Trauma

When I was young, I was struck by a parent. There was no fight or flight. A child has little choice. Therefore as one victim of child trafficking put it in my research on child trafficking, she froze, and being in a state like that, there’s little to no growth.

What I’m about to say may sound unrelated, but please bear with me as I try to explain TRAUMA.

As I further research child trafficking in this nation, nay, this world, I am deeply struck by the victims and what they have had to endure. I feel like puking every five minutes. What’s damaged, and hopefully not permanently, are the sacred connections to family (relationships), spirit, and Earth. I don’t want to give a full recitation of what occurred in my childhood home, my struggles to grow up, and war, and the vaguely similar disfunction present in an Army career over 25 years.

At 7, I was struck in the face by a parent for sticking out my tongue. I first got drunk at the age of 14 in 1979, but tasted my first beer around the age of 7 or 8. My father, rest his soul, was an alcoholic and manic depressive, suicidal, among other disorders. I was an alcoholic, and I didn’t stop drinking or abusing drugs until my return from Afghanistan. My last drink was on Jan. 2, 2012. I spent Christmas Day behind bars in North Las Vegas for a DUI. Nearly half a bottle of tequila and three tablets of Xanax from a friend’s subscription consumed, which started with my then wife leaving me. No explanation from her. In Afghanistan, I was exposed to small arms fire and bombings, and as a historian, untrained in psychotherapy, heard the many accounts of others who suffered near death experiences and the loss of their battle buddies by violent means, of course.

The result is eroded trust, and a feeling of numbness that doesn’t easily wear off. I attempted suicide three times, and had many brushes with death. I spent two tours of duty in Veterans hospital psychiatric wards in North Las Vegas, Nevada and St. Cloud, Minnesota. Treatments to this day are ongoing in the form of intermittent counseling, meditation, yoga, diet changes, CBD. Anything, as long as it keeps me from self-medicating with alcohol.

So, why am I talking about TRAUMA? Let’s account for what has just occurred in our country. Riots in several cities in the United States as one example for a plethora of concocted reasons, possible to build order out of chaos. Create the problem and create the solution methods. I’ll stop short of assigning blame because we’re all complicit. Trust in our government. I heard the word cheating bandied about during federal elections. When my parents and my leaders in the Army told me to trust them, what do you think happened? Bring that up to a higher level. Uncle Sam was/is supposed to take care of me especially after I risked my life in war. Now, I don’t know how widespread the cheating was in the handful of swing states on Nov. 3, but I have heard and read enough about hinky shit by credible sources to say I for one would like more of an answer. Plus, I’d like to know why the VA isn’t free to former defenders of this nation.

But more than that, how does all of this make us (people of the world) feel when mom and dad are fighting. What on Earth brought them to be pitted against one another? As a kid, I didn’t really know, but I wasn’t going to try to step in when my dad turned my mom upside down in our living room for holding the car keys from him when I was a kid. He was nearly twice my size. Frankly, I don’t know how that would have turned out.

So, now trust is being challenged even more as an American citizen, nay, a world citizen. I’m told billions of people wait with bated breath. You see, we are the only nation to bear arms. It’s a little harder to herd us into a corral. Let’s face it. Where we go, the world goes. But my friends, the enemy is trying to capture us by the brains (artificial intelligence, transhumanism) and spirit (the proposal to abolish churches). I’m not saying ‘A Woman’ at the end of my prayers not in this world or any other. And, I’m not here to debate the particulars about fraud, but about how we’re feeling. I have stopped talking to friends and family because of the so-called pandemic and the election, both connected by the way. Simple for me. I get it. The plan and process was easy. Keep people at home in quarantine, which then forces them to mail in their vote, which in turn opens the door to tampering. Counting, the enemy thought, would have been done in absolute secrecy. Zero observers. Zero questions.

Now, I am deeply hurt. I am not ashamed to say that I have cried several times this past year.

Trauma. Big word, huh? Just think about it for a moment before reading on.

I wanted to earlier preface this entry with an attempt to define the word. In essence, in it’s simplest expression, it means experiencing hurt or injury whether by accident (unintentional) or by intention. I don’t really care what Webster has to say. Let me just add here that I do not believe in accidents. I don’t know whether this is still a question or settled, solved, shelved, whatever, but every member of my family experienced trauma because of my mother and father, and they in turn by theirs. Now, more has been added by our nation’s mothers and fathers. I feel hurt that some of them have bought into the hysteria. The masks, Francine, and the whole nine yards.

I’ll give you an example. One parent (Democrat) says X while the other (Republican) says Y. Aren’t they on the same team? Who is right? While I was serving a tour in Tokyo, I had the chance for a vacation to several southeast Asia cities including Hanoi in former North Vietnam and Hong Kong. Believe me, there were still remnants of a Communist influence. I can’t truthfully say who was behind that influence. While there, sightseeing as an American soldier, several things happened. One, my travelling friend and I were followed, it was later told, by a government agent (the sphincter police) who knew we were U.S. military. Maybe, he wondered if we were selling freedom. Loud speakers played the propaganda, daily. You could set your watch to it. We were blocked from even setting foot on the bottom step of a government building near the city square. Later, during my visit to Hong Kong, the reports were about China getting its hands back on the British occupied city. Bottom-line? Money. It’s a rich sea port. Politics? Meh.

So, why was I beaten as a child. Well to do chores. Why do the poor of China put up with the same kind of barbarous treatment. Fear of death. Why did the German people not protest inhumane Nazi policies? Starting to get the picture? All the common threads? This kind of negative vibration, well, in short, it equals trauma. But I will tell you it works. When I began to open my eyes to certain facts about our country, the good ole U.S.A., it broke my heart. Believe me, I wanted to avoid any pain. But isn’t that where the enemy wants us, weak, vulnerable, tattered, torn and hopeless. (I’ll have more to say about the enemy later).

I watched a series by documentarian Janet Ossebaard called Fall Cabal which explained the false media reports, cut up in edits, and often misconstrued out of context, whether it be the New York Times or CNN. There was Out of Shadows. I saw photos of underaged kids being marketed on Wayfair.com and the release of this story having little impact on the mainstream of America, suppressed as a conspiracy theory. There was Pizza Gate, Anthony Wiener’s laptop, the frazzle drip video clip of Hillary Clinton and why it made NYPD officers vomit. A Ted Talk by Anneke Lucas, a survivor of sex trafficking, which I highly recommend watching. Hunter Biden’s laptop. The truth about the drug and weapons trade. The endless wars. People we were supposed to love and admire, which ended up muted because of their actions and inactions. There were a number of presidents and vice presidents who outright lied to us. They were involved in horrendous shit. Let’s not forget to mention how and why the news reports were suppressed. To think, we accepted all of it.

Now, here is the interesting thing about TRAUMA and its victims. Speaking only for myself, I avoided confrontation. The lack of commotion and chaos, a negative aspect of peace, made me feel better. Though, I know it’s better to engage in relationships. In fact, I still play hermit today. Truth. I have a hard time reading comments on my blog for fear I did something wrong. So, if you do have a question or comment, be succinct and kind about it. I know. I know. I must remember my God-given right to speak. The Enemy would rather I shut up and buy into bullshit.

Now, being older, I know enough, relatively speaking to see through all the lies. I have put up with enough in my life to do otherwise. Hence this blog entry. Now, here’s what I wanted to say about the enemy. If there wasn’t an enemy, and we lived in a perfect Garden of Eden. Let’s say, Cain never killed Abel. There was no such thing as East of Eden. Do you think we’d all be singing Kumbaya tonight around a massive bonfire? Dunnoh. Maybe.

We need to understand the polarity in the world, the duality of it, the sides to it, about overcoming it, and about uniting despite differences. God. Universe. Let’s not think too much about the ultimate of creation but know that we were given a multiplicity of choices and a process which catapults us forward each time we commit to action. Think about the sum of your own parts. We must become better versions of ourselves. Think about what the past 30 years has taught you.

Are you kind to other people? Or, are you shitty? We can see that in TV shows about parallel worlds. You know all about possibility and probability. However, the Enemy somehow produced what many have called psychopaths. Others would call them demons. In our lives, being simple human beings who seem to be contented with dinner and a movie. Zombies. Now that’s not a fair fight. They think we are human cattle or Goyim, if they think of us at all. What brings true happiness, peace, joy and love? That’s a question for you about your life and no one else.

OK. Back to being a lemming. Or, a sheeple. I was one of them. I hated Trump in 2016, largely due to what I was told by the media, and that he was a grown man in diapers. Funny. I had not one real shred of proof. Yet, I didn’t vote for the guy. Then, I was able to see an unedited version of his accomplishments over four years presented and produced by people who DO CARE about truth. Better Trump than me. That’s all I have to say. Then again, if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere. And, if you’ll recall, he didn’t have to take the job. He was set for life as a billionaire. No question. There’s ego. No question. He’s got iron balls the size of boulders. So, all anyone needs to ask is why he really took the job. Does he have plans to take over the world? Yet, I wanted him out. Now, I think he’s not half bad at the job. If you’re interested, research his whirl wind trip to Saudi Arabia, Israel, the Vatican, Brussels, etc. in the early days of his term. Add search words #central bank, #pedophilia, #illuminati, and oh, #adrenochrome. Just a few rabbit holes for you.

But looking back on it all, back to the time of George Bush Sr., I was under a spell, and that spell my friends repeats daily. Remember that loud speaker in Hanoi? Now, think, and I want you to think hard. That was a nation with a single sourced media telling YOU what’s important in your life. Freedom becomes a nebulous concept. Now, think a little bit harder. Why? Let’s try free and cheap labor for starters. Not that much different from ancient times. As has been said, nothing new under the sun. All I know is God doesn’t like harm coming to His children.

In fact, before I hopped on here to pen this entry, I watched a short snippet of George Mr. Snuffleupagus trying to shut down Sen. Rand Paul in his response to Trump’s comments that the election was stolen. Full disclosure here: I voted for Trump. And yes, I believe we’re dealing with a very nasty dirty filthy corrupt government (not all people are bad, just caught in a bad system) in which certain state legislatures and courts are up to their eyeballs in shit. Guilty. They all wreak of cow dung. No insult to the cows.

How in the world is the election still a hot topic if it’s supposedly a done deal? Or, maybe Joe Biden’s not legit. More questions. Few answers.

While I came out of lemming status, I went through the all the stages of denial. I’ll say it was rough. And each time, my sources said to do my own research, to form my own questions and always, always, demand the truth. Why does the court ask witnesses to give the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Go figure.

Now, my friends, if you’re not already there, it’s your turn to… WAKE UP! And heal from the TRAUMA!

Published by: frankmarquezwritings

I'm a writer, and have been for most of my adult life. Without making this sound like a resume, I wrote creatively in college, dabbling in poetry, short stories and play writing. Later, I became a journalist, public affairs specialist, copy editor and eventually a guy who ran his own newspaper. Now, I'm back to letting my imagination run wild in some new creations including a science-fiction novel. Somehow, I also managed to teach English to high school kids, and roam the battlefields of Afghanistan as a field historian. Field historian may be a misnomer considering all I did was write abstracts summarizing military unit profiles and missions that included hundreds of interviews of troops and contractors in combat. I grew up in a small town called Gering, Nebraska, before escaping to Pomona, California, where I spent my last two years of high school, graduating from Ganesha High School in 1983. I have a Bachelors in English from the University of La Verne (1987), and a Masters in Education from UNLV (2007). In between, I worked for government - the Army and TSA. I served tours in Panama, D.C., and Tokyo, all thanks to a teacher who encouraged me to see the world before I settled down. As hobbies, I run, hike and bicycle long distances. I have also been known to surf and ski. I now live in my hometown after moving back in June 2015. I get to see family on a regular basis, breath fresh air, and not have to ride the D.C. metro or get stuck in traffic. In fact, I ride my bicycle whenever I can. I'm happily married to my wife Lisa, and we watch over a pack of fur babies, our dog Charley, and three cats Spike, Bootsy, and Franky (his shelter name). If you should ever visit me in west Nebraska, be prepared to feast your eyes on paradise.

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