I was an abuser. I still struggle.

When I was a teenager, I did numerous things that I regretted. But, I had a bad home life. I wasn’t as bad as my peers. It wasn’t that bad. I had all of the excuses and nobody could say a word about it because I was telling the truth.

That was the only real rule in our family. You can work through anything if you tell the truth. You can’t help someone without the facts. Unfortunately, daddy was a violent addict. It made admitting to much of anything a bit silly.

You went to school drunk? Okay. Did you get caught? No. Then what’s the problem? I don’t understand.

That was actually my mom who picked me up from school for consuming and having alcohol in school during school hours. My sister was the one who got caught at a football game.

The reason why I was drinking on campus? I had decided to ask a classmate who was older to drive me to Detroit to become a prostitute. I didn’t get an opportunity so I asked a disgusting classmate to have sex with me just so I could get it over with. It was not the end though. I doubled and tripled down as us idiot humans are apt to do.

I skipped classes to visit him. I wanted to get comfortable with his vile ways. One time he invited a friend to play strip poker. That was the end. I had to get back to class for an exam and he dumped me.

I was trying to remember if he used a condom or not each time. I thought that alcohol might help get rid of any baby trying to develop. I am a love child. I couldn’t go through what my mom did. I had just given up on life and went to school drunk.

My friends were concerned and told campus security. It was hard to go back to school after that. I was college prep, super smart and I had ruined my life over a boy. The other students would turn away. I was shunned by everyone now.

I had a speech teacher who helped me gain confidence and by the end of the year I was fine but bored. On the last day of school I invited myself to go riding around with a group of boys. They were the proper boys, not like the previous one. I was told that I was far better of a person than to be with a loser; be a bored housewife or anything else that I loathed. Proper boys it was. It was horrible too but manageable.

I brought beers because I’m a proper guest which stunned them. They had never really had beer before except for in Europe. I had been drinking since birth but getting drunk regularly was around 13 years old for me. I was a late bloomer.

When we saw an interview with Drew Barrymore about her drinking problem and the audience being in shock, we were in shock. Isn’t this normal? My neighbor got a new car for finishing rehab by 16.

Well, these boys needed to show me that they were real men after choking on a beer. They were talking about all of them having sex with me. They went into some detail too. I played right along. It was adorable.

When the boy next to me asked me to suck his dick, I turned my body and bent over as if I was going to oblige him. He instantly covered his groin with both hands and said something about not wanting to make his buddy jealous. As if I was ever going to oblige him. We hung out together that summer as buddies.

One night we were watching tv and Jason put his hand on mine. When he took me home that night, we kissed and I told him that I loved him. To which the fucker didn’t reply so I apologized and we had so many awkward conversations about it.

I assumed that he would want to have sex with me and began the laborious process of trying to do so. I would lie down with him on his twin bed. I asked him if he minded me laying on top of him since he was a big boy and space was an issue. I then said that my bra was bothering me and if he minded me removing it.

This went on all night for weeks before we had sex. I felt like the biggest slut ever and the worst prostitute to boot. He was happily telling his friends about it though.

My home life kept getting worse. I was working far away to save up for a car and college. I got the car but had an accident at 16. He got me a job at Burger King with him.

His life was so different. He was working as something to put on his resume. He bought me a pair of Cavaricci jeans as a gift. I told him to never buy me that expensive stuff again. I asked that he save it for our future. He got a pair of Oakleys instead.

I knew at 15 that I’d marry him so I kept trying to instill some sort of work ethic and sense of family responsibilities in him. People were saying so many hateful things about me and he just stood there. He learned to stand up a bit while watching me, as I kept having to do it but his attempts were weak.

At my high school graduation party, his mother asked my mother very loudly as all eyes were on us cutting the cake if I was having sex with her son. She then went on to politely accuse me of being a gold digging whore. I had been with him for two years. She got worse.

I had grown up in violence and addiction. My relationship with Jason caused the rage to come out of me. He could never understand me, empathize with me or support me.

I was demeaning to him at work because I had become his superior on day one. It was slightly justified but I kept finding myself relishing in it. He finally quit to get away from me. He heard about everything anyways.

When I went to live with him, we hated each other most of the time. It was more of an obligation than anything else. He felt like he had to be with me and marry me. I needed him to step up and be a man. Help. Do something. Anything.

He turned to addiction and I worked even harder while becoming more abusive to him. In our teens I would threaten him with the destruction of his world. I would punch, kick and jump on him. He was large enough to be able to hog tie me with his bare hands fairly quickly with practice but it’s still abuse.

That’s all that our relationship had become was abuse. We mercifully divorced after 9 years together. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. I carry that guilt with me to this day. It was how the traffickers could control me easier too.

They knew that my teens and young adulthood scarred my mom and I deeply. They knew that I would protect those who I love with my life. They understood my violent past, fearlessness and understanding of human nature. They also knew that I’d do anything to not strike someone in anger again.

I grew up violent but there’s a code to it. I couldn’t break that code unless life was in imminent danger. I have been doing everything possible to not let that part of me get out of hand in Nebraska. I always had someone who stopped me beforehand since Jason. I’m trying to do it alone with massive amnesia and trauma. It’s hard.

I have been lashing out at many. I can tell you that Miss Amanda has received plenty and she then laughs at me. It’s great to be a child again at 51. I understand but Imshi. Ya know?

Mister Jon Thomsen has been hit so hard and so often that he stopped talking which was wise. He still gets shit thrown at him. Pobrecito. He is such a sweet, adorable young man who happens to be similar to my first husband as I am in crisis. I don’t think either of us would want to see what happens if I snap. I have threatened him with castration repeatedly.

Did I mention that Jason cheated on me with a mistress and told me in an email this fun fact and that he wanted a divorce? He then forwarded my response to his mistress who felt the need to tell me that I was a worthless bitch and whore who didn’t know him as well as her, who had met him a few months ago.

Yeah. I’m trying to calm the rage. The only time that I came close recently was with Detective Heidlege. Never sit on your gun in a bucket chair, son. He was being arrogant and flippant. I was trying so hard not to notice every vulnerability and just take him out which sounds crazy as I am trying to serve him baklawa wa te. He was full and didn’t even want the tea but still.

I feel like Jessica Fletcher from Murder She Wrote but nobody will listen to her and she has a really bad wild streak that she’s trying desperately to control so that Sheriff Metzger doesn’t have to take her down like an NYC thug.

I know that Miss Amanda is tough but she might hesitate pulling me off of some guy. I fear Miss Amanda so the ‘good’ guys are safe with me in her presence.

I love when good people understand me that well but it’s also frustrating because you can’t get away with anything. It doesn’t help matters that I am in a small town where I don’t know anyone but everyone knows me.

I had moved to an even smaller town where everyone knew me for decades beforehand. I understand but it’s a wee bit different. They were talking about my relatives and how great they were. They mentioned how they had heard about my life in DC and elsewhere.

I am only known around here for being trafficked and throwing a major fuss about it. It’s hard to say much beyond that and could you tell Deputy Fife to make an arrest. I would really like to get out of concentration camp, squatter on stolen land living. It is absolute torture. I know because I studied it along with terrorism and global trafficking. Imshi. I know.

So, now you all know. Lucky you, eh?

Practice what you fucking preach, right?

Honesty, transparency, accountability

Imshi!

Anything else you’d like to know? Email me and I’ll spill the tea, whatever tea you wish.

Masalama.

Min sadiqatuk, Drsy.

From your friend, Darcy