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Abuse II


This just happened. My younger brother was making nasty remarks at me for quite a while before I started recording. Mother sat by and did nothing, even encouraging him to be worse and agreeing with him.

This family is extremely homophobic; in an attempt to be mean enough to make them stop, I call him a “queer”, because that’s one of the worst things he could be in their eyes. It doesn’t work.

He starts fights like this all the time. Mom takes the bait, defending him, dragging me, and eventually my pompous asshole father joins in at the end. They reference my PTSD that I got from being assaulted, which they deny and deliberately make worse. He literally says that my calling them abusive and that my having a service dog–I have the papers for her, mind–is a delusion, that I belong in a mental hospital because of those things. This is why they don’t listen to me at all, about anything (not even the fact that the drain was clogged). These people are too self-righteous to ask fucking Siri the requirements for a service dog in this country. I literally tell him to google it, he refuses and denies that anything on the internet could be true. Apparently he can’t tell what’s real information even when my life is on the line.

Remember earlier that they wouldn’t accept that I’m disabled? Here, you’d think they have–but you’d be wrong. My status is whatever suits them at the time. He says I belong in a mental hospital, but had I challenged him to answer whether that meant I was diabled, he’d have said no, that I was making it all up. All while insisting that I belong in a mental hospital. This is how abuse works: there is no logic except what suits their immediate self-interest.

I need to get out of this house. But I can’t work, shelters don’t allow even a service dog, and I can’t pay for my dog’s special food even if I could bring her. I don’t even have money for the dollar or so copays for my meds.

It looks like I’m not going to get anything out of my recent open letter asking for help. That was my only shot at getting out of here.

My official options are to live with this, or suicide. You know how that’s going to end.

Let me be the first to thank everyone who contributed to this decision. CMU, OCR, my asshole parents. I’ll add more people if I’m still alive later. Thank god I signed a will writing them out of control of my accounts. Not like they’d know where to look anyway. Ha ha, fuckers. I, the author, give you no right to seize my accounts, to memorialize them, to delete them, or to alter them in any way. Not that you’d think I have a life outside of your knowledge, you pompous fucks.

2242: I called mother a cunt. Big fucking deal, you heard what they said to me the entire time before that. You’ve heard the trash they’ve said to me before.

On top of the verbal, mental and emotional abuse? They don’t have any respect for personal boundaries. Told to stop touching me, stop bouncing things off my head? No, it’s a “love tap”. Wants to know what I’m doing? Yanks it out of my hand. They also take great pains to make nasty comments about my body, to police everything I wear, how I walk, how I sit. Every piece of clothing I own has been called whorish. I’m called a whore as I walk out of the house covered from neck to ankle; I’m called a whore as I leave in the baggiest and ugliest clothes I own. And then I’m called an embarrassment because I don’t “dress proper”.

There’s a violent and abusive environment on top of all that sexual harassment. The brother I live with–HE’S AN ADULT–constantly annoys everyone all day long. He plays games–waiting until people are already gone to call out, making them come all the way back; constantly rubbing himself in front of us. If he’s got anything in his hand, he shoves it in my mother’s face until she either leaves the room or breaks it. No matter what comes into the house, he goes through it–mail, packages, food, anything. He has no concept of “not his property”, the same failure my parents have.

We have one of those big-back TVs, the ones from before the slim kind. He’ll hang on the side of it while we’re trying to watch things, and repeat phrases from the show, and ask stupid questions meant to piss everyone off. He’ll stand in front of it and “dance” for the same purpose. He’ll stand in front of us sitting on the couch and disco-point in our faces until he gets hit or we leave the room.

He harasses my dog similarly. She can’t tolerate being in the same room with him anymore. But of course, she’s the one who gets screamed at for barking, he’s never yelled at for harassing her. Same way the rest of us are expected to deal with him–it’s not him, it’s our problem for reacting.

If anyone calls him out on this behavior, he asks “What did I do????” while suppressing laughter. It’s not a mental deficiency driving this, it’s purely him being an asshole and enjoying it. He doesn’t do any of this in front of company.

But my parents never call HIM names unless he keeps this up for more than twenty minutes straight, which is every hour. Even then, it’s only a whispered “jackass”, not outright insults and abuse like I get. He’s never threatened with being thrown out of the house or having his basic life necessities cut off. They don’t think there’s anything wrong with his behavior. My parents think this is perfectly normal behavior for an adult man. Yet they call me an asshole for asking to take my service dog with me, for simply existing. I’m the asshole here, not him, not them. Haha.

I’ve got PTSD from sexual violence, and I live in an environment of sexual harassment with these people. Don’t wonder why when I say I’m suicidal. It’s like being back at CMU with those jackass roommates of mine whom CMU said “did nothing wrong” all over again.

We have some relatives with mental diagnoses too. They’re treated respectfully–as long as they can hide their “abnormal” symptoms. But before they were hidden, they too were called embarrassments, deliberately set off and made fun of. This treatment isn’t specific to me. It’s how these people treat everyone “lesser” than they are. The disabled and mentally ill are not worth respecting. That has nothing to do with how well I “obey my parents”. It has nothing to do with anything–they simply do not respect me. That’s their thinking, and nothing I do will change that. They will always treat me like a child, as if they have a right to take and break my things, to control my life by doing things such as dictate my medical decisions, because that’s what they believe is their right to do–regardless of the fact that I’m an adult and they have zero legal or ethical rights.

They believe that as long as no problem is discussed, as long as no problem is ever found out, then no problem exists. Suck it up and deal with it. They’re quite like CMU in that way.

Thanks, Carnegie Mellon.

2015/06/02: This is my asshole brother bitching to our mother about how he was “yelled at”–TWO YEARS AGO. This was recorded 20150125, January of this year. So yea, he’s complaining about something from two years ago. Keep in mind his behavior I detailed above. He claims he’s treated “like shit”, that he “gets nothing”, meanwhile he was just bought a 20K car and a new thousand dollar laptop. Recall that I got screamed at for ordering food for my dog, which I was TOLD TO ORDER, AND BOUGHT FOR CHEAPER. They both agree that it was wrong and bad of my parents to “yell at him”. Then they all turn around and do all of that to me. AND, he gets to say all this trash to my parents, but I can’t say a word against them in the middle of them abusing me.

So to summarize this one, my mother and father profusely apologize to him TODAY for perceived slights against him from TWO YEARS AGO, he admits that NONE of that happens NOW, and they agree that they shouldn’t have treated him like that. They then proceed to agree that *I* should be treated exactly like that TODAY.

You also hear in here that they’ve deliberately tried to withhold treatment from me–I had to go around them to get a dog, twice over. You’ll recall that they always deny withholding *anything* from me though. You hear them claim that they treat me “like a queen”, ie better than I deserve. They always claim that they love me and treat me better than I deserve, that they just want me to “be better”–yea, with what, magical fairy dust? Their hatred?

Let’s illustrate how they deliberately set off my PTSD, in addition to the sexual harassment detailed above. The daily ritual in the house is that Mother walks across the house naked, then out of her shower naked and gets dressed two feet from me as I sit in the living room. Which, fine, nudity happens in your own house. Everyone is all up in your business when you live in college dorms.

BUT. A normal activity is turned abusive when YOU are given different expectations, when only you are treated differently.

I should also mention that the brother I’m forced to live with has this penchant for rubbing his gut and slapping it while saying “look at this belly, it needs slapped”, often while yanking up his shirt the whole way like a toddler would. He often plays with it too, like a toddler “discovering his body” would. Right in front of all of us, apropo nothing. He’s never told to stop it by either parent; no one remarks on it; neither think there’s anything odd or wrong about it. And everyone touches everyone else inappropriately, the worst being between mother and my brother–like I’ve said, zero respect for boundaries.

I have to watch this all day.

I had the gall to one day to sit on the couch in pajamas and my bra. They tore into me for “being sexual and flaunting in front of my brother”, and I said that their incest–the touching they do, the lack of respect for anyone’s personal boundaries–was disgusting. Is it actually incest? Does it really matter when the MO these people have is to make the worst possible claims out of what’s going on, and then throw *that* through a soap-opera filter so that the words coming out of their mouths have nothing to do with reality? You’ve heard the things they’ve said about me. You’ve heard how I’m not permitted to call them out on that vile behavior, how I’m not even allowed to state the fact they they do that. How they deny doing that. Listen to how they react to me doing the same to them.

That’s when this picks up.

Notice the threats to cut off my access to healthcare and to throw me out of the house, that my access to basic life necessities is constantly in danger, never assured. But remember, I make that up, I lie about them threatening me, I twist things. They never said any of that. Of course not.

It’s obvious why they blame me for what happened: I “asked for it”, and/or I just flat out lied. Do notice that according to them, “asking for it” has no true meaning; apparently, I’m asking for incest here by merely existing in my own house, but mother dearest isn’t “asking for incest” when she’s naked in front of us every morning. My brother isn’t “asking for incest” when he walks around in nothing but boxers. They also expect that I “dress up proper” every damn day in nice clothes, and then scream at me and refuse to replace said clothes when I “wear them out by being careless”. Logic, ladies and gentlemen.

I’ve got PTSD from sexual violence, and I live in an environment of sexual harassment and unbelievable abuse with these people. Don’t wonder why when I say I’m suicidal.

We might as well go over why cleaning and chores come up so often. A month after I had moved in, the bathroom I had to share with my younger brother wasn’t cleaned once. As we recently found out, the drain that hasn’t worked for decades–my whole life–was broken and blocked, so you can imagine how nasty it would get after even one shower, let alone a month’s worth. On the toilet, there were piss stains and dirt caked onto it so thick that not even a brillo pad could get it off.

This is from November 10. The black lines on the tile is mold. You can literally see the dirt caked into the tub and toilet. The discoloration between the bowl and the water in the toilet is obvious--look at the waterline, see the brown above it? That's not shadow. It goes the whole way around the bowl. This is just from a crappy phone camera on white bathroom fixtures. You know how hard it is to get anything to show up against a mostly white field in a photo.

This is from November 10, when the drain was still broken. It wasn’t fixed until the last week of May, a full year after I moved here. The black lines on the tile is mold. You can literally see the dirt caked into the tub and toilet. Things stay like this for months at a time. The discoloration between the bowl and the water in the toilet is obvious–look at the waterline, see the brown above it? That’s not shadow. It goes the whole way around the bowl. This is just from a crappy phone camera on white bathroom fixtures. You know how hard it is to get anything to show up against a mostly white field in a photo.

This is from March 16. Lovely mold is still there. It's only cleaned every three or so months. Even when it is cleaned, it's not like it's done properly.

This is from March 16. Lovely mold is still there. It’s only cleaned every three or so months. Even when it is cleaned, it’s not like it’s done properly.

Now, why don’t I just clean the thing? I assume most of you haven’t lived with abusive people. No matter what you do, you will be torn into and degraded. Their view is that you cannot do anything right, so they will always find something wrong with you. Listen to what happened when I tried to clean that goddamn bathroom after it festered for a month when I first moved in. That’s from July 1, 2014. Mother walked in on me before I finished cleaning it. She threw a fit and claimed that the toilet was *supposed* to be grey, that I had made white streaks on the perfectly clean GRAY toilet. It’s a fucking white toilet that’s so dirty it looks gray. We just put an identical one in the other side of the house. Guess what–it’s fucking white. Ha, ha. She’s so goddamn abusive that she’ll claim the toilet is not at all dirty just to avoid facing that this filth is how she keeps her house, that this is what she forces us to live in. Abusers have no logic except selfish motivations: they will deny they’re yelling as they shout you down. They believe this is normal behavior, that this is how respectable people act.

The white streaks are the clean bits where the gel actually had time to sit. Notice that she bitches about the gel still being on the toilet–no shit, it has to sit there for a few minutes to stew. A normal person would understand that, but abusive people latch on to anything they can to bitch at you–“you left it there because you’re a malicious lazy bitch too self-absorbed to finish what you start, making mess for me to clean up after you”. All that, when you see the kind of condition she let that bathroom get to before I ever touched it. This is why I don’t clean anything in the house, why I touch absolutely nothing–but I still get screamed at, for not touching it. You’re told you’re doing everything wrong, screamed at because you touched the vacuum controls in the “wrong order”, that you don’t know what you’re doing. All of this is at top-level volume, screamed at you from three feet away if not right into your face. You do something, you lose; you don’t, you lose. Impossible expectations. That’s abuse. Recall, though, that all of them have denied that they do this.

Isn’t this fun?

I deliberately choose not to engage with that rather than be damaged trying. I’ve tried both options; I grew up here. It’s less damage to me to hear lies they’ll do nothing about than to attempt and suffer that abuse. “Less” damage–keep in mind that the alternate damage is suicide, so the “less” isn’t much of an endorsement.

I think I’m going to make a couple audio cuts of particular nastiness and replay those at them. Chores come up again? Play the “don’t touch anything in this house again”. They claim they treat me well? Play the parasitic whore clip. Top it all off by calling mother a cunt and father a queer. These people only understand nastiness, and that’s the only time they’ve ever backed off. The only time they listen to anything I say is when I throw a fit. Use reason and calm discussion, they laugh and make nasty comments and ignore me. You remember how it went when I asked them to stop being nasty to me in the last post.

Perhaps that’ll buy me some space. I’ll make an extra one telling them to get their gun and kill me if they’re so put off by me. Either I die or I die at this point, it’s not like I have any real options.

And if you were wondering what it was like living at CMU with Kalpana Iyengar and having Ashlie Prioleau constantly around, this is it. They did the same things. The comments, the nastiness, the lack of physical safety. Inability to leave without fear of them destroying my stuff, but also an inability to stay in the room because of the level of nastiness. The filth and the dirt. The denial of it all. We pride ourselves for how well we torture people to get them to crack, but then we get confused when people are similarly damaged by this same kind of abuse. And CMU let that happen, said there was nothing wrong with it.

Again, this is what CMU caused. This is what they tried to bring down upon me when they told my parents I was talking about them. This is how far they will violate and do violence to you to protect their false image.

20150721: This page has changed a lot. I was forced to edit it, as all abuse victims are generally forced to recant at some time. CMU interfered and ran their mouths to my abusive family. Abusers don’t view documentation like this too well. Guess how well things are going for me now. Lol.

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  1. 2015-06-04 at 12:14
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