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Child abuse Hojas Susurrantes (book)

Final pages

Apparently, some visitors to this site don’t even know what child or adolescent abuse is. This prompts me to publish below the final pages of my book. I refer to the pages preceding the appendices:

 

How to murder your child’s soul

– with the help of a psychiatrist –

First, marry a man who is super-affectionate with children: someone who has an extraordinary graceful charm with them and whom you can also manipulate.

Second, narcissistic mother, you must understand that your child is a part of your mind. His thoughts, feelings and desires are your private property: they are part of your inheritance. His emerging mind is like a computer and you have the duty and the right to program it as you please.

Any initiative, natural spontaneity or free will of the child that doesn’t reflect your programming is a symptom of mental illness, so you must harass him mercilessly.

If, upon reaching puberty, he rebels against your possessive behaviour, go to your husband. He is stronger than the boy, and if you use your feminine wiles to have your husband publicly humiliate him with tremendous slaps across his little face, all the better. The harder the overly affectionate father hits him, the greater the trauma will be. The goal is to provoke a monstrous confusion of feelings: that the one who gave him the most love as a child will be the one who shows him the greatest hatred as a teen…

This is the key to murdering your child’s soul, and if your husband fails to develop the gift of lycanthropy, you may not achieve your objectives. Remember that nothing undermines more the sensitive and developing mind of a child or teenager who adores his dad than these inexplicable changes.

If, even with these measures, you haven’t reached his inner self to injure it, seek the services of a specialist! A psychiatrist or psychoanalyst will do a good job. Your son will be forced to attend sessions at the Ministry of Love…

Since he is already in a state of shock and trauma from the insults and beatings from his beloved dad, you will have a golden opportunity to, precisely at that moment of maximum vulnerability victimize him again to produce irreversible psychological damage. If you also choose a professional with gentle manners and media fame, no one will suspect a thing about the drastic measure you’ve taken.

If, in O’Brien’s therapy, your child suffers panic attacks and develops delusions (‘mum wants to possess my thoughts,’ ‘my father is turning into Mr. Hyde,’ ‘a doctor they hired wants to poison me with drugs’) don’t go thinking these are echoes of your splendid upbringing or the medical attack. The therapist will inform you that under no circumstances should the parents be blamed for the child’s emotional disturbance. Quite the contrary: the evidence of a biological defect in your kid is irrefutable. This wise man in a white coat has a Malleus Maleficarum DSM where he will easily find the name of his ailment. Once diagnosed, his prescription will be to bombard the deluded brat with the most incisive neuroleptic. The resulting panic attacks, dystonia and akathisia—all effects of the drug—will be more than enough to control him. Akathisia is hellish: and people will think the crises are your sick child’s doing, not the drug you secretly slip into his food.

But make sure he doesn’t get away with it and avoids a chemical lobotomy. You wouldn’t want him to write an autobiography when he’s grown! On the other hand, if he takes his meds he’ll be as docile as a lamb and he’ll never be able to say what you, your husband and the psychiatrist did to him.

Then you’ll have the beloved little child of your dreams. You’ll be able to dress him, feed him and, given his irreversible tardive dyskinesia, change his diapers.

And remember: you have your husband, the medical establishment and the whole of society on your side…

Categories
Autobiography Psychiatry

How to murder

your child’s soul

In November, The Occidental Observer published one of the chapters of this book, How to Murder your Child’s Soul: the complete English translation of which has just been released and is available here.

Hitler and the National Socialists had limitations. And I am not referring only to what I said in my article yesterday: that the Christian problem is more serious than the Jewish problem. The Nazis also failed by believing in biological psychiatry; specifically, that mental disorders are due to genetic deficiencies.

That is false, and this semi-autobiographical book proves it conclusively.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Benjamin for his corrections to the English syntax. It is always difficult to write correctly in a second language.

Those racialists who have had mental health problems should read this book. It is liberating in a very specific sense. They must rid themselves of the demoralising idea that there is something wrong with their bodies, when in reality, the only thing that happens to those who suffer from disabling mental stress is that they have been martyred by their parents.

Incidentally, the cover image is a drawing my father made the year before I was born. It’s a copy of a Gustave Doré engraving that now hangs framed in the studio my father left behind.

Categories
Child abuse Literature

Peter Pan

Today I’m giving my brother the first two volumes of my autobiographical trilogy. The fact that my surviving siblings haven’t read it is, in itself, proof of how normies repress family tragedies at all costs, even if they’ve witnessed some of them.

I’ve been highlighting on this site that fairy tales contain profound messages about the mistreatment of children by their parents, provided we recognize that adaptations like Disney’s have little to do with the original stories. Yesterday I watched with interest this video:

When James Barrie was a child, his older brother David died a day before his fourteenth birthday from a fall while ice skating. The effects of his death drove their mother mad, and were described at length by Barrie himself years later in the fictionalized biography Margaret Ogilvy: By Her Son, where he addresses in detail the feelings and emotions of young James, his strategies for helping his mother overcome the deep depression into which she had fallen, and his attempts to offer himself as a kind of replacement for the deceased boy.

“Offering himself as a replacement” means that Barrie sacrificed his true self due to his mother’s profound depression: a drama symbolized by Peter Pan, a character he created for a play that premiered in London in 1904.

Peter Pan is a boy who never grows up, is ten years old, and hates the adult world. The figure of Peter Pan is inspired by the Llewelyn Davies brothers. Barrie developed the idea for Peter Pan from his time spent with and friendship with the Davies children. He often performed small plays with the Davieses and actively participated in their childhood games.

But the most sinister aspect of the matter is that the commandment “thou shan’t grow up,” with which Barrie’s mother’s horrific depression had programmed the mind of her surviving son, was perpetuated by Barrie himself when he adopted these children after their parents died—watch the video above. Trauma demands repetition: something similar to what Beethoven did to his nephew, whom he also adopted and mistreated (the nephew, as an adult, attempted suicide by shooting himself in the temple), due to the abuse Ludwig van Beethoven’s father had inflicted on him as a child.

But that’s another story…

Categories
Child abuse Neanderthalism

4th video

Here I begin to expose Society, which betrayed and drove my sister mad.

I’m uploading this series of videos because only broken people are capable of generating the right gravitas to understand what’s happening in the world.

Categories
Alice Miller Child abuse Quotable quotes

Miller quote

“A child’s suffering surpasses the imagination of any adult.”

—Alice Miller (1923-2010)

Categories
Autobiography Child abuse

2nd video

This second video is also an introduction to the greatest taboo of humankind: the psychological damage that abusive parents inflict on their children.

I recorded these videos when I was 50 years old on an island located in northwest Africa, and after a year I set them to “private” to avoid problems.

When I made them “public” again this year, I noticed that all my videos outside of this numbered series (except for some movie clips) no longer appear in my channel’s content. I don’t remember deleting them. Were they censored by mistake?

I don’t know. But the topic of the missing videos is so important that, so that the viewer takes note, only this time (I refer to my YouTube’s description of video #2) will I omit the links to my books: links visible in the rest of the videos.

Categories
Child abuse Hojas Susurrantes (book)

Children’s tales

The videos I recently embedded about Snow White and Hansel and Gretel—and I’ll embed more about other stories—make me think.

One of the reasons I don’t belong to Men Going Their Own Way (MGTOW), even though I’ve been an incel my whole life, is because it’s made up of effeminate men. Real men try to take power to win back their white women by changing the treacherous laws (like Nick Fuentes advises his Groypers to infiltrate institutions, or like I advise them to read The Turner Diaries).

Something similar could be said about child abuse. One baby step toward solving the problem is to point out that the tales of the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault contain great wisdom on the subject, but were censored by changing the original word “mother” to “stepmother” due to the Christian commandment to honour our parents (Greek tragedies, written before the Christian upheaval, depicted horrible mothers without needing to transfer their image to a stepmother).

The pages from my autobiographical book, Hojas Susurrantes, published yesterday in The Occidental Observer, are just the tip of the iceberg of the problem (the “mental health” professions actually side with the perpetrators). These devouring mothers continue to exist today. As I confess in one part of my trilogy, after reading my Letter to mom Medusa a female friend told me that, although infanticide is no longer practised in the West, parents are still allowed to murder the souls of their children (producing broken minds, so-called “schizophrenias,” etc.).

This topic clearly relates to the sacred words, not just the four, but all fourteen. I’ve already mentioned that William Pierce’s problems with his son, Don Black’s with his, and even David Irving’s with his daughter who developed schizophrenia, are—my educated guess—related to having mistreated their children. We can only imagine what would have happened without that mistreatment! Instead of betraying the cause, Pierce’s and Black’s sons, for example, could now be a great force for good; and Irving’s daughter would be alive and able to help safeguard her father’s legacy.

The psychological devastation caused by parental abuse is an infinitely more taboo subject than the most radical racism. The US, for example, allowed George Lincoln Rockwell to flourish (one of his own group assassinated him). This doesn’t happen with the trauma model of mental disorders. There isn’t a single academic department in the world that addresses this topic! That’s why I believe I must continue translating my trilogy.

Ultimately, the goal of this site is to show that the four words are the other side of the fourteen. For example, our friend Tyrone Joseph Walsh, who used to comment here, is now in a UK prison. Before his sentencing, when he wasn’t yet incarcerated, I suggested he flee to Mexico. He refused because Joseph idealised Charles Manson and others who had been imprisoned (Manson was also horribly abused by his mother as a child).

If our friend had written a trilogy like mine, he would be free now (it’s easier to damage the System from outside prison than from inside). The fact is, Joseph didn’t internally process the damage inflicted on him at home when he was a teenager.

Children’s fairy tales, once a literary detective discovers they were altered due to the Fourth Commandment, are very wise. They are a coded language of what I now write in a way that is more understandable to our time. But I seriously doubt that the readers of The Occidental Observer, who are now reading those few pages of my Hojas Susurrantes, can conceive of the size of the iceberg that lies beneath such a small ridge of ice.

Categories
Psychiatry

Shine

N.B. On the fifth of this month, I had said I wouldn’t translate any more passages from my book. But yesterday something happened, which I don’t want to confess, that shook me greatly and encouraged me to translate another passage. Keep in mind that I wrote the first draft of this text a decade before I woke up to the Jewish Question:

 

______ 卐 ______

 

Shine: A dad more devastating than Mengele

‘Thus, it may well be that the plight of a little child who is abused is even worse and has more serious consequences for society than the plight of an adult in a concentration camp.’

—Alice Miller[1]

Mental illness in the biological sense is a myth. But obviously, insanity isn’t. Insanity exists, but it is a psychological catastrophe, a dysfunction in a person’s ‘software.’

Millions have seen this phenomenon on the big screen. The film Shine was based on the life of David Helfgott, who rose to fame after Geoffrey Rush portrayed his tragic life and won an Oscar for Best Actor. I will sketch his life so briefly that the story will lose its poignancy.

David, a sensitive child with a talent for the piano, was not only Peter Helfgott’s eldest son but also his spiritual heir. He used to run into the street to hug his father when he returned from work, to whom he dedicated his piano career. But Peter did something very wrong. As a child, he had been the victim of terrible humiliation from his own father, Rabbi ‘Djadja,’ as David called his grandfather. Peter’s repressed and buried hatred for Djadja needed an outlet, and he found it in his beloved son, David. The emotional violence toward the boy lasted for years. David was devastated. His story is the story of the murder of a soul.

This is a real-life case. At the time of writing, David Helfgott still lives in Australia and continues to play the piano, although under the care of his wife, Gillian, as he has never fully recovered his sanity. In her biography, Gillian testifies that ‘David always believed’ that his father ‘caused his illness.’[2]

The tragedy of the Helfgott family is a classic example of Theodore Lidz’s ideas, cited in my first book, about a ‘skewed family,’ although in this case the passive role came from the mother. It also exemplifies what Alice Miller has written about how a parent takes revenge on his child for what his own parent had done to him. A new psychology would study parents like Peter instead of treating the brain of the victim of those parents, as psychiatrists do.

Now I would like to mention another real-life case, the young Yakoff Skurnik whom I saw, already an old man, at a presentation of his book in Houston. Based on Yakoff’s testimony, Gene Church wrote one of the most disturbing books I’ve ever read: 80629 (the number is the digit engraved on his forearm).[3] I had seen several documentaries on the subject, but not one about what daily life was like for prisoners, especially Jews, at the Birkenau concentration camp, about two miles from Auschwitz.

Yakoff Skurnik is not only a survivor of the so-called holocaust, where his entire family was murdered, but also of the medical experimentation on children by Josef Mengele. Immobilized by assistants, a doctor named Doering castrated him with minimal spinal anaesthesia. The vivid images of the operation impressed me so much that I had to lie down on the floor for fear of fainting. It is remarkable that Yakoff and other survivors, including other castrated prisoners, were able to rebuild their lives after 1945.

Now, Yakoff didn’t go mad in the concentration camp. But David did with his father. How was that possible? Following the Sullivan-Modrow model, the Nazis somehow encountered greater resistance in reaching Yakoff’s inner self and injuring it than Peter did with his son. A passage by Silvano Arieti sheds some light on these different cases. According to Arieti:

First of all we have to repeat here what we already mentioned […], that conditions of obvious external danger, as in the case of wars, disasters, or other adversities that affect the collectivity [my italics], do not produce the type of anxiety that hurts the inner self and do not themselves favor [insanity]. Even extreme poverty, physical illness, or personal tragedies do not necessarily lead to [insanity] unless they have psychological ramifications that hurt the sense of self.[4]

Studies like Arieti’s were taken seriously in the 1950s, 60s, and even the mid-70s. Although Arieti devoted considerable space to organic studies of madness in his treatise, he revealed that since there was no progress in that model, he never pursued that line of research, but rather, his work ‘will pursue chiefly the psychological approach.’[5] Ideas like Arieti’s were often heard before the giant step backward that psychiatry took when it returned to the 19th-century medical model of treating young people whose egos had suffered an all-out assault by their parents.

But back to what Arieti said. Since the victims of the Nazis were a collective, Yakoff Skurnik’s ego wasn’t assaulted exclusively and to the exclusion of his peers, so they had a better chance of psychological survival than the single victim of parental assault. Arieti wrote:

Even homes broken by death, divorce, or desertion may be less destructive than homes where both parents are alive, live together, and always undermine the child’s conception of himself.[6]

These passages answer one of the favourite arguments of psychiatrists in their attempts to refute the trauma model of mental disorders.

For example, in a critique of his colleagues, psychiatrist August Piper asserts that the claim that childhood trauma causes insanity is fatally flawed. If the claim were true, Piper argues, the years of abuse of millions of children must have caused many cases of insanity. Piper uses as an example the children who suffered unspeakable treatment in ghettos, closed boxcars, and concentration camps in Nazi Germany, adding that despite this abuse, they neither went insane nor dissociated or repressed their traumatic memories. Piper then discusses case studies of those who witnessed the murder of a parent and studies of abducted children. These victims, Piper concludes, neither repressed traumatic events, nor did they forget them or go insane.[7] The case of Yakoff and his companions, who also didn’t go insane, exemplifies what Piper meant.

It is clear that Piper hasn’t read, carefully, the researchers he criticizes. I personally know one of them, Colin Ross, whom I visited in March 1997 at the Ross Institute for Psychological Trauma, a psychiatric clinic north of Dallas. I wrote to Ross because I had read one of his books, and he admitted me to his clinic for a full day as a visiting researcher. In therapy, I saw many women devastated by domestic abuse. Below I quote a passage from a text that, in a thin binder, is given to newly admitted patients:

The problem of attachment to the perpetrator is a term invented by Dr. Ross. It provides a way of understanding the basic conflict in survivors of physical and sexual abuse by parents, relatives, and caretakers. The conflict exists in all of us to some degree, since we all had imperfect parents, but is much more intense and painful in abuse survivors. Ambivalent attachment may not be such a core problem when the perpetrator was not a family member [my italics] or an important attachment figure.

The basic driver of [insanity] is simply the kind of people mom and dad were, and what it was like day in and day out in that family.

The focus of therapy is not on the content of memories, processing of memories as such, or any particular thing that happened. This is because the deepest pain and conflict does not come from any one specific event.

Because children are mammals, they are biologically constructed to attach to their parents. There is no decision to make about attachment. Your biology decides for you and it happens automatically. In a halfway normal, regular family this all works out relatively well with the usual neurotic conflicts. The problem faced by many patients is that they did not grow up in a reasonably healthy, normal family. They grew up in an inconsistent, abusive, and traumatic family. [8]

This is the cardinal distinction that Amara refused to acknowledge in our 1988 meeting when he told me that the thesis of my epistle to my mother ‘was short-sighted.’

The very people to whom the child had to attach for survival, were also abuse perpetrators and hurt him or her badly. One way to cope with the abuse would be to withdraw, shut down one’s attachment system, and go into a cocoon. This would be psychological suicide, and would cause failure to thrive. Your biology will not let you make this decision—the drive to attachment overrides the withdrawal reflex. You must keep your attachment system up and running in order to survive.

The basic conflict, the deepest pain, and the deepest source of symptoms, is the fact that mom and dad’s behavior hurts, did not fit together, and did not make sense. It was crazy and abusive.[9]

What Ross says complements what Arieti said: the person to whom we are vulnerable is the one to whom we have been attached since childhood (at the end of this quintet, I will explain the phenomenon through my relationship with my father). If my summary of Piper’s erudite article could refer to someone like Yakoff Skurnik, the latter could refer to a David Helfgott. Ross speaks of the abusive relationship of a minor with someone who represents something very special to him or her: someone who formed his or her intimate universe. The abuse and crimes Piper speaks of don’t lead to the kind of panic that Modrow and I suffered: the sense of betrayal by the universe.

They are entirely different things.

For example, I have been kidnapped twice in Mexico, a city with one of the highest crime rates in the Americas. Now, I would say that having a machine gun blasting my face during the first kidnapping in 1980, or a gun to my temple for an hour in a car during the second kidnapping in 1992, where they even made me pull down my pants and underwear, didn’t even come close to one percent of the ineffable trauma I felt with my beloved dad’s Jekyll-Hyde transformation, as I describe in the Letter (as David surely felt with his father).

I know what it hurts. I know what hurt me: that the person I loved most and who built my universe betrayed me so inexplicably and sordidly. Neither Piper nor any other psychiatrist can tell me what I felt or has the right to make ‘comparisons’ for the simple reason that they don’t know what they’re talking about.

This is one of the problems not only with psychiatry, but with psychology in general. With their positivist complex of imitating the exact sciences, psychologists aim to objectively study the subject at the level of mere behaviour. This is tantamount to denying that universes of experiences exist within us. It is impossible to study a mind exclusively from the outside: individual testimonies and autobiographies of survivors are lacking. Despite Piper’s erudition—his article has a hundred bibliographical references—his cases have nothing to do with me, Modrow, or David Helfgott. As Robert Godwin wrote in Lloyd deMause’s journal, if your only tool is a hammer, you will treat everything as if it were a nail, and if your only method is ‘empirical science,’ your conclusions are hidden in your method: the self is reduced to another objective fact, no different from rocks or planets.[10] This doesn’t mean I am a dualist. As Ross wrote in The Trauma Model: ‘The trauma model is itself biological. It must be, because in nature, mind and brain are a unified field.’ Recall my software/hardware analogy in the introduction (for a more academic study of the mind-brain relationship, see the work of Roger Penrose).

The Helfgott case answers another favourite argument of biological psychiatrists, an argument that Amara himself used when I was writing the epistle to my mother. He reproached me:

‘The question is why one gets sick and the siblings don’t.’

I still remember Amara’s frank tone when he said that! This was a doctor convinced of the truth of his science, certain that the fact that there are ‘invulnerable siblings’ invalidates any attempt to blame any parent for a child’s emotional downfall. But if there’s one thing I testified to again and again in the epistle, it’s that my parents’ emotional beating was directed almost exclusively at me, not at my siblings: just as Peter’s beating was directed at David, not at his other children; and exactly the same thing can be read in John Modrow’s autobiography.

In my comparison of the Jews David and Yakoff, one victimized by his father, the other by Mengele, there’s something more. The Nazis’ dynamic toward Yakoff didn’t consist of a mixture of cruelty and love like Peter’s toward David—the ‘short circuit’ caused by ‘Jekyll-Hyde’ oscillations I spoke of in the Letter. This dynamic results in an ‘attachment to the perpetrator’ that, according to Ross, is terribly ambivalent. There is a world of difference between being a victim of the Nazis, who appeared in the mind of the Jew Yakoff as strangers, and being a victim of the one who, with all his love, shaped David’s inner universe as a child. In David’s words to his wife: ‘It’s all daddy’s fault. It’s all daddy’s fault […]. ’Cause father had a sort of a devil in him, and an angel in him, and all my life was like that. Dad always had a devil and an angel all his life. It’s a sort of a dichotomy, a split of scale.’ [11]

‘Father’ doesn’t seem to be the same person as ‘Dad’ in poor David’s split mind. That this dichotomy produces splitting was precisely what I saw in the Dallas patients. (My fourth book, The Return of Quetzalcoatl, contains a few pages where I explain in more detail the trauma model underlying Colin Ross’s Dallas clinic.)

Resilience is the ability of an object subjected to stress to recover its size and shape after the deformation caused by that stress. The resilience of elastics is well known: if a rubber band is stretched beyond its point of resilience, it will break and won’t be able to return to its original shape. Based on this comparison, I would say that the assault Yakoff suffered, however infamous, was within the limits of his mental resilience. This was not the case with David. The emotional ordeal he was subjected to exceeded the limit, and he suffered a permanent psychotic breakdown.

In short, the parameter for measuring trauma should be the psychological breakdown resulting from the assault, not the presumed level of the assault for an external observer (like the authors Piper cites). A father who loves his Jewish son can break him more easily than a Nazi who hates Jews. David’s breakdown occurred because Peter’s aggression was relatively greater than that of the Nazis. It came from the least likely source: the one who had formed his soul.

_______________

[1] Miller: For Your Own Good: Hidden Cruelty in Child-Rearing and the Roots of Violence (Farrar Straus & Giroux), 1985.

[2] Gillian Helfgott and Alissa Tankskaya: Love you to Bits and Pieces (Penguin Books, 1996), p. 268.

[3] Gene Church: 80629: A Mengele Experiment (Route 66 Publishing, 1996). Upon emigrating to the United States, Yakoff Skurnik changed his name to Jack Oran.

[4] Silvano Arieti: Interpretation of schizophrenia (Aronson, 1994), p. 197. I substituted the word ‘schizophrenia’ for ‘insanity’ in the brackets.

[5] Ibid., p. 5. On page 441, Arieti says that, even at that time, there had been no progress in the medical model of madness.

[6] Ibid., p 197.

[7] August Piper Jr., ‘Multiple Personality Disorder: Witchcraft Survives in the Twentieth Century’ in Skeptical Inquirer (May/June 1998). This author is not referring to insanity in general but to so-called ‘multiple personality.’ However, I use the generic word, insanity, because of the problem of comorbidity in psychiatry.

[8] [Colin Ross]: Dissociative Disorders Program: Patient Information Packet (Ross Institute for Psychological Trauma, undated). I haven’t used ellipses between uncited paragraphs.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Robert Godwin, ‘The End of Psychohistory’ in The Journal of Psychohistory, 25:3, 1998.

[11] The two passages separated by the bracket come from Love You to Bits and Pieces (op. cit.), pp. 42 & 104. The relationship between David Helfgott and his father is recounted in chapters 5, 11, 12, 21, 22 and 28.

Categories
Autobiography Child abuse

3rd edition

by Benjamin

Editor’s note: This is one of the new segments from the third edition of Ben’s autobiographical book (for context, see here):

 

______ 卐 ______

 

In time, my Mum ceased trying to defend me. Perhaps she changed her mind and began to doubt herself. More likely, she gave up in nervous strain under the force of Dad’s charming dishonesty and intellectual manipulations of the dialogues. I know around thispoint she had to start taking antidepressants herself, and, though she had put many complaints in to the doctors over their written words and their professional treatment of her, none were ever listened to. Part of me wonders if she turned a blind eye to my suffering in the house, desperate for her own sanity that it was not true.

Either way, despite the strain of defending me, my mother betrayed me in the end by this cowardly abandonment of her duty towards me, much I do see how tough it would have been for her. These days she has gone back to her familiar patter of, “oh, his life has always been good, nothing ever happened” and “I simply don’t remember those days you mention”, if an outsider inquires after my home life, or if I turn to her and demand she account for Dad. Perhaps it is easier on her to exist in complete denial. Either way, it drives me to intolerable rage, knowing that there was a time once when she did stand up for me, only to have her spirit crushed out of her again by the cold, dispassion of idiotic medical staff. I pity her very much, but I cannot forgive her. She was my only hope.

For her part, the young therapist did not seem to mind so much that I was not in the family meetings. She noted down my “hostile and aggressive” manner, and continued with Dad, ladling pejorative labels on me, and mischaracterizing my “poor” behaviour, with me never there to defend myself, or to correct Dad’s second-hand reportage each week. The sessions continued weekly for over six months. Why on earth did she think I might be upset?! Was she stupid?! If she didn’t have the natural compassion to take my side as her patient and sole charge, why was she even working in psychological healthcare?! I cursed the day I had ever been put forward for them. By now though, the constant shaming I was subjected to, and the faulty opinion-making was beginning to take its toll, and my mind was indeed starting to come apart, my ego shattered, and my sense of cognitive calm fracturing at the edges. I felt divorced from the world, hanging in the cold, dim edges, like in fog, teetering on the abyss of something vast and deep. Most days I would cover this over, but the heightened anxiety was persistent, and, eventually, one day, I just cracked

Sitting again on the chair by my computer desk, in the middle of a dull, clouded afternoon, during a light rain storm outside, once more I took a strange fascination in my healing, much-abused right arm. Long-accustomed as I was to bending down and biting away at the area when in my lower moods, this time I approached from a far odder, more mechanical angle. To this day, I cannot remember what might have stressed me, if anything, worryingly. I think in general my life around that point was more than enough, even without anything specific to obliterate my mental wellbeing.

I had just finished eating my lunch for the day, an oven bake pepperoni pizza of the kind I had begun to consume on a regular basis for ease of preparation, and still had a sharp kitchen knife on my plate; one suitable for severing the crusts of my pizza, as well as a standard fork, and a teaspoon I had been using to gently separate the melted cheese (which I had never been much of a fan of long-term) from the base. Upon finishing my meal, something drew me again to my arm, not feeling any great distress, but somehow preoccupied, as if enticed.

Taking the relatively-sharp kitchen knife, I pushed down until the flesh popped, and carved deeply into my forearm skin, feeling little pain, perhaps on account of the severed nerve endings from long before, or maybe just from my daze itself, continuing in long grooves to shape out a rectangular ‘box’ around the outsides of my main healing area. When I had finished my ‘masking work’, blood trickling a little down my arm as it always did, I began to partition the flesh inside into cubes, cutting the little squares of epidermis into neat blocks, like a piece of raw tofu, but still attached to my lower dermis layers, and to the muscle underneath. No one came to disturb me that day, and so I worked slowly, for what felt like well over an hour, delineating the rectangle’s contents into neat parcels of meat, all in a line.

Once I had finished this task, I took the point of the knife again, and slit the hypodermis under my closest blocks away from the muscle layer, releasing little globs of subcutaneous fat – a grisly process where much pressure and repetition was required, and where I was obliged now and again to stop so I could snap down and suck up any excess blood. Eventually, the skin still sticking to the muscle in various places, I was able to stick my teaspoon under the excised flaps, and lever each cube up and off my arm, sometimes with a terrible tugging, and a fresh new splatter of blood.

Eventually, I was left with another wide hole in my arm – not desperately deep, but dark and bloody, in an expanse of ravaged veins, and ripped hair follicles, and otherwise the white strands of mangled flesh and fat – and beyond that, a heap of around forty small, soft, pinky-coloured guerdons, each just under 1cm x 1cm, sat on my plate in a pool of blood and clear-yellow bodily fluids.

With my fork, I proceeded to pick up each morsel of severed skin, and, in grisly auto-cannibalistic fashion, popped them one by one into my mouth, chewing for a long time on the gristle of each lump, like a mixture of pork rinds and stale bubble gum, and sucking the sweet, wet, sickly flavour out of the pieces of my own arm. Cooling blood trickled down past my chin. I don’t think I was thinking anything at all.

True, I had bitten my arm before, many times, but never had I stooped to actually consuming my own body, preferring instead to merely leave bite wounds or otherwise allow the skin to fall away unaddressed, and thankfully, this particularly gory and disturbing incident was never to be repeated.

When my mother did come in later and discover me, I cannot remember what was said. I can guess my parents’ reactions would have been total horror, an alien sensation. All I do remember is that I was taken down to the local surgery for an examination, and from there swiftly to Broomfield Hospital again, almost a second home to me by now, and of a similar surgical quality. Sitting in a waiting room to be examined by the doctors, it was as if in a surreal film. “So, why is the patient with us today?” I heard one of the ward staff say to another. “Oh, he cut off and ate a bit of his arm, apparently” was the seemingly unconcerned reply. Perhaps they too found it hard to register.

In the end, I was dressed, and sent home again (without psychological evaluation), and further notes made for my case-file, but, bizarrely, despite the severity of this hideous personal action, nothing was ever said of it to me in aftermath, and I do not remember my then psychiatrist ever taking any particular interest. There are a great many ‘blips’ like this in my record; times I would have thought pertinent to make at least brief mention of, if not to scrutinize intently. I can only assume they too would like somehow to brush them under the rug, surely some niggling opposition to their ‘it’s a brain disease so just take your meds and you’ll be fine’ argument. As it stands today, my prior history of extreme autophagia is never mentioned by any new psychiatrists I come into contact with, and certainly not by any of their day-to-day care workers. It’s as if they’ve purged it from my history, and like none of this ever happened. I find that a great, telling, frustration.

Categories
Psychohistory

Three-eyed

On the ethnosuicide of the white man, in my post two weeks ago I wrote:

Although it is universal and not individual, the psychosis that currently covers the West… can only be understood through a psychohistorical variant of the trauma model of mental disorders.

Then I added:

Anyone who assimilates the content of Day of Wrath—and even better, its more detailed expansion in my trilogy—will understand not only the self-harming Aztecs but also the… disorders that contemporary Aryans suffer from.

The case of Benjamin, a self-harmer, whose autobiographical book I recently summarised—:

Consumption, 0
Consumption, 1
Consumption, 2
Consumption, 3
Consumption, 4
Consumption, 5
Consumption, 6
Consumption, 7
Consumption, 8
Consumption, 9
Consumption, 10
Consumption, 11
Consumption, 12
Consumption, 13
Consumption, 14
Consumption, 15
Consumption, 16

—is, in individual psychosis, analogous to the mass psychosis that the West has suffered since 1945: horrible self-harming! And just as Benjamin had to confront his past in his attempts to heal himself, Westerners will have to confront their historical past, specifically their unacknowledged traumas: the criminal history of Christianity and, more recently, the Hellstorm Holocaust (see the featured post).

Without this basic psychoanalysis—unlike William Pierce’s Who We Are I don’t see this analysis in the contemporary racial right—the Aryans will never heal. They will remain as psychotic as Benjamin was before he began to digest his extremely painful past. Both the criminal history of Christianity and the Holocaust of Germans in WW2 are as buried in the Aryan collective unconscious as Benjamin’s hellish past was before he began his healing process.

In other words, for the Aryan to stop ethno-suiciding he must face his past, and the best way to do that is to start digesting didactic essays on how the Judeo-Christians murdered the Greco-Roman world, such as Eduardo Velasco’s essay and Tom Goodrich’s books on the Hellstorm genocide.

Just as it helped Benjamin to discover his past through a profound retrospection and introspection into where the trauma causing his symptoms lay, the Aryan won’t regain his sanity unless he goes, like Bran the Broken, into the cave of the three-eyed raven to see the historical past of Westeros—not as the System tells us the story but as it really happened…

The three eyed raven