Last night, night before, twenty-four hours at my door, I got up, let him in, hit me in the head with a rolling pen, all hid?
Those were the repetitive words which were always sounded in a lyrical tone, in the legendary children's game of hide and seek. As the child who was the infamous, "IT," supposedly, closed his or her eyes while securing a blinded posture while his or her arms would be folded tightly in front of their eyes. The seeker's back would be faced toward those to hide, while inclined in a forward stance against the chosen benchmarked tree. "Ready, or not here I come", was the warning phrase which gave notice to the other players in the game that they were about to be sought.
Laughter would echo back and forth between the neighborhood children like a reverberating cymbal’s sound while children sprang out from their variant hiding locations. Of course, the experienced seeker prowled in feline motions while stealthily hunting for the next "IT" of the day. Once a prey had been sighted, an unrelenting race to the designated oak spewed.
In this game of agility and cunning, it was invariably best to tag your whizzing prey as he or she went jetting by, for if gone untagged, the determined prey could always claimed priority in reaching the acorn's home. If gone untagged, the non-seeker could always demand, "I got here first."
The days of frolickers and carefree adventures for the children in this quiet tree lined neighbor cubed within walking distance of four local hospitals began to end when like an unseen stench; members of organized crime began to slither into this established residential area.
Instead of the peal of the usual daily laughter, Woe, and suffering became the replacement. Misery, pain and distress, gradually began to transcend the unchained joy which was presumed a community fixture. The darker emotions of fear and uncertainty transfixed the playful gaiety of a once believed secure and safe neighborhood.
The sight of the genteel ladies of the area proudly strutting the sidewalks with leads in hand, their trophy winning, (or so claimed), canine AKA registered, miniature poodles, or perhaps, a Scottish terriers, and of course the beloved friendly family Collie, were soon usurped by the men of the neighborhood sporting the newer family purchase, the Rot Weller, or Germany Shepard, the Chinese Chow, and of course the totally feared Doberman Pinscher.
The psychological changes in the neighborhood were less obvious than the sudden appearance of cyclone fences, and police cars cruising. External physiological adjustment were more easily inserted into the community's architectural landscape than the emotional acknowledgement of the penetratingly undesired reality of a child now missing while others had been raped. Phrased like, "Things like this just don't happen in neighborhood like ours," began to fade, once more female children disappeared and a few dogs were poisoned.
Affliction takes on variant obscure masquerades when the recipients are first timers. It was if the adults in the area felt they now had to hide. But what were being hidden were the emotions which the fearful parents were incapable of defining and unable to release. Undefined and unprocessed emotions, like food left exposed to air, leaves an invisible residue of elements which develop into free radicals making its edifice impure and susceptible to being hit in the head with a rolling pen, none hid?
As a survivor of Mk-Ultra, my perspective and other inherent elements of my being were permanently altered. Prior to being forced from my own life, my own intuitive propensities and innate abilities, I was an accomplished and decisive woman. During that period in life, I felt that I had a purposeful life and I lived accordingly.
There had never been a time in my life when I did not have the energy or drive to get out of bed in the morning, before the day two federal agents insisted that I leave my home with them. Due to Mk-Ultra, my natural drives, ambition and innate personality traits were blocked from the forefront of my conscious knowledge.
Prior to the invasion of my rights, I was a very spiritual individual. After being used in a human experimentation program, having had my spirituality flushed from me, I now struggle to again unite with my interior spirituality.
Once firmly affixed to an individual spirit, woefulness can replace the joyfulness of the certainty of faith. Suffering can become a constant state of mind, wherein becoming structural and continuously rooted and putting individuals in such a physiological and psychological state of strained existence, that the afflicted often do not realize that such states of mind are not inherent elements within the framework of humankind.
The excavation of affliction takes a determined spirit and a sense of who you are and who you are meant to be. Self-esteem is a valuable resource for healing and for regaining vitality and an appreciation for life. When each day becomes a rueful experience, the afflicted person is yielding to the hurtful spirit of his or her abuser. You must tell yourself each day and sometimes, each hour, that you are better than the exploitations inflicted on you. I will address this subject in a future posting but for now; allow me to share a bit of Cherokee Wisdom with you:
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between two wolves, inside us all...
One is Evil.--It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorry, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego."
"The other is Good.--It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."The grandson thought about it for a minute then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."
Survivors!!! Don't allow the evils done to you to cause you to become someone you were not meant to be.