Story of a Failed Mind Control Subject

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Chapter 1

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Chapter 1
Before the Beginning

Like every story, mine really starts before I was born– even before my mother was born. My grandmother, Edna, gave birth to a daughter. The father was Edna’s stepfather, who raped her. A few years later, she left to get married, leaving her firstborn daughter, Ava, behind. Ava was raised as Edna’s sister– not daughter. But in the way that families have, she eventually was told who she really was. Kids have never been the best at keeping secrets.

As I understand it, this was the beginning of the blood feud between my mother and her sister. Except that my mother didn’t know about her sister. Edna never told her about Ava. So the blood feud went only one direction.

Fast-forward a few years, and my mother Olivia was born. Then there was Theresa, and then Samantha.

The years passed, as they always do, and a deep hatred grew between my mother and my grandmother. My grandmother, Edna, would accuse my mother of trying to steal her husband away. Yes, that’s my grandfather, George– my mother’s father. Edna did crazy things, like hiding the girls’ shoes, and threatening them, and abusing them. Mostly mental abuse. Her favorite was to call my mother a whore and to scream profanities of that nature at her.

George and Edna were Seventh Day Adventists, and they were on the fringes of extremism. They did allow music on Saturday, but they didn’t allow dancing or jewelry.

The other girls managed to conform for the most part, but my mother was violently opposed to these rigid practices and rebelled. Edna was often violently infuriated by Olivia’s rebellion, and the fights were numerous.

Before I continue, I should point out that much of what I’ve just told you had to be reconstructed from various family members’ statements to me. So I would state that to some degree, the accuracy of it could be questioned to the same degree to which my family members’ comments and stories can be questioned.

Like me, they based their comments on their memories. Like all of us, especially those with difficult histories, it’s easy to blow us off. But my memories are surprisingly accurate, as you’ll come to see later on. Again, I wish I could prove it to you, but to do so would expose my family to things that I am absolutely unwilling to expose them to.

But I do have reason to believe these things, because all of them came from random comments that weren’t intended to expose anything that they did. They were comments made alone in many cases, which without the rest of the information wouldn’t mean much. I’m pretty good at putting things together, though.

Edna adamantly denies that Ava is her daughter, yet all of the rest of the family supports the statements. Therefore, I leave you to make your own best guess on it. What comes later seems to indicate that, at best, there was a major hatred from Ava towards my mother. I think there’s a larger reason why besides she just didn’t like her.

I was told by family that the reason was because Ava was left to be raised in poverty while Edna went off and raised Olivia in relative wealth and comfort. Being abandoned by your mother in a terrible situation might be enough to infuriate you, I would think.

Back to the story, though. My mother eventually left the household, and went off on her own. She chose deliberately to become a prostitute. She got married to a man named Jacob R-. They had a supposed open marriage, wherein she could continue her trade, and he could have any sexual relations he wanted. This was the late ’60s, it was all the rage, you see.

My youngest aunt, Annette, was born a few days before my brother was. Edna was 42 when she had her, so she was essentially an only child. This becomes relevant later, I promise.

So my mother had Jacob the 3rd, and life went on. Jacob the 2nd was happy with his boy, and they were carrying on with their lives. Except that Jacob Jr. was abusive. My mother, however, stayed, and seemed to sink deeper and deeper into drugs, alcohol, and prostitution.

When she found out she was pregnant with me, she only ramped it up more. She didn’t want to be pregnant, so she began to take heavy amounts of LSD and increased smoking pot. I was born slightly premature, in San Diego, CA. I had an open pallet, so that you could see my brain through my mouth. I also had no bone on the back of my skull.

Because of these birth defects, and the fact that my spine was bent, the doctors put me into another room by myself, and left me to die. My mother, however, thwarted their efforts when she demanded to hold my cold, dead body… oops. Only, I wasn’t dead. So with a nurse’s unauthorized assistance, my mother saved me.

It’s a strange thing, though. She tried to kill me while pregnant with me, but then saved my life once I was born. It was the first of many such odd instances in my life– where someone who wanted to kill me saved me.

There was another problem, too, though. Jacob Jr. decided that I wasn’t his. I was born, you see, with a full head of coal black hair. My mother’s a redhead, and Jacob Jr. is blonde. So he decided I couldn’t be his, so open marriage be damned, he didn’t want a thing to do with me.

Things just went from bad to worse, though. I was a difficult baby from the start. I was sick all the time, and finally my mother handed me over to Edna in a fit of post partum depression. She couldn’t cope, and I was dying, despite the early save. My bone had grown in by now, and bone had grown across my pallet. So much, in fact, that it dangled into my mouth. This is called a Torus, and mine was large enough to give me problems with drinking a bottle.

Not only that, but Edna finally figured out that I was allergic to the milk. I was put on soy, and I slowly began to get better. My mother got me back.

The earliest memories I have are of my mother and Jacob Jr. fighting. He would beat her, and Jacob III and I would hide in the coat closet. These memories are characterized by the other man who would come over. He was their “third partner,” and he would finally calm them down– usually shortly after my mother was passed out on the floor, bleeding. Then they would find us, and threaten us if we told anyone.

I did tell after I was grown, a few times. But it was hard; I was still scared of the “Other Man.”

They nearly always fought over me. I felt guilt about that. It was just the beginning of my feeling that I wasn’t supposed to exist– to live– to survive. I was meant to be dead from the beginning. Because I didn’t die, I was told in both direct and indirect ways, I ruined everyone else’s lives.

Written by sandit4glp

July 30, 2010 at 1:46 pm

Posted in Chapter 01