PTSD, The Beginning….

I have decided to write my story/biography both as a sort of help for myself, as well as perhaps hopefully a help to others that live with PTSD. (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder)

I am in no way a professional, even though I do have a 2 year degree in psychology, which I studied mainly for my own benefit/reasons, since I could find no psychiatrist or doctor that could help me, or even comprehend what I go through on a daily basis, other than prescribe multiple medications, which only treat the symptoms but do nothing for the condition itself…

I live in Sweden and PTSD is still a relatively new diagnose over here. I am originally from the USA and from what I’ve understood; PTSD is more understood over there, being that it at first was mainly soldiers that were diagnosed with the condition and at the time called “Shell chock”. Sweden has not been to war in close to 200 years, so the condition shell chock has not been relevant until recently when Sweden has opened its boarders to many war refugees… (Which they have no clue how to deal with or help…)

It is first in the past 25 years or so, that psychiatry has accepted and broadened their view of PTSD to include us that have had to deal with/survive life threatening situations, as well as severe abuse.

Everything I write here is my own opinion and my own opinion and experiences dealing with “my” PTSD. I can in no way claim to know how others react to PTSD, even though I know that we share many common traits, regardless of the original trauma.

I personally have what is could be deemed as lifelong PTSD. Meaning that this is a condition that I will live with for the rest of my life, unlike many other psychiatric disorders/conditions that can with the right treatment get better over time, or even completely disappear.

If PTSD is not treated during the first 6 months to a year after the initial trauma, the likelihood of it becoming a permanent condition is very high… Yes, with time you learn to live with what I call “my PTSD demons” but they are always present and lurking just below my conscious mind and the smallest trigger/situation can send them raging throughout my whole being, creating the flight or fight response, as well as varying degrees of panic and or anxiety. This is something that can be very difficult at times, especially as people whom don’t have PTSD themselves, can’t tell by just looking at a person that they have PTSD. On the outside, we look like everyone else and depending on how long we have had this “condition”, have learned over the years to keep our emotions in check as best as we can… Strangely enough though, most of us that do have PTSD can single each other out in a crowd. Be it by body language, a fleeting meeting of the eyes or just watching those that stand by themselves on the outskirts of a crowd, silently watching those around them…Prepared at the slightest hint of trouble or drop of a shoe to hightail out of there… I call us “Fringe-dwellers”, meaning those of us whom live on the outer fringes of society. Not quite belonging in the mainstream of what is known as human society. More comfortable staying near the boarders and ready to take off into the safety of the shadows, which make up the boarders of “human society…”

My beginnings…

I was kidnapped from my biological mother when I was about 6 months old by my biological father, put on a plane and flown from California to live with my grandmother, which lived deep in the swamps outside of Tampa Florida in 1960. I spent the next 3,5 years living with only her, her husband and their young teenage mentally challenged daughter. During those years, I was confined/isolated and never allowed to meet or see any other people and was hidden away if anyone would approach the trailer we lived in. I was often severely beaten and constantly told that my mother was a good for nothing whore, that had tricked her son (my father) into getting her pregnant. How a 15 year old girl (my mother) which had a slight mental/learning disability, causing her to most of the time act like a 10 year old at most, could trick a 30 year old, highly intelligent man into getting her pregnant, is beyond my understanding, as well as both statutory rape and pedophile behavior in my book… Regardless, my grandpa on my mother’s side went after my biological father and gave him the choice to either marry my mother, or go to jail for statutory rape… He choose marriage…

Have many early as well as vivid memories of what it was like living with my Granny in the swamps. I would keep to myself and the only friends I had were the wild animals living in the swamps. I remember my Granny’s husband, how he would take me into their bedroom when Granny had gone to town and did unspeakable things to me. Things, I at the time thought were normal and his way of showing me love….

When I had disobeyed, I was punished by being lashed naked with his shaving strap from my neck all the way to my feet and then locked away in a tiny cabinet, which I couldn’t even turn around in. If I would cry, I would receive the same beating again but this time on the front side of me… I learned quickly to keep my mouth shut and not cry.

Have been told that I was a few weeks short of turning 4 years old when my Granny decided to leave her husband and took me and my aunt and hitchhiked cross country, from Florida to California, where her 2 grown sons from her previous marriage lived with their families. One of them being my father… That was the first time I meet other people and I remember being very scared of them and not knowing how to interact with the children, which were my cousins… A few weeks later my Granny’s husband managed to track his runaway wife and daughter down and showed up on their doorstep…

Next memory I have is him throwing me in the back of his big blue car and driving me to a strange house. He got out, walked to my side of the car, opened the door, dragged me out and pointed to the house telling me, ”your mother lives in that house”. He then without another word or look got back in his car and drove away, leaving me there standing on the curb, confused, scared and not knowing what to do. I remember sitting down on the curb, scared and being completely on my own for the first time in my life… Finally, I must have gotten up the courage to walk the path to the front door of the house, get up on my toes and reach for the doorbell… When the door opened there was a strange lady standing there looking down at me. She has told me later that the only thing I said was: ”Are you my mommy?” No tears, no emotions just a simple straightforward question… She brought me into the house… In a way, I am very thankful that she was home that day, as I have no idea what would have happened if she hadn’t been there.

Now in hindsight, perhaps it would have been better if she hadn’t been home, since no one had reported me missing, I would have most likely ended up in an orphanage and perhaps gotten the help I so desperately needed…

At first she was very happy to have me back, as she had no idea where I had been, even though she did have her suspicions that my father had taken me. She had no birth-certificate to prove I was hers and no financial means of getting herself to Florida to pick me up… Last time she had seen me, I had been out in the backyard laying on my blanket. She’d gone into the house to get my bottle and when she came back out, I was gone. She spent the next 6 months in the psychiatric ward and was released 2 weeks before she was due to give birth to my sister. Also a daughter of my father… I was also introduced to my baby brother, which was only about 6 months old. Even he was supposedly my father’s son…

I meet my biological father when I was 25 and asked him how the hell he could do what he did to me and why he didn’t take my sister and brother as well. He coldly told me that when I was born, he felt as if he had two children to take care of, me and my mother. But apparently he felt she was adult enough to have sex with… He also said that he did not believe that my sister or brother were his children, as every time he had tried to divorce my mother and turn in the paperwork for the divorce, she would get pregnant and claim he was the father, hence stopping the divorces…

My biological mother kept me for 3 weeks… She has told me that I was more like a wild animal than a 4 year old child and would call me a swamp bred wildcat… I would swear, cuss, fight and throw things at her, calling her all the names my Granny had called her. Lock myself in the bathroom and eat all the medication she had in her medicine cabinet. Constantly try to run away, as well as walk down the street and steel the neighbor’s mail and when she would try to punish me and lock me in my room, I would tear it to shreds. If she would try to hold me down, I would fight so hard I would pull my own arms out from the sockets in my shoulders. I would bite myself to the point of my arms being covered in deep and bloody bite marks, as well as pull whole fistfuls of hair out of my head, resulting in bald spots… (no sign of them now) When I met her again when I was 17, she told me that she couldn’t handle me and was afraid that if she would have kept me, she most likely would have killed me… She was also afraid that I would hurt my younger sister and brother…

Turned out that her sister, my aunt knew of an elderly Swedish couple which belonged to the same church they were members of, were searching for a girl to adopt… To make a long story short, they adopted me… and I went from the hot coals into the burning pit…

They knew nothing of what I had been through and thought my outbursts were merely temper tantrums… I have wished many times over the years that they would have taken me to a psychiatrist, as much would be different today if they had taken that approach to my behavior… But being overly old fashioned Seventh Day Adventists, they had the belief that their God could cure anything… I have many memories of their church Elders coming on a regular basis to our house and forcefully hold me down and pray/scream to their God to drive the Devil out of me. I remember screaming and crying in terror, not knowing what was going on. Only that they were hurting me and that they had my new parent’s permission to do this to me.

I remember when I was 5 years old and an old friend of my adopted parents was visiting, I remember her name was Karin Sjölander, she was on the chunky side, wore a bright blue dress with large colorful flowers all over it… As usual when we had company, I was dressed up in my best dress and was expected to sit quietly and show how well-mannered I was… After a while I was bored out of my mind and started playing with the chain on the lamp that sat on one of the side tables. I was told multiple times to stop but as a 5 year old, I forgot and would swat at the chain again and again…I remember her talking about her son, which had died in a motorcycle accident and that he would not be going to heaven since he was disobedient and wasn’t a Christian… I remember having to go to the bathroom and when I came back to the living room my adopted parents were gone and only their guest Karen was there. I asked her where my parents were and she told me, ”you have been so disobedient that they don’t want you anymore and have decided to leave you…” I ran for the door to try to catch up with them, but Karen was way to fast for me and blocked the door. I fought her with all my might and I can only imagine that my ”swamp bred wildcat” vocabulary must have shocked the living daylights out of this prude bitch… She ended up dragging me kicking and screaming to my room, where she beat the daylights out of me. Also told me that I was the most terrible and evil child she had ever met… She too had no idea of what my previous life had been like… Turns out later when my adopted parents came home again, they had planned this whole farce to try to scare me into obeying them… Did it work? No… It only taught me once and for all that people and especially grownups can’t be trusted. 5 years old I made a vow to myself to behave in any way or form they wanted me to, but the day I was old enough to take care of myself, I was leaving… Which I also did when I was 14 years old…

I remember receiving beatings nearly every evening before bedtime, for whatever transgressions I had committed during the day. It would start out as a game of sort, where she would chase me in order to catch me… Our house at the time was made out so that you could walk/run through the living-room, hallway, everyday dining-room, kitchen, nice dining-room and back to living-room… She would chase me round and round and we would even laugh as we would be running round and round, stop at corners and watch where the other person was, just to turn and run the other direction… Although when she would finally catch up with me, the laughter and fun was far gone… When my adopted father was home, I didn’t stand a chance as they would corner me from each direction… It was my job to go get the belt, or the green snake as I called it. Hid it once but then it’s ”friend” the brown snake took its place… She (my adopted mother) would also pick, or make me pick flexible willow switches and boil them in water, so they would become real soft and HOT. I would have to lay face down on my bed with my bottom bare and she would hit me as hard as she could with either the belt or the willow swatches. She would have me count out the times she hit me, 5, 10 or 20 lashes, depending on the severity of what I had done. Afterwards, she would sit on the side of my bed with the Bible in one hand and tell me how much it hurt her to have to punish me, but God had told her that this was something she needed to do, in order to make me into a good little girl…

It got to the point where I didn’t dare go to bed without first asking if I had been a good girl during the day, or if I deserved a spanking. For if I had gone to bed and she had forgotten to “spank” me, she would wake me for my punishment, telling me that if she had promised to punish me, I could always trust that she would keep her promise…

I remember the last time she beat me was when I was 11 years old. I lay there face down on my bed with my bare behind at her mercy, counting the 10 lashes, I for whatever reason had deserved. I didn’t cry and when she was finished and started in on her speech of how much it hurt her to have to punish me, I slowly sat up, looked her straight in the eyes and laughed at her. Stood up, pulled up my panties up over my sore rear end and proudly walked out of my room. Went out into the backyard to my playhouse and cried my heart out. She never hit me again. Instead, she changed her means of punishment into telling everyone we met that I was adopted and that they were doing the ”Lords” work by providing for one of the less fortunate… She kept that up until the day she died… Even at the end when she had become very ill and I had driven her to the hospital and the doctor came in, she introduced me as, ”This is our daughter which we have adopted”… Remember doctor giving me a strange look. I just looked back and shook my head with tears in my eyes… I told her many times how hurtful it was that she would always tell everyone that I was adopted and she told me that she didn’t want anyone to think that I was related to them, as I didn’t live up to their standards…

My adopted mother was furious the day I started searching for my biological family. (Why, I have never understood, since she clearly didn’t want me…) Screaming at me that I was ungrateful, that they had done so much for me, and that I would have been dead if they would have left me where I was, or even worse, ended up in an orphanage… I wish…. Went on screaming at me that they should have just left me where they found me, since I was no better than my biological mother…

I had always had contact with my grandparents and my aunt on my mother’s side and through them I managed to get in touch my biological mother when I was 14 and flew over to meet her and my siblings when I was 17. My biological mother showed me a letter that she had received from my adopted mother, where she demanded that my biological mother adopt me back, since I was a worthless, good for nothing piece of trash. I can honestly say now when I look back at my life at 52 years of age, having raised 2 children of my own… I didn’t do anything wrong. At least not while I was living under their roof… I never had any problems with the law, I never did drugs and I was a straight A student. My only fault was that I refused to belong to their church. Refused to pretend that everything was as rose-colored as they wished the world to believe their lives where… They even wrote me out of their will due to this but also told me that if I converted back to their church and ”behaved”, they would put me back in their will as sole beneficiary. I told them thank you but no thank you, there is no amount of money in this world that would make me even fake believing in their version of God…I asked my adopted mother once what she felt was most important here in life. How others viewed you, or how you felt about yourself and your life… She didn’t even stop to think, her answer was automatic… Most important is how others perceive you…

I remember sitting in the hospital alone at my adopted mother’s death bed, holding her hand as she drew her last breath. I remember crying my heart out for the mother I never had but had longed for, for so many years… When I left her hospital room after she had died, I left with my head held high; I felt that I had now paid my dues in full and that I no longer owed them anything…

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Tired…..

Hello dear blog…

As usual, you get all the crap that goes through what substitutes as the excuse of my warped brain…

I am sooooo tired, tired of everything, tired of my nonexistent life, or that’s at least how I perceive it right now and have for quite a few years. I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to get myself unstuck from this foul quick-sand that is dragging me deeper and deeper into its slimy grasp. The more I kick and fight, the faster I’m sinking. Which is best, to just give in and sink slowly, accept my fate that I’m slowly dying inside? or kick, scream and fight and die a quicker death?? Can’t see anything I can use to help pull me out of this mire, can’t will myself to get out… I feel trapped, trapped like a bunny rabbit in a hunters snare, just waiting for the final second and everything will be over… But will it really be over? Or will my spirit keep lingering in as much fucking pain as it is now. What kind of “bright” future is that to look forward to, other than the fact that I can try to scare the crap out of people who have abused me over the years. Unfortunately, most of them are dead themselves now, so what good will that accomplish if I may or may not have the ability to haunt someone???

Middle of the night random thoughts running through my head. Can’t sleep during the nights, it for some reason doesn’t feel safe. Sleep during the day instead as it feels much safer. Besides it actually makes sense in a strange sort of way. I’m awake and everyone else is asleep… In other words, I don’t have to worry as much about “humans”. No risk anyone knocking on my door, no cars driving past on the dirt road outside of my house, except the weirdos/not so nice people who have been checking out the houses out here to burglarize… Been so many out here now that have had their houses broken into that the cops are keeping an eye on the area, or at least that’s what they are saying. I guess I’ll belive it when I see them. Call the cops from out here, it takes over an hour for them to show up…. *sigh* Got my trusty baseball bat and my dogs and can promise that if I am awake and some creep does come into my house, there won’t be much left of whoever to stick in the ground… 😦 Problem is over here in Sweden, IF I were to kill or seriously harm someone, even if it is a burglar inside MY HOUSE and my life is in danger, I’m the one that gets slapped with jail sentence for unnecessary violence and assault with a deadly weapon… GO FIGURE What am I suppose to do? Just stand there and get beat up or worse? HELL  NO…. One good thing about having PTSD and being able to claim that instinct took over and I just reacted… But still I feel that is just WRONG… If my dogs bite an intruder, I risk having to have them put down. Can be avoided if I have multiple signs up outside WARNING FOR THE DOG. I wonder if it would work the same if I would put up signs that said WARNING FOR THE 2-LEGGED BITCH?? I doubt it…  I know I’m in a very dark and dangerous place within my mind right now and have chosen to isolate myself out here in my cabin where I live, just in order to be safe. With safe I mean, not risking doing something that can and would land me in jail. My freedom means everything to me but lately things have been happening on a near daily basis that has forced me to drive into town to help my son that is in an abusive relationship… This is NOT a very good or even recommended idea right now…. 😦

Those of you that have followed my ramblings for some time now, know the ups and downs I’ve had with the dealings with my son. I love him more than anything in the world. I love all my children but he is my baby and unfortunately, I have spoiled him, so I am to blame for him not being able to deal with shit as it crosses his path…. His multiple suicide attempts, his depression, anxiety etc…. Me constantly being “on call for the past 25 years”, not being able to relax for even a second… This has been going on for years upon years and I just can’t do it anymore but then, I can’t stop myself from running to help him when he calls me frantically…

I’m at the point where I just want to call it quits and MOVE as far away from here as I can. I have my eyes set on northern Alaska… No phones, no internet, no outside communication… Poooof gone…

Actually, packing up and just leaving would FORCE myself to FORCE him to deal with his own situation… Tough love? yeah, but it would actually  hurt me just as much, if not more, knowing he was on his own, either forced to deal or not with his problems or killing himself… But i want to live too… Seeing a shrink? been there, doing that and nothing good is coming out of it. Changed shrinks many times but… same shit different day… 😦

Screaming in silence…

Dear diary,

What do you write when you’re screaming on the inside? How do you get that emotion out in writing? How do you manage, when there is no one you can talk to, no one that you trust enough to tell what really is going on inside your head? 😥

I am so tired, so tired to the point where I really don’t want to continue fighting for my survival. What is the point? Where are the benefits of me keeping on fighting? Where is the happiness, the peace and tranquility? Why???

I feel like all the beautiful trees on my property that came crashing down in the terrible storm this past weekend. Broken giants, beyond fixing and even if it was possible, I don’t have the strength to do it, or even the desire to pick myself up yet again. What would the point be?

These past few years have taken their toll on my soul, my strength, my will to keep going. I can no longer see a reason for why… I’m broken beyond repair and the “tape” I have used so frequently in the past to patch over the tears in my soul isn’t doing it for me anymore. Not when there is more tape than soul and just taping over old withered bits of tape, is no longer a solution, not even a “quick fix” in order to be able to just get through the day and hopefully have gained enough strength by tomorrow, to live to fight another day… I’m tired, exhausted beyond anything measurable. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to give up and cash in my chips. Goodbye, Sayonara… *pooof* gone….

Having “lived” for almost 55 years now, whereas 53 of those have been with severe PTSD as a steady companion, I’m over it. Let’s face it, if it hasn’t gotten better in 50 years, half a century, I can’t really see it getting better in my so called lifetime, so why bother? Just call it quits and move on… It’s sheer stupidity to just repeat things over and over again, expecting a different outcome…

Not entirely human…

Well now… Ain’t that special!!?!

Sitting over here quite amused… Finally have “proof” that I’m not entirely human… LAUGHING OUT LOUD! Let me introduce myself… I’m Cat and I’m a mutant… LOL Always knew there was a reason why I feel the way I do about the human race (sarcasm)… Now I know why! I’m actually finding it hilarious! OK, yeah, I’ll admit… According to my DNA, I am still considered to be human but… *giggles*

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Finally got my doctor to do the requested blood work on me, as I had read about one reason why some people have problems when it comes to various medications and said medications not working the way they should and do for “most” people.

My problem has always been that most medications I have taken, both for my anxiety as well as pain medications don’t do Jack Shit for me… They could just as well be tick-tacks, sugar pills or placebos… I don’t even get a buzz/high from them, so why in the hell would I beg the doctor to up my daily dose, if it isn’t for the fact that I’M IN PAIN… Nope… you are at the highest dose clinically proven to be effective, or, you could become addicted… ehhhhh… Why? I don’t even get a happy buzz from them so, what would the reason I would become addicted to them be?? Or, you could become seriously sick if you took more… hmm… Guess I really shouldn’t tell you exactly how many I’ve taken when the pain has been at its worst… Or the combination of various pills I’ve taken at the same time, with little or no effect at all. The dose I’m on now, would most likely knock most people out cold for a few days at least but, do I feel ANYTHING? Nope…

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Similar when I started out with my anti-depressant medications and they’d do the blood work to measure the amount of whatever it is in the medication that they can find traces of in my blood. They would always ask me if I really was taking my medication, as they’d find little to nothing in my system… Yep, I’m taking them!

Or when I’ve quit them and done so by just going “cold turkey”, not feeling or experiencing any side effects whatsoever… Just up and quit them from one day to another. That’s not normal, even I understand that!

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So, after much arguing with my doctor, as this test is quite expensive over here and being that doctors and medical procedures are more or less “free” over here, (government pays) they’re not to quick at letting you get the really expensive treatments/blood work… Anyhow, managed to get him to understand that it is vital for my wellbeing that I get this test done, or I just might be likely to off myself by mistake one day, trying to medicate myself… Said and done, I got the test… Results came back as defective/compromised or whatever, so I had to have them retaken. Told the doctor that I really didn’t think that there had been any mistake done on my tests, just that they weren’t expecting the result they got back… But OK, I have no problem retaking the test, if that will determine what I already suspect…

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Test results came back and BINGO!! I have a mutation on the CYP2D6 allele, located on chromosome 22, (thank you Wikipedia) which is a gene in the human system that determines among a few other things, how your body/system metabolizes/breaks down various medications. There are a few different variations of this gene which determine the metabolism or lifespan of medications, such as some people can get knocked on their butts by a minimal amount of lets say for instance Xanax, quite a few of the antidepressants or Oxycodone/Oxycontin, (among other medications) … As well as the whole spectrum of variations in this gene all the way over to where I am… I have a mutation on my CYP2D6 gene, which causes most antidepressants as well as pain medications to have little or no effect whatsoever in me.

I’ve always said that I must have an overactive liver or something, as medications wear off way to fast, if they work at all… or if I drink, I’m sober again after perhaps 45 minutes… But now I have proof!! I’m a mutant!!! LOL

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I guess some/most people won’t think this is something funny but… I guess it’s just one of those things where you have to be there to fully understand the reason/s why I feel the way I do. Or perhaps have walked a day in my shoes…

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Now I guess we’ll just have to see if there are any other kind of (legal) medications that actually do work for me…

Differnt day, neverending crap…

Ok WARNING, WARNING, WARNING… in dire need of venting, so if you can’t handle reading a PTSD crazed loon venting, cussing and other graphic descriptions… Go read some page about growing flowers or something else non traumatizing…

Been a few months since I last posted. Quite seriously, not that I didn’t need to post, however, way to much shit going on and not landing before the next bomb hits… WHEN DO THINGS GET PERMANENTLY BETTER??? Easy answer… NEVER… Learn to deal with it! Scream, rant and rave till you get it out of your system but sorry Hun, the mindboggling and terrifying demons are here to stay, so you better fucking get used to them or get a rope and end it… Now, that’s a total cop out but I won’t hold it against you, stronger individuals than me have chosen that way out. To bad that they’ll have to repeat all this shit and more in their next incarnation… Or, at least I so believe…   Some days, that’s the only thing holding me on to this shitty condition called “LIFE”. Look at the bright side… Think of all those that are worse off…. ehhh… and how in the hell is that suppose to make me feel better… Feel better that someone is in more pain than me??? duh??? Sorry, moron, it don’t work that way… Never has and never will… I don’t give a rats ass how most other people feel (try 99.99999999 %) I couldn’t care less if I woke and drove to town tomorrow to find everyone dead in the streets… The human race does in no way interest me. Me being the first to an accident scene… That’s not something you the victim want… You have a pet with you… You better believe I’ll deal with the pet and bring it to safety, before I even look at you… Yes, I’m cold enough to be able to treat you without gagging and yes I do have medical training, even I went through those courses so I could take care of my self if the situation ever arrived… So yes, I can take care of you without fainting. But you will never be my first priority…

My sweet (NOT) demons have once again reared their butt ugly snouts… Creating havoc within me. Doing my darndest trying to push them away, their intrusive thoughts and perverted advice… Now why in the 9 hells would I even consider doing what they are telling me to do??? It’s not like they’d get cooped up in a cell if I went though with their sick ideas. Ideas that actually make me sick to my stomach as they quite often not only involve strangers but also my own children. Actually I should probably be grateful that they are directing them towards my kids, as they are the only human beings that I would NEVER HARM… Plus I treasure my freedom out here in the forest… being able to live out here makes me feel totally blessed in so many ways. I am at peace out here. Most of the time I’m able to heal out here from “their” attacks, before I have to head into town yet again for a shopping run. Miss the States some times and the 24 hour open supermarkets, where you could go shopping in the middle of the night and have to deal with very little people and those you had to deal with, most of them were as fucked up as you are and just leave you alone, as long as you leave them alone…

Throw whatever you want my way, I’ll deal with it! I’m a chameleon and I can fit into any type of setting, at least for awhile until things are dealt with, then I have to head back out here to the safety of my home and privacy and recharge my batteries. Only thing that is keeping me out of some type of lockup, is the fact that apart from my offspring, I value my freedom the most and will not do anything to jeopardize that, unless I’m damn sure I can get away with it…

Met a bunch of abortionist fundies today while in for a regular check-up, that are against all forms of abortion and got a pamphlet shoved into my hand. I calmly asked what they wanted me to do with this indoctrination… Lady got very pissy with me and went on to call me all sorts of names and political belonging to… Fact, I’m in no way affiliated with any political stand… I don’t care enough about the human race to get involved in their destruction. Most of you guys are doing a great job on your own… As far as abortions go… Seriously?? I don’t like humans… Why in the hell would I want more to be born???? Yet another fully grown idiot I’ll have to deal with some day…Like I wrote previously in this post… I don’t care if the whole world would up and die… I don’t care if I was the only person left in this world. Yes, I would be happy if I had my children with me, as well as other kids I’ve helped raise and defend without any thought to myself.. However most of these will grow up someday to be adults and then they change… but, I wouldn’t kill myself if they all were gone, it would just mean they didn’t have to suffer learning how to  take care of themselves in a hostile world… Would I miss them. Yeah, of course. At least for awhile… untill I’d convinced myself they were better off where they were… So, why in the fuck would I care about an aborted or not aborted fetus???? Coming first to the scene of an accident, I’d chose to help the animal if any within the car any day over a human… Humans are the only “animal” that deliberately hurt their own species for just the fun of it.. Yeah, other animals can do it too, but they usually have something seriously wrong with them when they do something like that… A human can do it regardless of if s/he is warped or not… What makes the human race so fucking special… Nuke em!!! Let mother nature start over and hopefully get it right next time around. Makes me wonder sometimes how many times she’s had a do-over… Man is a brutal and vile beast… A beast without conscience (not all but many and especially those that count here in mans society)

The abortion fundies tell me that I should be “grateful” that I didn’t end up in a petree dish as an abortion… Sweetheart… I only wish I had!!! My then 33 year old father raped my barely 15 year old mentally handicapped and innocent mother… I was the forced result on her. Daddy dearest couldn’t handle both me and my mother, which made him feel that he had 2 children instead of 1… However, he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and got her pregnant 2 more times… Hallelujah… the Lord is good, and when he dishes out, he really pours his “blessings”… NOT! 😦 Back then, you couldn’t get an abortion if you didn’t have allot of money, something my mother didn’t and my dad was to cheap to pay for… Grandpa went after him with a shotgun and forced him to marry my mother, or he’d go away for statutory rape and being that this was back in the early 60ies… he got scared and married my mom… Didn’t prevent him from bringing his girlfriends home and sleep with them in her bed, while she was home forced to sleep on the couch or wherever…

One day he got tired of taking care of “multiple children” my mother included and her expecting yet another one, which he of course totally blamed on her… He kidnapped me and put me on a plane to his crazy mother which lived out in the swamps near Tampa Florida. Spent my next near 4 years with that crazy woman and her mentally handicapped daughter, as well as her new pedophile husband, alone with them way out in the swamps, my step grandpa which sexually abused me and beat me more or less ritually from infancy. up until the day he threw me into his big blue car, drove me to my mothers house in California and kicked me out of the car  and onto the curb with the words… Your mother lives in that house, and drove off leaving me, barely a four year old standing alone on that curb… What he hell was I suppose to do… I’d never been among people besides my granny, her daughter and her pervert of a husband. Finally I walked up the LONG path leading up to the front door… Reached for the doorbell and when the strange woman (my mom) opened the door, all I said was “are you my mommy”. A very large part of me wishes she wouldn’t have been home that day, as I believe I would have ended up in an orphanage instead… Yeah, I know that’s not an easy life either, but it sure beats one constantly getting your hopes up, only to get flattened into your shoes again… My biological mother couldn’t handle me since, as she delicately phrased it… You were more a wild animal and not a human child and I would have killed you if I’d kept you… She use to call me her swamp bred wildcat… and ended up giving me up for adoption short thereafter… Of course not telling my new adopted parents what I’d been though from infancy up to when she’d gotten me back out of the blue… Was adopted by an elderly overly old-fashioned Christian couple that had the strong belief that the Bible in one hand and the rod in the other would cure me of whatever devil I had inside of me…. Their church elders would come over regularly and preform a more or less exorcism on me… Forcefully holding me down and SCREAMING to their god to save my soul… Scared the shit out of me… literally… Moved out when I was 14  years old and never looked back… Other than that, I still carry with me all the hurt and rage from those years, as well as the hate. A hate that has become a hate that I feel for nearly ALL human beings, especially now that those that were to blame back then are dead and I can’t do jack shit about anything, other than possibly piss on their graves… Everyone in my adopted parents church and their friends knew what they were putting me though but did ANYONE STEP UP AND SAY ENOUGH!!!!? Nope… so, they are as guilty as everyone else…

My son is now in trouble. Is going through deep depressions from being raped and abused… History has an ugly way of repeating itself, even if you do your darndest to choose another path to walk on… Multiple suicide attempts, constant watch over him, so that he won’t hurt himself… This is REALLY waking up all of my monsters/demons and I’m in overdrive right now…

In constant physical pain myself and have to take quite strong medication in order to be able to get up out of my wheelchair some days… I know from previous run-ins with my PTSD demons, they have a tendency to boost the pain to unbearable conditions. No different now, other than I don’t give a shit about the physical pain. It’s nothing compared with the psychological pain knowing that MY SON is having to deal with the same or similar crap that I’ve had to deal with… Seriously considering if it’s worth the jail time taking his abuser out… Better me than my son… Naaaa… There are other ways of skinning a bear…

My one wish here in this life is, please could we at least have one month peace, just one month so that we can catch our breath before the next tidal wave comes crashing down over us, forcing us to swim or sink in storming waters…

Not sure how much more of this shit I can take. Not sure how long I’ll be able to keep my instincts in check and not give in to the sweet suggestions my demons are whispering in my ear…

BEWARE!!!! Lots of bitching and moaning…

 OK, so today I feel the need to bitch and moan, so if you don’t want to read a bunch of complaining, I strongly advise you to skip this post and go on to another blogger which has a more positive attitude today cause, I’m as far from positive as can be today…

Where to start???? Haven’t got a clue… To much going on, to much of my past that is rearing it’s butt ugly head. Was my adopted mothers birthday the other day. If she still would have been alive, she would have turned 102 years old… I had actually managed to put it out of my mind, that is until it was late at night and I sat here doing bills and saw what date it was… Lots of emotions flooding my system… GUILT being one of them… Guilt for NOT remembering that it was her birthday, the birthday of one of my abusers, which has been dead for almost 18 years now… Dead but far from forgotten, even though I try, she just pops up like a freakin Jack-in-the-box when least expected. Sending me on a total loop… I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve screamed out loud: “Get the F out of my life, my space and my home. You’re dead! Stay in your grave and STOP haunting me!!!! I didn’t deserve your abuse back then and I sure as hell don’t deserve it now either! So, just GO AWAY!!! Always feel like a total loon when I do this but…. *sigh*

Anyhow…

I am so tired right now. Tired of feeling so vulnerable and having to put a mask on… A mask that is fake and not me, just so I can cope with everyday situations others take for granted and haven’t a second thought that someone could have flashbacks in regards to those “everyday situations” . Going in to town, I not only put on a mask as well as makeup, so that I at least look like I’m fine. Lightly colored glasses so that the haunted look in my eyes is more or less hidden from those that don’t look to closely… Thankfully, I don’t drive into town more than perhaps 2 times per month. Once back home to the safety of my house and the forest, I can sleep for 2 whole days, with the only exception of getting up to take my dogs out for their walks in the forest and feed the cats. A knock on the door, will result in me jumping clear out of my skin and I won’t even go check who is there. My dogs, which are trained guard dogs have been taught to be quiet when someone is at the front door.

I’m in so much pain right now, both physical as well as psychological… I have chronic back pain, which is located in the muscles of my mid back. Haven’t been able to figure out why I am experiencing this pain, even though I’ve been in the hospital on several occasions having the “professionals” checking it out… Nope, they can’t find anything and they’ve also ruled out fibromyalgia… but told me that on the “scale” which fibromyalgia can be measured, I’m only 3 degrees/points from having it…. whatever that means. Told me also that it is very likely that someone which has a psychological disorder such as my PTSD, has a higher risk of contracting fibromyalgia if already in constant pain and therefor vital to keep the pain levels in check, so they don’t get worse… Ok, I can buy into that… Just wish my doctor would have the same or similar perception… NOPE, no such luck… He’s constantly trying to cut back on my pain medication, saying that I can become dependent on the medication…. Seriously dude!! I’m already sitting in a wheelchair more days per month than I’m not. I have a permit on the windshield of my car which grants me permission to park in a handicapped space… What part of I’m in pain is it you don’t understand???? Add to that, I have lifelong PTSD which results in anxiety when I least expect it and once it breaks out, I need to get away from whatever situation I am in if I’m not at home, or I risk becoming committed somewhere, which would just make matters worse… Add the physical pain to this and ALL HELL breaks loose inside of me and I have to FIGHT myself, literally to keep my cool, at least within myself and until I’m in a “safe place”… I can deal with my PTSD demons and I can deal with my more or less chronic pain but put them both together…. I can’t handle that very well. It’s enough to push me completely over the edge of sanity and turn me into a stark raving maniac. Therefore, if I’m in town when this happens, I’ll just drop whatever I’m holding or doing, find my car and drive home. Making sure I follow every traffic rule, as the last thing I need when I’m feeling like that is getting pulled over by the cops for some stupid reason… Not a good idea. Not for me and not for them and yes, if nothing else, my mouth would land me in jail… Add to that, I’m claustrophobic and can’t handle being in a small confined area/room, next stop would be the “funny farm”….

And what’s up with both people and doctors… “There can’t be anything wrong with you… You don’t look sick… How on earth did you manage to get your disability pension??? So, what am I suppose to do, go break my leg on purpose just to shut people up? Do you know how many times I’ve thought of buying the kind of plaster they put on your arm or leg when you’ve broken it, just so I don’t have to answer stupid and personal questions. I mean, no one asks you if you are sick or handicapped if you have a cast on? Just because “the Jones’s” can’t see on me that I have a disability, does that mean there’s nothing wrong with me? Or when I was younger…. Ooooh, but you are so young, there can’t be anything wrong with you…. “riiiiiiight” Age is a number that has absolutely nothing to do with health… Doesn’t matter if it’s physical or psychological…. and just because you can’t tell by just looking at me that I do have a disability, doesn’t mean I don’t have one, or in this case a few… It just means I’ve learnt to keep a lid on it when I’m out among people and honestly, it’s not for their sake, not the least bit, as I couldn’t give a shit if they lived or died… It’s for my sake and my love of freedom and not wanting to be locked up somewhere. Be very happy you can’t read my thoughts, cause you’d RUN screaming, as far away from me as possible… Be grateful that I have such a grip on myself and control of my emotions when I’m out and about. It’s called “knowing what is socially accepted behavior” when out amongst people… That’s the main reason why I live out in my house in the woods… Even if I can put on this mask temporarily, I can’t keep it up for longer periods of time and need to go back to the safety of my home, where I can be myself and get the love and acceptance from my dogs and cats… After all, they are my family and those that I identify with on a deeper level. And NO, I would NEVER EVER dream of hurting one of them…..

Never ending past…

When does the past become the past and something you can let go of both consciously as well as unconsciously? People you meet or know tell you: “Just get over it! There ain’t nothing you can do about it, so why keep dwelling on it?” Seriously… You don’t think I’d rather “just get over it”, get on with my life, be happy, forget about what happened, live without the ever present ghosts of my past, which rear their ugly heads, even though most of them have been dead for years, but still to this day kick start a gut reaction… Making me run… Run to safety, run to somewhere I don’t have to worry about being abused, violated, vulnerable and once again a victim… I am 52 years old now and I’ve lived with these “demons” for 51 and a half years… Do you people that say: “Ah, get over it!” Do you have any idea how much those words hurt? How do you get over an instinctive reaction? How do you get over a flight or fight instinctive reaction to something your unconscious mind instantly deems as a possible threat, regardless of it is or not? It doesn’t matter that I consciously know that most of it is in my head these days. Your unconscious mind reacts regardless and sends you into instant survival mode… There is absolutely NOTHING rational about flashbacks and instinctive reactions…

Like I wrote previously, I’m 52 years old now and so far, most of my “faculties” are reasonably intact but what happens 15 – 20 years down the road when/if I start to become senile, dementia or get Alzheimer’s and begin to relive my past, relive the abuse and feel as if I am right smack in the middle of it once again? Will whatever caregivers I have providing care for me understand what I am going through and feel? Will they know why I am the way I am and why I react the way I know I will? Not likely…

And life goes on…

How do you change the way you are, the person you have become, due to the experiences you’ve had since infancy, which have molded you into what you are today? People say, start by changing the way you think, the way you perceive people and the world around you. How is that possible when you constantly encounter the same or similar type of humans every direction you turn? Is it so strange that I’ve for many years now chosen to isolate myself and live on my own far out in the country/forest? People ask me, “how can you live way out there all by yourself, with only your animals as company”?  How? Believe me, it’s much easier than having to live with people that are fake to the core and only have their own interests at hand. That don’t honestly give a shit what your answer is when they smilingly ask you: “How are you?”. Are you really sure you want to know that answer? I don’t think so, I think if I’d even start to tell you a fraction of what I feel when I’m out and about, you’d scream in terror and run as fast as your legs could carry you, just to get away from the “monster” I’ve become… Don’t ask questions if you’re not prepared to deal with the answers… I value my freedom and have therefor chosen to live the way I do. Not for your sake, as I couldn’t give a shit if you live or die… I live this way so that *I* can live and be free, without risking getting locked up and someone throwing away the key. Not having to be under constant medication, which is a necessity, if I have to spend more than a few hours in town.

So, what and whom do I care about, apart from my animals and the man that has chosen to dare live with me on occasion… Granted, he has his own problems that are in a lot of ways similar to my own and we give each other the space we need to not go off the deep end…. I care about my children and no one else… I care about their welfare and happiness… There is NOTHING I wouldn’t do for them. if and when the situation arises where they need me. I am their mother and it is my job to protect them, regardless of how old they are. My son whom is now 28 years old and has put me through hell and back on more occasions than I can remember, is still my son whom I love unconditionally. It’s called a mothers love and something every child deserves. Something I’ve NEVER had but promised myself that come hell or sunshine, it is something my children will ALWAYS have. This is something he knows and that I have proven to him time and time again over the years. One phone call to me, and I’m there, prepared to fight whatever it might be. Same with my daughter of 30 which is slightly mentally disabled. She knows she can count on me to ALWAYS protect her and her rights. Now the people in charge of where she lives have decided that it would be easier for them, if I was out of the picture and have filed with the court for legal guardianship over her. Problem is, she’s not that handicapped and well on her way in her development to soon be able to have an apartment of her own and responsible of her own life and all the decisions regarding what SHE WANTS here in life. Found this out quite by accident when I was with her at a doctors appointment last week, as we needed a document from the doctor which states that my daughter is mentally fit to be responsible for her own medication… Doctor informed us that she had received a form to fill out that needed to be sent in to the court in regards to my daughters mental condition, so that the caretakers at my daughters living facility would have full control over her and I’d be completely out of the picture… I am fully aware that their jobs would be easier if I didn’t “meddle” with their decisions… I know I’m a bitch and that I don’t take any form of shit from them when it comes to my daughter. Quite the contrary when it comes to many of the other parents of those that live there, that don’t give a rats ass about their loved ones once they’ve placed them in the care of others… I make a point of being a part of EVERYTHING that concerns my daughter. This is something that SHE wants, as she knows that as long as I’m there to protect her and her best interests, nothing and no one can go against her wishes, as long as they’re reasonable and not to far out there… So, once again the mother WOLF has awakened in me and I’m gearing up for a fight. Have contacted the court which is in charge of her case, have talked to the boss of the home my daughter lives in and have put a screeching halt to this “overtake” of my daughter and things are now being looked at more closely. I’m angry, or rather change that to FURIOUS!! This is MY daughter and they will NOT revoke my rights as her mother and to be able to take part in the decisions that are made in regards to her free will! Thread carefully little people, as you have no idea who or what you are dealing with… Have also filled legal charges against those that have started this whole mess and yes, I’m out for blood… Don’t mess with me and mine, you’ll find yourself in hot and deep water with nowhere to turn. I have a lifetime experience of fighting for what I believe in and when it comes to my children… You don’t want to go there….

Current crap… Venting…

Today is NOT a good day for me… I am soooo tired. I am so tired of waking up every fucking morning crying like a freakin baby. Why am I crying? I have no clue… I’m just tired… Today I tried to think about why I was so sad and upset and first thing that came to mind was… Because you woke up…. Now, I’m NOT suicidal and have so far at least NEVER been. I’m one of these “crazy” people that believe in reincarnation and there’s no way in HELL that I’d want to do this life over again. As I believe that every life has a lesson to be learned. If you don’t learn it this one, you have to repeat it next one…. NOPE, not going there….

I have an appointment with my therapist today. Haven’t seen her in 2 weeks and have a mother load of stuff to talk about that’s happened since I saw her last. Everything from waking up last Saturday morning to find my right arm being more or less paralyzed, my handicapped daughter having to move home to us due to the staff at her group home being total assholes the past year or more… She’s autistic/ashberger/OCD and whatever else. have never gotten a proper diagnose on her, even though I’ve begged and begged for one, as it would make life easier for everyone, her included if she had one…

Therese (my daughter) has her routines, as everyone with autism has and you CAN’T just change those just because it’s easier (staff) for you… They changed them again, this time telling her that she couldn’t have her weekly allowance until she had cleaned the litter box for her cat. Therese routine is that she changes it in the afternoon and not morning… This caused major strife and Therese got so pissed off that she grabbed what was closest to her ( an empty small plastic soda bottle) and flung it across the room hitting the window.. Unfortunately, her cat was sitting underneath the window and got scared but not hurt in any way or form, or touched by anything… Therese, as pissed as she was cleaned the litter box, got her allowance and that should have been the end of it…. NOPE….

Therese had calmed down and was sitting watching one of her soaps on TV when the doorbell rang again and she saw through the peep hole that it was 2 of the staff standing outside with an empty cat carrier…. She understood what was about to happen but opened the door and let them in anyway… They told her that they didn’t feel she was appropriate to have a cat, so they had decided to take it away from her… Therese’s lost it BIG TIME, grabbed a stick and said, Ok, then I guess I should just kill her instead, since I’m not allowed to keep her… Of course, I agree, this is not acceptable behavior… but she never swung at the cat, it was just her mouthing off her anger and she smacked herself in the head repeatedly and also banged her elbow on the doorpost several times, so hard that when I finally got to see her arm, it was more black than blue all the way from her elbow to her shoulder. Did the staff check this out? Nope…

Therese called me ASAP on the phone crying and I asked her to put the staff on the phone…. Talked to one of them (Maria) and asked what had happened. Got her version, which was more or less the same as I had gotten from Therese. Told them ok I agree, this is not acceptable behavior, take the cat for 2 weeks and I’ll have some serious talks with Therese about how to treat your pet… This Maria agreed to + Therese has paid for all the expenses while Maria has had the cat… Therese left her apartment to stay with her boyfriend, since she didn’t want to be there without her cat. She stayed with him for one week and the week after both her and her boyfriend stayed out here with us.

When it was time for her to go back to her apartment and we had had SEVERAL discussions of what is appropriate behavior when owning a pet, she said she understood but also that she had not intended to hurt the cat, she hadn’t even seen that the cat was sitting under the window… Therese has grown up with my cats, which have been MANY, since I have am a registered breeder of British Shorthair cats and also very much involved with rescue cats. She has NEVER treated any of the cats or kittens in an inappropriate way. All of my cats love her and they pile up on her and she loves them all…. She has NEVER treated her boyfriends cat bad and they also love her… She called the staff and told them to tell Maria that she was coming home the next day, that she understood the rules and that she wanted Maria to bring her cat home to her. Staff told her that Maria had just left and was now on vacation and not reachable… I took the phone from Therese and told the staff on the other end that I didn’t give a royal shit if Maria had gone on vacation, they had her home number as well as cell number and all they had to do was call this woman and TELL her to bring the cat and if she didn’t, she’d have to deal with me!

Maria called Therese the day after and told her that SHE had decided that SHE couldn’t allow Therese to have her cat back and was going to keep her, since she now was at ease and comfortable living with her and her family…. Therese just handed me the phone and really started crying HARD…. I talked with this woman and told her that she had NO choice in the matter since it IS Therese cat and that the agreement was that she would have custody of the cat for 2 weeks, while I would make sure Therese understood what was right and what was wrong… NOPE… If I tried to get the cat back, she said she would file charges for animal cruelty against Therese…

She went on to say that she had done this as a private person and I told her… “Sweetheart, you did this while you were on the clock working but not only that, the other staff member that was with you and was holding the cat carrier, is also in deep shit… add to that the whole team that was working that day had discussed that they were going to take the cat from Therese and if you even try to file animal cruelty charges against my daughter, I will slap so much shit on you AND your colleagues, that you will wish you never were born… And I hung up…. Called her boss, which of course was on vacation, so I got to talk to someone that had no clue about anything… Called the cops and they told me that NO this is NOT something Maria or her colleagues could do without the police or animal rescue/control being involved. Told me to just tell this woman that I had bought the cat from Therese and go pick it up…

Tried calling this woman for 3 days without her picking up.. Which of course made me even more pissed off… Called more of the bosses in charge of the staff and raised HELL literally. Told them that I was going to file charges not only against Maria but against the whole system, as well as contact the newspapers and TV news telling them the whole story, as this was NOT the first thing that had gone wrong and that they had caused harm to my daughter on several occasions. Just to list a few of the things that have happened over the past 2 years…

We had an emergency here at home and needed to get in touch with the staff late one night but the phone was constantly busy… Kept trying for the better part of 3 hours and finally Therese managed to get hold of the cellphone number to the guy that was on night duty… He answered sleepily and I asked him why the hell he didn’t answer the phone… His answer: “Because I took off the receiver so I could sleep…..” DUH!!?? Get a job at McDonalds asshole!! You are required to be on duty during the night, even if it means you are allowed to sleep when everything is peaceful… He got fired…

Next thing…. Strange men would come up to Therese apartment with pizza’s wanting to trade for sex…. (Therese apartment was right next door to the staff’s apartment) I told this to the staff and said DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! Nope…. Therese was out here with me one weekend when this one man called to see if she was home so that he could come over with a “pizza”… I grabbed the phone from her and coldly told him that if he EVER dared come within spitting distance of my daughter again, I would grab him, cut his dick off and shove it up his ass and if I wasn’t strong enough to do this myself, I would hire someone to hold him down while I did it!! Never heard from him again….

Next thing…. Therese was raped in her apartment by her then boyfriends “normal” friend… T’s bf (also handicapped) was to scared to do anything and just sat there playing with his cellphone while his girlfriend was getting raped on the sofa next to him…. He didn’t even dare to get up and press the panic button next to the door to bring the staff in STAT…. Only thing he did was break up with T afterwards, claiming she had been unfaithful…. *grrrr* Therese called me 3 days later telling me that her boyfriend had broken up with her due to her being unfaithful and that his mother had also called her, yelling at her telling her she was a whore and all sorts of evil names, but that they were together again but it was a secret, since her BF didn’t want his parents to find out that they were together again….

Now, I know my daughter and I KNOW that she has never previously been unfaithful and broken up with one guy before she’s had any kind of relationship with someone new… So I started asking her questions about the so called unfaithfulness… She hadn’t gotten long into the story before I understood that she had not had consensual sex. She had said NO several times and also tried to push him away, when he (Patrik) had started to make his advances. But him being a bodybuilder and also a martial arts fighter, she didn’t have a chance.

She told me she had begged her BF to help her but he didn’t even look in her direction but kept his eyes fixed on his cellphone looking at pictures and such on it…. So finally she resigned and let him have is way with her… I told her, Therese, you have NOT been unfaithful, you have been raped!! I also told her that her current BF was an asshole and that his mother was even worse… I’ve had many verbal fights with that alcoholic bitch during the 2 years Therese dated Daniel. I asked Therese if she was up to filing charges of rape against Patrik. She was quiet for a few minutes and then said yes… I then called her brother Mike, as I realized that with my temper, I would most likely just make matters WORSE… Mike hit the ceiling but said of course I’ll step up and take care of what needs to be done…. He called the cops and also accompanied her to the police station and sat with her during the 4 hour interview…. I called T’s BF’s mother and told her that her son was going to be called as a witness to the rape. Daniel’s mother was very pissed and said absolutely, “I will NOT allow you to do this to my son…” I told her she had no say in the matter and also told her exactly how I felt about how she had treated Therese the day after the rape, calling her a whore and everything else and also telling her that she should be very grateful that she was on the phone with me and not face to face, as I would not be responsible for my actions and would most likely beat her to a pulp!! At that point her husband took over the phone and I explained to him what had happened and that Daniel would be called as a witness. He had more “brains” and said of course, if this is what has happened, Daniel will have to step up and tell the truth…

It took over 1 year before the case went to trial. I called the investigator in charge and asked him to be truthful with me and if the reason this was taking so long was due to Therese being handicapped… His answer was, “I’m sorry but yes”… To make a long story very short. Therese lost in court, since it could not be proven with 100 percent certainty that she had been raped and not had consensual sex…. Therese was devastated… Then her STUPID staff have the gall to complain that Therese is uncooperative, angry, etc. etc. etc…. I asked them what the hell they were thinking…. For gods sake, she’s been raped, she’s been to court and lost. How the hell do you expect her to react? Be all happy, laugh and pretend nothing has happened….. Are all of you stupid or just fucking ignorant?? She has received NO counseling, or support from anyone other than us family. Why? Most likely due to her being handicapped, she’s not important… I know it’s not right but that doesn’t change how it feels…

Next thing…. Day before this past Christmas, T slipped and fell on her balcony and couldn’t get up on her own… She managed to crawl to her phone and call the staff…. They came, looked at her foot, wrapped it in an elastic bandage and that was it…. All the kids were spending Christmas out here with us, so she managed to get down the two flights of stairs in her apartment building on her butt to get to the taxi… Out here she scooted on her butt up the slight hill and up the stairs to the font door… I helped her up (had no idea of what had happened) and more or less carried her to one of my recliners… Took her sock off and the elastic bandage was so tightly wrapped and since the foot had swollen,it was more or less almost completely reddish/black… Took the elastic bandage off and examined her foot, told her that she really needed to go to the ER and get an x-ray but she’s a stubborn kid and said no, I don’t want to spend Christmas alone in the hospital… OK… Day after Christmas we drove her to the ER and after X-ray’s we found out that she had broken her ankle in 3 places…. Called staff and yelled at them AGAIN…. Told them that if one of their patients/tenant’s/whatever the hell it’s called in English has a slip and fall and can’t get up on their own…. THEY HAVE AN OBLIGATION TO CALL AN AMBULANCE!!

There have been soooooo many other things that have happened when it comes to the staff interacting with Therese, causing fights which I completely blame the staff for, causing Therese getting the blame for that I am now totally FED UP!! I am out for blood and heads are going to roll so to speak….

Add to this my son Mike and is fucking relationship with and unfaithful idiot, that’s not even smart enough to cover his tracks… Mike’s Borderline and him taking it out on me. My paralyzed arm, my depression, anxiety, stress yada, yada, yada… I am about to go ballistic…. I have chronic back pain and right now my pain meds aren’t doing shit for me…. I’ve asked my doctor if I could exchange one of them for another kind for at least one month or so, so I can get a little peace at least when it comes to my back but NOPE… Can’t do that… You could become addicted…. Well DUH, I’m already taking Tramadol which is similar to Oxy, what’s the fucking problem? I’m not asking to have both at the same time. All I am asking is if I could exchange one of them for a different type for a few months, since the ones I am currently taking are obviously not working right now and it doesn’t matter if I’ve quadrupled the max dose, they still don’t do shit… Hell, I don’t even get high off of them and never have, so what’s the fucking problem??? Right now, I can’t deal with both the physical and the psychological pain. One I can handle but both…. Nope, I feel like I’m going totally insane….

//

Life as a phone ho…

Living in Miami Beach Florida in 2001, I found myself in the difficult position where I was over-qualified for most jobs I applied for. Having only Swedish job references was also a problem, as most employers were too lazy to check overseas references, which meant I had to apply for jobs that were way beneath my work experience/skills and most of those employers realized that I would not stay with the company, once I found a job that I was more qualified for. Catch 22. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. But I still needed to pay for rent, utilities and food, so I had to settle for what I could get and not a job I was qualified for… Out of principal, I refused to work at MC Donald’s or other fast food restaurants.

Found an advertisement in the job section of the local paper one day for a job as a phone a rep for an “entertainment company”, which meant working for a 1-800 number, selling phone sex… Figured, how hard could that be?? Having worked as an Exotic dancer and Escort for quite a few years, from the age of about 15 years old… Talking dirty on the phone, at least meant I didn’t have to have actual physical sex with God knows what/who… Applied for the job, went in for an interview, Auditioned for a fake sex phone call and I was hired on the spot…

I’ll admit that it was weird sitting in a crowded office landscape with perhaps 100+ girls, boys, older men and older women (Granny’s) which were way beyond pension age, which sat there talking/moaning on their phones, knitting cute little outfits for their grandkids, or filling out crossword puzzles while talking dirty on the phone, acting as if they were 18-year-old girls… First few calls were quite difficult, as you had to keep the customer interested but not so interested that he came in his pants after a sexy “hello”… I had a spreadsheet in front of me with different codes, which described what type of girl the client wanted to talk to… couples, transsexual, granny, dominatrix or whatever. Basically, their imagination was the limit and from the second the phone rang and you received the code for what type of phone call the client wanted, you had about 2 seconds to get yourself into the role/character of whatever they wanted… 18 year old school girl, girl next door, older married woman looking for adventure, pre-op transsexual, dominatrix, various fetishes and more… First calls, I of course crashed and burned…. Next problem I experienced, was that I sounded way too sexy on the phone, so after hello, I would just hear a moan and they’d hang up… Now, I know that I have a very sexy voice and that I’m also a very good actress. Have had MUCH training in that department… After a few awkward first days the phone calls became easier and automatic. You’d get the ghostly pre-recorded automatic voice over the phone when you’d picked up the receiver, telling you what type of phone call the client was paying for and off you went, trying your best to keep the client on-line for as long as you could, as you get paid for every minute you manage to keep them online… Yeah, you have a base salary as well but, that isn’t much…

I do remember some phone calls both sexual as well as the wonderful conversations I had with lonely men that just wanted someone to talk to and couldn’t care less if they got the sexy girl, or just someone who would listen to their problems.  Loved those phone calls…. Especially one man who would call back on regular base and put in my rep number, as I was the one he wanted to talk to…. His name was Jack. Now when you work for a sex phone company it is illegal to gather any kind of information regarding the client you were talking to but after about 19 calls with the same man, it was more or less impossible not to remember is private info. I however respected the rules of the company and didn’t make any attempt to contact him outside of my job.

Seriously, I have never understood men… How in the hell can they believe that these 1-800 phone calls are for real? To be totally blunt, when most of you guys get an erection, your brains turn to mush and you think only with the head between your legs… These girls are actresses and get paid by the minute to keep you on the line for as long as possible, faking every moan. They are sitting in tiny cubicles in an office type setting, amongst hundreds of other girls/guys/whatever, talking dirty and moaning into their phones…

I had worked as a phone ho/rep for about 5 months when the boss called me to his desk one day. I had no idea why and suspected the worst of course… It turned out quite the opposite, as he offered me a promotion accepting/verifying credit cards/checks/age verification instead of having to talk sex on the phone. Or as he put it, he realized that I was over qualified for the job I was doing and believed I had the qualifications necessary of doing a more advanced job within the company… I jumped at the chance to get away from the sex talk and the day after I was working in the credit card verification department instead. Pay raise as well as a much calmer work environment. Worked  in that department for about 3 months when things got really bad between my son and I and I crashed mentally and My PTSD exploded within me, causing me not be able to drive myself to work or be calm and not let my PTSD demons get the best of me. Put in my resignation and left, as the situation I was in was impossible to handle with both job and personal demons.

Once I had quit my job at the phone sex company, I tracked down Jack whom I had spent many hours talking to, as well as him paying many $$$ in credit card payments just to talk to me about everyday things going on in his life… Everything from his domestic problems to his problems at work… Joined a list he had on Yahoo which I had remembered the name of and after about 2 weeks of belonging to this list and assuring myself that he was legit, I wrote him a long letter, telling him who I was and that I no longer worked on the phone sex line. I also gave him my private, unlisted cell phone number and told him that he was welcome to call me for free whenever he needed to talk to someone, as I really and honestly enjoyed our conversations. He was  quite shocked that I had managed to find him and it took about 3 days before he answered me. After that, we would talk nearly every day for hours and over time became good friends. Non-sexual good friends…

To be continued…

//

What caused my PTSD to become full-blown…

What caused my PTSD to become full-blown and a condition that affects my everyday life was a “tummy tuck”, which is a routine surgical procedure, which went totally “south”… My surgeon had made several mistakes which he refused to take responsibility for. I spent the next year and a half going to the ER at least twice a week. Problems healing, oozing, fluid building up between the skin on my tummy and the muscle wall of my abdomen. Having them drain this fluid twice a week for over a year but still not admitting to me that there was something wrong… My surgeon even told me that he didn’t dare put me under the knife again since he believed I had fibromyalgia, which has absolutely nothing to do with a surgical wound that doesn’t heal… But that’s a different story… Also told me to drink a glass of red wine every evening since it was good for the blood… ehhh?…. I kept getting the runaround every time I’d visit the ER. Guessing that since my surgeon was head surgeon of the hospital, that didn’t exactly make things easier for me… Was finally told that they wouldn’t do any more draining of my tummy and that my body would take care of it itself… 6 months later on a Saturday I was feeling very sick and also had a temperature of nearly 104° F (40° Celsius) Drove to the ER, was taken to a room but since there had been a very bad car accident they didn’t have time for me and I ended up falling asleep in the room for nearly 3 hours… When the doctor that was on call finally came to my room, apologizing for the long wait, he told me to just go home and come back Monday morning if I wasn’t feeling better…

Late that evening while sitting at my desk talking on the phone with a friend of mine, I felt as well as heard something “pop” on my stomach. I looked down and saw a blackish stain spreading on my shirt and could also smell an extremely foul stench… I lifted my shirt and saw black thick fluid oozing out from a part of the scar near my belly button… Told my friend bye, I need to go to the hospital, grabbed a towel, pressed it to my tummy and ran out to my car. Drove myself to the hospital and leaned against the emergency doorbell. Same doctor whom had sent me home earlier that day was the one that opened the door. He took one look at me and grabbed the nearest gurney and helped me get up on it. Yelled for a nurse to come STAT and rolled me into the nearest vacant examination room… Soon the room was full of staff buzzing around me, taking my temperature, blood pressure, blood samples, “goo samples” and whispering amongst themselves. By that time, I was in tears not knowing what was going on. Doctor told me that they were going to admit me to the hospital and I remember barely being able to talk from crying so hard telling him that it was no use admitting me to the hospital since my surgeon had told me that I had fibromyalgia… Remember doctor more or less screaming “You don’t have any FUCKING fibromyalgia… and off I went to the ICU, where I spent the next 2 weeks. The day after I’d been admitted to the hospital when the attending doctor came to check on me I told him that my surgeon would just send me home again. He looked at me and said. “You have nothing to worry about, he’s on vacation and won’t be back for at least 3 weeks and besides, it’s high time we did something about what we’ve done to you…” I seriously could have gotten down on my knees and kissed him, if I hadn’t been hooked up to so many machines!! I have no idea how many tests they did on me but when the lab results started to come in, I knew it was serious as a whole flock of doctors and nurses came running into my room with a tray filled with little cups of pills in every color imaginable… I had multiple infections, staph infection, streptococcus, gangrene and other infections I can’t even remember or spell… Rushed to emergency surgery, where I refused to let them put me under as I seriously thought I’d never wake up again if they did, so they gave me a spinal block (or whatever it’s called) and I was awake for the whole procedure. They re-opened my tummy and “cleaned” out all the goo and gore and dead tissue… Leaving an open wound the size of a large grapefruit, to heal from the inside out…

I spent the next 3 months in the hospital. Thankfully I had a private room, which meant I could have visitors whenever I wanted. Something both my son and I was grateful for, since he could be there with me as much as he wanted. I spent nearly 3 months in the hospital until they felt it was safe to send me home. Hospice nurses came home to me twice a day to clean and dress the wound. several months later when it was finally healed and I was at the doctor’s office for my final check-up he asked me how I was doing. I told him that I felt more or less OK but that I really missed my old immune system, since all of the medication I had to take due to the infections, had totally wiped out all of my defenses. He then told me that I should be very grateful that I had had such a strong immune system, as none of the doctors thought I was going to survive…

Those words where what REALLY made me understand how serious things had been. Up until then, I hadn’t had the time or luxury to let my emotions get in the way of what I needed to do to heal. Now that I was healed, it all came crashing down inside of me “what could have happened”… Add to that, all the previous shit which is the story of my life, I crashed… I became a basket case, a bundle of raw nerves, intrusive thoughts that I just couldn’t get to shut up, couldn’t be around people, scared of my own shadow, couldn’t sleep… All the old crap from my earlier years came crashing back into my memory and daily life. Wasn’t safe anymore, would jump out of my skin at the slightest sound I wasn’t prepared for or which was out of the norm. Couldn’t sleep in my own bed and would wake up running from my bedroom. The couch was safer but still, I couldn’t sleep well during the night. Was easier to sleep a few hours during the day and stay awake at night.

I was already seeing a therapist for my childhood crap every week prior to my first operation and when everything came crashing down around me after I had physically healed from my surgery, they had no idea how to deal with any of it, other than give me more medications… This is when I understood that if I was going to be able to survive on a level of more than just existing, I needed to take matters into my own hands and do what “I” felt “I” needed to do in order to LIVE… I bought my house out here in the forest and slowly day by day, week by week, year by year I started to heal and also live. I was also able to wean myself off of almost all of the medications I had been taking for years… Yes, I did isolate myself more or less completely. My only contact with the outside world besides my son, was once a month when I would drive into town and do my shopping for the next month. I also had my computer and joined several PTSD on-line lists, writing and chatting with others that had the same or similar problems.

Those lists I belonged to and the people I got to know and became on-line friends with did more for me than all the years I’d spent with the so called professionals in therapy. Talking to others that knew first-hand what I was going through. Bouncing ideas and thoughts with others that shared similar demons is what helped me heal… I am eternally grateful for those lists and friends I made through them. I wouldn’t be where I am today; if it weren’t for the support and friendship they gave me…

My Bitching…

So what does my life look like today?? Am I constantly bitching like I have in the posts I have previously written? Honestly? Yes and No… Of course I do some major bitching, especially here on my blog where I let all my emotions run wild and try to get all the crap I carry around within me out of my system. Does it work? Njaaaa…. Sometimes and sometimes not… I know that some of you might think, “Who is this whiny bitch? What’s her problem and what gives her the right to seemingly assume she’s the only person in the world that has been dealt a shitty hand?” Who am I? I am who I am. Good sides, bad sides and downright evil sides at times. I AM ME…. Am I suppose to feel better knowing there are others in the world that feel worse than I do?? Sorry, it doesn’t work that way… Hell, sometimes I wish it did!!

Your pain and my pain are different from each other and no one can compare their own personal pain to someone else’s pain… If I stub my toe and you stub your toe the exact same way, whose toe hurts the most, your toe or mine?  Answer is simple, they both hurt. What differs is how we each perceive the hurt itself… You’re hurt might feel as if it is unbearable, whereas my hurt might not bother me the least bit. It has to do with our different individual pain thresholds and how we each perceive and experience pain… Similar to how different women experience the pain of childbirth. Some love giving birth, making a new life and 2 grunts later a new baby/life is born, whereas others feel it is the worst experience they’ve ever been through and all they remember is the pain involved in the actual childbirth.. Different thresholds of pain and what people deem to be painful or unbearable…

Take me for instance, I fell and broke my leg/ankle and I basically felt no pain at all. Girl in the hospital bed next to me was crying and whining all day and night over the pain, to the point where I wanted to hit her over the head with her bedpan just to shut her up…, even though we had the exact same fracture… Once again, different thresholds of pain…

Working alone as head chef in my son’s restaurant on an extremely busy day last summer, I accidentally chopped off the tip of my left ring finger stressing while chopping salad… Swore like hell but didn’t have the time to stop and go to the doctor. Washed my finger, disinfected it, wrapped it in several layers of gauze and bandages, cut off the finger of a new rubber glove and rolled it onto my finger like a condom of sort, searched for the severed fingertip, threw it in the garbage, threw away the salad I had been chopping, took out a new chopping board, new head of salad, changed knife and continued with the salad, as well as serving lunch for 60+ customers over the next 2 hours… Didn’t have the time or luxury to let this get in the way of what I needed to do, as I didn’t have anyone I could call to take over my job… When my shift was over, I went to the ER and had my finger tip stitched. Did it hurt? Yes! Was it unbearable? No! Could I still function at 100%? No, but 90% was sufficient…

What I am in a strange way trying to say is that physical pain alone is no problem for me… My problem is with psychological pain, whereas yet others don’t seem to have a problem with that type of pain… What is it that makes us react so differently to various types of pain? I don’t know… I’ll let you know when I figure it out…

On the other hand having chronic muscle pain throughout my entire body as well as PTSD, will some days completely push me over the edge of so called sanity. Experiencing just one of them on a daily basis, is at times all can handle. Having both simultaneously can be excruciating, as one condition tends to boost the other to unbearable levels and makes everyday life a living hell!!

My first love…

I was 13 yrs. old first time I had “consensual sex” with my then (same age) x-boyfriend. He had broken up with me since I didn’t want to have sex. Not because I didn’t feel that I was old enough to have sex, I just didn’t like the idea of having sex, even though I was madly in love with the boy at the time, going beyond “making out” just turned me off. To many memories of previous sexual activities having being forced on me had made the idea of intercourse  and petting something dirty, something someone did to you, not something you out of love did to someone else… My idea of showing love to someone was hugging, kissing and holding hands… As soon as someone’s hands would start to wander to more intimate parts of my body, it was as if someone would flip a switch and I would become cold and non-responsive.

I remember thinking that perhaps he would love me again if I did give in and have sex with him, so I asked him to meet me in the hayloft which belonged to the boarding school my adopted parents had sent me to and he wasn’t late to show up… About 2 kisses later our clothes were off and he was “going at it”… I remember looking up at the beams that held up the roof, trying to figure out what was so special about this “act”. It didn’t hurt and he wasn’t forcefully holding me down. I actually didn’t feel anything. Yes of course I could feel him inside of me but I had no emotion whatsoever, other than perhaps, “are you finished soon?”… A few seconds later, he was finished. Gave me a kiss, put his clothes back on and left… I remember being there in the hay, still on my back, feeling empty, lonely and used… Remember thinking… Ok… this is what boys/men want. So, if this is what they want, I’d better learn how to be good at it and then maybe they will love me? Slowly put my clothes back on, brushed off the hay that had stuck to my hair and clothes and walked back to the girls dorm. I could hear laughing as I passed the boys dorm and saw several faces looking out from one of the windows as I passed by. One of them belonging to the boy I had just “made love” with… I remember feeling anger, sorrow and also hate for him, fully understanding that he had gone straight to his buddies to brag about his conquest… I held all that inside me though, smiled and waved happily towards all the laughing boys, thinking, “you just wait, I’ll get you back and I’ll have everyone laughing at you instead”…

It didn’t take long for me to get my “revenge”. Now that the word was out that I was “accessible”, I had several boys following me around, trying to get into my pants… I played along, laughed and pretended not to know what they wanted, as I wasn’t interested in any of them. The one I was after was the “leader of the gang”. I started randomly bumping into him as if by accident, smiling shyly at him, placing my hand lightly on his arm or chest giving him some compliment or other… Didn’t take long for him to start his pursuit of me… I let him “find me” one afternoon sitting alone in the park which was right next to the school. I had rubbed my eyes so my makeup was a mess and my eyes were red and looked as if I had been crying. Of course, him being the “big tough guy” and all of 15 yrs. old, he wondered what was wrong. I let him “force my story” out of me, that I had heard that there was a rumor going around that I had had sex with my X but that it wasn’t true… I was still a virgin but everyone seemed to believe my X and not me… By that time, I had worked up some real emotions and was crying. Not for what he thought I was crying about, more crying out of anger and resentment of men/boys in general…

I let him put his arms around me to comfort me and soon he was kissing my forehead, cheeks, working his way to my mouth… My reaction when he kissed me on the mouth was probably the most honest reaction I had during the whole experience, as I nearly jumped out of my skin but that just gave my story more credibility, so I went with it… Played the ever so shy girl and he swallowed the bait, hook and line without question… Let him talk me into going somewhere more private, so that we could “talk” without being disturbed… Private, turned into being his dorm room… Talked some more while I let him hold me… Tears in my eyes, shyly told him how much I looked up to him. Fed his ego and made it grow as much as another part of his body was growing… Remember him telling me how he would NEVER do something like that to me and how much he respected me and that he had had a crush on me for the longest time… yada, yada, yada… I told him again and again that I wasn’t that “kind of girl” and he kissed away my tears with his lips, all while his shaky hands moving over my body were telling me a completely different story… I pushed his hands away from my more private parts a couple of times but he told me to relax, he was going to be ever so careful… I remember thinking… “You’re so full of shit but ok, 2 can play this game!” I let him remove my clothes and like most boys, he didn’t have a clue that there’s something called foreplay if you want to get your partner aroused… Panties off and desperately trying to “get in”… This was more or less impossible, since I was as dry as the Sahara desert… I oooooooed and owied, begging him to be careful since I was a virgin and he really believed me… Actually, it did hurt, so I didn’t have to fake that part at least… Finally after much “huffing and puffing” he managed to “get in”… A few humps and he was done… He still to this day believes that he was the one that took my virginity. Little did he know that my step grandpa had taken that many years earlier… I should have gotten an Emmy for that performance! My X was the laughingstock the remainder of the year, as of course, this big tough guy “claimed his stake” as the one that really took my virginity…

13 years old, this taught me that sex is a very powerful tool. It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel anything… it’s what you could get from it that mattered…

People you love

Make you sad…

Hurt you over and over again…

Use you…

Demand that you drop everything when they tell you that they need help…

Give you a guilty conscience when you can’t be there for them…

Make you believe that it’s your fault and that you are mean when something doesn’t go their way…

Put themselves on a pedestal  and constantly repeat and wallow in self-righteousness, when they’ve done something for you when you’ve needed their help…

Have no clue that they are driving you further and further away from them, as they believe it is your duty to understand that they don’t feel well…

What about me?

Don’t I have the same right to feel good?

I don’t have the strength to deal with this anymore

Here’s to wishing you a Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year

May all your dreams come true, just be careful not to trip over all the bodies that lay lifeless in your path. After all, you are the one that put them there. But I guess,that’s their own fault as well…

I’m over this shit now.

Yes, it hurts. It hurts like hell!! But I WANT to live and I can’t do that if I have people in my life that constantly hurt me…

I love you but you are teaching me the true meaning of hate…

But then, I guess this is my fault as well…

(Wrote this to my son last Christmas but never gave it to him)

Who and what am I???

Who am I?? Where do I belong? Am I even human? I’ll honestly admit that most days, I don’t feel human… But then, most days I really don’t want to have anything to do with the human race… Of course, I know that biologically I am human, DNA and all. Can’t argue that… But, just because my biological make up dictates that according to my DNA I fall under the category of human species, does that really make me human? Doesn’t thought, instinct, feelings, behavior etc. play any part in what you REALLY are? Not quite human, not quite animal… More some sort of hybrid caught between what is deemed “normal/abnormal”.

In order to define “normal” you must have a scale of sort, where to one side you have the 100% normal human and at the opposite end of the scale you have the abnormal. Not necessarily someone with birth-defects, just a feeling of not quite belonging among your so called peers… Feeling more comfortable and having more in common with the animals I have chosen as my family members. Feeling the love and compassion from those creatures, much more than from any human being I’ve come across over the years. Humans hurt you, animals don’t. Not talking about wild animals that see you as a potential meal. Talking about those animals that live with you as family. They love you unconditionally, same as you love them unconditionally. They don’t deliberately harm, hurt you or have a hidden agenda, just waiting to strike once they’ve snared you into trusting them. They love you for you, not for what they think they can get from you.

But yes, I do know that I am human. I think, I plan ahead, I use technology, I wear clothes, I use utensils when I eat but most of all, I have a set of morals, even if they are my own morals and not exactly the same as many other humans, they are still there and what keeps me on the “right side of the human made laws”, of what is accepted in todays society… Some of them I really don’t care much for but I have no desire to spend the rest of my life locked away, so they are included in my set of morals… But to be 110% honest with everyone… I wouldn’t mourn if I would wake up tomorrow morning to find that 99,9% of the human population had just up and vanished from the face of the earth… It’s not that I wish ill on others. Well, that’s not exactly true for everyone, as I do wish all sorts of Ill on those that have hurt both me and my son over the years. Starting with those that abused and molested me from infancy, up until I was 26 and finally said STOP, NO MORE!!! The scars and open wounds I have on my soul, will follow me to my grave and yes, I do wish those that did this to me could feel what I feel on a daily basis… But would that make me feel better or change how I feel? No…

When I was in my early 30ies and I’d finally realized that the psychiatric system, which I had been in therapy with religiously for over 10 years could do nothing for me and hadn’t been able to help me at all, other than prescribe medication, which only turns you into a zombie and treats the symptoms but does nothing for the condition itself, I chose to actively take charge of my own life and healing. I was in the process of filing for disability pension and knew that I had to work fast if I wanted to be able to go through with my plans… I knew that I would never be able to function, or have a semi-worthy life living the way I did at the time. I knew I had to get away from people in order to heal, or at least be able to have some sort of happiness in my life. I started searching for a house out in the country/forest. A safe haven which could provide me with the peace, quiet and safety that I need if I were to be able to more than just exist…

Have had many heated arguments with the “professionals” over the years… Been told countless times that the “human race” is a flock animal and in order to thrive they need to have other people in their lives… YES, I agree… IF… that is what you have been raised with… If you take the first 4 years of my life, living out in the swamps of Florida, where I wasn’t allowed any form of contact with other humans and hidden away if anyone would approach the area where my Granny’s trailer was… That set the foundation in stone how I feel about interacting with humans today, even if it has been 48 years since I left the swamps… It is the first 4 years in a child’s life/development that are CRUCIAL  to how said child will function during the rest of her life… I was not allowed interaction with other humans, therefore I have no longing or NEED for it now. 2 weeks before my disability pension went through, I found the house of my dreams. A house far out in the forest, away from everyday stress and constant interaction with other humans.

Earlier, when my children were growing up, I lived in the city. I lived there for their sake. So that they could have friends and hopefully build healthy relationships with other children/humans. I wanted them to have everything I never had. I wanted to give them the choice of who and what they wanted to be. With my daughter Therése, she has handled it fine and grown into a wonderful, independent and strong individual, in spite of her having the same learning disability that my biological mother has. She’s out there in the world, happy and loves life. My son Mike on the other hand… I have created a monster…

A little bit more old and current crap…

Today is not a good day. Memories that I thought I’d buried deep keep surfacing and no amount of trying to push them down is working. I am so tired of constantly fighting myself. How do you get away from yourself? You can’t… Believe me, I’ve tried many times over the years that have past. You can run, but you have to keep running, for as soon as you stop, you catch up with yourself…

I have been so proud of myself over the past 20 or so years, for even if my PTSD demons would rear their ugly heads from time to time, I was still able to cope with the everyday shit that’s been thrown my way. My ability to shake it off and keep going but now… To much has happened over a short period of time and I haven’t been able to deal with one thing before the next bomb hits. I’ve had to up my medication, which for me feels like a failure, even though my conscious mind knows I have every right to be down right now and those that know me, are surprised that I’m still on my 2 feet fighting back. I’m a fighter and survivor and I REFUSE to give up. I will fight till the day I die and even if I find myself laying flat on my back, I’ll kick and bite until I draw my final breath…

Just to name a few things that have happened over the past 11 years… My son and I made the move back to the US (Florida) spring of 2001 to live with a friend (or so I thought) until we’d found a place of our own. Little did I know that he, Timothy was a sociopath. He wanted my son and wanted me out of their lives. Little by little he managed to convince my son, which was 16 yrs old at the time that I was evil. Mike, my son really looked up to this man and believed every word that came out of his mouth. I even married Timothy, so that it would be easier for my son to get his green card. I didn’t know enough then to know that since I am a US citizen myself by birthright, I didn’t need to be married. Mike could file and get his green card as well as US citizenship under my citizenship, since he was still a minor…

After about a year they under the guise of starting a new job at a club in West Palm Beach picked up and moved, telling me that as soon as they found a suitable place to live, I was to follow… I had a job in Miami Beach, so I had to stay there until I managed to find a job in West Palm Beach, which was the city they had moved to. I would talk to Mike on the phone every day and daily I could hear in his voice how he changed his demeanor towards me. He would accuse me of being jealous of Timothy. Which of course was true, since I had understood that he was forcing me out of my sons life… What mother wouldn’t be furious when facing something like that?

I became sick (my PTSD hit me full force again) and I could no longer work, so I asked my son if I could move up to live with them until I got better. His answer was No, you are not welcome in our home… So, there I was… My disability pension from Sweden wasn’t enough for me to survive on, I knew no one that I could move in with. Timothy had made sure that everyone he/we knew disliked me. I packed my suitcases and took the train to WPB and tried to beg my son to take me in. I even talked to Timothy whom I was legally married to but he just coldly smiled at me and told me that he couldn’t go against my sons wishes… But I was welcome to stay one night and then I had to go… Spent the night writing a 6 page letter to my son. Telling him everything I had managed to find out about Timothy. All the lies he had told, all the different versions of those lies, since Timothy could never remember what he had said to whom…

The day after, I asked to talk to my son in private before I left. Said that I wanted to say my goodbye’s in private. Something he reluctantly agreed to… Once alone with him I told him that there were a few things I needed to tell him about Timothy. He snapped at me and said that he didn’t want to hear anymore of my lies. I calmly told him that it was my job as his mother to tell him what I had found out and that if he would just be quiet and listen, I would be out of his life as soon as I had finished telling him what I felt he needed to hear. His reply was, “Well, you can’t force me to believe anything you say”. I told him, no, you don’t have to believe me. All I ask of you is to remember what I’m about to tell you and to listen carefully to what Timothy says in the future and remember what he said the last time he told what ever story he tells. Read to him the 6 page letter I had written during the night. Handed it to him when I was finished and told him that I would always love him and that if he ever needed me, he knew where to find me, as I had bought a ticket back to Sweden with my last paycheck and disability check. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do to just turn my back and walk away from my son.

Why didn’t I force him to go with me?
Reason #1. He had turned 18.
Reason #2. He would have just turned around at the airport in Sweden and flown back to Timothy.
I needed him to find out for himself what a sick individual Timothy was. I wish I could have been there to protect him but no money, nowhere to stay… I had no choice but believe in my heart that he would figure it out. He is a smart boy and I knew that if I planted the seed of doubt, it would grow…

I cried all the way back to Sweden on the plane… Once back here in my house, which I thankfully had kept and not sold, I called him and gave him my phone number. Told him I loved him and hung up…

3 moths later, I received a phone call in the middle of the night from Mike, asking me to please send him the 6 page letter that I had written to him again… I asked him what was wrong and he said. “I think something is wrong with Timothy”. I admit I had the hardest time keeping the wide smile on my face from him being able to hear it on the phone. Told him, yes, I have it here on my computer, I’ll email it to you as soon as I hang up. 2 weeks later he was outside my door asking if he could come in…

Oh my god!!! The things he told me about Timothy made my skin crawl and filled me with rage beyond anything. I swear, if I had had that lowlife of a piss ant within arms reach, I would have torn him from limb to limb and fed him to the dogs!!

The club they had been working at was a gay porn club, where Timothy, whom was the manager at the time had Mike dance totally nude, have unprotected penetration sex with multiple porn stars on stage, as well as work several “VIP” rooms  per night when he was still only 17 years old. Timothy would tell him that he was going to sell him over and over like a used car… As if this wasn’t enough, he also repeatedly sexually abused Mike at home… To say I FLIPPED, is an understatement. Had I known ANY of this before I left the States, I would have gladly served out a life sentence for taking this predator out!

Mike asked me if I would please move back to Florida with him, as he now had a respectable job at an airline and I would be able to receive both health and flight benefits being his mother. I said yes. I was ecstatic to have gotten my son back…

Timothy knew I was returning to Florida, so he made sure he was GONE before I landed… I wanted to file charges against him but Mike was in the process of filing for US citizenship and his immigration lawyer advised against stirring up things. As he put it. “You don’t air your dirty laundry in front of the INS”. Mike begged me for his sake to just let it go, as he was worried that he wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the States if the INS found out he had worked at a porn club before he was of legal age… I could see his point, even if it ate away at my inner core not being able to put this creep behind bars, or 6 feet under where he in my opinion belongs…

I lived with my son in his house for almost 1 year before our fighting became to much for me. Timothy’s “programming” was still very much a large part of Mike’s psyche and one day, Mike kicked me out again… Back to Sweden and my house for yet another 6 months before he called me again, begging me to come back. Promising me that things would be different this time. Call me stupid or just wanting to believe my son, the only person I had in my life that I loved unconditionally, I was on the next flight over to Florida AGAIN… Got myself a job as a phone rep for a limo company, which meant I could work from home. Gave my son my whole Swedish disability check each month, which was about $700 + bought food and everything else we needed for the household from my weekly $200 paycheck from the limo company… After yet another year, I had had ENOUGH… Told him, sweetheart, you are now 21 years old, I’m tired of dealing with your shit, I’m going home and it’s no use you calling me begging me to come back. If you can’t hack it over here, you can move back to Sweden… 3 days later I was gone…

Within a year, he hit rock bottom. Had lost his job with the airline, got a new job at a gay club as bar manager and was rapidly drinking himself to death, or at least to full-blown alcoholism. Day before he was to be evicted from his apartment and homeless, his stepmother and I managed to get the money together and send him a one-way ticket back to Sweden…

Picked him up at the airport and I could barely recognize my son. He looked as if he had aged at least 10 years and was haggard and wild-eyed. Thankfully, he at least hadn’t gotten into the drug scene. The alcoholism was bad enough…  But living with me out here in the forest with no money and no alcohol, did straighten him out a little… At least for awhile… He “imported” his gay lover from Florida and they both lived out here with me for a few months, until Mike managed to find a job in a nearby town and moved with his boyfriend to share an apartment with a friend….

I then did the most stupid thing I’ve ever done… My flying back and forth between Sweden and the US had really hurt me financially and I was stuck between a rock and a hard spot. Had the bill collectors chasing me all hours of the day/night and I was afraid that I was going to loose my house… So, I signed my house over to my son…. BIG MISSTAKE… I’ve always claimed to be highly intelligent but I’ll be the first to admit that when it comes to my son, I’m downright STUPID!!!

4 months later, he evicted me from my own house… He had bought a small rundown summer cabin on the property next to my house and told me that I could live there if I wanted to… Now, this is Sweden and winters over here are COLD and the cabin was basically not fit to live in to start with, had paper thin walls, roof nearly falling in and when you looked at the floor where the floor met the walls, you could see the grass outside through the huge cracks in the foundation. I lived there from June to January with only 2 small electrical heaters and an electric blanket as heat sorces. I would put the blanket in my recliner, so it would keep my backside warm, put one electric heater on each side of the recliner, pile 4 quilts on top of me, plus my 5 cats on top of that and both my big dogs laying on the floor next to me… Saying that I froze is more than an understatement… Come morning there would be about an inch of ice in the dogs/cats water bowl… During the days, it was pretty much ok. We had a “deal”, I would cook and clean for my son and his 3 friends whom all lived in the house and also eat my meals there. Come evening I had to leave and go back to the cabin… I don’t know how many nights I stood outside my house just inside of the forest line crying, begging the gods or any entity that resided out there to please help me get my house back… Hell, I’ve never been sane, so why start now?

Shortly after that Mike started to have severe panic attacks and would scream and DEMAND that I come help him, which I of course did… He would then totally change personality and become something evil. If you’ve seen the movie The Exorcist, you know what I’m talking about. Only thing he didn’t do was spin his head around and puke green slime… His voice would change and he would scream profanities at me and everyone else that was there. He would say extremely hurtful things and wouldn’t stop until he had me in tears. Once I was in tears, he would laugh at me and tell me I was weak and not worthy of being Mike’s mother. He claimed that he wasn’t Mike but wouldn’t tell us his name…
He would finally pass out and sleep for the rest of the night and not remember the day after what he had said or done…

One cold night in January I really thought I was going to freeze to death, so I called Mike and begged him to let me come up to the house, at least for the night… He just told me no, I’m to old to live with my mother, you can check into a hotel if you can’t handle living in the cabin. Told hm that I didn’t have the money to pay for a hotel room. He told me that wasn’t his problem and hung up the phone… Next evening when I was walking back down to the cabin, I slipped and fell so bad that I broke my ankle in 3 places. Only had enough money on my pay as you go cell phone to send one text message and I sent that to the girl that was living with them, being that she was the only one in that household that cared about me but was scared of Mike… She came running. She got in her car and backed it up as close to me as she could and I did a perfect imitation of combat crawling in the mud to get to her car. Managed to pull myself up in the seat on the passenger side and being that I weighed about 137 kg (301 lbs) at the time, I must have gotten the strength from some outer source…

I’m thankful that I broke my ankle, even though I have no idea how I managed to break it. Yes, it was icy on the slope down to the cabins property but where I actually fell there was no ice, just soft green moss… It resulted in social services helping me get an emergency apartment in town, as there was no way I was going to be able to manage being in a wheelchair out in the woods, with no running water indoors or toilet/shower…

I spent the next 2 years living in town and even moved into a bigger apartment. Missed my house but didn’t miss the daily drama. Even met a wonderful man that had offered to take my dog (had to re home one of them) on daily walks and one thing led to another. Usually joke about not being able to get away from him. Since I was in a wheelchair, I didn‘t stand a chance… *smile*

Put in an application for a larger apartment and the day before I was going to move into it, Mike called me and asked if I would be interested in a trade… I could have my house back, if they could have the apartment… Errrrr…. HELL YES!! I asked him why he’d changed his mind and wanted to move but he didn’t want to answer, just told me it was more convenient for them to live in town…

Day after they had moved out, we drove out to the house and when we walked in, the place looked like they had literally fled the house. Personal belongings strewn everywhere… Furniture upstairs with personal belongings still in the drawers. Place was a mess and really looked like they’d been in some serious hurry to get out of here. Almost as if they had been chased out of the house. Mike still doesn’t want to talk about it and it took him the better of 2 years to dare set foot in the house again… Have heard bits and pieces of what happened. All of them seeing dark shadows, something sitting on the end of his bed staring at him. Something throwing him down the stairs on 3 occasions… I guess my “praying” to whatever is out here heard me… Call me crazy if you want but sometimes the things that “go bump in the night”, really exist…

Anyhow, I got my house back and whatever was/is out here seems to be ok with the fact that things are once again “back to normal”.

Mike is now getting professional help for what they now believe is Borderline, even though I seriously believe that’s just the tip of the iceberg… He still has his “fits” of anxiety and change of personality and yes, I still drive over to his apartment to help and confront whoever it is that has taken him over… But I have also renewed my contact with the psychiatric professionals, as I realize I need help in dealing with all this shit, as it has waken up all my own PTSD demons and I desperately need help, or at least someone that will listen to me and give me advise how to handle the situation with Mike.

Some days, I just want to pack up my things and leave… No forwarding address, just poof gone…. Start a new life somewhere. Yes, I know my personal demons will always be with me but I know those “guys” and know that as long as I can have peace and quiet around me, I’m ok…