Sometimes it is hard to write. Even when you have a clear idea about what you want to write about. For one thing there is the issue of where to begin, especially if it is a pretty long story like mine is. Where to begin? And how to get across what I am trying to say. Well, what I am trying to convey is my problems with the State, and how this issue has had a devastating impact on my life. Where did it all begin for me? I think it began when I quit the military reserve back in 1984. I am a conscientious objector. You see they don’t let you do that, even though it is a real category or state of being, they don’t respect it. If you do what I did, they put you on a shit list, and they torture you one way or another forever.

For me, I wasn’t really aware of my status until I had my second baby. I had my second baby in 1996. That is when they decided to hurt me on purpose. What they did to me was sexually assault me at the birth of my second child, and then they left an infection in my body for years and years and years, in fact, as I am writing this I still have that infection in my body. They have used this infection as a tool to manipulate and control me for over twelve years now. Many people would say, what status is that. Well it is the status of being a non-human being. Of being kept in the realm of a person with no rights forever. It is illegal in this country to physically abuse an animal, yet I have been mutilated sexually (on purpose) and tortured on purpose for years. I am always told the same thing, by others while they ignore the bad things that are being done to me, and in fact they participate in torturing me themselves. They say to me, they shouldn’t do that to you or you should get a lawyer or my back hurts too, etc… They are terribly abusive, intrusive, unfeeling, disrespectful, and hurtful. Always with the implication that what they are really saying is – Gee, that is to bad that they can do anything to you, but they can, and somehow the implication is also that I deserve their bad ‘sht’. Well of course no woman deserves to be torn apart at the birth of her baby, and no woman deserves to have an infection left in her body for twelve years, but that is what they have done to me. And they continue to do it. I thought it would end when I came back to the United States five years ago, but it did not. In fact, it was worse than ever before. Because of the war I think.

They tortured me endlessly, in every way possible. Through my employment, my medical care, my housing, my relationships (love and children), my health, and anything else really you can think of. It is never enough for them, they are like rabid dogs, foaming at the mouth with vicious uncontrollable hatred. It is kind of scary to write about it actually, but then I think, they have made my life so miserable and I am so sick, and I might be dying so what do I really have to lose by speaking the truth. If others care not to believe it, that is their choice after all they are free. I know the truth, I have been forced to live this hell of an existence for a very long, long time, it has been twelve years since they raped my body when I had my baby. And my status has really been like this since I quit the military reserve, which would make it twenty four years I have been held in slavery. Believe me slavery is what it is, and believe me slavery is very real, especially State slavery. According to them, it is okay to do anything and everything to me, and I have no way to defend myself. I have absolutely no recourse. And not only that, according to them, they can keep me in this hell forever. So there is absolutely no difference between my political status and the status of slavery. I am a slave. They lie about everything. They lie about their abuses, their torture, and their controls. They keep me powerless and they lie about it. They lie about the reasons, and they run over everyone in my life with their vicious hate. They constantly subject me to insults and slurs that I do not deserve, but again their lame excuses are always the same. According to them, anything is okay, they don’t even care about the innocent people that they hurt that are connected to me, like my loves or my children.



Joined February 2008

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Artist's Description

The beginning of writing about my experiences in regard to political hatred, persecution, and abuse.

First segment -

Artwork Comments

  • peterT
  • JaneAParis
  • JaneAParis
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