Once More

 It’s 1pm and I’m drenched in sweat from bouncing the basketball around. The first time in my life I tried to walk to the park to play basketball, he followed me to the park and had me hospitalized for leaving the house. I would say I’m thankful to be burning calories right now, but the circumstances of my latest arrest are not so flattering. My brother was at it again targeting me and slamming doors in the house. He tried it twice slamming the door and running to the bathroom. I assume he had some guilt lingering from what he just did a few nights prior.

He’s back at my door again yelling at me for reasons beyond my control. One should not perform acts that will cause guilt. He has an obsession with my body. They all do. Everytime I look good they target me so I can go back to the hospital and get fat. Im uncomfortable this way, I miss my skinny figure. I’m tired of these attacks but I don’t know what more to do. I called the police in a fleeting attempt in hopes they’d catch the last bit of his yelling “I hate you you stupid bitch, I hope you kill your self, or I’m going to kill myself” before whatever was to happen, happens again. I walked towards the living room as he slams the back door shut in my face. I just want to get my son away from danger, his adolescent mind scares me. He locks the door between the kitchen and the living room. My son is on the other side of the door he screams Taymar’s name in a panic clearly in reaction to what he was about to do. I knock on the door helplessly while the 911 operator is questioning me about what is going on. Tyrone exits from his room defending Taymar telling me what is happening is not happening. I roll my eyes at him as I desperately try to rescue my child from danger on the other side. Tell him to open the door then Taymar reluctantly opens the door while standing in the way my son bolts towards me in an effort to escape Taymar. I hastily rush to my room locking us in there. Memories of them beating me to a pulp replays in my mind. “that’s what my sons do for me” repeats as well my moms words to me after he police left. I’m still on the phone with the telephone operator and Taymar disconnects the phone in the kitchen. I open the back door for the police to enter. I hear Tyrone and Taymar quickly put together a story to tell the police in an effort to save his brother from persecution as if he didn’t just witness the same thing I did. The police come, familiar faces I don’t have keys to the front door, my only access is the back door. My son was trapped on the other side of the door. With the actual Psychopath. This is my 13th hospitalization. They brought me to peters old job, a similar story plays out. Another “Neglect” charge from the Commonwealth, I’m failing to understand their reasons. I’ve explained my circumstances as best I could I’m still traumatized as the horror of what could have happened plays in my mind. I hug and kiss my son as I post on Facebook tagging the president about my circumstances. Instead they listen to my abusers (Mother, Brothers, and Pete) who were working to destroy my life one component at a time. I think back to having to care for my mothers son at 11 years old. My dad giving me a Machete to protect ourselves out of our two bedroom apartment. Tyrone was only 6 weeks old. Thoughts of cleaning shit from him and Taymar nuts come across my mind, disgust. Now I have my son and they won’t even allow me to be a mom to my child. About two years now rumors have been running Rampant about me molesting, how do you molest someone you have to clean shit from eeeww. They got the best of me, while my child suffers continuous psychological assaults which have all been set on by his father, my brothers continue a familiar pattern. My mom probably did something to them, I still remember always being forced to clean their shit. The hospital continues to only ask information about me from people who I have never spoken to in my life other than being their sole caregiver while my entire life. They’ve never even given my son a bath or cleaned his shit. With my son it’s different it’s not my job to educate them, it’s their mothers. I wonder now what she teaches them when their all huddled in the room together without me?

I am taken to a place almost an hour away. Corrigan, The police promised me they would give me an Apartment by 4 pm if I made it to the hospital. The look on the nurses face the one who stabbed me with a needle, this is possibly a result of her guilt I’m assuming. The “White Coats” I am reminded. I studied human Psychology for a better half of my life and was looking to return to school before this sabotage. I’ve had a fear of needles since seeing the “Saw” movie. I think about calling the police on people going to the park to clear their head to see if they will end up in the hospital like me. Just kidding, I’m not even allowed to clear my head, I can’t smoke, I can’t drink. Peter working at the hospital and learning just what to say to get me hospitalized, things he hasn’t shared with me. Nothing beats experience. I’m forced to live a life of being in hospital walls for doing things Normal people do, especially during the summer do I can’t play volleyball, all since leaving Peter and living with the worst abuser of my life. How do I forget being beaten unconscious. I still haven’t put my hands on my mother, though she deserves it. I’m proud of that, I figure revenge will come back to her in some way hopefully worse than whats happened to me.

I had to call the police just to get my son back from Peter this last time. He told me “Your never going to see your son again” I called the police as any mom would. My brother comes out the house yelling at me defending Peter again. He’s turned my brothers against me. I don’t know how, only thing I could think of is money. How much is he paying them to sabotage me. Sabotage after sabotage, I keep asking the hospital to take me out of the abusive household where my mom now entertains my rapist who I avoided desperately at work. Rumors still linger as people question whether my stories are true or false. The people leading the story are the people that I only told two things to, “I have a brother, and I have a house in Jamaica” the other I told about a near kidnapping. Still thankful to GOD I made it home.

Now, I sleep with an axe since the police took my machete it’s been over a year now since the rapist last attacked me. They’ve been letting him escape to make it seem as if I’m crazy. In my house I’ve started to record everything that transpires, all my out loud conversations. Since my words seem to have no validity. This place I picked to call home, now uncomfortable. I’ve paid the bills for well over 15 years my mom continues to tell them i haven’t given her any money, wishing they’d call Bank of America to get evidence. The truth remains self evident. I have stopped buying food for them, I have stopped buying cleaning supplies. I have started focusing on just me and my son. I was supporting a household of 6 on a 50k income, Until I finally escaped that tourture. They’re working to break up what little family I have, my son. I stopped talking to my mother after that torture from Jamaica. I pray my son can recover from the psychological trauma and the physical trauma from his dad. I don’t know what information they’re giving the medical authorities about me I guess I’m not privy to knowing that much. Last night I created a list for all the people I actually talk to. Interference with the internet continues here. I’ve connected with some of my cousins through the television. My mom used to beat me senseless as a child in my bedroom, for her thoughts and rumors that weren’t true. My home I fear she has given to my stalker and rapist family 75 A West Park Avenue. May Pen. I’m worried about my Apple Tree.

Memories I’d rather forget for conversation, that’s why I don’t talk to people, conversations were sex. She was told I was having “Sex” I waited almost 23 years to actually have sex. My husband was the first to experience wanted “Sex” with me physically, the other a name I try not to say too often, Chris Brown, but only in Mind. We have yet to experience “Sex” with each other.  I think about going around school asking everyone what “Sex” was and Chris Laughing, I told the teachers I was being beaten for “Sex”. I didn’t know what “Sex” was. Physical trauma from the word when I was young has tainted the experience for me. That’s why I remained pretty much a virgin and to myself. Now rumors from my stalker and rapist are running rampant that I’m having “Sex”. I was stuck at work talking to my rapist to keep me from telling the “Secret” After he got fired the psychological and physical abuse got worse. I’ve been giving them as much information as possible, being that I’ve been a social worker and A mandated reporter for something like 20 years I’m into giving the person the full picture. Details of my life appear too extreme to be considered real, I guess I was quiet for too long. As details start to pour out about my life I feel better now. I just pray they ask my neighbors for information so they can verify my story. West Park,tell the story or Merlene Ottey aka Jody.

This is all in an effort to steal my houses from me. As I read this book call “Inconvenient People” it saddens me to realize, I am such. Yo be discarded in hospitals while they live their life riddles with guilt of their actions. They empty out my room and give away all of my goods when I go to the hospital. Having to start from scratch. I don’t have money to do that this time as I wait for India and the Maroons to verify my Legacy. 

Chris Browns, how are you’s are feeling as empty as my emotions towards love these Days. As his concert approaches I think about his last post telling me he got the apartment. Nothing exciting me more but instead he argued with me, I could have been in a safe space. We could have avoided all of this but now I’m here again at the mercy of the state, praying they don’t release me back to that dangerous household. Forcing a victim of domestic violence to return to such a situation is one of the worst things they could do for my situation, I got raped, again, over and over, and over again. It clouded my judgment and impaired my abilities to protect myself from my rapist. I’m forced to remain Polite because I look black, as if my Indian heritage and Asian hard work doesn’t speak for itself. I just keep asking for the same thing an apartment. Instead I am forced on Pills, pills, and more pills. Massachusetts waiting list 15 years long. I worked for the system and I am politically involved I would think that my network would be stronger but still I wait. I think about the Boston Police Department overwhelmed with complaints, take a number. 

My first application came shortly after buying my house in 2017, when He started abusing me in the house. That should have been a red flag, I don’t even want anything attached to a man. Trying not to avoid the red flags this time around. I just want an apartment of my own one that doesn’t remind me of the last 25+ years of my life caring and helping disabled individuals. I am a US Citizen and it feels like I am an immigrant hanging on the skirt tail of America asking for help. I wish it felt more like a comfortable swing instead. Help has come in the form of a pill, which does nothing for my environmental dangers. This time I don’t want to come back. I don’t want to be anywhere near Donna and her Nimrods. I just need to escape the torture, as she sleeps with the man had told me he hates Asians as her herself is Asian. I never fancied Kingston, some call it the town of the Mad. I’ve stayed clear of Kingston men my entire life. He’s the first. My room smells of spit from my crazy sibling and my rapist, my toothbrush tainted with toilet water my makeup tainted with Spit. My expensive makeup. 

Some of my favorite brands M.A.C and YSL, YSL an old love from childhood, I’d always tune in for tears and laughter. I’ll never forget. Versace, how I regret not sharing details of my life with you sooner, so caught up on keeping everything private.

He taints my bed and my products a horror I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to escape. I just pray for my siblings, they wanted me out of the house after years of caring for them. Where am I supposed to go, I guess roped up on the street sucking homeless dick and starving is a better reality for them than having happiness with my pretend husband from childhood. I had always hoped to make that a reality. Visions of his most recent videos cross my mind. I think it’s time I move on from a childhood fantasy after all I was never good enough. 

The only thing I want in this world is to be able to be a mom to my son, funny now I think back on it I hadn’t wanted one before meeting Peter, that was the only thing I had agreed on. Somewhere along the way I got stringed along on the longest Chinese lantern of my life. Too afraid to try drugs or even smoke weed because they keep hospitalizing me, forced to experience all of this trauma Sober as a kite. Am I alone here, are there other people out there experiencing this? 

I was forced to be a mother to her children while her jealousy rips mine away from me to give to a father who didn’t even want one to begin with. While they try to paint a picture of me as something I’m not. Imagined being described to your family by someone who doesn’t know you. Becoming a mom, the single most important accomplishment of my life. Having an actual child of my own, one I wouldn’t mind looking at. If only I was Better.