There’s so much that I need to express about my first meeting with Dr. A and the subsequent and related visits, so this is a long chapter. But even though what I have written here isn’t even the half, here is where I’ve decided to start.
Navigating the Desert
From where we lived in Southern California, the desert stretched out around us, mostly to our east. I remember two notable trips into that dry terrain. There were probably more with Mother and Tom (and certainly there were more with my programmers), but there are two specific trips that I remember very well.
As usual, I’m not entirely certain of the timeline. And it’s not like I can go and ask someone who would know, such as my mother.
say, Mommy Dearest
(that was the nickname she chose to give to herself and how she referred to herself all throughout my life, even into adulthood, insisting we call her “Mommy Dearest,” too; it was her idea of a “joke,” and served as an attempt to publicly and privately minimize the pain of the abuse she put us through)
about those trips into the desert. which came first: the trip to the ‘castle’ in the desert where children had been tortured and kept in cages, or the trip to the military base where we met my mind-control programmer?
Nonetheless, there were two notable trips with my family into the Mohave Desert, and I’m as sure as I can be that on the second trip with my family, we were headed east, into Death Valley. The awful things I witnessed there (possibly on that particular family trip… but it’s more likely during a subsequent visit with my programmers) is something that I’m not sure how to describe without becoming obscene. So although I’ll likely write about a few things at a later time, I probably won’t detail too much about it.
But on the first trip, Mother and Tom took me to the military base. My brother wasn’t with us that time.
On both trips, however, we stopped at the same diner, a place called “Outpost Cafe,” and I remember on the second trip (the one into Death Valley), I was especially looking forward to eating there because I wanted Boysenberry syrup on my pancakes, the same as what I had had the first time we visited there. But when I ordered my pancakes that second time, the waitress told me that they were all out of Boysenberry syrup, and I was sorely disappointed at having to settle for something that I considered to be less tasty and less regional.
(It’s kinda funny, in an odd way, to realize that “buying regionally” as much as is possible, and “homegrown/homemade,” have always been important values to me. In spite of every attempt to squelch my personality and basic personal preferences — something every individual naturally has, regardless of age — there were values that, for whatever reason, I personally held dear as a child, and it’s a nice feeling knowing that those are things that still stick with me today. In a small but important way, it validates ME, as an individual, who is allowed to have my personal preferences, hold my own values, and be my own person, separate from my parents. I don’t suppose this would matter to a lot of people, but maybe those who have gone through ongoing and childhood-robbing abuse can understand just how important it is for every instance of validation as an autonomous human being.
Anyway, moving on…. 🙂 )
As we drove through the dusty region on that second trip, we came to a point in the highway where Death Valley stretched out to our immediate right (an easterly course, with respect to the direction we were traveling), and Tom started raving excitedly, going on and on about how many people had died of thirst right there in the very desert we were traversing. The picture he happily painted with such macabre detail was horribly gruesome, and after I started asking tons of questions whose unsatisfactory answers only led to more questions
do we have any water with us? why don’t we have water? can we stop and buy some water? did you bring snacks? why didn’t you bring snacks? what happens if we run out of gas and we have no water to drink or food to eat? do we have enough gas in our car? do we have extra gas in case we run out? why don’t we have extra gas? what happens if we run out of gas? are there gas stations in the desert? who is going to go get gas for our car if we run out? how are you going to go get gas? are you going to walk to the gas station or hitchhike? or are you going to borrow gas from someone who passes by? what if no one passes by? what if you die of thirst while walking to the gas station? what if you are hitchhiking to the gas station and someone kills you when you are hitchhiking? what happens to us then? why are we here in the desert if we could die here?
Mother finally asked him to change the subject. “You’re scaring the children,” she said.
Read the rest: Snapshot #7: The Colonel
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