Working on Releasing the Anger/Pain/Depression Toward My Stalkers

I have allowed myself to feel all the anger, pain and depression.  I have written about, processed and analyzed everything that happened.  My stalkers have even read most of it–which, for many people, is a huge part of being able to release and heal after abuse/bullying.

But the point is not to stay in this place forever; the point is to get it out and release it all.

Now I’m working on transferring all the anger, pain and depression from my heart onto my many written words, just as I did long ago when writing my college memoirs about abusive exes.

The old pain from abuse in college, even the old pain from bullying in school before then, has long since been released and no longer affects my present; I only channel it for a short time for the sake of my writing, to help others who now are where I was back then.

What I’ve seen of these abuse/narcissism blogs is people will write them for a while, then move past it because their healing has begun, but will leave them up for the sake of others who are where they were then.

At this point, all there is left to write about is topics, such as hypnotism or emotional blackmail or the like, which can help others make sense of what’s happening to them, and take the steps they need to stop being victims of abuse.

I’ve already written my story.  It’s in various forms and posts.  I’ve also posted most of my e-mails and letters needed to prove my case.

There are a few other e-mails and messages which I have not posted, smoking guns, but I can’t post them because I fear my stalkers would recognize who wrote them–and do something horrible to the writers.  I will not be indirectly responsible for that.

So now I will try to focus on general topics that could still help people who have been in my situation, updates on the process of healing, and other things, such as my college memoirs.

Anger helps in healing and disconnecting from your abuser, but if left in your system too long, begins to poison you.

And that’s just what Tracy wants: poison running through my system, time bombs carrying on her work in my head long after I’ve cut her out of my life like a diseased leg.

Tomorrow, friends are hosting a cribbage tournament, so I want to focus on that, focus on being with cool people and having fun.


So the Scouts are now considering whether to allow gays. I think it’s awesome if they do: No more official discrimination/bigotry.

The policy against gays makes me very uncomfortable, what with having my boy in the Scouts, and not wanting to teach him bigotry.  I want to teach him better than what I grew up with, in a more ignorant time.

However, my husband is ambivalent, especially since–while he doesn’t want to tell others how to live–he’s very conservative.  And a family member is very glad to have a daughter instead of a son, said he’d keep a son out of the Boy Scouts if they allow gays.

It just hurts to see this stuff going on at home.  I’m trying to break free of what we were taught about this growing up.  I want my son to never learn it.  The older I get, the more liberal I get.  The more I want my son to not be held back by the false beliefs of the past.  But how do you deal with it when the approach in your own household is so split?

My Own Son Thinks I’m Weird! Sigh….. :)

So I was explaining to my little boy how I used to make up all sorts of worlds and stories, then act them out–by myself–on the school playground.  (Nobody else could do the parts “right,” so I played them all myself.)  I’ve written about this here, here and here.

He’s 9; at that age, I had a large cast of characters which I made with my hands, basically hand puppets: Figure 8, dogs, cats, one or two humans, Rubber Duck (from the song Convoy).

I pretended to be a human colonist on the 10th planet, Spimpy, but the grass was poison, so we had to stay up on the Kee-Klamp (the name on a piece of playground equipment which was a twisty pipe with several ladders).

I pretended to be Neptune’s moon Nereid, as described here, with a whole host of other heavenly bodies making up the cast in my imagination: the sun, Earth, Mars, Venus, comets, etc. etc.

I pretended to be Pirate Samantha, the pirate cat, who sailed with her clumsy boyfriend Dodo and the captain and the rest of the crew, crapping on the poop deck and looking out the crow’s nest, fighting pirate dogs with trick knives so nobody got killed, and hoping to get dinner from pirate mice and birds.

I described some of this to my son and how I used to act out these stories on the playground.

Then I said that I acted them out by myself, and the other kids would think I was weird.

Then what did that little boy say?  What did my precious little boy say?

He said, “I can see that.”


Grumble grumble….But at least I’ve taught him how to spell my real name correctly.  Practically everybody on the planet spells it wrong, even on documents, even when I’ve already spelled it correctly for them.  But my son can spell it!



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