Childhood Attempts at “Bettering my Life”

In my last post, I mentioned that I was “Stockholmed” and did not find a lawyer to sue my parents.  My parents told me that American children are spoiled (they are immigrants, I am a citizen born here), because their parents didn’t love them enough to beat them up.  I was told that children who keep their “privates private” were spoiled by neglectful parents..*  I was also told that children who do not get beaten up, kids who were simply hit, spanked or belted were spoiled, and would grow up not being able to take care of themselves.  I did not have any television examples of families.  I was forbidden from watching television shows because, according to my parents, my purpose in life was to do well in school.  I was actually isolated from examples of family life.  For instance, when the “$1.98 Beauty Contest”, or the “Gong Show” was on, that was a family occasion to watch television together.  I have never seen an episode of “Charlie’s Angels”, “Mork and Mindy”, nor “The A-Team”.  But more than that, I haven’t seen  “Diffrent Strokes”, “All in the Family”, “Brady Bunch”, not any of those shows that have lessons in values and family dynamics embedded in the story lines and characters.**  Looking back, it seems like my parents’ lives rotated around getting wasted, not getting caught with how I was treated, and being jealous of artists who actually made work and got exhibited.  So no TV for me in case I would catch on how messed up home life was.***

As I mentioned in my 12/29/14 post, I was born with my eyes open. I always thought that things were not right.  I was Stockholmed, and mind controlled, but I have always wanted truth.  I may have the gift of sensing things through past lives, or messages through the air, or maybe children are born with a sense of wrong and right.

1.  This was in the 70’s in inner city America,  when elementary school aged kids being at home alone was not “neglect and abuse”,  I was left sometimes while my parents went out.  Yes they had me so whipped I would go hungry because I wasn’t allowed to eat anything in the refrigerator without permission even if my parents did not come back when they said they would.  They would check every thing when they would come home, scaring the life and prana out of me.

I would still find the immigration office’s phone number in the yellow pages to report my undocumented parents.  In the back of my very young mind, I knew if my parents were deported, and I was to go with them, they would not be able to beat me up as much, and relatives and community would pressure them to clean up their lifestyle, not abuse me (at least as much), and actually work.  I was afraid to eat anything when hungry, but I had the audacity to call the immigration office.

People on the other end did nothing, probably did not want to deal with a child, or too lazy to actually do something about illegal immigrants.  So yes I tried to find a way out, and from early on I was not afraid to take chances for what is right.

2. Sometimes I was punched in the head so hard in the morning.  I would make it to school, get a headache, and pass out, and wake up in the nurse’s office.  I tried to tell the nurse that I what happened but the beatings were never questioned and I was sent back to class or had to stay on the cot. I used those times, which now I am convinced were concussions, as well as fat lips and black eyes to tell people in school about what my parents did, but nobody listened.  My guess is that they saw me as a minority child that was “dirty”, as I wore the same clothes all the time, and was strange looking and strange acting.  I did well in subjects, but was always spaced out; this behavior was probably a mixture of dissociating and not being present, combined with my astrological chart with Neptunian influence.

Again, my attempts to get out of daily abuse was not fulfilled

3.  In junior high school,  I had a panic attack when the history teacher asked for me to hand in my homework, which I did not do.  I broke down crying, saying that it was too violent at home to get any studying done.  I was sent to the school guidance counselor’s office.  I told him about the abuse and violence at home.  The guidance counselor told me that there is nothing that he can do because my father’s alcoholism.  He told me that alcoholics are abusive and that “artists are unusual”.  That is what happened when I asked for help.

4.  Early in my second year of high academic geek public highschool, I was hospitalized in a psychiatric ward.  My grades in my first year were high, considering my home life.  I was studying hard, as I was surrounded by other studious youth.  My parents told me that my grades were not high enough to get me into Harvard on scholarship, nor to get me to valedictorian.  I wanted neither, nor to end up supporting my parents as a lawyer or doctor.  I did not want to financially support my abusers and feed their greed and laziness.

At the beginning of my second year of high school, I was not allowed to apply for free school lunch program, nor was given lunch money nbor allowed to take food from home as a punishment for not having the highest average in my grade.  (I know this sounds like fiction.  I am not creative enough to make this up). I was not allowed to have friends, talk to friends and other students in school,  nor hang out after school.  Of course I disobeyed.

One day early in my sophomore year, I hurt myself in the hallway in school in between classes. The school psychologist  Took me to the local hospital and had me speak to somebody in the psychiatric emergency room.  I was admitted.  It wasn’t clean or cool like in the movie “GIrl, Interrupted”  The adolescent ward had adults staying on the floor because the adult ward was full.  I was serenaded by an adult  pervert (Foreigner and Journey) at 1am outside my door.  Each night he chose another girl to sing to.  I was too scared to open the door and walk down the hall to tell a nurse.  The nurses did not put a stop to this.  It was so very uncool.

When I was released, I told the school guidance counselor that I wanted to live in a youth group home, or to be an emancipated minor, and start working.  The counselor, different from the psychologist who took me to the ER, told me to “get it together”.  Another person who was too close minded and lazy to look past race, ethnicity, and strange way of dressing (i.e. POOR)  This man met my parents, who are, or were, experts at decorum.  They were polite and presentable when hiding their addiction, laziness, greed, and violent behaviour, as well as mentally abusive techniques.

Here are a four instances where I tried to better myself as a child.  I know that I am not the only one, that my challenging life is not unique. I seem to have a mission to eschew obfuscation, seek reality and truth, and shun escapism and complacency, and to hate laziness and greed.  Yes all that even with Neptunian influences in my chart.

So yes I tried to better my life and I ended up running into walls, but with values that have bettered my life.  I have no job, and not a real home, and was on the streets a little over the summer, not had a home since 2012, and had unstable housing since 2011. Still, I did better my life, I will post about this soon.

*in nursery school and kindergarten, I wanted to get alone with boys and touch and see their penis.  I got in trouble for this by teachers (white) who I guess thought I was nasty, without a question to why and how I behaved this way.  In my memory there is one boy was driven to tears because I followed him to the bathroom and I wanted to talk about his penis, while he wanted to make a poop. I repeat, its not “cute, innocent fun”. See my 12/30/14 post.

**Strangely I did see on occasion “Diffrent Strokes” and “Brady Bunch” here and there.  I was in flight or flight mode, or dissociated sometimes, and with the way my life was, I really could not follow story lines until I was in my early 20’s a few years living away from my parents.

*** While I was living there, my parents never bought a television set.  Like in my adulthood, their TVs were found or given to them by people upgrading.  Whether or not we had a TV depended on if my father would smash the set into the wall during his drunken rages.  This wasn’t often, but there were stretches of time without TV.


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