Stand up or sit down…

August 12th, 2015, I was admitted to the spa- the View.  I had to go for medical clearance first.  My part/parts come at 1 pm, and stay till 2 pm.  They make me sleepy, slurry, nodding out, it’s like I’m overdosing.  See?  It’s a quarter to two, and I feel better.  I can’t quite crack that one.  I’m working on it.

So, I go in, don’t do trauma.  Because it’s about time I learn how to do normal living skills.  I think it’s safe to say, after 7 years, I’ve graduated from Forest View’s Trauma Program.  Maybe not trauma, per se, but definitely time to take on some new healing modalities.

Over the weekend, from Saturday afternoon till Saturday night, I have constant flashbacks- flooding.  And because the flashbacks are so foul, I puke that whole time.  My poor roomie!  So, remember the first, “Eddie Hamilton”?  The one who I saw hanging from his closet- oxford had a lot of old homes- high ceilings.  Anyways, The High Priestess, whose name is Esther, closest I can recall, is holding my hand and hissing in me ear:  You can run this town.  You can call the shots here.  You can have all the power to make the decisions here.  She died later 1978, in the apartments by Huntoon.  Cancer.  COPD.  Something with her lungs.

Anyways, she requests to be left alone with, “Eddie” and I.  She instructs me to cut out his penis, and instructs me to suck all the blood out of it.  While I’m doing this-she had BIG guards that helped her.  Not guards.  Guards are helpful.  Henchmen.  Definitely henchmen.  She’s lying on the floor, diddling herself.  Whatever.  She didn’t hurt me.  That’s my thought process at 4.  She’s okay, she didn’t throw me to the wolves, try to rape me (?!!!), or beat me.

So, I remember the man in the blue robe.  The leader with the dark hair and grey eyes.  He’s Irish and Italian.  Big dude.  Curly hair.  Brownish/grey eyes.  He was arrested at Beltane in 1978.  He was discovered with two human skulls and various human limb bones.  He went for life.

So, this are the things that I’m flashing to in the spa.  I saw Katy Tuesday.  I told her about the 17 year old, six month pregnant left handed Bride of Satan, that was killed, her baby sacrificed, and how they ate her small intestine.  I told Katy that.  She finally shut up.  I think she wasn’t believing me with 79 parts and down to 5.  Cuz I had stalled in recovery.  I was living life.  I work on this from now till May.  I have from May till the end of August to live it up and pretend I am a normal human being,  I hate doing this.  Putting all this negativity into the world.  I hate it.  But what am I supposed to do?  Keep it all in?  Go mad because I’m afraid?  I challenged the cult’s biggest lie:  If you don’t join us, we will kill you or you must be killed or kill your self by 40/45.  So I made it through 40.  Now, I have a lot of time to work through before age 45.  I hope I can sail  through it.  Halloween is always so difficult.  That is the anniversary of the end of the cult and the beginning of the torture by the Roaches.  I remember hearing Mr. Roach say: “Well, we just have to ruin her.  Destroy her so she can’t finger us.  Kill her.”  And Lord, did they try.

I started having flashbacks in 2001.  About two weeks after the Roaches sold their house and moved off the block, you know, moved on the other side of Oxford, I began to have these horrendous flashbacks.  Sundays were the worst.  I can finally listen to church bells without freaking out.  We went back to the Oxford UCC church in the village where, “Eddie Hamilton” was covered in Lime.  All that remained were pieces of bone and teeth.  Esther said: Build the tower.  Bell tower.  It’s awful.  I can’t go back to Oxford.  I really can’t.  It’s too upsetting.  Too many fucked up memories.  Twisted.

I twisted my knee.  Fluid on my knee and they found more arthritis in my right knee.  We’re going to ZZ Top tomorrow night.  I saw them in high school.  They are amazing.  Dave- has been moved to Lansing.  I got no notice or anything.  I don’t know why I feel hinckey about that.  Why did they move him?  Why didn’t I get a notice/  WTF is going on, over?

I celebrated seven years drink free Saturday, August 15th in the spa.  They gave me Norco for my Chronic pain, mid August.  I saw the Addictionologist to step me down.  I’m thinking of switching programs.  I was addicted to Oxi-Contin.  For two years.  Awful.  So bad.  Chloral Hydrate, Valium, Xanax, Actiq pops.  Fuck, how and why am I still alive?

I found some emails from Dave.  Bat shit crazy.  Simple but difficult abuse-gas lighting.  I knew it was bullshit back then, I, “It’s not worth my soul to lie to you”?  Really, Dave?  Really?  What about lying to 1000-3000+ people?  Is that worth your soul?  No.  And you know why?  Because you don’t have one.  Never did.  Bastard.

Piercing the Veil

So, I knew it was coming, right?  Something’s going to break loose, right?  I knew it, and this morning about 2 am ish, the memory/flashback occurred.

I was basically abused by a neighborhood family, who masqueraded as good southern Methodist folk.  The people who actually abused me were many.  However, the main culprits were a mother, a father, and their son.  The father being the biggest, baddest, sickest Sadist I have ever come across.  The mother, who, well, both the mother and father practiced the ideology of incest with their biological children, and then anybody else they could get their greasy paws on.  The mother had a system, like me, or else she was really Borderline and in a horrifically abusive marriage, but she was a perp too.  Just as guilty as the father and their son.

The Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) occurred at a funeral home in the town I grew up.  Heading north out of town, it was on the West side of the road.  All ritual activity happened in the basement.  The memory was seeing a blonde girl, about 17, with flowers in her hair-no shit-a white dress and her being lifted up by the cloaked cult members.  Next memory/flashback, I was sitting in the back of the “Hush Money” 78 Ford Silver Grenada with the mother wrapping me up in a wool blanket, and throwing me in the back seat.  The daughter, who was the lure, was sitting in the passenger back seat, and she was stroking my arm as I sat there dumbfounded, but distinctly remembering not wanting to ever be touched again.  And that’s all I got for now.

It’s quiet on the inside.  I cancelled home health care- they haven’t been here since March and they want to trapse back in here, like nothing ever happened.  I’m sorry.  But this is my abode.  I dwell here.  I say who comes and who cannot and who has to go.  Tough titty, kitty.  “I’m sorry you feel that way”.  Sister, you don’t know the half of it.  I rescheduled my shrink appointment.  It’s taking everything I have to lay here and not let my 80’s popcorn ceiling be too loud for me.  Killin me.  Just killin me.

It’s not over, that was just like, a peek.  Hence, piercing the veil.  I’ve been rapidly unwinding for about two weeks with the mapping and integrating going on and new parts.  And being a grown up on top of that.  And no smoking or drinking, but boy!  Have we been shopping.  All that goes back as well.  I have to eliminate debt.  Unsecured debt.  Not good.

So, I feel like shit  I’m going to take a nerve pill, YES I DO PHARMACEUTICAL DRUGS!!!!!  CUZ I NEED TO!!!!!  or else Ida been dead by now.  And finally begin to read a great book:  “A Path With Heart”, by Jack Kornfield.

So, nah.