Instructions to rapists and other abusers

Dear rapists and abusers,

So you are in the business of ruining people’s lives? Take some tips from me. I have been raped, so I know a few tips, known only to “insiders.” Really, I should be charging people some fee to access this valuable information.

So, rapists and abusers, if you really have the need to dominate, you need to pick your victim wisely.

Do not rape the president. Do not rape the pope. Do not rape someone who has lots of money cuz if you get nailed, the person can afford to hire the ritziest lawyer in town who has an “in” with the local judge.

A better victim would be females, but a male will do in a pinch. See to it that you are with this person alone. If you find her in a bar, get her to a place where you are alone with her.

Don’t rape a cop. Stay away from the martial arts instructor. If your victim has a gun on her, she might use it on you. You don’t want to be shot, do you? Let’s keep this as cozy and uncomplicated as possible.

If witnesses suddenly appear, it’s just a date, right? Act all nice and gentleman-like till they are outa sight. Then, you can get on with the business.

Find a bar that’s overheated. She might have taken off a few layers, trying to cool off. So what’s she got underneath? Pick a woman who is dressed provocatively, or in some manner that shows what’s underneath. That way, if she nails you afterward, she’ll be the one blamed, and you will go free.

Find someone weaker than you. Females, children, handicapped, elderly. If she’s already on drugs of any kind, this will be used against her in court.

People known to be mental patients are great targets. Who will believe a mental patient? The cops won’t even investigate. You will be free to rape again.

If a person known to be a mental patient shows up at an ER saying she’s been raped, chances are she’ll get thrown into a psych ward, and they’ll call her delusional. You won’t even hear from a cop or a judge.

Don’t even worry about damages, such as trauma. Now, the psychiatric people have pills for PTSD, as they call it. Pills for nightmares, pills for hyper-vigilance and pills for flashbacks. So your victim will be fine. You won’t have to worry about what you did. It’s curable! What miraculous pharmaceuticals!

If you rape a known mental patient using a date rape pill, leave her unconscious and don’t worry. When she’s picked up, she’ll be accused of a suicide attempt. She’ll deny it, but since so many suicide attempt survivors get the label “lacks insight into condition,” no one will take her seriously.

For the rest of her life.

Yep, that’s what you did. She’s labeled and blacklisted. Even her family hates her now because after all, the doctor said she’s crazy. If you are lucky, the victim will get locked into a state institution. Don’t worry, what you did will be forgotten or ignored, or she’ll be told “it’s trivial” and to shut up.

She’ll be told to focus on “treatment” and not the trauma. She’ll be told to speak of what REALLY happened will upset other patients. That’s called “triggering.” It’s psychobabble, but most victims fall for it and go silent and compliant. She’ll be told all about “mindfulness,” or staying in the present only. This is to your advantage because she will start mentally slapping herself every time she thinks of the trauma, or relives it.

If you are a person of prestige, and she isn’t, of course it’s to your advantage. So if you are a doctor or therapist, you can say the abuse was “part of the treatment.” Since psych diagnoses can be given without any proof, you can lie and say she was your patient who was highly psychotic.

She might wish she could nail you for what you did, but as soon as she mentions it to anyone they will tell her she’s got “anger issues.” That’s an psychiatric illness, by the way. For that, more pills, more therapy, whatever’s trendy. The more doped up they make her, the better for you, rapist.

I wouldn’t suggest killing your victim. I know, this will ensure she won’t talk. But killing is messy and you are bound to get caught. Keep her alive instead and continue to torture her to keep her silent. No one likes a dead body. After all, a body is evidence.

Please pay me for this advice on your way out. Your 50 minutes are up.

Next!

Hmm…maybe I should have said, “Don’t rape,” eh? Oh well. He’s left now, out there getting his rocks off.

Is the only way to get validation to admit to a psych diagnosis? But….

It’s so contradictory. PTSD from psych abuse is real, yet to say, “I have PTSD from psych abuse,” is rather contradictory. First of all, I am using THEIR language to describe a normal reaction to some horrible things they never should have done to anyone. So in adopting their language, I am saying that I am diseased and thereby, excusing the terrible things they did.

I am not “overreacting.” No way. They abused me and that’s fact. Some get the trauma reaction worse than others, but whether I get PTSD or not from it doesn’t erase or lessen or excuse what they did. People’s reactions to anything are varied and no two are alike.

For instance, compare PTSD, or, shall I say simply “trauma,” to grief. It’s accepted now that every person grieves differently. We see this in kids and in older people, too. Say you have a family of many kids, and the family dog dies. Don’t we see some kids in the family taking it harder than others? Maybe one kid seems extremely sad about it for a long time. Some take a very, very long time.

Same with trauma. Some shake it off, others take it harder. That doesn’t mean the person who takes it harder should be labeled such newfangled things as “highly sensitive” (this excuses all the wrongs done to such person), or any DSM-sponsored mental illness, because again, stating this means that the person’s perceptions were incorrect, and the abuse itself ends up downplayed. All focus is on the diseased person and the abusers are excused.

What was done to me was wrong. I didn’t get a trauma reaction as badly as I did until 2011 when the abuse worsened.

It was a blessing to get off meds. I HAD to anyway due to organ damage. But now, I am able to see those quacks clearly for who they were. I am no longer blind to their deceit.

Every time I get into yucky arguments, I am off-kilter for days and I cry a whole lot, never mind the PTS__ stuff. I am aware of my irrational behavior…not that I am trying to excuse it, but it’s caused by a problem that currently has no solution.
I have no clue what to do. Continue on this way, or what? My own therapist denied that it happened. NOW do you understand what a terrible thing these therapists do by telling patients “psych abuse is all in your head”?

Thanks, Julie Greene and Puzzle

Reactions to trauma aren’t “disorders.” They are normal.

Have you been given the label “PTSD”?  Take the “D” off of it right now.  There’s nothing “wrong” with you.  So saith me.  Instead, the world needs your voice.  Instead, what you need is to be loved and reassured.  If you have experienced something rotten, I’m truly sorry that it happened and I wish it didn’t.  No one can undo it.  However, it’s my wish, and I assume your wish as well that what happened to you never happens to anyone else.  What we all need to do to see to it that people stop being mean and that we all have a safer place to live.

I can give you a super good example of why I say “PTSD” is not a “D” at all.  My little dog, Puzzle, isn’t mentally ill.  She can’t speak in words, so no one can say she’s ever said anything irrational.  She’s never taken psych meds so no one can give her a diagnosis based on what meds have been “effective” for her in the past.  Has she ever tried to kill herself?  Has she ever overdosed?  Oh yeah, she overdosed on chicken bones a number of years ago because someone had thrown them on the ground instead of in the garbage and I didn’t see them there in time.  The bones went down the hatch quickly cuz that’s what dogs do.  It was my own fault that I was not able to teach her to give up what was in her mouth.  Was this a suicide attempt on Puzzle’s part and is she mentally ill?  Um, I think chicken bones are yummy for dogs and she’s rather typical.  So were the vet bills.

Do you see what I’m saying? Back to PTS____.  We as a society speak often of abused animals and how they tend to cower and act scared.  Do we call them mentally ill?  I don’t think so.  They are traumatized and their behavior is a normal conditioned response.  They have learned from their bad experience to be fearful.  What do we do?  We are animal rights activists.  We beg for the rights of these abused animals and beg for them not to be killed and beg for homes for them, donating our time and money.  We bring them into our homes.  We love them and cherish them.  Why don’t we do this for our abused humans?  Instead, society gives them the message that something’s “wrong” with them, makes them feel even more like crap, segregates them into ghettos, “programs,” hospitals, jails, medicates them, therapizes them, supervises them, or manages them, but certainly doesn’t love them.

Puzzle was traumatized when we first moved to this apartment.  I’ve spoken of it here before.  A lady shoved a shopping cart at her.  I couldn’t undo what was done and it shouldn’t have happened.  The lady still lives here.  She’s one of the many residents I feel sorry for her cuz (between ourselves) she herself is a victim of ongoing abuse, but that’s a whole other story.  This is low income housing and an incredible number of people here are lonely and deeply unhappy.  You’d think it’s a quaint home-like place where little old ladies live, but the truth is, it’s a very violent and harsh environment.  There’s a lot of shouting at all hours and you don’t feel safe here.

The Housing Authority doesn’t want people wandering the halls with shopping carts that come from the supermarkets and these shopping carts are supermarket property anyway.  I’m sure the presence of shopping carts in our narrow hallways are a hazard for fire and rescue efforts.  But this lady walks the halls using a shopping cart instead of a walker.  She owns a walker but prefers the shopping cart, so I’ve since learned.  (Her claim that she couldn’t afford one and didn’t own one wasn’t true.) Whether the walker isn’t comfortable to walk with or isn’t properly fitted and the shopping cart fits better…I don’t know much about walkers, actually and am no judge.

I was walking with Puzzle, just coming in from a walk, having just moved in, not thinking of any of this and not knowing that the residents had already made up their minds.  They felt hostile toward this new girl they’d never met before and had not even spoken to.  They never bothered introducing themselves.  They simply decided they didn’t like this girl and her dog.  She was an ugly girl.  From the other building.  A Jew.  I guess someone heard the girl crying.  What a slut.

So the lady said she was scared of Puzzle while I was walking down the hall and that’s why she reacted the way she did.  “Get away from me!” and she shoved that cart right at Puzzle.

I didn’t know it then, but looking back, I can tell you that Puzzle’s personality changed after that.  A few of the changes have never gone away, but most have faded gradually.  She became extremely fearful.  I’d say for a year after that, she’d assume you couldn’t be trusted until you proved yourself trustworthy.  This was new.  Observers would ask me if she was a “shelter mutt.”  Over time, this distrust has faded and she’s back to being the loving dog she once was that assumes everyone is good.  That’s because I gave her lots and lots of love and exposed her to as many other people as I could that loved her as well.

There are behaviors I see in Puzzle, though, that originated with this shopping cart event that have never disappeared.  She gets upset when the doorbell rings or when someone knocks.  A guest is not necessarily someone she feels she can trust.  I don’t have people inside my home ever.  I did have CBFS but most of the CBFS personnel I dealt with didn’t even like dogs and wouldn’t pet her or show interest in her.  They’d even look repulsed when they saw her or they’d visibly flinch or move away or rudely bury themselves in their cell phones.  The maintenance people are rude and I tend to dread their coming in here.  I always hope that they send one of the ones with manners that likes Puzzle.

Puzzle enjoys traveling on the bus and subway.  She takes up a tiny amount of room on my lap.  It’s transit policy that I can’t take up more than one seat even with a dog, so I either leave my knapsack on my back or I take it off and snuggle Puzzle between my body and the knapsack.  She loves being snuggled.  I try to sit next to someone that smiles and me and invites me to sit rather than sit next to someone who looks grossed out at the idea of sitting next to a dog.  My instincts are pretty good.  I almost always choose someone wonderful.  I pray for someone who is lonely.  I want Puzzle and I to make someone’s day.

I want to end this article with a little story about love.

Where is God?  What is God?  God is love.  God is the voice of those lonely, often nameless strangers that speak to me on the bus.  God is the homeless girl I met on the CT1 or CT2 bus, I can’t recall which, who had shared with me that she cared about her relative (was it an uncle?  I can’t recall) more than anything.  She was on her way to yet another shelter and didn’t have enough change to pay for the bus.  The bus driver told her, very rudely and in a lecturing tone, “Grow up.”  She asked me in earnest for some tips on how to quit smoking and said she was trying very hard.  I thought surely, she’d seen a lot of life if she’d lived in shelters.  It was all I could do to listen to her story and of course, I told her how I’d quit smoking many years ago.  She’d bummed her last cigarette off of someone.  She was doing everything she could just to survive this world. All she wanted was for her sick relative to be well.

Puzzle and I have met so many.  There have been men with whom I have spoken as well, men on their way to the shelter in Waltham, men hoping to find employment.  I see them on the 70 bus, headed for the shelter.

Many people tell me their story, and thus doing, without knowing it, I have renewed hope and the will to go on with my life when otherwise I would have ended it.  A simple conversation.

I don’t give a shit if that lonely person may have been drunk or “out of it” or if some doctor has stated that the person is “mentally incompetent” or how many drugs the person was or wasn’t taking.  Or if the person was a working person that society assumed was okay, but inside, was deeply unhappy.  Do you understand that this fleeting conversation on whatever bus saved my own life?  That smile, those tears of relief and that person saying, “You and your dog Puzzle made my day.”

You ask me where is God.  I am telling you, this is God.

We should all be so loved again.  Throw out the “D” and let’s all embrace.