Remember when I met Learning2Survive? It was at the hospital where he worked. He took me on a tour of the psych ward, the operating room, and the morgue. Not that I'd never seen a morgue before. I'd lived in abandoned morgues twice as a child. See the old "Lies!" thread. In one of the morgues the water still ran, even though the electricity had been disconnected. I told Learning2Survive about this, and he told me I had a fascinating childhood and asked me to tell him more about it. Again, see the "Lies" thread for more details. I told him everything, even the fact that shoplifting had been a way of life for my mther and me, since I was about 3. My mother taught me how to shoplift. She also taught me to pray to God for forgiveness immediately after we made it home with our booty. She taught me how to set a broken bone. Once when we were living in a dumpster in Warsaw when I was 13 she came "home" bloody, bruised and with broken bones. Her arm, her finger on her other hand, and one of her ribs were broken. She had been mugged. She talked me through the process of setting her broken arm and finger, and relocating her dislocated shoulder. She also taught me how to get around places. Once, when I was 12, she gave me a map and her Eurailpass and left me sleeping in a hotel room in Belzec, Germany. We were taking a tour of all the Nazi death camps. We had finished with Belzec. She left the map, the Eurailpass, and a note on the bedside table. The note said that she was going to Bergen-Belsen, to the concentration camp, and that she would meet me in front of the old infirmary barrack there. It took me three days to find my way to Bergen-Belsen, and another seven days to find the infirmary barrack. I was literally boiling grass to eat. I had stolen a pot and a knife and some bread, sausage, bottled water, cheese, and a backpack to put it all in, but I ran out on my third day at Bergen-Belsen and I had to eat grass and drink groundwater and rainwater, which I collected in the pot, until I could find the restroom which had running water. Then when I finally found my mother she greeted with with a whipping that rendered me unable to sit down for a week. She was angry at me that I had taken so long to find her, she said I had failed the test, she yelled, "What will become of you? How will you survive on your own?" and she cussed me out for making her wait there for hours every day when she had better things to do, like go out with the man she had met there. My mother was a good woman, but she had and still has psychiatric issues. And she won't take her Zyprexa because she thinks she's cured.
22 May 2009, 10:46 pm
