Who Am I, Who Are They?

There are myths that persist begging me to ask what's up with this?

I don't think "my mother" is my mother. You couldn't convince me she is, not with spending 40 years under her rule, not with ancestry results. I know truth in my bones and there isn't a lie strong enough on this earth to create energy to make me believe.

The story goes like this, Beverly, "the mother" would say well I was sitting in the hospital bed holding who we thought was you, and then nana came in and said, "this is a boy, we had a girl" and then the nurses brought you back in, and "aren't I lucky that another family didn't take me home". (Because growing up in addiction, neglect and abandonment was so excellent).

I grew up in a very typical passable toxic household; it wasn't really bad enough to have outside interference. Abuse hidden behind a passable image, nice enough clothes funded by illegal side hustles. Kids with good grades, and home cooked meals, how could they possibly be abused.

I was alone with the mother and sister, my father the one I identified with would always be gone, physically or mentally. I can't tell you much of what they did to me, as I simply still have it blocked out. It was intense emotional and psychological and environmental abuse, and violent. But by the time my father did make it home daily I would be hysterical, and they would always say "oh she is doing it for attention". The sister 6 years my elder used her power purposefully, she would try to overwhelm me. In public she would use a silent or egotistical control, at home physical, they always knew just how to keep up appearances. She would taunt me endlessly "you know you are adopted right, you know you aren't ours, you know your face was on a milk carton".

I used to curl up on my dad's lap and cringe at the touch or attempt of a hug from the mother or sister, quite literally being near them feels like my entire body is wrapped in electricity and being electrocuted.

Living in abuse, and toxic environments you cannot exit fight or flight. You can use therapy, yoga, meditation an array of wellness tools, but you won't heal, you will tread water. The body will not heal, until it is clear of the energy physically, mentally, there has to be no contact and a shift in space and the body will detox as if it were a drug, it was exercising.

So, when I got into my own space, one they could not exist in, I started DNA tests. I did two different at home kits, one with the family member connection tool which attached me to the expected family members, one with a slight variation. I asked for a direct DNA test with the mother to which she would refuse or yes me to death with no follow through.

But something has always stood out to me, and I have mentioned in at various times in my life and really focused on it that past ten years and would directly question her, "your sister was an accident, but you, I wanted you" She would say it like a mantra when she would give me the only life advice that would ever be relevant, "don't let a man pay your bills". But why did she want me? I would scream and I cry hysterically at their rejection and harassment. Why did she want me when she only spent time with Julie, why did she want me when I was essentially nothing more than her purse accessory carted around in tow, meant to be seen and not heard.

I can't prove anything from my level of access as surely this is a lie with more backing than I can afford to reveal. But I feel confident more so in growing times that universal energy will reveal truth.

Because I am not belonging to those people and they subjected me to a serious amount of abuse for now 44 years it has stacked to the degree of upwards of 25 family members actively traumatizing and triangulating me with various abuse tactics. Until I psychologically shred them all with the truth and cut ties. In particular I was target of the oldest brother to my father, Lou, he was vicious woman beater, drug abuser and alcohol abuser, who beat his wife and children and then used sobriety as a shield to stagnant personal development and shield accountability. He publicly tore a babydoll from my then 3–5-year-old hands, laid it on the baking block and held a cleaver over his bald hysterical face and decapitated her, I mean me, I mean her, I mean us right in front of my eyes. And he still doesn't understand this concept of harm, which is a public threat to humanity. He remains behind the counter with young children still today, still denying my truth and celebrating their continued uninterrupted lives.

Stay tuned for more reflections and associations on abuse and belonging.