The Early Years: How Not to Use the Bricks Thrown At You to Build Your Home

It's been said that

but weak people use those bricks to build a shit-house...


Some people learn their brick-use from their parents.  And those parents learned from theirs, and they from theirs.  The problem comes in when the methods used for generations create foundations that are flawed.


And that's the sort of foundation she sits on.


I've had some difficulty moving along with this narrative, because we share the same past.  We've had the same bricks lobbed at our heads.  Bricks of abuse, of rape from infancy, of constant, vicious emotional battering.  I won't spend much time in this, because I don't want to give the impression that any of it justifies her life-choices.


It doesn't.


I chose differently.  Anyone can choose differently.  This blog is meant to document her construction of a house that trembles, a condemned shack, the walls of which are festooned with Bible verses, blood, and curses scrawled in excrement.  The windows are papered over, and the paper is decorated with flowers, smiling faces, and lies for the outside world to see and smile on, hiding the filth and horrors within.


And  Facebook provides most of the paper.

It also provides an arrow-slit from which to fire at others.  And "friends" to cackle and point and bolster a level of venom-spewing that is... well, astonishing.  It doesn't matter that the "friends" have never even seen the target, have no personal knowledge, and are generally as messed up as the archer.  They offer a sense of clan, of unity.  They are one's gang.


And their own houses tremble.


I have no gang.  I have no need of one.  I have friends, and people who know me personally.  And I have facts.  Note that I don't say "truth," because truth is personal, filtered through facts.  Truth is one's perception of facts.


Oh, I'm certain that my own truth will color the facts, but you'll see her own words, and have an... opposing viewpoint.  Much more fair than her rants to which I cannot answer.


I've decided to work this chronologically.  I'll take a year (ish) starting when she was fourteen, since that was when she began to make choices that shaped the broken house in which she now lives.  I'll post the most recent rant first, in the next post, just to give you a glimpse of the cracks in her foundation.


Until next time ... check your bricks.