I seem to be the bearer of ‘bad news’ and ‘negativity’. Psychopaths in power…
Today has been filled with clarity, if not anger, frustration and pain. Much of what I’m going to share is repetitive I’m sure, but today is different for me. Very different. I’ve loved coming here and just writing and writing about it. It is catharsis and in doing so, I’ve had a few revelations that have had a big impact on me. I want you to know, those of you who have commented, I’ve learned a lot in the last few days and your contributions have been a major blessing to me. I thank you for that. I’m thankful for my ability to love, and to receive love, even if we’ve never met. I’m most grateful for the ability to write. . .and that my therapist assigned writing in my blog, as my ‘homework’ for me this week. I have a lot to share with her tomorrow.
Today I learned that I live in the ‘wrong’ city. I took matters into my own hands and called the ODAR office myself. They have no hearing scheduled for me and cannot say ‘when’ because “There are 8500 cases in this office waiting to be heard, with only TEN judges! We’re doing the best we can to get you guys taken care of, but I simply can’t give you any definitive answers right now!”
The lady was so nice, really, and I could sense her exasperation with her own job. “They cut funding to us in 2008, ya know, and we’ve not been able to hire anyone since, oh the stories I could tell you!” So I listened to her vent, because sometimes that venting can be informative. Psychopaths in power always deprive…and deprivation affects all of us.
I really don’t know how to express how I’m feeling right now. I thank God above for a car. Despite the many mechanical needs it has, it still runs. The homeless shelters here are all full and that does not at all surprise me because many more live in the forested areas in our county. Families living in deprivation. Psychopaths in power. . .
I know what the end result here for me will be. I know that expecting anything is morally wrong for me, but the anger at the deprivation is overwhelming, the sadness even more.
I wish someone needed a writer to educate about psychopaths. I suck at freelance. If I write about psychopaths somewhere else on another site that isn’t mine, it’s no longer my property. Advocacy pays in a measure of feeling a sense of gratefulness that another soul might find awareness and a measure of peace. It does not offer financial stability or sustenance.
So much of my life has been spent in some sort of survival mode. From physical to emotional. I’m so very, very tired. I wonder why some lives are blessed with opportunity and luck, while others are not. We do not live in an environment of ample opportunity, but increasing good fortune for the wealthy and pain in poverty.
I’m terrified to live on the streets. It’s different than it was years ago now when I experienced homelessness. I was a lot younger then, and my illnesses were not as overwhelming to me as they are now. I could scream to the mountaintops about how unfair and unjust all of this is, but that sounds ‘victimy’ right? Just as psychopaths in power want you to feel, dispensable, a burden, worthless, a waste of oxygen. . .
There have been times in my life when I had no idea what morals and values really meant. I knew what was right and wrong, but life with psychopaths meant no morals, no values, they weren’t allowed. I think it’s miraculous that I’ve even been able to figure that out. The things we tend to take for granted, when we have the freedom to make the choices that honor ourselves, are things that are now missing in my own life, but want so very, very much for myself. Those things cannot happen without a measure of financial stability and I know that. It takes money to live. People are distrusting and skeptical and in being honest with myself, I do understand why, as this has been fueled in society by psychopaths in power who have painted a broad brush for people like me as parasitic, unmotivated, and lazy.
Society’s morals and values are twisted. When a black child can be murdered and left on the street for hours and when his family puts flowers on the ground where his body laid, in mourning and grieving the child they lost, it is demolished immediately. When young mothers leave their babies in cars to die in the heat. When a nine year old is encouraged to use an UZI that kills her instructor, yet we wouldn’t allow her the keys to a car. When a violent psychopath walks into a school and freely murders 25 children, and a year later it is forgotten, but the violence and killing continues. When a friend of mine, whose 20 year old son puts a bullet in his chest because he was a vet honorably discharged for medical problems, leaving him to believe that he’s disappointed his ‘comrades’. He wanted to be a Marine so bad. . .where is mental health when you need them? Psychopaths in power and deprivation. . .and undiagnosed PTSD. A neighbor’s son who is clearly over medicated on psychiatric medications, while his mother screams for help and no one listens, yet the pathological prescriber cares not for her son’s life and calls her ‘crazy’ for wanting more (or rather less) for her son. Those monthly visits for med refills, benefit the prescriber, and Big Pharma. Did I mention there was no referral for therapy?
When a close friend dies from cancer, and social security did not start his payments until the month before he died, a year after he was diagnosed. He worked hard all of his life and still they made him wait an entire year and he was terminal. Isn’t that the point though, of psychopaths in power? To deprive you and make you wait, hoping that you DIE before you experience much needed relief? So much for ‘compassionate’ allowance. . .I loved my friend very much and miss his random messages to me of love and cheer. His ‘stickers’ sent through Facebook messaging of Snoopy holding a heart. I love you dearly, RD and know that you’re in a happier place, full of joy and laughter now. . .the true essence of who you were, while loved by many.
It’s hard not to feel punished because of my disability, my past, my trauma. It’s hard not to feel so angry when I want the very best for my life, where finally, my values and morals line up emotionally with only an imagined pittance of stability. I could be so very happy with that. Throughout this last year, I’ve had to sell everything of value from my home. Whatever is left, is worthless to a potential buyer, so here is stays. I have many things of sentimental value saved for my children. I saved everything they ever made for me. Each of those things is in a box especially for them. As things were sold, right down to old cellphones, I began to realize how little any of those things really mattered to me. I loved my old log bed that was custom built. That was my favorite of the things that are now gone. My mattress is 10 years old, an old pillow top that has ‘lost its luster’ and is now sitting on the floor on top of my equally aged box spring. I got a memory foam mattress a few years back to put on the degraded pillow top. I am so grateful for that one thing, because with back problems it prevents a daily flare. And what’s funny to me is that all I worry about now, regarding the bed lost, are spiders that are moving in and they are huge and I swear packing suitcases with them, ready for a winter respite in their personal phoenix. It’s warm in here for them.
I can’t bear to look at my girl, who is lying on the floor in the sun next to me. I am her everything. She looks at me with such love. I feel a sense of betrayal at the idea of placing her in another home. I blew it for her too. She doesn’t deserve to live in a car with me. I want more for my Fuffies, who deserve to spend their lives in a splendor rich with love, food, bones and treats in abundance (healthy though, mind you, grain free!).
Aside from twisted morals and values in society, there are equally as many ‘gotchas’ in my life now too. Catch 22’s. The list for housing subsidy is very long, six years last I heard. I’m very, very fortunate to have this. Yet at the same time, while my rent is paid while enduring this process of waiting, it does not take care of my bills. And if my utilities are not paid, I lose my home. I receive a $24.00 ‘utility allowance’ from housing that goes to this ‘nickle and dime me now’ duplex I live in. That covers the water and sewer, but does not cover my electric, or my internet, which of course, is considered a ‘luxury’ for those of us in poverty, as we are not ‘deserving’ of such things.
I’m floored at the ignorance in society as to those of us who live in poverty and are disabled, or of color, or that are elderly. . .times have changed and continue to do so at lightning speed. I do not know one individual who is not carrying a ‘smart’ phone. I’m behind the times these days with my little “Obama phone.” I laughed one day (yes and out loud), at some guy behind me in the grocery check out line who was bashing the poor to his wife. The conversation started as he was looking at the pay-as you-go phone cards that are next to the conveyor. He started to bitch about how he ‘knows’ the ‘parasites’ with the free Obama phones and that they’re better than even his. He ‘knew’ what they looked like and how to spot one. Now, I’m not a mean spirited person, but this conversation was, admittedly, getting to me. He went on to complain about how hard he worked and therefore earned his phone. ‘How DARE the parasites get a phone as nice as his, for free!’, I thought in my mind, putting the finishing touches to his diatribe. He described in detail how they all have the Samsung Galaxy S5 phones. Now, I couldn’t tell you what his phone was, although it was very nice, but it wasn’t a Galaxy because my son HAS one and he’s a low wage worker, does that count? My son got it on some deal he got suckered into in maintaining his contract through one of the WORST cellphone providers on the planet, which will remain nameless here.
So I did the unthinkable for me. His last ‘bash’ had me laughing so hard, I thought I’d pee my pants, but I was also very, very angry. I scrambled through my purse and pulled out my Obama phone. “Do you recognize this???” I asked sarcastically. He just looked at me, and I think he was a bit stunned because he moved his head slowly side to side, meaning NO. “Well this, SIR, is my OBAMA PHONE, NOW do you ‘recognize’ it?” I was so angry, that I felt like I was floating and any ‘audience’ that might have been there to see this twist of events, were as if there were no one, just he and I. I threw the phone back in my purse and turned to put my groceries from the cart to the conveyor. In trying to calm myself and stay focused on the task at hand, I didn’t bother to look at his face the rest of the time in line, but you could have heard a pin drop because all that could be heard, was the noise and bustle from the clerk stacking groceries into the cart of the woman in front of me, as well as the noise from inside the store itself, which seemed louder to me than usual. . .
This is not the first time I’ve been exposed to such ignorance, whether it was direct or indirect. And while there is anger, there is also frustration and then sadness. I cannot control ignorance or what other people feel about ‘people like me’. But these stigmas are nevertheless, very painful to endure because when you’re a target of it, it violates boundaries and assumes the individual targeted as lacking in values and morals. Poverty is a character flaw in the minds of many.
Anyway, I’ve also looked for a place to move to that would help monumentally in keeping my costs down to very little. And while housing covers all of my rent and this is appealing to some owners, there is a stigma attached to those who have housing, as well as I can’t move into a place without income because….the rent is paid but how do you pay your bills? Another ‘gotcha’ and feeling incredlibly stuck with costs I don’t need where I live now. At one complex, I was told by management that if I could find someone to ‘cosign’ for me, they’d let me move in. Well nobody in their RIGHT MIND is going to do that for me, even though I’ve had help from my foster parents, friends, donations from time to time, an occasional sell from crystal jewelry that I have and social service a couple of times in making my bills. My children are all struggling themselves, with families of their own or just trying to make their own rent and feed my grandchildren. With the exclusion of two of my children, the rest have had their hours at work reduced.
And because I’m not ‘legally’ disabled yet, social service is extremely limited to me.
Losing my home and my housing is inevitable now. The crushing pressure I feel in constantly compromising my morals and values in begging and desperation to survive has worn me. I know that if I lose my housing, should I win my case, it will be even more difficult to find a place to live at $710.00 a month. Aside from the occasional studio that can go from 500-up here (we live in a state with high property taxes because we have no sales tax here), the average rent for a one bedroom, is 600-700 a month. Even at 500 there would not be enough left to pay my bills. The focus has been to pull this off as long as I can so I can keep my housing and exist doing it, after my hearing.
My bills are not all that high, my electric being the most expensive, but could be lowered substantially in a one bedroom place. But another catch 22 in that I don’t have the money to do anymore. It’s so frustrating when you know that everything seems to be within reach, that you’re doing all you can, thinking day in and day out how to do cut corners here or there, while being mindful of a huge gaping vulnerability with desperation and constant fear of deprivation, fear of exploitation. With that in mind, I’m already decorating the walls of my car.
I’ve endured countless losses this last year. From the sickness and subsequent loss to lymphoma of my boy, whom I miss with every fiber of my being, to my values and morals, to my integrity and dignity, to exploitation in desperation, resulting in loss of two people I truly loved and the loss of my close friend to cancer last month. I’m losing my health more everyday and feel on the verge of insanity, where only nature and my companion pets, my children and my grandchildren, my consistent and true friends who feel helpless to help me, yet are wells of undying support and love, spare me of a Robin Williams demise, an actor I believe was also highly empathic, gifted and whose death and the potential reasons we can only imagine, have been very powerful for me, someone who was perceived to have everything. The loss of my material items to sale, isn’t even comparable to the loss of all the rest.
My faith, which I do not discuss much, out of respect to others who do not believe the same, or who do not believe at all, or somewhere in between, has been tested time and time again. I pray with diligence, yet feel uncertain as to whether or not the God I worship is a loving, merciful one or a narcissistic one. Why is there so much suffering in the world that goes unrecognized, uncared for? Why, when praying for help and a door to open, when my prayers are about doing what’s right, within the scope of healthy values, morals and guidance in recovery, do they go unanswered? This very question perplexes the hell out of me. It complicates my relationship with God, that has already sustained much damage from a lifetime of evil and depravity, and in a personal, spiritual war inside that is fighting to see God as the father and not God as the psychopath. Psychopathy has literally poisoned every aspect of my life and I feel I’ve spent my life as some unwitting warrior in a battle I never asked for. I sense there is a light within trying to escape, but evil, pervasive and darker forces in the form of human free will, are working to snuff it out.
When I was actively involved in the Four Square church( that I would never dare step foot in today) people were constantly telling me that God works through people. But the other shoe was never dropped in that if one believes that, then one also has to consider that SATAN works through people too. That for every good, there is just as much evil. And I’ve been exposed to mega doses of it in the world. Even when I try to get away, try to do good, want to do good, want my life to be filled with peace, love, and joy and giving back, I can never, ever expect this because the darkness of psychopathy looms, whether it’s infested in my personal relationships, society, government or any other important part of what it is to live life.
And if I’d never known what psychopathy was in the first place, or highly sensitive to it, I’d probably not recognize it around me. Perhaps there is something to be said for the ‘blissfulness’ of ignorance. My life would be vastly different. . .
It’s so damned hard to hear and feel ‘good’ when psychopathy taunts me. I can tell myself a thousand times, “Wish for good, think positive thoughts, be grateful, give thanks, expect a miracle”. It’s hard to describe that I’ve learned you cannot expect those things and that life for those of us with damage and in poverty does not work that way. We need more help then there is access too. It’s far easier to deliver one liners or to blame others for their circumstances, then it is to DO something about it. And I mean this in society as a whole, collectively for those who are most vulnerable among us.
I’ve been told over and over, “Don’t over think things”, “don’t be so sensitive about things”. . . but that is BULLSHIT because I’m being asked NOT TO BE ME. I ‘get it’ about ‘tempering’, ‘detachment’, or whatever ‘spin’ is put on to me with learning to live with my sensitivities and ‘over analyzing’, but no matter what I do, it is THERE. It’s how I’ve coped or survived. I’ve lived as a child this way. My ‘sensitivities’ are my limitations in many ways because I can’t turn down the volume! Wherever I go or with whatever I do, I hear the pain in others. And it’s internalized as PAIN within ME. This is why I’m so isolated and why writing works for me. It takes so much energy to be ‘on’ for people. My nervous system is on overload constantly. I do not do stress or crisis well anymore. It fills me with a constant hyper vigilance. These requests to ‘damper’ these things in me are why I’m disabled in the first place because I CAN’T. My reaction to that guy in the grocery store are automatic, spontaneous reactions for me, because I hear hatred in them. It is a HUGE trigger for me. Chronic anger, unkindness, exploitation of not just me, but OTHERS, even on a grander scale, gets my ‘advocacy’ feelers out. I would be an absolute MESS for an employer and a major distraction for coworkers. I would react to ‘demands’ and ‘criticism’, not because I don’t recognize it for what it is, but because it’s a trigger for me. If I hear gossip, it’s a major trigger for me and I’ll leave the scene asap. For every feeling I have that is ‘sensitive’ it is coupled by physical pain and messes with my health in monumental ways. I can feel it when the stress or anxiety is really coming on, because the pain I live with everyday, is intensified. Stress alone has caused my thyroid to go whack and for me to be very, very sick. I have to be very, very careful. And while I recognize and am totally aware of my limitations, of what I truly can and cannot do, it’s other people who are not and when told, dismiss, invalidate or further hurt me.
I know that the majority of the working world is ‘corrupt’ to say the least. I hear the stories my children and some of my friends share in their struggles to remain silent, when they are ABUSED by management and by customers who, thanks to a little exploitation fueled by psychopaths in power upon the low wage worker, experience hate and intolerance DAILY. I love my children dearly and to hear that they are HURT in some way, that they live with suppression and oppression at their JOBS, is more than I can BEAR. This is not what is megaphoned to American’s. But it is very, very REAL. It is so real that the STRESS of my eldest son’s job caused him to have a small stroke this last year. He is highly sensitive and empathic too! I pray constantly for God’s protection over his life. He works his butt off, as many American’s DO and who go unappreciated, underpaid and scapegoated all at the same time.
PLEASE tell me where is the empathy in all of this? If it can’t be said that people are not busting their asses off, with an excellent work ethic, then lets kick em to the curb because they’re stupid and can’t attain or achieve more than a low wage job? I wouldn’t DO my son’s job if my life depended on it, nor would the naysayers who see my children on their jobs as no more than worthless SLAVES to the powerful and elite. And my children are FAR from stupid and in fact, somewhat WISE in not attending college at this time. They know what the outcome might be, as witnessed in their eldest sister and with their friends who have graduated, only to find themselves unable to attain employment in their fields, and in low wage jobs, trying to pay off student loan debt. That’s damned hard to do when you’re pumping gas at Chevron.
And I endlessly worry for my beautiful grandchildren and the world in which they will live if things don’t begin to turn around and quickly in this country. My eldest granddaughter, I believe, is also highly empathic. When we had our last family dinner, she discovered my last remaining fish, dead in the small tank I have sitting in the living room.I was horrified as I had just ‘visited’ with him the night before, fed him and watched him swim around in the tank. He too was a source of comfort for me.
She announced this and had a sadness in her eyes that looked like she was going to cry on the spot and I saw and felt this sorrow immediately and began to talk with her about it. I tried to avoid making a huge deal out of it, because my other two grandchildren are much younger and have not been taught the concept of death, so I didn’t want to frighten them, yet wanted my granddaughter to feel what she was feeling. We talked about it in another room. This conversation led to her sorrow at the loss of my boy (he was the family dog for nearly ten years and all of her eight), and tears flowed. Admittedly, it wasn’t long before I was joining her in that. I worry about what life will be like for this beautiful child who will face many hardships with life in general, if psychopaths stay in power, as well as in knowing that she will be hurt, because she is highly sensitive. I want to teach her how to honor her sensitivities and not to hide them. But what will her life be like in a world that clearly has an empathy deficit?
That same day, she walked up to me in the kitchen, after the fish passing away incident and stared at me for a long time, just watching me help with dinner (I can’t do it all by myself anymore), and suddenly, she gently pulled my hand and said, “Grandma, you are so special. YOU are very special”. And that came from a loving, pure heart. It also brought me to tears and I hugged her so tight and told her how much she meant to me, that she is ‘special’ too and how very, very much I loved her. That moment is one I will always cherish, because it was a moment I never had with any of my pathologicals. My Grandmother was the biggest of pathological and was responsible for my earliest memory of abuse, abuse that was to come. I want my grandchildren to remember me in knowing without a doubt how much they were loved by me and that maybe with that love, along with the love of their parents and auntie’s and uncle’s, their lives, even if psychopathy is in the air, will fare much better than mine. To think that perhaps, JUST MAYBE I may have altered psychopathy for the next generation, makes all these painful and horrendous experiences worth it to me. In trying to find meaning amidst so much heartache, stress, loss and pain, this just has to be it. It just has to be, because I’m facing the reality of more loss, more stress and more pain.
So many times in the last year, I’ve been one shut off notice from living in the streets. But time has run out for me. I no longer wish to burden the people I love the most, who no longer have anything left to give and when it’s me who wants to be the one giving. I no longer wish to be so desperate that I overlook that voice inside that knows that evil is taking advantage of my pain for another round of manipulation, exploitation and to be painted in that familiar place of ‘scapegoat’, for an ego boost. One more month of living in the same place, only to be terrorized by what next month will bring. My desperation, terror and triggers have been nothing but trouble for me in making choices as to ‘hey do I hang out with psychopaths because they’re helping me, yet ‘using’ me and try to tell myself that this is okay?” Because it isn’t okay. It’s so, so far from okay. Psychopaths are good at knowing what you want, but leaving you ultimately deprived when it really matters, emotionally. I sacrificed all I know that is good of me, to survive. Just to exist.
I’m going to lose my internet now because I cannot keep it on this month, I am not disappearing on purpose and I won’t privatize the blog so that it’s open to everyone for reading. I will return comments and emails for as long as I can. But if I do not answer, please know it’s because I can’t.
I need to find a place for my things. I’m not sure what to do about that yet, but I don’t have a lot of time to ‘think’ about it now. I have the rest of this month to do that.
In thinking about this, while I know the roller coaster of emotions I’m about to face, what is the most unbearable to me is letting go of my pets. I know it’s better for them and I know the right thing to do, but this will be especially painful to me. I love them with all of my heart and sometimes that means letting them go so they can have continued good care, and a lot of love. It’s a good thing that they are so good natured as it won’t be difficult to place them. It will be far more difficult to place my Marley, but my Sassy will not be hard to place.
I never wanted to believe that living within my morals and values would mean homelessness. I never wanted to believe that living with my values and morals would mean that I love my friends and my children enough not to continue to burden them. They have enough worries of their own and there are lots and lots of people out there like me. In that way, I don’t feel so alone.
What scares me is the psychopaths I will face in the unknown. And as long as they are in power, deprivation for those of us living in poverty, living with unbearable stress and disability, many living in fear of their lives because of the color of their skin, many living in hopelessness and despair, voiceless and viewed as worthless, are at the mercy of those who do not know us, but hate us. I wish I could get pictures of the looks of contempt and disgust every time I pull out my SNAP card in a checkout line. It’s not safe to be in poverty, to be disabled, to be black or brown, to be old, to be ‘weak’, to be LBGT, to be ‘different’, to be vulnerable in this society.
But in some twisted way, I can live in my car and I will live because the people who love me, don’t deserve suicide from me. And I’ll live free of going against my values and morals. It’s repulsive to me that in order to do so, means even more deprivation and loss. . .
But if I can’t sleep at night, it won’t be because I’m going against my values and morals to survive, it won’t be the stress of obligation and indebtedness that keeps me awake at night, it won’t be the next move of desperation and terror that has me begging, manipulating and pleading for help. It won’t be a result of a pathological in my life that I’m kissing ass to, to survive. I absolutely loathe myself for what I was willing to do, sacrificing myself at the alter of psychopathy for help. I’m disgusted with myself. Everything I felt I had to do, made me hate myself more. And that is contradictory to my healing and what I want and see for myself. If someone was willing to give out of kindness of heart and compassion due to my circumstances, that’s far, far different, then psychopaths who offer because it’s an opportunity to hurt.
I’ll be living, but I’ll be true to myself doing it. No matter what that means for me now. And at this point, it’s not looking so good.
To those of you who have sent donations to me in the last week, I am incredibly grateful. Every single dime has mattered. I didn’t realize, nor was I prepared to deal with the expense and energy required to ‘vet’ my own pets out of illness or ‘cat birth’, nor that my cat is now eating more than my dog and I combined. In the last 48 hours, she has literally blown through a 1 lb. bag of cat food and six cans of kitten food. I’ve never seen a cat eat so much in my life! Never mind the daily cleaning of the litter box two times a day. It also allowed me to get a few things that I had not had for a very long time related to very necessary hygiene items, but I’ll spare you TMI about that. But it’s my pets that mean the very, very most to me and their comfort and care is always a major priority for me. I love them more than I can ever express.
I’m very grateful for all the help I’ve received along the way, even to those who are not in my life anymore. All have had a role in my survival and all have taught me many valuable lessons.
But the greatest of all clarity of self has come here in my writing and interacting with other survivors. I want you to know how very much it means to me that you’ve not judged, stigmatized, stereotyped me. That you’ve not criticized, that you’ve not harmed me, while allowing myself the opportunity to be so incredibly vulnerable here. With each post I wrote, I wondered if I should delete it, the fear of exploitation and harm is that great for me. I knew by sharing and being real about myself and my life, that I was opening the door to be hurt. I know that possibility still exists, and it will wherever I go and am being me. It will exist because psychopaths and evil exist. It isn’t that I don’t expect to be hurt in those ways, because I have been and often. I can have disagreements and rather strong opinions shared without disrespect or crossing boundaries. It’s those conversations that I learn the most, grow the most. There is a huge difference between constructive and destructive criticism and I think that society is lost, that there is so much hatred, intolerance and divisiveness, thanks to psychopathic exploitation, that constructive criticism and disagreement has turned into chronic anger and an ever present, underlying irritation and often, rage. And it’s this that I can’t respond too. It’s this that is an endless trigger, a limitation for me.
It’s true that I’ve been a people pleaser and I thought a lot about that today. While I’m a people pleaser and it isn’t a healthy thing, I know that it derives from a deep desire for peace, to exhibit kindness, empathy and seeing the best, and not the worst in people as I’ve seen the worst, out of others and out of myself too. I want to believe that, innately, people are good, but I often discount the bad. I don’t necessarily miss red flags, they are there, but I ignore them. I ignore them and try instead to implement understanding. My mantra being, “I’ve got damage too, and people react differently, what underlies these behaviors?”
I do this because I know what it feels like to feel misunderstood, to be rejected, to be hated, to be unloved. What I’ve ignored is that even though people will be human, there are many who are inhuman. You’d think I’d know that by now. . .
So now, I ask for your prayers. And that whatever happens, I will be safe out there. I do believe that miracles or ‘luck’ happen, but I also know you have to be in the right place at the right time and most of us won’t be. But I can be, if nothing else, hopeful.
My life has been a very painful and traumatic one. My greatest hope is to live in stability and in peace, to give back. To love and help more survivors who are struggling with this massive pariah called psychopathy.
But most of all, I want to be free, so that I can learn to love and live with me.
Onward and upward.
*Me at 18 months*