Daisy

I feel like Im coming out of the closet . Talking about the Kent Girls School on the “Hill Campus” on top of an Appalachian Mountain over the Housatonic River in Litchfield County, Connecticut. In the Valley was the beautiful, 100 year old Red Brick and ivy covered Boys School, I believe that the Girls School was added in the early sixties. I started there in the fall of 1975,

The graduating class therefore, was 1976. and they had that in big numerals over the gym at one end of the girls campus. So, a bunch of us crept out at about 1100 in the evening and turned around the 6 so that it was upside down; 1979!

I thought that that was just the greatest. The instigator finally got kicked out Senior Year.

I was a problem child myself but for some reason I was always helped through things. I never wore socks which was a uniform offense; but I never got “stung” for it. I constantly had “hours” for disciplinary issues such as skipping class or chapel or meals.

Towards the end of my stay I raided the Dining Hall alone at night and also smoked in there while it was dark and quiet at night.

I also stole food and even chocolate ex-lax from my classmates’ dorm rooms on Saturday nights when I was too totally hopeless about going down to the Boy school and preferred my humiliation to be painful and private.

I don’t remember showering or ever having a b.m.

I sicked out of tests regularly, especially history tests; preferring to take them late and separately. I sicked out of class when I had diarrhea from the ex lax which I ate as chocolate; I couldn’t participate in team sports because I was uncoordinated, I tried tennis but that was no good either. I was accepted as and assumed to be a rider. But my horse was taken away because I wasn’t taking care of him. My Math teacher got me to be the Manager of the boys’ swim team and that covered me for a couple of winters. He knew that I was completely briliant at math. It was my one strong suit. My English teacher claimed that I was brilliant with literature also but the sad fact is that I had little “human” instruction and, although I loved to read it was not in a scholarly way and I did not see the point of writing about what I read. I had terrible troubles with this. I had a terrific crush on him–the English teacher–and never really got over it until I found out just a couple of months ago that he died back in 2017. There were a lot of things that I was still scared of. Smoking cigarettes, for instance. things like that. Thinking bad thoughts.

So, that was a bright spot. I was actually completely preoccupied with him and his wife, who was a co-guidance counselor and also taught me English for one year.

That was about the sum of it. I mostly stayed on the girls campus, which was only a couple of hundred acres.. That’s not much, no shops or anything; all, that was “down the hill.’ And there wasn’t that much there either. just a little country village. It really felt a lot like a convent to me, where the faith was to study literature. The other girls all found a way to be meeting aned greeting at the boys school; I never did.

I always wanted to know where the parties were going down and rarely got there. I literally could not say a word to a boy; I sat there like a statue. I was a “partier” but just with other girls, I liked alcohol the first time I drank it–on the first Headmaster’s Holiday of my four years–but, although it was never the same again I continued to drink alcohol again anytime it was available and I had gone there intending to smoke cigarettes, I had already tried them., so I did. So, I did that throughout my time there.–I smoked–it was, of course, against the rules.

So, donkeys years later I was living in an apartment in Somerville, MA and got involved with my male UVa rommate from New Jersey who said the most amazingly funny things about marshmallows and the like.

This was a terrific relief from the stresses of Harvard from whence I had somehow recently received a degree. I became so sick with this person and relationship in a way which was so utterly deadly..

I wrote in my last post about Dr. Behar and how he seeped the pain of my stomach and so it was with J. in Somerville. Not knowing it we seeped the pain out of each other and it was black, sick and dark. and I got so ill. I felt like I was dying. I was taking the “older” anti-psychotic medicine Prolixin. I took it again recently after having been reprieved of it and I stood my ground. “No Thank You.” That stuff is THE WORST. Now I have Clozaril, the first and best “newer” anti-psychotic medicaiton which is DESPERATELY NEEDED. Those older anti-psychotic meds are POISONOUS. people need to know about the Clozaril. We are warned about the bloodwork and “drooling” side effects. But there is a medication for the excess spit and the monthly bloodwork only takes a minute and it is so worth it..

That is my moment on the soap box.

Friend J. in Somerville (shoulda just been a friend) (we were both in error there) finally left and with one thing and another I landed in the State Hospital. Here n PA, where my parents and younger sister had just moved in.

OMG I HAVE THIS.

THIS JUST IN. I knew that I came here to make a serious post and I couldn’t even have imagined it.

It’s about patient D. at the state hospital and the witchcraft.

It was in his parameters to put a spell on me RETROACTIVELY!

He did it through names.

My two male roommates in Somerville were M. and J. –the same as my two older British cousins in England. M. died while I was in the personal boarding care home 3 years ago.

I was horribly embarrassed by having had inappropriate thought about cousin J. I was just able to reach him through Prince Harry and Princess Meghan where I have been getting a terrible time from the Queen, who has been going to my father

So, I had a crush on both my cousins and they probably knew it, I was such a lonely and disturbed little girl. I had to relinquish them to eternity. But the point was that it worked backwards to J. in Somerville where I was about to go to M. and then went to J. instead, I shouldn’t have gone to either of them. J. should have led me off of it. M. wasn’t going to either. And that patched me through to a horribly inappropriate moment with cousin J and my new boyfriend and husband to be, Alex, and others in my mothers kitchen across the road here in the winter of ’91.

And J.’s mother had been a state hospital nurse at the state hospital in New Jersey!

And then there was the cat. J. liked to say that I was “the cat lady.”

We got a cat. I stressed for days and came up with the name “Daisy” after Daisy Buchanon in the Great Gatsby. I didn’t really know how to take care of her, j. did so. And then he left.

And Daisy went to my mother here in PA to where they had just moved. and she let her out and she got pregnant.

I went out of my mind.

And my ex is a Scot of Clan Chattan, the “clan of the cat,”

Can you figure this, Dear Reader?

I cannot.

But, jumping back in I see where in the day room of the Lodge Unit of Wernersville State Hospital in 1987 there was a young man suffering from deep depression who had been at Greystone State Hospital in New Jersey, the one where Somerville boyfriend J’s mother had worked. And that is how the circle completes.

They took a vote on who was the prettiest girl on the Unit and they chose me. Because I didn’t wear makeup. There was a woman there, one of my three roommates, who wore a lot of makeup. She was very pretty. She had had a miscarriage and that was what had put here there. She was horrified that she wasn’t chosen. I am sure they chose me because they knew I would be heartbroken if they didn’t. I had a fantasy that I was incredibly beautiful which was never the case.

34 years later I am wearing makeup. Because I am old and extremely obese. Obese doesn’t cover it. I am odd-looking. I have had this huge belly since a couple of years after my son was born. I called it a pregnancy wish; a protection from unwanted sexuality; or an answer to my sister-in-law’s complaints about my insensitivity to her own obesity issues. Whatever it is, I wish it could be gone. I had it down to a more reasonable level after the suicide attempt in 2016 but now it is sky high again. I don’t need to be thin any more, I cant have children I am 59 years old; and I am not looking for male companionship. But I would like to be a little thinner. And I know a lot about that. I know that if I starve myself and lose 4 pounds, I will turn around and put on 7. If I get diarrhea from laxatives i will GAIN WEIGHT. I am not able to exercise. The only thing I can do is cooperate with the Lord’s plan for my diet and keep praying and that is what I am doing. If he wants to make me thin he will.

As for the make-up, there was a woman on the staff at the clinic in Quakertown who disdained my religious faith in a way that hurt me horribly. as well as being unwarranted. AND I was having trouble with a male patient who was using me to get attention and she took his side. I remembered her blank, pale face, she also disdained to use makeup. The other counselor, a beautiful, Jewish woman, wore makeup, jewelry and the like and made people feel good. The counselor who disdained makeup didn’t bother to. I remembered that I had always disdained to wear makeup because I thought it made me feel uncomfortable. So, I know to go ahead and BOTHER to put some make up on. It helps.

in my high school years, after we moved to super rich Summit, New Jersey, I dreamed, in a vague and foggy way, of a huge mansion that I would go to, somehow some day. I was reading “Brideshead Revisited” by Evelyn Waugh; and similar works, laying around by the pool. That is what the Personal Care Boarding Home looked like. It was a huge, old building with about 90 rooms. On a hill, surrounded by woods in a semi rural area.

In all it wound up that I was only there for a little over 3 months I’m praying that that was all that it took and that it worked for a life time.

So many things say that I needed to be here in this “cottage” in some way at some time, similarly; that it was good that I have been here.

As I have said it is like I have finally reached the times and places of Laura Ingalls Wilder here. Well, that is what I thought but it turns out she lived around the late 1800’s, not as long ago as I thought. This building that I am in is about 250 years old. It is legally deemed an historic site through my mother’s machinations.

So, back to Kent School and mansions and other revisitings of it. I posted in my nearly fatal blogging of around 2009 about losing my virginity late at night on the steps of a mansion on the Long Island Sound (shades of Great Gatsby.)

I was on my way to Harvard-Radcliffe College.

This pandemic takes things so deep that, after 42 years I can look at everything as a run-through and FIX IT.

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