Falling Out of Your Class in America; Part 2

I came here last night to post about something specific and then I lost it and forgot that I lost it. That is pretty endemic to this situation.

Which is insanely complex.

Hence the “Holy Mary, Queen of Stages” prayer.

“Mother Mary, please continue to hold me and dovetail times and places broadly and minutely to bring together an entire life broken against the turn of the third millennium spent in faux psychoanlaysis, the Holy Grail of the latter years of the 20th century; for meaningful lives as we move into the 21st and these bizarre times of the pandemic.

Evil can’t come out of good, but good can come out of evil.

That takes me Back to Kent School which I started to post about last night but I lost the thread and couldnt get back to it so, here I am now.

It was about a little girl there, Mary, the daughter of a British Priest who was in America for some reason.

She was apretty little girl with black hair.

Out of my feelings of jealousy and animosity I treated her horribly. I don’t know whether I said a single word about it but I remember that I moced her horribly in my mind, speicificallyh for sliding on the grass hills on cardboard, somehting that English children do, my brother and I had done itin England.

My grandfather explained that I had gotten grass in my vagina, he used that word, I knew that it was meant tnederly and my mother and gtandmother took him off of me and he never talked to me again..

I was special at KEnt because I was English but, I would guess, not after that.

I remember saying to friend K., mockingly, You will have to room with Mary (R.).” She left after that and went back to Maryland (former friend K.) Mary left to, I didnt even notice, but after a while she was gone again.

I was all alone. I didnt really have parents. They had glommed onto the saying that that the school was “in locus parentis”–that the faculty, et cetera, stood in as parents; but that was only so far and basically they were using that as an excuse to turn a blind eye.

While all this was going on I was suffering the physical, mental, psychosexual and otherwise impact of the blow from being kneed in the crotch by my brother; and aloo the subsequent harm; there was also this Mental OCD that I am finally understanding was at the heart of my illness. It WAS THERE as a mental illness primary to being kneed in the crotch and damaged and probably worsened that . Im finally understanding that. Like, RIGHT NOW. Also, as far as I can tell, my brother DID rape me at the beach in New Jersey before I went to Kent. and they scared me about it and I blocked it out.

Then there was my friend Ali, another person who knew my harm, I said I would room with her and then didn’t, I was ashamed because she was very womanly and mature and I didn’t know how to handle that. I didn’t know how to explain.

Generally there was a reason or at least a good excuse for my behaviou in my childhood and adolescence that nobody ever got the chance to hear. and I have lived with it and EVERYONE has lived with it all these years because the diagnosis of schizoaffective diosorder was use to write me off all of these years. I wasnt given the opportunity to “make a case for my innocence.” Instead of being able to defend myself I was EXCUSED FOR THINGS I DIDN’T DO based on the assumption of a mental illness I didn’t have. I DID HAVE ONE; but it wasn’t what people thought. It wasn’t WHAT I THOUGHT!

And I was struggling with all of this when I went to the state hospital here in Berks County and nobody had a clue what was gong.

It was like the Barbara Streisand, Richard Dreyfus movie, “Nuts,” the true story of a society girl whose stepfather was raping her in the shower as a young girl. She became a prostitute and she killed a John in self-defense and her family tried to put her on a mental ward to “protect her.” from these charges instead of letting her go to court to prove that she was innocent. It came out in court about the Stepfather and why he was doing that. Its a good movie, Ian, you should watch it.

I used to hang onto that movie against all hope.

So, about G.B. the Allentown society girl at the state hospital and afterwards, she was totally in her comfort zone when she pulled all this sick serious shit about me–as far as I can tell- – about what I was supposedly doing to her.

I will be perfectly honest. I was completely conscious at that time in my kind that I was using my situation here in Berks and Lehigh Counties at that time as a sort of “practice” for relationships. Because that’s what they used to say on the psych wards, it was a safe place to practice relational matters and ALL OF MY FRIENDS in the community were from psych-related communities.

I felt so low.

In my mind I was going through sick, serious ideation. I was never in any way conscious of it in waking hours. I got out of bed in the morning and completely forgot it. All that I will say about this is that, for one thing, it’s over, it doesn’t happen any more, and the memories have been completely erased. Also, a lot of this sick stuff came from the psych meds, I have heard talk of others with these issues on psych wards and have seen specific incidences of harm from the medication Depakote, which led me into fatal trouble in Germantown, Maryland; and, in the time period I am looking at here it was both the Haldol AND the Tegretol. The Tegretol was just HORRIBLE. AND I was getting horrible, biological messages from the broken clitoris and urethra and the agony of the clamp on the catheter in the ICU and the passing out and all the rest, the Satanic possesison at the State Hospital; so, my ex didn’t get all this and I guess it just had to play out as it did.

We used to talk about things being “complicated;” and the upshot; 36 years later was my horrible :Every Cloud has a silver lining” book back in 2016. A few week after it went out I downed all my Lamictal, an anti-seizure med that, together with the older anti-psychotic med, Prolixin, was making me desperately suicidal. That book-publishing venture kept me alive. That’s all I have to say about it. I wes on the phone and purchasing publishing packages and getting into debt. A person does that.

The things we do to stay alive. At about 4 in the morning after taking the Lamictal, i noticed a bug on the wall and was convinced that I was going to be eaten by cockroaches. I had been trying to call 911 on my cell phone. I was saying out loud, “somebody call 911.”

It was the morning after Thanksgiving Day. I was in the lovely trailer that my mother had rented for me. I didn’t even have any furniture yet. Just a table and a chair and a small cot mattress.

Here I am 4 and 1/2 years later struggling back to life after, in the interim, my brother has killed himself and my mother has passed away; and I have been baptized in the Catholic Church to help me with all of this.

PRAYING

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