Actions, Words, and “Trigger Warnings”


“My Beautiful One” by Olaf Erla  When I first saw this picture I thought: “This is what my mind looks like from the inside.”  That, or the 10 of swords.

As an individual living with C-PTSD, I am becoming increasingly frustrated by the misuse of the word “Triggered” in the use of the context of people mildly annoyed with the right of free-speech of others.

To show a comparison of what a REAL trigger is, I am currently in-state right now and will describe to you what someone with an ACTUAL trigger experiences as I am experiencing my flashbacks.  I have tried every therapy available to me and the only thing with any positive response thus far has been “sedation”.  I am a medical cannabis patient with a high-dosage Valium prescription to take as-needed.

I am writing this prior to taking my “emergency medications”.  These are my memories and my train of thought while suffering from  C-PTSD.

Fuck any of you who ever used the word “Trigger” for anything less than a medically diagnosed condition.

My father, although having a great heart and wonderful words has failed me.

In a text to my husband, he wrote the following: “I would have saved her from her mother if I could have.”

No.   You did quite the opposite.

When she got knocked up at 17, you allowed yourself to be manipulated into marrying her “or else {i} would be aborted”.  That did neither of us any favors for the 17 years of abuse I suffered after.

Yes, you pulled her several hundred pound stinking body off of mine several times as she attempted to strangle me, but did you ever call the police?

No.  In fact, when I was 12  “The Talk” to me was “I cannot defend you anymore or she will leave me- don’t worry, it’s only a few short years before you can move out legally.”  From that point forward, you would hear nothing of what I experienced.  You worked overtime so you wouldn’t have to see her starve me or beat me.

You came with her when she drug me away from award ceremonies celebrating accomplishments I achieved in school- SHE determined that I “did not deserve them because..” usually something banal like “Not doing the dishes properly”… the guidance counselors called me “Cinderella”- for if you didn’t notice- I was doing the chores as she sat on her fat ass and demanded glasses of water, as she left large embroidery and quilting needles everywhere to the point where we all were pulling them out of our feet and asses each time we dared to sit or walk without protection.

You allowed her to buy me turtleneck shirts to hide the bruises around my neck, you watched her smile when I opened the boxes at Christmas.

One year she bought me anthracite thinking it would hurt me, and she was so angry I thought coal was “pretty” she fucking threw it at me and stormed off like she always did.  You were there for that, too.

You claim you don’t recall.  Everyone else does.

When I was 12, the county was in the process of removing me into the custody of my grandparents.  My mother, in true Narcissist form, suddenly decided we “had to move”- far from the rest of the family and neighbors who protected me and over an hour away from your place of employment- for her reputation’s sake.

She was enraged she was no longer allowed to work with children because I had the courage to speak out.

At 15, we all came to the decision I was finally allowed to move in with your parents.  You, yourself stopped the process.  Why did you do that if “you could have saved me”?

I was emancipated at 17, it was the first time I had privacy in 17 years and I was apparently difficult to live with for my host family and friends.  I loved the basement room they gave me to live in.  I loved not getting yelled at.  I still talk to everyone who ever gave me shelter in that time.  I never knew what “safe” was before for any consistent period of time prior to that other than time with your parents, which was always limited and would come to an end and be met with abuse to “correct their spoiling of me.”

“Spoiling” to your ex wife was another term for “treating like a human being worthy of love.”  Something she cannot ever be capable of, and you know it.

I joined the Americorps at 19 and applied and was accepted to University of Colorado- full scholarship.  That year, you claimed me on your joint taxes and it called my FAFSA into question making it over 6 years until I could attend Moravian… and even then, your NEW wife decided the small 5k loan you took out to help me was “too much” and you demanded I quit school when I had a 3.8 GPA in 2 majors, a master’s thesis and graduate programs were courting me.

You wonder why I hate your new wife?  That is reason #1.  She spent your money to bumble through a low-level nursing program for several years but could not abide me completing my last semester of a real college.

You claim “she bounced from job to job”- do you not recall that she told several people she “never intended to work again” after marrying into your 6 figure salary?

She envies me for what she imagines is a lazy, stress free life on disability.

Don’t you think after I was making over 60k a year in a failing travel agency that I would prefer to have the ability to contribute more than 12k worth of disability to my own household?  Do you understand I changed jobs in my 20’s so frequently not because I was ever fired:  I wasn’t… It was the only fucking way I could increase my pay.

They don’t give real raises in retail…and not having a college degree in this age meant my resume’ ended up in the garbage as I watched inferior people flunk out of positions I could have excelled at long term with actual career potential.

When you divorced my mother, you said “I will not date anyone with children- I have neglected my own enough.”

You lied.  You were so fucking lonely you got engaged to any woman who dated you a month.  You were engaged to two women with children.  Hell, I didn’t even mind the first one.  Her children were sweet.

Sorry she dumped you.  Julie was sorry for me she dumped you too.

Now you live with your new wife who checks on you every hour like you are a child when you spend time with me.  Her children are unapologetic sociopaths and have turned my grandparents against me.  HER daughter is looking forward to attending the most expensive school in the region to be of all things: A Spanish teacher.  A community college is more than sufficient, that’s what you would have told me, if that at all.

In fact- all those years I spent living under your roof?  You said nothing when your ex said ad-nauseum “You better get scholarships- you don’t deserve college”- and you did nothing.

You said after the fact that “you had a plan”.  It’s easy to say words- you never had any such “plan” to help me with school and your income demanded contribution that fucking yeti would never allow.

That would mean being kind to me.  That was rule number 1 of living with your ex-wife:  Never be kind to me.  Bryan is a God, I am garbage.

Yet…which one of your biological children lives in literal filth?  Can you honestly still believe the lies your ex said that anything and everything was somehow my fault?  Her hoarding? That I deserved her abuses and punishment?  That I deserved to be ignored by you because that crazy, ignorant bitch was jealous of a CHILD’s relationship with her own father?

Why have you never accepted your role in everything that occurred to me?

And here, it is nearing Yule/Christmas/Whatever-  My mother still terrorizes her side of the family making it so I can’t even have my Heathen grandma and my uncle share in our first real holiday in our newly purchased home.  If Jan and I call Elder Services again, then I get the wrath of the entire family who is terrified of a 50-ish mentally ill woman.

I was the one who was the most abused. Why do I possess more courage than all of you combined to fight her back when she tries to abuse my grandma?  Why isn’t anyone else but the fucking NEIGHBORS fighting for my 84 year old blind grandma but me?

You and my husband get offended when I say “I wish I was aborted.”

But, if I was, this is what would have happened:
1. You would have attended college.
2. You never would have been in a 25 year long abusive relationship with a woman who reeked of menstration and cheap perfume- her broken black teeth, the hairy pores of her face and her beady little eyes and voice that could not speak to me in anything less than profanities.
3. You wouldn’t get hurt when I remind you of the ways you continually hurt me…. for I never would have been hurt in the first place.

Your parents wonder why I am on SSDI, why I cannot “let go” of the past… it’s easy to let go as a bystander  Who among them was actually starved and beaten?  Only myself.

They call me a “loser”-  How does the city of Philadelphia feel that they are paying the pension of a former college administrator who held no higher degrees of education himself?

Better to be a Loser than a Liar.

I was expected to reconcile with my brother who had a psychotic breakdown so profound he emulated my abuser down to the exact same insults and tone of voice- and yet, you cannot understand why I really was not interested in welcoming him back into my life.I didn’t want him back because he acted just like her…and it took SEVERAL people to convince me he was “safe” and his own vouchsafe word he would see an endocrinologist since his emotional disturbance actually stems from a real physical condition…to which he is willing to acknowledge he harmed others and has taken multiple steps to get help.

In fact, both my brother and I have always striven to improve our flaws and to work exceptionally hard not to live in denials or fantasies.   This is why we listen to our doctors.

Your attitude regarding your mental health is only rivaled by your disregard for your diabetes.

What it boils down to is on account of the mental health diagnosis’ you refuse to accept and receive treatment,  you instead would rather feel the innate inner sense that  CHOSE to stay with her out of “logic”- where truly, there was no logic to be found in the situation: Furthermore,  you chose to aid her in “covering up” all the abuses when child services were called.

If you are REALLY so concerned and love us all- then perhaps you should consider NOT throwing out your medications prescribed (except for the ones you feel immediate, tangible benefit) and if you don’t want to fucking die like my Nana Gloria perhaps you should cut way back on the Pepsi considering she died of a diabetic stroke…and you have diabetes.

This is an example of cognitive dissonance.   Don’t worry, your second wife can not even pronounce the term much less understand it outside of exploiting it for the gain of her own blood family to the exclusion of your own.

You. Are. Cognitively. Dissonant….and you refuse help time and again- before Nana lost her mind she theorized with me that you refused meds/treatment because the reality of your life would overwhelm you and “drive you to suicide.”

But…that was years prior to her dementia and the steady campaign of alienation your wife and her brood have worked so hard to accomplish successfully.

It was nice of you to build a shower in the bathroom downstairs after THREE YEARS of the creature you married forcing me to wash in a sink in the unheated laundry room.  Your compassion is ever-bountiful, how kind.

Your step-daughters whine for money and have no ethics- yet when I picked up my box of old awards/trophies from your house you minimized my old achievements so that the little sociopathic butterball didn’t have her poor, fat feelings “hurt” that I was pretty damned good at my sport.

…where for her, you pay hundreds because she is too fat to be a real cheerleader so you pay for her to go to cheer classes to stand and clap like a downs-syndrome recital every month, but with $30 hair bows.

You and the teenage-bride you married refused to even pay for field trips.  I had to ask your parents, always.

“David Winter Cottages” were obviously a more imperative financial priority in the house in which we lived, and her obsessive QVC spending sprees.

When I confront you with these things, you cower and say “you do not understand”.

This is what you need to understand:  I have been scarred in ways that no medicine can ever heal; from the childhood of atrocities and abuses that have made therapists cry and my brother, the golden child, feel such bystander guilt from watching me get abused that he, himself is actually in psychologically worse shape than I am as a self-harming hoarder with some form of psychosis- that evidently even WITNESSING what occurred to me on a daily basis was “too traumatic for him”.

(Which I also think is bullshit.  If he was so “Traumatized”- why speak to the bitch who did it? It’s offensive to me on such a deep level words cannot convey my intolerance for the contradiction.)

Of course you say you “didn’t see it”- you were either working overtime or don’t want to look reality squarely in the eye.

I want you to understand and express that you let me down.  I don’t want you to fix my fucking house as much as I would like it if you called me.

You hurt me further by saying I “look like her”- funny, but most people say I look like you.  If I “look like her”- it’s because you stuck your penis into a psychopath and expected a miracle.  Genetics is a bitch, as much as I would love a new nose and chin, I would rather pay off the house.

I am not a hoarder, I do not scream… I am more highly educated than anyone else in our family especially and including your father who ascended the ranks of Academic Administration with nothing more than a questionable associate’s degree, and yet- you let your parents treat me like shit as well as your “new” daughter prances around in her new clothes Nana bought for her as she cheerfully exclaims:

“Oh, I don’t like Nana- I just like shopping!”

You know who actually DID love your parents?  I did.  I loved them the best I could even after they stopped loving me.  The only reason I do not and cannot be in closer contact with them is that they intentionally provoke me ad-hominem attacks every time I communicate with them.

You claim it is the same for you- but yet, your new family seems to have taken the place of the old.

You do not call me, you claim you “don’t have the time”-but you visit your inlaws several hours away at least monthly.  Visiting me?  Is that too painful or uncomfortable for you?

Do you realize your discomfort is 100% your own guilt and responsibility?  That I am an uncomfortable reminder of every single failure of judgement for 25 years?

Isn’t it just so easy to just “walk away” instead of facing this?  You say I should as well, but here is the rub.  I have C-PTSD because of this.

I don’t have a choice but to relive every. single. painful. memory.

and Again.
And forevermore.

I have attempted every single treatment.  I have allowed myself to be abused as an adult because I did not know what “normal” was- leading to further traumas any “normal” person would have known to avoid.

Despite being selected for an online think-tank at the age of 18 run by a professor of UCal, I honestly did not believe in my own intelligence until I was assigned my own nurse at a psychiatric facility who had to explain to me “The problems of genius”.  My college sent the hospital my thesis on time theory.

My thesis was published.  You not only never read it, you never asked for a copy.   Everyone else’s parents who wrote one have their child’s proudly displayed, I’ve noted.

My teenage years: Your 80 hour weeks, fast food stops prior to coming home, and your ability to visit the rest of the family while I remained trapped with the monster you married….and you claim you were the one “harmed”….and that you “didn’t see anything”

How could you not see when you were STILL pulling this rabid rhino of a woman off of my body as she tried to strangle or smother me for any imagined infraction?

That never stopped… you pulled her off of me repeatedly.  Why didn’t you call the police if you loved me?

Did you really love that beast more than me?  Then why do you blame me for your marriage?  You are a contradiction.

Our conversations which used to be intellectually deep and mutually rewarding are now flat and monosyllabic.  Is that because of your guilt about every lie you tell yourself?  Is it because you realize that you married an honorless woman who had two illegitimate children and an entire bookshelf on how to “capture” a “rich man”?

Is it because you do not realize the distances and slights you have allowed your new wife to leverage against me all proved to be false?

Do you know when I came from from my broken engagement in Canada your woman asked me if I was “with him for the sex?”

I was so appalled I just said “yes”- a woman like that would never understand what love is, and frankly- it wasn’t her business to know I left for Canada because John was neglectful and his parents were extraordinarily abusive towards me.

Morgan was the first real relationship I had where I felt cherished.  Then his ex did to him what my mother did to you… and you encouraged him to stay with the woman who used a fetus as a bargaining chip.

Morgan spent 3 months in an institution- he was raped repeatedly as a child so the stress of the entire situation brought out his latent Disassociative tendencies devolving him into a fracture of conflicting personalities.

Can your wife understand anything so complex?  No.  She could not even understand our most basic of conversations…so, you stopped having them with me.

Do you realize I am the only person related to you who places more value on my relationships with those I care about than anything financial?

I have no credit cards,  the television downstairs came with the house and has never been connected to any service- it’s just too big and heavy for me to push it up to the curb.

If there are wills I am included in (which I doubt); there will be no “battle”- I will choose a charity and allow that charity to fight for “my” money for whatever they need…. and no, I won’t pick a charity of MY interest, it would be one appropriate to the deceased.

If my grandparents die- the money goes to the Philadelphia Zoo.
If you do, and you don’t die in the massive debt-hole you found yourself: The Tesla Museum.

If grandma dies, Gods help me- All I care about is that her library of books written in Lettish find a home with any Latvian group who will take them, preserve them, and keep them as a library in her name.  That is the ONLY battle I am willing to fight for.

…and that battle, I will likely and sadly lose unless I keep pushing to try and speak to the Bērziņš… but the Latvian community stands aloof from me out of a combination of fear that I am the spawn of the worst of their people and also my misguided former affiliation with American Asatru- you know, Americans that believe in the old Gods?

The appeal of being around people who wore funny clothing and worshiped Gods I was familiar with welcoming me?  Of course I would gravitate towards them until I realized they were nothing more than Christians making Woten into Jesus and Loki, Satan.

So, I moved on- found more Heathens like our family, and now I am their chaplain whenever they need me.  It’s sad I live the contradiction of existing in a Philosophy that places such strong emphasis on ancestors, family, and home- but the homes of my own family are “closed” to me.

Because I am told I am a failure by your parents, because your wife is upset her bipolar, molested daughter (whose abuser she also kept in the home) didn’t get on SSDI.

She didn’t get on SSDI because she’s a dishonest whore with a drug problem.   The insinuation I was addicted to painkillers last time I visited did not go unnoticed.

If you would be so kind, next time you see me- read my patch.  It says “Estriol”- it’s what they give people who have no ovaries.  Thank Gods I do not, bearing a child is the absolute worst nightmare I can imagine.

Painkillers are rather normal for someone who had major surgery.  I haven’t touched one since I had a kidney stone over a month ago.  I weaned myself off of morphine in a week.  Also- did you not realize you were at my home the day I came home to keep an eye on me while my husband picked up the list the doctors gave him for my aftercare?

You became bored- you went home and left me alone.  The entire purpose for you coming up was so I wouldn’t be.  You failed me then, too.

The next day, we got Natasha- my dog, who has honestly been kinder to me than most humans, and I spent fucking weeks training her by myself while I recovered from surgery.  She bypassed two levels of classes because of that.

You treat her like she’s disgusting when she offers you her favorite toys when you visit.  Are you the same way with the slimy toys your sister-in-laws infants handed you?  My dog at the age of one at least knows how to crap in running water and obey more basic commands than most 5 year olds.  You treated her like she was something gross.  She’s one of the most beautiful things I have in my life.  Yes, I am one of those people who sees my “pets” as thinking, feeling creatures.  It’s easier not to fuck up a cat or dog.  For the most part, they spend more time helping me than I ever do them.

I used to cry in elementary school every single mother’s day when we had to make cards “appreciating” what, to me, was a creature more terrible than anything I could imagine under the bed or in the closet.

I used to hope I had monsters living there= I figured they would eat her if they saw her.  Win/win situation- she was much, much larger and my life could have been happy!

But, sadly, even the “monsters” failed to save me.  However, grandpa’s secret passages in grandma’s house?  They were great until you decide to “Yes, dear” into a move to fucking Deliveranceland where the people were ignorantly Christian to the absence of all logic and reports of livestock molestation were frequent.

I am not suicidal… I wish you made the wisest decision any man or woman could make:  Choosing someone who was worthy of bearing children.

In failing to do so- what “failings” you see in me, everything that makes you “uncomfortable” can be directly attributed to being screamed at by a female yeti for the entirety of my formative years… with the only “good parts” being the time I spent with you at work or the short time you were stay-at-home, or time spent with your parents.

Your parents who have also chosen your “fresh start” over the past you actually created yourself for me to suffer forever as if I deserve the mental anguish I go through every single time I am personally Triggered.

Triggered is a real thing.  Did you know when your ex-wife would have me prepare the meals I was not permitted to eat I learned to eat raw meat?

Did you know that’s why I still do?  The taste of anything less than “practically raw” is another painful reminder of what I lived through.  So is lasagna, so is meatloaf.

So many things “normal” people enjoy that I never can.

I will never “get over” that the day of my birth was considered “The worst day in the history of your family”- pretty much by every blood relative close to you.

My birth stifled your potential, and it has made you a man of shame and guilt.

So, next father’s day when you are kayaking on the lake with the older step daughter who had three of your ribs broken by her ex-boyfriend, who left her targets from the gun range with “Dave” written at the top in large letters on your dining room table- will you wonder about the daughter who is your intellectual equal?

Or…do I just make you too uncomfortable and dealing with her mishappen life is so much easier for you because you are blameless in its inception.

Her problems come from her mother’s whoring around.  Don’t try to tell me a woman with two children out of wedlock is less than an irresponsible whore.  Even you got married and abortion was 100% legal at the time of both births.

Apparently, what your ex won with you, your new wife lost the gamble in trying to “tie down a man” for herself.

Ask yourself this:  Was it really worth it to get engaged to three different women with the same ring in the entire 6 month period you were “single”?

You lied to your pastor on your wedding day to your second wife- saying the divorce was finalized, when it was not at that time…and further, you adopted her youngest daughter whose father was dead….not only dead, but while still alive, molested the oldest daughter to make her the mess she is today.

The girl who wanted to marry her coke dealer, but the coke dealer wised up and dumped her ass.

The girl who threatened to kill herself because she wanted you to buy her a car.

This is what you replaced me with.  You tell my husband “I wish I could have saved her.”

See, the problem with that is you could have…and you chose not to.  Instead, you chose regret, and even that I am not certain is genuine.

You claim you were “abused for 25 years in that marriage” to my mother…

The difference between you and I is you could have walked out at any time and called the police on her for every violence inflicted against me, with every neighbor in Haverford and every school teacher I met acting as witnesses to save me, to save my sanity, and ultimately any chance of future happiness…

…instead, you chose someone other than your daughter.

It doesn’t matter how “good” or “honorable” of a life I attempt to live to any of you.

And people wonder why I hate Christmas.  Every strand of lights, every tinsel, every fucking pickle hanging in every fucking tree reminds me of how this holiday was when the abuse was at its worst.

It reminds me of how if I showed that I “loved” any toy I was given, it was broken in front of me by your first wife.

It reminds me how I was treated like a slave to put up all those indoor decorations and punished if even one of those fucking fragile-ass tacky glass ornaments broke.

It reminds me how I was forced to shop with you for the woman who made my life not worth living for 17 years.

And this year- it reminds me how I cannot have a real family like “normal people”- because you broke your promise and “started over” with this new woman and her fucking evil offspring and that my mother still terrorizes my innocent Latvian grandmother to the point of tears and assault…but that “is no longer your problem.”

…and then, you get pissed off at me when I have to join her neighbors in calling the police yet another holiday on that sub-human you decided to breed twice with.

What I want is for you to prove in ACTION that you love me.  Not reluctant visits only if something breaks I cannot fix (and I can fix a surprising amount of things!)

I would like it if you actually shared your life with me- instead, it’s “none of my business” – Why?  Because you are being “Superdad” to a new family that you didn’t even donate the sperm to produce?

Is it because I told you that your new wife was a gold-digger before anyone else had the courage to do so?

Are you truly happy?

I am not.  I am literally triggered the entire month of December, every December.  My neck still aches from all the times those ham-hock fists of that female sasquatch were around my throat when I smell the fake-pine she sprayed on our fake-tree.

I decorate minimally- because I do not ever want to see another “fragile” ornament remind me of what it felt like to be 100lbs and to see fists come down upon my body again, and again, and again…

I cannot abide by hearing anyone at all raise their voice in anger- including myself.  You will notice I discuss and NEVER raise my voice in emotion.  Why?  Because I am not her.

…and if there ever becomes a time that I do “become her” I would do the world a favor and swallow the end of a gun for the sake of those I do love.

Now you see my brother- he is like her.  You paid for him to flunk college three times when I could not go at all until I was 27.

You are proud of Morgan and her “accomplishments”- when she herself admits she uses people “and pretends to be their friends” to gain whatever thing or goal she attempts to achieve.   She is truly a despicable goatling, and her sister is no better.

But, you know- I’m just on SSDI and a chaplain.

And yes, I miss my dad- and he’s not even dead.  He just “started over” his adult life, and I am left with the broken shards of an incomprehensible childhood- and the only people who understand are the friends who have stood beside me since I was 12 years old.

Does he even know their names?  My best friends may come and go in and out of my life as they please- they do not need to call me daily or “check-in”.

Did you know when your wife forbid you on taking out the last 5k loan I needed for living expenses I was homeless?   Did you care?

I called you for help on car insurance 4 months later, I begged even…and you refused to help.

I ended up in a head-on collision and that bitch you call a wife had the audacity to tell you I “did it on purpose”

When I was waiting on SSDI to clear, I defaulted on my student loans- you accused me of preventing you from “taking out your third mortgage”- on a home you owned less than 5 years.

Whose credit was more ruined?  You didn’t believe me when I told you my loans were forgiven over my disability.

I showed you the papers showing all debt has been discharged, so why do you still treat me as if I was the one who wronged you?

Why are you so hot and cold with your involvement and alleged “love”?

The only conclusion your indiscrete therapist has given (and every therapist I have seen after to whom I have described you) is that your schizoaffective disorder is the root of your fractured reality.

The reason you and my husband get along so well is you have the same condition.  He’s medicated, if you were medicated you would have a nervous breakdown to see the reality you have created around you.

This is your reality:

You live in a house you hate.  You were not able to reform the sociopath-child.   Your son lives in a house of filth and gouges out his flesh with his fingernails and is starting to show signs of his mother’s profound list of mood disorders that make him entirely volatile and unpredictable- and he has serious physical health issues that have not been addressed properly.

He is borderline-to-most likely abusive to his own wife.  Who he refers to as “poop-head” and treats like a motherfucking slave.

You allowed my mother to treat her own mother like a servant in her own home while you lived there.

You allow for your wife’s daughter to take advantage of your mother who has severe dementia.

Your adopted brother asked for you before you died- you let him down because it was too hard for you, when HE was the man on his deathbed.

I was the only person who was able to start the process to get Steven into hospice BECAUSE of the college degrees your new wife poo-pooed.

I know less than a handful of people in our ancestral religion who are recognized as LEGAL clergy, and I am one of them.  No, I do not make money from this, but my legacy will be far greater than that of someone who spends 40 hours of each week punching a clock.

The only good thing to occur from my childhood is compassion for the suffering of others- because I have suffered.

However, I cannot rationalize why I continue to “suffer” because I was so deeply harmed in such almost cartoonish ways under your watch that I can never, ever experience “normal”.

The only mother figure I had prior to my awesome mother in law was YOUR mother….

….and your mother is getting robbed blind by your new family- and you do nothing.

You claim you “do not remember”;  go back to the old neighborhood and have them kindly remind you.

If you think it was “Just because I was a teenager”- then go back further to the neighbors of my grandmother.  Ask Jan how many times her husband came home from a long-ass day of painting and set up the bad-mitten net to get me away from the woman you married to “save my unborn life”.

The only normal years I had in my childhood were when you stayed home working on VCR’s while my mother bounced from job to job fired for being absolutely intolerable as a human being.

And yet, you continued to fuck a that woman.  Those broken, black teeth, the stench of menstrual blood always upon her, those beady, colorless eyes and her lank, dirty hair on your pillow when you were raised in cleanliness.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

What the fuck is wrong with me for still loving my father despite all this, and still making excuses after all these years when at any moment, he could have just walked out the door with me, called the neighbors, the school, my grandparents, and done what was best for his eldest (that I know of) child?

I know if we stayed in Haverford township, I would have ended up living with your parents, remained in the best school district in the state, and I would have had a chance.

Even though you didn’t enjoy your childhood with them- could you at anytime say to yourself with honesty that it would have been worse than being trapped by that monster you married?

Do you think Nana would have accused me of being a “changeling” and beat me to “bring her real child back”?

Would Pop pop have asked houseplants if I was “telling the truth” about some inconsequential knick-nack being broken by my mother’s elephant feet storming through the house- to where I could tell simply from the sounds of her heavy footsteps how badly I would be beaten?

Would I ever have had to push furniture against my door to prevent more beatings?

Would I have been able to keep my door hinges?

Would I have been allowed to bathe in a real shower or bathtub without being punished for it in Middle School?

Do you know what it feels like to be shoved against your will into support groups in k-12 schooling with other “abused kids” and feeling deep envy that THEIR parents were “only alcoholics”…and could get better and my situation had no hope?

Are you aware that my condition is so severe that I have permanent damage to my heart from tachycardia?  My blood pressure is naturally low- the only medication for it gives me narcolepsy?

Do you even know what a flashback feels like?

It feels worse than wanting to die.  It feels like never wanting to have existed at all.

Merry Fucking Christmas.  This is called “Triggered”- if ANYONE believes  otherwise, you have my permission to give them a REAL trigger.

I suggest starving them for a couple of years, forcing them to wash in a dirty sink in an unheated laundry room, and frequent beatings by something large, ugly, and totally irrational…and then have the one person they love most completely and totally abandon them.


This is “Triggered”.   It’s a record every shitty memory playing on a gramophone in the mind inaccessible behind bullet proof glass.

Because I survived an interrogation, at least I have veteran-friends I can commiserate with who have been through interrogations as well.

But overall, the total sum of my life trauma could have been avoided with a simple procedure at Planned Parenthood.

Our family ways hold no stigma against abortions.  Your parents offered repeatedly to pay for it.

That is one time you should have taken the money, Dad.

The words “I love you”:  As Nana Gloria would say: “Put that in one hand and shit in the other- see which hand fills up first”

If you loved me, fucking stop what you are doing, re-evaluate your life, and take responsibility for the harm that is continuing to occur instead of shrugging your shoulders and placing the blame on the other people you have in your life and other faux-responsibilities to these strangers who give you the illusion you didn’t completely and totally fuck up 33 years worth of me..

…by your inability to have courage to “act” on the love you claim to have.  Pick up a phone.  Admit you fucked up, admit you keep fucking up.  Consider getting medicated so you don’t get taken advantage of.

Stop blaming me for the pain that was inflicted upon me that makes YOU uncomfortable.

This is a fucking disease that could have been avoided with a phonecall at anytime from elementary school up.

You could have saved me.  You chose not to.

The absolute most pathetic part of this post is the only family who MIGHT ever read this is a second cousin I met at Aunt Shirley’s funeral.

Sorry Jon.  My line of the family is completely shitty as well- I changed my name too.

If I could create a life for my father it would be working from home in a nice pre-frabricated house on a lake-front plot of land so he could kayak…his entire living room would be a work bench and my brother and I would find an accountant to manage his money and give him an allowance for hookers to keep him from marrying poorly once again…

Since he cannot be trusted to actually pick a spouse who isn’t some form of malignancy.


4 Responses to “Actions, Words, and “Trigger Warnings””

  1. ladyimbrium Says:

    It’s true that my life wasn’t pretty, but the only thing that lets me get close to understanding what you’ve dealt with- and are still dealing with- is a vivid imagination. I’d offer you a hug if that didn’t intrude too much on your personal space.
    Just in case it helps, your presence (even if it’s only online) is important to me. I am glad you are here now, even though there is nothing in those nightmares to be glad about. I admit that my sentiments are selfish, because they reflect only my own appreciation of your presence now and no sense of mercy for the pain you deal with from then. I don’t have a completely good answer, because I don’t think I *can* give an answer to that. I can only talk about now. As far as now goes, I’m sorry for your pain. And I’m still glad that I’ve met you.

    • I’m okay. The episodes pass. When I am not triggered, I honestly cannot remember those parts of my life so well.

      My current therapy consists of appreciating what I call “Those happy dark places of forgetfulness”.

      EMDR was NOT a viable treatment for me. If I keep my stress levels low and I am careful I can experience happiness and gratitude, but at the cost of my older memories. My friends are my external hard drives of my life.

      For instance, I used to be able to read/write Farsi. Now, I cannot usually except when I am in a ‘triggered’ state of mind because I allowed myself to be the prey of a Persian narcissist in college.

      Persian things no longer trigger me, however, if I suddenly regain my memory of Persian it indicates absolutely that I am entering into an episode.

      All my flashbacks interconnect like a Web of barbed wire. I either remember everything vividly or I live only in the present.

      Having a Buddhist husband is likely a strong reason the suicidal tendencies from my college years stopped.

  2. moonfire2012 Says:

    I have only talked to you and read a few of your posts, so I had no idea you’d been through all that. I can’t blame you for ranting that other people’s problems don’t compare to yours. I’m horrible at knowing what to say so I’ll leave it at that.

    • Actually, don’t worry. Because I’ve been through so much when I am not experiencing an episode I have a deep capacity for understanding the suffering of others…and helping people through their shit (if they choose to take my advice) helps me get out of my psychosis faster when I regain enough cognition again to be rational.

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