anarchist elitism. a personal memoir.

So throughout my posts, I have been attempting to keep all of my analysis and critiques focused on me and the ways I impact others, even though I have been heavily disgusted by the community I have recently stepped out of. There has been some reference to the 27 center and DABC but not nearly as much as I have been internally processing. I realize how much this group of individuals proliferates my community and the fact that if I don’t speak up and advocate for myself, rumors will saturate and dismantle many different endeavors for many people, so alas.

Initially, I avoided speaking up for myself  because I was told my perspective was crazy and fundamentally invalid and that I shouldn’t even speak because just by doing so I damage everyone around me. Also, I was told I was a threat to security culture. But I have been cleansing and clearing my head and I am still uncontrollably disgruntled. Especially, just by the silencing of it. No one should ever ever be told not to speak up about the ways they are degraded, not to mention psychologically and physically abused.

When this internal conflict initially came to a head, I was told how I consistently interfere in work and contribute nothing. I heavily disagree with this. Even though I have been processing some of the most severe anxiety of my entire life, I offered everything I could, which often came in the form of offering childcare, manual labor like table moving, setting up the letter writing room, cleaning whenever needed, offering emotional support whenever possible, paying out the ass to clear 3 other members of their obligations to a prior communal house(which in hind sight was not at all any help because people “had to move out because of my madness” not because they were spending their rent money on weed which is what actually happened.) I fucking tried within my capacity to do all I could. I would like to highlight the inconsistencies of the 27 center collectives story. I feel my past is being used to justify discrimination happening against me now and I will speak up. I will have a voice.

To take it way back to the beginning, when I began attending DABC meetings, I was coming out of working with fightwithtools, a non-profit organization associated with the flobots. My departure from FWT was tumultuous and heartbreaking for many parties involved. It was my first interaction with any politically active organization and I was making sense of a lot of things at the same time. I had moved to Denver from living on base at FT Jackson and working through a divorce after a 5 year marriage and 5 years of serving in the military as a mental health counselor for PTSD. I jumped from dominant culture to a community that has been studying the negative effects of dominant culture for the past forever. I began attending DABC’s meetings and there was a push for me to become a member. I pushed this off for a long time 1. because I was still making sense of the fallout of me leaving fwt’s and 2. I have no background in anarchy and could barely even interject in a conversation let alone contribute something that would challenge my peers. The theory rocked though and the process was beautiful, I figured that even though I was behind on analysis I would be educated and grow by inculcating myself in the culture. Having no background with anarchists, I also had no background with the elitism that is often present in anarchist communities. Now, I do.

Back in about November I began suffering from severe social anxiety. Began may not be the right word because it actually started WAY before that, but I would say November was when my anxiety started taking on physical forms. I was shaking often but was still able to mask it. I was throwing up from shaking but rarely and I was able to hide it. I asked one of my house mates and a DABC collective members what she thought. I let her know I was worried and that it was starting to feel like my anxiety was something I wasn’t able to control. She laughed and said, “Smoke more weed!”  I smiled because I understand it is hard to know what to do in such a situation. 

I then turned to my partner at the time, Zach, and let him know how badly my anxiety was and let him know I was having a lot of trouble with it. I had let him know that my anxiety revolves around the anniversary of me being sodimized in the baracks by a soldier who was a patient of mine. I told him how I was unable to report the assualt because my NCO(guy in charge of me) was currently propositoning me daily to have an affair with him behind his wife’s back.  He had some better offers for support and we began talking about my IUD and about detoxing my body. He offered that his mother knew an herbologist that might be able to evaluate me. This sounded like a great plan and I was hopeful. At the same time I was attempting to make my appointments I was realizing that the insurance I was covered by was all discombobulated since it was through the military and would take some time to rectify. Because of this we put off the berbal route until my IUD was removed. Another complication arose at this time which was the fact that my mind is also completely disorganized by the physicality of my anxiety. At this time, there were entire days I would stay in my home and cry, being completely unable to function. My entire community was aware of how debilitated I was, but instead of seeing a human deteriorating they saw an inconvinience. No one had enough TIME for this. So I stayed in and offered to watch the children and clean to contribute. One night I was home with my son and my house mates daughter making dinner and cleaning when Zach came home and started talking about going out. Obviously, I was unable to go out as I was tending to things in the house.  He continued pushing his need to go out and I said, “Fine! Cause I need space from you anyhow.” I was upset about him going out because he had offered to help watch the children and doing so is always more fun with more adults. He did not stop and he did not go out. We began yelling at each other and at one point my son walked up and asked us to stop arguing. Zach bent down and told my son that his mommy was a bad mommy. I then asked Zach to step outside and I punched him in the face after about 10 minutes of wrestling and Zach saying, “Do it. Hit me.” and I do not take it back for a second. No one says things like that to my child. There is a ton of twisted psychological shit that was happening there that needs to be accounted for and it still to this day has yet to be discussed. The next day we had an ABC meeting and Josie let me know that if I had been punched in the face by Zach the situation would be much different(We will later realize this is not true.) but I understand the dominent social dynamics Josie was referencing.  I let her know that I felt extremely psychologically abused in the environment I was in and she offered to talk some time.

Through December, my anxiety became much worse, and still I was offered over and over to smoke to get past it. Everyone was busy with their own families and I already know from childhood how low of a priority I am and so I stayed in my house and stayed quiet as much as possible.  I waited on my insurance to be valid. Dave and Josie began saying that they had support to offer but I was afraid to share my story with people I barely knew(rightfully so in hind sight). But when I did realize that no one in my communal house was able to provide any form of support I opened up to Dave and Josie and sat with them to hear what kind of support they had to offer. I went and spoke to Josie about where I was and what was happening and she offered that I disconnect from the people negatively effecting me and find a place of my own for Jordan and I. Something that is easy to say, but takes months to make possible considering 1. we as a communal house had positoned our lives so that financially and logistically we couldn’t work without each other. We had small low hour jobs that covered our peice. We shared child care and often vehicles, which is theoretically a beautiful picture. The problem being half of the house found no obligation to contribute financially or communally. Something I took on myself for the remainder of the commitment when everyone decided we shouldn’t live together, which harks back to how I do actively contribute to my community through everything.

 On New Years night I put on the happiest face I had and was excited at a chance to hang out with people in my community in laid back ways. On the way to the party I sent out a bunch of messages about being excited to see everyone and I recieved replies to pick up beer on the way with no other responses. I started realizing that there really wasn’t much interaction where I felt liked at all. I brought this up to Zach on the way and lost any touch I had with the happy face I was prepared to present. I cried the whole way out and told him I felt horrible. I brushed myself up and was like, “Oh well, at least we brought the beer.” and made an attempt to go inside. Zach said he wouldn’t go inside if he knew I was pretending and I reasoned that there really was nothing we could do now anyway.  Still, my anxiety went nuts. My body shook and my stomach turned. I told him to go in and I’d just leave because I looked like a fool anyhow. Fed up with me, he went inside. I began to fully feel my worthlessness at this point. It sunk in. I began to leave and realized Zach had no ride home. My phone had died and so I drove back and went inside and said, “I realized Zach doesn’t have a ride home and would only be able to ride back with Jim, who has been extremely aggressive towards Zach lately. My phone’s off. Zach do you need a ride?” Meanwhile, the rest of the near 10 adults standing around looked at me blankly and made no movement, even though they were aware of my current struggle and could visably see how hard I had been crying. I went and waited in the car for Zach and cried more. The next morning there was another meeting for ABC. I spent the night on the phone with my son’s father keeping him up to date on my mental status. He suggested I go to the emergency room since no one seemed available in anyway. I watched all of the folks in my house leave for the meeting and kept my crying as quiet as possible as I had been told that the people in my home were flat out not interested in supporting me at this time. I walked myself to the emergency room as I spent most of the night contemplating how to kill myself in order to stop bothering those around me and not pass my worthlessness down to my son. I kept Zach informed of my where abouts and my current state. I pretty much just cried hysterically in the ER until I was told I was being admitted. I sat in a room for hours waiting and then I went through the same bio-psycho-social process I myself had administered several times. Zach finished his meeting and came to try to see me. My other house mates said they , “don’t go to hospitals.” And I didn’t hear anything from DABC. I spent the night in a bed with chains and straps on all four corners. When Zach finally did come in to visit he looked at the place and said, “How could you do this to me?! How could you admit yourself to this cage?!” and the staff asked him to leave and gave me a sedative and when I woke in the morning, I asked to leave, even more ashamed than before. I went home and was in really really bad shape. My son’s father sent my son to my sister’s house because my house was not good for him and it wasn’t. Even beyond my psychological state half the house wasn’t offering rent but they were boarding their friend from back in Detroit none the less. I really didn’t even know how long I could keep my home for my son, on top of everything. Josie and Dave asked me to come over to talk and I found a time that worked for their hectic schedules and went to talk to them again. Dave did not acknowlege me beyond hello and Josie told me about welfare and how I need to get more child support from my son’s father to be able to move out and also reiderated how busy everyone was. I asked her to put out a line in whatever networks she could to find a home for my son and I. I began realizing at this point that offers for help weren’t actually offers for help but an obligation of those that surround those in need. Josie knows me and knows that I don’t actually have access to any social welfare and that Jordan’s father contributes in ways that are appropriate for him and that he shouldn’t have to give me more money because a group of people within our collective had financially screwed me over. I let her know these things aagin and let her know I would continue moving forward in the ways I knew how. Dave’s only interaction from that point forward was awkwardly asking me if I was ok and telling me that I needed a lot of help. At one point while helping put up walls for the community space in the basement Dave said while joking about mussle safety with a nail gun, “How could we ever trust you with a weapon with all the craziness you’ve been creating.” ummmm, what? We had a meeting where the collective suggested mediation between all of the people who lived in my communal house Zach, Cat, Jim and I. Jim was out. Cat and I both refused. I had no time to mediate when I was facing being homeless with a 4 year old(later this decision would be held against me.)

The next month or so included me figuring out the logistics of having a home for my son. Anxiety had no priority, even to myself. My friend Sarah came out from Virginia and spent time walking this road with me. Just finding a place was overwhelming. Seeing the ways my anxiety negatively effected others and the ways it comprimised Zach so heavily I pushed him to move into the 27 center even though he repeatedly told me how this was me pushing him away and attempting to hurt him and that he didn’t want to live anywhere without me. Little did I know that at this time there was a pregnant radical minded woman on her way to Denver to move to the 27 center and have her child, who Josie and Dave ended up “not liking” and so her room was given to Zach. Sarah is amazing and she helped me find a place that has offered me solace during this time. Jordan and I exist in a room with two beds and about 3 feet of walking room, but it works for now. Definatly does not help with my depression in anyway, but it works. When I drove to New York to visit my son at the end of Sarah’s stay, I stopped in Pittsburgh to visit an old friend, actually from FWT’s ironically. This friend is male and someone I have constant sexual tension with. Zach became very worried and had trouble with me visiting him. Nothing sexual happened whatso ever but I told Zach that maybe he should pursue building stronger plutonic relationships and reach out to other women if he felt the need.

After Zach moved into the 27 center he began realizing the magnitude of his mactivism. We ended up falling into a 3some that ended up being “my fault” as well as the abuse I recieved when I asked the activities to stop. I apparently am the only one that made the 3some happen, Zach was an innocent bystander to my debouchery. It all felt wrong and I removed myself from the situation. When I went out to the livingroom to sleep on the couch Zach came out to tell me how I ruin everything. He spoke less than an inch from my face and told me how pathetic I was and I slapped him across the face and said, “Get away!” . This is when he grabbed my wrists and held them over my head, popping my shoulder out of it’s socket. After he let go I grabbed my keys and tried to leave as quickly as possible. He chased me to the downstairs and said I wasn’t allowed to leave. I punched him and ran out the door. It was raining and I had been drinking so I sat in my car. He came out and told me how I should come back up and we should work through it all together. After a little while of back and forth I went back upstairs. When I entered the room the other girl had her arms open and said she was so sorry for ignoring my request and she held me and brushed my hair out of the way.  Zach did not continue any conversation and held her through the night. The next morning we woke and hide any sign of trouble since everyone was already sick of my anxiety. I went to meetings and kept my mouth shut and I waited til later to talk to Zach when no one could see.  We talked and cried and he apologized saying his penis just takes over. I apologized too.  I took pictures of the bruises on my wrists that lasted weeks, but I didn’t show anyone because Zach said I made him look bad.

I spent the time there after trying to speak only of the ways I was improving. Jordan and I were at the center often and I tried to contribute and work within the community in the healthiest ways possible. My anxiety was in really bad shape. I was throwing up almost regularly. I then went out to coffee with Josie who informed me how when Zach moved into the space the community was weary about me being around too much and asked him what he thought. Zach told them I would be around barely ever, even though simultaniously he was moving in toys for Jordan and asking to become a more serious role in coparenting. Josie let me know that Jordan’s presence was too much for Micah and that I should limit the times that Jordan is around the space to help Micah’s development. After hearing this I tried to oblige. I stayed at my house as much as possible. Zach still wanted to see me everyday and every night, which I also wanted. This caused a lot of tension in our relationship. Zach began seeing a woman from a dating site and they were hitting it off. I liked her a ton too. I supported their relationship, even at one point helping save a date with her by helping him figure out where she lived. At this point I was trying to process my anxiety, get more hours at work to cover Jordan and I’s life and investing myself more in DABC to actually contribute on political levels as well as social, and attempting to traverse polyamory so that Zach would not feel suffocated. There had been several dates and nights out with friends and coffee dates and things that I had canceled because Zach wanted to be with me and/or babysitting for me(which I’d call part of his coparenting obligation) was not convinient for him. He told me he wasn’t very interested in Brianna and felt that with my trouble with anxiety maybe now wasn’t the time for him to branch out anyhow. I had plans to get out and relax and a family that I used to nanny for ended up having a benefit for the husband and father of the families cancer. I immediatly dropped plans and offered to sit for them. This translated as an opening for Zach to have Brianna over. When I spoke up and said that was inconsistant with the story he was giving me he canceled on her. The next night Zach was supposed to watch Jordan as well, but the situation with Brianna came to a head and he stayed in and had her over instead. He texted me through the night and told me how he was uncomfortable with her being there and he wished I was there instead. I told him that I was going to read my son a bedtime story and go to bed and that I wasn’t coming over that night. The next morning was DABC’s cakewalk, which I attempted to participate in as well as I could. I woke up feeling good that morning so it wasn’t too hard. I also missed everyone and Jordan was going to get to see Kylie who he misses everyday. I showed up and Zach asked me to walk with him. He was acting extremely emotional, which didn’t make sense to me because our fight the night before wasn’t too bad and last I knew he missed me intensly. The whole cake walk Zach talked to me about marriage and how he only ever wanted me and he tried to kiss me and touch me and clung to my side. It was nice but confusing. When I went to leave Zach asked me to stay but Jordan was already riling Micah up and everyone was getting ready for a punk show which I know nothing about. So I left and as I drove away Zach threw a letter in my car. I got home alone with Jordan and read the letter. I could hardly believe my eyes. After two years of processing what it meant to be in a poly relationship between Zach and I, it was a letter telling me he had slept with Brianna and that he knows he ruined our relationship and then continued to list the ways he has comprimised and disrespected me and how I deserve to be endlessly angry. I began cleaning my house and pre-occupying anyway possible. I got a hold of Zach and kept asking him how he could have left me alone with this with my son. He said he felt no remorse and that he was at a show. I started throwing up first in the kitchen but then made it to the bathroom where I vomited and cried. I had locked Jordan out of the bathroom so he would not have to see me like that but I couldn’t stop and he was done playing with every toy in the house. He sat with me in the bathroom and rubbed my back. I apologized to him and talked to him about how he shouldn’t have to see this. He kept telling me that it was ok but that he was scared. I let Zach know Jordan was scared. Zach was calling but I was vomiting so I couldn’t answer. Jordan answered and I told Jordan to tell Zach that he was scared, like he had been telling me. At some point I had found a knife and was talking to Jordan about suicide and why I felt it was necessary for me at that point. Zach apparently borrowed a car after talking to Jordan and came to the house. By the time he had gotten there I was crying in my housemates bed with Jordan and letting him watch TV so he didn’t have to witness me. Zach came into the house at the same time that Josie called. I told her I wasn’t doing well but kept a lot to myself knowing how she felt about me and knowing how comprimised the whole 27 center felt by me. I did feel like I was pulling it together. I had gotten Jordan food and got him in fornt of the TV. I screamed at Zach telling him to get the fuck out because I felt endlessly betrayed by him. I told Josie I couldn’t take the way he treated me anymore and sent her the picture of my wrists. He left without question. I followed him out and brought a bottle of tequilla and drank half of it in front of him as he drove away to show him that I acknowleged my worhtlessness. I then put Jordan to bed, texted facebook that Zach had fucked Brianna and fell asleep. I woke the next day feeling worse than ever. I contacted Josie and Dave immediatly and told them I needed help. They let me know that that morning they were busy and I let them know it was bad. Zach would only communicate with me sparadically and told me that I should reach out to Patrick who I have little to no background with. I continued texting Zach, Josie and Dave frantically, endlessly. My ex-husband was on his way into town and he brought Jordan and I out to breakfast. I continued vomiting all morning and attributed it to the tequilla. I asked Jeff to bring me to the space to remove all of my belongings. When I arrived, Jeff wasn’t allowed into the space and Josie accompanied me as I collected things. When I asked Dave what time the meeting was that day, he didn’t even look in my direction and mumbled, “Don’t you have your own shit to deal with?” Zach was welcome at the meeting. I went back and asked Jeff to take Jordan somewhere nice and I got in my car with several different knives and I drove somewhere sunny to slit my wrists. I thought, “This is it. This is perfect. Jordan is safe. My community hates me. My partner degraded me in everyway know to man. It’s time.”

and I sat and cried and I pushed the blades into my wrists. I sawed at my wrists right down the vien and it WOULD NOT CUT. No matter how hard I tried. I hated myself for being a failure. It cut only enough to show my patheticness. I told Dave before I started cutting myself that I wouldn’t be going to the meeting. He replied and said, “Whether you come or not, we are having a meeting about you.” From my conversation with Josie while I was cleaning my things I had collected that the meeting would be about Zach and I, if not the same meeting we had planned from before which was a workshop on community(ha.).  After I was unsuccessful in slitting my wrist and realized Jeff would be dropping Jordan off at 27 soon, I went to the meeting. It was the first time I saw Zach since he had thrown the letter in my car. I was shaking and my thoughts were going a thousand miles per hour. Josie came up to me and took time to look me in the eyes and said, “I am glad you’re here.” I really couldn’t even respond to her at that point.  Zach came to sit beside me and I started spasming and moved quickly. I couldn’t look at him without almost vomiting. I wanted to scream, “Fuck you!” on the top of my lungs. I instead flipped him off and gave him filthy looks and shook. Josie led the meeting and said that the plan was that we both have time to say our peice while the other was out of the room. I felt no trust in this process. I felt no trust in anyone. I said I don’t feel comfortable with that and tried to peice together sentences to say I felt backed into a wall and silenced. I was told that everyone was listening and that there was no wall I was being backed into. Whitney said, “Abusers often feel silenced. It’s just suprising that the gender roles are switched here.” Cat, my old house mate, looked at me like a human, which was wild since we had not yet mended our relationship. She said, “If we don’t have time for this now, when will we have time for this?” I finally agreed to what was planned after being told how difficult I was. I went to the downstairs stairwell and cried. I waited a long time and Josie came down to say that Zach had also been asked to leave and that everyone was just planning on diliberating as much as they could on what they already heard. I flipped and said that’s assinign because no one had heard any of what I was going through. Josie then let me know of her abusive past and told me how, as an abuser, I was triggering her and she was at her wits end. (Wait, so you already decided I am an abuser too. This is actually an intervention on how I am the abuser?!) I told her, “whatever”. Really what the hell could I say there? Apparently, Josie went back to the meeting and asked someone else to lead. Also, apparently, a lot of other people’s shit came out, because “I triggered them”. So Zach and I were asked to return and told that it had been decided that Zach and I both step back and get help. Whitney had some “radical leads” that would take a week or so for her to gather. Everyone commited to reaching out to both of us. Dave expressed how sick of this he was and how he wished he could just organize alone to not deal with this. He said how I have refused all help and he was fed up. I later found out I wasn’t really welcome back at the space. I went to work on myself and began seeing a counselor and psychiatrist immediatly. At Jordan’s school I got a counselor and went to counseling with him. I started going to yoga and meditation and actually, well, started documenting my work here.  Which you can browse through at your leisure. I had little to no help with Jordan from this point forward. I got a couple days of work covered by Josie and some other collective members. The same days that were supposed to be covered by Zach in his attempts to become more serious about coparenting. Outside of covering my work shifts there was little offers.  Since I was not welcome at the space Jordan lost all contact with his friends. Days became survival and I wasn’t eating. I couldn’t. I threw up everything and cried in bed for weeks. I lashed out at everyone. It was all I could do. I threw up more. I attempted suicide in everyway I could figure out. I researched it often. I seriously suck at suicide. I didn’t want anyone else to see how worthless I was. Patrick and Clayton met me out for coffee once a peice. You could see the story they already had typed up written about me all over their face. At least they tried. I didn’t feel comfortable going back again. Zach was invited out everywhere and encouraged to meet new people and date. Since he lives in the space he was updated on every meeting there after. He was assigned an accountability partner and they partied often. He would contact me secretly and tell me how much he missed me and that he wished I’d realize how big of a monster I was. He told me everyday how he could see I wasn’t making any progress that he knew I wasn’t even trying. He never made an appointment. He never researched his own mental illness or how to support mine. When he would sneak to my house at night to sleep with me he would tell me how that was a favor he was doing. That was friendship. At work he would be sweet to me and talk about our forever, that he believed in it but it couldn’t happen right now because I destroyed or community.

After contacting Whitney several times, she informed me that her radical lines of support had fallen through, but that she could find a mainstream provider. I told her I was already seeing a main stream provider and I thanked her.

After a morning where I brought Jordan to school and spent literally his entire day at school vomiting, I started contacting Zach telling him I needed someone. That I was afraid. I told him I was coming over for the last few things that were at his place, really I was afraid to go back home alone with Jordan. That is the day I freaked out at the community space. I made no sense. I screamed. I pleaded. I left alone. I kept Jeff updated as always. He came and ended up spending the weekend with us. Jeff is so kind. I still have a hard time putting sentences together with him. I wish it was easier. Dillon called and said he had heard me break down at the space, he said he knew how the collective members could be cornering and overwhelming. I appreciated him.

At one point on the way to work,  Zach talked about how he planned to present his plan to the collective that Sunday and no one minded. I said, “What plan?!” He said, “I don’t actually have to have anything accomplished yet, just tell them what I plan to do in the future.”

I emailed the collective and told them I planned to present too. I was asked not to present. It was the same weekend everyone was supporting Amelia Nicol.

The next weekend I was contacted by Clayton who let me know that the collective wanted documentation from my counselor to verify my commitment to healing. The same counselor who gave me samples of anti-deppressants within ten minutes of meeting her and sat in front of boxes and boxes of others. The same one who said, “These are the same symptoms many soldiers are experiencing. It’s called PTSD and we have anger managment classes.” The same anger management classes I lead myself for 4 years. I told Clayton “Fuck you.” Patrick texted. I told Patrick, “Fuck you.” Clayton listened to a lot of my anxious word vomit and kept saying, “I want to help. How do I help?” It makes sense no one wants to work with you, but I’d still like to be your friend.” I told him there obviously wasn’t help. I didn’t know where to guide him. What am I supposed to say? If you the stable person watching me deteriorate doesn’t know what to do, how the hell am I the person who can barely make sure I take enough showers to be decent going to tell you how to help me?

I kept emailing him my thoughts. It was the best I could function.

No. After nearly 6 weeks of isolation and break down and hard fucking work, I did not want to plead my case to a community who felt I was obliged to hold the role of the abuser.

There was one girl, Abigal. She is bad ass and also processing a seperation, much different then mine, but she never judged me. I could actually speak and be listened to by her. I wasn’t a monster to her.

Abigal, Peter and Shiloh(my house mates) became my life line and they had no idea. I could put some sentences together with them. I kept up with meetings and got books and audio tapes. I am crawling out.

I was going to reference Josie and Dave’s comments but they have already deleted them. I get that I’m a monster.

I don’t want to be worthless anymore.

I kept thinking this was all going to make sense soon. Zach never stopped telling me he loved me and missed me and Jordan. We started only communicating in sexual fantasy through text. Even that got old. He and I just kept getting worse. Last Wednesday at work, I asked him to come to my IUD appointment with me as support since I’d have Jordan and I was paranoid something was wrong with my uterous. He went home with some co-workers and had a little party on the way and was unable to communicate effectively with me but kept saying he didn’t want to hang up, that he missed me so much. At one point he put me on mute out of no where and I heard Dave speaking. He was hiding me from Dave. When he got back on the phone I said, “Dave doesn’t know you’re talking to me?!” and he said, “No one does. I’m ashamed of you.” I told him I was going to tell everyone he was lying and hiding me. He told me he’d hate me if I told anyone, really he already did hate me to be able to treat me that way. I blocked his number the next morning.

All the help I am getting continuously reinforces how the point of break down I am at makes sense. That most people that have the history I have, end up the way I am. I don’t understand if it is so common, why in radical communities we are not researching it together.  I don’t understand a lot of things. I can’t type anymore.

This is my story.

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