For the Record
Experience is not what happens to you; it’s what you do with what happens to you.-- Aldous Huxley
Genevieve was a sadistic, narcissistic over entitled youth from a privileged family. I let her take credit for everything we worked on together because her parents had money and power, her friends and associates had money and power and I was a divorced, single mom with health problems going deeper in debt every month.
I knew giving Genevieve the exit she desperately wanted wouldn't be the end of her troubles. It would be the start of drama she couldn't imagine in a "Be careful what you wish for, you might get it." manner.
It would be out of the frying pan and into the fire and no one would be happy about it, not even her.
I chose to go homeless shortly thereafter. I thought I would spend three to six months arranging freelance income and sorting things out and be back in housing. I was homeless nearly six years and I'm currently homeless again. My life still hasn't recovered.
For the first year or so that I was homeless the first time, I had no phone. I was too poor to afford the cheapest phone possible but it was also a germ control hazard because phones consistently gave me ear infections, so that was a more compelling reason for me to not really care.
It also meant my asshole relatives couldn't call me because I had no number. It meant I called my mother once a month whom I wished to stay in contact with and my sister couldn't get me on the phone.
And it also meant Genevieve's somewhat wealthy, powerful relatives and her much wealthier, more powerful friends couldn't find me because I was a ghost with no address and no phone number and the ability to physically walk away on no notice if necessary, which I took advantage of repeatedly.
I mostly had a zillion other reasons unrelated to Genevieve for falling off the face of the planet, but the scene in Riddick where he meets up with Kyra again gives me a twinge about the year without a phone I "wasted" at the start of nearly 6 years of homelessness trying to ensure her successful escape as one of multiple goals.
I hoped the time I spent on the street and letting her lie about me would ensure her successful escape. But I also did it so her wealthy, powerful associates wouldn't come for my head on a platter for successfully getting her out like she and all her friends claimed to want while having no idea how to make it happen nor what it would cost all of them.
I write this blog because helping her is my life experience and my expertise and my know how shining through in a dark hour for an ungrateful backstabbing brat who never deserved what I did for her. I did it because I would like to live in a better world.
If she still lives and still obsessively stalks me and reads everything I write while continuing to lie about me and shaft me and hang me out to dry, I want her and everyone else to know this blog is not evidence that I love her still or some nonsense like that.
It's evidence that I want to do something useful with what I know because of having walked places few people go and accomplished things people think are hard or impossible or mostly luck.
I don't really expect this blog to go far. Most likely, it won't get traction or be appreciated or make money.
Gregor Mendel, the father of genetics, ran pea plant breeding experiments as a hobby when he was a loser with no life and had the time for it. He got promoted and got too busy and that ended, in part because he got absolutely no recognition within his lifetime.
I'm trying to get my life sorted and establish an earned income. This blog is highly unlikely to be anything that ever does anything for me.
Should I succeed in my goals and establish an adequate income, odds are good I won't have time nor reason to continue stupid hobbies involving tilting at windmills.
This entire planet is poisoned by Christian ideology and seems to believe that the kind of skills I have are about LOVING people and should be done without pay, out of the goodness of my heart because I CARE. They never CARE about ME in return.
I'm not her mother. She has a mother. She knows who her psycho bitch, child RAPING mother is.
I allowed her to call me mommie for a few months while she was a prisoner of extremely abusive parents and telling herself a blanket was me as her only hope of keeping her head together while her actual mother did things that made me want to murder both her parents. As luck would have it, they were on another continent, so I was in no position to lose my cool and actually kill them.
Her real mother is almost certainly a closeted gay woman who tried to commit Murder by Suicide because she's a homophobic homosexual and her real issue with Genevieve announcing "Mom, I need to be a girl." is that if her son is a girl, raping her child is a homosexual act.
Most likely, a lot of MTF trans individuals get molested by closeted gays who see something appealing in an AMAB trans individual they never found in other males.[1]
This post is not an attempt to suggest I expect great things from this blog. It's just an attempt to tell Ms. "Fuck you, got mine!" that street runs both ways and she's never going to be welcome in my life.
She was nineteen when she contacted me. I did a LOT for her.
It's been sixteen years. She would be thirty five at this point and likely makes good money and has connections.
And likely still stalks me and therefore knows I'm still dirt poor and homeless again and likely takes GLEE in watching me suffer "for her benefit."
Because she's very much her mother's daughter and, no, she's nothing whatsoever like me. I'm a random internet stranger who breezed through her life and changed it forever that she can't get over and will never do right by.
Footnote
[1] I also am the author of Einstein Riding a Llama, an inclusive resource for people negatively impacted by sex crimes.