Dang PTSD. I didn't make the stuff happen, I didn't want it to happen, I just get to live with the dang repercussions the rest of my life.

So glad I can finally type again, not great, with this cast on i have to be careful, but typing, so I can write about what happened when I fell and broke my wrist.

I had a PTSD reaction and I've spent the past week trying to figure out why.  It finally hit me that the trauma of breaking a bone, and the connection of the nervous system to everything in your body, could have triggered the emotional episode I had.

I was alone when I fell and had no one to call for help.  My involuntary isolation has been dominant in my life now for so long, then to have this experience, it made the fall so much worse to be alone and have no one to call for help.

So when I went outside next day in my homemade splint and ran into a neighbor, one who I thought was becoming a friend, and he told me that the evening before people from the building had gathered around the barbecue and it had turned into a spontaneous party.  This while I had been in my room in tears after going out and spending four hours out at a place and not talking to one person. (My apartment is the only one that does not face the front, so I could not see from my window that a party had developed.)

I freaked.  It became a situation where they were all against me. 

And it ticked off a PTSD episode that lasted a couple days running and running this stuff in my head about me being left out of things.

I'm trying to find the connection.

The woman who stole all that money from my dad, and probably caused his death, used that technique.  She kept the rest of us out.  Twice lizzie and I were packed to go visit and we'd get these mysterious phone calls from her saying, "Don’t come," for some illogical reason that I had no way to contradict.  I later found out she did the same thing to my sister when she planned to come visit. 

Then after his death when she was determined to keep me from finding out what she did, she had said to me, "I have now joined the rest of the family and become a member of the I Hate Kay Club."  She repeated that then to me several times.  "the I Hate Kay Club" convincing me that everyone in my family was in the club with her. 

When I start to tell people the story of my life, I see their eyes glaze over when I get to item two or three.  They stop believing me.  I probably wouldn't believe me either.  What kind of karma do I have that I've had decades - DECADES - of bad experiences, each of which would make a Lifetime two-hour movie on its own.  People don’t believe this much can happen to one person, but

I was raped by a priest when I was five years old. He dumped my sister when she turned nine and got too old and he started on me. He got to us by banging my mother. The whole sequence of events apparently skewed my life and indirectly my whole family. 

Go figure

For example, thinking about going to the place in story below for help when it is connected to an Archdiocese with all those buildings and priests walking around, one a molesting one - 

Got Me Sexually Aroused.  

Clergy abuse victim, abuser want to create resource hub

MINNESOTA
KEYC
ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) - A woman who was molested by a nun is teaming up with a priest convicted of sexual misconduct to create a resource hub for victims of sexual abuse.
The St. Paul Pioneer Press reports (http://bit.ly/1Nz5vQW ) Susan Pavlak and Gil Gustafson are raising funds with hopes of buying the chancery building of the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis. The building has been assessed at $6 million and is on the market as part of the archdiocese bankruptcy proceedings.

That's how screwed up I was in the beginning, still am, and will always be.
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Kay Ebeling
Producer, City of Angels Blog
The City of Angels Is Everywhere
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