Private Writings: Chapter #29 — The Party’s Over
Written by Jennifer Kiley
Illustrated by j. kiley
Published Introduction & Chapter #1
On 19th March 2013
Published Early Tuesday AM
Posted On 8th October 2013
WARNING: ADULT LANGUAGE AND CONTENT.
NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
ANYONE RESEMBLING ANYONE LIVING OR DEAD
IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.
I am writing to Dr. Annie Haskell. My form of storytelling is through
letters containing dreams, thoughts, poems, music, describing my script
“Brief Sacrifice,” already made into a film but not yet released, psycho-
therapy, inspirations, reflective comments, the inner workings of the mind,
soul, body, emotions, and bipolar. I prefer mentally creative, interesting, or
having a brain misfiring. Included in the mix are childhood abuse, car crashes,
near drownings, drugs [the illegal kind at present], hallucinations, hypersexuality,
time warps, finding answers to unsolved mysteries, infatuation, imagination, fantasy,
and a need to discover my bliss.
See you inside.
Namaste! Madison Taylor
Private Writings: Chapter #29 — The Party’s Over
Tuesday 8th April 2008
It feels so strange when something once so important deteriorates into something so destructive. The Women’s Group met for the last time today and I am relieved. It needed to stop a long time ago. Instead, Dr. George allowed it to drift into a critical mass, causing everyone to be exposed to a dangerous situation he had no idea how to handle.
When it first began, it had positive benefits. For me, I was drawn out into the outside world. I think Dr. George, originally, had the right idea. A women’s group for those suffering from PTSD and a variety of other conditions. The group was to be a safe haven for those who had no other source to help them. It was doing okay until the good doctor began losing his sense of stability. His mind seemed to be slipping into a state of self-aggrandizement. He lost control of the behavior of a certain woman he felt attracted to. It was with Angie, there came the greatest exception.
When she began to be extremely critical of other members of the group. I seemed to top her list. Dr. George allowed her freedom and the support for the foul things she would say to us. Her prejudices toward the women from different backgrounds, especially Deborah, who is black, Israh, who is Muslim, and myself, with a triple threat of being a lesbian, living with another woman, and being Jewish. I converted to practicing Judaism a long time ago. It was while I was seeing my first therapist, Rachel. I was an impressionable teenager, she was Jewish and I felt a strong bond with her. I wanted to be just like her. That is when I decided to change my religious beliefs to hers. I continue to celebrate the traditions of Judaism but have since realized no organized religion allows me to have a free flowing spiritual base.
Angie hated our differences, and took great pleasure in criticizing us, using all her stereotypes of our preferred life style and cultures. Being called Queer and Dyke as words don’t bother me, but when there is hate behind those words, they become offensive slurs. It does become degrading and emotionally harming. It caused me to flashback onto the verbal abuse I heard when I was a kid in school. The bullies were severe with their use of language to undermine the confidence of all of us, who already felt so insecure from lack of support from our families, Those families, who gave us zero time to listen to what we had to say about what we were going through. And speaking for myself only, my family was also participating in abusing me.
Group was supposed to be a safe place to work on healing from all the poison so many people spewed out at us in the outside world. We were all supposed to be safe in our therapy group. Angie stole that away from us, and Dr. George did not lift his voice to protect us. Privately, he was even worse. He would defend Angie to me and then accuse me of being insensitive. That I didn’t try hard enough to understand what Angie was going through. What she was going through was to act like a bully and to continue our abuse in a supposedly safe environment.
She is now the dead and murdered group member, and Dr. George is being charged with her murder. Now if that is not irony, nothing is. She has brought another life down with her dying. It seems like she will never really go away. You told us, Dr. George tried to commit suicide while in his jail cell. He was under 24/7 suicide watch but still managed an attempt on his own life. The judge is to determine, some time today, whether he is able to stand trial. There was talk of moving him to a psychiatric hospital, in a ward that would be locked down. Wherever he was, he was to remain on suicide watch.
I remember when I lost my therapist, the one before Dr. George. She was a significant loss to me. I really thought she understood me, but when I reflect back now, I wonder. I feel she misunderstood me and made me feel crazy for needing her. I felt like there was something wrong with me because of how I felt toward her. It felt like I was a bit obsessed but if I think about my feelings now, I would say they were pretty normal for the kind of relationship we had. She had a strong control over me. When I wanted to talk about my feelings for her, she would always shut me down. And on the other side, I felt how she was so delicate and tender with me. One moment I would feel safe with her and then a moment later, she would make me feel like I was crazy.
Therapists have this way of confusing me, using mixed feelings, always their damned mixed feelings. I mean, who do you go to when you need to talk about your therapist? I admit it now, I was in love with her. At the time, I had no idea. I didn’t know I was attracted to women at the time. It’s called denial on an elevated level. No way was I attracted to women. I was but I wasn’t admitting it to myself or out loud to anyone. I should have known when I was in Kindergarten. I smiled a lot at my therapist. She made my heart so happy when I looked at her. I felt a magnetic pull inside whenever her eyes met mine. The blue intensity just melted me away.
Most of my female teachers made me feel nervous, in a good way, but a shy way. I liked them a lot. But I didn’t understand what I was feeling. No one told me there was such a thing as being attracted to someone of the same sex. I didn’t know there was such a thing. The church I went to always talked about a man and a woman getting together inside a marriage. I did leave that church when I realized my favorite person was a bigot. It was always that way with white, straight, Christians back then. Now some Christians have gotten the message to accept all as equal. We all have a right to express our life the way we feel it. We don’t have to deny who we are even if we aren’t part of the “Norm.”
Now that I have wandered away from the point I wanted to make in my letter, Annie, let me get back. What I wanted to tell you about is the therapist before Dr. George, Jamie, instead I floated back to my first therapist. I held back my feelings from Jamie. I wanted to tell her how I felt but I knew if I did it would bring an abrupt end to our working together. I knew she would not be able to handle how I felt. I was in love with her but I knew I had no chance of my feelings ever being accepted or reciprocated. If I told Jamie, I knew she would abruptly terminate our association.
Each week I would go to both my sessions. We talked about Scottie and my inability to handle being sexually intimate. Making love was pretty intense when Scottie and I first got together, It probably helped I was stoned and drank at the time. My fear would be buried and I was good at seduction. Writing poetry allowed me to express my feelings. There were no problems with my touching Scottie and she could touch me but if it went any further than my making love to her, meaning if she wanted to reciprocate, I would respond at first but then the strangest thing would happen. All my feelings, emotional and physical, would shut down completely. I believe I left my body. Something else took possession of both my body and mind. My emotions turned cold as the ghost that haunted me. Nothing could bring me back.
I use to think if I just faked getting through it, everything would be alright. This was the PTSD. My mind and body would flip back to anyone of the multiple times I was sexually abused. It would become those who abused me who were there, that took me out of time. They stole my ability to respond by forcing me to respond when the abuse was happening. Before I knew what my body was doing. It was not connected to choice but force and rape. Now when I make love, it starts out with the high of someone turned on and develops so wonderfully but then comes the transformation and flashbacks. The abusers take over and all goes sideways, becomes wrong and I must take my leave, not by choice but out of necessity to save myself from being re-abused.
Stopping is not something I’ve ever learned how to do. Nothing stopped the abusers so how does one stop something, where one moment it feels so right and the next it has deteriorated into a nightmare. All shuts down that is good and what is there in its place is the memories of abuse coming back to life. The delusions feel real, what is happening takes hold, destroys everything good, leaves me and the person I love confused, probably wondering what just happened. I can’t tell them, they have become someone I cannot trust. In that moment the trust has disappeared. Spoiled by what the abusers created inside of me, what has been left behind to live in me, waiting to destroy anything close to trust or love when it comes into my life.
I need to move away from this subject. It’s time to escape into a world of fantasies and dreams. “Brief Sacrifice” is how I do that. I write fantasies of the way I want things to be. I can create those worlds in my screenplays. They get to become real when they are transformed into films. Scottie creates the transformation for me. What I write becomes real for a time. Then I write another story to be made into the next film. Writing and enjoying my stories up on the screen is the best of both my worlds, words and film, the magic of creation coming alive.
In “Brief Sacrifice,” I create a magical world where anything is possible. There are good guys in white hats always pursued by the bad guys in black hats. A metaphorical way of differentiating. My good guys are always being pursued but hopefully by the end they will achieve their goals. The black hats will meet their demise. It is my way of getting even with those bastards who tried to destroy me. They may get away with part of their plan in reality but I get them back in my fantasies. The black hats are always destroyed in some fashion that give all who perceive this destruction a great deal of satisfaction. A feeling of well done.
In “Brief Sacrifice,” nothing is different, it is just figuring out how the white hats will achieve the ultimate discovery of Truth and keep it safe. The black hats, of course, are going to make every effort to stop the Good from ever seeing fruition. It is usually the 1% versus the 99%. In my stories the 99% always win. The Utopia, or whatever it is meant to be accomplished, finds a way to get around the attacks, of the always to be frustrated, in “Brief Sacrifice” it is the Tea Dome Soldiers, going under the heading for the secret organization called “GEUSS.”
“Brief Sacrifice” takes us on a journey through the ever reaching dimensions of Time and pierces the inconceivable threads of time by way of Magic, Miracles and the Mystical. Friends of Nikola Tesla know there is a secret created by the Master himself. In possession of the conduit of Magic, Miracles and the Mystical is Carter McLeod. In the Silver Box lies the answer. It is almost time for the Silver Box to open. Jonathan Sharp, the new head of the Friends of Nikola Tesla, holds the knowledge of what will make the Silver Box open. He is not aware he holds this power, yet, so he must learn first before he discovers it.
All are waiting for the right time. The old man was presented with the Silver Box directly from the hands of Nikola Tesla, a year before he died. Tesla knew he had to pass on his secrets. The old man was chosen because he was Tesla’s friend from his childhood back in Croatia. After they both immigrated to the States, the Colonies, they lost track of the other. But later on in Tesla’s life they had a surprise meeting. It came out of nowhere. But it was actually meant to happen. Nikola knew where to find his friend. He had kept track of him for his entire life. He could see from the start, the old man would play an important part in his future. And he did.
Tesla knew his life’s end was near. Arrangements had been made to run into his old friend. When they met, Tesla gave the old man the brief case with instructions never to open it. He, also, told him to protect it with his life and to seek others he trusted to help him with this task. Someday, he said, what he held would be the new dawning of humankind. It may not be in his friend’s future but someday, it would either save humankind or destroy it. His warning was to “Never Let This Brief Case Fall into the Hands of the Wealthy. They Will Want to See It Destroyed.” Tesla, also, gave him an envelope which contained further instructions. It was to form the group the Friends of Nikola Tesla. He was to tell them some of the details to hold in secret. Those who were members were to pass on down from generation to generation the secret details, until what was contained in the Silver Box was actualized.
“The contents of the Silver Box will save humankind.”
This message is what has been passed down. It is up to Jackson Sharp and Carter McLeod to carry out the destiny of Nikola Tesla. The Magical, Miracle and Mystical future will be revealed once what is in the Silver Box is activated.
This is all I will tell you today. Curious thing about the Silver Box. What it is? Have you any idea?
From the heavy to the heavier or light or is it Light? All will be revealed in its proper time.
Too much. Have I said too much? It isn’t good to keep some secrets and essential to keep others.
Hold on, there’s a news report coming onto the TV about Dr. George’s case. The judge saw him in court. Her decision, because of his attempted suicide, she ordered Dr. George to be remanded into the custody of the local Psychiatric Hospital. To be put on 24/7 observation. My thought are it will be in a padded cell, just to be sure. Why the hell do you suppose he tried to kill himself? It appears he really has lost it. Do you suppose he really is guilty and can’t deal with knowing what he did?
We will talk about this all when we meet in our next session. No group to interfere or to fuck up my feelings before I see you. That would actually be a relief. I can concentrate on what I want us to talk about and what I wrote in this letter. There will be a poem which follows.
Dr. Annie Haskell’s Office as a Psychoanalyst
Somewhere In Time – John Barry
Made of Clouds
By Madison Taylor
8th April 2008
Pulling true love
Out of an invisible dream
Once the past was cruel
With moments of explosive highs
Now fading like the sun entering night
An image exists fading fast
Once upon a truth but never real
Wandering into a woods
Climbing a tree memories
Pretending to sit high
Riding through a living fantasy
A great height falling
No fear or a sudden awakening
The ground is made of clouds
© madison taylor 2008
Abstraction p420 Artist Tehos Tehos
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor
Patrick-our Bengal cat up in his tree-Scottie’s buddy
Havana Brown Kitten Madison & Scottie’s. This cutie is Toker. He has a twin brother Mikey