"Jes make like I'm a tree"

"Jes make like I'm a tree"--I was in my 20's when I read that line from the book, "The Color Purple." Spoken by the weary, abused protaganist (I think her name was Celie), as she explained how she had endured years of constant sexual, physical, and emotional abuse. Born a poor Black woman in the deep South, and victimized by generational dysfunction and abuse, all with deep roots in the inhumane brutality of slavery, she was relating how she survived the beatings she regularly received at the hands of her husband. Married off as a young teenager, barely past menarche, she exchanged the abusive authority of her father, who sexually and physically abused her for an older man and husband, who also sexually abused and beat her. "The Color Purple" is a classic of the American local vernacular, because Alice Walker does a superb job of presenting a protagonist who has only the dimmest of self-consciousness. Sadly enough, there are a multitude of people, especially women, and especially in underdeveloped and strongly patriarchal countries, where Celie's predicament is not uncommon. Women are especially vulnerable to being condemned to live a miserable existence that is really subhuman, suffering from a cultural and/or existential refusal to grant them even the most basic right of self-identity and self-determination--ownership over their own body and freedom of choice to live and be their own person. But Celie is a real person, and she meets another woman, who becomes her lesbian lover, who helps her with remedial individuation and allows her to blossom into fullness of humanity. It is to her that Celie confides her great secret of how she endured years of relentless abuse--whenever someone would beat or rape her (she never had any cognizance of free will with which to consent to sex), she became a tree, that is, completely unfeeling. As I read that account, I knew that I too, had spent most of my youthful years, "making myself a tree"--just stoic, enduring, lack of any free will or ability to take ownership of my life. I woke up this morning feeling like a tree, and after a full day of being a tree, I can say that I have regressed back to the omnipresent abusiveness of my youth. I have no free will. I have no energy. I have no desire--no desire to love, no desire to live, no desire to play or work. I just have a group of sick, patriarchal men forcing themselves upon me, and they have been so successful, that they have stolen my humanity from me, leaving me with no option but to be a tree. The feeling of deadness that comes from being a sentient being denied fullness of life, energy of expression, and free choice is just too painful--better to be a tree, and not feel.

As I wrote last night, and have written multiple times, I was cut on last night. Terribly depressing. Painful too. They continue to shave off arm musculature but also are carving out my breast (EXCEPT FOR THE GODDAMNED MAN BOOBS THAT I WANT CUT OFF). I also can feel pain in my ribs--think they are cutting there as well. My left arm and hand are in the most aching pain. Earlier, I felt the "stinger" in my left hand that I have wrote about before in regard to my head--it is the painful feeling of a cacti needle in the hand. I know, from very early dreams (like 7 years ago) that they have a subcutaneous implant in my hand with which they drug me while I sleep. The dream I had was of watching a movie in a theater, while Agent Smith (yeh, literally, Agent Smith), came and injected me in my left hand. I think they keep the drip implant there, because they are trying to isolate their victims from their heart (you know the old story about the vein that runs from the wedding ring finger to the heart; it may not be a vein, but there is some meridian or force active there). They have definitely messed with the left ring finger on my hand. And maybe that is why I feel like a tree--I have no emotions. I cannot even listen to music, which is the great balm in Gilead for me.

But even if I have no emotions, I normally can will myself to stir up energy from my inner spirit, and make me active in the world, but access to my energy has been completely cut off. I have been completely cliterodectimized (all sensation gone), and a big part of my energy, both in motivating myself and loving others, comes from the abundance of eros that I used to have. No more. I also think that I am being chemically castrated by being force fed female hormones. I am not a female--my spirit is masculine, and I know from years before, when I would take birth control pills, that my spirit does not like female hormones. Birth control pills used to make me feel sluggish and enervated, bitchy, impatient, and angry at life, struggling to find the energy to relate to others in a proactive way. Well, now, it is like being on birth control pills, times ten. I feel like a big fat slug, unable to move or get outside of myself, and I just don't care. Better to be a fucking tree. I suppose you could say I am depressed--I fantasize about cutting on myself, but mostly I just don't care. That is the worst of it. I don't even care about the cliterodectomy--I figured all along it would happen that way. The goddamned fucking religious pigs are never going to be happy with me. BECAUSE I HATE THEIR GODDAMNED PIECE OF SHIT HERESIES AND HATRED AGAINST WOMEN. They will keep cutting on me and cutting on me, and drugging me and drugging me, and when they realize they have nothing but an inert tree, they will start hacking off limbs in misogynistic fury. I know these jesuit luciferian sons of bitches. They have been raping and abusing me, both in my waking life and in my slumber for over a decade now. But I know myself too. I know when life is as unbearable as mine is right now, all I can do is become a tree. I don't even know if my spirit will ever rebound, without an erogenous component (well at least I don't have to worry about men projecting onto me anymore--believe it or not, while not sexually interested in me, I used to delight in men, but again that is related to eros, and that is gone forever). Maybe somewhere there is a woman like Shug who will be patient enough to help rehabilitate my destroyed body, sexuality and humanity. In the meantime I "jes make like I'm a tree."

Oh, one last little thing. When I took a shower today, I saw multiple fresh scoop marks on my arms and legs--usually I will notice one at a time, but I have about 4 or 5 fresh ones. Also, there is a two inch scabbed over abrasion on my right leg, of which I can guarantee did not happen on planet Earth. The scoops are the result of astral luciferians sampling my tissue to try to get my frequency so that they can hack my frequency. Wow, either they were a bunch of newbies or they can't get a handle on my frequency