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Emotional Abuse

Trauma: A Confrontation with Human Evil

Art by Rob Goldstein

Art by Rob Goldstein Black and Blue

Why am always so triggered by my environment and the politics
of my country?

Why do I care so deeply?

I never discuss my learning disabilities nor do I discuss where
I went to school or how.

I am dyslexic with numbers.

I don’t know my right hand from my left.

Some of it is the result of neurological damage.

I was beaten by my classmates as their parents
cheered them on when I tried to go to school.

My first memory of dissociating was when I was under a pile of boys.

I crawled into my mind and went numb.

There is nothing more painful or confusing to a child
than being hated for being born.

Art by Rob Goldstein A child under arrest in the Warsaw Ghetto

The beatings began when I was six.

My neighbors and my teachers were anti-Semitic.

I was that little Jew boy.

That kike.

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The Narcissist on the Seventh Floor

Art by Rob Goldstein

The Avatar of Dorian GrayThe Avatar of Dorian Gray

“I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real.” Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

I’ve had a rough couple of days.

The Supreme Court Decision on same-sex marriage took me by surprise.

I want to be happy and on some level, I am happy, but I’m also angry, pained, and confused.

I have a separate problem, which may be coloring all of my perceptions.

One of my neighbors is a pathological narcissist.

We were once close friends.

His apartment was infested with mice three years ago.

I was in a regressed psychological state and very ill.

The mice came into my apartment, which was a huge trigger for me.

When I was a child, our home was infested with roaches and vermin.

I had almost chronic impetigo.

The sound of mice crawling around in the walls…

View original post 739 more words

In the South of my Childhood

Art by Rob Goldstein

In the South of my Childhood

I think that what differentiates CPTSD from PTSD is that CPTSD involves multiple defensive adaptations to multiple traumas that are sustained over a long period.
My Dissociative disorder is related to an environment of abuse created by my Mother.
My panic disorder is related to an environment of abuse created by my community.
Emotional development can not happen when the brain thinks the survival of the body is at stake.
As I begin to remember my childhood, I find that I have panic attacks that make it almost impossible for me to move. As I type I feel my heart race, my skin crawls–there is a pain in my chest, as if I am crushed.
The details of the memory are out of reach yet they are as vivid as if I am living it.
I feel as if I’m dying but I don’t know why.
The South of my…

View original post 618 more words

I Am not Your Poor Thing

I see a direct relationship between the homelessness as it emerged in the late 20th Century and the American Eugenics Movement which was globally popular before World War 2. Homelessness is described in the Eugenics Handbook as “Lethal Neglect.”

First published on Art by Rob Goldstein

Art by Rob Goldstein

Blog for Mental Health 2015

The man who sits in his own filth on the corner of Height at Webster is by law and species a human being.

What do we mean by human?

This must be a tough question to ask and answer because I haven’t seen it asked of any of our media experts who discuss the poor and disabled as if they are things.

Poor things.

Broken things.

Things that cost too much money to fix.

“If only our country wasn’t so darned poor we could help the poor things!” said  the rich Americans.

“So, Mrs. Clinton, what is your position on the use of “lethal Neglect” on citizens with mental illnesses?

Applied Eugenics, pge 134.

How easy it is to absorb and internalize a lifetime of hateful lies about medical conditions that affect the brain.

I’m mentally ill. I’m stupid and lazy.

I’m mentally ill and disabled. I’m…

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STICKS and STONES by Topaz Winters

One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered. ― Michael J. Fox   It's my pleasure to bring you another poem submitted by Topaz Winters. Her poem takes us... Continue Reading →

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