The thoughts come fast and furious, then they hide under a veil of incredulity. It’s so hard to write when my ghosts tell me not to. I would have courage to do this if only my perceptions would last. Maybe by writing I will get through this…

I am a funny combination of being self serving and not standing up for myself. How can they be juxtaposed? Does my illness explain things? Or am I just looking for excuses. I have a strange combination of great sadness about the way my life went and a feeling of peace.
I don’t like to assume fate takes over in one’s life, but I think I never had a chance. There were times when it was clear that I could branch off and repudiate, but I never did. I’m only left with the fervent wishes.
When Dr Adler betrayed me because I was pregnant, I should not have listened. I should have stayed in Baltimore. I had a life. I would have had a lot of girl friends, gay ones like me. I was going to a Bluegrass nightclub and I fit in. The girlfriends would have helped me bring my son Leon up and he would have been my only child which was all I could have handled.
Instead I came back to New York and was miserable and alone. My family made me leave home when I started to show.
Moreover I would have avoided all the abusive men.
My stepfather ignoring extreme brutality away from home. He was in charge of the UN troops (Blue Berets) in the Congo when Lumumba had requested aid. He ignored the UN resolution that the Belgians should step back while Lumumba’s government should be facilitated.
Me having been beaten as a baby by my father. Something I did not know about until I was in the long-term facility, made for a conundrum I chose to cope with by getting closer to both fathers. Indeed, I found out later that I was the only one in the family who spoke to either one of them, so in a sense I took on all the beatings I knew about in the family including Lumumba. It’s only logical that I would accept beatings from men with all the hidden violence I tolerated growing up. My stepfather bellowing, “I can be bloody annoyed.” why did I overlook it.
The basic problem with my family was the shame accompanying an unacceptable act and the lies they had to tell to cover it up. In this case I mean my stepfather’s indifference to Lumumba’s death. He was expressly in the Congo to aid in its decolonization and he did not do what was expected of him.