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This will be written in pieces. I keep myself together as best I can using rubber bands. |
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This is the history of my life, so far. It will cover from when I was born: September 17, 1980 until the present day. I will probably have a fair amount of focus on the time I spent in Vancouver, BC from January 1996 - April 2002. This is a living document and I will update and make minor edits and changes as details and dates become clearer. There is a lot I try hard to never think about, but sometimes the memories push their way into my brain from things I see, hear, read, smell. Sometimes I don't know what the trigger is or why I am remembering things. I try to focus my attention elsewhere whenever I can, but sometimes, I just can't so I thought maybe writing might help a bit. I would like to be very clear that by writing and sharing this, I am not looking for anything from anybody. I'm writing it hoping that it might help not only me, but perhaps someone else who might be able to relate to my experiences. Just so they know that they are not alone. One last thing, this will not, at least initially, be "in chronological order". I'm just going to go with what is circling around in my head, over and over, like an old dead fish that won't go down the drain. Link to info re: my profile pic (yes, this is actually me and yes, it’s a recent photo) https://flic.kr/p/2nFZTfM I also post photos and blurbs about my life and my experiences on Google Maps. You can check it out here: https://maps.app.goo.gl/zjDmWy4AhXHqvVRX7 |
| https://www.instagram.com/p/C3LrxbfPJgr/?igsh=MXFodGRrNWwzZWM2MQ== #Superbowl LVIII is tomorrow. In honor of this very important annual event/celebration of American culture, I thought I would share what I have left of my #AmericanFootball PRO SET collection along with some more memories/experiences from my life. The very first Superbowl I remember watching was the one with the 3D Coke commercial, circa 1989. I was 9 years old. I remember sitting close to the TV with my 3D cardboard glasses on, the old-school kind with the blue and red cellophane, so I could enjoy the full experience! My interest in sports continued as I played multiple sports with my cool teachers/coaches from Grades 4/5. Soccer was my favorite. I remember getting my buddies to help me out with making my shins stronger... I will elaborate on this point in another chapter/post sometime soon.🤘 Then, when I went to Grade 6/7 at Cloverdale Elementary School https://flic.kr/p/2pwo4NX https://flic.kr/p/2pwtuRi I would hang out with my buddies for Superbowl Sunday parties. In elementary school, the buddies I hung out with had a pool table in their basement. Two were fraternal twin brothers, "B" and "N". One of "B's" favorite music groups/crews was House of Pain.💚 When I went to high school at Reynolds Secondary School for Grades 8-10, my buddies and I usually had Superbowl parties out in the Glanford area at SB's place. He lived in a townhouse complex/project and his parents let him decorate and use the garage for himself/his friends. I continued to be very interested in American Football (and Baseball too) as I watched a lot of sports (and played a lot of video games) as a kid/teen/young adult with my favorite uncle, who was born/raised in California.❤️ My main sports interest these days is MMA/cage fighting❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥. I was a huge WWF (now called WWE) fan as a kid and watched a lot of that, and boxing, with my uncles. Guess it's not too big of a surprise that I ended up getting so into MMA, especially UFC! I continued the tradition of hosting games/sports events as an adult as I frequently hosted UFC events/parties at my place when I worked at the video store and the garbage/recycling station. #AmericanFootball ❤️ #NFLproset 1991 #SuperbowlXXV |
| Guess I would call this post a final draft. Still may revisit and edit some sections. I am never truly satisfied with anything I write or do in life. I would never actually post and share anything if I didn't just say fuck it, good enough, just do it. Anyways, here I go again: There is no sense in attempting to climb a ladder made of plastic and paper that constantly shifts around like a game of snakes and ladders. Like it's constantly shuffling a card deck, folding and cutting and dealing another hand at a casino. Maybe you get a few wins at first, but that's just to pull you into the game and give you a sense that you might win big if you just keep playing, so pull out another bill and try again. Plug another quarter into that machine and watch the wheels of fortune spin while the bells and whistles sound off, designed to intrigue you, to excite your senses and instill a sense of real hope that the next spin will be your big payoff. The ever evolving and revolving ladder rungs constantly redesigning themselves to thwart your climb, to stop you from advancing, ban you from attaining anything beyond the lowly and pitiful status you were born into. Always crafting a more intricate origami ladder pattern, always getting fancier and more complicated—maybe they even use the decadent gold embossed paper for their next design. Something that will ultimately generate more money for the top section of their revolving pyramid of doom while continuing to ignore the plight of those beneath them save for some grand speeches full of empty platitudes. At the very top, they put-in their grandmaster "big boss" who wears a triangular pirate hat made of glowing blue paper infused by the nuclear powers of our ongoing cold war. He sits there with a smug expression and quietly laughs at all us of fools below like some fat smiling buddha, a jealous, yet self-professed benevolent god floating upon his heavenly cloud like an ironic status icon of one of the earth's most fantastical paradise locales. Those who uphold the ladder and maintain the structure of the great pyramid of Pyonghattan only accepts those that fit into the narrowly defined parameters of the new and improved, open and liberal, more acceptably diverse and inclusive methadology of who you may profess to be or identify as based on the expected expression of where you are situated on the wheel of Intersectionality, victimhood, and oppression. This new classification structure culturally approximates and radically defines who you are according to a more inclusive community based standardized system of guidelines of how you should be living and being in this new non-partisan, open-source, carbon-neutral, no risk, money-back guarantee, taxonomy-free, democratic society. I suppose we should have expected the Sphinx to morph like a chimera after all these years and update his ancient riddle before we may approach the heavenly entrance to the realm of the gods and goddesses and gain access to immortality in the afterlife. Now we must answer Xur's new riddle: "What is a woman?" Perhaps we don't truly encounter and comprehend this paradox until we ask ourselves in combination, "what is a man?". The answer to that, of course, is it is however we choose to express our own individual interpretation of that identity according to our prescribed feelings of the day—as explained and diagnosed by the professionals who pharmaceutically guide us and instruct us in our healing journeys—to document our emotional expressions and cognitive observations, to contribute to the practice of self-discovery and make daily affirmations of gratitude. <BREAKING NEWS> This just in. An astonishing new development surrounding an investigative report from a trio of highly qualified scientific research experts. "We have recently discovered a new race of non-binary gender-fluid asexual beings (N.B.GenFAB) who procreate by a previously unknown osmotic method where a simple and equivalent exchange is made of particular sections of chromosomal DNA which is then combined via a very intricate and specialized ex-vivo technique crafted by these same unique beings. This method has been observed to occur naturally in these certain incredibly special members of our new brand name generation of homo sapiens. These self-identified N.B.GenFAB members report that they innately had the knowledge to employ this highly specialized ex-vivo technique as it has been handed down to them through generations of ancestral teachings that has only recently been unlocked by returning to their traditional ways through intense meditative prayer and study of their ancient scriptures, holy texts, symbols, and artifacts. Furthermore, these highly advanced N.B.GenFABs report that as they have been able to tap into this ancient wisdom, they have evolved beyond the traditional homo sapien limitations of biological and physiological processes and developed advanced abilities beyond us mere mortals. Many N.B.GenFABs have transformed and redefined themselves as a entirely new species, some even reporting they have developed Supermutant-like powers and X-Men like abilites." <Personal Log, Stardate -300890.4109589041> Unfortunately, I am not a SPECIAL N.B.GenFAB. I am naught but a mere mortal. Descendent of the common and simple-minded peasantry stock—a shamelessly childless and divorced heathen female. I no longer bother with silly childish pursuits such as dating men, nor do I advertise myself as "single and available"... and that is by choice. I am a purely and proudly 100% heterosexual woman, as such, it is not difficult to go without any kind of sexual relations. I am not a man, nor am I a young lady in my late teens/early twenties, so it's quite easy to quell and bypass all of my emotions and not be coerced by men into acting in a particular manner that typically pleases them. Also, as someone who has experienced multiple episodes of physically and sexually abusive situations and relationships, and have had the much-needed time to be alone and heal, it's now even easier for me to completely detach myself from all emotional human encounters. In short, completely killing off those aspects of my human nature was not at all difficult for me. Even when I do notice a man who is attractive, I simply remind myself of all the times I've been fucked over... because I have been fucked over by almost every man I've ever been open and vulnerable with in any sort of "romantic relationship". There might have been one or two who presented themselves with authenticity and had genuinely kind hearts who weren't like the other guys... maybe, lol. Maybe I met a couple decent men who weren't looking to see how easily I could be controlled and manipulated into doing whatever would please them and being whatever they wanted me to be while I received nothing in return. Maybe. It's obstinately difficult for me to not be jaded and cynical surrounding this subject, so I remain steadfastly opposed to any relationship that attempts to move beyond friendship. These are the relationship boundaries I have set and they are non-negotiable. And it's not like it's difficult to adhere to anyhow. I am no longer youthful in appearance, and it's not like I was ever exceptionally attractive or pretty, so all I ever really had going for me were my sad attempts at humour and satire, a passion for video games, music, and cultures, and a love for intense intellectual discussions that encompass many subjects, including politics, history and science. Thus, I have found much to ignite and fuel myself in other very human, biologically based passions in the physical and intellectual realm. I have found great joy and pleasure in pursuits such as physical exercise, social interactions at work, music, art, reading, writing, researching, and even attempting to communicate online with other members of humanity. Though I mostly seem to fail in this latter aspect, I keep trying nonetheless as I have many thoughts and ideas to share with the world. I remain utterly unapologetic about what I post and share and remain hopeful that other lifeforms out there, who honestly present and represent themselves with avatars of their true likeness through genuine photographs, and who formulate their own posts and thoughts without the assistance of AI or a social media manager will perhaps notice and reply. I believe I have punched through this barrier a few times as every so often an authentic and genuinely human avatar "likes" or "hearts" my posts. Anyhow, I have no one to blame but myself for the relationship conditions I found myself in, over and over again. The family situation I grew up in and was surrounded by made controlling, one-sided, caregiving relationships where I had to be responsible for helping and being the person to have to handle it all feel normal. Many people would have noticed red flags in so many of my relationships, but I was "blind" to them because it was all totally normal in my family structure. I was a parent to my mother from a young age, and I was expected to not be a child and to be more adult like for my grandmother, especially after my grandfather died as I needed to help her more because she had to deal with my mom. I suppose none of this really matters anymore, but I wrote it all to provide context and background to where I am now and what I am/have been writing about. So yeah, why bother trying to "move up" in a society and a community that has determined that you are worthless and has discarded you? Because that's exactly where I am. And maybe that's where I "deserve" to be. I even started seriously studying languages during the COVID times and continued for quite awhile hoping it may help me advance or enter into a new field of employment or career. However, despite my formal and non-formal education, my varied work experience, my taking all sorts of continuing education, including taking every available government course I could to further enhance my skills and abilities, none of it seems to really matter in this world. Despite networking while I was working within the big government machine, including getting to know the important people at the upper echelons of the Public Service Agency of Canada, none of it seemed to really matter in terms of career advancement. I was not accepted. I was not/am not good enough. I do not have a good enough education. My credentials are not good enough. I am not smart enough. Not knowledgeable enough. I don't parrot the appropriate lines and go along with the approved narrative. I challenged the norms. I spoke out after spending months just being quiet. Listening, observing, trying to make sense of their systems, their relationships, their organizational structures, their expectations. They claim to want innovation and creativity. They claim to value courage and integrity. I tried, but it was not the kind of innovation and courage that they have defined in their narrow viewpoint of how a diverse and inclusive culture should be. There is no room for thought diversity. The only traditional ways they want to include is indigenous ones and "progressive liberal" ways because it gives them "points" with the younger generations and it's trendy and popular. Decolonization is all the rage now, don't you know? If you don't make a land acknowledgement and publicly shame yourself as a humble settler whose ancestors savagely stole and raped the land from the natives then you simply can't be a part of this new, inclusive community that is "safe and welcoming to all". What utter bullshit. All of it. I will never be accepted. I will never advance along any ladder of any industry in this new and modern era because I refuse to be ashamed of my "inherent whiteness". They claim to be fighting racism, but their very values are racist at the core. Do they even realize it? I am sure many do, but they just willingly go along with it to advance themselves up the ladder so they can have more money and power and feel important as people look upon them with reverence for being so progressive and forward thinking. But it is exactly the same as when "western" politics was "dominated" by "Christian values" and "the patriarchy" and demonstrating "patriotism", a love and appreciation for your country, respecting what the flag represents as a symbol for the citizens of a country to unite under, to fight for. Now, it's the D.I.E. values and the LGBTQ2SI and however the rest of their new alphabet soup goes united under a rainbow flag with a trans triangle of pedophilia acceptance emblazoned upon it. It is utter rubbish. Totally ridiculous childish utopian nonsense. I tried to continue on in the veterinary industry, but I was essentially "bullied out" of that environment. No one was very welcoming or accepting of me. I was not "motherly" enough. Not full of warm fluffy fuzzy nurturing towards the "little furry humans". I spent years working in animal rescue, but even then, it was a job to me. Not some all encompassing passion that filled me with deep emotional sentiments, but I was dedicated and good at it and gave it my all regardless. I never cared for dealing with puppies and kittens. I never revelled in the cuteness of the little ones. I preferred working with the old, grumpy, cantankerous and difficult to handle animals because it was challenging and I seemed to have a knack for it. This was/is likely due, in part, to my not feeling any fear of them. Again, probably related to my upbringing and life experiences. Even when I do feel a bit uncertain or "fearful" it is easy to detach and push it aside and look at it as a challenge to overcome. A situation to figure out a solution to and adapt to an unpredictable and changing scenario where the outcome is uncertain. I enjoy those types of challenges, but ultimately, it all felt rather empty and unfulfilling as I never had any real deep connections with the actual work I was doing. It was like factory work on an assembly line. Just a job with no real opportunities to advance in the industry. Nowhere to move up in the industry unless I wanted to be a drug rep for a pharmaceutical company and slog their products to Veterinarians so they could sell it as a new treatment or a new food or a new beneficial product for pet owners. To make the industry more money by guilting pet owners into investing more money into their pets and to coerce and encourage them into performing more "very important life-saving procedures and necessary preventative care" for their pets. That was, ultimately, what my job was as a tech. I was expected to help "sell" people stuff to help their pets. But I didn't really believe in most of what I was doing. I was just parroting garbage lines from pharmaceutical companies and regurgitating their lines designed to induce feelings of guilt and a lot of false hope for pet owners. Some of what I was "selling" and some of the procedures I was advocating for in animal health was stuff I whole-heartedly believed (and still believe) had/has merit and is absolutely necessary for animal, human, and environmental health and safety. Basic vaccines and deworming treatments are actually useful for preventing diseases that can and will kill animals. Some viruses, bacteria, protozoa and parasites are zoonotic (able to be transferred to humans and/or cause other more serious and life-threatening diseases in humans). But much of what we put the animals through was unnecessary and a ridiculous waste of medicine that would be better used for saving human lives. Chemotherapy for animals is ridiculous. And it creates serious and potentially deadly effects for the human caregivers. They have to be super cautious about handling things like their urine and such after treatment with many drugs due to the way the drugs are excreted. Many drugs require protective gear to administer and handle and can be deadly if aerosolized. Their saliva can even be a potential health hazard. Then, this stuff goes into litter boxes and into the environment. How does that translate to potential human health risks? Or environmental risks? I felt like a lot of the industry is like a real life experimental procedure on animals outside of a controlled lab environment. What are we really doing to our "furry humans"? I had a cat who ended up with cancer. Vet I was working for pushed for chemo. I was against it. Did one specialist consult to get a pro opinion. Cost me $250. Totally acceptable and not an outrageous expense for a thorough specialist exam and consultation. They agreed that it wasn't a feasible option nor would it be fair to put them through it. They are animals. You can't explain to them why they are being drugged and restrained. Some of them are okay with it and there are more gentle ways of managing animal patients, but in my experience, most vets don't have the time or patience to waste on that because ultimately it's a business and time=money. Get it done and get it done quick. The more time we want to spend on low stress handling just wastes time and costs money, which ends up in the client getting a bigger bill because the vet has to up their fees. They have to make a living and vet school is expensive so I get it, but I think most of where the industry has gone is way overboard with unnecessary treatments and mostly focuses on shaming and blaming the pet owner. I didn't feel good hawking products I didn't really believe in my heart were necessary or worthwhile. I didn't feel good about shoving the muzzles on the cats and dogs and forcing them through the factory line like a fucking machine part on an assembly line. Though again, I was good at it. But it never made me feel good. It just made me dead inside. I didn't feel invested in the work. I couldn't feel invested. It was a job with no real meaning or purpose. And again, there was no room to move up the ladder and learn more and advance my knowledge and my wage unless I wanted to be a vet... or slog products for a pharmaceutical company and essentially become a traveling salesman—no thank you, not interested in that. I went to enough continuing educational offerings by pharmaceutical companies and those showcasing new procedures and treatments for animals to solidify that decision in stone. It was mostly a bunch of well to do fake hoity toity suits making long-winded introductions about all their fancy accolades and accomplishments. These events were often professionally catered and complete with fancy food and sometimes even alcohol. Lots of schmoozing and "networking" and role playing nonsense, such as "breakout sessions". Especially the big corporate events, like the ones put on by VCA/the Mars corporation, which even owns a whole huge line of pet foods. And maybe if it was like back in the day of being more focused on farm animals and overall concern for animal welfare as it relates to humans, but that isn't what the veterinary/animal health industry is anymore. It truly felt like a lot of them were acting like they were playing out a role from a Grey's Anatomy episode.... but it's all cats and dogs and rabbits and other furry, feathered, and scaled pets undergoing expensive procedures. Some of it made sense, but a lot of the stuff is ridiculous overkill. What the heck are we doing with MRIs and crazy expensive procedures for animals that only wealthy people can afford? Making "poor people" feel ashamed and like they shouldn't own animals if they aren't willing to drop thousands of dollars for medical procedures? Preventative dental care has to include fancy expensive digital x-rays and should be done on every animal every 6 months to a year. Why? I don't even get dental care that often and I'm a human. Even when I worked as a volunteer and board member in animal rescue, I was very practical and pragmatic. I wasn't spending tens of thousands of dollars to save one animal with fancy treatments and procedures requiring intense monitoring and expensive lifetime follow-up care when those thousands could go towards spaying and neutering and providing actual necessary preventative care like basic vaccines and dewormers. There are literally millions of animals who still need those basic things, even in our "civilized western" societies. And those are things that are necessary to attend to as they directly and indirectly impact human health and welfare, and the environment we all share. |
| https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cx4XlIxrAbo/?igshid=NzZhOTFlYzFmZQ== My biological mother. I use that term because my mother doesn't have, and never did have, the capacity to truly care for a child or even to comprehend how and why you need to care for a child. I have added an excerpt below from one of my other book chapter entries that explains more about my biological mother. The full entry is here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040940-Background-Information I was raised by my grandparents. My mother lived with us sometimes. She is schizophrenic. Little blurb on my mom. Should probably write a bit more about her. I did a lot for her and it was total role reversal. I had to be her mom while she was the child. That’s often just the way it is when you have a parent(s) with addictions/afflictions/disorders/diseases https://flic.kr/p/2ofBszS I have even more info written on my mother here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1045319-My-Mother I wrote the above, and more in one of my journals that I haven't posted online yet, while attempting to make sense of why I am the way I am. Some people think there's something "wrong" with me—like my ex-husband who incessantly insisted that there was something wrong with me, that I was not normal, and that I desperately needed "help" because I wasn't all "lovey-dovey" and didn't want to please his every whim and fancy, sexual and otherwise, whenever he felt like he needed attention, and he was always attention-starved, according to him. Anyhow some people think there's something "wrong" with me because I'm not all outwardly expressive with my emotions like most women, I don't cry easily, I don't like to talk about my "feelings", I'm not "open and vulnerable" enough, and I tend to shy away from physical contact like hugs. But those are things that just weren't really part of my family structure and my early experiences further added to me tending more towards "masculine" traits such as just sucking it up and dealing with life and not crying about dumb shit. Further conversation with my mother about finding a job and a source of income in New York City: https://www.instagram.com/p/C6Uyma0vadr/?igsh=bmx5eXZvbnRiejB4 |
| *In progress* Got an email from Google saying they were changing some stuff up on Google Maps so I thought I should move these pieces of me, from my life, from my history from there to here before they change shit up. This is the email they sent: You are receiving this email because you have previously created a public list on Google Maps Hi Chantelle Marie, We want to let you know of changes we’re making in November to public lists on Google Maps. No action is required from you. Here's what you need to know: 1. Lists will no longer be visible on your Maps profile: With the change to shared lists, you’ll no longer be able to publish lists to your Maps profile. You’ll still be able to find all your lists in the Saved tab. 2. Lists can still be shared via a link: You can still share your lists with others via a link in messaging apps, social apps, email and more. 3. Your ‘public’ lists will be relabeled as ‘shared’ lists: Your existing public lists will automatically be converted to shared lists. The lists themselves won’t change: titles, places, and descriptions added will remain as-is. Please visit our Help Center for details (Android, iOS). 4. You’ll keep your points: All points you earned for publishing lists will remain. However, moving forward you won’t receive points for creating lists. Please visit our updated Help Center for more information. We appreciate your understanding and support as we work to improve the list experience on Google Maps. For more details please refer to our Help Center. Thank you for being a valuable member of the Google Maps community. The Google Maps Team https://maps.app.goo.gl/hJVFQnJnidXCbyHL7 Alpine Heavy Truck & Equipment Repair 960 Henry Eng Pl, Victoria, BC V9B 6B2 I used to work in this department/division of Evergreen Industries dba Alpine Disposal and Recycling etc. I worked here on Saturdays and whenever they needed coverage. JT and NF worked in the office there. The heavy truck and equipment repair, welding and paint shop, landscaping, and slinger and transport ran out of this office. We also did work, such as invoicing and taking payments for the detail shop. We were a contact point for all those divisions and often advised customers on services, scheduled appointments for various services, did up estimates and quotes for work, and took care of customer and internal invoicing/accounting/inventory. The slinger and transport divisions ended up under my care and direction, with oversight and some direction from the operations manager and sometimes the general manager... and of course, the main owner of the company, who was also the Mayor of Langford for many, many years. I worked really closely with the sort yard too, which was right across the street to arrange for roll off bins and trailers of various waste and recycling to be loaded and shipped to other locations. There was a parts shop right next door too. The dudes there were cool to talk to. They even invited me out to go paintballing with them once. It was my first time so I wasn't really sure how it all worked, but I had fun regardless! When I got home later, I noticed that I had a few really nice big bloody purple welts from getting shot. I guess they stung a bit during the game, but not too much. I ran around mostly with boys growing up so learned to toughen up and handle my own shit as to not get laughed at and called a fuckin' wuss, lol!!! No regrets.🫡 Broadway at Halsey St Brooklyn, NY 11233, United States Roadside fruit and veggies stand. Lots of these little stands/vendors and tiny market shops around Brooklyn and Upper Manhattan—which I am very appreciative of and feel good about supporting and recommending. These little shops have quality produce that is actually affordable... as opposed to the vast majority of grocery stores who obviously jack up their fucking prices to make as much of a profit as possible. How many fucking stores do you need to franchise out? I thought competition was good for a capitalist free market economy.... You reduce prices to drive out small businesses, then, when they are hurting, you buy them up and crank up your fucking prices because you have a monopoly. Do y'all really need your golden fucking palaces studded with diamonds—all a courtesy of slave labour? Fuckin' morons. Oh, and you ensure to fuck over small businesses even more with permits coming out the Ying yang and you tax the shit outta them to boot! Stupid motherfuckers. But we're all just numbers on a spreadsheet, right? Disposable bodies like the Disposable single serve society of plastic fucking garbage. You value nothing because you are unable to see with both eyes. All you got is your stupid Mr Planters peanut monocle. Dumabsses. Maybe y'all wouldn't be so miserable if you came down from your palaces and looked around at the world and interacted with us lesser people. We're not all as fucking dumb and worthless as you think we are. 59-14 70th Ave, Ridgewood, NY 11385, USA This is where they send the ancient ones, such as myself, to receive "help". I am far beyond my expiration date. There is no use for me. I require a cane to walk and I cannot even bend over and touch my toes. It is far too difficult for me to keep up with the young ones. I can barely even walk one block without getting winded. Perhaps they can pre-chew my food for me.. somewhat like an owl. But I will not eat foodstuffs that has been regurgitated. That is yucky. I can't even make myself puke. I tried. I failed. I managed to puke up one bite of a pizza once. I learned to hold my vomit in because my grandmother got very distressed when I vomited as a kid from the stomach flu. She yelled at me from the bathroom door and told me to stop vomiting while I was sobbing about not being able to stop and not being able to breathe because I was throwing up so much. I am now like a horse or a rabbit—2 species that are unable to vomit. And that concludes today's biology lesson. Thanks for coming to my TED talk via Google Maps. 🤘 Went here today, 5 April 2024, for my free consultation with a lawyer. There is no assistance for integration for people like me unless someone in my immediate family is/was a USA citizen or I get married to someone who is a USA citizen. If I had no documentation and came here illegally through the southern border, there would be other avenues and options for me to find gov't/taxpayer funded assistance, housing, and employment. Thus, I will go my own way and figure it out in my own. I will provide further updates through various online communication methods as long as the big tech people allow this lowly and barely human individual to write about my experiences and share them for free with anyone in the world who may be interested. I wouldn't be surprised if they ban me from using any and all of their services to write about my experiences and share my poems, drawings, photographs, and reels for eternity sometime soon. Who knows! \o/ Until then, cheers everyone. Happy Friday and enjoy the weekend. Rockheights Elementary School, 1250 Highrock Ave, Esquimalt, BC Went to school here from 1988-1991 Grade 3: Mrs. VanEerden https://flic.kr/p/2pypGZi https://flic.kr/p/2pypGZi (This is this class I played the song, The Rose, in) https://www.instagram.com/p/CojN-H0rFu1/?igsh=MXJramN4d3dxdWM1ZA== Additionally, I think she was the teacher that officially got the class, or maybe it was just Paul Mick and I, "tested" (not 100% sure, we may have written our tests while still attending Hampton). After the test results, we attended a "special" class every Friday. Sometimes, we got to go on field trips and do other cool stuff that was way more interesting than regular school. "Visualize a polar bear; think of nothing else but the polar bear..." Grade 4: Mr. Shortt https://flic.kr/p/2pwUiZA Grade 5: Mr. McKinnon https://flic.kr/p/2pwSXPA **My S.P.E.C.I.A.L. classmate from Hampton/Rockheights/Craigflower is standing behind me in this photo. His mom made awesome cupcakes. I remember being at his birthday party one year and playing pin the tail on the donkey and having to drop clothespins in a Mason jar for prizes. His/his parent's house had a beautiful grand piano on the main level right when you walked in, and a big sweeping staircase heading to the upper level. He lived right by the school, I think just across the street. Swan Lake Christmas Hill Nature Sanctuary - Christmas Hill Site 4.7(41) Nature preserve · Saanich Open 24 hours Cool park. First time doing mushrooms was near here. Was around 1994. Think I was with my buddies "C", "P", and "G". There's actually a photo of "G" on my Instagram page dressed as a nun for Halloween. I remember we were sitting near a fence and there were cows on the other side (no, we didn't go cow-tipping, lol). I remember we were all pretty quiet and I spent most of the trip writing and drawing in my journal. I still have a pressed flower taped to that page of my book from that day. Leeds Park 4.1(8) Park · Victoria Open ⋅ Closes 11 p.m. Hangout spot in the early 90s for a bunch of us that'd walk home together after school. Peacock Hill Park 4.8(38) Park · Victoria Open 24 hours Used to hang out here with my buddies and smoke weed. Usually rolled up or in a pipe. I had a corn cob pipe and my buddies usually had soapstone pipes or ones that were pieced together from spare parts found in metalwork or mechanic classes. Burger King $ · Restaurant · Vancouver Permanently closed Dine-in/Drive-thru I used to come here frequently after squeegeeing (washing windows) at the corner of Main/Terminal (1997-1999). https://goo.gl/maps/h9LDzDUjMvjKv6C97 https://goo.gl/maps/h9LDzDUjMvjKv6C97 One day, I think it was in 1998 (maybe May?), the manager offered me a job. I was super excited! The people there who trained me were all very nice. I liked everyone there. I worked as a cashier and an expediter (I think that was the term for the people who got the food together once the order was placed). It was especially awesome because a lot of the customers who came in recognized me from washing windows. I felt good to be actually working and making money at a "real job" for once. Unfortunately, I was only there for 3 weeks. My "boyfriend" was unhappy that I wasn't bringing in money daily and said I wasn't making enough as a wage for it to be "worth it". He pressured me to quit, well, he basically demanded that I quit. I did what I was instructed to do after some arguing. I tried to convince him to let me keep working there, but he wasn't having it. I had to do what he told me to otherwise, I would suffer consequences and possibly my family would too. I never got a chance to thank the manager properly for the opportunity, or adequately explain why I left. I wouldn't have been able to explain at the time anyhow. I was very embarrassed and ashamed because I didn't have any real control or volition of my own. I truly appreciated being offered the chance to work somewhere and learn on the job. I wish my circumstances were different, as whenever I was not with him, I was able to make my own choices and was always much happier and more free. I wanted to stay, but was unable to leave this "man" that I was with at the time. Thank you and all of your staff. I have never forgotten any of you and I never will. You were all very kind! I hope all of you are doing very well, wherever you are and whatever you are doing now. ❤ Edit note Kea Foods 2.9(13) Grocery store · Vancouver Permanently closed I used to come here routinely for the 3 for $1 vegetarian samosas. Probably between April 1997 and July 1998. They had amazing samosas! I think they had chicken and beef as well, but I think those were 2 for $1. I sometimes bought fruit and vegetables and other things here as well. There were a few times that I stole potatoes and onions from their outdoor section. I think I stole an apple once or twice as well, but only because I was truly very hungry and had no money! I hope I didn't cause your family too much inconvenience and too much loss of income. I figure I probably stole about $10-$20 worth of food in total, so nothing super crazy or anything. The "boyfriend" I had during this time dictated to me what he wanted to eat and it was my job to get what he wanted. If I wasn't making enough money, or if I wasn't making money at all from washing windows or from asking for spare change or from returning bottles/cans, then I had to figure out how to appease him. I remember one time, he demanded that I go get some potatoes and onions from the store so he could eat. I only grabbed a bag of potatoes and came back. Had the ketchup, salt, pepper, and potatoes, but no onions. He was so pissed off that I didn't get the onions and demanded that I go back and get the onions because he couldn't eat the potatoes without onions... and I didn't want him to starve, did I? He would threaten me and complain so much, so I had to go back up and get the onions. I hated stealing food! I always felt so guilty and ashamed for doing it. I never wanted to be that person, but I did what I had to do to appease him and keep myself from harm, and my family that he always threatened when things would escalate during arguments. He wouldn't eat the food from the free places as he said it was awful food that no human should have to eat. I never thought there was anything wrong with the free food places, but he figured he was someone "superior" and "above" eating at "those places". Like the cheese church. I think they gave out sandwiches a couple of times a week. I liked their food, but he complained all the time and it was never filling enough so I always had to find more food for him. Same with the food bank. They were only open i think once a week, maybe once every two weeks. He wouldn't eat the food as it wasn't "good enough" for him. I ate it and would go out and make money so he could get what he wanted. Usually some McDonald's meal or Burger King meal or Subway. There were even a few occasions I ate food that I found in dumpsters because I was so hungry. I had to feed him first and that sometimes meant I went for the day or even longer without food. He would mock me for doing it, tell me I was disgusting, but there were a few times that I was just so fucking hungry I couldn't pass it up! I remember one time finding a half a pizza in a dumpster. It wasn't moldy or anything and looked decent. There were some coffee grinds on it so I just brushed it off and sat in the dumpster and ate a few slices. I'm sure there are many people who are/would be totally disgusted by this, but when you are that hungry and desperate, you do what you need to do to keep going, to survive. Anyhow, I used to come here and buy food sometimes after I escaped from my ex-boyfriend and was working at a real job and making money/supporting just myself. The store owners were nice and I always thought their store was nice inside and outside. Food was always good and I loved the selection of goods they had from India. There was lots of good snacking nuts and spicy dried chickpea "nuts" and crackers. I still like all that stuff! Probably inherited that from my Grandfather as he's the only one in my family that liked Indian food. Edit note Hasty Market 4.7(62) Convenience store · Vancouver Open 24 hours In-store shopping Add note AL-An'am Halal Meat & Food Production 3.6(67) Butcher shop · New Westminster Closed ⋅ Opens 10 a.m. Wed In-store shopping From what I remember, this place used to sell donairs/falafels back in the late 1990s. Food was bloody amazing, very affordable and filling, and the staff were always very kind and friendly. ❤ Edit note 453 E 6th Ave Vancouver, BC V5T 1K7 Lived in the basement suite here back in 1997. It used to be a very old house that leaned to one side. It was painted pink and purple. One of the girls who lived here created vegetable plots in the backyard. She was amazing at gardening! I remember she told me she was raised by her dad. I'm not sure what happened to her mom. I don't think her dad had a clue how to raise a child. She told me he made her plain toast and black coffee (no milk or sugar/sweetener) for breakfast. She didn't get the love and care she needed. She was neglected as a child, as far as I could gather. I remember the house had a termites nest in the floor and mold growing on the inside of the walls. Whenever you would flush the toilet, take a shower, or run water, you could hear the water running inside of the walls. The pipes were old and not maintained, so water leaked into the walls. That's why there was mold growing on the drywall. There was no proper flooring. Just subflooring. Plywood. It was a home regardless. Lots of us lived here. Good people. To all of you except my "boyfriend", I hope you are all still alive and okay. I remember you all. You will always each hold a special place in my heart. ❤ This house eventually got condemned by the city and we all got kicked out. That sucked so bad as there were about 9 of us that had to find places to go live, which isn't easy. Me, my "boyfriend", "S" and his girlfriend,"J", "P", Chief, "K" (or maybe C, not 100% sure on the spelling of your name, could start with a K and could be a C)", "R", and his girlfriend, "B". R and B were frogs, lol! ❤️ No one likes renting to people on welfare. Welfare in Canada has the landlord fill out an intent to rent form, then social services pays the landlord directly. Sounds like a great idea, but the problem is that there is a lot of discrimination as people don't want to rent to you if you are on welfare. You immediately become an untrustworthy person once most landlords find out you collect welfare. You may have a great meeting with the landlord, but as soon as they find out you are on welfare, everything changes and they suddenly don't really like you anymore and their tone isn't so friendly. They may have even agreed to rent, but that usually changes quickly once they know you are "one of those lazy welfare people". Anyhow, that's how I ended up living/sleeping on Jericho Beach and then living/sleeping under the Cambie Street Bridge. Here's a few photos of the inside of the house back before it was demolished: https://flic.kr/p/2oiqKFJ https://flic.kr/p/2oiC9wu https://flic.kr/p/2oiybPw Edit note Provincial Court of British Columbia 3.4(9) Courthouse · Victoria Closed ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed https://youtu.be/g-38GX2YQig 🤘❤️🔥 I had to go here in 1997 to testify at my "father's" https://twitter.com/TheRealAgent_99/status/1640992508728709120?s=20 court trial. Most people dress up all nice for court, but I proudly showed up to this stupid fucking pedophile's trial wearing my ripped up camo pants with my bullet belt, my "God Save the Queen" Sex Pistols shirt with the sleeves torn off, and my spiked leather dog collar. Extra side note: I was so fucking angry at this motherfucker after the whole rape case (from August 1996), I threw a house party and invited a bunch of my friends and acquaintances from school for a house wrecker. I encouraged people to trash the house and we even tossed the stove down the stairs to the basement. I think it was rather therapeutic in getting out some of my anger for this asshole. More info on my "father" can be found in paragraph 14&15 of this entry in my book here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040940-Background-Information Edit note Vancouver Public Library, Central Library 4.7(1,781) Public library · Vancouver Main library in a grand colonnaded space Open ⋅ Closes 8:30 p.m. https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040940 Paragraph 17&18 I grabbed my belongings and left. It was 4am. I walked from the westside of Vancouver to downtown. I sat outside at a table and chair set at the library. The library was always my sanctuary when things would get crazy at home, so I guess that's why I immediately went there. I remember dozing off and having my head against the table when a security guard in a yellow jacket suddenly woke me up. He told me I had to leave because I wasn't allowed to sit there. I didn't argue. I grabbed my backpack with my belongings and left. Rockheights Elementary School · Victoria/Matoolia Went to school here for grades 3, 4, & 5. 1988-1991. Grade 3: https://flic.kr/p/2pypGZi Grade 4: https://flic.kr/p/2pwUiZA Grade 5: https://flic.kr/p/2pwSXPA https://www.instagram.com/p/CojN-H0rFu1/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y= Edit note 880 Vernon Ave Victoria, BC V8X 2W6 Battin Fielding. Low income neighbourhood complex run by BC Housing. Lived here from 1991-1997. Last I went by it had been torn down. Looks like they are building more fancy fucking condos here. Sometimes they advertise them as ‘affordable’. Sure, affordable if you work 2-3 jobs. This province is a fucking joke. https://twitter.com/TheRealAgent_99/status/1645173074772512768?t=GW_1omDAdtE1cpG... https://twitter.com/TheRealAgent_99/status/1645166782548951040?t=K-94Fv28Bc3fVOb... Edit note Dropped pin (48.457482, -123.373313) 1991-1997 Used to come here and play basketball a lot. Mostly just by myself. Sometimes, my cousins would shoot hoops with me when they would visit. Didn't ever really like those guys very much... only 3 of my cousins are truly decent human beings. The rest of them are just shitty little pricks lookin' for chicks to suck their stinky old dicks, lol! The apartments buildings here were all low income and most of the people living in them had physical and mental handicapps. They had a little games room in the basement and I used to visit and hang out with them frequently. They were all super cool and taught me how to play pool! They gave me full access to their basketball court and let me hang out and chat whenever. I used to run into all the cool people I met in the neighbourhood while playing outside at 880 Vernon too. I spent a lot of time bouncing tennis balls off of walls, hitting pinecones around with racquets, bouncing around my soccer ball in the air, and throwing my football by myself because I didn't have many friends. Sometimes my uncles or my mom would hang out and play for awhile, and sometimes the people I met in the neighbourhood would play for awhile. Some of them just used to stop by and chat and tell me silly jokes. They were all really nice people. I learned a lot from them all! Especially about how to enjoy life and not care about what other people think or say because you are 'different' from them. 880 Vernon was where I lived with my grandmother (and sometimes my mom lived with us too). It was called the Battin Fielding complex. It was a bunch of low income apartments and little townhouses/rowhouses run by BC Housing. We waited on a list for a year or so to get in there because my grandmother couldn't afford the rent in Esquimalt after my grandfather died. https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid0Bofub85kXtVogFxzC2L17Ux1VBiQCp... Edit note 236 E Broadway Vancouver, BC V5T 1W3 Used to panhandle here sometimes. 1997/1998. Next to the $1 slice pizza place. Sometimes, I would bring a book to read. I know I read Naked Lunch by William S Burroughs while sitting here. I also read Psalms from a white leather bound King James Bible that belonged to my mother at one point. I didn't want to live the life I was living and didn't know how to get out of the situation I was in with the "man" I was with. I remember reading Psalms and crying. I prayed. I didn't know what else to do sometimes so I prayed for help. Nothing rained down from the sky, but I made it out alive so I'm sure there was something to it..... but, ultimately, I always had to help myself out. I knew how to survive, from the time I was 5. I spent a lot of time writing and rhyming while I lived on the streets. That's how I kept my fucking sanity. And besides, what's that line? God helps those who help themselves? Not sure what God really did for me. Got a bunch of people who preach to you to get down on your knees and repent for your sins, but what a fuckin'mess they all in because their Catholic church abused the Indians! Colluded with the Canadian government to abuse and kill all their children! Really, I got out alive because I just kept on walking along the only path I ever had, doing my best with the cards I got dealt. Don't give a flying fuck about "God's fucking wrath". I got my ancestors beautiful gift of the craft from an ancient time buried deep in the past. Don't care about all you fuckers who laugh. Most of you can't even understand what's actually going on in places like Iran. Can't follow half of the things I wrote. Too fucking stupid to understand most of what I post. The true goats and poets though, yeah, they fucking know it. And they ain't afraid to fucking show it through their podcasts and rhymes and the things they got on their timelines. ✔️❤️🔥 Edit note Penelakut Island 4.7(15) Island Island reserve home for Penalakut people A message for the people🪶 You and Breezy are beautiful and real. I greatly admire your bravery, tenacity, and resiliency... though my heart fucking bleeds and is filled with grief for your community's unmet needs. https://twitter.com/TheRealAgent_99/status/1644852171194896385?t=R3HQG7sd64A5Ciq... Edit note 863 Fleming St Victoria, BC V9A 5V3 Add note Pigeon Park 3.3(468) Park · Vancouver Informal plaza with benches & artwork Open 24 hours **This is the "borderline" between east and west in Vancouver. The westside has a lot of fancy stores with fancy people wearing fancy clothes, with fancy things, they lookin' down their noses... The eastside has a lot of poverty, but there's real awesome fucking people here!❤ There's no need for a bunch of fancy-pants fucking bullshit. Sometimes I would come here and chat with people. Usually more than a few people sitting on the benches, mostly drinking rice wine back in the day. Met a lot of really nice people in this park. Learned a lot from them all as well. Huge respect for them being able to find a reason to live and carry on despite all the darkness. I know a lot of people just see "these people" as "problem people" that need to be fixed or helped, but some of them are already doing the best they can with the cards that life dealt to them. Perhaps you don't agree with their way of life and how they "choose" to self-medicate, but for some people, that may be the only way and only "lifestyle" they have ever know. If you grow up surrounded by nothing but poverty and addiction, it is "normal" to you. That's just life. Just like if you grow up in a village in extreme poverty with nothing: no electricity, no running water, no appliances, no amenities, growing your own food and sharing clothes - that is simply your normal. Everyone else around you lives the same way, so why would it seem "inappropriate" or "improper"? If your parents are drug addicts and introduce you to drugs at a young age, it's just the way it is. You don't know any different. I guess a lot of people can't really wrap their minds around that being a fact. I think there's some people that might understand things more if they actually took the time to walk these streets and talk to the people who live here with an open mind and open heart. We all have our addictions, legal and otherwise. Some people drink alcohol, some pop pills, some drink coffee, some exercise obsessively, some people are workaholics, some are shopaholics, some are addicted to the internet and/or recognition and are always chasing the next way to get their dopamine hit by getting lots of attention from what they post on social media or talk about on their podcasts or YouTube videos. It's just that some addictions are considered to be more "acceptable" than others. **I miss living in East Van. Right now, I'm stuck living on this stupid fucking island of British Hell in the Capital Regional District of BC. I keep looking at rental properties in the EastEnd/Eastside of Vancouver, but all I find are stupid fancy studio condos and air bnbs. I'd be happy with a "slum" like I used to live in! I'm not paying $3000 a month for some "new and improved" studio apartment because it has a bunch of useless fancy details and new appliances. What happened to all the cheap hotels with the monthly rental fees? How do I access that shit now? Also, new appliances are shit! I'll take a fridge and stove from the 70s or 80s over the new plastic bullshit they put in the "new and improved" condos and housing. The old shit works better and last way longer! Edit note 1065 Seymour St Vancouver, BC V6B 3M6 This used to be a free clinic here back in the mid-late 90s. I used to come here all the time when I needed medical care. While it's true that in Canada, you don't pay the doctor directly, you still have to pay for things like prescriptions and such. Most of the time I came to the doctor, it was because I needed a pregnancy test or medications. Those things are not "free" under our "universal health care" in Canada. The free clinic usually had sample packs of various antibiotics and such so we could actually treat our ailments. If you go to a regular walk-in clinic, they can write you a prescription for "free", but you still have to pay to get it filled somewhere. Also, most of the doctors at the walk-in clinics do not have kind bedside manners towards homeless people. Some of them have zero bedside manners even when you aren't homeless.** I took pregnancy tests whenever my period was late. Birth control costs money and I didn't have money to spend on that. I was with my "boyfriend" from April 1997 - October 1999 and I didn't get to choose what to spend money on. If this doesn't make sense to you, you can read more details here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040675-Introduction **I went to a walk-in clinic when I was no longer homeless and had been working at White Spot for about a month. This would have been early October 1999. It was shortly after I got my face smashed in by my ex boyfriend. The full details on that can be found here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1041128-A-Jacket-Saved-My-Life I saw a lady doctor at the walk in clinic I think it was SE Marine Dr and Main St. She was not kind to me at all. I have never had a lady doctor that I liked and I have had very few encounters with female professionals/bosses/employers that I could describe in any kind of positive light. I have found most of them to be nasty fucking bitches, but that's just my experience. (The awesome animal doctor at Helmcken is an exception to this: you are a bloody fucking amazing human being and a rockstar doctor!) Anyhow, I went to see the doctor because I was wondering if my nose was broken or if I should be concerned at all about how bruised and swollen both my eyes were. I told her my "boyfriend", whom I was no longer with, had punched me in the face. Without warning, she grabbed my nose and squeezed it hard then told me there was too much swelling to tell if anything was broken. I walked out of the clinic after my "professional diagnosis" feeling even worse than when I walked in. My nose and eyes were throbbing and I felt like I'd wasted her oh-so valuable time with my obviously stupid question. I mean, why would a doctor care or show any concern about some stupid 19 year old girl dumb enough to get punched out by her boyfriend, right? Edit note Stanley Park 4.8(44,174) Park Sprawling urban park with scenic seawall Closes soon ⋅ 5 p.m. ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed Used to come here after work routinely to smoke a joint or two with my best friend who worked with me at the Grand Casino. ❤️ I remember when the best friend I ever had in Vancouver bought his first car. It was a black Saturn. It was a ni e care. Didn't need no shiny bling bling. I never met his parents, but I believe they raised him well and instilled mostly good values. At least, that was the sense I got from our multiple conversations surrounding a variety of subjects. He visited me once in the Capital Regional District. I showed him around town and took him to Beacon Hill Park. It was a good visit. I lost my cell phone shortly after that when I was at the Bay Centre. Lost all my contacts. I did have them all written in phone book, but all my stuff was in a storage locker that wasn't easily accessible. It was all in a big wooden crate. By the way, "S", I kept my end of our pact and stopped drinking, lol!! What about you? 🎲 Edit note Hampton Elementary School Primary school · Victoria Permanently closed Went here for Kindergarten, grade 1 and grade 2. 1985 - 1988. https://flic.kr/p/2puAsop https://flic.kr/p/2nMXSQ7 I remember walking to school with my best friend, C. Ngo and her older sister, "K". She was in grade 6 or 7. She had 2 brothers as well, an older brother named V and a younger brother, "D". They were all super cool, even though one day "D" threw a bucket of water, or maybe it was a water balloon, on me one day from the window of the upstairs bathroom. I remember her mom got pretty mad. She took me inside and dried me off with the hair dryer, lol! She was a super sweet lady. Her whole family was awesome. ❤️ Add note Vancouver General Hospital 3.4(583) General hospital · Vancouver Open 24 hours 1999. Found out I was pregnant shortly after relapsing on heroin and dropping out of school (again). Told my "boyfriend". He immediately told me I had to abort it. I had to go in twice for the same procedure as after the first visit, I got a call from the hospital that they didn't "get all of it". I was horrified. I was told how disgusting I was by my "boyfriend" having half a baby left in me, but he is the one who told me I had to abort it in the first place. Naively, when I initially found out I was pregnant, I was kind of excited and happy because I thought it might be the catalyst to end the abuse. Stupid naive thought, but I was only 18 years old. I had to go back to the clinic and they had to do a bunch of blood tests including a full blood type analysis. They also had to do an ultrasound. I remember looking at the screen during the ultrasound and I could very clearly see the outline of a baby. I felt sick. I stared at the ceiling and mentally, emotionally, and spiritually left the room until it was all over. I felt empty and hollow. I got dressed and left. They were going to call me once the results were in and they could book me in. I got the call and went back. They put me under for the procedure, as far as I can remember. Of I was awake, I don't remember anything. I remember leaving and being in so much pain. They told me there would be some bleeding and discomfort afterwards and that would be normal. The blood and the pain was intense for nearly a week afterwards. My "boyfriend" continually berated me for being disgusting and told me how gross I was and how awful of a person I was... but he was the one who insisted on the abortion on the first place. I was hurt and confused, but that was kind of normal as the vicious cycle of being beat and hurt and confused and having to apologize for some sort of "wrong" I had done was normal. After apologizing, I would eventually receive little bits of kindness thrown my way like food scraps you would feed to a dog. This had been happening since 1997, and it happened slowly so I didn't necessarily realize the gravity of what was happening. Throughout the week of intense pain and bleeding, I'm still the one who had to go out and earn the money. He kept yelling and complaining about having no cigarettes or weed and not enough food. I couldn't squeegee because I could barely stand up straight. I panhandled in front of the 7-11 at the corner of 10th Ave and 12th St in New Westminster, BC. I told myself for years that the abortion was a good thing that I chose because I had recently relapsed on heroin and was in an abusive relationship, but that was just how I decided to think about it and to make sense of it. I never wanted to admit that I was told to get an abortion and just went and did it. I never wanted to admit to the level of abuse I received and the things I did for this motherfucker because I always felt so ashamed and embarrassed and like it just made me a weak and pathetic human being. Part of me still feels like that, but I am not longer concerned with being judged about it. This is the truth and people are going to make whatever they want out of it. I have no control over that. The only "good" thing I think of surrounding the whole abortion is that it would have tethered me to this motherfucking asshole for the entire kids lifespan, so maybe that intense pain and awful memory in the short term was worth it. The kid might have gotten the fucking tar beaten out of them too, or maybe that's would have spurred me to leave, I have no idea. I just know that it was an awful experience all-around and not a decison or a procedure that I would recommend that anyone approach lightly and without great thought and care. Edit note Queen Elizabeth Quarry Gardens 4.8(310) Garden · Vancouver Open ⋅ Closes 10 p.m. 2001/2002 There was a beautiful Sakura tree here that I planned to sit under while I popped pills, drank alcohol, and then slit my wrists vertically to ensure my death would be final. My first actual attempt at suicide was when I was about 13 or 14 and I took a bunch of different pills that were supposed to react badly with each other and cause coma and death. I was incredibly disappointed when I woke up the next morning with nothing but brain fog and a headache. I started considering all the different ways that could lead to my death when I was much younger than that. Not sure how "normal" that is, but I thought about it quite frequently. I didn't feel very wanted or loved, especially after my grandfather died. I often thought it would have been better if I had just never even existed to begin with. I felt like a burden and an annoyance, especially to my mother and grandmother, but if I expressed this out loud my grandmother would get really upset so I eventually learned to just shut the fuck up and keep my dark thoughts to myself. And to be clear, I never needed drugs to help me to "feel better". There was never anything wrong with me, and there is still nothing wrong with me. I come by who I am honestly. My thoughts and feelings are totally normal for anyone who went through similar experiences from a young age. The reality is that I didn't get what I needed in terms of love and care as a child. I am not alone in this. There are many other people out there who can relate to how I think and they have all devised their own ways and methods of dealing with the pain and emptiness. There are some things you simply cannot replace. Neurotransmitters are nothing but useless band-aid solutions that wear off or create dependency/tolerance or cause awful side-effects, or you simply become immune to their effects. It's better to figure out your own way, even though the "experts" may disagree. Most of the "experts" are fucking clueless about real hardships other than what they read from case studies and from textbooks. Most of them don't have real life experiences they can draw from so their opinions aren't even close to being worth their weight in salt. All that said, it's not like I didn't have a reason to feel like I was better off dead. My mother resented my existence and my grandmother continually rejected me in favour of my mother. My aunts and uncles experienced something very similar. No wonder all of them are legal pill addicts and/or are/were alcoholics. I think I'm the only one in my family now who doesn't drink, smoke, do drugs, or take pills. I deal with things mostly through creative communication: writing, drawing, photography, making videos, and posting stuff online. Or I deal with stuff by exercising, playing video games, listening to music and podcasts, going to work, and generally doing all that "normal" shit that other humans do. I guess I wallow in the shadows more than some people do, but being in the darkness feels like home to me. So fuck your fluffy fuzzy feelings garbage and your sparkly shiny sunshine shit. I lit my own fire in this dark abyss, and it's mesmerizing, comfortable, and wickedly hot. Maybe someday I won't be alone in it, maybe not. I just know this is the only place and way I know how to be, and it actually feels like me. 🖤 Edit note Carnegie Outreach Program 4.3(147) Social services organization · Vancouver Closed ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed I'm not sure of the exact address, but right close to here I used to come to a free art/studio space for homeless youth. It was just a place to go where they had art supplies and you could do your own thing. It wasn't open all the time, but I really liked going there when I was able to, which wasn't all that often unfortunately. My freedom was severely limited by my "boyfriend". First and foremost my responsibility was to make money, mainly for him to eat, smoke cigarettes and do drugs. When it came to food, cigarettes, and drugs, he got the majority of it. I just got what he allowed me to have once he'd had his fill, and that was always much less than him. 1997-1999 Edit note Tosi Italian Food Import Co 4.7(18) Importer · Vancouver There used to be a store either in this spot or right close by that sold 5 samosas for $1. Used to come here routinely for cheap food. Store owners were really nice. Edit note Ten Ren Tea & Ginseng Co., Ltd. 4.2(41) Tea store · Vancouver Closes soon ⋅ 5:30 p.m. ⋅ Opens 10 a.m. Wed In-store shopping This is where I used to buy my Red Korean Ginseng and other Chinese herbs. 2000-2002. Edit note Ivanhoe Pub 4.0(608) $ · Pub · Vancouver Open ⋅ Closes 11 p.m. Dine-in · No delivery Used to come here sometimes and drink cheap beer. Edit note Parkside Place 5.0(1) Apartment building · Victoria Used to live here. Loved this complex. Had lots of cool friends here. :) Still remember my address, postal code, and phone number from when I lived here from 1985 - 1988. 3594 Tillicum Rd. V8X 4H4 382-8554 I remember getting into trouble a fair bit from my grandparents when I lived here. We used to climb the wall up to the highway and I got big shit for that. I also got shit for trying to start fires in the yard by using dried leaves and two sticks . I did not have access to matches or lighters as no one in my house smoked. Maybe that was a good thing, lol! In about 1989, I learned how to properly start fires at Camp Thunderbird. I became quite a pro at it and was always the one to start and maintain the fires whenever we had beach parties and such as a teenager. I wish I had a real fireplace in my basement suite as I quite enjoy fire-tending. I think fire is fascinating to experience and maintain. I also remember getting into trouble from my Uncle John because I was with his 2 kids and we were using a wire coat hanger to try and pop the locks open on cars. It was actually quite a useful skill to learn and I got really good at it because my mom used to lock her keys in the car regularly. Locksmiths are expensive so having me break into the car for her was a much better option! Pretty sure I broke into my aunt's car at least once when she locked her keys in. I also taught myself how to pick door locks using bobby pins as a kid. My grandmother didn't like it, but it was another fun and useful skill to learn/teach myself. I have never used my lockpicking skills to do anything illegal as far as I can remember. I've stolen some stuff. Maybe I shoplifted sometimes. First time was a pack of gum from the grocery store on Burnside Rd. I was maybe 6 or 7 years old and just out grocery shopping with my mom. She didn't make me take it back or anything. She just told me it was wrong and not to do it again. I didn't shoplift again until I was a teenager and I started stealing candy and stuff from convenience stores. I also stole money from my mom's purse to fund buying my first quarter ounce of weed so I could start dealing enough that I didn't have to pay for own weed. I was 14. I used to sell mostly joints and dime bags at school/work and to friends/family. By the time I was 20, I mostly sold eighth and quarters to coworkers and friends, but just enough so I didn't have to pay for my own weed. It was never a moneymaking endeavour for me. I stopped dealing weed in my mid 20s. That was all I really dealt, well, actually I dealt heroin for a very short stint as a teenager, but I was an addict so that didn't turn out well. I ended up smoking most of the product and then I had to work the corner to pay off the debt. And to be clear, I was never a prostitute. I just washed car windows on the street corner. Edit note Casa del Mar I came down here with my friend in April 2001 for a week or two. Had a lot of fun! I was an avid weed smoker from the time I was 14 years old and I really wanted to have some for my trip, but didn't want to take a bag through customs as we had to stop in LA on the way there. You USA people are a bit crazy about weed - you treat it as though it's some big deal. Not like it's heroin or cocaine or meth, eh? Anyone, the friend who hooked me up with the hotel told me where to go and who to see to get weed while in Cabo. It wasn't very good weed, but it was better than nothing. I remember how shocked the dude was about me not wanting to buy coke, lol. I guess that's the more popular drug of choice for people who visit Mexico. I remember getting kicked out of a club in Mexico for smoking a joint in the bathroom. Security escorted me out shortly after I lit up. My friend was a bit freaked out about it. I just laughed. At least he didn't call the cops on me, eh? I remember we had a one night layover in LA, California on the way back. I was really sunburned and uncomfortable from spending way too long in the sun the last day in Mexico. I got so sunburned that the doctor had to come and hook me up to an IV in the hotel room after I passed out and burnt my collarbone on the element of the stove, lol! Anyways, I wanted to make sure I had some weed in LA to help ease the discomfort from the bad sunburn I had. Back then, to go through customs from Mexico back to the USA you just had to push a button that would activate a traffic light. If it turned green, you just walked through customs. If it turned red, you got searched. I had my weed in my cigarette pack, which was inside my tiny purse backpack. I pushed the button, and the light turned green. I walked through customs and onto the plane safely. I was thankful to be able to roll one up and smoke one in LA before and after me and my friend went for dinner and drinks. :) I made sure to finish my weed in LA as I didn't want to risk going through USA customs to Canada. You guys get so up in arms about weed down there. You really need to chill out on your citizens about that. It's just weed. It's not a big deal. Not sure why y'all get so crazy about it. Take a page from us up here in Canada. We all chill about it. Especially in BC. :) Edit note Uptown 4.1(6,757) Shopping mall · Victoria Spacious open-air shopping center Open ⋅ Closes 6 p.m. In-store shopping Used to be called the Town and Country Mall. Was an outdoor strip mall. Used to come to the Zellers here starting around 1991 and hang out in the toy department playing the SNES demo as I didn't have one at home. Would spend hours playing Super Mario World.  I eventually got a SNES as a birthday or Christmas gift. Whole family pitched in and that was my one gift. My grandmother didn't like me spending hours alone at the mall playing video games, so I'm sure that's why she got everyone to pitch in for a SNES. She got her wish and I got mine, lol! Edit note Christie Point 3.7(26) Apartment building · Victoria This was the place I lived in with my grandparents when I was born (September 17, 1980). We lived here until 1985. I used to watch the seaplanes take off and land in the harbour nearby. I thought that was pretty cool. I still think planes are fucking cool, but my tastes have morphed and I am more into fighter planes and stealth bombers these days. My most memorable experience of living here was the night my grandfather tried to park his car, but ended up driving it over the edge of the wall and into our neighbours yard. I am pretty sure that he had been drinking. A crane tow truck had to lift the car out. I found it all to be quite amusing - no one was injured during the incident or anything so it ended up to be a good laugh for all, including our neighbour! I think my grandfather gave up driving shortly after that. I remember my mom driving him to the Bay St Armoury where he worked when I was a kid. Edit note Colquitz Creek 4.8(4) River Used to come here with my friends from Parkside Place and catch crayfish and stuff. Edit note Tillicum Laundry 3.3(99) Laundromat · Victoria Open ⋅ Closes 8 p.m. I used to hang out at this strip mall with my friends from Parkside Place. There used to be a Pop Shoppe at the end closest to the gas station. Played my very first arcade game here back in the mid-1980s - would have been sometime between 1985-1987. I didn't often have quarters to plug into the arcade machines at the laundromat here, but when I did, I played 1942. I still love shooters of all varieties, though this genre/word has morphed over time and now has multiple meanings in the gaming community. Edit note White Spot (Best Western) 3.5(879) $$ · Restaurant · Vancouver Open ⋅ Closes 9 p.m. Dine-in · Takeout · Delivery Started working here in August 1999, shortly after I finished the Picasso Cafe work skills program. This used to be the Coast Hotel. Marpole pub was next door. Edit note Lumberworld 4.1(188) Lumber store · Victoria Closes soon ⋅ 5 p.m. ⋅ Opens 7 a.m. Wed In-store shopping · In-store pickup · Delivery Broke a window near here. Was with 2 of my buddies. 1996. We were throwing rocks at the store window across the street and we ended up cracking the window pane, but we hadn't yet been successful in breaking it like we had hoped to do. My 2 buddies were arguing back and forth about who was going to go by the store with a big rock to actually break through the glass. While they went back and forth saying, "You do it" "No, you do it", I grabbed a big rock, ran across the street and smashed the window. I ran back to my buddies and we waited a bit to listen for an alarm and see if anyone from the pub across the street had heard. The coast seemed to be clear so we ran across the street to the store with the now shattered window pane and took all the cigarettes we could see from the store. We then took off down the galloping goose trail, adrenaline pumping and super happy with our score. The next day, we sold a bunch of the cigarettes for $4 a pack. I remember we had a lot of Canadian Classic packs and I think quite a few roll your own drum packs too. Cigarettes were $5 a pack back then so we easily sold all that we had scored from the little B&E we did. I can't speak for my buddies, but I never did another B&E ever again. I felt really bad for the store owners. I remember seeing them the next day out front of their store assessing the damage and stuff. They would have had to pay to get all that fixed. It was a small family run business too so it really wasn't a very nice thing to do. Never thought about that at the time we were breaking the window, but I definitely thought about it the next day after seeing them. Anyhow, we were young and drunk and did stupid things sometimes, but usually the things we did were just silly and harmless. This definitely inconvenienced and impacted a family's finances and livelihood, and is definitely the most inconsiderate thing I ever did as a teenager. Deepest apologies to the store owners for me and my friends being such idiots that night! 🙏🙏🙏 Edit note 7-Eleven 3.4(45) Convenience store · New Westminster Pit stop for snacks, drinks & sundries Open 24 hours In-store shopping · In-store pickup · Delivery Used to panhandle here sometimes. 1999. Edit note 447 E 6th Ave Vancouver, BC V5T 1K8 This was my first apartment. 1997. My landlady was very nice. I remember I baked her cookies when I first moved in. Chocolate chip. That's the kind of thing you do to meet and greet new neighbours, right? That is what my grandmother taught me. I had to request a cup of sugar from her to make the cookies, but sharing is part of being a good neighbour and citizen, right? ❤ There was a crack dealer in the building, name was Jabar. He was "really nice" about giving out "free samples" and smoking "free rock" with new customers... Of course, once you are "hooked", which doesn't take long, the gravy train ends. You are then in a state of withdrawal and you will be wanting/needing more to maintain that level of floating... of feeling amazing, like you are some sort of superhero or something. I learned how to cook crack on a stovetop in a frying pan from Jabar by watching him cook it on my stove in my apartment. I never made it myself, but I sure know how from watching him do it! Cocaine and crack was never my drug of choice. Once the gravy train from Jabar ended, I didn't continue to use this particular drug. The "uppers" were never my thing. They are short-acting; therefore, extra expensive habit to pursue. Also, I hated the come down and the jaw-clenching/teeth grinding after-effect. Also, just felt overall yucky and sweaty from them. Edit note 7587 10th Ave Burnaby, BC V3N 2S1 A jacket saved my life here. Early October 1999. My "boyfriend" RAH, had forced his way back jnto the basement suite and was raging. I had broken up with up and asked him to leave because he knocked me out cold for my 19th birthday. September 17, 1999. I remember drinking beer. Molson Canadian, as far as I remember. He accused me of hiding money from him. I had just started working at White Spot in August of 1999. I had gotten maybe 2 paycheques by my birthday, if I remember correctly. He was still not working, because he didn't work or contribute anything. He demanded that I hand all money over to him, which I did, because if I didn't, he would kick the shit out of me. I told him that I had given him all the money from my paycheque, but he didn't believe me. He got so mad and started throwing me around. Then, I remember a fist coming towards me and then nothing. I woke up the next morning and my head was pounding. It hurt so much. I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I had dried blood all over my face and my eyes were swollen shut. My nose was huge and my eyes were starting to bruise. All I remember worrying about was what was I going to do about work? I was scheduled to work an evening shift and how was I supposed to go to work looking like this? I remember telling RAH how was I supposed to work like this and he said I guess you'll have to call in. I couldn't use the phone that was at the house because it was broken. I had tried to call the police for help on a few occasions previously and he ripped the phone out of the wall and threw it at me. I ducked. I was used to ducking flying projectiles by this point. Bottles, cans, dishes, belts, chains, dog leashes/collars, knives, furniture, whatever was close by and he could throw at me, he would. Anyhow, he accompanied me to the payphone, as I was never allowed to make a phone call without him being in earshot. I never had privacy. He had to know everything I said and did. I explained that I couldn't come in for my shift because my eyes were swollen shut. I managed to whisper into the phone that I got punched. RAH got really mad about that, but I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to say to explain how my eyes got swollen and my face was all messed up. I went to work the next day. Felt really embarrassed and awkward about it. There was no hiding it with makeup. Most customers just said nothing, but I remember a couple of them saying something along the lines of, "I hope the other girl looks worse." I just laughed with them awkwardly. They didn't know and were just trying to be nice. I certainly don't fault them for that. Having a laugh despite it all was good as it made me feel better for a fleeting moment. Better than nothing, eh? 😊 Anyhow, things were really escalating with RAH and I asked him to leave. I told him I did not love him at all and that I felt nothing for him and could no longer tolerate the abuse. I remember being super calm about it all. He eventually left, but came back a few days later really raging. Probably high on meth or something... coming down from a bender. He barricaded me inside the basement suite. It lasted for hours. I tried to leave a few different ways, but got blocked no matter where I turned to or what I tried to do. I tried one window, but he grabbed me and threw me and blocked it with an armchair. I made a run for the broken phone, but he ripped it out of the wall and threw it. Smashed it into pieces. I tried another window, but he grabbed me again and threw me and blocked that one with furniture too. I ran into the bathroom at one point and managed to lock the door behind me. I opened the window and was just starting to crawl out, but he had since popped the door open with a knife and was pulling me back in. I fought to try and push myself out of the window anyhow, then he just started to slam the window shut on me. https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1041128 Edit note Kingston Base 3.9(50) Military base · Kingston This is where my grandfather got posted by the British military back in the mid 1950s. As he was in the military, he never got to decide where him and his family got to live. He just had to go and live wherever the military told him to go. For example, my mother was born in Iserlohn, West Germany. She was born there because my grandfather had gotten posted there by the military. My family moved a lot because my grandfather served in the military. He became a commissionaire once he was too old to do regular military service work. It's a pretty common job transition for veterans, as far as I understand. The last place he worked at was the Bay St Armoury in Victoria, BC. He was a janitor and proudly raised the flag every day. He worked there up until he couldn't work any longer due to the cancer that had spread in his body. None of us knew about it until about a week or two before he died because he didn't tell anyone. He didn't want anyone to worry about him or cause a fuss. He was a man. A real man. With courage and strength. He took care of his family, at all costs. No matter what. ❤ Edit note Roedde House Museum 4.5(240) Local history museum · Vancouver Restored Victorian house with docents Closed ⋅ Opens 1 p.m. Wed Spent some time sitting at the Gazebo here. Was drinking tequila out of a brown paper bag back in 1997. Some strangers came and sat with me and my "boyfriend". They had this beautiful pipe made out of deer antler. Smoked some weed with them. Shared some booze. Awesome people! I really enjoyed chatting with them. ❤ I don't remember walking back to my apartment on East 6th, but I do remember I ate some cookie dough ice cream, and then I went to lay down because the world was spinning (It's always spinning, but I mean like I was dizzy from the alcohol). Not long after that, I threw up all over myself and the blanket I had. I guess tequila and dairy is not a good combo, LOL! I stopped drinking tequila after that for many years. I have had a few shots here and there since, but that's about it. I don't really drink at all anymore. It doesn't seem to really affect me like it used to as I can just drink copious amounts and I don't feel any kind of buzz or anything from it. Also, alcoholism is rampant in my family so I think it's best if I just don't drink it. Edit note Victoria Skydivers 4.9(17) Skydiving center · Sidney Permanently closed This used to be called the Ultimate High Parachute Club. I used to go skydiving here in the early-mid 2000s. Gary owned the club, Phil was the tandem master, and Al was the cameraman. My best jump was with my aunt Trish. She did a tandem jump for her birthday. I jumped out after her. ❤ My favourite part of any skydive, other than practicing doing somersaults and trying to master barrel rolls, was always the moment just after you pull your pilot chute and watch your canopy open. It's this incredible moment of calm and peaceful quiet. Everything becomes so still and silent once you are under canopy. It is an amazing "bird's-eye" view of the world - always an incredible experience. ❤ Edit note Swan Lake Christmas Hill Nature Sanctuary 4.6(283) Nature preserve · Victoria Oak wood & marsh habitats around a lake Closed ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed This has always been one of my favourite places to walk around. I used to hang out at a very specific willow tree here with good friends as a teenager. It was a safe place. A sanctuary. Edit note Mobi Bike Station 3.3(3) Bike sharing station · Vancouver Slept under this bridge for quite awhile in 1998. There was a bunch of abandoned ticket booths here which provided great shelter from the wind and other elements. A francophone couple also lived here, along with other homeless people. Our dogs guarded us from the rats and alerted us to any danger as well. I remember once, all my stuff got rifled through while I was off squeegeeing at Main and Terminal. My poetry journals were strewn about, along with my clothes. Thankfully, the only thing that got taken was my bic pens (which was pretty upsetting to me as writing was, and still is, an important outlet for me to get out/work out my emotions and thoughts) The theft of my pens made it quite clear that crackheads had been the ones to go through all my stuff. When you take out the inner nib portion with the ink from bic pens, you are left with a plastic tube that makes for a great crack pipe. Just stick some brillo (steel wool) in one end and voila! When the Indy 500 race was starting up again, we got kicked out as they had to clean up the area and redo it to make it look all fancy and appropriate for the spectators and tourists. The construction guys brought us beer, I guess as a "sorry we gotta kick you out" gift. I think it was 2 x 12 packs of bottled beer, if I remember correctly. Don't remember the brand. They were all super nice dudes. We were very polite and understanding about the situation. They were just doing their jobs. Thanks for the beer and for talking to us and treating us with so much kindness! ❤ Edit note Mary's on Davie 4.3(895) $$ · Restaurant · Vancouver Breezy eatery serving diner-style dishes Open ⋅ Closes 12 a.m. Dine-in · Takeout · No-contact delivery Awesome food here! I think the first time I ever came here was with Demi and Priscilla. You both helped me so much and provided me with a place to stay when the place I was at was no longer safe and I had nowhere else to go to. Thank you so much!! Love you both. ❤ Edit note WWF Commemorative Plaque 2.0(1) Tourist attraction · Vancouver Temporarily closed Ate blackberries for breakfast here while I was living/sleeping on the beach in 1998. Slept here: 49.2733341204345, -123.19694836905374 Saw Aurora Borealis here, August 1998 Outdoor showers were approximately here: 49.27187867818325, -123.19165192438027 Edit note Vancity 3.6(25) Credit union · Vancouver Closes soon ⋅ 5 p.m. ⋅ Opens 9:30 a.m. Wed Opened my first bank account here Edit note The Gathering Place Community Centre 4.2(438) Community center · Vancouver Open ⋅ Closes 8 p.m. Add note Mount Seymour 4.3(336) Mountain peak Destination for skiing, hiking & biking Came here with the "man" I used to date and another man. The other man approached me while I was washing car windows at Main and Terminal. He wanted to take photos of me. I didn't clue in on the type of photos he meant. I think he offered $50. That kind of money would sometimes take the whole day to make. I was unsure. The "man" I was with "approved" this transaction. I think I was still 16 years old, but I might have just turned 17. I was wearing a dress this particular day. A velvet dress. Cream coloured. The man with the camera drove me and the "man" I was dating in the back of his van to this mountain. The "photo shoot" started off just asking me to pose in certain ways. I felt uncomfortable, but it was just photos for money, right? The "man" I was dating encouraged me as they both coached me. After awhile of these photos, I got asked to reveal more. I was not comfortable with it, but this man and my "boyfriend" encouraged me. I got as far as being topless, but I wouldn't do anything more. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I felt sick to my stomach. I felt gross and dirty. Was driven back to the corner in the back of the van. Silence the whole way. After the whole process was over, my "boyfriend" got mad at me and told me I was a dirty slut for what I had done, but I didn't want to do it at all in the first place. I only went along with it because he encouraged me and approved the whole thing. I was so hurt and confused. He verbally and physically berated me for what I had done. I didn't deserve this kind of treatment. Edit note Main Street-Science World 3.8(89) Subway station This was my squeegee corner. I washed windows here. 1997-1999. Met lots of nice people. Lots of regular customers. So many kind people. Thank you all so much for everything! ❤ Edit note 800 Hawks Ave Vancouver, BC V6A 3J4 This is where I lived when 9/11 happened. Edit note Burnaby Public Library, Bob Prittie Metrotown Branch 4.5(452) Public library · Burnaby Open ⋅ Closes 8 p.m. Used to come to this library to borrow books in 1999 when I was living on 10th Ave - that is the street that is the border of Burnaby and New West. I think I read all the Jack Whyte books they had at this location. They were excellent! Cobalt Hotel Came here with my "boyfriend" and another person who squeegeed at Main and Terminal. He (Rene) was very nice, unlike my "boyfriend". I hope you managed to get clean and are still alive and doing ok. ❤ Oh, and btw, Rene (the French Canadian "man" with short orange/red hair that used to squeegee at Main and Terminal and was a needle using heroin addict)... I certainly hope that purse you stole from the lady on Hastings (pretty sure you said she was Chinese, and you assumed she was rich because of her race, which is a fucking ridiculous notion) was a one time thing. As far as I remember, that was the only time you did anything other than squeegee, to my knowledge anyhow. I never partook in any of the money or the drugs you bought with your "score" from that day. You gave me the disposable camera, which had a few shots left, and I paid to develop the roll after I took those shots. Edit note Atlas Animal Hospital & Emergency Vancouver 3.5(883) Veterinarian · Vancouver Open 24 hours Brought my cat here to be spayed and my dog to be neutered. Late 1999. Edit note 594 E 49th Ave Vancouver, BC V5W 2G9 I lived in a basement suite here. One of the security guards from the Grand Casino helped me find this affordable place. He was really nice and I enjoyed talking to him. He was from Yemen. I remember when I asked him where he was from, he was surprised I knew where in the world his country was. Him, "Do you even know where Yemen is?" Me, "Yes, it's right next to Oman, by Saudi Arabia." ☺ ❤ Mountain View Jewish Cemetery Used to live a couple of blocks from this cemetery in the year 2000. Used to walk around here with my dog after work/before work/whenever I had time between the 2 jobs I was working. I have always enjoyed walking around at cemeteries. They are peaceful and I feel like the dead appreciate the company. I am not sure how to describe in words the energy/sensation I feel when I visit cemeteries. I spent lots of time walking around cemeteries in Victoria as a teenager. I still spend time visiting cemeteries now. They are important places to visit, to listen to, to learn from. ❤ The place I lived in close to here was a basement suite. I lived with a roommate. He was one year, one month, one week, and one day younger than me. His name was Greg(ory) Smith and he is your typical stupid jock—literally. I am willing to bet he doesn't have an IQ of much more than 60. Also, he was super racist towards Indigenous people and I used to get so fucking mad at him when he would talk shit about how natives get everything for free. He was always harping on about how they get free education and don't have to pay for anything, blah blah blah. Total fucking uneducated moron who thought he was super smart, but he never was and he doesn't have a fucking hope in hell of ever being intelligent. All he knows how to do is make fun of other people and belittle them and talk shit behind their back... sometimes we hear the shit you say about us when you think we're sleeping ya fucking asshole piece of shit. Oh, and you are not as attractive as you think you are and you fucking suck shit at cooking. Your lettuce wraps are fucking garbage. You're another one of those fucking moronic men who think you're gods gift to women. Oh, and I had to bail you out for rent and all sorts of other shit routinely. You just took from me too and didn't give me sweet fuck all in return. Gregory claimed his mother also had schizophrenia, but apparently she got "cured" and it was just some brief episode. Never heard of that kind of schizophrenia before, but sure, I thought, let's go with that. Sometimes it is easier to agree with total fucking morons rather than attempt to explain things to them which are far beyond their very limited comprehension abilities. Some people are just stupid and are unable to learn and understand much beyond what their penis dictates to them. When I first met him, he lived with his dad and younger sister in a house near Marpole White Spot. His dad was a geologist. Anyhow, his dad was nice from my conversations with him. His first car was a blue firefly, which he crashed one night and wrapped around a streetlight/lamppost. After we weren't roommates anymore (he got his own place) we hung out every so often, but he basically treated me as a booty call when I was never actually looking for anything like that. I just wanted to hang out and play video games, but he almost always expected more. Not sure I would say he was a real friend that actually cared. He had some cool buddies though. I really liked most of them. I remember his one friend played a lot of soccer. Can't remember his name, but he was super nice. I bought one of his other buddies a private dance when we were at the strip bar one night. It was his 19th birthday, so I felt it was appropriate, lol! He was pretty shy about the whole thing, but I am sure he appreciated it regardless. Purpose Independent Secondary School School · New Westminster Closed ⋅ Opens 8:30 a.m. Wed I went to school here in 1999. Possibly late 1998 as well. Can't remember exactly the months I was here. Took Math 11, Law 12, Psychology 11, and Art. My teachers were excellent. I especially loved my Math/Art teacher. He was awesome. I really liked my Law/Psychology teacher too, but I'm not so sure he liked me that much. He was a good teacher and good to his students though. I met a lot of cool people here. Nice classmates. Hope you all are doing well, wherever and whatever you may be up to these days. ❤ Edit note 2501 Main St Vancouver, BC V5T 3E5 There used to be a bank here. Not sure which one. I used to panhandle here sometimes. 1997/1998 Edit note 49°12'40.7"N 123°05'25.2"W (49.211313, -123.090328) Grand Casino and Quality Inn Hotel (was on the NE corner of the intersection at SE Marine Dr and Fraser St). Started working here about November 1999. Waitress/concession. Miss my family from here. Lots of nice people - not just co-workers, but clients/customers as well. All like family. Was a bar downstairs. There was a reggae band that played there. Len owned the Casino. His son, Dorian (sp?) worked there. Super nice people! Carl was the general manager. Was super nice as well! I think Richie was basically the operations manager? He was the main pit boss, from what I remember. His wife worked there as well. Think her name was Dawn. Security and surveillance guys were all nice. Learned lots from you all. Loved all the current event and political discussions! :) Pit bosses too! I remember all of you guys. I still listen to punk. One of the cool pit bosses made chain link jewelry and liked punk music. They were all super cool to talk to. Sometimes, a bunch of us would even go out for food and drinks. I went and did karaoke one time. I was very uncomfortable. I used to do Karaoke all the time as a kid/teen, but have never felt comfortable with it post-19, which has no relation to covid-19, it's just a reference to my age at that time.(1999/2000) Learned lots from many people here. Employees and otherwise. I remember one guy that started coming in, name might have been Chris? Not 100% sure. I remember he volunteered at the gathering place downtown. They helped him get off the streets. I didn't realize until years later that I used to squeegee with him at the corner of Main and Terminal. I hope you were able to stay clean. ❤ Edit note The Naam 4.3(2,700) $ · Vegetarian · Vancouver 24/7 vegetarian & natural-food eatery Open ⋅ Closes 12 a.m. Dine-in · Takeout · No-contact delivery Sometimes came here for food with my friend Noel. He worked security at the Grand Casino. Edit note 1626 W Broadway Vancouver, BC V6J 1X8 Learned to be a waitress here. Got to cater a fancy wedding reception at a big mansion in West Vancouver. Got my Serving It Right, SuperHost, FoodSafe through here. Food Safe had to go somewhere else for to do the workshop/test - SE Vancouver, I think? Picasso Cafe program was initially geared towards sex workers to allow them the dignity to serve people (mostly men) in another capacity. Nice lady from Metrotown Advanced Education Skills and Training got me a placement here. Thank you. ❤ Edit note Fable Diner 4.3(1,958) $$ · Diner · Vancouver Bright diner using local produce Closed ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed Dine-in · Takeout · No-contact delivery Nice man bought me breakfast here. I was panhandling at Broadway and Main in front of the bank that used to be there. I was hungry. Thank you Edit note Hotel Regal Hotel · Vancouver Francophone friends lived here for awhile. 1998 Edit note Edmonds 4.0(98) Subway station Skytrain to downtown. Walked here from 10th ave in basement suite I lived in. Was a converted garage. I drew pictures of the kitchen in my sketchbook. Still have the drawings. Edit note Law Courts of British Columbia- New Westminster 3.6(37) Courthouse · New Westminster Closed ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed Came here in 1999 with my teacher and classmates from Purpose School. Edit note Courthouse Libraries BC - New Westminster 5.0(1) Library · New Westminster Closed ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed Came here when I was enrolled at Purpose School. 1999 Edit note New Westminster Evangelical Free Church 4.3(14) Church · Burnaby Closes soon ⋅ 5 p.m. ⋅ Opens 9 a.m. Wed Never went inside. Used to escape to this spot when things were bad. Would sit in their backyard parking lot/grassy area. Sometimes I would write in my journal. Brought the dog with me sometimes. Baxter. Black and white. Pit/Lab. Intact male dog. from SPCA in East Vancouver, 1997. Adopted by Ryan Andrew Hake, DOB: August 16, 1978 Edit note 5149 Walden St Vancouver, BC V5W 2V6 Safe house Cool employees here. They were really kind to all of us. One employee I remember specifically because I liked talking politics with him. I remember he encouraged me to read The Economist magazine to gain a better understanding of/more in depth perspective on economics, politics, and world affairs. I definitely took the advice to heart. I still read The Economist and other similar magazines to this day. Maybe not religiously, but I think it's important to keep a hand on the pulse of the world. Edit note Scotiabank 2.3(82) Bank · Vancouver Closed ⋅ Opens 9:30 a.m. Wed Add note Psychic Gina 3.9(27) Psychic · Vancouver Open ⋅ Closes 6 p.m. Went here twice. Was curious as to what a psychic does and I've always found "magic" stuff to be interesting, though I don't take any of it seriously. The lady did a tarot card reading and read my palms. She had a little new testament Bible which she got me to read some prayer with her. Maybe a Psalms one? Don't remember exactly. The page was marked with a little magnetic bookmark. She tried to persuade me back by telling me I had some "dark energy" following me, but I didn't buy into it. I went back one more time after that to see what she would say. Anyhow, I felt bad that I didn't return the Bible because I don't like taking things and keeping things that aren't mine and/or that I haven't paid for with cash or traded something of equivalent (or of much more value—not ever including my body though—that has never been my style and never will be) Anyhow, people give Bibles away for free all the time and I paid her for each visit so I don't need to feel bad about that, or anything else in my past. Overall, I think I've been a pretty good person and have always tried to do my best and help other people out with nearly everything I have been asked. Even when I was homeless, I shared what I had and often gave my friends and other street people money and food. I know my ex-husband considering me to be selfish and often told me I was a selfish bitch, but that's not the kind of term I think anyone who doesn't want to hurt and abuse and use me would ever use to describe me. I very rarely say no to anything. I try hard to be as kind and helpful as possible, not because I feel like I have to or I am forced to or are coerced into being that way. It's simply the way I am. How I was raised, what I experienced, the people I have looked up to and admired, the stories I read (both fiction and non-fiction)—especially those about people who survived though wars, pow camps, the Holocaust, Communism, extreme abuse of many kinds—from their family, their friends, and even random strangers. The people who keep going and showing there are many ways to survive many environments that don't require using and abusing the environment, other people and/or "systems". Add note 863 Fleming St, Esquimalt, BC Lived here when I attended Rockheights Elementary school. Sept 1988 - May/June 1991 for Grades 3-5. There was an apple tree in the front yard and wine grape vines. I remember planting lettuce and corn in the yard here too. I also spent lots of time hanging out in the driveway drawing on the ground with chalk and playing with bugs, especially ants. I never hurt them or anything though. I'd just talk to them, tell them stories, sing them songs, draw them houses and create pathways and artsy things for them to wander around on like a crazy fucking kid, lol! I remember accidentally killing a fly on the screen door that led to the backyard. I was singing and talking to him (yup, I have always talked to all the creatures, regardless of their placement on the taxonomic tree) and went to nudge him and he just dropped off the screen and fell to the ground. I was so devastated! I remember crying and telling my grandmother about it. She encouraged me to bury him in the backyard and have a funeral service for him. So I did. I buried him in the dirt next to the apple tree, said a little prayer, fashioned a little wooden cross out of a couple of sticks, and put rose petals over his grave. So yeah... I was also the kid who went around the neighbourhood, especially at Parkside Place, saving the caterpillars, beetles, and other bugs from getting fried by the boys condensing the sun's rays with magnifying glasses, lol! Chevron Gas Station (Corner of Tillicum Rd and the hwy) 305 Trans-Canada Hwy, Victoria, BC V8Z 1K8 Helped some dudes lift their golf cart back into the back of their truck in the parking lot here. Mid-late 2000s. I was working at Alpine Disposal and Two Thumbs Up Video at the time. I remember they didn't think I'd be much help because some big dudes had already been by and they were unsuccessful in lifting the golf cart back into the truck. Regardless, I stepped in and got under the golf cart with the dudes there and we lifted it back into their truck with ease. They said thanks and went on their way. I was wearing a camo jacket at that time, which I no longer have. Must have gotten lost while I was moving or while my stuff was in storage. I also think I was wearing my black army-style hat as well. That also seems to have disappeared. Oh well. \o/ |
| During the COVID times, I fashioned a noose for myself and hung it in my bathroom. Every morning I got up and put it around my neck and pulled it fucking tight. Wanted to make sure I was going to do it right. I also had a secluded spot picked out by the river where I thought I could just sit there, drink booze, pop some pills, and use my exacto blade to shred my veins. Only 2 things stopped me. Knowing my cousin (who lived on the other side of the duplex I was living in) would have to deal with my rotting corpse and knowing my suicide would send my mom into the psych ward… and could even trigger her to take her own life. When I was a kid I used to have to create a barrier with my own body sometimes to stop my mom from getting to the kitchen knives. At least one time, I remember having to pry a big fucking knife right out of her hand. I still think about taking my life fairly routinely. Doesn’t even seem to matter if things are going “good” or not. Sometimes I do all the “right” things like exercising, eating healthy, getting outside, challenging my brain, reading, writing, creating stuff, and even giving myself time to just “be lazy” and watch a movie… but even still, I sometimes go to very dark places and find myself planning it my suicide in great detail, as follows: My suicide will be at a secluded location where no one will discover my body for a long time. I will take a large bottle of acetaminophen and ASA and down it with a two six of hard liquor and use my sharp knife to slice into some arteries (pretty sure it’s sharp enough to cut through the thick arterial walls.. veins are easy because the walls are thin, but you aren’t likely to bleed out because of the intrinsic and extrinsic clotting factors… unless you really shred your veins up good… or just pick a major vein like the iliac vein.) I am also pretty sure my knife is sharp enough that I could jam it up under my rib cage towards my heart and pierce it. I know where and how to properly aim needles and scalpels because I learned in Vet tech school where all the major organs and vessels are and how to access them to get the required sample. Anyhow, 🎶thanks to my university for helping me better understand anatomy. So many uses for the knowledge I absorbed there, even though no one really seems to care. Especially not employers or hiring teams. They don’t seem to care about the skills I’m advertising. All useless knowledge and abilities. My life’s just a waste. Not sure why I bother continuing with the rat race.🎵 Got fired last week and didn’t even give me a reason. Employer was telling me how I was such an awesome worker: Working hard without anyone telling me what to do, being personable with customers/guests at the restaurant, helping out my teammates with their work when I am not busy, etc. I was told that my suggestive sales were always really high and that he was so happy with the job I was doing. I guess me saying I would try out the assistant manager position was the nail in my coffin. I never signed anything agreeing to the position or a new wage. I was really unhappy after a couple days and told him, then he said that he was sad I was unhappy, but to give it more time because it would get more fulfilling and purposeful. I gave it another 2 weeks and got more and more miserable every day. I rarely got to interact with customers and was barely able to talk to co-workers or anything. I felt like a fucking prisoner just standing behind the pass bar and making toast all day. Anyhow, I told him again how miserable I was and that I wanted to go back to just being a waitress. He said ok and would put me back on the schedule next week. I showed up for work last Monday (July 17, 2023) all excited to be back to socializing with customers, making drinks, and getting their food orders together… but when I showed up, my boss said he needed to talk to me. He was quiet and then finally said that it was my last shift. Gave me no reason or anything. I just said ok. I barely felt anything at all. Just a brief moment of, how am I going to pay rent and bills and who is going to hire me now after I keep getting fired for no reason or for ridiculous nonsensical reasons all the while being told by my employers how awesome I am at my job and what a hard worker I am. Guess that’s not what anyone wants though. They just want someone to act like a robot and stick to a script. Sorry, that’s not me. I treat others like individuals, I pay attention to their uniqueness, and I try my best to fulfill their requests. Guess that’s not good enough… just like me… never good enough for anything. Signing off for now. Time for a Pepsi. 🥤✔️ Another “sing-along” song to be spoken/sung to the tune “Institutionalized” by Suicidal Tendencies ❤️❤️ 🎤💥🎶❤️🔥 |
| Written June 3, 2013 To turn back time is something so many people wish to do. To relive moments and re-experience memories filled with comfort and happiness. Rejoice in the wonders of being a child again. How I wish I felt like that; to crave the joys of being young and free... except I don't have much memory of being joyous and carefree. I do not remember a life of wonder and happiness. I do not remember the warm and loving touch of a mother who cared. I cannot recall moments together with my mother where I felt safe and comforted by soothing words and a gentle caress. I have fragments of memories that emerge as broken emotions. Fear that my mother would snap and throw a tantrum. Tantrums where she would scream and cry and arms and legs would be flailing; trying to get back at invisible people screaming silent, hateful words at her. The silence demanding to be heard; the silence that falls upon a child's ears is heart-wrenching. The child cannot hear the pain inside a mother's mind that the mother cannot ignore. The child can only see the frightening image of a mother who looks as though she were possessed by a demon. "How to Cope With Mental Illness in Your Family" Diane Marsh and Rex Dickens Page 3 "One common landmark is the powerful sense of responsibility so often experienced by Family members. Especially when you were younger, you may have felt compelled to hold your shaken family together, to meet the needs of your other family members at your own expense, or even to "rescue" your relative. Witnessing this cataclysmic family event, possibly you developed a strong sense of responsibility on your own. Or perhaps others inside and outside your family implored you to shoulder an oversized portion of your family's burden. In either case, you faced an unmanageable task- no child is prepared to assume adult responsibilities." Things I was told as a young child, as young as 5 years: You're the glue that holds this family together. You're a natural born leader. You have to be strong now. Help your grandma; things are tough for her. Love your mom. She can't help the way she is. She doesn't mean it. It's not her fault. Why don't you act more grown up? Are you still a child? You'll just have to figure it out yourself. Figure out how to get there/do things on your own. "How to Cope With Mental Illness in Your Family" Page 9 "To protect yourself as a child, you may have partially cut off painful memories, images, or feelings. This is called dissociation. Possibly you attempted to shut down your emotional life altogether, a process called psychic numbing. As an adult, you may pay a high price for this earlier protection, losing touch with portions of your inner life and remaining imprisoned in an emotional desert. As you learn to deal with your past more openly, your earlier avoidance strategies are weakened, which may result in the release of painful feelings, images, and memories that have built up over many years. Existing below the surface, these feelings may reappear forcefully and unexpectedly. This process is sometimes called emotional flooding. When these powerful emotions are unleashed, it may seem as if a dam has broken, leaving you feeling anxious and overwhelmed. The shock of recognition you may feel after so many years of struggling alone can cause emotional flooding." Everyone was always concerned with how my grandma was doing and how my mother was doing. No one would ever really ask me how I was doing. June 25, 2013 No matter how scared I felt inside when my mother would have a psychotic episode, I was always able to appear and sound completely calm. Always a quiet tone in my voice. Sometimes, her eyes would be crazy and I could tell she was looking right through me as if I was someone else or not there at all. In those moments, sometimes I would grab her arm(s) and get her to try and focus on me. I always had the uncertainty in the back of my mind that any moment she could lash out at me. But I kept cool, showed no fear. Better for me to get hurt than my poor old grandma. I was so good at keeping these powerful emotions at bay, I started to do it all the time without thinking, without realizing what I was doing. I shut myself off from the "real world" and made my own place I could feel safe and secure. I remember crying that day my mother was kicking and screaming and the cops came and they threw her down and knelt on her back to restrain her and cuff her. I was 5 years old. I never cried about that stuff after that. It upset my grandparents too much. June 3, 2013 It is freedom that I seek. Freedom from the pain of my own mind. A prison I created for myself when I was quite young. At first, I didn't see it as a prison, but a place to escape to and be alone with my thoughts. Alone with feelings and thoughts I didn't want to share for fear of what they might make me into. I did not want to be like my mother. I couldn't stand her, yet I was forced to try and love her like a mother. But how could I when I was not sure what a mother was truly supposed to be. Is she supposed to be warm, loving and caring? Comforting when you are sick? Interested in your life and learning what you like and what you need? I felt strange emotions from my mother, but I cannot put words to what they really were. Cold, distant, detached... nothing seemed to really flow naturally or "normally". Secrets... so many secrets she seemed to have about who she was. So many things she was always hiding. Paranoid. Afraid of the unknown and wary of the invisible people she swore spoke to her and told her things about herself. Always asking me if I could hear it too. I didn't hear anything. I was afraid of her when she spoke to the silent voices in her head. She always screamed so loud and yelled awful things at the invisible people. So wrapped up in herself and her needs... her wants for herself. Not me. Not the daughter she gave birth to. I was not supposed to be here with her. She gave me up and my grandparents took me in so why is she here with me? I do not want her here with me. Taking away the love my grandparents have for me to satisfy her own loneliness. Leaving me to feel ashamed and confused. Left alone to wallow in a foggy world of hurt. Stumbling around, blind, searching for my own path out of this insanity. Insanity I have been placed into without a choice. A tattered mind that tries to control me but I won't let it. I can't stand it. I just want to escape. Run away, run away... but there is nowhere for me to go. |
| Scars of Time You leeched off of my life force, Stalking my mind, Burrowing in like a worm Looking for vulnerabilities Which I freely displayed In trust. In all my naivety I thought I could confide in you But you spread me apart, took what you desired And left me naked and barren Ashamed of myself Ashamed of my entire being. Yet, Throughout it all I continued to wear A facade of agreeableness Singing soft-spoken melodies. While you invaded my being. You laughed with your friends at my expense While I continued to carry you. To care. I allowed you to take advantage Because I had not yet healed From my own traumas. Wounds so deep and fresh They were still bleeding. My pain pouring out onto the floor. Spilling out all of my insecurities The pieces of me that had been torn up; Ripped and shredded and scattered By those who came before you Who also violated me. Who raped my soul and kept on taking Scraping away at me inside. Left me in pain. Burning and full of shame for just trying to survive. One of you gave me an empty bottle. Silent Sam left in a window frame1 You shoved it between my legs as a token of kindness To cool and soothe the burning pain. So raw, so exposed. I felt like I was bleeding I felt like I was dying inside And now, There remain pieces of me So deeply scarred by time Yet, still, I carry on.2 Silent Sam reference note: Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada Rooming house on Barclay St3 in the West End of downtown Vancouver. 1997. You know who the fuck you are. Shane V with vitiligo. You and your "proud Aryan blood" and superiority. You fucked up more than just me. You did the same thing to my friend and Lord knows how many others. You were a full grown adult at 27 years of age. We were children. #writing #Reality #facts #truth #factsmatter Link to my Instagram for more details. https://www.instagram.com/p/ClXwi3HrG5x/?igshid=OTJlNzQ0NWM= **My Instagram post that correlates to this contains screenshots of a text message conversation I had with my aunt. I noted that there was one evening I was passed across the hall to a 28 year old; he was the stunt double for Wil Wheaton from Star Trek:TNG. I can't recall his name, perhaps it was also Will, I am not 100% sure... but I absolutely remember every fucking detail of that disgusting encounter and it still makes me want to fucking vomit. Why the fuck did you fucking assholes need a 16 year old girl to blow your fucking load in and on? Do you do it for the thrill? Is it a power trip? Or do y'all just like fucking children and babies so much because we're easier to control at that age and less likely to be capable of firmly asserting and expressing ourselves, less likely to speak and voice our discomfort and tell you that we do not want to go along with your sick and twisted fucking fantasies? When we cry throughout the encounter/experience, does it make you feel powerful? Does it make you feel like a big strong fucking man when you fuck children? Does the act of rape and sexual assault make your dick fucking harder and more erect? Do any of you assholes possess even a tiny shred of a fucking conscience? What the fuck is wrong with you fucking assholes?? Is it just that once we pass the age of 18 years old, we have past our best before date and are no longer of use to you? Why is our world so full of fucking pedophiles? What the fuck is wrong with your demented fucking brains that makes you think it's acceptable to take advantage of children and teens and steal away our fucking innocence? We do not forget. We carry this shit with us for our entire fucking lives! It fucks us up in ways you couldn't even begin to imagine or comprehend, not that you fuckers give two fucking shits about any of that though, do you? We are never the same again after you take advantage of our naivety; how could we ever be or feel the same after such a tragic and dehumanizing experience. Fuck all you fucking pedophiles and your sick fucking business circle of child porn, sex trafficking, and your fucked up worldwide system of control and subjugation via illegal drugs, alcohol, pharmaceuticals, and other methods such as limiting our employment options, among other things. Ya know, I don't believe in the death penalty, but I sure would love the chance to beat the fucking tar out of you disgusting fuckers with a professional baseball bat. That would release just a tiny bit of my inner rage. I think it would be so satisfying to beat you within a inch of your fucking life; praying that you might momentarily feel just a little sliver of the pain that we experienced and get to carry around for our whole fucking lives. And you are most DEFINITELY NOT "minor attracted people" that deserve counseling and kind words. You are nothing but disgusting deviant motherfucking pieces of garbage. You are nothing but utter fucking trash. You don't treat your fucking victims with kindness and you feel zero fucking remorse. You don't fucking deserve kindness and "professional intervention". You deserve to live in fucking squalor and fear for the rest of your miserable existence. You are not human beings; you possess no sense of humanity. You are cold, cruel, and callous creatures. I would like to further note that I believe the death penalty is far too kind for you assholes. There are many punishments that are far worse than death and y'all definitely deserve to experience some extra special treatment in prison, but not the kind y'all are used to receiving once you get incarcerated (which is oddly rare... hmm... wonder why that might be...) You assholes almost always end up in protective custody after you are convicted and tossed in prison. Guess the "justice" system and the prison system is complacent in the world wide human/child/sex/drug/pharmaceutical manufacturing and trafficking scheme. Y'all just fucking scratchin each others backs so you can keep fucking us up the ass while we're children. Fuck you all. After I die, I'm coming back to haunt you all. That's a fuckin promise. This Shane muthafucka who fed me Silent Sam vodka & orange juice started off with the creepy "sex" shit by getting me drunk & asking me for a back massage. I was 16 years old & alone in Vancouver, BC with nowhere else to go so I just did as I was asked. That's all that happened at first. Then, he wanted to give me a massage to be "nice" & reciprocate the "kindness". I was uncomfortable with the whole thing, but again, I was alone in the city with nowhere to go so I was too scared to say no. I didn't know anyone in Vancouver other than this "man" & I hadn't been living there long enough to know that there were places I could go to. Anyhow, the massage quickly moved to him sticking his hands between my crotch, even as I squeezed my legs shut tightly, that didn't matter. He kept pushing & telling me to relax, he wasn't going to do anything. But that was all bullshit. It progressed from there & I just disassociated myself from each experience by staring at the ceiling or elsewhere & just emotionally "removing myself" from the situation. That was the only thing I knew how to do. I had already done it before with traumatic situations as a kid & most of the previous "sexual encounters" I had experienced before. This was not the first time I had squeezed my legs together tight to try & stop things from progressing further with a guy. It never works, at least, it never did for me. I remember he told me he had previously worked for the porn industry & was trying to get back into it. He bragged about his penis a lot. He had these big metal rings he used to use & told me they made him last longer. It was already painful without them, it burned badly & often felt like something was bleeding inside me, but the metal rings made it even worse. I just wanted it to be over with quickly but it never was, especially with these stupid fucking rings. I remember early on when he started using them it felt like something tore & it was super uncomfortable & it felt like I had blood pouring down my leg from inside. It hurt a lot. I fucking hate him. 6 May 2024 People always say to not bring baggage into a relationship, but you cannot just remove aspects of yourself that make you who you are. It is not possible to erase the past and pretend you have not experienced pain or trauma. Many of us have been told to be ashamed of ourselves and ashamed of what we allowed to happen. Many of us have been told that it was our fault for getting abused or raped because we put ourselves into those situations and we should have known better. But many of us were too young to realize what "kind of situation" we were going into because we were so trusting of others and never imagined that other people would ever hurt us in such unimaginable ways or treat us so poorly, especially after we had treated those same people with kindness and understanding and even tried to help them with their own pain or trauma or struggles. Since I was raped and sexually violated by Shane when I was barely 16 years old, I have never felt "normal" in any sexual encounter or relationship. I feel like I am a child performing for an adult and just imitating and acting like I have been instructed and indoctrinated to. When I put on clothes designed to be sexy and make women feel sexy and powerful, I just feel like a child putting on the clothes of an adult woman. I feel uncomfortable. I feel like I am putting on a costume or clothes from my mother's closet, or my auntie's closet and playing dress-up. It feels foreign. It doesn't make me feel like an empowered female. It makes me feel like a child expected to perform for a man and act and say and do things that made me so uncomfortable and sick and I did them because I was afraid to say no. I thought I had to do those things. I had to be complacent and go along with it all, even though I resisted by squeezing my legs together, and shying away from being touched, and other more "passive" ways of resistance. I was afraid to use my voice and say no for a couple of weeks, but then when I realized that this was going to continue and be expected of me every day, I finally found my voice through my tears, which I tried so hard to keep silent, but I couldn't and I finally asked for him to stop. I said no, please stop, it's hurting, because it hurt so bad. I was raw and swollen and in so much pain I could barely walk. He thought it was funny and joked about it to Will and the other guy we sometimes met for coffee with at Blenz on Davie and Bute. He actually laughed at me being in so much pain I could hardly walk from him jamming his oversized penis into me. Over 2 inches around and then he would put those fucking metal rings from his leather jacket on. He would put one at the base of his penis and the other one halfway down so it would be a big ridge of cold metal that he said would make it better for me, and more pleasurable, it's but every thrust he took was so painful and it burned and hurt so bad. I remember how much it hurt when I felt the ring around his penis rubbing up against my pubic bone. It was maybe the 2nd or 3rd time when he put the rings on that I felt something in the left side of my vaginal canal "pop", like he had burst some important tendon or ligament and it felt odd and different and like there was some sort of liquid running down my vagina and then out and down my leg. He carried on thrusting and it always took quite awhile for him to "finish" so when that occcured I don't know what the liquid looked like or what exactly it was. I often would wait for the bathroom down the hall to be available afterwards so I could get clean, but it wasn't always available as the whole ground floor shared the one bathroom. It was a rooming house on Barclay St and everyone shared thenone bathroom down the hall. It had a toilet and an old-fashioned style bathtub. I always ended up raw and chaffed and all he did was keep a two six bottle of Silent Sam on the windowsill to try and "cool" the glass bottle and then he would stick it between my legs to soothe the pain between "sessions". He said he needed a lot of sex and might have even called himself a sex addict. I know he said he used to work in the porn industry and they liked him because of the large circumference of his penis. He would often rape.me more than once a day. He shoved my head towards his penis more than once and got me to perform oral sex on him. I hated the way it felt in my mouth like I was choking because it was so big. And he had some sort of lump or wart on his penis and I hated the way it felt in my tongue, like a dried chunk or skin that kept passing in and out as he had my head in his hands and "guided" my head and face to perform this non-consensual act of "sex" with a minor. When I was 19 and 20 years old, I had similar sexual experiences. I just felt like I was doing what was expected of me. A sexual performance. I rarely had sex without consuming alcohol (or drugs, but usually just alcohol) beforehand as it was easier to "perform" and not feel so uncomfortable and ashamed and embarrassed. My old roommate did the same thing as Shane when were no longer dating and he wanted sex. He would always initiate things. I just wanted plutonic intimacy, like a brother or an uncle would hug his sister or his niece or a friend would hold your hand or put their arm.around your shoulder or even let you rest your head on their lap.during a movie without overtones/connotations of anything physical or sexual was expected to occur. Even when I would pull away or shy away by moving my head away, he would eventually undo his belt and/or his pants and forcefully push my head into his crotch. I pushed back and resisted quite hard sometimes, but he just kept pushing my face and head to his crotch and expected me to perform oral sex on him. I did not receive any kind of oral, vaginal, or digital penetration in return. He didn’t want to risk getting me pregnant so he just used me for oral sex. He also used to say he "felt bad" that I didn't "get anything" out of these encounters and on more than one occasion he asked me if I wanted him to fuck me with a banana or a cucumber. I politely declined his oh so "kind offers" of sexual reciprocity. He never gave me money or did anything for me other than once when we were living together he made me lettuce wraps. i did all the cleaning and even had to cover bills and his portion of the rent sometimes. He never paid me back. He often asked me to give and buy him cigarettes and also alcohol from the bar because, agter all, I was a girl so it was easier for me to make the "big bucks" as a waitress. But I wasn't making easy money. i worked 12-16 hours a day and busted my butt as a waitress. I was a shift leader at White Spot and often helped others out with their duties, including kitchen and cleaning staff! My ex-husband was very similar with his approach to 'sex'. It was just expected and owed to him, even though there were many occasions I resisted and moved away from him touching me. There was more than one occasion that I cried while he "had sex" with me while I just stayed still and motionless and stared out the window. I tried to always keep my tears silent. And even when he saw my tears afterwards, he just saw that as something being wrong with me. He always told me how I should go to the doctor and find out why I wasn't interested in sex like him. He said it wasn't normal, but it is normal for someone who has experienced sexual abuse. It is normal to not be comfortable with sexual and physical advances from someone who you don't feel.safe or comfortable with and who doesn't listen and care about you or your needs. He only wanted me to get help so he could have more frequent sex. Like I could just take a pill and that would "make me horny" and want to have sex with him, but I never really wanted to have sex with him. It was always an alcohol induced performance where I was doing as previously instructed and indoctrinated. Doing what a woman is expected to do when a man wants to put his penis inside of her. I didn't just cry on my wedding night, I cried many times. I avoided him, I resisted, I stared out the window and lay there like a dead girl and did not reciprocate any physical touching or acts unless he instructed me to, and then I would ignore him, but then he would persist and get mad so sometimes I would eventually just do what he asked me to do so he would leave me alone for awhile. Mostly, I just lay still and silent and stared off into the diatance and waited for it to be over. Not only was my ex consumed and obsessed with sex and controlling and dictating how often we should have sex and what kind of sex we should have and how we should "spice it up" when all I wanted was to not be with him and not have sex with him, and perhaps with anyone at all ever again. He was so obsessed and consumed with my bathroom habits and what I was "dojng" in the bathroom. He would get upset when I locked the door to urinate or defecate or shower. He would tell me, its just me, I'm your husband, you shouldn't have to lock the door, but it's ok to have privacy in your own home and there is nothing wrong with closing and locking the door to use the toilet or to have a shower. If I took longer than a few minutes he would bang on the door and ask me what I was doing and why I was taking so long, even when he wasn't waiting for me to leave the house with him. He always wanted me to lwave the door open when I went to the toilet or had a shower so he could come in and "see" what I was doing. But most people.dont want to be stared at while they are going to the toilet or having shower and shaving their legs or washing their hair. I never even liked doing that in the ladies changeroom in school or in public pools. I would shower with my swimsuit on and I would always dry off and get changed in a stall. We aren't all comfortable prancing around naked in front of other people, even if they are the same sex as us with the same.body parts. Some of us just don't feel comfortable as it makes us feel exposed and vulnerable. Also, lots of girls are not nice about other girls bodies. So it's not just men who make mean or rude comments. Most women don't continue to be rude about other women’s bodies as they grow up, but preteen girls, teenagers, and even young adult women can be disgustingly cruel and critical about the way other women’s bodies look. So, I have never been one to feel very comfortable changing my clothes in the open or being naked in front of others. Other women seem fine with it. Good for you. I used to work with some girls at Alpine who had naked hot tub parties and sex toy parties. I got invited a few times, but always declined because that is not something I have ever, or will ever, feel comfortable participating in. Call me a prude if you want, I don’t care. It's not for me. I don't do group actiivties such as that. Never have, never will. Footnotes |
| 1 My ex-husband was a control freak. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without him breathing down my neck constantly. I couldn't even leave the house to go for a walk without a fight and me essentially having to make a run for the door to slip out into the hallway where I knew I would be safe. If I went for a walk, he would text me incessantly. Non-stop messages dinging away in my phone until I responded. He demanded that I call him and just leave the phone on speaker in my pocket while I was out and about so he could hear what was going on and make sure I was "safe". But the only person I really needed to be safe from was him. 2 He had a bad temper and would rage around the house frequently whenever people didn't go along with how he thought or what he wanted them to do. Of course, this included me. He punches through the drywall a few times, busted a bookshelf, broke a CD/DVD rack, punched and concaved métal toaster, ripped closet doors out of their tracks, and so so. He wouldn't stop in an argument to allow any time to cool off. If I asked to stop talking or arguing, he just told me how I was too childish and immature to have a conversation and he told me that all I ever wanted to do was just run away from talking because I couldn't handle being an adult and having à conversation. But I just wanted to stop talking when it was no longer talking. 3 Sometimes, you just need time to think or a cooling off period during a conversation, especially if things are getting heated. He wouldn't agree to this. Ever. I would beg and plead to just stop talking for a bit and allow some time to just think, but he never agreed to this as this meant I couldn't be an adult and adults should be able to finish conversations, after all, and not "run away". I would run from room to room in the house/condo just trying to get a moment of peace and quiet to try and figure out why he was so mad and what the argument was even about. He would follow me everywhere I went and wouldn't let me just be. He wouldn't leave me alone. I tried so hard to run into other rooms and close the door. Sometimes, I succeeded, but he would just body check the door and overpower me and I would get squished in behind the door. 4 Sometimes, I would make it into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Curling up tight to the door with my knees up to my chin just crying while he kept body checking the door behind me. I was often amazed that the door didn't bust open as it often seemed like it was about to. I never had long moments of peace in the bathroom because he would just go and get à butter knife out of the kitchen and pop the lock on the door and slam the door until he got in the room or until I moved out if the way from behind the door. I sometimes would plead with him to stop slamming on the door because sometimes it really hurt me getting the door jammed into my back or side as I tried to hold the door shut behind me to just have some space and try to have a moment of peace. 5 Sometimes, I was successfully able to barricade myself in my video game/computer room. I used furniture and my big box of dvds to keep the door closed. Unfortunately, he would just do stupid things to irritate me when I locked myself in my room like putting the Bose speaker right outside on the other side of the door and he would blast music that he knew would bother me and play it at the highest volume until I would relent and talk to him or open the door. Or he would put the TV on and turn it up and loud as it would go and put on something he knew would drive me crazy to try and get me to open the door or talk to him. All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Solace from the relentless beast. He never shut up or stopped talking. And if I said I didn't want to talk about à certain subject, then he would push it even more. I often just ended up agreeing with lots of things just to avoid arguments and these kinds if situations. It was easier Sometimes to just prétend I agreed with what he said or the viewpoints he had just so he would shut up and leave me alone. 6 Sometimes, I had get out of the house, but it wasn't easy. As I said, I was always having to run from room to room to get away from him yelling and screaming. He would go red and purple in the face and start sweating profusely when he got mad. His big forehead viens would bulge out and he often would punch himself in the head and say look what I was making him do to himself. Like it was my fault he had no control over his emotions, especially his anger. 7 I would try to escape into the hallway to get out of the condo and go for a walk to get some fresh air and just clear my head. It wasn't easy as he would grab my shoes and hide my keys and whatever else he knew I would need to leave the house. Sometimes, I would get the door halfway open and he would slam it shut on me. The main door to the condo was quite heavy so I always had to be really careful about that. I usually just kept running from room to room, one side of the hallway inside to the next and then quickly duck out the door. 8 Once I was in the main hallway, I was safe. He would change his attitude and manner of speaking 180 degrees in front of other people so once i was in the main hall, he would change his tone of voice so it would be more soft and would say things like, come on back in and talk to me, it's dark outside and cold, it's not safe. He would always make it like he was concerned for my safety when I left the house, but that wasn't it. It was just all about control. This happened over and over and over again throughout the relationship. I never really saw this side of him until we moved in together, just me and him. At first, we lived with his brother, and he was much kinder. I guess he had to behave m9re gentleman like in front of his family to keep them all fooled about what a controlling asshole he actually was/is. 9 I was miserable with him and I wasted so many years if my life. I tried hard to not get married and to break up with him. I threw the stupid fucking ring he gave me so many times, but he just kept convincing me to take the stupid thing back. I hated that fucking ring and I hate him too. I didn't even have an answer when he asked me to marry him. I thought the silence and my look of utter, holy fuck please god no, on my face would tip him off. But after a few minutes of me not saying anything, he said I had to answer. Everyone in the restaurant was staring and I felt so much embarassment and pressure that I just said, uh, yeah sure, ok. But I was not smiling and laughing. I didn't hug or Kiss him back. I just sat there like a stone statue, terrified of what was happening. Hoping it was just a bad fucking nightmare that I was going to wake up from at any moment. 10 We were engaged I think for a year? Can't remember exactly. I threw that stupid ring back at him so many times and told him I didn't want it and I didn't want to get married. I'm not sure why he kept getting all nice after that and apologizing and convincing me to take the ring back. He would keep telling me that I didn't really mean what I was saying, but I kept telling him that I did mean it and I didn't want to get married. One time, I remember getting in some random fight with him at Beacon Hill Park, likely over absolutely nothing more than me not agreeing with everything he said and thought (I wasn't allowed to have my own beliefs, thoughts, and opinions unless they essentially mirrored his). I threw that stupid fucking ring in the grass there. I was hopeful that he wouldn't be able to find the stupid thing, but of course he fucking did! I know there were a fair number of people around. Wonder what they thought of the whole debacle, lol! 11 I did nothing to make plans for the sham of a wedding. He kept asking me if I had made a guest list or done any planning or picked out à dress. My answer was always no. I didn't want to get married so why the fuck would I plan anything out? He eventually just went and bought me a wedding planner who arranged everything as I wasn't arranging anything. The closer it came to the date, the sicker I felt. I remember starting to binge eat food à few weeks before the wedding because I was so sick and stressed about the whole ordeal. I think I gained 10 or 15 pounds in those few short weeks. I don't know how else to explain it, but gaining weight felt like a layer of protection. Like I could make him not like me or stop trying to reach me and/or touch me or something. It didn't work. 12 On the day of the wedding, I just threw on my fake happy face and acted like I was expected to for the day. I was fucking horrified during the ceremony when the one fucking request I had of the preacher/pastor was totally ignored: take out the word “obey” out of the meaningless and ridiculous illegitimate “marriage vows”. I nearly fucking vomited right than and there when he finished that fucking line and I stood there having to just answer in the affirmative as to not cause a fucking scene in front of 100+ people, most of whom were guests of the ex, because let’s get real here… this was the wedding of his dreams, this was NOT MY GOD-DAMN DREAM! Just like it was the honeymoon of his choice and his dreams where we fulfilled his childhood wish of going to Disneyland. The whole wedding and vows was an exceptionally meaningless fraud show anyways as my ex had never been inside a church or an chapel prior to that day. He was never a Christian, never believed in any kind of God or higher power or greater purpose/spiritual entity. He couldn’t tell you anything about the contents of any bible, or of any other book for that matter as he doesn’t read. I never once saw him pick up and attempt to read a book in the 15 years I was with him (and only him—there are zero fucking exceptions to that statement despite my intense and pervasive sadness and misery during my “life” with him). My ex routinely trashed/trashes Jesus, religions, and all the names and incarnations of God. The stupid asshole loves the movie the Passion of the Christ so much simply because he enjoys watching all the scenes of Jesus getting fucking whipped and beaten to death. He even fucking cheered it on while we watched the movie, much to my disgust and chagrin. Anyhow, I dreaded the end of the day as I knew I would not be able to get out of having to have sex with him. The thought of it make my stomach fucking turn over and over. I remember entering the hotel room and my heart fucking sank. I don't remember all the details as I tried to go somewhere else in my head. I stared at the ceiling and cried while he took what was "rightfully his". I couldn't stop the stream of Tears pouring out of my eyes and down my face, but I stayed silent. After all, this wasn't my first time dealing with an unwanted sexual encounter. I knew what to do. Just shut up and take it. Disassociate yourself from the moment. Disconnect from reality while remaining in it. It is almost like you just go outside of your body and float next to yourself, holding à vigilant watch while you wait for it àll to be over. Some people will understand what I mean by this and others will not. If you know, you know. Further explanations are not necessary. 13 After he was done, I remember him tossing me a box of tissue so I could clean up his nasty fucking mess off of me. Then, I remember him pulling up his pants and doing up his fly while he walked over the the sliding glass door to have a smoke. He said, "Aw, babe. I'm so sorry you are having a shitty day and aren't feeling great. I hope you feel better tomorrow." I just laid there and kept crying in silence. He saw my tears. He didn't give a fuck. Stupid asshole. 14 Now I am divorced from this stupid fucking Dick, but it sure was hard to get the fuck out and away. It took years of trying and begging for a divorce. I finally just demanded one. It took a lot of patience ôn My part to find the right moment and start the exit process, but I did it. I got out. I am dirt poor and drowning in debt, but I am free and at peace. I can do whatever the fuck I want when I want. Watch what I want, listen to what I want, dress how I want, and no one is there to tell me otherwise. No 9ne is there anymore telling me how I have to do my hair or how I need to dress or how I need to talk or anything like that. I get to be me. It's taken a bit to remember and to let go of the fear or having someone constantly watching me like à Hawk so vigilantly and telling me how I have to be, but it's all coming back to me. The real me was always there inside and now I get to be free. Slowly regaining my freedom and remembering how to enjoy life the way I want to enjoy it. Not like someone else says is the "correct way". 15 I would rather spend the rest of my life alone than spend another second in the presence of my ex-husband. Even if being alone meant sitting in a fucking solitary prison cell, I would fucking take that ever having to spend another sec9nd with him. I hope I never have to see his stupid face or hear his voice ever again. Not in this life or any other life. The only exception to that would be if I got to burn or bury him alive... or preferably dead so he can't talk. Wrap him up like a fucking mummy in a drop sheet while I craft up an obituary to à sick fucking beat. (Actually, I have crafted something like an "obituary" for this stupid motherfucker. It's saved on my phone. I think I wrote it while in Starbucks. I have a very special and descriptive death scene/script as well that I crafted on paper in one of my books of rhymes. Will have to revisit those soon and post them here. Addendum: The moment I knew I had to run for my life was when I saw him for what he actually was. Every sense in my body awakened and went into overdrive. I don't care what anyone thinks. He kept trying to make me out as the crazy bitch. The evening I knew I had to get out no matter what was at the condo in the master bedroom. No one will ever believe me, but I saw his face contort. And no, I wasn't high. I wasn't even smoking weed anymore at the time. And I'm 100% sure that I'm not crazy, nor have I ever been. But I've sure been fucked around by many men. https://youtu.be/TAv3yujY15Y?si=Qk1mxWP68GxBAI2m |
| Queen Elizabeth Quarry Gardens https://maps.app.goo.gl/3Dmx3hpZiLpCz1YU7 2001/2002 There was a beautiful Sakura tree here that I planned to sit under while I popped pills, drank alcohol, and then slit my wrists vertically to ensure my death would be final. My first actual attempt at suicide was when I was about 13 or 14 and I took a bunch of different pills that were supposed to react badly with each other and cause coma and death. I was incredibly disappointed when I woke up the next morning with nothing but brain fog and a headache. I started considering all the different ways that could lead to my death when I was much younger than that. Not sure how "normal" that is, but I thought about it quite frequently. I didn't feel very wanted or loved, especially after my grandfather died. I often thought it would have been better if I had just never even existed to begin with. I felt like a burden and an annoyance, especially to my mother and grandmother, but if I expressed this out loud my grandmother would get really upset so I eventually learned to just shut the fuck up and keep my dark thoughts to myself. And to be clear, I never needed drugs to help me to "feel better". There was never anything wrong with me, and there is still nothing wrong with me. I come by who I am honestly. My thoughts and feelings are totally normal for anyone who went through similar experiences from a young age. The reality is that I didn't get what I needed in terms of love and care as a child. I am not alone in this. There are many other people out there who can relate to how I think and they have all devised their own ways and methods of dealing with the pain and emptiness. There are some things you simply cannot replace. Neurotransmitters are nothing but useless band-aid solutions that wear off or create dependency/tolerance or cause awful side-effects, or you simply become immune to their effects. It's better to figure out your own way, even though the "experts" may disagree. Most of the "experts" are fucking clueless about real hardships other than what they read from case studies and from textbooks. Most of them don't have real life experiences they can draw from so their opinions aren't even close to being worth their weight in salt. All that said, it's not like I didn't have a reason to feel like I was better off dead. My mother resented my existence and my grandmother continually rejected me in favour of my mother. My aunts and uncles experienced something very similar. No wonder all of them are legal pill addicts and/or are/were alcoholics. I think I'm the only one now in my family who doesn't drink, smoke, do drugs, or take pills. I deal with things mostly through creative communication: writing, drawing, photography, making videos, and posting stuff online. Or I deal with stuff by exercising, playing video games, listening to music and podcasts, going to work, and generally doing all that "normal" shit that other humans do. I guess I wallow in the shadows more than some people do, but being in the darkness feels like home to me. So fuck your fluffy fuzzy feelings garbage and your sparkly shiny sunshine shit. I lit my own fire in this dark abyss, and it's mesmerizing, comfortable, and wickedly hot. I still fucking hate myself and this world routinely, but the darkness is all I've ever known... and sometimes I feel alone... and maybe someday I won't be alone in it, and maybe I'll be alone in it until I die. I just know this is the only place and way I know how to be so it actually feels like I am being authentically me. 🖤 |
| A jacket saved my life here. https://goo.gl/maps/wcXpKtf9WV9SecD69 Early October 1999. My "boyfriend" RAH, had forced his way back into the basement suite and was raging. I had broken up with up and asked him to leave because he knocked me out cold for my 19th birthday. September 17, 1999. I remember drinking beer. Molson Canadian, as far as I remember. He accused me of hiding money from him. I had just started working at White Spot in August of 1999. I had gotten maybe 2 paycheques by my birthday, if I remember correctly. He was still not working, because he didn't work or contribute anything. He demanded that I hand all money over to him, which I did, because if I didn't, he would kick the shit out of me. I told him that I had given him all the money from my paycheque, but he didn't believe me. He got so mad and started throwing me around. Then, I remember a fist coming towards me and then nothing. I woke up the next morning and my head was pounding. It hurt so much. I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I had dried blood all over my face and my eyes were swollen shut. My nose was huge and my eyes were starting to bruise. All I remember worrying about was what was I going to do about work? I was scheduled to work an evening shift and how was I supposed to go to work looking like this? I remember telling RAH how was I supposed to work like this and he said I guess you'll have to call in. I couldn't use the phone that was at the house because it was broken. I had tried to call the police for help on a few occasions previously and he ripped the phone out of the wall and threw it at me. I ducked. I was used to ducking flying projectiles by this point. Bottles, cans, dishes, belts, chains, dog leashes/collars, knives, furniture, whatever was close by and he could throw at me, he would. Anyhow, he accompanied me to the payphone, as I was never allowed to make a phone call without him being in earshot. I never had privacy. He had to know everything I said and did. I explained that I couldn't come in for my shift because my eyes were swollen shut. I managed to whisper into the phone that I got punched. RAH got really mad about that, but I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to say to explain how my eyes got swollen and my face was all messed up. I went to work the next day. Felt really embarrassed and awkward about it. There was no hiding it with makeup. Most customers just said nothing, but I remember a couple of them saying something along the lines of, "I hope the other girl looks worse." I just laughed with them awkwardly. They didn't know and were just trying to be nice. I certainly don't fault them for that. Having a laugh despite it all was good as it made me feel better for a fleeting moment. Better than nothing, eh? 😊 Anyhow, things were really escalating with RAH and I asked him to leave. I told him I did not love him at all and that I felt nothing for him and could no longer tolerate the abuse. I remember being super calm about it all. He eventually left, but came back a few days later really raging. Probably high on meth or something... coming down from a bender. He barricaded me inside the basement suite. It lasted for hours. I tried to leave a few different ways, but got blocked no matter where I turned to or what I tried to do. I tried one window, but he grabbed me and threw me and blocked it with an armchair. I made a run for the broken phone, but he ripped it out of the wall and threw it. Smashed it into pieces. I tried another window, but he grabbed me again and threw me and blocked that one with furniture too. I ran into the bathroom at one point and managed to lock the door behind me. I opened the window and was just starting to crawl out, but he had since popped the door open with a knife and was pulling me back in. I fought to try and push myself out of the window anyhow, then he just started to slam the window shut on me. They were old fashioned windows so thin and the metal was digging into my side so bad. I remember it felt like it would cut my stomach wide open from my side if I kept fighting and he kept pushing the window hard so I finally relented and pleaded with him to stop. I let him pull me back inside because I didn't want to get sliced in half by a window. I remember being on the ground in the bathroom as he threw me there after pulling me back in from trying to crawl out the window. I remember crawling backwards slowly towards the door as he stood over me yelling just trying to look or think of something else I could do to get out of the house alive. He was livid by this point. I made my way back into the living room by crawling backwards out of the bathroom door while he kept looming over me, yelling and getting in my face. Then, he pinned me down on the ground. He had a razor blade in his hand. He told me he was going to slit my wrists and my throat and rape me while he watched the life drain out of my eyes. I was certain that I was going to die by this point. Then, I remember him saying something about getting a knife from the kitchen, which was only about 2 steps away from where I was on the ground. He got off me for a moment and I sprung up off the ground and ran for the front door. He had previously locked it and chained it and barricaded it with the kitchen table when I tried to escape through that route earlier in the ordeal. I don't know exactly how I did it, if I just moved at superhuman speed or had help from some sort of guardian angel, but I managed to throw the kitchen table out of my way, unlock the door, remove the chain, open the door, and then just started to step outside when he grabbed the back of my jacket. I remember without any hesitation, I just let my arms go down and put them straight behind me and kept moving. The jacket slipped off me, and I ran upstairs to the neighbours front door. I knocked on their door and asked them to please call the police. I didn't have to explain much as my eyes were still all bruised up. Pretty sure my lip was cut and swollen at this point too, but maybe that was from the birthday beating, I am not 100% sure. They called the police and I sat and waited on their front porch for the police to arrive. Note about the jacket: I received this jacket from a man at Main and Terminal (Main St/Science World Skytrain station) one night when I was squeegeeing. I was really cold and I didn't have a jacket or a sweater. I remember just trying to stay moving because that will keep you a bit warmer. A man carrying a full garbage bag came by and talked to me for a minute. I don't remember the whole conversation, but he mentioned that I looked cold. I told him yes, I was cold. He pulled out a jacket and gave it to me. He had just come from doing his laundry. I wore that jacket every day for a long time. It kept me very warm and eventually saved my life. I don't know who you are, but I want to say thank you so much for helping me that night. It was so nice to not be cold. I hate being cold. Also, the jacket you gave me saved my life. If I hadn't been wearing that jacket, I would have been pulled back into the basement suite that day and been killed. The police were very nice, but unfortunately, they couldn't really do much to keep me safe. I told them I didn't feel safe there and that he had a key to the house, so I couldn't stay there. I didn't want to press charges. I was scared to. I didn't want to have to go to court and hash everything out and have some prosecutor lawyer do everything he could to humiliate me and make me feel like it was all my fault, because let's face it, that's what they get paid to do, right? Just like in rape cases. Why go to court to be humiliated and shamed? It's a messed up system. Anyhow, I told them that I just wanted to move on with my life and not be bothered. They told me there was nothing they could do if I didn't want to press charges. I already knew all about restraining orders and how useless they are anyhow because I have a very dear family member who was in an abusive relationship years before me. They essentially can't do much about threats. But the threats are real, so why do you have to wait until something actually happens before you follow through on protecting people? It doesn't make any sense. I think there have been some changes since then, but it's still not very protective towards the person who is on the receiving end of the abuse. And if the other person has money to pay for a fancy lawyer, then it doesn't matter what you do or say. Money talks in the world of the law and justice is not always served. It's more of a performance of who can interpret and twist the laws to their benefit and sway the jury or judge. May the best talker win, right? Side note: I previously mentioned how I stayed with this "man" because he threatened to kill my grandmother and mother if I ever left him. This was the only time I was not thinking about them. The survival instinct is very strong when you are faced with the certainty of death. All you think about it how are you going to get out, how are you going to live, how are you going to survive the encounter. It was just me vs "the man" and I fought for my life. And I won. I'm still here. 🖤 |
| My uncle got sick at the end of 2016. He died Easter Sunday 2017. My grandmother died the day before Mother's day, 2017. I didn't feel like anything was real anymore after that. I just felt like I was floating around in the world and nothing really mattered anymore. I was no longer sure what the point of anything was. I kept on going to work, but I never felt like I was present in the moment. I just went through all the motions like an automatron robot. Doing my job, but I didn't even feel like I was in my body anymore. I felt barely functional, but I kept doing all the things I was supposed to do. Going to work, doing all the household chores, taking care of all the finances, exercising, and all the rest of the mundane routine life stuff. I stopped eating, and then shortly after, I stopped sleeping as well. I felt nothing at all, just numb. Nothing really mattered anymore, but I tried hard to pretend that everything was fine. I tried to talk to my "husband" (in quotations because he was a poor excuse for a husband; he's a poor fucking excuse of a man as well) about all this, who I am very happily divorced from since February 3, 2020, but he didn't understand. He yelled at me and told me I needed to snap myself out of this depression. He told me he needed me to go back to being his rock. He had not really been supportive at all throughout the relationship anyhow, so I'm not sure that this really came as a shock to me, but it was certainly the catalyst for the end of the "relationship". I remember not long after this, later in 2017, maybe early 2018 (we separated in early-mid 2018) I had lost a lot of weight from not eating and spending about 2-5 hours daily exercising. Exercise basically consumed my every waking moment. I guess that was my way of dealing with the deaths and my feelings, or avoiding my feelings, however you want to look at it and however you want to call it. For me, it felt like the only thing I could exercise control over as I had no control over any other aspect of my life because I was in such a controlling "relationship" where my every conversation and interaction with other human beings, online, in-person, or even via video games, was strictly monitored, regulated, and constantly interrupted by my ex. Anyhow, I remember waking up one morning and he tried to touch me or hug me or something, and I recoiled. That was a pretty standard reaction for me, but this time, he said something to me that still makes me feel sick. He said, "You finally look so good, and now you won't let me touch you." Wow, good to know that I never looked good until that moment. What an asshole. |
| I was raised by my grandparents. My mother lived with us sometimes. She is schizophrenic. Little blurb on my mom. Should probably write a bit more about her. I did a lot for her and it was total role reversal. I had to be her mom while she was the child. That’s often just the way it is when you have a parent(s) with addictions/afflictions/disorders/diseases https://flic.kr/p/2ofBszS 1 My grandfather died on May 10th, 1990 when I was 9 years old. He was 80 years old. I still miss him. He was my person. He died because a tumor eventually ate its way through his lungs. I remember sitting in the hospital on the 5th floor while he was dying. I sat on the sill of a floor-length window and stared out into the parking lot below which was full of rabbits. The nurses kept coming in to suction his lungs out and put jelly on his lips to keep his mouth moist. I remember my grandmother asking if they could give him water, but they said no because he would choke on it. He had tubes coming out all over the place - IVs in his arms and such. He didn't look comfortable at all. I remember the rattling in his throat and tears streaming down my face as he looked at me with a haunted expression and pointed right at me. He said, "She shouldn't be here watching this". I didn't understand then, but I understand now. He was going to die a harsh death because he was going to drown and choke on the pink frothy buildup of the bleeding into his lungs from the tumor. He was going to drown while being in a room full of air. He sent all of us away shortly after the rattled breathing started. He died shortly after this. I remember being woken up by my mother who was covered with tears and had a red complexion. She woke me up and just looked at me and said, "Grandpa's dead". I instantly burst into tears and ran out of the room. No one could comfort me. I wouldn't allow it. I never did. I had learned to comfort myself from a young age. 2 I loved my grandfather very much and cherish all my memories of him. My grandfather loved to listen to me play piano and encouraged me to learn and read and research. He couldn't hear well, so he always told me to play the piano loudly as then he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet and it would help him "hear" better. He played the bassoon and was a conductor for the Irish Guard band. He fought in World War II, Korea, and went on a UN "peacekeeping" mission in Palestine. I remember him showing me his war medals. He did not like to discuss his personal experiences in the war. He did tell me about a time they got ambushed while in a jeep. He bent down to pick something up off the floor of the jeep just before the ambush. Bullets rained in through the windows and the fellow driving was shot in the side of the head/ear and collapsed in a slump over the steering wheel - dead. He also told me that what they went to Palestine to do the for UN "peacekeeping" mission was not right. He told me, what they were asked to do there, it was not right. I will never forget the look on his face when he told me that. Whatever happened there haunted him. His eyes were full of pain. He said it was not right or fair to the Jewish people, especially after all they had been through during WWII, the Holocaust. I don't know the full details as the mission is classified at the UN, so you can't read about it; however, my grandfather's eyes told me everything I needed to know without speaking words. 3 I spent a lot of time with my grandfather reading books and newspapers, doing crossword puzzles, Mensa puzzles from the Times Colonist, and Penny Press variety puzzles (logic problems were always my favourite). I remember watching things on TV with him like National Geographic documentaries, news and political programs (60 Minutes and the National are the ones I remember most), and the BBC "World at War" series. I also remember my grandfather really liked listening to Walter Cronkite. He would answer whatever questions I had about whatever was being discussed on TV. I learned a lot from my grandfather, and I feel very blessed that I had such a wonderful parental figure and teacher when I was just a young child. 4 My grandfather lived a hard life himself. He was born in Cawnpore, India (now spelled, "Kanpur"), which was a British colony at the time. He had a brother named Basil and a sister named Edna. His mother died in his arms when he was a very young boy due to alcoholism. His father was in the military and was not able to care for his children after his wife died so my grandfather and his siblings were raised in a convent with nuns in Cawnpore, India. I remember him telling me about the big birds that flew above them while he lived there. They were called albatrosses (I remember thinking about that the first time I played Super Mario 2 for NES as they are in some of the levels). I remember him telling me about a time when he was looking up at the sky watching an albatross fly overhead and it just so happened to poop and it went into his eye. My grandfather got in trouble at the nun boarding convent school (not sure how to phrase that better at this time) for throwing paper airplanes and received the strap routinely. He told me that he learned one thing in Hindu to help combat the bullies and that was to say "Your mother is a pig, or your mother is a child of pigs", something along those lines. That was very insulting to the boys that teased him so it was his way of being able to fight back against them. His father eventually remarried a French woman, and they ended up moving to France, though I don't recall the area they lived in. I know my grandfather loved living in France and he was fluent in the language. He taught me a bit of basic words and sentences when I was a child. 5 As far as my grandmother goes, I did not have the same close, loving relationship with her like I did with my grandfather, but I know she worked hard and did her best. She raised 6 kids before me and lived through the Great Depression and World War II. She told me about how they used to have to head to bomb shelters when the air raid sirens would go off. This was a warning signal that the "buzzbees" (pilotless planes) were coming in and bombs may begin dropping from the air to destroy everything in their path below. My grandmother was in the Women's Air Force in the UK and she told me about the difficult times they went through. When rationing came about life was very hard and it was difficult for her and my grandfather to find enough food for themselves and their children. She told me about my grandfather sneaking extra rations out by filling his bassoon case up to help feed them and their children. My grandmother was around before there were vaccines and she told me about being afraid that her first couple of children were going to die from complications due to whooping cough or polio or rubella or the measles. She worried about them getting injured from rusty metal and nails and contracting tetanus. She told me about the children she used to help nurse that were very sick and about holding babies in her arms while she helplessly watched them turn red and suffocate due to complications from whooping cough and other horrible diseases. Diseases with fatal complications such as death, diseases that we can now easily prevent with vaccines and valuable medicines. 6 My grandmother was adopted and never knew her birth parents. She never knew she was adopted until she was about 18 years old and her parents told her that she had had a brother, but he had just died due to being hit by a car. This made her feel very sad. She also found out that she had lived and grown up on the same street as her brother, but each never knew the other existed. I can only imagine how that must have made her feel. She maintained that she was happy and loved her parents as her own regardless, and I believe her 100% as she always spoke positively about them and how much she loved them and felt loved by them. She never had an interest in finding out about her biological parents because "her parents were the parents who raised her" and that was that. My grandmother was born in Merthyr Tydfil, Wales and she always spoke of how beautiful it is there. She spent a lot of time on the beaches in Porthcawl. She had one sister whom she told me she was a bit jealous of only because she had no hair on her body other than her head so she never had to shave. This condition is now known as alopecia. Her sister also had no sense of smell. Her sister eventually married a firefighter and they had one daughter. 7 My grandmother was excellent at ensuring I was fed and clothed. I learned a lot about cooking, baking, and gardening from watching her and asking questions, but I mostly annoyed her and she didn't try and hide that from me. She also never took an interest in what I enjoyed for hobbies or what I did in school. However, that doesn't mean she didn't care and I certainly do not harbor any grudges or ill will towards her for anything. My grandmother sadly did not enjoy music like my grandfather did. She used to threaten to sell my piano because she simply didn't like hearing any noise. She just wanted silence. She replaced my upright piano with an electric one after my grandfather died. I had to wear headphones and I hated it because all I could hear was the dull thud of the keys instead of the music. My grandmother used to tell me that "Children should be seen and not heard". I loved her anyways. She died on Mother's Day, 2017 shortly after I graduated from University. I remember receiving the call that she had stopped eating on May 10th, 2017. My grandfather died May 10th, 1990. Maybe he finally called her from beyond to join him, I cannot say for sure, but I like to think this is a possibility. 8 I sat by her side for 72 hours and held her hand mostly in silence, as that is what she preferred. I did play a few songs here and there for her when I felt she needed them. I had downloaded some music onto my ipod before I went to her bedside to sit vigil. They were songs from a radio station in the video game, "Fallout 3". Bob Crosby was one of the artists. I knew she would like it. I sat with my grandmother until she took her last breath. I listened for her heart after that final gasp and pronounced to the rest of my family in the room at the hospital that she was gone, dead. And then I walked away with no tears. I had already shed them privately throughout my stay with her. My grandmother also holds a special place in my heart, but the real parental connection I had was with my grandfather. I think that is why I have often felt it difficult to connect with other women and I much prefer the company of males. 9 It may seem as though I was cold pronouncing my grandmother's death and walking out to leave the family behind to grieve, but I already knew what to expect while I sat watching her die because I had just sat vigil at my uncle's bedside for 24 hours the month before. That was my grandmother's first-born son and he died on Easter Sunday, 2017 due to stomach and esophageal cancer. I downloaded Christian sermons onto my iPod for him to listen to during his final hours as I knew that would bring him comfort. When I arrived at the hospital he was sitting upright in bed, obviously in a lot of pain. My two aunts stood on either side of him trying to help. I pressed play on my iPod and a sermon started. My uncle looked at me and i saw his eyes relax. He laid back down in bed and I settled in beside him while the sermon played. I remember the priest/pastor lady from the church downstairs in the hospital coming up with a wooden cross for my uncle to hold while we recited the Lord's Prayer together. My uncle wasn't catholic, but he did identify as Christian and he believed very strongly in God and Jesus Christ as the lord and savior - as did my grandmother. 10 My mother is schizophrenic. I watched her yell at invisible people and speak about things that made no sense. I saw her get dragged out of the house by 2 police officers through the metal screen door at the front porch of the townhouse we lived in when I was 5 years old. She was lying face down on the floor screaming and yelling, arms and legs flailing like a child throwing a temper tantrum. It took both police officers to contain her and drag her out while she fought them with all her might. I sat halfway up the stairs on the green carpet watching with silent tears streaming down my face. I remember my grandfather realizing I was sitting there watching the whole thing. I will never forget the look in his eyes and on his face when he noticed I was sitting there. His face and eyes looked as though they were haunted. There was a textured greenish-yellow window that I was trying to focus on so I would stop crying. Crying used to really upset my grandmother and sometimes it would make her cry so I tried hard to suppress it whenever I felt the urge. If I couldn't stop the tears, I would go and hide in my closet and bury myself in my stuffed animals... or I would crawl under my bed and push myself up on the wooden slats the boxspring sat on so that no one would find me. 11 My mother was initially treated for her mental illness during the 1980s when they were really just starting to tinker around with mood and mind altering pharmaceuticals designed to assist these "disorders" of the brain. I can only imagine what she went through. I remember her being hospitalized a number of times for various reasons - medications not working as intended or simply having bad interactions with other medications that perhaps hadn't had enough clearance time within the body. I remember her being hospitalized quite seriously at one point as her blood had become toxic due to too many drugs mixing in her system. Unfortunately, there was no centralized "database" at the time for medical professionals to communicate with each other regarding a patient who is being seen and treated by multiple different doctors (and as far as I know, this system still isn't quite in the greatest place yet, but it's getting better all the time). I was left alone with my mother probably more often than was good, but my grandmother just often needed a break from it all so I was often left to spend time with my mother. She tried her best, but due to her mental illness, there were some scenarios that weren't the best for a kid to be involved in. 12 A few things that really stand out regarding time with my mother: I remember going to feed the ducks at a pond in a local park. I was about 5 or 6 years old. I was feeding them bread and I was standing right at the edge of the pond. I fell in. I remember hearing my mother's voice telling me to swim, but I didn't know how. I remember looking up and seeing the sky through the water above and how hazy it all looked. I remember an arm grabbing me and the next thing I remember is being draped over the shoulder of a man with dark hair and a beard. He was my mother's boyfriend. He was carrying me down a paved pathway back to his car in the parking lot of the park. I remember being very cold and totally soaked through from falling in the water. It was a cold, grey day. I remember coughing up bits of pond scum and tiny tree bits over his shoulder along with nasty tasting cold water. I remember feeling a strong sense of him being very angry and upset, but it wasn't directed at me. I remember my mother trailing behind yelling and asking if I was okay. He was silent. He just kept walking with large purposeful strides until we got to the vehicle. He opened the door, placed me inside of the backseat and put my seatbelt on. He got in the driver's seat, my mother got in the passenger seat. She kept asking him if I was going to be okay. I don't think he spoke a word. I just remember the cold and deafening silence. I think I drifted off in the backseat. I never saw the man again, but he saved me and I am grateful for that. 13 I remember being with my mother in our old grey Dodge Plymouth when I was about 8 years old. I used to call it a boat because it was so large and unwieldy. My mother was driving down the highway in the left lane beside the concrete meridian. I remember she suddenly let go of the steering wheel and said, "Oh my god, Chan (my mother's nickname for me - pronounced with a "sh" not a "ch"), everything is upside down". I remember leaning over immediately and grabbing the steering wheel just as we were veering towards the meridian. I remember saying to her, "Ok mom, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to keep the car in between the lines on the road, but I can't reach the pedals so I need you to keep working them, ok?" She nodded in agreement. I remember staring at the speedometer, which was only in miles per hour because it was a vehicle made in the USA. I remember I said, "I need you to stay steady on the gas and try to keep it at 50mph (I knew the speed limit on the highway was 80km per hour and that meant 50mph). I remember watching the car ahead of us and noticing the red lights come on, which I knew meant they were braking. I remember telling her to take her foot off the gas and start applying pressure to the brake pedal because the car ahead was slowing down and we were closing in on it. I remember her doing as I instructed, and then she suddenly seem to "come back". She said, "Oh, what's going on? Why are you steering the vehicle?" and then she pushed my hands off the steering wheel and gently shoved me back towards the passenger side of the vehicle. I asked her if everything was okay and back to being the right way up, and she said yes. I just settled back in my seat and stared out the window as we drove back home. It was just another day with my mother. I never told anyone about it until many years later. It simply never occurred to me that this was unusual. This was my normal. I never knew any different. 14 I don't know who my father is for sure. I was introduced to someone who may be my father https://twitter.com/TheRealAgent_99/status/1640992508728709120?s=20 when I was a teenager, but no DNA test was ever performed. I moved in with him when I was 15 years old. One week later, he was arrested for raping a 14 year old girl in the home I inhabited with him and my "half-sister". This happened between 3am and 6am after I had gone to bed downstairs and after my "half-sister" had gone to bed herself. I woke up to a cop standing over me shining a flashlight in my face and informing me I had to go down to the station to make a statement as there had been a sexual assault. I remember passing out at the cop shop while I waited for them to come in and take my statement. I had a friend with me too. It was summer and she had a sleep-over at my place. They had taken her down in a separate vehicle and gathered a statement from her. When they were finished asking me questions and taking my statement, they said I was free to go. I left and walked back to the house I had just been removed from. I was not allowed back in. I sat in the middle of the boulevard on the grass with a few friends that lived nearby, along with my half-sister and we watched as a crew wearing white biohazard suits removed evidence from the house. It was hours before we were allowed back inside. When we got back in, I remember social workers coming to talk to us. 15 I remember the father of the girl who was raped calling the house and saying he was going to come and kill us all. He was angry and was upset we didn't do anything. But we didn't know anything was happening. We were asleep. We heard nothing and saw nothing. The social worker wouldn't let us stay in the house because of the death threats. My half-sister went somewhere, perhaps with other family members, I don't recall. I ended up being placed in a youth shelter. I remember sleeping in a bunk bed with a thin plastic covered mattress that was more like a gym mat than a mattress, but it was warm and safe. I only stayed there a few days and then I left and stayed at various friends houses for the next while. School started again and I went, but no longer cared about anything. I barely went to school and I remember receiving my first report card of the semester. It was full of C's with a few B's. I had always been a straight A student with the odd B mark. I was devastated. I gave up and stopped attending Reynolds Secondary School https://flic.kr/p/2oUpNbZ I went back to my grandmother's house to collect some belongings. I pawned my video games (NES, SNES, and a few games - Dragon Warrior was definitely one of them along with Super Mario/Duck Hunt) and my mostly cassette tape music collection (which would have included NIN and Skinny Puppy) at a strip mall near the "ghetto" townhouse complex (Parkside Place) I grew up in as a child. I had $200 in my pocket after all was pawned off. I moved away from the city I was born in and had inhabited my entire life shortly after this. It was early 1997 and I believe the month was January. 16 I was 16 years old and I moved to Vancouver, BC. I had no family or friends there. I tried to find work. No one wanted to hire someone who hadn't yet graduated from high school and had no work experience. I remember thinking, how do I get work experience if no one gives me the chance to work and gain experience... I was taken advantage of sexually by more than one person. I was 16 years old, these people were 24-28 years old. I was passed across the hallway like a piece of meat. I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself, but I didn't know what else to do. I had nowhere to go and I didn't know anyone. 17 One night, while being taken advantage of, I started to cry and I just couldn't stop. The person ignored me and just kept going. Once he was finished he started yelling at me. The man said, "How dare you cry like that and make me feel like I've done something wrong. You need to leave now. Get out." I grabbed my belongings and left. https://flic.kr/p/2otBByB It was 4am. I walked from the westside of Vancouver to downtown. I sat outside at a table and chair set at the library. The library was always my sanctuary when things would get crazy at home, so I guess that's why I immediately went there. 18 I remember dozing off and having my head against the table when a security guard in a yellow jacket suddenly woke me up. He told me I had to leave because I wasn't allowed to sit there. I didn't argue. I grabbed my backpack with my belongings and left. I went and sat on the steps of a youth assistance place on Seymour St and waited for them to open. I didn't tell them what happened. I just said I had nowhere to go. They placed me in a safe house in East Vancouver. I met a guy there who became my boyfriend. I should have seen the red flags and not trusted him, but I was young and dumb. 19 It was a very abusive relationship. I ended up homeless I was beaten I was sexually assaulted, over and over again. I got thrown across the room against walls if I didn't say or do the correct things. I fell against the wall and lay like a broken naked doll in a pile on the floor. 20 I became a squeegee kid. I worked the corner at the Main St Skytrain station in Vancouver. https://flic.kr/p/2o1CmqP https://goo.gl/maps/uGFMbhQndzANTZ5Q9 I could wash 3 car windows in one light there because the light there took awhile. Some days I made nearly $80. I had to give it all to my boyfriend. He sat in the grass beside the skytrain stations and smoked cigarettes and watched me work. I had to be sure to have enough for him to buy McDonald's breakfast everyday or he would be very upset and that was not good for me. I got to eat his leftover food. Sometimes I would be able to take a couple dollars and I would go to the store across the street and get one of those big cake muffins. Usually blueberry or chocolate. Sometimes I would get a pizza slice for a dollar or go to the samosa place. You could usually get 3 samosas for a dollar. Having a full belly felt good and made it easier to continue spending my day walking up and down between the lines of traffic on the road. There were many nice people who would go by that corner. I was always friendly and polite. I always asked if I could wash people's windows and tried hard to not scare anyone. 21 I eventually became a heroin addict. It made me not care about how shitty I felt and how shitty things were with my life. I was a heroin addict for nearly 2 years, but I never turned to using needles. I smoked it off of tinfoil. We called it "chasing the dragon". I would look for empty cigarette packs on the ground for the tinfoil. You just took a lighter and burned off the paper from the inside packaging. That was good tinfoil for smoking the lovely, intoxicating white powder of the charming lady heroin. 22 I eventually detoxed from heroin in an apartment with no assistance other than marijuana to help ease the intense pain, chills, sweats, nausea, and loss of control over bodily functions that accompany an opioid detox. I later learned that you can actually die while detoxing from opioids as like alcohol, it is a physical dependence and therefore dangerous to just go cold turkey without the assistance and guidance of health professionals nearby to assist in case of any complications. I consider myself to be very lucky. Perhaps I have a guardian angel. If I do, I like to think it is my grandfather's spirit watching over me. 23 I have come a long way since that time. I have worked hard and overcame homelessness, addiction, and abuse. I did all this pretty much solely on my own. I did receive some assistance in the form of welfare money for awhile. I also was able to attend a job skills program through the Government of Canada, which helped me to land a job at White Spot. I have had many jobs since then, and have since gone back to complete high-school and graduate from University/College. My grandfather would been proud. Extra note: The writings contained within my portfolio, and those that will follow this entry, are some of my thoughts and experiences during my time on the streets and throughout my addiction and abuse. Some of what I wrote in my journals was written after beatings by my ex-boyfriend. Some things I wrote were basically forced apologies for whatever it was that "caused" him to hurt me. I would give them to him and hope it would stave off another beating for awhile. It usually wouldn't be longer than a week before another one would come. It was never anything I did, it was just him being abusive. One time I got beaten because I made Zoodles and accidentally spilled the bowl while bringing it to him. He got so mad. I had to go and panhandle for more money so he could eat. I tried hard to serve him and still got abused. I should not have stayed. Again, I was young and dumb. You can interpret my words and actions however you want. I have no control over what others may think. But perhaps, my explanations might help lend some understanding. Perhaps sharing my experiences can help even just one person. That would be amazing. This is my history. This is a part of my story. This is a part of what has made me the person I am today. And I really like who I am. I am more comfortable in my own skin today than I have ever been in my life, though, I still struggle at times. Especially with my body size and image. I will eventually share some photos and words through my social media that will hopefully shed a bit of light on that aspect of me. To anyone who may be reading this. Thank you. ❤ Links to more pieces: https://goo.gl/maps/Go3zpsxVk3xRxdsw9 https://www.instagram.com/p/ClXwi3HrG5x/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link |
| 1 I was once in a "relationship" with a "man" from about April 1997 until October 1999. I was 16 years old when I met him and he was 18 years old. He was born on August 16, 1978 and he was very proud of his German heritage, which he seemed to think somehow made him superior to other people. He claimed that he had just come back from travelling all through Europe. I met him at a "safe house" in East Vancouver on Walden Street. 1.5 I remember sometimes we went to the arcades on Granville and played video games. Top Skater was one of my favorites. I was really good at it and always scored highly with lots of S tricks and such. This stupid asshat fuck face, Ryan (my ex-boyfriend from years ago who used to enjoy beating the shit out of me because he is a weak and pathetic man child) was not near as good at Top Skater as me, or other video games, or even card games, so I had to just not try or try to lose/not do well so he could take a win and feel good about himself. Of course, he would gloat endlessly like a childish fucking moron whenever he "won". But I guess that was better than when he lost because he would flip the fuck out and throw the cards at me, flip the game board and send everything flying, or just throw a fucking verbal tantrum and storm out of the arcade like a fuckin loser. Of course, he would always accuse me of cheating whenever I won anything. I do not feel any sense of accomplishment or excitement or joy when I "beat" others at video games, sports, or otherwise because I've never been competitive in that sense. I don't get anything out of competing with other people. I actually feel incredibly uncomfortable "winning" anything, and I always have. I much prefer to see others succeed and smile and feel proud of what they have accomplished. I just feel good when I see other people happy. On the flip side, I get really upset when I notice other people are struggling. It makes me happy when I see other people do great things and get recognized for what they do and who they are; especially people I have met or that I know, or even people I just admire/look up to, or "follow". What I do enjoy is challenging myself physically, mentally, creatively and otherwise to do better or accomplishment more. I constantly try to improve myself and how I do things and even how I interact and view the world. I also really love trying new ways of doing things, which is often inspired by how I see others "do things". 2 He did not treat me very nicely, but of course, things didn't start out like that in the beginning. He acted nice, but that quickly unraveled. I left him once because the abuse was getting bad and I was scared. A nice social worker helped me make plans and leave. I packed up my stuff while he wasn't around and fled back to my hometown. 3 While I was in my hometown, I was over visiting some friends. I was telling them about what had been happening when their parents told me the phone was for me. I grabbed the phone and said hello. It was my grandma. She told me that the "man" I ran away from had just shown up at her home. My blood ran cold. He had never been to my home before. I'm not sure how he got the address. My last name is Smith. There are many Smiths so he really would have had to do some sleuthing. Inside, I felt afraid, but not for myself... I was afraid for my Grandmother. For my mother. They lived there together. Just the two of them. I Could handle myself and was not afraid to get thrown around and hit by him, but I could not handle him hurting them in any way. 4 This was just before Canada Day, 1997. I remember going to the parade in Victoria, BC, with my friend and drinking beer. I am pretty sure it was Molson Canadian. We really liked the taste of that brand of beer! I spent Canada Day, 1998, in Vancouver, BC.4 5 I remember going back to Vancouver shortly after Canada Day, 1997. I lived in a women's transition house. I remember feeling out of place there because I felt like the abuse I had gone through wasn't bad enough so I didn't feel like I should be there. No one made me feel like I didn't belong though. They were all very kind and supportive regardless. I think comparing suffering is not healthy. I think some people do this nowadays and it isn't serving our society in a positive way. Or any of our peoples. It is not helpful, nor is it healing. 6 I didn't move back to Vancouver with any intention of getting back together with the "man". One day, I was over visiting a couple, we'll call them "J" and "T". "T" was going to school to be a human rights lawyer. "J" did rave promotions. I really liked them a lot. I remember listening to the Clash and the Cramps and all sorts of cool punk stuff at their place. The Ramones too, comes to mind. Pretty sure the Cure was something we listened to as well. I remember sitting and talking to them and they had a mirror beside their glass sliding door. I saw the "man" in the mirror and ran to hide in their room. They knew to not tell them I was there or that they had seen me at all. I came out once I was sure he was gone. 7 I remember "J" and "T" invited me to go out for dollar beer and pizza just a few blocks up the street from where their ground-floor apartment (pretty sure it was a corner apartment) was on East 6th Ave. I said yes, and away we went. While we were walking across the field, think it was the school field, maybe just the park, not 100% sure right now, we ran into the "man". There was nowhere for me to run or hide so I had no choice but to face him straight on. He came up to me and started telling me how sorry he was and how awful he felt about everything. I kept telling him that I wasn't going to get back together with him because I couldn't trust him anymore and I didn't think he had changed. He wouldn't accept that and just kept talking and talking and pleading with me. 8 I eventually relented and said I would give him another chance. I never should have given him another chance. He had not changed one bit. Things got bad very quickly within a couple of weeks. Even just later that day and the next day, it became all about how much I had hurt him. How I had abandoned him. How hurtful it was to come home and find out that I had packed all my stuff and just left. No note or anything. It became all my fault. Things just spiraled and escalated after that. He told me if I ever left him again, he would go to Victoria and kill my grandmother and my mother. I believed him. I was afraid, not for myself, I could take the punishment and abuse, but I could never have lived with myself if something happened to them. He knew where they lived so it would have been easy enough for him to go there and kill them. So I stayed with him. I took his abuse because I didn't want them to die. I didn't run away from the "man" because I wanted my grandmother and mother to live. People wonder why people stay in abusive relationships. It's because of threats like this. And you know they will make good on those threats because when they threaten you with things, tell you what they'll do if they catch you doing something they have deemed is "forbidden", even simple things like walking to the store to get a coffee, they impose punishments on those rule violations and they make sure to follow through. So you try to do your best and do as you are told. I could handle my own punishments, but I would never have been able to handle knowing that my grandmother or mother died at his hands because I ran away - selfishly trying to save myself instead of thinking about them. 9 I had to earn all of the money because he would not work. Everything he got sent to do was "too difficult" and "not possible". Everytime we would go to the social assistance office, if we had to wait to get our cheques, he would get very impatient and usually ended up fighting with the social worker and always left angry when he didn't get what he wanted. Which was just the cheque with no questions asked. The workers just wanted us to do something. I was young enough so they were happy as long as I was going to school. Which I did. In broken stints. The Gathering Place on Helmcken St, Purpose in New Westminister, and distance education (can't remember the location right now - will have to look it up). 10 He was already 18 and had his Grade 12, so they wanted him to provide proof he was looking for work or to enter a job program. He refused. He always had an excuse as to why he couldn't do those things. He was once an electrician's apprentice, but he stopped. I'm not really sure why. His mom and stepdad couldn't understand either. He could have made really good money and apparently, he was good at it. Every so often, we would visit his parents place in Richmond. They lived in a blue duplex on Blundell Rd and had a cat named Nikki Sixx, after the Motley Crue dude. His mom and step-dad were both super nice. Their granddaughter, "E", lived with them as well as her mom wasn't exactly super committed to looking after her. She was a super sweet kid. Hope she ended up doing okay in life. She definitely experienced her own trauma from some stuff going on with her mom early on in her life and her mom's death while she was still a kid. 11 Sometimes, we would go to Labour Unlimited to get work. I think the doors opened at 0500. Often, he would be unable to sleep all night and so would be "too tired" to sit at Labour Unlimited the next day. I often used to stay up all night as well, usually reading Jack Whyte novels, but I still went out and worked to make money to get him food and cigarettes in whatever way possibly, even if that was just taking bottles back to the store and collecting cigarette butts from ashtrays and from the ground. I remember one day, he actually went to Labour Unlimited while I stayed home! Yes, that was a once in a lifetime experience; however, I didn't hear the end of it for fucking days! He came back in the later afternoon, just drenched in sweat and crying about how hard he had been forced to work. He had to go and work in a factory making doors and the big sheets of wood were 100lbs and how was he supposed to lift them. He proceeded to curl up next to me on the floor sucking his fucking thumb and continuing to whimper like a fucking baby. I stroked him on the head like a child and he asked if I would make him something to eat. I obliged and made him some sort of canned food on the hot plate in the kitchen. <aside> I worked at a factory called Epic Industries making doors in Kamloops in 2020. As a nearly 40 year old female, I was still capable of handling the large 100lbs sheets of wood and maneuvering them onto the machines and entering in the programs to cut the appropriate doors as ordered by the customers. I had to rely on my leg strength to lift and flip the sheets, unlike the men I worked with who did it easily using only their upper body strength. Regardless, I was able to manage and handle myself fine. In fact, I even ended up operating two CNC machines after a month or so. Each program took about 20 minutes, so I was lifting a 100lbs sheet of wood every 10 minutes, in addition to lifting a stack of cupboard doors and window frames back to my station to finish up sanding and routing the edges. I suppose this just goes to show that I am more of a "real man" (though I am a literal woman) than he could ever was or could ever fucking hope to be. Real men don't sit around while the women work and just take all the proceeds for themselves and give the women the leftover scraps. Real men aren't afraid to do actual real work. Real men don't come home after one day of "hard work" and cry and suck their thumbs like a fucking baby on the floor and cry to their girlfriend about how fucking hard it was to go to work for one whole day and how could workplaces expect anyone to do that kind of work. Real men don't fucking smack their women around, throw all sorts of physical objects at them, and punch them the fuck out! Pathetic fucking loser. This woman was able to handle the factory work at 40 years of age and didn't go home crying like a fucking baby... I just jumped on my bike and rode the 10km back home. what the fuck's wrong with you and others of your fucking ilk? Wonder who you have doing all the work for you these days? Fucking pussy ass bitch. 12 Anyhow, in regards to Labour Unlimited: I didn't often get much for work there. I figure because I didn't have a lot of experience, I was young, and I was a girl, and I didn't have any skills in any trades. I just had a pair of steel toe boots. The only "labour experience" I had was moving furniture and pianos for a piano/antique store on Terminal Avenue one day and I working clean up on a construction site once for a couple of days. I got recruited to work moving furniture while squeegeeing at Main and Terminal. I got recruited to do construction clean-up while I was panhandling up Main St. I think I was around Main and East 12th Ave, maybe East 16th Ave. Dude seemed sincere and I didn't get any bad vibes, so I accepted his offer of work. I actually enjoyed myself doing the construction clean-up. It was a nice change from asking for spare change, which I fucking hated doing. I only ever panhandled when the weather was crappy because you don't make money squeegeeing unless it's nice out. If it's raining, you're not going to make any money... and it typically rains quite frequently in Vancouver. 13 As far as work with Labour Unlimited, I do remember going to work in a tile factory and doing year-end inventory once. Just counted tiles all day long. Would probably not have been very fun to do all day everyday, but I enjoyed it because I got to interact and socialize with other people. That was super nice for me. I wasn't allowed to socialize and interact with people much when I was with the "man". He didn't allow me to. If other people talked to me, he would intervene. I was not allowed anywhere without him unless he approved. He accused me of cheating all the time. He used to "check me out" and examine me when I was away from wherever we were staying - whether it was for school or whatever. He would inspect my clothes, my underwear, smell me. Sometimes he would say I "smelled like sex", but I never slept with anyone else or even kissed or hugged another person the entire time I was with him. Then, the yelling would start and things would escalate from there. 14 I used to squeegee at the corner of Main and Terminal in East Vancouver.5 There is a Skytrain station there. There's also a big bus station. There used to be a Starbucks and 2 gas stations there. One Petro Canada and I think the other one I think was a Chevron station. I used to go in there to exchange all the change I had made for bills. I think they actually appreciated that I came in with change as they often needed it for customers. The store clerks were always really nice to me. I hope, in part, it is because I was always kind and respectful to them. The "man" I was with, was not always nice and respectful. I often felt very embarrassed and ashamed when he would cause a scene in stores, or out on the street. 15 The "man" would sit in the grass while I squeegeed car and truck windows all day long. I would usually start at 0600 or 0700 and work until 1800 - 2000, 7 days a week. I had to be sure to have enough money for him to buy food when he woke up and made his way to Main St Skytrain station. He liked to buy McDonalds meals. They were usually around $5-$7, so I tried hard to make sure I had that made as soon as possible. If I didn't have that much when he got there, he would get really angry and accuse me of doing something else instead of working. He would sometimes accuse me of spending money without him, but I so rarely did. Sometimes, I would buy myself a coffee or a muffin, if I was having a good morning and had more than enough money to cover his breakfast. I always had to be careful though, because if he caught me away from the corner buying something from the store without his permission, I would be berated verbally and humiliated in public. Then I would be further berated physically, and often sexually, later on. 16 I never used to have issues surrounding food, but I still struggle with remnants of an eating disorder today. I developed it while I was with him. He used to make comments about my weight all the time. It didn't bother me at first, but eventually, he dug and dug and things cut so deep that I still wear scars, but no one sees them. They are, mostly, invisible. I always had to put him first, so with food, he got to eat, but I was not always allowed to buy food and eat with him. Usually, I would have to wait for him to finish and he would "allow" me the "privilege" of eating his leftovers. He would oink at me while I ate and called me a pig, no matter how I ate or what I ate. I tried to eat tiny bites very slowly, but it didn't matter what I did. I was always a fat pig to him, and he never missed a chance to let me know it. Eventually, it got to the point where I started to starve myself, with his encouragement. Because I had to wait until I had permission to eat, I would go for long periods without food. 17 There were quite a few occasions that I passed out or came close to it. I passed out once on the SkyTrain. I got on at Edmunds station in Burnaby. I remember passing out on the Skytrain, the "man" was with me, from what I remember. I think the SkyTrain police carried me off the train. I know I kept telling them I was ok and they didn't need to worry. I remember being able to talk and I could hear what they were saying to me, but I couldn't move or open my eyes at all. It was a hot day. I remember telling them that I hadn't drank any water so was probably just very dehydrated. I'm not sure how long I was out for. I just remember being really frustrated that I couldn't move or open my eyes. 18 I remember he always used to compare me with his sister, who was a stripper. She worked at the Drake for awhile. He always bragged about how beautiful she was and how she had won Miss Nude BC once or twice. I think she was working at the Cecil when she won the contest... or maybe that was just where the contest was held. I'm not really sure. 19 I could never compare with his sister. She was a tall, skinny girl with big boobs. I was just an average girl with average boobs. Nothing fancy or special about my body. It's just a body, I thought, or it was just a body until he wormed into my brain and planted bad seeds that sometimes, to this very day, still bloom, no matter how hard I try to kill them off. And sometimes, I wonder if they will ever truly die. 20 Eventually, I started losing weight because I was always walking and just kept eating less and less with his "help". I remember sometimes I would go all day without eating, and I would work 10-12 hours or more just walking up and down lines of traffic, washing car windows all day long. I would feel how hungry I was, and I would tell him, Geez, I haven't eaten anything all day. Then he would tell me how proud he was of me and how well I was doing. I remember when my ribs and spine started to show and he would trace the bony outline and tell me how good I looked and how well I was doing. He encouraged me to starve myself. When my stomach started to cave inwards, he would touch it and tell me how good it was and what a great job I was doing. Pretty soon, he told me, I would be able to fit into his sister's old clothes. Most of her stuff was between a size 3 and size 5. He wasn't wrong. It wasn't long until I was that size. I started off as a size 7/8. That was too fat. Even for the day, that was too fat. We were living in the times of Kate Moss and "heroin chic" was very "in vogue". The skinnier you were, the more desirable you were. I didn't buy into it until after spending time with this "man". I tried to just be normal and eat normal, but it was impossible. 21 I moved to Vancouver hoping to be an artist and writer. I wanted to get into the video game industry. I figured, I could play piano, write, draw, and knew about computers, so was hopeful. I thought I would start out as a graphic artist. Things didn't turn out the way I had hoped. I tried my best, but things happened that I just couldn't have foreseen. 22 I kept a portfolio of artwork. I remember when I was initially looking for work, I went to a bunch of graphic design studios and told them I was looking for work and asked if they had any openings or advice. Most everyone was super kind and helpful with advice, though no one had any job openings. I remember trying to get all sorts of jobs when I first moved there. I even tried applying for a job at McDonalds, but even they didn't want to hire me. Maybe it was my dreadlocks? My age? The fact I had no work experience yet? Not sure. I'll probably never know. And it doesn't really matter anymore anyways. 23 My portfolio of artwork was something that was really important to me. Same with all of my poetry and journals. They were things I always kept close. Not worth anything to anyone else, but worth something to me. The "man" I was with always mocked my poetry and drawings. He told me how awful they were and would always tell me how he had friends that could "really draw" or "really write". Nothing I did was ever good enough in his eyes. I kept drawing and writing anyways because, well, it just feels right to me. I think it's just in my blood. 24 One day, I came home from school, and he had thrown my whole portfolio of artwork in the garbage. I was so upset. So angry. I couldn't understand why. I think we had gotten evicted from the apartment we were staying in or something so he had to pack up what was "important". I'm sure he just threw it in the trash because he knew it would hurt me. I remember trying to find it, but it was just gone. Forever lost and I'll never know what happened to it. One of the drawings I had done in my portfolio had been published in a street magazine. It was a drawing I had done while I was staying in a rooming house on Barclay St. I was over visiting the guy who was the stunt double for the Highlander series. He was super nice. He used to collect tree roots and would dry them out. He had them on display in his room all over. They were super cool! I remember I was over visiting him one day and I drew one of the roots and added a person lying in the root, all attached to it. That drawing was published and got trashed by the "man". I tried to recreate the drawing years later. I drew it in silver and gold ink. Wasn't quite the same, wasn't like my original, but I drew it from memory as opposed to drawing from the life in front of me. <aside> I will never forgive this person, nor the person(s) from the rooming house I lived in. I will never forget the things that were said, the abuse I "took" and the way that I was treated; I can't forget, no matter how hard I try. Living under a constant haze of alcohol and drugs only provides temporary solace, "keeping busy" is a temporary solace, exercise is a temporary solace; everything I try is just a temporary solace. It doesn't matter what I do, it all comes flooding back once the high wears off, once I don't have enough to do, once I am no longer "busy" enough, when I am hit with a reminder in some format. I said it once and I will say it again: my words here and elsewhere are not a form of seeking pity, or attention; they are not a "cry for help", they are not a request to put fucking trigger warnings on content to "protect" "people like me". I am writing to try to shine a light on reality. I am writing to shine a light on places and situations and people that many people have no idea even exist. I am writing to try and shed light on what happens "underground", which is really just in plain view, for the most part. I am writing hoping that one day, I might effect some tiny change, some tiny shift in the way "we" think about certain peoples and situations and "circumstances". Many people will not understand, some people are not willing to try to understand, some people literally don't care, some people are happy to stay blissfully ignorant. Maybe what I write reaches one person. Maybe that person tells a group of their friends and maybe one person out of that group starts learning and trying to understand. Maybe 100-200 years from now, things start to change and "improve" and "evolve". I use my rage and pain and anger as fuel. It fuels my passion to write and create and share my experiences and what I have learned, and with what I continue to learn and experience. Anger is a gift and no one can take that away from me. Anger provides fuel to my will to survive and no one can ever take that away from me, no matter how hard they try! I hope that someone will find my messages one day when they really need them.🔥❤🌺 https://www.instagram.com/p/CpGwdUovrXl/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link My heart still burns with rage and anger at the things that were taken away from me that I will never be able to get back. I don't wish death upon them, I don't wish violence or injury upon them, but I cannot forgive or forget. I have memories and experiences and even physical wounds that are so deeply a part of me that they will never "disappear". Some wounds do not heal. Some wounds continue to ooze and bleed over the years and some people take great enjoyment at poking sticks into those wounds, just to watch people writhe in pain and bleed. To forgive does not provide any sense of "freedom" for me. In my humble opinion, to forgive those who abuse and torture others for their own enjoyment and do not have any remorse or desire for "reform" is a form of Stockholm Syndrome. People who have been POWs, I am sure, can attest to this and will understand the message that I am trying to relay. Some people do not seem to have any sense of true kindness, no sense of moral fibre, no sense of humanity, no sense of concern beyond their own tiny little bubble of existence. Some people seem to have only the desire to control. I know that many people can and do change, but they have to want to change. Not every person wants to change. Not every person is able to look at themselves in the mirror and examine themselves fully, examine all the parts that are "undesirable" and "ugly" and "scary". Not every person is capable of meeting their shadow and accepting that there are dark parts of themselves... knowing that there is darkness that runs through all human beings. This darkness exists and it is capable of doing great harm and of plunging the world into a nightmarish descent of "evil". I think it's essential to know these dark aspects, and "accept" that they are a part of reality, a part of human nature, because without knowing and accepting that these "things" exist, your shadow can and will overtake you; the darkness can and will fall across the world before many even realize that it's happening. Perhaps we have to experience this abysmal cycle over and over again as a reminder of what it means to be human... and perhaps we don't have to plunge into total darkness and chaos each time to remember. This is our shared legacy.🌹🌺🌸 --- Molson Canadian beer factory - used to walk by it twice a day, every day in the Spring/Summer/Fall of 1998. I would walk from Jericho Beach to Main and Terminal Skytrain station with "the man" and his dog. We'll call the dog "B" for now. --- I know I am jumping around, and some things are not clear. I will have to piece this together better as I remember more clearly. I know I'll remember more- I always do eventually, for better or for worse. Some people think that having a good memory is a blessing, but it can also be a curse. You want to not remember so much, so many vivid details, but you can't help it. It's just there and it won't leave your brain. It's like a fucking ghost that is haunting you and taunting you. You can't fight it, because it's not "real", but it's still there. Laughing at you, terrorizing you. You can try to fight it, but you can't fight ghosts. I just try to ignore them or associate them with something else. Footnotes |
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