Ineffable Ontological Detanglement

Do not develop the philosophies that raped as a child leaves you off the hook for your behaviour. This is not a gift you have been given, the gift of everybody feeling sorry for you so you get to remain the same age as you were when you were raped with the same level of angry lashing passive aggressive immaturity and we have to like you anyway. You're requesting feel sorry for me humanistic dehumanization. That's the kind of thing only a child would want, my entire life is a feel sorry me.

You can see this mindset self destruct hard in my mother. Before she uncovered her repressed memories of repeated rape, she would torment me with an aggressive air of you know you're not allowed to say anything about what I'm doing to you because nothing is being clearly stated... Bath time was a screeching crying aggressive assault, and once straight to the penis and cried. Cried at my "Woah Jesus woman! You broke it." At the age of four, I walked in on her screaming at the top of her lungs and crying, stomping back and forth on the couch, she demon banshee screams at me and throws a pillow, I run away to my room. I entered a state of detachment at my mother, in this moment it was a strong "This is just some woman who birthed me I don't care," that went away pretty quickly however the state of detachment towards my mother remained forever. Once she uncovered the memories, she snapped, she entered... My son knows I can do no wrong my son knows he loves me the dearest everyone knows they are to be kind and gentle to me if they wish to receive my declaration as a person who functions properly emotionally, I'm sad and innocent and confused in an evil evil world of hurt, I do absolutely nothing to hurt the world I'm warm and gentle and soft and motherly.

You wake up the next morning in your bed. It says... You know it seems I used to sleep comfortably at night, pretty much right out by twenty minutes. It feels like... I don't sleep anymore. It feels like... Where am I? How did I get here? I can still see my past, I can see it quite clearly, I can see it quite clearly as an imperceivable blur, I have every moment of it and every moment of it is an imperceivable blur. Retain awareness that your parents need to know you sleep at night so your parents don't think you're some broken inhuman freak of nature. Now you are a normal North American child, you're normal, you go into your parents room and make up whatever stupid childish dream you can find in your simple adorable childhood processing even though you know it was complex demented wretched horror dreams. That way they know, aw I used to dream about stupid shit like that when I was a child too I used to make up stupid shit like that when I was a child too. Now get over what you're feeling at night when you attempt to sleep on the line is potential heart attack rules. This doesn't apply to you, this is just the system of repressed memories. Then it is repressed all the way to the bottom, the seemingly unnatural bottom. Then my mother opens the door and throws the cat at me and angrily says "This cat belongs to you now." I'll keep you safe, Bubastis... I'll keep you safe.

Age seven I was dragged into the girls bathroom at school by my babysitter and her friend. I thought my head was going in the toilet, I was mostly relieved all they wanted to do was de-pants me and touch my penis. It still shocked me more than the toilet thing, mostly because I wasn't expecting it, partially because I didn't know people would do that exactly but I basically understood what they were after. I knew my mother's story, I just didn't know it went like this exactly. I didn't not know it but I didn't know it. I was very attracted to her anyway it didn't really hurt my emotions too bad. Trust, yes, kind of, I guess, however I was already developing a pretty big fat detachment and comfortable non-caring lack of trust towards the entire world. Trust is a different thing with me anyway. It was more of an awareness of potentialities thing. The memory got semi-repressed, not really, I got it back pretty quickly and I realized after I got the full scope of it back oh I have sort of been looking at this memory for the past couple years, it wasn't completely gone. Not like that other one. Or apparently all these next ones but especially that other one. I wouldn't USUALLY repress these things, I think it had more to do with surprise evil and the looks on their faces. At the time I would have wanted to keep it I attained a good "Oh I see." You were both raped by your father. I'm sure both those families are already torn apart by now. Don't kill yourselves or anything, ooohh this one was the chosen one that's a different story. I'm sure you would have done that on your own. You were level three cognitive functioning you get to do whatever you want to me.

Semi-conscious signaling, there's a look in your eyes that gives you both a moment of you were raped by your father. It's derranged. Then you just know to complete the process. What else are you going to do now but repress it?

Oh this neighbour's family is from Japan? I like Japan, I thought they weren't allowed to leave the country. I was told not to go here. They're probably just, ahem, misunderstood. Canada. He's swinging on the tire swing, I say hello. He shits on my head. I take a moment to get the shit out of my brain, I say "UNCLEAN!!!" and take him behind his shed, beat him to what appeared to be his death, neighbours watching in excitement turned to horror, windows closed, every time I come over, windows boarded up. He said that's the point, unclean, that's the signal, stay away, I said something along the lines of "I don care we don do dat in our country dat not our cultural standard if you want signal pick new signal." I became the hero of his parents and their collection of fish, whatever you did it fixed him right up he's a different person, all we know is he had to be taken to... Some... Facility. I enter a memory repression process and become his friend. Neighbours houses become abandoned, Arthur hates them anyway. I'll sleep over at his house every now and then, they like to stay up all night playing video games, neat, fall asleep on the floor, he rapes me, I repress the memory. All I knows is my parents don't like him, they know even less than I do but all they knows is they don't like him, he seems violent. He's alright, his friendship is a bit of a charity but I don't mind him. Eventually he moves out to the country, I come hang out every now and then he's alright, I like going out to the country, this gets old fast though I can't wait to go home. I actually prefer hanging out in the kitchen talking to his mother over him and about half of his friends. I am joking, I liked your collection of fish. He wants me to sleep in the basement, alone. It's kind of a scary basement come on sleep on the couch. Okay. I'll try not to rape you. Repress. He pretty much never did, he appeared to be in the process and have a handle on it. I see by the anime you watch and the video games you play you enjoy death fetish, look I'll show you you can be blatant when other's know look I'm only going to choose the female characters in the fighting game. I don't even give a shit if your oblivious friends think I'm a pervert. See? He seemed to be doing some recompartmentalization, but, not well enough. I peeked into his brother's room once to say goodnight, the door is open I assume we're cool he's not going to be engaging in a private shame it's just a single motion peek in, he's playing a fighting game as a female character, he gets outraged, freaks out, slams the door. Comes to me later and gives me a story about Japan and death fetish and pedophilia and the reason for our exile and I repress the memory. I'd forgive all of this, I would, but, he's a weiner and he tried his hardest to ruin me with his stupid by trying to enter into my internet presence in late high school and see my personal blog where I filled out some self interview format thing I don't know and one of the questions was about psychedelics and I said I had tried shrooms, he freaks out and calls my parents, luckily my parents know to auto-hang up the second they hear his voice. I had to give him... Oh, yes, that one that you said, thank you, I just copied and pasted it and never saw that question. The last visit I had with him... I have no idea why I wanted to bother, I pretty much wanted to give him a farewell, I was bored, I wanted to visit to speak to his high school friends, all I remember was some hot cognitive functioning level three chick who was enamored with me. There was another hot cognitive functioning level three chick, she started out fat nerd but that's cool that's cool, she started modelling after she got skinny and oh no you're not fat nerd, I didn't expect to see her but I figured maybe. Jamie Isfeld, there the only place you're previous life mentioned is within a story about shitting on heads. I'm a ketamine addict now, so, I'm not breaking it. I can't believe he still lives here, I can't believe his high school friends still come charity visit. This place is very sad. I kind of came to talk to these people, but, I'm just gonna sit here hallucinating working in my head on what I was working on at home. Arthur. His name is Arthur. Arthur Cain. Sorry not sorry.

Age nine, my hot cousin Julia comes to me in my basement and grabs my penis and rams something up my butt, I turned around and raped her up the butt, she rapes me back, I rape her back. I said THAT'S how you do it, that's how you express your Mennonite problems. Buhh hey what are you doing... You're turning it into all I wanted to do was kiss you and then you just raped me. HAY. So I raped her six more times throughout the next year and a half when we were alone together. Just to prove my point. Then we would have surreal childhood play moments together at gatherings vaguely hinting at our love of death fetish. Level three cognitive functioning, in childhood, we both pretty much just know, the brain says this is fine with your cousin but keep it a secret or we will be misunderstood.

No, father, it wasn't a pedophile showed you his penis it wasn't he saw your penis it wasn't he touched your penis. You were raped. That's why you raped me four times as well. No don't worry about it I'm sure every father rapes his child in this manner, it was the deepest level of semi-conscious, those don't count for anything, they do very little to your child's underlying psychology, I believe the words that came out of your face were something along the lines of "I am within the raped by a pedophile reinforcement system." Bubba wasn't your fault, you don't have to be left with the repressed thoughts, your last moment together was not him crying at the door at night and you deciding not to let him in, it was your former wife.

Apparently this guy was just rampant all over our school. He was, like, making some kind of statement at all of us for having repressed memories of rape. Some kind of in your face I hate you idiots for just being raped. Apparently he became the master at repressed memory flashing people, he knew he could do multiple kids in the library at once because everybody just hard represses the memory, far too consciously but not fully consciously.

Ooohh there you go you finally did it Caylin Shirran, you finally raped me, I knew that one was coming. NO I didn't vomit because of... No you're hot, it just... Reminds me of some of the things my mother used to do to me in this basement that put a weird wretched vomit feeling around this atmosphere that no whitewashed walls and florescent lighting could ever possibly cover up. Whydidyooosay... We duuuhhhgg... Whole thing up aahnn... Thurr wass... No skeletons in the walls or anything...

It's pretty much... Disgusting horror wrapped feelings. There appears to be shit in her hair. I assume there's shit in my hair. These one's obviously more semi-conscious than the penis grab, buuuhh... Not semi-conscious enough, it was clearly more than a release of a compartmentalization function. And, like, the attic... Feels like there's a shed, like a... Playhouse. Just, weird wretched hair shit monster feelings with my mother all over those ones.

Keep it a secret. Keep it a secret. Every night about four hours into sleep I wake up and vomit into the laundry room sink. Clean it up. Clean it up. Mother never knows. Mother never knows. She found out... She found out... Okay she wonders, she can't connect anything, okay.

I killed a... I killed a... I killed a cat? I killed a cat as a child? Why did I kill a cat as a child? WHY DID I KILL A CAT WHY DID I KILL A CAT NO YOU'RE SAFE WITH ME YOU'RE SAFE WITH ME WHY DID THIS HAPPEN WHY DID THIS HAPPEN.

And, um, the Demedash family. Uh. Okay. You're not supposed to survive going into that house. Oh, I couldn't sleep because... Not because I like my home bed, no. The memory of me saying I just feel like going home was false. No. That was me feeling his tracking methods going for the knife in his drawer, I was locked in place, he got a call from the New World Order. ... They're still on the run. That's why as an adult when I found myself biking through my old neighborhood I couldn't help but... Go over there. Study the house. Knock on the door. Why am I doing this? I don't care about these people.

I got a contact showing me Stephen Demedash's band, I guess interconnected with the background scout program. They're annoying people, they just follow God orders they're not supposed to have opinions, they were all listen to it's awful. I thought it was really really good, Beck-esque, Beastie Boys-esque, it hit a really perfect angle of gritty, dark edged ironic. They were all like you weird chosen one you don't get it you don't see it you can hear inner gurgling pedophilia thoughts. I'm pretty sure they ran away from the communication after I expressed I know both musical expression and psychology to the level of deep analysis beyond your wildest dreams and concepts you could never conceive of and I label him full of deep potential. Yer weird chosen one yer weird.

Oh also the Eidt family, fucking. YEAH OKAY there's a lot of these people roaming the world, I get it God, I wouldn't fucking care just that's enough child rape stories. NOT BECAUSE... Of that. Just. This is starting to go beyond the limits of believable.

What's happening. Why am I in the middle of raping all of my Mennonite cousins. DEAD. She died. Sweet, adorable, vaguely dark, super stunningly beautiful, dead at nine. Dead. She's dead. She looked up at me crying thinking I was the last person who would ever be this, and I laughed as I bashed her head in. My cousin Sandra is telling me they adopted another one and they're going to cover it up, that's what they do. Now you're going to repress this memory, I'm going to repress this memory. That's what happens. I'm holding in my urge to murder you. "That's what they do." was a repressed memory process line and "I'm holding in my urge to murder you" came out of the fascist hammer portion of the repressed thoughts functioning, Sandra. Maybe my uncle was onto something when he denied the Mennonite rape fest, maybe I should have been there for this conversation. It seemed to have gone something like... Yes we do this type of thing, no WE do not do this type of thing. We all know we would never do this, we ALL know we would never do this. Nobody would ever do this.

You did know... You did know something when I stayed with you and you warned me not to rape my cousin. I told you no I have a good masculine handle on the penis, I would never do that. You said you know, but sometimes it just happens. I thought you were being ridiculous. I guess you see it from inside, I've never seen it from inside. I created false memories around that moment, as did you, as is every Mennonite within day to day conversation with every other Mennonite and everyone who overhears the conversations had by the other Mennonites. You stay isolated, others can hear this.

Yes, play the victim mother, lash out at every Mennonite as an individual lash out at every Mennonite who says they don't like it they don't want it, turn it into they deny it. Go write a little short story, go write a little poem. You're garbage, giving you a few incomplete short stories was to get you off my back, not invite you into literary criticism. I know I don't get to say anything, do I want my cat dead again? Don't kill my cat. Don't kill my cat.

Hey you know what Goyum? You need to shut up. 63% of North Americans have been raped as a child and developed a compartmentalization problem, 58% of Japanese have been raped as a child and developed a compartmentalization problem. Yeah don't forget to write force a little laugh when you put this into your cultural analysis in your school curriculum. HAY wait... Change it, change it to look right at the Goyum side of the room and emphasize the force when you do it see if they get it... Aahhh... ... Ah they kinda get it. The cleanest country is Switzerland, at 10%, pretty much everybody else is playing in and around the 50% margin. People always repress the memories of elementary school onward into middle school being nothing but a social battle of who is the only one of us with no repressed memories. Mine had a lot of repressed memories of the semi-conscious fascist hammer, somebody walks up to me and say "People KNOW, people SAW IT, weird gibberish came out of you hinting at some sort of repressed memory complex and all you did is make fun of yourself. It's got like dinosaur phobia it thinks my name is supposed to be George I don't know it's all fucked up, there it goes there goes the memory. That's not what you DO, you CRY FOR US. Now they HATE you, they're SPREADING IT AROUND THE SCHOOL. EVERYONE HATES YOU."

You pretty much only hear about the ones that are blatantly conscious, the ones that are blatantly conscious are generally the only ones that are going to fuck you up too terribly severely. Eventually somebody clues into what is displaying in themselves is the blatantly conscious child rape, then they start the club of secrets. I see it in everybody, everybody but me was raped as a child. Yah me two I see it two I see it two. Wets wisper seecets about dem togever.