When involved in recovery, we are encouraged to be open and honest about the causes and conditions of our drinking. Unfortunately, the natural result of that tactic is open disclosure about the things we resented during our childhood among other things. And chief among them was owning my own shame.
Because we were exposed to extreem sex in our household as a result of our time in the Islands, I was paranoid of my new Step-Father's place in our home, and when my Mother gave birth to another baby, he was perceived as a threat too, not for who he was, but for who he might become, like his Father. While he was taking us away from the threat in the Islands, I had reservations as a ring bearer in their wedding, though I realize now that I too was part of the problem.
We were taught to clean, feed and dress the child in addition to our normal household chores, and I grew fond and protective of him. I naturally had concerns about the soft spot in his head, and the way he was tossed up into the air by his proud Father, but I taught him to walk and talk, and learned to be a parent in my own way at the age of 10.
When I confessed my fears and made efforts to overcome my own feelings of inadequacy by asking my Mother about the facts of life, I was introduced to morbid fascinations. Questions like: "How long do you think someone would live if they had cement in their colon?" And: "How long do you thing it would take for someone hanging by piano wire to die?"
So I was on my own until it became a crisis in my early adult life as a manifestation of alcoholism.
Please see: Self Examination
I was encouraged to make amends for my behavior, and I believed the best thing I could do was to confess my sin to the people I feared the most (my parents), but I did not have sound guidance in the matter when I began in the 1980's and I believe my confession to my Step Father lead to a paranoid ideologue bent upon my destruction.
My shame was used as a scapegoat for their behavior, a vehicle for their exoneration, and perhaps even motivation for the theft of my own children.
While I was under the influence of medications my Step Father sold to Doctors I could only see once a season, events such as a colonic I was told to administer, discipline I had to use to enforce obedience to Mother's orders, and even the use of training gear like a jumper to help my little brother to learn to walk may have been exploited to their advantage. He was diagnosed hyperactive as a toddler and by the time he was 5, the diagnosis had morphed to distended colon (treated by colonics).
My Own Efforts
When we were confronted by the suspicion of authorities in our lives, I saw that the innocent activities I was involved in: learning to use my chemistry set, my microscope, and my camera, and even my writing projects, were sabotaged by envy and theft, and that the guidance I received may have been intentionally misdirected. As a result of the loss of my camera, and microscope among other things, my writing projects became more focused on activism. Things like environmentalism, off grid living, and alternative religions lead to exposure to fringe and underground activities. And when a 'good' friend showed up to turn that behavior around, he got hit by a car, and compromised with a head injury.
As I went over my childhood to root out the motivation for my sex conduct, and covered old memories like a rare moment of experimentation with my Panda Bear as a sex toy, I realized that some people might not even believe that to be true. Under the circumstances, it's quite likely that others might have thought I was just using a 'story' of the Teddy Bear as a cover-up for what I really did with my brother, among other 'likely stories', and I could see the growing contempt in my circle of friends as I did the work of recovery.
Even my some of my favorite pets, like the Terrapin Turtle fell into disfavor due to germs like Salmonella, that spread all over our farms and villages in the Country. My Step Father was famous for warning us of Trichomonas in Pork, something I worried about for many years later. A fear that lead me into the study of Paramecium and Amoeba that I obtained from pond water wherever I could find it. Even bugs we found in our bed ended up under the microscope, and some at the University where we determined we had an infestation of "Pigeon Mites" from the birds in our eaves in the City.
While I was medicated, many of these memories didn't really seem significant - or of any value to me, or anyone else for that matter, but when I returned to deal with the long term consequences of these loose ends in the late 90's, it became clear that I had a major crisis on my hands, so I turned to the net to sort it out because my life was being threatened. The jumper my little brother learned to walk in, was to someone else, the torture and hanging of a toddler in an barn being made to speak english by white people. I can't deny his experience just because its something that I couldn't do to anyone. And, I can't deny someone else their own dreams or fantasies either, but that's not what we're discussing here.
Fortunately, by 2008, I was able to live without medication, and the clarity of sobriety allowed me to see the manipulations I had been living with as I proceeded to get to know the community I came from again in Anonymous circles.
I left those communities primarily because I did not want to get angry with the people who doubted me, and also because I have work to do. Because some of my material is inflammatory, I have to be vigilant about my work. I don't have much time to write anymore, but I do keep up what I have carefully.
When I returned from my sojourn to learn to tell my tale properly, I had a crisis at home waiting for me. Because my name was already besmirched by efforts to rat out my Step Father, I was unable to get anything accomplished by telephone.
Add to that my ignorance about what God had already done in Genesis, and when I approached the Courts, I was dealing with very bad odds.
My only experience with intentional killing was with guns and a knife, and all I can ever recall killing was a Sparrow, a Gardner snake, and a Bullhead (other than fish I caught to eat). The snake I shot with a Crossman BB gun in the pond across the road from our house in the Country, and the bird I shot with a 4-10 down the road in my neighbors yard, and the bullhead I stabbed while swimming underwater with my knife. There wasn't much left of the bird after I shot him, but the snake may have survived for a while. He took a hit just below his head, and it took a sizable chunk out of his 'neck'. I didn't expect to hit the Bullhead, but I was surprised when I did, and the death of any creature is difficult for me to witness, so I don't encourage it or support it, other than as a means of survival.
So when I encountered the work of a hate criminal, or sadist, I was shocked, and I relate my findings at another location anonymously: Hate Crime Scene
As soon as I returned, I gave the videotape evidence I had of the crime scene to the Police, and they promptly forgot about it. So the only solid evidence of the crime I had was gone. Because I was badgered by the officers who I gave the tape to, I suspected the motivation for the crime may have been suspicions about my own behavior rather than my daughters conduct, so I proceeded to cover everything I could, County by County with Law Enforcement all over the Metro Area, and to the South, where I worked as a child and to the East where I went to High School.
Tasks like spreading County Sewage in order to replenish the soil that we harvested as sod there seemed so problematic to me, that at times, I walked off the job. And yet, that is - in a manor of speaking - exactly what I did when I left home for another State.
Because I was not believed, or assisted when relating the experiences I had while growing up in my household to Health Care Workers, Pastors, Scout Masters, Priests and the like, while drinking, I thought exhibiting the behavior might work better. By so doing, I was able to recruit new witnesses to represent me and my case with more integrity.
I wrote it up as a Federal Lawsuit suing my Step Dad for his behavior and it was deemed frivolous in 2000.
It took a while to dawn on me that after many years of persistent effort to get something done about the circumstances I grew up with, all I could really do was to write it all down anonymously. I can't talk about the circumstances - not even in soup kitchens, or meetings, where we are encouraged to 'open up'. I am literally removed from meetings that deal with the problem I've been discussing, and my life is threatened by acts of violence all over town. Because the evidence of the crime has been removed, there really is no other way to prove the danger we all face when reporting crimes, other than to continue to do so, even if the crimes we deal with took place in childhood. If we have the courage to be persistent in our efforts, the ongoing damage to ourselves, and our property will be proof enough of the oppression we live with. Though we were advised to do this kind of work carefully by a law firm I worked with out of State, I prefer doing it for others Anonymously because it is so dangerous. The advice is documented here: Please see:Self Advocacy
I've been confronted by Anabaptists in a Churches where I did my Bible Studies, (my site no longer links to the page that refers to that material), and asked to leave the new Church I went to by a paster who didn't want me to talk during group discussions.
Fortunately, I did take the time to study the Bible well enough to realize that God's been working on this problem for a long time, and, because our law is founded upon the Ten Commandments, and because we swear by it in our Courtrooms, I cannot continue to dishonor my parents. Because my openness and honesty in recovery communities is perceived to be dishonorable, I have to be willing to straighten out the past without doing so.