Posts tagged ‘abuse’

I have no skeletons in my closet: they're all hanging from the yardarm

The day started with a post from Nicky to my Daverana Page. He revealed that one of my employees was secretly accessing files on the main company computer and then sending them to him.  So I checked the logs (I’m the only one who can access those) and the most recent person to have a look at my Nicky files was Bob. He had also tried to pry into sections and documents that I had passworded.  I may never know whys of it all, but I am appalled by what I do know.

I had a big fight with Bob and then he threw a link in my face and called me a ‘bitch.”

The link was to a new page that Write Agenda has up on me. I tried several times to make my screenshots larger enough to be easily read.  So, in case you cannot read<a href=”"Photobucket"” target=”_blank”> this one, I’ll post what it says beneath my name in tiny type:

Protected: T.W.A.N.G.: Janrae Frank Dossier Project

In Accountability, Alcohol Abuse, Alternative Lifestyles, Cocaine, Drug Abuse, Emotional Instability, Gay Lifestyles, Hollywood, Illegal Drugs, Incitement, Interviews, Intimidation, Investigations, investigative journalist, Janrae Frank, Journalism, Journalist, lawsuits, Legal Issues, Lesbian, Lesions, Polio, Poliomyelitis, Propaganda, Rehabiltation, Sex Change, Spinal Column, The Washington Post, Therapy Sessions on November 9, 2011 at 10:10 pm

They got all of this off my blogs and put some spin on it to make it look like I”m mentally ill. It seems that having been trapped in an abusive marriage for 15 years and developing PTSD as a result of that abuse makes me all kinds of crazy. What does this say about their opinion of other abused women who found the strength to escape dangerously abusive marriages like I did? What does this say about what they believe about women who have survived male violence (as I have) and come out of it battered, but sane?

If people who have had PTSD and dared to talk about it are disparaged as “emotionally unstable”, how does this reflect our returning soldiers? Are they saying the ALL of our returning soldiers are to be treated badly and subjected to their derision?

I may have abused alcohol at times before I got meds for depression, but I was never an alcoholic. I was laughed out of my attempts to join AA. You see, all of the true alcoholics could recognize me as a normie with just a single question. “If you had some money and no groceries to feed your child, what would you spend it on? Your child or booze?”

Sovay never went hungry once I escaped from her father.

I have talked openly about my experiences with meth and cocaine and how I went cold turkey off it in 1988, because I wanted to show others that it was possible to stay clean. I have been clean since August of 1988. But they want me punished for ever having done it.  They want to turn my victories — and by extension all those like myself who overcame their addictions — into defeats.  Guess what, Write Agenda? It ain’t going to happen.

My ex is a transsexual and out of the closet. But by putting that one word there, it suggested that my c-section scars don’t really exist.  If any of the voyeurs reading this want pictures, feel free to ask.

No, I’m not a Lesbian. I’m bi-sexual. There IS a difference. I’m the B in GLBTQ, not the L.  So apparently they are homophobic also. Like the good people who are going around burning queer folks alive and dumping their remains on street corners.

And let’s take a look at how they mention my polio as if that made me mentally ill and of questionable worth.  Are they trying to insinuate that by having had polio at age eight I ought to be condemned?

The only one this reflects badly on is them. Not me.

Maybe I am or was batshit crazy

Dungstain does not understand trauma or its effects.

My entire life was stained by violence from the time I took a baseball bat to a drunken uncle who was battering his wife on the front lawn when I was home alone at age 11 to the time that a marine sergeant (who happened to be my brother) cracked three of my ribs by banging me against a piano and tried to choke me to death. I was 23, and a few months shy of 24, and I beat him in the face with a heavy flashlight to get his hands off my throat.

By the time that I was forty, the unending abuse, both physical and mental/emotional, had become so bad that I had developed a hair trigger response of bringing my fists up to defend myself whether the assault was physical or verbal.

I was told by others that, when I demolished the gangster wannabe in the halls of this building, my facial expression was demonic. The guy had threatened to kill my little dog, Levy. After that he started crossing the street to avoid me. That was only seven years ago.

Dealing with Dagstine, more than Nicky these days, sometimes sets off those same responses.

So yes, maybe I am batshit crazy. But at least the crazy has triggers and I worked with a cognitive therapist for several years trying to get control of it.

I think I still have a right to resent Dagstine’s remarks.

I doubt that he has ever had anything more traumatic than a stubbed toe happen to him.

I put the traumas of my life into my writing and there are times when I write obsessively for days and hours at a time trying to runaway from the memories and flashbacks.

I have never made any secret of that. Sometimes exhaustion is the only thing that lets me sleep because as soon as I put my head on the pillow the dreams, memories, and flashbacks start up again.

Some of them are violent and others are just a pit of sorrow. But I run from both of them.

I wanted to get some writing done today, but it looks like all I will do is blog and run in that manner..

I promised Sovay that I would help her with her novel, but I put her off until 5, which is an hour and a half from now.

My last neurologist attributes my seizure disorder to having been pounded against the wall repeatedly by my step father who stands six foot five inches tall and weighs two hundred and fifty pounds. He banged me against that wall until I grayed out. I was 42 at the time. There is a little bit of something inside my head that is probably benign, but the timing for the development of the first symptoms is perfect for when he beat me. He also admitted years later to being the person who cut the breaklines on my car, gave me a naughty boy smile, and laughed in my face.

If I am batshit crazy, then life made me a present of it.

Daggy Accuses.


A Memory of Darkness

From time to time, i open up a bit about the things that have happened to me over the years. This usually happens after I have had a bad night of flashbacks. Sometimes the memories will dog me into the daylight and I have a hard time fighting free of them. I will not tell this in chronological order. With few exceptions, the people involved are dead. I remain reluctant to names names, therefore, some names will have been changed to protect the guilty.

I may write about childhood one day, my present life another, and my writing career still another. I will write whatever strikes me or rises from the depths of memory.

As a result, maybe I will figure out things I don’t understand concering what happened to me. Trauma punched a lot of holes in my memories. Sometimes I remember a name, but can’t put a face to it; other times i remember a face, but can’t put a name to it. Sometimes i will remember a sequence of events, but can’t remember what came first. This is especially true of the most intense traumas I experienced.

Maybe writing it down will help me fill in the gaps. I have been gradually remembering more and more pieces of it.

I also want to see if I can talk my way through it without shattering into a thousand pieces.