In my own defense…..

It is September 21st, 2017, my birthday, and I’m officially 48-years-old: an old fart…

Its 11:25 in the morning and I just had an appointment with my psychiatrist and took time to review where I’m at now. Honestly, I’ve been too busy. While I’m grateful to be on track, everything is happening at fast pace and at the rate I’m on going I won’t get a day off until I can move to a different schedule for my weekend job. I’m trying my best to carve out time out for myself whenever I have a spare minute. However, I realize this schedule can continue for very long.

I’m in the car right now trying to make the most of this drive time, and I’m dictating this post on a handy-dandy app I downloaded onto my phone….


I have this theory that life comes with its bitter pill we must swallow. I know this sounds a bit “Debbie Downer” of me, but bear with me. As I see it, this bitter pill represents an undeniable yet ugly truth of our lives. If we face it directly it causes us more pain then we’re prepared or willing to feel. So what we do is we engage in a willful denial of facts and create a reality that deletes these ugly truth out of the equation. The problem with this, is we end up perpetuating what we deny
We seek answers in the wrong places and end up chasing our tails like a hamster on a wheel. As a reformed-fuck-up, I’ve come to understand that the only way out is through. The truth will set you free.

(I realize I’ve said this elsewhere on this blog before. However, it bears repeating here.)

I feel like that kid in the emperor has no clothes fable who points out that the king is naked and gets in trouble for simply stating facts.

It’s truly a crazy making experience to be told that I’m supposed to treat truth as bullshit and bullshit is truth. Its as if those in my past expected me to help them deny what they hated to see. I was expected to collude with others in the maintenance of the pretty, self-deceptive realities we shared.  Unseen facts were my crosses to bear and theirs to benefit from since I was too young to know better.

If you’re a first-time visitor I’m sure this makes absolutely no sense. In this case, I suggest you read through my blog. I’m frankly not in the mood now to provide a detailed accounting of this experience.

My point is, I have this life to look back upon that is very lonely in the truest sense of the word. This loneliness – (in part at least) – meant my daily life was lacking in meaningful companionship, interaction, and belonging.  I’m at a point in my life now where I am not  willing to pay a price for the ignorance of others – even if this does mean I must watch them hurting. I must speak my truth and can’t afford to save others at my expense. I do not expect others to change or if knowledge my truth.

In this blog post I want to tell my side of the story: (or at least the Cliff Notes version of it)

As I write these words my mind is filled with memories of a childhood where I felt like a defendant in the court of public opinion. I was deemed guilty before I had a chance to speak on my behalf.  Nobody took time to understand what I was going through.  It’s not that they didn’t give a fuck or pretending not to notice….

…they just had more “pressing matters” to deal with and I wasn’t exactly high on their list of priorities.

Today when I speak with people who knew me as a kid – (whether family, friends or acquaintances) – it’s like a bad acid trip.  Through the eyes of all those who know me, I am able to see a version of myself that is always distorted and never flattering.  Instead, it is stereotypical and glossed over.  When viewing these preconceived versions of me side-by-side, I feel I’m walking through a hall of mirrors
No one took time to understand where I was coming from, when they drew their conclusions. Instead they acted as judge and jury.  I was screwed from the outset. You see, acknowledging me has meant facing ugly truths previously swept under the rug.  My only regret is I did not stand up for myself sooner in life.
 As that man in a monkey suit, I struggle to break free, but the zipper is stuck. I ask someone to help me but they don’t notice my inner struggle.  You see I’m just a stupid monkey. I urge them from within to look inside but they can’t see behind this frickin mask.  All I say and do is contextualized within this preconceived notion.  These preconceptions render the truth of who I am essentially invisible to all – including myself.  All that can be seen is this thick layer of bullshit ideas thrown my way.

There’s a standard and legal profession that I’m sure you’ve heard before: beyond a reasonable doubt. So they’ll does this mean?

So in my defense, what facts can be brought forth the produce doubts about the conclusions mad about me in the court of public opinion?  What follows is listing of unacknowledged facts – in no particular order that provide a solid argument against these judgments rendered upon me in the court of public opinion:

To continue click the links below


one day after the usual taunting and ridicule, we went to the locker room to shower and change. For the most part, the girls in my class ignore me, which was preferable to the verbal ridicule the boys always dished out

Around me several other girls started undressing talking about normal high school stuff like this party on this weekend or so and do’s boyfriend.  I remained quiet and simply went about my business thinking to myself, “they have no idea how lucky they are getting to be normal”.  However, at some point, I start noticing everybody giving me these funny looks.  Perturbed by the stares I gave the girl next to me the “evil eye” as she asks: “who bought you that underwear and why don’t you shave your legs?”  I looked down at my underwear, having not given it a single thought until that moment.  It was the underwear that my mother bought for me. It had pretty little pink flowers on it and was the modest granny style that my mother approved of. They of course have this fancy underwear that you get from the Victoria’ s Secret. The kind my mother would always comment that only “slutty girls” wear. Then, as I began examining my hairy legs I thought to myself in frustration at my mothers steadfast ignorance.
Point #1: “In my own defense”, I wasn’t only ignorant of the rules of law regarding fitting in. Doing so was legitimately complicated due to the isolation (both at home & school)…

He gazed upon me with that evil Cheshire Cat grin knowing full well all eyes are on us as he said, ”What the fuck is wrong with you moron, I’m talking to you!?!?”

I tried my best to ignore him and looked straight ahead. My face was burning hot and at this point very red as I realized everyone in the classroom stopped what they were doing to watch our exchange.  I honestly can’t remember at this point what our group project was that day, but our geography teacher had divided us up into groups.  I had the misfortune of being paired with three “gems”.
Point #2: “In my own defense”, I was truly alone & the chips were stacked against me.  School was a terrifying place.  My only defense was to retreat “within myself”.  By High School I was really known as “the girl who refused to talk”.

My sister & cousin don’t have a genotype / phenotype mismatch problem, they are “meat-suit matching”. 

“I don’t count” due to the random qualities that define my meat-suit.  My identity feels a farce, and I had to “act as if” I was what others deemed even though this was a lie.

 My sister & cousin were allowed the opportunity to live as a normal American Teenagers.

I was cloistered way like a nun.  I had no friends & was ostracized.  My different-ness stood out like a sore thumb in my small homogeneous town.

Point #3: “In my own defense” the issue of racial identity added to my insecurities.  I felt as if I “didn’t count” for an assortment of reasons.  Additionally, I was dealing with things, nobody could understand when you “live between two worlds.”

emotional parentification requires the child to fulfill specific emotional and/or psychological needs of a parent and is more often destructive for child development than instrumental parentification (Hooper, 2007a)”…”Scapegoat theory refers to the tendency to blame someone else for one’s own problems, a process that often results in feelings of prejudice toward the person or group that one is blaming. Scapegoating serves as an opportunity to explain failure or misdeeds, while maintaining one’s positive self-image” (Scapegoat Theory Definition, n.d.)

Point #4: “I had to provide support at the expense of my own well-being.  To this day, my father has received the fruit of my own emotional parentification by believing honestly that “I had a happy childhood”.  My mother has received the fruit of my role as the scapegoat by saying “my conscience has been resolved” 

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been an optimal target for bullies. In fact, as the “girl with the cooties”, bullying has always been a constant issue: from kindergarten at St. Agnes up through high school graduation.

Admittedly, the bullies changed from year to year, but they all saw me the same way. I was the perfect target: I am highly sensitive and don’t fight back….For those who have never been bullied, you’d be surprised to learn that the actual bullying isn’t the worst of it. The collateral damage it sustains upon your social life is devastating. You see, when you get picked on often enough at school people start to notice and a reputation develops. Now a “loser”, you’re essentially walking around with a scarlet letter tattooed to your forehead. Hapless bystanders, silently observe the altercations but do nothing. Instead they pretend not to notice. Fearing for their own well-being and hoping to retain their status within the social hierarchy, you’re now a social leper. A “dork-by-association” rule starts to govern all social interactions with you. Should someone dare say “hi” or strike up a conversation, they’ll hear about it later: “what the hell are you doing hanging out with that wierdo?!?!”
Point #5: “In my own defense”, I was really a deer in headlights.
A consistent diet of ostracism & bullying left me with a skewed perception of myself. I left home with this emotional hot potato…

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