My Story - Raw, Honest, Uncensored

 I'm pissed. I need others to get as pissed as I am. We are getting there, but I don't think people understand the psychology of what is happening? I have no degree in psychology, I am a graphic designer. But, I have had an extremely difficult life that landed me in psych units and on meds all of my adult life. No one around me cared, in fact, I was blamed. I carried this with me for decades, anger bubbling deep inside while over medicating it on the outside and being ostracized. Finally, decades later, when enough people can connect online, this story, I have found, is typical of people who have been abused and no accountability was had and the victim was to blame. 

Long story short. While my mother was pregnant with me, after being in a horrible physical abusive relationship with my father, decided it was enough I guess? I don't know, all of my family is dead. But, what I gathered from records online, my father had an entire other family while abusing my mother and his two sons (my brothers) and got married to another woman, while my mother was pregnant with me. My disconnected childhood memories in the beginning were filled with strange memories. Dogs attacking me, being alone, feeling neglected. At about seven years old, I scribbled with crayons on my bedroom "Cyndi has no more tears." But, let me back up and explain the horrors before more horrors came.

The only fond memories I have of being safe in my childhood was with my Grandmother Gracie. I thank God everyday she was there. I felt loved and cared for. Apparently, no one wanted to take care of me because my parents who were in their early 20s had too much relationship drama to care for another kid. You know those kids you look at and pity because their parents are shitty? That was me. This was in the 70s. My mother left my abusive father and ran away with a "black man." This became the other difficult thing in my childhood. By about the first grade, which I do not remember, I lived with my mom and her new boyfriend. I remember this time, the same time I scribbled on the walls. 

I lived at 111 Columbia Hills in Hot Springs, Arkansas. I remember that place. I remember everything about it. All the things that happened. I had a friend, Deena. One night she spent the night with me and we were raped by my brother and his friend. They then broke into her grandmother's house, whom she was staying with, and bashed her in the face with a hammer. What happened to me and Deena was NEVER addressed, and something that would haunt me all of my years while still in Hot Springs. I remember the long drives to Pine Bluff to see my brother in juvie. The tears my mother would cry all the way there and back. 

I was an outcast growing up. Kid's parents knew what had happened and I didn't  have play friends. Also the fact that my mother was with a black man, we are white if I haven't mentioned, was also a thing that was not accepted. We lived in the projects in the black communities of Hot Springs. I remember the head start and living in that community with my cousin Jerry. Things happened there as well. Drugs everywhere, parties, no one cared what happened to the kids. One day, we had a field trip to see "the doctor" who examined all my private parts very well. It wasn't just me, it was my cousin Jerry and we talked about it. He said a nurse checked all his private parts. It took me a long while to realize that it was molestation. At headstart, in the projects, in Hot Springs. 

My years get very fuzzy again around this time regarding a doctor. I am not sure if he was the same one or not. I would be at the hospital for "field trips" and thought nothing was unusual about anything I was incurring. When no one takes accountability and points out this is wrong, children grow up thinking this was normal. Looking back, there were so many incidents. So many with the kids around me, not just me. I am not sure my mother knew about this because it was on one particular day that she realized I was at the hospital and not school. My brother had a motorcycle accident, it was pretty bad. He hit "dead man's curve" and slid out of control. This damaged his right arm for life. 

I was sent out into the halls of the hospital, I don't know how, but sent towards my mother, screaming running down the halls. She stopped and asked, "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in school? Who brought you?" Things changed after that. I don't know what went on with my mother, but she then put herself on a path to begin healing. I then became a member of a group that was supplemental to school work. It was a Torchbearer group and I actually really liked it. The concepts I learned in that group would create an entirely different thought mode, esoteric knowledge, that would further detach me from society. 

During this time, my mother made a lot of new friends. They were good people. I remember them. Shirley, Jean, and the lady who owned the store that would influence me more than anything. It was some sort of new age, or oriental store. The smell was incense and candles, along with scents, the curtains were beaded and packages of soap from China. They smelled so good. I would look at the packaging, in love with the scrolling artwork on the package. The foiled labels, on the back typed out "Made in China" - a far off, good smelling land that made soaps in my mind. Those memories would impact my designs later in life, as well at Grandma Gracie and the Antique Store. I am in my 50s now and have an overview on history. The view gets wider the further back you go. 

Somewhere within this time frame, something happened to me spiritually, and physically. I began having visions, heard whisperings and felt a divine presence. My guardian Angel? I didn't know how to define it. The other thing that happened was that I could see situations and know everything that happened. I have a very strong visual memory recall, but other aspects of my memory, especially short term, are very bad. My strong visual inclinations would later (as of the last few years) be tested and confirmed. Which is why I do well with design, placement and color. My observance skills are off the charts. This may have been a combination of trauma and hyper awareness, but it is there. It was there enough that I appeared psychic. I. Notice. Details. 

My home life was not good. I was never safe. I still can't sleep unless I am medicated. I don't fall into REM cycles because my brain is noticing everything, at all times. I assumed this was my inclination to the symbol of the owl, always big eyes, always watching. Always seeing all the things. I was being molested at home. I told my cousin Jerry and he urged me to tell his mom. I did, and she urged me to tell my mom. I did and bad things happened, to me. My mother was in so much disbelief that she actually tried to kill me. She tried to strangle me to death and called me a liar the whole time. I broke free and the run to my aunt and cousins house, haunts me. I remember every time my foot slammed against the pavement, running. The result? They came, got me, took me for ice cream and pretended nothing every happened. They swept everything under the rug, like everything else. No accountability. 

I remember wrestling with this in my mind on the ride home that night, eating my ice cream, looking out the window. Then the accusations came "Why do you want to lie like that? YOU are SHAMING your family!" All of their lack of accountability was dumped on me. What followed, as you can imagine were very turbulent teenaged years. More horrible things happened, which I won't get into now. But, needless to say it was more of a lack of complete accountability. I saw what was happening and felt trapped. I had absolutely no where to go. Shelters, friend's houses, Foster homes, those were my teenaged years. Oh, and rape. 

By seventeen I was pregnant and living with a roommate in high school. Yea, working, going to school - when I could - paying rent and trying to live in high school. I knew there was no way I could raise a child and if I did, we would be stuck with these people forever and stuck in this cycle. I prayed. I was moved to give my child up for adoption. This was a huge uproar with the family (my mother) who had pretty much abandoned me. How could I abandon a baby like this? I see now it was all her projection and suffering. But, I wasn't going to take part. I was stronger than all of them and the situation. I put my self in a girls home, The Florence Crittenton in Little Rock, and gave my child up for adoption. Because I was used to not having a home, shelters, and foster homes, being there was not a difficult environment for me, it was the same ole. I would later get married at 19, and that is a totally different story of life events. 

I have had decades to reflect on all of this now. I have read so many stories, similar to mine. Being raised in poor communities, where there is abuse and accountability. The atmosphere around this was that we should trust the government, like we trusted our parents. I didn't trust either. I can look back now however and see that "democrat" brainwashing. A deep embedding of the thought system that said "rich get richer and poor get poorer." The democrats had us, the poor communities, the black community, they had our backs. They would protect us from these evil rich white people. It is strange looking back now, but the further you get from a situation, the more you can see. And I can see pretty far. My peripherals, off the charts. I can completely watch a room, or focus on a person and case every thing around me and take images. 

What is happening on the world stage now? Today, the Epstein list is supposed to start dropping. Piddy is in prison, the democratic party is imploding and we are at the front door of the worst our civilization has been, and the best. It truly is "the best of times, the worst of times." I saw this Renaissance coming. People would ask how I knew, I thought I was psychic, it is hyper awareness. It is my observance skills. It is my ability to connect dots to make bigger pictures. That is why I am also good with digital art. I understand the pixel's role in the image. Because of all this, I can understand group think. And I can stay one step ahead of how someone will react. 

When I met my daughter and her adoptive parents, something was off. Something was off so much that when my family met her, my mother was convinced that this was not my daughter. My mother was convinced they sent my child off to some sex camp. It is strange looking back. DNA tests proved it was my daughter, and were able to prove her biological father as well. Which btw, he shot himself in the stomach in 2020. My daughter? We stopped talking when she refused to take any accountability for what was going on in her life. These relationships have helped me piece together a collective of what not taking accountability looks like. Which to me, was our former government. The hypocrisy is staggering. 

Everyday folk are now waking up to these facts of how a collective that won't take accountability. What it looks like when a government won't take accountability and gaslight you. It is almost humorous to watch news clips say "Don't believe your own eyes." People like me are over it. I pretty much cut everyone out of my life, well those who aren't dead or in prison. I'm happier alone. I read about how this is trauma from always having to depend on yourself and not needing anyone around. So what? I am supposed to rely on you? Well, prove me wrong, show up and be good. It doesn't happen very often. This is a reflection of the lack of inner self work that has not been done by a great deal of people. These people could be sitting in seats of power. This is dangerous. We are now about to come to grips, as a collective, with the terrible things I realized as a child, there needs to be accountability.