Friday, November 21, 2014.  What kept me from evening beginning to comprehend that I had been “an abused child” until I was nearly 30 years old?  Having been ejected out of the horrific conditions of my home of origin one month after my 18th birthday I would think — now — that I should have at least had a glimmer of an idea that something had gone terribly terribly wrong during those 18 years.

Reality was I knew less than NOTHING!

I was that innocent, that naive, and perhaps just that open to the ongoing nature of life forward through time instant by instant that nothing ever came along that caused me to question — anything.


Questions are very troublesome to me if I can’t find answers for them.  Or at least be able to determine a direction to hunt for what MIGHT be an answer.

There are a LOT of problems in the world.  There are problems within problems within problems.  So are their, equally and correspondingly, answers within answers within answers for every question each of these problems creates?  If so, are there ALSO solutions to problems that follow this same pattern?

What good is a question without an answer?  Of what use?  What good is a problem without a solution?

There were LOTS of problems with my childhood.  Nothing BUT problems, really.  But perhaps because there were no solutions these problems could not be seen for what they were.  Not by me, anyway.


There’s another twist in how I look at such concerns that might be most unique to me and to those who were abused by a PSYCHOTIC Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) parent.  In my case the bizarre, profound and disastrous two split worlds of my mother — good/heaven/everyone but me — and bad/hell/no one BUT me — meant that in every situation where there was a problem in our family in some way Mother’s twisted mind put ME at the center as “the cause and creator of” those problems.

The set-up from my birth was that if I wasn’t “so bad” everyone’s life would be perfect.  Everyone in our family.  We were the only ones that mattered.

But the psychosis of Mother’s broken mind ALSO and at the same time orchestrated an toxic and invasive, permanent thought structure that was TRUE (of course, in her mind-world) that if I were NOT in the world life would be perfect.

I could not question this thought construct.  I had no other information.  Did I think of myself, then, in terms of “Gee, I guess I better be dead?”


“Not alive?”


Just no thoughts about any of this.  None.  A blank where I SHOULD HAVE BEEN.


In effect for nearly all practical purposes I was dead.  I was not alive.  I did not exist.  I had never come into being.  Mother’s abuse and her psychosis did not allow me to be a person other than her complete projection of her own inner darkness onto (and into) me.

Nonexistent children do not ask questions because they don’t have any.  This condition did not change simply by the motions of my physically removing my body from the range of that so-sick woman.


This post comes about because I am smack nose-against-the-wall aware today that I fundamentally BELIEVE IF THERE IS A PROBLEM THERE IS A SOLUTION!

I cannot turn my thinking around to come up with another way to look at life.

If there are multiple problems, problems within problems, there are matching answers and solutions — every tiny step of the way.


Then…..  My thinking has to move on….  To the WHY aren’t the problems and the questions and the answers and the solutions NOT being identified for ALL of them for EVERYONE and everything on the planet NOW?


I turn around full circle within and ask myself, “Are these rational, logical thoughts?”  What are they rooted in connected to and embedded within the structure of my cognition processes coming from the way I was raised?

No condition on earth as far as it implicates and involves human beings exists in a vacuum.  To me this fact suggests the biggest problem of all.  We cannot truly solve the biggest problems ALONE.  Not in our individual lives and certainly not in our collective life.

And here comes that word:  Attachment.  With all its complexity, all of its implications for us as members of a social species.  We don’t create problems alone and we don’t solve them alone.  Not really.

But I am not sure there is anything more difficult on earth than to get humans to agree en masse about anything, certainly not about how to improve all lives toward creating a prosperous and peaceful global civilization, which is what really needs to happen.  A society built upon justice, which is itself a spiritual principle.

There was NO JUSTICE in the first 18 years of my life, that’s for sure.  Only its opposite.  Yet somehow I seem to have been born with an innate knowledge that justice DOES exist, that its source is divine, and that its application to all human affairs is not only possible but will solve all of humanity’s problems.

I believe this:

The obstacle to human happiness is racial or religious prejudice, the competitive struggle for existence and inhumanity toward each other.”  ‘Abdu’l-Bahá  (read entire passage HERE)

I also believe this:

“…among mankind there may be those who are ignorant; they must be trained. Some are sick; they must be treated. Some are immature; they must be helped to attain maturity.”  ‘Abdu’l-Bahá  (read entire passage HERE)

In my thinking all human difficulties exist because of some combination of problems related to the words in these two statements.  The solution is vast and is not one many humans are willing to contemplate.


I grew up “on the fringe” of society.  Our family took that to the extremes of leaving suburban Los Angeles to move to Alaska, and that wasn’t even fringe enough.  Up they went near timberline on an Alaskan mountainside to stake claim to a homestead.  Never mind the extremely rare fringe severe mental illness with its full-blown psychosis that fueled and sustained this entire fringe operation, within which I was trapped in a psychotically abusive hell.

So I was prepared to “be fringe” and to think fringe.  Here I am.  Doing exactly that.  Not much choice in this matter.  Right along with Popeye, “I yam what I yam.”  I have never found anything about my existence to be easy.  Perhaps I never will.


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Story Without Words:  How Did Child Abuse Break My Mother?

It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.


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4 thoughts on “+EASY?

  1. Have you read “Glass Castle” by Jeannette Walls? Your post reminds me of this amazing story… please keep writing, and thank you for sharing so eloquently and poignantly.

    • Thank you for your kind words! Much appreciated, and yes, I did read “Glass Castle,” and recommend it! Here’s a link to it on amazon.com for readers who might like to take a look —

      Jeannette Walls grew up with parents whose ideals and stubborn nonconformity were both their curse and their salvation. Rex and Rose Mary Walls had four children. In the beginning, they lived like nomads, moving among Southwest desert towns, camping in the mountains. Rex was a charismatic, brilliant man who, when sober, captured his children’s imagination, teaching them physics, geology, and above all, how to embrace life fearlessly. Rose Mary, who painted and wrote and couldn’t stand the responsibility of providing for her family, called herself an “excitement addict.” Cooking a meal that would be consumed in fifteen minutes had no appeal when she could make a painting that might last forever.
      Later, when the money ran out, or the romance of the wandering life faded, the Walls retreated to the dismal West Virginia mining town — and the family — Rex Walls had done everything he could to escape. He drank. He stole the grocery money and disappeared for days. As the dysfunction of the family escalated, Jeannette and her brother and sisters had to fend for themselves, supporting one another as they weathered their parents’ betrayals and, finally, found the resources and will to leave home.

      What is so astonishing about Jeannette Walls is not just that she had the guts and tenacity and intelligence to get out, but that she describes her parents with such deep affection and generosity. Hers is a story of triumph against all odds, but also a tender, moving tale of unconditional love in a family that despite its profound flaws gave her the fiery determination to carve out a successful life on her own terms.

      For two decades, Jeannette Walls hid her roots. Now she tells her own story. A regular contributor to MSNBC.com, she lives in New York and Long Island and is married to the writer John Taylor.”

  2. Linda, I can really relate to “the blank where I should have been”. But sometimes, isn’t an answer simply acceptance? Sometimes that is the only power we have.

    Your loving brother, John

    • hi dear brother! Yes, sometimes acceptance is the answer, but I BUILT out of resignation — and because of this I MUST keep a fire burning within me now — The word efficacy just came to mind

      “the power to produce an effect”

      there is way way too much I feel so helpless about – especially the effects of the disabilities from that childhood that bind me to tightly within a life I have so little power to change.

      I love you! May we both have EFFICACY today! (I think this climate is especially hard for me because it greatly limits simple efficacy for me – to be able to go outside and enjoy it! Gardening allows efficacy. Crafts and arts and music do…. But, “More please!”)

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