Footprints In The Sand Man

Still, my postings, only the ones for TTSOML, are missing from my "edit" box. I can't get back into them. They're showing up on the blog, but I can't get back into them to add to them. So I'll have to start from scratch.

This guy sat next to me who does some foreign attache stuff or something, I don't know, military stuff for embassies or something. He was a nice guy, and Catholic, and gave me a card of "Footprints". Not interested in him, but nice guy. However, he knows nothing about me and thinks he can understand what I've gone through. I showed him how to look up the WW article about me. He said the things that I know, about propaganda, are nothing compared to what he's seen, that most people would never believe--the kind of things that get manufactured to influence direction of war, and policies. Propaganda.

No, I do believe it, because my eyes are opened to what's happened with me and my son. So I believe it.

He asked what would solve things for me, or what I wanted. I told him I wanted people to know I'm telling the truth, that these things really happened and that I get my son back immediately. He said I would, eventually, and I said, yeah, after they try to slap me with a mental illness diagnostic to discredit me, after they've pulled all this crap. He asked me if I could care for my son now, here in D.C. and I said yes, I'd make it work just like I have anywhere. My current "position" is not my choice, but the fault of the state in Washington which disrupted my plans and tore my son from me. I had a living situation arranged in Canada and the immigration officer tried to say I had just been able to swing things because I was using my son for sympathy. Well, I'm in D.C. now, by myself, and I managed to "swing things" again, by myself, without my son as "sympathy". I did the same thing in Blaine, after being tossed over the border with $30 in my pocket and not one penny wired from my family. Zero support.

If I have been able to swing things the last 3 times, with or without my son, I quite think I can find a way to make things work now. Besides which, it's nobody's god-damn business to force me and my son to be separated any longer, when he was improperly removed from my care to begin with.

This guy said I seemed angry. I have more than enough right to be angry over the fact that NO ONE listened to me to begin with, or has stood up for me and my son, and vindicated/validated me. No one has offered to do a diagnostic, from the government's end, to prove I'm not lying or imagining severe and prolonged exposure to electromagnetic fields. And really, who knows what else.

Instead, I get a pat-pat over "poor baby, you've been through so much" as if it's all mental and all I need is counseling and some meds or something.

Fuckers. God knows who the fuckers are.

At least I have the satisfaction of knowing,

God knows who the fuckers are.

This guy tried to say it was my responsibility for things I've done which are wrong. I was good and patient a long time, and then, I admit, I got mean and have said mean things, and done "bad", as in, not christian-morality-savory, "things". I said to him I don't buy that. I don't take responsibility for being poked, prodded with a hot iron, tortured, and harassed. It's very easy to be "good" when no one is constantly abusing and harassing you and trying to shut you up. Most people, having gone through what I've been through, wouldn't have been as patient or as nice as I've been. You tease and harass and torture a dog, and it's going to become mean, out of necessity, and bite. You don't blame a wounded dog, that's been subjected to cruelty, for its natural reaction to abuse. Period.

I've read this footprints poem before. No one is walking with me, and no one is frickin' carrying me either. I have had to walk alone, period, and no one has ever offered to carry my cross. Even Christ managed to get a little help.

I guess I'm no Jesus Christ.

I'll settle for being true to myself.