What is This.

Good Evening, all. 9/6/16

I read a very touching story for my creative writing class entitled “Two Kinds” by Amy Tan. There’s a PDF of it floating around the internet ether if you’d like to give it a read. It’s a short six pages.

For my American Literature class, I was supposed to read and skim through a section entitled “First Encounters: Early European Accounts of Native America”.


You can guess I took one read of the bullshit and set it down.

My more recent followers may be a little confused by my discontent, and I’ll briefly explain: I’m mixed race, a portion includes Native American, and I’m no stranger to the mountain of hell historical truama has put that part of my family through. I come from a steady line of slaves and ancestors who were forced along the trail of tears. I therefore come from an open, unhealed wound, riddled with alcoholics, depressives, and oppressed people. The last thing I feel like reading is a piece of shit from some old “explorers” who felt entitled to do what they did.

I know there are natives and aborigines all across the world who still feel the repercussions of similar histories. And one day I’m sure it will happen again. And again. And again. If there is life on other planets, I’m almost certain it’s happened there as well. There always seems to be a power struggle between creatures somewhere, somehow. Plants fight for the beams of the sun and there are vines that suffocate other brothers and sisters of theirs for just that.

Perhaps the other planets have found a way to heal. There are some countries on our planet who have learned to heal from that kind of truama, but America isn’t one of them. And therefore I don’t take lightly people saying “that story doesn’t make sense” and then laughing at the world resting upon the back of a giant turtle in an Iroquois story. I don’t take lightly the fact that when some European described watching some tribe wail every morning at a certain time at the death of their son for an entire year as “ridiculous” or hearing them laugh at that.

A Representative Picture of Me In class

Whether or not there was something lost in translation, have some fucking respect.

Sometimes it takes three generations to heal from truama. It’s not inconceivable that there were different forms of mourning in different tribes. Mourning too long isn’t always a sign of depression you spiritless idiots, it’s also a form of healing. You have to feel that pain, you have to let it out, and you have to reconnect with yourself and your surroundings. Grief is extremely powerful and it needs to be treated as such. Trauma is very powerful, and it needs to be handled as such. If you can’t understand that, they keep your mouth shut.

I should have spoken up in class. The way they were talking, I could feel my blood boiling. But something held me back. Remnants of oppression, perhaps? Habit? I’m used to people talking that way about cultures I’m apart of. They don’t ever seem to talk shit about that straight up Polish/Irish part of me though.

I fell silent that class period. I refused to speak or participate or listen to a word anyone had to say. Maybe it was my anger, maybe it was my way of rebellion: maybe it was my middle finger to the world. I don’t know. But if it happens again tomorrow, I won’t hold back.

My professor said the book does a good job of expressing native american views. Among the hundreds of settler stories, there is one native american creation story that was probably written down by a settler.

Yes, there are tons of documents by natives believe it or not, because I read many of them in high school when I took a college american history course.

How I see my professor at this point:



I stopped that post last night. This morning the tides turned and I awoke how I always do: balanced on the edge of my mind willing to either fall and land steadily on the surface to my left or the abyss to my right. I ended up fighting a little harder than usual and the result went something like this:


Man in pinned stripe suite falling off a cliff.


And yes, I switched gender and race in the process.

Something took over my mind today and I ended up not going to that English class I specified above; I sent an email saying I had an appointment I couldn’t miss. I got a call from work for a shift, and for some reason it spiraled out of control after that. I had to spend a lot of courage attempting to call them back (to which the phone wasn’t answered) and it just reminded me of the fact that I have a letter to still give to the accessibility center, an appointment to reschedule because someone gave me the wrong room for it and I missed the appointment, and that I still have to dish out all of the accommodation letters to my professors  which means I have to approach them during office hours.

I got extremely overwhelmed. And when I get overwhelmed I have no tools to stop my mind from freaking out. I try explaining the process but I’m assuming people think “why are you freaking out about nothing” and then decide there’s no point in talking to me about it. That frustrates me even more as I don’t tell the inner workings of my mind to just anyone. In fact, I rarely tell them to anyone. So to be blatantly rejected when I do manage to share some of my stress only pushes me further downward.

It’s like climbing up from a hole and getting your knuckles stomped on and your face kicked back down.


In my creative writing class I couldn’t focus. My mind does not have the capability to shut up. I think there were a few times I whispered something to myself or I started rocking, I’m not sure, I wasn’t really present for the class.

Then comes the suspicions: is that person next to me asking the other person next to her a question to spite me? She knows it pisses me off. She’s doing it on purpose. She was nice to me earlier but now that she knows I’m insane, she’s refusing to speak to me.

I figure both people at my table can hear what’s going on in my head and that’s why they were quieter this class. Maybe I was whispering too loud, I don’t know.

Maybe I didn’t whisper at all and it only felt that way because my mind was so loud today.


To be quite honest, I don’t know what the fuck went on in class.

It’s been very stressful lately, and I know what happens to me when stress hits me: my moods jump around like a ten year old on a trampoline for the first time, I’m suspicious of everyone around me (have I told you at this point I only trust my manager at work?), I shut down . . . and during that shut down I force everything in the back of my mind, putting pressure on my subconscious. Then she erupts with fury and vengeance and that, my friends, is what I call a panic attack. Then I get sent to the hospital, miss classes because the Ativan IV puts me to sleep for a good day and a half, and then I wake feeling like a complete fuck up of a person.

I would know as this has been happening systematically for the last two years. It’s the reason I am not yet out of this mind fuck of a junior fucking college.

So I try to let my stress out. I try to talk to people. But what happens when that fails as well? Where do I turn? This blog? And bore all of your eyes to death?

I don’t know.

What is this blog anymore, even?


In The Name Of Remembrance

Often I don’t speak about serious topics on here that are unrelated to mental health, but this topic, this topic is a disgusting exception.

As every good story starts, I was browsing Facebook this morning and came across an NPR article on the current Pope visiting Auschwitz concentration camp memorial museum. The article is here if you would also like to read it: click.

I have always been aware that the former concentration camps like Dachau and Auschwitz were open to tours. I went on Google Earth to creepily ride past in my virtual google car to see buses upon buses upon buses of school children and regular people walking into the Auschwitz entrance. It looked as if the whole of the Polish education system was there.

Across the street were some Restaurants and a Hotel. Cool bro.

After reading about the way both former concentration camps choose to educate those who come to mourn, to remember, and to learn, I came to the understanding that “tour” wasn’t really an appropriate word. It’s a memorial experience. It’s a “path of remembrance” (that’s the name of a specific route you can walk through at Dachau).

They Have Historical Information Signs Along The Path, Hence The Name.

I respect these people for that. They take what has happened in their past and to make sure it will never happen again, they teach people about it. They have survivors share their story, and it’s part of their children’s education–extensively. A lot of Germany and Poland has healed as a result, they have been for the last 50 years. Say what you will about Germans, they’re not so ashamed of their own history that they hide it under the rug or play it down.

Reading all of this got me thinking about the United States. I wondered how many of the old slavery plantations are still resurrected today, and if we have any similar programs. There was a portion of my heart that hoped, with naivete, that America would have the scant amount of decency needed to partake in something as healing as the aforementioned. The other portion of my heart knew better.

The other portion of my heart knew with the amount of race-related turmoil going on in the United States today, there was no way in hell any amount of healing from the trauma of the south has happened.

August 12, 1959


February 19, 2016 Source

The first plantation that popped up in my search was Pebble Hill. I’ve heard of it, but don’t know much about the history of the slaves. According to research, the land for Pebble hill was bought from the Creek Indians. Fraud and scandal was used later to steal the rest of the land and leave many Creek homeless.

I read this information on a Southern University website, particularly this one: click here. I admire them for adding the Indians into their history, many people do not. However, I critique their title of “African-American’s at pebble hill”. I critique their explanation that “African American’s helped build pebble hill”.

Pebble Hill As It Stands Today

Those were slaves. Not “African-Americans”. Say what it is. Not what you wish it was.

That website also contains a list of families who lived there and took over the plantation, if you’re interested.

Continuing my search, I came across a website with an article where you could “Tour the South’s Best Historic Homes”. Pebble Hill was listed.

In fact, under the “Inspiring Ideas” category, it described the house as: “This classic plantation [with] breezy, colorful interiors with chic chinoiserie elements that feel au courant.”



Let’s think about this for a moment.

Plantations did not kill as many as Hitler’s and Stalin’s concentration camps. Unless you include the generations to come after that. Particularly if you include the Native Americans . . . in which case, we’re at about the same level of indecency and murder as both Hitler and Stalin. So I suppose the only difference is ours was systematic and generational, and their was all at once.

To describe an area where people’s lives were shattered, where people served and got whipped and hanged and had to pick cotton and run your fucking house for you because you were too lazy of a piece of shit to do your own house work and take care of your own kids or pick your own cotton, as “breezy, [with] colorful interiors . . . that feel au courant” is a disgrace. Whoever has done this needs to feel the shame they deserve.

My anger fueled me to go onto their website. That’s where I learned weddings are held there.


“I’d love to get married in a concentration camp one day” said no one ever. Why? Because that would be fucking DISRESPECTFUL, that’s why.

“I’d love to get married on your mother’s grave” said no one ever.

Would you do this shit at a concentration camp?


No, Because You’re Not An Insensitive Prick.

Than don’t do it at a plantation.

Their “history” section on their plantation webpage talks only about the owners, and never the slaves.

Google reviews reiterated that the house was beautiful. A few commented on how they never mention any history of the slaves or give any types of remembrance for them. One individual who wished to at least see the grave sites had to ASK DIRECTIONS to find them, because it’s not included in the tour.

Texan textbooks described the slave trade as people bringing “millions of workers”.

The publishing company offered to send stickers to cover up the word “workers” in the printed books while they worked on more accurately depicting the slave trade.

The author of the article I read said it perfectly: “It will take more than that to fix the way slavery is taught in Texas textbooks”. You can read more about that here: click. It’s worth the read, I promise.

raf220x200075ffafafaca443f4786It’s not about political correctness. I’m not being PC principal here. It’s not even about bashing the South. I just want the truth. Don’t cover up the truth with a slightly, less severe way of telling it because then it becomes a lie. And if you want your country to be built on lies, than don’t act surprised or disgusted when citizens start rising up against you.

We need to give these people remembrance so their spirits can rest and ours can be healed. Stop beating around the bush, stopping putting stickers over the things you don’t want to read: we all know what happened, we might as well talk about it.

The goal isn’t to forget. It’s to remember. 



Psychopathy and The Mental Health System

Hi all.

How’s it going? Are you all doing well?

Let’s talk about psychopaths.


I have an interesting book here that I’m reading entitled “The Psychopath Whisperer” by Kent Kiehl Ph.D.

If you know anything about this blog site or me, you know I have a fascination with all things considered actually”insane” and/or “untreatable”. Sociopathy and Psychopathy fall undoubtedly in those categories in the psychological world.

If you anything about my career goals, I also have plans of having experience as a prison psychologist or working with the most “troubled” and “ill-mannered” children in a juvenile system.

At 21 years old, I didn’t think I would ever have offers like the above like I have just because I have both a mental health background and a psychological education background. I was telling my psychologist today, everyone always thinks I’m a pretty straight and narrow kind of person, shy, quiet, kind, good in school with a plan for my life . . . when what they really don’t understand is that I’ve just never been caught doing anything and my charm is quite magnificent when I want it to be.

I have not nor will I ever murder someone, get your head out of the gutter people.

And although I’ve discussed many times here my anxiety and depression, there are times during my life where I am void of both. It’s like a switch, and I feel it, and I just go along with it. I’m a curious case, I think.



Knowing I can fuck with people who are purposefully trying to catch me is an ego boost.

At fourteen I enjoyed taking the family car for a joyrides at two in the morning. I liked dealing drugs, I liked fucking with the staff at the school, I took a lot of pride and joy in them never knowing all of the things I did at their school. I took a lot of pride in the fact that I could lie so easily to their face and mess with their emotions and make them think I was a wonderful, albeit shy student. I took a lot of pride in knowing that was my best cover to never get caught doing anything, whether it be with the cops, my parents, strangers, or schools.

I was never wary of and am still not wary of “punishment”. I don’t commit many crimes, I don’t seek to harm people or hurt people in any way. But if a situation arose where I did want to, or I had to, I know I could do so rather easily and weasel away unscathed.

Which is what drives me interested into the realm of the “psychopath”.

There is an actual difference between a psychopath and a sociopath. A sociopath is labeled with Antisocial Personality disorder once they are caught committing a crime and their history is examined. A psychopath is labeled as such via the PCL-R (Psychopathy Checklist Revised).

Convenient, right?

What is the list you ask?


  • Glib and superficial charm
  • grandiose estimation of self
  • need for stimulation
  • pathological lying
  • cunning and manipulativeness
  • lack of remorse or guilt
  • shallow affect (superficial emotional responsiveness)
  • callousness and lack of empathy
  • parasitic lifestyle
  • poor behavioral controls
  • sexual promiscuity
  • early behavior problems
  • lack of realistic long-term goals
  • impulsivity
  • irresponsibility
  • failure to accept responsibility for own actions
  • many short-term marital relationships
  • juvenile delinquency
  • revocation of conditional release
  • criminal versatility

Read more: http://www.minddisorders.com/Flu-Inv/Hare-Psychopathy-Checklist.html#ixzz4CMgJUPC

Most assuredly we all have a bit of understanding towards these terms, I’m sure we all know what grandiosity is and pathological lying, irresponsibility and impulsiveness. We all have general definitions for these things.

judge-with-arms-crossedRevocation of conditional release is essentially the individual repeatedly failing to “redeem” themselves when given an opportunity. For example, you get arrested, you go to jail for 180 days and you never return back–you learned a “lesson”. Your friend gets arrested and goes right back to that life.

“Parasitic Lifestyle” can be summed up as a lifestyle which consistently interrupts relationships in an unfortunate way, like purposefully being a couch potato or constantly draining your parents and or friends of money without any compensation or intention of compensation.

Need for stimulation isn’t like a “poke me with a pin” or “brand my ass with a cow prod” kind of stimulation, it’s more of a “I need to get involved with something” kind of need. I need to feel that rush, I need to mess with these people, create a shockwave.

What is most interesting, in my eyes, about the idea of psychopathy, is the induction of philosophy and personal bias into the characteristics.

For example, in the book I mentioned above the author did a miniature case study comparison on John Wilkes Booth (President Lincoln’s Assassin) and Charles Guiteau (President Garfield’s assassin). In the category of “Callousness/Lack Of empathy”, the author gave an excerpt of one of Booth’s letters where he claims himself a confederate doing duty upon his own responsibility and pledges his love for the Southern half of the united states.

The author goes on to say :

“Booth had adopted the racist ideology of the time. Personally, I find it very difficult not to score a racist who endorses slavery high on the Callous/Lack of Empathy. However, we have to review the rest of Booth’s life. In it we fine little evidence of any callousness or inability to empathize with others. Since we find evidence in only one domain of his life, we must score him in the low to moderate range”.


I despise slavery as well. I have slaves and cotton pickers in my ancestry after all. It’s ruined generations of my family  and only served to add more fuel to the historical trauma fire that colonialism started.

But it would be biased of me to score someone’s level of empathy based on a belief system they acquired through the systematic brainwashing of their childhood. If I was raised under a strict conservative household to believe blacks are ignorant, ill-mannered animals not worth the dirt under my shoes, how I treat them is a result of what I was told as a one year old, a two year old, a three year old, e.t.c.

Some people grow out of that. Some people see the damage they cause by such belief and they choose to believe something else. They make a choice. Some do not. Do either of those paths effect how callous of an individual you are? If I were taught one specific thing and never experienced a reason not to (such as leaving the family, the state, the environment, e.t.c) why would I feel the need to be empathetic towards that one specific thing?


I’m not giving an excuse to these people. I understand the majority of people believe that because slavery is horrid, endorsing it and racism in any fashion represents callousness towards humans and/or ignorance. I don’t disagree.  I’m simply asking how much of what you are taught results in the level of emotion you feel towards others and whether or not that can be critically and unbiased-ly judged abnormal, normal, wrong, or right by beings who are inherently biased.

Morality and Ethics is a tough subject in philosophy because one realm takes the side of “majority rules” as what’s “right” and what’s “wrong”. The other realm takes the side of “You’re taught what is right and wrong by a select few who decided what was right and wrong and you have to decide for yourself”. Some realms sum it up to feeling and personal opinion. It’s not something I claim to be an expert in, nor is it something I claim has a right or wrong answer: that would defeat the purpose of discussing this.

80917c90c6d36e170c70f5f15c054d0eThe problem I see here more so than anything is that we judge character, particularly in regards to mental health, on how we believe someone should act. Even when we try not to, we are human, and therefore we will make that mistake indubitably.

In the psychology/psychiatry field, what happens is what becomes normal is what we’re told is normal and what becomes abnormal is what we’re told is abnormal. And what we miss is the entire story of both individuals. We fish for symptoms and characteristics to match them to a chart and they become just another person with a problem. 

(Psychopathy is an exception here, they obviously could care less what you call them, fisherman like to fish so they fish; killers like to kill so they kill. That’s the world).

But that’s just my opinion, as flawed and biased via experience as anyone else’s. I’m sure you see the conundrum now. 


Late Night Rambles . . . In The Afternoon

Found a Ghost Post: something I wrote last night that I forgot about. 

I am not writing this in the afternoon as usual but at 2:59am.

Fifteen minutes ago I finished the two articles for the website I was writing for and the owner said they really enjoyed them and would be in contact with me when he needs more articles. Cool. I have a fan.

Anyway, I couldn’t fall asleep without writing about the movie I watched in my native literature class tonight–err, last night. It was called When The Mountains Tremble. It was filmed in 1982 during he peak of the Guatemalan army’s oppression of the natives (Mayan Descendants) of that country.

Let me start off by saying I’ve always felt a connection to every person. I was taught about spirit and love for the world and corn meal sporadically through my life, but I feel like I knew all of that without anyone’s input. And there wasn’t a lot of input; my father isn’t connected to his culture.

I genuinely care about every person on this planet, even the idiots I yell at sitting at a stoplight, even the professor who so kindly reminded me I’m a failure (Or, Ahem, change your thinking remember? See, I’m learning just like you guys. He reminded me I’ve had a setback), and even Smug Honda Guy and his pudgy wife. I’ve always felt I’ve been able to feel other’s pain. When someone hurts physical or mentally, I hurt along with them, even if they’re across the world. If I hear about it, if I read about it, see it in real life, see it on the news, whatever, it doesn’t matter; we’re all connected and I suffer just as much as they suffer.

I was the kid secretly crying over the news and bad things in the world. I still do; it crushes me immensely. There’s a lot of people aching out there and I have to feel every ounce of it.

It’s the people who have blocked out that feeling (*Cough* Politicians/Leaders/TheMajorityOfCelebrities *Cough*) that I don’t feel much remorse for. I love them, they’re part of us, they’re part of me, they’re part of we, but holly fuck are they dumb. They’re self-centered and weak to have let greed overpower their prefrontal cortex. How are you going to let an inanimate object control the better halves of your brain?

Anyway, I’ve never felt comfortable saying these things to people, saying I feel like I’m being guided, saying I feel connected with nature and people because, uh, hello, people think you’re a loon. They think “Oh shit, she’s finally done it, she’s fell off the crazy boat, she’s flapping in the crazy water like a crazy fish, let’s get the crazy-fuck out of here”.

Mind you, it’s 3:19 Am as I type this, I don’t even know what I’m talking about at this point.

Oh yeah, stuff.

Watching this movie was extremely difficult. Thank God the lights were off so no one could see how affected I was. These people were driven into the mountains of their own country by this army, most of which were of European Spanish descent, where they had to either hide off in the forest under the protection of the Guerrilla’s or live under the rule of the army.

There were news telecasts by the president who literally said, very blatantly, these native people are in our way, let’s get rid of them. I mean . . . at least they’re saying the truth, that’s more than America would ever do.

But the army snuck into the Native’s huts, raped their wives, kidnapped children and women and men and took them in the forest and slashed their throat, raided a town and killed close to a hundred people in front of the other villages, and had the audacity to blame the riot on the Natives, much like our some of our army members do in the middle east.

The government made the Natives have a permit to come into the city to get food and basic necessities.

The Guerrilla’s were not violent unless they needed to be, much like many of the Guerrilla’s in Africa. You hear that they tear apart soldiers boats and raid houses and huts but did you know about all the Nuclear Waste dumping we were doing in their waters right on their shores? You mean to tell me you wouldn’t get pissed off when your fish comes up out the water with four eyes, a monkey leg growing from it’s stomach and a tiny voice barking “mama”?

Anyway, all this drama in Guatemala these people get on video tape. They risked their lives. Some snuggled up nice and close to the government while the others raced through the hills with the Guerrilla’s avoiding the constantly circulating army helicopters. And I thought I didn’t feel safe in my home town.

Have you ever heard Native Guatemalan? It’s reminds me so much of African dialect clicking of the tongue but with a side of German slur in it. I’m not trying to make fun of them but this is for your benefit: Imagine someone clicking their tongue against the roof of their mouth, cutting off each and every word halfway through but adding a “shlawgen” type accent on them. It’s really interesting to hear, I loved it.

They did things much like the Natives up here: grind some corn, thank Mother Earth for the bounty, live according to nature.

I never knew about them until tonight but they’re also my people. We’re all each other’s people, but they are also my people. They also fight oppression because of who they are. They are also generational victims of colonization. They suffered worse when Reagan promoted United States involvement in feeding guns to the army to fight the “terrorists” the “Guerrilla’s”. Word leaked out once or twice what was really happening and although we were told repeatedly to stop handing the government weapons we refused to recognize anyone else’s authority or opinion but our own and continued. Jimmy Carter was the one to cease trading with them. One Guatemalan native woman wrote a book on the atrocities she faced, and spread it through Europe. Denmark and a few other countries also ceased trading and the Guatemalan government had no choice but to ease up their tension. I have no idea what state they are in today but you better believe I’ll find out.

I tell this story because you’re most likely not going to hear it from your average person. We all know there ain’t no way in hell a school system is ever going to tell you, not when southern states still label slaves as “workers” in their textbooks.

Oh don’t give me that look, take a damn joke.

It just astounds me how similar the Americas are to each other in terms of native history and how different the other side of the world was. What sparked such an arrogance that they believed they were destined to spread Christianity through the land? That they were on a quest from God? What still sparks that arrogance in the colonization of today? It’s not stupidity or ignorance because they’re fully aware of what they’re doing. If anything, they’re proud of it.

The other side of my family is Polish, Danish, and Irish. So don’t look at me like I’m another brown person just dissing white people. I’m white too. I’m a lot of things.

One of the things I am is curious. If only I could travel back to Europe before the spread of Christianity from the middle east. I want to see how they lived their lives before kings and queens; everyone was tribal at some point.

I’m accepting of all religions and all creeds. However; Jesus was not white, Rome. Come on now. What white person is going to be born in the middle of damn Jerusalem? Was he an Albino? And nice patriarchy you got going there with God being a man and all.

It’s just interesting. I will never disrespect someone else’s belief, I’m just 100% innocently curious of how this all played out.

One thing I can’t stand though is when people say “oh, natives passed their stories down through word, I can’t believe that, it got changed along the way”.

Hmmm. How many times do you think the Bible has been edited? Changed?

Believe what you want. Have faith, it’s good to have faith in something, anything. But do not brush away the significance of facts; that makes you ignorant and it forever taints your beliefs.

Rant: END