Is it a real possibility? Is it possible, I never get away? Must I imagine, I will train myself to be okay with, trapped by my shameful birth - smeared and caked by Stepmother and her Minime. EG stepmother spreads false rumors to property management, I say I need to move, Stepmother says moving is impossible. How do I know it's S&J? Timing. And the content of the lies are the same ones from elementary and highschool.
I could have accepted living with strangers bc my birth mom or dad doesn't want me. Why did I have to believe stepmother gave birth to me; she loved me; saw her genes living on with me?
What is living if society gives an immigrant woman no other way of earning a living other than keeping a foundling so unwell that a healthy mind and body, offered every opportunity without guidance, will never care for itself?
They were quite cruel, terrifying in private, mostly dog whistle betrayal in public. The three of us believed no one could see through the smoke and mirrors and only understood Yang propaganda. As an adult, I understand why onlookers paused before stepping in - to allow for self-incrimination. See how Stepmother calls herself my birthmom, but has given me zero advice about my social media? She tells Suzanne she does offer advice incessantly - with Soon included the echo must be searing.
Why were they cruel? Their cruelty isn't cruel to them. I was mute until 7yo. I'm selectively mute at 40yo. BC I am illegitimate and autistic. Grandmother explained there is always a 윙따 to keep life orderly. I think it's the same brain style of racists. Like the group knows race is made up, but the group will use race to justify systemic murder, rape, and plunder. It's the punishment I receive bc the image of Asian female is limited to porn and kungfu. Are there individuals who swear revenge bc Americans look nothing like Charlton Heston, Christopher Reeves,and Jeff Goldblum? No, they are individuals playing a character, chosen to act for their specific look.
According to my gi tract, Koreans are likely racist, absolutely ableist. According to my stress sweat glands, the greatest odds of least ableist are white women teachers and librarians. Other than that, I'm not racist. I know it is racist when i feel safest when there is a black individual within earshot or in the same room. I can't verbalize the method of my pattern recognition's findings.
According to my migraine maestro, white men are equivalent to Stepmother. I think it's the cadence and sequence. I think it's the spending my money on their friends' investment opportunity. And I love to love them unconditionally, idiot I am.
For most of my twenties, I mirrored white men's behaviors and it got me attacked as delusionally entitled. And though I never exposed anything below my collar, my uncle believes my sardonic af social media was my sex worker advertisement.
I've been hated and chased out by every group. Especially Christians. Idk. I'm tired of upsetting people when I'm trying so hard to be pleasant that I'm exhausted for two weeks after one dinner party. Its lonlier to be alone with people. I prefer being alone.
Today, Stepmother's attacks are rationally manageable. A 12yo could roll her games off a duck's back.
Problem is, when [step]mother's voice drops octave and booms my name upon initial hello, my body still feels 7yo, and I'm transported to the safest place in time and space. In the subbasement's furthest storage room, one story below any windows, in the cedar closet with the fridge-style door with gaskets, behind the door to the utility room unfinished except for the shuffleboard tiles, beneath dozens of bags of alternate season clothes, surrounded by a wall of luggage, breathing as little as possible JIC she can hear my bronchitis whistle wheeze, or congested sniffling. I could hold my urine for a day. The only part that hurt was the thirst. Idk why I was so scared to be perceived, to this day I don't understand what I did to upset her. Adult me believes I had witnessed a mistake and Steph was trying to trigger my PTSD bc Steph believes PTSD = memory loss. Someone please tell her PTSD also = experiences are branded into memory. Someone please tell her the truth of her actions is not an attack on her. The truth of her actions were an attack on me. Me telling the truth is not an attack on her. Me telling the truth is healing.
For my entire life, I was obsessed with figuring out how to get along with mother. We'd spend hours fixing my behavior. I would follow her directions to a T, and somehow this was humiliating to father. I began to shelve improving at 38, after 20 years of therapy over her, maybe I'm as unredeemably stupid as she says I am. My teachers are wrong, she's right: i'm the worst kind of R-word.
And then I go blind. For 2+ years I'm blind in either eye, for 9 consecutive months I'm blind in both. That's when everything comes into crystal focus. Mother isn't my mother. I wasn't crazy, she whipped me for feeling the truth. She whipped me until the truth made me barf.
Back in elementary school, dad mentioned I was the final name to be entered into the Ahn family tree tome at some private library. In highschool, Jihee noted mother and Jen only go out to eat if I am included, and as we get in the car stepmother picks until I cry and must stay home alone. I recall I was cutoff with zero notice each time I opened my own phone plan, and every November. Shortly before mother switches businesses again, I am invited to work at the family business then fired a week later for something I cannot remember. The Yang's speak a dialect all refuse to identify. Despite allegedly being born in the States, I am fluent in conversational Korean, how is my dialect blatantly North Korean?
