Hi everyone,

Yes, I know I had promised a follow-up to the “Karma is a Horny Coyote” post – I'd planned for it to be pretty epic, tying in the micro-aggressions with the macro-aggressions taking place on the world stage, and showing why speaking up at the micro- was important to help prevent it from travelling to the macro- …  (Although, in my defence – from myself – I did also have the mini-follow-up with “”Not My Experience With Him” and other blows to the soul")

But… friends… the macro- of these last few weeks has left my heart heavy and my brain incredibly un-brainy.  Between Minneapolis, the Epstein files (and the absolute inaction and lack of accountability surrounding them), the classical music world’s ongoing #MeToo movement and its now-revealed connections to the Epstein story, the Toronto Star story by the incredibly strong Lusiana Lukman about being abused by… well, my neighbour at the time, and then her brave complaint to the head of the Royal Conservatory of Music resulting in non-action and his not even remembering (?!?!?) the conversation (and yes, he's the guy who took early-twenties me to high tea at a swanky hotel as part of a job interview – I'd often second-guessed my not taking the job, but have never been happier to have said no to a work offer), and… well, a bunch of other things swirling through my head… the idea of connecting the ties is OVERWHELMING, because there's so freaking many tie-ins, threads, commonalities… and hot pokers jabbing into my own unhealed crap.

So much so, that my alexithymia (I was so excited to learn that my “brain fog” actually has a real name, and is very common in childhood trauma survivors), which is usually restricted to verbal responses in moments of cPTS triggering, seems to have invaded my usually-trustworthy written responses as well.  But also, after spending the better (or worse) part of the last two weeks not being able to make my brain function enough to even remember why I just picked up my phone (hint: it was ringing), I'm realizing I need to not even try to handle the “epic” post, and use my time instead to attend to Little Lyssy.

Because right now, she's screaming “I told you!  I told you!  Everybody's in on it, and nobody's safe!”, and I just don't have any way of even trying to convince her she's wrong.

I will, though, attempt to quickly point out one clear connection between Coyotegate, Minneapolis, and… [waves arms around wildly] ALL OF THIS.  Because I can do it factually and don't need to deal with emotion one little bit.

That connection?  Video evidence.  And what happens when the video evidence proves the abusive party is in the wrong.  And what doesn't happen when the video evidence proves the abusive party is in the wrong.

Because I was able to use my security video to prove that it was not my dog waking up my he-had-me-walking-on-eggshells-for-months neighbour in the same week that the world had video evidence of the actual circumstances surrounding Alex Pretti's murder by ICE, which was only shortly after similar video evidence of the actual circumstances surrounding Renee Macklin Good's murder by ICE.

And in all three cases, what should have been pretty incontrovertible evidence of the truth was met with lies, denial, gaslighting, and essentially big-boy tantrums and deflections by the dudes who don't want to be held accountable for their own behaviour.

It's textbook.

It's like the moment I realized that something was really off with my (most recent) ex-husband.  He said he was going to start to clean the living room.  I asked him to leave the Christmas presents and cards where they were, because I had them organized to make sure I got the right thank-you cards written, and I'd be there in a few minutes (once I finished something I was working on) to write down my list.  He said sure.  A few moments later, I swear I heard him moving the presents – I called out a friendly reminder to please not move the presents, he promised he wouldn't, sounded annoyed that I would question him.  But I could swear I heard him moving the presents… I got up from the work I'd been trying to complete first and walked to the living room, only to see him, yes, moving the presents.  I said, again, “I asked you not to move those yet”.  He said, exasperated with me, “I'm not.”  I said “you are currently moving them, please stop.”  He started getting angry and telling me he wasn't moving them.  I said “they are in your hands, you are, right now, walking with them to a different place and putting them down there – that is the definition of moving them”.  He got angry and had a tantrum.  I suddenly had the light switch flick on about all the other times anger and a tantrum had been used to prevent me from stating my needs or hanging on to my beliefs, but I had given in before because I didn't have incontrovertible proof.

When you finally realize that even incontrovertible proof would never be enough, it starts to open your eyes to all the other crazy-making behaviour you've been dealing with.  (Sadly, with my family of origin, Little Lyssy just worked harder at gathering more and better incontrovertible proof… which, of course, was never enough and never will be.)

DARVO is the go-to for abusers, as well as their enablers.  When you don't have concrete video evidence that your senses are correct, it can be confusing as hell.  When you DO have concrete video evidence, and they just double down on the DARVO, the light switch finally goes on, and you realize they've been messing with your mind all along.  You're not crazy, or hysterical, or in the wrong.  They just don't want you to see what they're doing.  They sure as hell don't want you to call them out on what they're doing.  They definitely don't want to be held accountable for what they're doing.  As long as they can keep you doubting your own senses – and keep you on the defensive – they get to hang on to their power-over.  Once that light switch flicks, though…

You aren't the crazy ones, loves.  Even when the world has gone stark-raving mad.  You are simply reacting as well as anybody can to a dumpsterfire of a situation.

I hope that made a modicum of sense.  As I may have mentioned, my brain isn't braining well these days.  I'm sure the epic post will come eventually (I'm realizing I also never did this year's Birthday Breakdown…).  But right now, I need to go show Little Lyssy that somebody believes her, and will do her damndest to keep her safe through all of this repetition and amplification of her childhood experience on a macro world scale.

To everyone struggling right now: you aren't alone, and you aren't crazy.  Powerful people protect powerful people.  Good people don't get justice.  Victims and survivors are left high and dry.  It sucks.  It's why I've always maintained that my father's abuse was way easier to heal from than everyone else's responses and non-responses in the aftermath.  Every single damned survivor knows this.  And now it's blowing up macro on the world stage.  Light switches are being switched.  The pain is real.  The grief is real.  You are not alone.  You are not crazy.  Hold on to each other.  You are loved.