https://jackpineradicals.com/boards/topic/the-american-dream-from-the-pov-of-a-dreamer/Oh my.
For those not familiar with this saga, the backstory, in reverse chronological order:
gnomish dave going to live with girlfriend, ride on gravy train may be in peril (February 12, 2019)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php/topic,119689.0gnomish dave upset about his food stamps being reduced (January 31, 2019)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=119584.0it's never enough for gnomish dave (January 07, 2019)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=119446.0gnomish dave socially frustrated (August 07, 2018)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=118651.0gnomish Dave plays Job again (June 24, 2018)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=118329.0gnomish Dave is anxious (June 13, 2018)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=118293.0davidthegnome drops his pants (June 09, 2018)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=118267.0gnomish dave jackpiner gets diagnosed (June 01, 2018)
https://conservativecave.com/cave/index.php?topic=118211.0David the Gnome April 8, 2019 at 1:11 PM
There are some days when I just feel like letting it all out. I’ve been accused of “over-sharing”, which usually just makes me laugh a little bit (if I were a celebrity,people would be thrilled!). True, i tell a lot – some times I tell all – but generally, when you read something from the gnome, it’s based on personal experience, my own life. Much of it is based on how strange mine has been – it’s difficulties, it’s trauma, drama – and the occasional accomplishment. I still hold to be true – that the greatest teacher of all (though the hardest – and most unforgiving) is pain. Physical. Emotional. What have you.
I grew up with an early love of reading. Mark Twain, J.R.R Tolkien, Robert Jordan, lots of fantasy and science fiction – with the occasional historical novel and/or textbook thrown in. Such has always been my escape, my preferred method of managing my, uh, issues. Some times it’s just not enough though – and I feel the need to share some things. Perhaps to overshare, perhaps to be ridiculously dramatic and absurd. Or, maybe, just to be recognized, to have someone know that – gnome was here -.
This is my story, such as it is… still in development, it is hardly epic. I think, though, that a lot of my experience is similar to what many of you have experienced and known. A standard tale of the American life in this era. Perhaps someone might gain insight from it, or perspective. I tend to rant – and this will undoubtedly be a long rant. It will probably hit my “triggers” and I’ll get anxious and have to lie down, maybe take my medication, maybe a nap. That will not be unusual for me, anyway. So, with a great deal of affection for those who read my stuff… I’ll begin.
I wasn’t born poor. I was born into a working, middle class family. My parents were (and are) of Irish and Scottish (and very Catholic) stock. They believed in the value of hard work – and throughout their lives have demonstrated this. I have rarely come across such dedicated people – or people who can keep on getting through the grind no matter what live throws at them. That’s probably because I’m not terribly social – and don’t know that many people. Several such, I suspect, are right here, perhaps even reading my story. Thank you for your service (to the common good – and to humanity)
I was much like any other young infant or toddler, did most things at roughly the appropriate age – but didn’t talk until I was about three – people say my older sister did all my talking for me (about 2 years older) until then. We didn’t have white picket fences – or well, any kind of fences, but my sisters and I did grow up in a very large home. Big white house with black shutters – well over a Century old well before I was born. If you can picture a small city in Maine with church bells that still ring, a thrifty working class – all at the end of an era of (relative) progress… you can imagine my early life.
I don’t care to get into too much detail on this one, usually. I tend to avoid talking about it in real life – but from behind the relative safety of internet anonyminity – it is somewhat easier. When I was five my parents sent me to a daycare – one with, as far as I know, a decent reputation, run by the usual sort. An older woman and her husband, a small home, that took in perhaps half a dozen kids on a typical day.
The husband who helped manage it was, unfortunately, a pedophile. He had a friend who lived very nearby who was also such. Not just your average, run-of-the-mill pedophiles either, if there is such a thing. These two were of a particularly sadistic bent – and they liked to video-record all of their activities. I do not know if they sold the videos – if perhaps I’m out there somewhere, to this day, as entertainment for truly sick individuals, or if it was only for their own personal use.
I will go into some detail here – because I rarely do so – and because I believe it makes an impact on the overall story. If this is too much for you, hits your triggers especially hard… I’d advise you to skip the next few paragraphs. I will offer an asterisk at the beginning and end. (Skip from one to the next if you prefer)
*
I and several other boys were told we were going to learn to play some games. They didn’t seem so strange back then – or if they did, we weren’t precocious enough to know why. We would remove our clothes and pose for a camera. All of our clothes. Without exception – we were boys. I do not know what happened to the girls at the daycare during these times.
We were given a little present, every time we played this game. Perhaps an action figure, maybe a little bag of chips, some gum or candy, you know, kid stuff. In the following weeks and months we were expected to do a bit more, each time. Perhaps it was a child-like dance, or to sit on someone’s lap, or perform particular acts of which I’ll let you imagine the nature. Eventually though, we were taught to give pain. We were taught to do so in such ways that it would not leave a mark, that blood didn’t spill. You would be surprised how much of that is possible.
Hah. Even thirty years later, remembering, the images, oh man… it’s ****ed up. It’s a strange act of courage, even for someone who overshares regularly, to talk about this, but…
We would kneel on each other’s backs, pull each other’s hair. Twisting arms, nipples, what hurt, we did it – to each other. Eventually we came to… I don’t know, I won’t say we liked it. We began to hate each other though – and we wanted to please our… “masters” to avoid greater pain, perhaps our young minds became a little sadistic. It was a rather sadistic affair. I don’t need to describe the sexual acts, I am sure, but they were frequent enough.
There was a year or two of this, before the daycare closed. It occurs, some times, still, in my nightmares. Like I am there, again, a child on the verge of sanity… one moment angry and full of fury, the next terrified and shaking. The next, perhaps, laughing and playing as other children do.
We never spoke of it, us boys. We were eventually warned not to. It was made clear that, if we did, those we loved would suffer greatly. For me, they threatened my sisters – later my infant infant sister who was born before i turned 6, I think. It was enough. Perhaps for that reason I was more of a jerk to my sisters than most boys are – at least when I was young. Perhaps I resented them a bit. Nonetheless… I loved them – and would protect them if I could.
I was a neighbor, caught in between the homes of both pedophiles. So long after the group activities ended… mine continued. I think I was 12, when it ended. I was thirteen when I sought justice – and I never got it. No one else came forward to stand with me – and I did not have sufficient DNA evidence for the police. But, perhaps, in this, lies the root cause of a lot of my issues later in life – even now. I share it to make a point, about how vulnerable I was, how confused, how angry. How, in spite of being born into a family with much opportunity and love – I was not like other children. For me, a day in which I went to school… “performed” at some point – and then did what kids typically do, was common. I did not know anything different for some years.
So, yeah, life is hard and shit. We all have stories we might share, of pain and suffering. In the grand scheme of things, mine is not truly that unique. Some have had it a lot worse. Such was my early childhood, anyhow. I still went to school (well, most of the time) – I was not in other ways especially unusual – not then, not yet. It took a few years for my mind to develop enough to understand, on some level, what was happening.
I became very quiet. Anti-social is the common term. I was absurdly shy, socially anxious to the point that, if a popular kid – or, God forbid – a pretty girl – spoke to me, I think my face turned a rather alarming shade of red. People liked to tease me for this reason – or because I stuttered and stammered, or, because, well, I stood out by standing alone, most of the time.
So, combine injury with injury – add in a rather ineffective public school (the teachers, I think, were well meaning, even the Principal – but these were the days in which the old economy was crumbling – the Country was changing – and our education with it), bullying, etc. I was not a happy kid. I got into fights with my sisters at home, ran away from school a time or three – and ran away from home many, many times – my parents never quite understood why. Why I was so difficult.
At thirteen, after my eighth grade year (lived in a different place for nearly a year, without my daily… performances) I told all to my parents… on a particularly stressful night. Something in me just broke down.
Anyhow, thus began some really intense therapy, medications, psychology/psychiatry/diagnosis. Post traumatic stress disorder? Well, yeah. This anxiety disorder or that one, the common overwhelming depression that I struggled with in my teens and twenties – that still occasionally shows itself.
I became a high school drop out. A GED recipient. A young Father. I worked when I could – and worked hard when I did. I tried college. I tried pretty damned hard. Ultimately I failed – the stress of the poverty I knew as a young father (my parents did okay – but not enough to spare me that) and later as someone who became more and more familiar with mental illness and it’s many, many symptoms.
I’ve done the jobs most people will turn up their noses at. I’ve done worse things. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life and done a lot of dumb shit – like anyone else. I am not that unique, not that special. I think my somewhat unique perspective though, comes from (at least in part) those childhood experiences.
Life is difficult enough with a standard childhood. Add in issues like that… it becomes all but impossible. I have sought good health through therapy, exercise, yoga, energy therapy, meditation… you name it – I have probably tried it. So, while I may not be… hmm, a success story, I don’t think anyone can accuse me of not trying.
With all of that going on – I think my political enlightenment, such as it is, is an ongoing process. Some things I have come to understand though:
1. Those who rule us, in temperament, in conscience – and in many other matters, are not unlike the worst criminals of society. In fact, they often ARE the worst.
2. It is pretty much always about money and power. Drugs, sex, control and whatnot are addictions as well – but money and power is the name of the game.
3. There is nothing that a dedicated sadist or sociopath will not do to advance their own goals. Nothing.
4. Things like justice are almost entirely subjective, to the extent that they exist at all.
I got to know sadistic, criminal, perverted sociopaths very early on in life. Perhaps that was the best preparation for political understanding imaginable. In the last several years, attempting positive thinking and general optimism has made me forget some of those early lessons. I have been reminded of them.
Throughout this land – there are millions of children going through what I did on some level or another. There are just as many who are hungry, who are poor, who are confused, who’s parents just can’t do enough, because they’re barely getting by themselves. Life is too expensive, college, rent, you name it. At the top of the food chain are not people like my parents – but people like those sociopaths I knew early in life. They are not all pedophiles.
They are not much better, though, either. Countless tragedies occur, monthly if not daily, in the name of National Security. Every war, bomb dropped, every economic sanction, murder, pointless slaughter or civilian “casualty” contributes further.. particularly because they are either ignored, or in some way an attempt is made to justify them. So I wanted to say…
There is no justification, anywhere on earth, for the suffering of small children. There is no justification for starving people in the land of plenty. There is no justification for political bribery, or war crimes, or the many, many things that are all too deeply rooted within our system and society.
I am done making excuses for any of them. If they had any idea the retribution they have earned, not a one of them would sleep at night.
Things continue as they are – because most of us do not know, do not understand how things really work. The insane amounts of money that are stolen daily, from the regular people. The insane amount of crime committed against us, our children. The insane level of poverty – the overall insanity.
There are no such things as:
1. Free college. It is already paid for by our blood and sweat. Paid for many, many times over.
2. Free healthcare – see 1
3. An acceptable amount of suffering and/or poverty.
As such… it is no longer acceptable to me that anyone should speak of “entitlements”, as if there is something that has not been paid for many times over. Medicare, medicaid, social security, such as it is. It is only through the most severe ignorance that the system is maintained in the way that it is (that those in the deepest poverty remain so). If we knew how much we had really paid for, we’d be in the streets with pitch forks.
The time of reckoning is approaching. It is coming because the scales must be rebalanced. Life, nature… they demand it. How each of us chooses to continue, to live our daily lives, to choose empathy and compassion or cruelty and anger… will effect this.
Love is the one universal force that overrides all others. We all have a choice to make. What sort of Country we want, what sort of people we want to be. No where is the disparity more apparent than in any comparison between Trump and Sanders. A decision will be made shortly. I do not believe i exaggerate when I say that the fate of the world depends on it. Similar decisions are currently being made in other Countries as well.
Somehow, we must reckon with our tormentors. Be they politicians, criminals, bullies, or what have you. I do not mean to say that this should be done in a violent manner. That would create a new and never-ending cycle. On the contrary, for the sake of the world, people like the Clintons and Trumps must be kept as far away from leadership roles as possible. With compassion and empathy, perhaps we can treat their particular mental illnesses in time – the ones that lead them to believe that their actions are acceptable.
We are being forced to adapt and evolve. Mass media, the pressure of life – and ultimately stress, are (some of the overwhelming) the factors in this. A very few have the overwhelming majority of money and resources. A very few control the many. This cannot continue – it will not continue – life and nature will not permit it.
The value of money is ultimately this: What we decide it is.
Such is the value of anything, really. Going forward, we will all have to decide what we value, how much… and why. It is time for soul searching, conflict resolution. Past time, really. Several potentially humanity-ending disasters face us, any and all of which can be overcome – but not by a human race controlled by sociopaths and endless greed.
And…
I will step down off my soapbox. Perhaps this is the rant of a deeply neurotic mind, long since unhinged. Eh, whatever. I make no apologies if I am wrong or right, I lay claim to neither – only to this: I have known suffering – and it has taught me much.
In any event, I thank you for reading. If you have read this in it’s entirety, you have seen more deeply into me than any but the closest of my family and my fiance. As such, i welcome you as a brother or sister. Love, empathy… compassion. This is how we fix shit. For all the anger, justified and otherwise, for all the possible retribution we might visit upon the wicked… that is not a way forward. It is a path to disaster.
Only through empathy and love will we overcome. Nothing else is sufficient. For me, that is the only dream that is still worth dreaming. There is no American dream. Nor any other kind of National dream. Only the dream of a greater humanity, a greater overall force for love. It is the only one worth continuing to pursue. To those of you who have contributed to my slow awakening… my thanks. I continue to learn.
