other reason they had to keep me except to think I was drunk for being nocturnal-despite being a non-drinker.  They denied me a lawyer, shined bright lights into my eyes, made me perform exercises for them while I was wearing healed boots, they laughed at me, insulted me, threatened me- and well, broke all faith and confidence I ever had in the goodness of my country.

It was one of those people of gold-speckled mercury that suggested I go to the psychiatric ward.   It would be my third time in a year, the first 2 from nervous breakdown.  After the interrogation, I was not and have not ever been the same person- and I don’t even think I can recall what the old “me” was once like.  I was on good terms with the doctors, the first time I checked myself in was over a suicide attempt a year before, the second time was when I discovered by thesis was plagiarized and translated by a professor of mine and presented as his own work and he wished to have his name taken off of my work to lend support to his lie, and the third?  The third was basically the end of “me” as I knew it, not by the clinic staff, but by what happened before and they just did their best to pick up what pieces they could and reassure me of this nebulous concept of “intelligence” so  many people claimed I possessed, but yet, did little for me as far as personal fulfillment or gaining the pride or respect of others.  I seemed either to be feared with people convinced I would “manipulate” them, or I was considered arrogant for asking questions and always seeking more information.

The psychiatric ward was very cautious about who they allowed to visit me- my father was allowed (which surprised me), my grandparents were not…resulting in a trap where I had a message of concern waiting for me when I got out and when I returned the phonecall I was told by my grandfather “The world would have been better if I killed myself”.  They are on my SSDI file as not to be trusted, they tried to report me for fraud at least once.  If they are reading this- do you know SSDI notifies me of these things?

The doctors of the clinic got me fast-tracked for SSDI which I planned already to be on temporarily while in graduate school until I could find stable employment.  Within a month, I saw a judge who dismissed the “persecution”- a person meant to explain all the reasons I should NOT be on SSDI…he didn’t ask me much, but I do remember him saying “God bless you, and I’m sorry.”

I am treated by many as if my value as a person was dead much like someone tells the family of someone in the ICU they will not wake just for even seeking this assistance.  My lawyer was excited we won the case.  I just wished to be left alone, and I remember finding a tree near the courthouse in the parking lot that I just sat against for hours and cried.

It would be months before I received compensation, so I was put on food stamps and temporary welfare.

The Heathen community reacted violently…  despite being told my worth as a human being was roughly 13k a year, my now-husband still decided to date me.  His kindred treated me abhorrently; I shared my food with him since I had more than I could use, and since I had no expenses other than my car insurance I bought him a statue of Loki we both wanted for months in a local shop and I became and instant villain.  This was before I realized the depth to which Lokeans were despised by reconstructionists.

A married woman in his kindred wanted to ditch her husband for him and saw me as an interloper- as did the the rest of them from their actions towards me.  It was as if this single, unmarried man was “promised” into an arranged marriage with an already married women named Jess he was not at all interested in, not to mention one already married to her best friend.   She spread rumours about the condition of my body after so many surgeries- at that point, I had my cervix removed, my tubes tied, a laproscopic oopherectomy, and a near-total laporectomy- hysterectomy. She proudly screamed to complete strangers what a malformed freak I was “With all those fucked up scars” she, herself never saw….well,  the last of my surgeries is complete. My last ovary is gone, and this is my stomach of “sickening scars” she claimed “would make anyone puke”- keep in mind, the surgery I JUST had last week was the worst I had yet to experience.  Here is a picture of my “horrifying” anatomy:

Horrifying? Hardly. Swollen, yes....and my little cuts look like eyeballs in the photo...but far from enough to make anyone call me a

Horrifying? Hardly. Swollen, yes….and my little cuts look like eyeballs in the photo…but far from enough to make anyone call me a “monster”

I have heard she and her husband are no longer in the community, but none involved have ever made an attempt to apologize to myself or my husband. She accused my husband of raping her….but if so, then why hundreds of texts begging him for a sexual relationship and why did she never tell me if he could do such a thing?  I did nothing to her other than date him…and she was married with her own man.

Wyrd’s Well kindred was  based loosely on “Game of Thrones”, and still avoids us- likely from their own shame, and still refuses us the honor of the truth of what was said or the chance to defend ourselves against Her allegations and their own against us other than the vague “Chaotic Loki worshiper” bullshit.  Frankly, I see wanting to cheat on your husband with a roommate as far more chaotic than two single people entering into a relationship.

When I am well, I literally watch documentaries and read.  Now that we live here, I’ll sit near the stream some days and take care of the house to the best I can.  There is much I would like to do- redo the wiring, fix the oven, replace boards in the porch, straighten out the back porch roof, repair or remove the shed, plant gardens, and make a workbench for myself.   I don’t normally leave the house without Eddie, I’m content to stay here with the cats (and now the dog as well) rather than go to the grocery store, the mall, or any place I do not know people, really.  My flashbacks still make me unemployable.  This post is the result of many happening concurrently.

Even right now, I am irresponsible.  I am exhausted and writing this blog post.   Why? Because I feel a compulsion that I need to admit when I am at my most fallible and I learned over the years if I publicly disclose my weaknesses- there is little anyone can use against me except for lies.  Natasha is sleeping at my feet and waiting for my husband to come home with me in vigil for his nightshift.

It will take up to two years to train my dog Natasha to be service-dog ready for me- but it’s something I look forward to with my husband.  The first step is basic obedience classes, from there, hopefully she’ll excel.  But if not, what changes?  Nothing really.   I am just another voice on the internet.  Few of you will ever meet me.  I will still live here, I will still write here, and I will likely still be Heathen and people will like or hate me.

Formal Severing with the Past:

Formal Severing: This post will be here my blog indefinitely as part of a larger post for historical purposes.

I will no longer accept people doing wrong by me without consideration, remorse, with intent to harm, or lack of caring.

I am also using this post to formally break ties with the kindred to which I have been Gythia for the greater part of a decade- known by no official public name. I keep their name secret as I have Oathed, but refer to them as “Boys of Berks” as they have been known since inception a decade ago..

I call them out for Oathbreaking. We all Oathed that we would not mix our religion and wyrd with any national organization:
I will accept no further pressure to join the National Socialist Party. We oathed to be free of politics- and I am not interested and tired of hearing of ignorant racism.

We Oathed that each person would be equal and each vote would be counted. Even with my abstaining from voting, there was a man who prevented my husband from taking me to the hospital when I fell ill at his house (and I am being gracious by sparing the details why) Not only was it not respected, this man claimed to be an EMT; If the man were truly an EMT, then he would have recognized my condition (which is common) which has proven him to be a compulsive liar. I have seldom seen him anything other than unemployed. HIs life and his lies are no longer my concern.

He further broke frith by indicating he “considered asking me out” while I was in a committed relationship years ago with another man. He did this in front of my husband showing no recognition for the sanctity of our relationship.

I am not a commodity, further, this man threatened my life one time before which made me decide to leave the Boys of Berks previously.

I do not tolerate stupidity or this lack of respect for myself any longer for myself or my husband, Edward.
It is never honorable to express the desire to pursue anyone in a committed relationship, nor is it honorable to assume your advances would have been accepted. It is truly offensive.

We were promised a brotherhood of fellowship and help- we moved with only the assistance of one member of the kindred- and yet, the handfasting of the brother above was considered important enough for the responsibilities that hindered the other’s from helping us when I was supposed to be on bedrest did not interfere with a fake-wedding with no legal standing.

As a friend, our own real wedding was entirely ignored. This was too hurtful for both my husband and I to ignore; as a promise broken and then a promise spit on and insulted.

I asked to be left alone in my recovery. That was not respected. The bridge that is burning between me and this kindred was put to fire by those who wronged me by the clubhouse mentality rather than any religious inspiration.

I want nothing to do with any Neo-nazi activities, nor do I want any association with any hate-groups, associations, or groups that promote violence for any cause or reason.

I want nothing to do with liars or Oathbreakers. I keep my Oaths even now by not disclosing the names of the members or the name of the kindred, but I renounce them as Oathbreakers, and as a Tyrswoman, I have better uses of my time than to babysit people who cannot take responsibility for their own actions and call us suicidal in the night by a combination of regret of poor decisions and use of heavy drugs.

I have no desire to be in a kindred where sumbel is an excuse for indulging alcoholism rather than a closeness to the Gods.

I will not belong to a kindred that insults the loyal women of their menfolk by being anti-semetic. To love is beautiful, to be racist to appeal to others is appalling especially at the expense of making those who followed their hearts uncomfortable with poisonous words against the culture of women beloved by kindred members.

With this, I wish not to be contacted again except by the people I have reached out to specifically to meet in non-kindred context. I do not wish to hear about the kindred, for it is not my kindred that I joined in good frith and good faith. The Kindred I joined and Oathed to does not exist, since all Oaths are ignored.

I followed procedure and brought my prior grievances forth and expected justice. I received mock-justice in a fake vote instead. There was no further need to place further straw on a burning pile.

I ask for Frigga to sever all poisonous oorlog between my homestead and others and to be given freedom to pursue my own path without interference, intolerance, or the “need to discussion”

The chance for “discussion” ended when the kindred chose the fake-wedding of the Oathbreaker over the real wedding of myself and my husband, or even to help us in our time of need.

It ended when you had no time for us, but time to coddle the Oathbreaker who was voted out by Our kindred law- but “could not suffer more loss.”

The loss of me is evidently not enough loss to consider what is honorable from dishonorable.

As Gythia and Tyrsvolk, since these Oaths and their breaking were witnessed by me and a witness (my husband), I am calling out these broken Oaths as unacceptable to my continued Heathen practices.

This is no longer my kindred, I am no longer their Gythia these people are no longer my family, their business is not my concern, and I ask the community to witness that I am no longer associated with the Berks County Kindred with no public name, but goes by “Boys of Berks”. I renounce all affiliation, responsibility, and further contact with the kindred leadership; and if I am contacted against my wishes I will pursue legal action unless it is mediated publicly by a mutually approved Goethe or Braucher with my full consent.

This is the third betrayal by a third kindred against my husband and myself within the Pennsylvania Heathen community.

1. The Betrayal of Kindred: “Wyrd’s Well” for spreading falsehoods against myself and my husband, doing nothing to stop it, and when proven in innocence, never given apology, explanation, or any attempt at reconciliation.

2. The Betrayal of my Husband’s mentor, who shall remain unnamed, who called him “Necromancer” to the national community as if we lived in the 1715 rather than 2015 as well as the insult to my own sanity when this woman spent time in the same psychiatric hospital as I have and yet insulted my mental fitness.
The difference is I acknowledge my sickness, seek treatment, and use it to better understand other’s who suffer. Instead of hiding it secretly from the community.

3. The Betrayal of the “Boys of Berks” for not having a kindred, but a clubhouse for alcoholics and lie-tellers mixing wyrd with honest folk. We rebuke those who would rather feel important by joining controversial organizations to provoke dangerous organizations. We joined in peace and with the intent to keep our spiritual practice away from the ills of the world and act as a functional family. You have not acted as family as a kindred, you have not protected, cared or helped us as a kindred. The individual who has helped us, we thank you. But you are a single man, not the kindred who promised swore to help.

You did not recognize the vote to remove the person who harmed me either by intention or neglect- but instead, chose to honor him. With this, I will not abide your questionable priorities any longer and call an end to the friendship to the Clergy who broke this trust made with all of us, and on a personal note, severe my personal ties of frith and friendship unless he seeks full drug and alcohol rehabilitation treatment. You are a stranger to me, and I wish no wish to communicate with you.
Your relationship with my husband is his business, but you are not welcome in our homestead. I will greet you with civility should we meet again. But I doubt our paths will cross further by any choice of my own.

I want no contact through facebook, phone, or any other medium. The only way I will allow for this to be overwritten is by intervention by the the needs of the greater Heathen community expressed by a LEGAL clergy elder of long-standing who I personally know well.

I refuse to be further harmed or intimidated.

I have been wronged, and I came for help. It was dismissed for you loved the wrongdoer more.
I was ill, you expressed you could not help because of your other responsibilities-
but instead, you helped the Oathbreaker instead without reservation who had no illness except for pathological lying.

The bridge was made of matchsticks as you removed each board of wood to make the house in which you live, you lit the fire.

I am announcing the bridge is burnt and I will not rebuild.

In the name of Odin who sees all, I will see you no more. In the name of Thor the protector, I reclaim the safety of my homestead, and in the name of Tyr I seek freedom from injustice.

May Loki show the truth of my words of all I have spoken today, and may those who intend harm upon myself and my homestead find their own lips sewn against speaking untruths against me or my homestead.

.

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One Response to “Self-sufficiency and Folly: History and Severing ties.”

  1. ladyimbrium Says:

    I witness your words. Though our private conversations have been generally brief, you have given me no reason to believe that you are anything other than honest and concerned for your and your husband’s health and well being. I believe that your words are true. Witnessed.

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