I was saddened that the power of the church is such that the voices of child abuse were shut down. Is our belief in religion stronger than our love for our children?
Parents, I implore you as a "rag doll" victim of many strait adult males, take charge. The only way to stop the abuse in religion is to take away its candy. A kid doesn't understand it, is bored by it and it counters the brain on how to treat people in society. Let your children decide about religion when they are adults. Don't allow a stranger to teach them what's good, that's your job. The pederasts will ween themselves out from lack of entertainment and you can have your safety and love of a child back. 17-Aug-2018
When I was diagnosed bipolar (almost 15 years ago) I professed to my mother and sister that the treatment (medicine) had elevated my mood and subsided my rage. My sister disclaimed it while my mother guffawed and pushed all my buttons so I would lose it. She mockingly attested that the treatment wasn't working if she could still make me mad. She kept laughing, I hung up on her and sweared to myself that I would work hard to not allow anyone to take my mental health for granted again. 16-Aug-2018
When I ventured away from the "family bubble" I started to encounter racism. The only contact with white people I had growing up were teachers that treated me favorably of whom many I considered mentors.
I would complain to my mother about this treatment and she proclaimed I was imagining things.
"How dare I think so highly of myself to presume people were talking or acting improperly behind my back or to my face."
She chalked it up to a mental disorder and an insecurity of mine. Even when I was voraciously humiliated I counted to ten and took deep breaths so my presumptions wouldn't get the better of me. I would explode, deflate and repeat the process always convinced it was in my head.
When my sister and family were being racially tormented my mother accepted it as truth. I asked her why she believed my sister's racial discrepancies and not mine and she stated it was because my brother-in-law was a black American. I was hurt that my privileged white mother couldn't accept that the world mostly judges in terms of black and white and that being a Puerto Rican wasn't going to change that perception.
It is a disservice to brown people born of two colors to be denied a truth because one parent lives in privilege. 01-Aug-2018
When my favorite aunt announced to the family that my father had raped her throughout her early teens, I believed her and granted her support. My sister discarded it as the ravings of an alcoholic and my mother sought to investigate the situation.
Mother asked me...
"why would my aunt continue to hang out with us as a family if she was so perturbed by the incident? She must've enjoyed it then."
"I don't know," I told her. "It's her experience, ask her."
My mother never asked and remained unmoved by the discussion as my aunt's confession became a family joke. It hurts that my amazons couldn't unite with her. 23-Apr-2018
My mother attempted suicide several times. The first time I was taken out of school where my sister was waiting to inform me. I deactivated myself from the world with the possibility that what I loved most in the world could die. Seeing her after the drugs were pumped out of her made the possibilities ugly. I cried non-stop, I caressed her, I kissed her and told her how much I loved her. I held on to my sister as they carted my mother away for further examination and then my sister schooled me on what to tell the authorities about mother's mental health. They would put her in an asylum and us in foster care if we didn't act accordingly. We needed to establish the overdose was an accident and we shouldn't admit that mother displayed any mental instability. Mother knew to lie as did we and she was given therapy recommendation and allowed to return home. My sister and I dedicated several weeks to making mother feel wanted and appreciated because we witnessed a scenario in which she could be taken away from us.
My mother overdosed a few years later but this time it seemed directed at someone. She attempted suicide in my sister's room. The same process occurred. She received much love and attention and we lied to authorities and said it was her first time (going to a different hospital helped.)
The last time, I was a teenager, I came home and found my mother sleeping on my twin bed with pill bottles laid out on my dresser. She left a note blaming me for the sadness in her life. I called the ambulance, my sister and stepfather. I was schooled once again except the rules had changed. They warned me, don't cry, don't tell her you love her, don't fawn over her. She is doing this for attention and as soon as we ignore her the faster she'll get over it. It broke me to see mother suffer but I listened to my elders and they were right, she never did it again. She threatened us with it but she didn't dare try. Another hospital and another pack of lies to authorities and she was home again.
Like my mother, I'm obsessed with death but I would never commit suicide. My mother had a mantra to life,"the worst thing that could happen is death. It happens to all of us. You shouldn't make choices in life because you are afraid to die." I agree.
As sad as the world gets, I will let my timeline play out because I would like to see how it all ends. I am very saddened that we can create such an unbearable environment for a person that they want to leave it. 10-Apr-2018
My mother had five brothers and sisters just like the Brady Bunch. There were three girls and three boys. My mother was Jan always seeking attention, Big sis was Marcia always getting attention and baby sister was Cindy with the blond curls and angelic facsimile.
Baby sister was born of sin. My grandmother was a pentecostal zealot who was deluded by her pastor. She cleaned his house and tended to his disabled wife. She must have regarded him especially because she became pregnant with twins. My grandfather wouldn't have noticed except the twins were fraternal and even though my favorite aunt was as white as the driven snow her twin was brown. None of my grandparents are brown. My grandfather thought it the worst indignity and he walked out on his family, stranding my grandmother with six kids and extreme poverty.
My grandfather ended up moving to New York and finding success but the spurned cheater struggled every minute of her life in the wastelands of Puerto Rico.
My grandmother awaited forever for the pastor to do the right thing. He helped her out by suggesting she take her oldest (15) daughter out of school and have her work for him at his house to clear the time for my grandmother to find full-time work. To the disillusionment of Big sis it happened. The work was grueling and cruel because he demanded a spotless house and he raped her constantly. Big sis argued and complained to grandmother who would cover her ears and wipe the assault clean. Big sis sought solace with my mother. She would confide that she couldn't take it anymore. My mother took it upon herself to find her dad in New York and begged him to send for her to save her from the abhorrent situation. He agreed to send for her but he wouldn't take care of her. He didn't want the responsibility of a horny teenager blemished through sex. He sent money for the flight but other relatives would take her in. My aunt never looked back.
Pastor, on the other hand, was left without household help. It soon became apparent to mother that grandma was forcing her out of school so she could fulfill her Big sis' destiny. I presume this is where mother's super cleanliness obsession was born. Pastor couldn't keep his hands off mother either, except my mother could hit back and run faster. He tried relentlessly but mother claims he never pinned her down. At the first opportunity, my mother married the first man that would drag her out of hell. That man was my father. 10-Apr-2018
It happens when parents place a limited bubble around you to see what they want you to see... "a cousin was my first girlfriend." The cousins got closer through intimacy but the strain wilted us. When you break-up with a cousin the reminder of being family becomes unbearable. Our parents did the same and thought it cute so there was no discussion about how the world beyond the bubble were going to perceive us. 29-Mar-2018
Having friends while growing up was a no no. Mother didn't like outside interference and forbade it and would sabotage any attempts. She thought that family was enough. That was all well and good but I didn't visit with the cousins enough to quench my loneliness which also lead to less frequent sex. 29-Mar-2018