So today I had to see my Psychiatrist, and my mother at the same time. I’ll let that sink in.

My Psychiatrist who thinks that my memories are made up, and My Mother.

That’s right. I survived, barely but I admit I also opened up today in ways I haven’t in the past with both of them.

I talked about Keith Rainier today, I mentioned the light bringers, I told them about how I distinctly remember him coming into my bedroom when I was fifteen and being hurried out because I knew who he was and I wasn’t supposed to.

I didn’t mention that they filmed the abuse so he could watch it later. I wonder often about those tapes and how many more he made. I wonder often about the other victims and I mentioned that today as well.

I also said that we could probably start a fucking army, and I quote, with the number of possible potential victims, because there is no way that they found them all in the USA. And then I cried, quite a bit, which is something I don’t do often.

I’m actually happy I cried, I let out a little bit of the anger and pain and yeah I lost my cool and yelled a couple of times, because I am tired of hearing the words “what Devon thinks happened,” I know what fucking happened because I was there.

We talked a lot about me needing validation and then it was suggested that I try something hard for five minutes a day. Like a walk, it sounds easy enough, but I don’t want to fucking walk for five minutes a day because it’s cold and miserable outside, so I chose writing instead, even though writing these days feels more like a punishment than a pleasure.

Writing used to be my escape, my outlet, and for the record I am writing this sober, because I haven’t smoked a joint today. I don’t even do that these days, it just feels like a waste of good weed, and the weed I have is really really good.

I don’t write because I want this website to be a place of hope and lately I am not feeling hopeful. I am depressed, clinically so, that we agreed upon today. They think it’s the medication, I think it’s the fact that I am not feeling heard.

I was asked why I can’t just accept that it happened and let that be enough, and the answer is because it’s fucking not. It’s not enough to know it happened and to do nothing about it, what a stupid question. How do I live with myself knowing that I was abused and no one cares?

How do I live with myself knowing I was a trained sex slave for Rainier’s twisted monkey cult, and that there are other victims out there, who either haven’t acknowledged their abuse or who are also not being heard?

How do I let it be enough to just know it happened? I don’t have an answer to that. But I did five minutes of writing today, so I guess that’s a good thing right?

I hate that I am writing so much on mental health, because I don’t want this to be the battle that I am fighting, but here I am, focusing on my mental health, because that’s the next step in healing.

It’s the worst part and the hardest part, but today of all days I actually felt heard, so that’s something. I also felt incredibly rushed out the door, because well my Psych nurse is busy and she doesn’t have time to work with me to deconstruct my feelings, which she makes obvious every time we meet. Which is why I don’t get really honest about how I am feeling so when she called me on that I admitted that I’ve been lying.

I’ve been pretending that I am okay because it’s just easier that way, but having my mom there forced me to get honest, which is why it was harder, because I don’t want to be seen as weak or inferior, and right now that is exactly what I am.

I am a fucking baby bird.

I am a baby bird who is still healing from broken bones and emotions and I don’t know exactly how to get passed what was done to me, I know for a fact that pretending it didn’t happen isn’t going to work any more.

I lost my life when I finally acknowledged and admitted what happened to me, I lost my job, I lost friendships and relationships, I lost people I loved who couldn’t handle being around someone as broken as I am, because of what Keith Rainier and his trained circus monkey’s did to me.

How do I acknowledge that and just get over it? It’s the worst kind of feeling, knowing that my entire life was stolen from me and I am powerless to get it back.

So that’s my five minutes today.

How are you doing?

3 thoughts on “Five minutes a day…

  1. I don’t really know what to say except this is a very powerful piece of writing. For the record, based on this post and without knowing anything about you, I don’t see you as weak or inferior. It takes courage to stand up and acknowledge your feelings and fears. I hope being able to express yourself will help you and I wish you all the very best.


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