DayKare

DayKare

Martha's Vineyard : 3yrs

We called it Daycare.

It was a spacious compound in the forest.

Memories are scattered, incomplete.

The clearest one is my giving an anatomy lesson on the floor of the kitchen.

There are several other children and four adults.

We are all nude, legs spread or crossed.

I am explaining to the group that our sex organs look very different, but that they are exactly the same.

The adults are smiling encouragingly at me as I give the details.

I am shocked I have to explain it all, but it seems everyone is curious.

It appears I'm the only one who understands.

I tell them the vagina is a flower from which the penis grows.

I explain to them that we are all women first, then some ride the wave into 'boy'.

We are equal, I insist. It's all the same, just different codes.

Everyone is examining themselves as I go through the comparative parts.

A boy about my age asks very earnestly if he can also make babies.

I tell him he chose boy this time, and cannot get pregnant. I tell him he can plant babies but he must love and protect them.

He promises to be a very good father.

Naked and innocent, we hug, looking forward to the promises of Life.

It was a moment that stuck with me.

That people didn't understand, what was fact & memory to me were lost to many as myth or occult science.

That I could teach them.

Later I dismissed the nudity and touching of ourselves.

Martha's Vineyard was a nudist paradise.

It seemed a normal way to be until we moved to NH and I started to go to The Little People's Center. Mom said it was daycare so I took all my clothes off on the first day, yelling DAYCARE!

We don't do that here, honey, the Carer gently tried to cover my wildly dancing squirmy self.

I didn't recall either daycare being abusive or dangerous. Nothing but peaceful feelings about the places.

I pondered how I could have known things so precisely about human reproduction.

But through the years I had to pick & choose my personal mysteries to gnaw on.

The other memories there are of Gram coming to pick me up in her yellow convertible - what a surprise! I ran into her arms.

She went to speak with the people inside the house.

I am to wait in the yard.

She is in there a long time. It's chicken & rabbit time & that's good for me.

She comes out with a manila envelope.

And the ever repeated:

Walking down into a garden, on a path next to a stream.

Back & forth, every time I am there.

There is a white door.

Time is lost the most here.

I chalk it up to the fading of memory.

_____

Boston, MA : 42yrs

I can't handle the pain. Same old story, I know.

Mwop-Mwop.

I've long stopped trusting big Pharma for any relief.

Drugging the physical body isn't the answer.

Shifting the energy body is the key.

Shifting the mind.

I'd been doing it my entire life to deal with the spinal cord injury.

To cope with emotional damage I'd collected like cans on the side of the road.

Dissociative for most of my life.

My light out of phase with my flesh.

A miss-aligned transparent overlay.

For the most part cultivated through music, dance, painting and intensive creative endeavors.

Living within the creative spirit is the only way to survive without the hard drugs broken hearts fall in love with.

The only way to not become part of the malignant mold on the gold of my family's collective spirit.

But the pain itself was now keeping me from doing the things that save me.

I was lost without my work.

I'd begun an earnest search for all viable means of healing.

When you are desperate you'll try anything once.

I figured hypnotism would be a way to ramp up that innate talent I had to step out of the pain consciousness. I made an appointment. Borrowed the cash. Rested up for the journey.

Have you been hypnotized before? She peers at me over her half-moon glasses.

No. But I developed a dissociative state to cope with an undiagnosed spinal cord injury and a broken neck.

She stares. What happened?

Well, it seems it was abuse and neglect. So, I'm a bit guarded. I'm not sure if this will work.

Abuse and neglect. Hmm, she says. Well, let's just start gently then. It's possible your pain is worse because of your...history.

Yes, absolutely, I say. I notice that often. I was diagnosed with Female Asperger's as well, so I have a predisposition to panic that complicates the C-Ptsd. I'm a mess.

Well, you certainly are facing a lot of challenges. You seem very well composed!

Good dog! I think and I'm ready to bolt. This isn't going to work.

She starts with a pendulum and a calm, soothing voice.

I'm fully aware of what she's saying.

Nothing's happening.

Good riddance to that $250.

As I often do in my aimless thoughts, I walk down that garden path to the white door.

There is a flash of a star, a hand, an arm, reaching across the white door.

Not for you, not now! A familiar male voice.

She brings me out of it very rapidly.

See, I didn't think it would work, I say, gathering my coat in my lap.

Actually, she says, I don't want to alarm you.

But there are indications you've been under very deep hypnosis.

I'm not sure what you mean? It's just the abuse & dissociation, right?

Well, she says carefully. No. I don't think it could be that.

Okayyy, I say, both suspicious and fearful.

Her tone got mad serious.

A colleague of mine came up with a few questions in case I ever see this.

Okayyyy...

Do you mind if I ask you these questions?

Nooo...

You have lovely auburn hair, is it a natural color? I assume so because you don't color your grey...no offense, it looks very Bonnie Raitt.

Thanksss...Yes, it's natural. This is ridiculous, I think. Fuck your false flattery.

Are you of German or Irish descent?

Yesss... both.

Do you know your blood type?

AB-.

AB-?, she asks like it's a kind of cheese or extinct animal.

YESSSS...

Do you know when your families immigrated to the US?

I can't hide my fidgeting and I can feel the rocking rising like a scream.

My father, who is a stranger to me, once tried to take credit for my artistic skills. He said his mother was an artist from Germany. I assumed she was the first generation.My mother's side was mostly Irish & english. Gram's husband was German. Everything's been forgotten.

Was he also an absent father?

I don't understand why YOU'RE ASKING ME THESE QUESTIONS! I am getting upset.

I'm sorry, just a few more and I'll tell you why.

ERGH!

Everything's alright. She reassures me in her velvet voice. Can you tell me more about how you got your injuries? Can you tell me more precisely what the injuries are?

I've had the spinal cord injury for my entire life. I started having symptoms as an infant. I've felt the grinding pressure my entire life. My mother purposefully avoided any real examination of it. She forced me to be silent. No childhood accidents that would've caused it. In fact, the neurosurgeon told me all of the violent events I recall wouldn't have caused this kind of injury.

Why is that?

There have only been 80 known cases, ever, of thoracic tethered spinal cord. It's a rare convergence of massive force and hyperflexivity that traps the spinal cord between vertebrae. It's caused by trauma only. Mine was the only one left untreated for 34 years. It ruined both my spine and my spinal cord. The cord's been chewed to bits. It was untethered in 2005, but it's all shot to shit.

She regards me like a pitiable unicorn. It's amazing that you're walking. How are you even alive? Is it near the neck? Is it related to the broken neck?

It's between the shoulder blades. I think the broken neck was from diving into a pool and ramming into the floor.

Oh, yeah, she says. I remember lawsuits about the design of pool floors. Were you compensated?

No, I just had to hold it together for a few weeks.

Hold it together?

Yes, the dissociative thing. It's my lifetime method.

Wow, Okay, let's move on. Have you ever lived in Long Island, New York, Boston?

Well... Gram and Mom lived in Long Island. One time that I was homeless I camped in a barn on Montauk in the winter. I moved to NYC when I was 26 or so. I grew up near Boston, I used to drive to Cambridge Square a lot. Harvard, I say.

Why Montauk?

I was staying at a friend's house but when I told her that her boyfriend felt me up and tried to kiss me, she dumped me.

She sighs. Any other universities you've been drawn to?

I grew up, basically, at UNH. The entire town was the college, I say. I guess I was really huffed to get to school in West Sussex, England.

Oh, that's one of the places. She says, writing in her notes.

What places?

Just a few more questions and I can answer yours. But I'm seeing multiple red flags. We might want to contact my colleague right now. Carl really knows his stuff.

WHAT STUFF!? Just be honest with me, I'm about to walk out this door.

She raises her palms flat, calming the air around us.

I haven't finished the questions. But we've done enough, I think. I don't want to make you more ill-at-ease. She pauses. Carl is an expert in government operative techniques. He does a lot of de-programming.

I'm fucking leaving. I get my coat and hat on, gather my bag and canes.

No, please hear me out.

I stay on the couch, ass on edge. Is she concerned or is she trying to sell me something?

He gave me this list to help people who've been part of an ongoing experiment on unsuspecting citizens.Your lineage, personal experiences, injuries and locations you've lived and been drawn to are all red flags for MKUltra victims.

YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF. I storm out of her office, deaf to her protests.

For the three hour drive home I am constantly walking up and down that garden path in my mind's eye.

The flash of a star.

White door.

White door.

White door.