The Sounds of Silence

From an earlier blog, December 2013

I wrote “Hazard” at the very end of what was easily the worst day of my life, and most of my life has been a nightmare. The honest truth is that I did not want to still be alive this morning.

The silence and the ignorance just echo back at me.

I knew I needed to talk to a priest because I had pieced together terrible uncertainties I needed to talk about with someone instead of leaving them festering in my mind. But had no right to burden anyone unless they had chosen to commit to carrying brutal dilemma in silence and had the seal of confessional to make it easy on him to know what to do with the knowledge.

I know how a witchhunt works, I have had all the time and information in the world with which to understand one that will go down in history. That witchhunt began with a handful of old school mates trying to get a quiet pay off from a rather creepy geriatric celebrity because the damage they sustained and the system compounded in their childhoods was leaving them with no future and no way to survive the recession and the Neo Nazi austerity of the UK that is quietly aimed at sacrificing the vulnerable to reduce the burden on the state.

As far as I know the Jimmy Saville Scandal *COULD NOT* realistically have happened in Duncroft unless the entire regime had changed dramatically in the few months since I left in September 1972, and even from the account of one of the main protagonists that does not seem to be the case. I could show you holes in all the accounts that you could drive a tank through.

But Duncroft was a nightmare of frustrated and highly intelligent early Radfems trying to coerce a clutch of even more young women into fulfilling the dictates of their skewed ideology. Most of those young women were simply damaged beyond repair by it. I was already too badly damaged for it to matter much and smart enough to recognise that the best thing for me was to find a way to get the feck out of Dodge before the reaction to my inability to play along got too dangerous. That wasn’t easy because Duncroft had this, apparently innocuous, rule that they would always take you back, not matter how many times you ran away. In real terms that rule meant that once selected there was no escape from the very dysfunctional and emotionally abusive conditioning that they chose to impose on you.

Duncroft normalised and even made a virtue of extreme emotional abuse, and got paid well to do it.

Sound familiar?

The horror of that witchhunt is that, as witchhunt always do, it divided into two camps:

  • The histrionic hunt for any excuse to accuse and denounce in an environment without challenge.
  • The denial of the existence of all forms of abuse and sycophancy to the real dysfunction of Duncroft and, by extension, the rest of the system it was part of

Both camps, of course, revolve around utter horseshit. The truth is between the two and at a slight slant that has never been mentioned by either. That is how it will go down in history which will alternate camps to accord with and reinforce the prevailing phase of cultural and ideological evolution on the day.

I had no way to find a priest last night, I probably never will, so that I must bear the dangerous burden of insight and silence alone, and even in a very solitary life I have never felt as alone as I do today.

After 40 years of looking at the system I have come to understand that the people who get paid to “help people” are almost always thinly disguised predators, and the only compassion and integrity in humanity is in the majority who get on with their lives, love their families and friends and will often go out of their way to help a stranger in distress if one chance across their path.

Sadly all the good in humanity is in a place that my intelligence, autism and damage gives me no way to access or play a part in.

The blantant and ruthless deceit that spews from people like Denise Charlton and Padriag McLochlainn  and the systemic corruption of orgs like Ruhama and Turn Off the Red Light creates and reinforces a sick culture that exploits real need and vulnerability to normalise psychopathy and emotional abuse and render it as an ideology worthy of praise, motivated entirely by any combination or a variety of forms of personal advantage.

Just having to find some way to co-exist trapped with that (and the various pieces of background behind it that I know, often at first hand, but cannot find anyone to listen to or investigate) leaves me living in despair and constantly suicidal. I am seriously disabled by autism and compound PTSD, totally isolated, and, particularly as I get older and my health breaks down, incredibly vulnerable.  Currently I am on the verge of septicaemia through a combination of  neglected cellulitis and an equally neglected dental abcess, because as a totally isolated autistic I have no way to evaluate such conditions or work out when it is appropriate to seek medical help.  I am on 5000mg of antibiotics a day and as many painkillers as I need from a Doctor who is usually reluctant to write prescriptions for antibiotics and discourages the use of over the counter painkillers.

I write here in the context of the covert persecution and exploitation of sex workers, but I am not personally aware of any part of the system that is not just as bad or even worse and that would apply to the parts of the system that are supposed to support me as an autistic, or as a person with compound PTSD and a background of severe unresolved abuse. Both have little or nothing to offer me beyond revictimisation, and I learned that the hard way. I even caught the only psychiatrist I ever managed to trust serving up autism on public radio as a state of being unhuman in a subtle way that would have impressed Goebbels and obviously related entirely to political agenda rather than any medical reality. Before I came back to pleading in vain for mercy, sanity and basic human rights for sex workers I was pleading in vain for mercy, sanity and basic human rights  for autistics

My life is like trying to live trapped in a room full of malign and repellent aliens with no way to ever leave. I am too intelligent to avoid piecing the corruption and abuse together, and I am too autistic to be able to filter that into something more palatable.

Does it never strike you as strange that none of these so-called “caring” orgs and individual has ever been concerned by the things I say about them? That they have never even considered there might be a genuine need to re-evaluate their position? That nobody has ever approached me (or anyone else who opposes them) to see what they are doing wrong? (I don’t think Sarah Benson trying to find out whether my conscience would work out more cost effective than Rachel Moran’s counts, do you?) .

I do not need to get back to them and question the things they throw at me. They throw the same impersonal and generic insults at everyone who opposes them that have nothing to do with me or the things I choose to do and uphold.  Their counter argument mainly consists of “pimp lobby” ( I have never been or associated with a pimp and find them repulsive, while they constantly field convicted pimp Justine Reilly as a “leader of survivors of prostitution“)  or that I am “organised crime” (I must be the only person in the country who has to maintain a repertoire of diplomatic ways to decline work in that area from my own kid brother!) .

Turn Off the Red Light have never even attempted to establish a dialogue with sex workers as equals worthy of negotiation, they will only deal with sex workers as individuals to be processed and conditioned to their agenda. They dismiss, block ban and silence any sex worker who does not agree with them, sometimes using tactics that amount to terrorism like affiliating with and supporting the specific tabloid journalists who make a living out of stalking and destroying sex workers.

I am running out of ways or reasons to live with that…I never had any personal hope in my own life….except that some day, some of these monstrous structures in our society would wake up realise how much agony and desperation they are causing and feeding upon, be horrified by what they were doing and simply stop it, at last…

Then, I suspect, Nunc Dimmitis – but with a serene smile of inner peace on my face at last.


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