Scrabble as Fictlit

I entered Grade eight at Kelowna Senior Secondary, a school I deny I ever went to. My high school graduation entry on Classmates.com reads, 'died tragically in Scuba diving accident in Mexico, circa 2019'. I didn't write it, but I left it. All of the toxic people had registered on the website, so I decided it was better if they thought I was dead. I went to school with 330 people. I knew about sixty of them.

There were over 2,000 people at a school built for 800. The premises had failed the fire code since 1979. I had entered the school in 1998. The place was covered in trash and graffiiti. The headbangers threw razors, bottles, and tampons at the walls behind the the smoking area and bathrooms near the far gym, usually used for basketball and high school events. And yes, some of the tampons were used. I nearly regurgitated by bologna sandwich. Even the smell of cigarette smoke turned me off.

Gone were my glory days as an upcoming athlete in the world of track & field, as well as my status as second lead in the school choir. I ended up dumping my creative energies into misplaced bright red and copper glazed vases in weird angular fashion in ceramics classes, as well as scribbling down poetry in journals. I got a handle on the poetry. I never got a handle on the ceramic spinner. Mostly, I just pulled up, baked, and painted red. The rest of my artistic projects consisted of cut-up photo collages of models and celebrities. No, I was not on my way to becoming a serial killer; nobody ever got a note made out of headlines and cut-up newspaper letters from me.

One of the students was the emotive Cluster B personality, Corey Ivanitz. He liked to have dramatic confrontations and meltdowns in elementary school. Sadly, I had to endure him from Grade 5 to 7. He was inherently intelligent and artistic. His abusive father caused his mother to divorce him. After that, there was no court-appointed visitation, for obvious reasons.

The courts worked better back then; there were no honey badgers, M.R.A.s, and M.G.T.O.W.S. trying to force visitation out of bitterness or people accusing rape and domestic violence victims of lying or engaging in mutual abuse. It has always been well-known in Social Work circles that men are generally the instigators of rape, domestic violence, stalking, and abuse. Cases of mutual abuse and female instigators are in the minority.

Ivanitz was obviously suffering from the effects of abuse and the absence of his father. His meltdowns involved turning read, screaming, making threats, scratching on chalkboards with his nails, throwing himself at rows of desks, howling, crying, holding his breath, choking himself, and rolling around in the dirt on the classroom floor. He tried this in art class once; the institution came to take him away. We never saw him again. What was tolerated and managed by his teachers in elementary school was considered unacceptable by our cop-turned-principal Don Ennis. Too bad he couldn't clean up the mess behind the school. I loved punk rock; I sometimes hated the culture around it.

I was becoming a teenager. Slowly, I came to understand the meaning of teenage angst, best expressed by songs written and performed by members of the Northern Pikes or Corey Hart. INXS was all about sex with groupies and a lost girlfriend. It was not particularly substantial past the age of twelve. This was in the late eighties, before grunge and alt-rock became huge. Sometimes, the Pixies, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Sonic Youth, the Psychos, Metallica, and Mudhoney made their way into my music collection. I recall being fascinated by the Jesus & Mary Chain, 10,000 Maniacs, The Sugarcubes, Bjork, and Cowboy Junkies.

All of this music would lead me straight to the dual histories of Led Zeppelin and Velvet Underground at the age of seventeen. I quickly became a connoisseur of alt-rock, but by no means an expert. (I have been put in my place by a few 'musical experts', though I suspect they disliked women who knew something about music and accused them and myself of competing egos. These 'musical experts' struck me as oversensitive and egocentric).

The punk purists disliked any kind of punk music besides the Sex Pistols and the Dead Kennedys. I enjoyed Killing Joke, Lou Reed, David Bowie, Madonna, Corey Hart, U2, Van Morrison, Kate Bush, Voivod, and many mainstream heavy metal groups. I never had that issue with pop music or heavy metal.

A substantial part of my collection were bands like Aerosmith, Bon Jovi, Cinderella, Helix, AC/DC, Black Sabbath, Def Leppard, and other pop-metal or whatever groups. I disliked Debbie Gibson, though she was a good songwriter. Whitney Houston and Sade were favorite singers of mine. I appreciated the vocals of Mariah Carey. When hip-hop began gaining ground amongst us middle-class and suburban white youths, my sister latched onto the likes of Public Enemy and others. I appreciated their music, too. Puritanical tendencies had no place in rock music. These people sounded like early David Bowie fans who couldn't handle change.

Many people reminisce over old friends regardless of their differences once they pass away or become ill; this reaction has never occurred with me. I remember my more casual and upbeat friends with a certain fondness. Sometimes, I struggle to remember Jody's epileptic episodes. Other times, I remember them clearly. We played basketball, wrestled, wrote together, looked through sex manuals, discussed boys, and made commentary on her large collection of Fleetwood Mac records. At the time, we seemed to have a lot in common. Eventually, she moved away in Grade 9 and went to Spring Valley Secondary, near Ziprick Road.

In Social Work and the social sciences, the concept of the cycle of abuse was introduced to explain incidences such Stockholm Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, co-dependency, childhood abuse, addiction, and Battered Women's Syndrome. It

explains how these forms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder work. Of course, I am not a certified psychologist or therapist. As a former Social Service Worker, I am well-trained and well-educated in these matters. I also have the personal life experience to defend what I am talking about.

If you are one of the idiotic, inexperienced, and naive Polyannas on the hard Left who occupies a position as a student of Social Work or today's Social Sciences, the next few pages are not for you. I am never going to agree with you. As far as I am concerned, you are a destructive social force at work. You do not care about victim's rights and do not speak for me. I am not interested in a debate about this matter. Save your opinions for people who will listen.

These are the same people who call race a social construction and pretend it does not exist. They might as well pretend that racism does not exist. They claim there are no visible differences between people on the basis of race. To suggest otherwise is to be called a racist. By no means am I justifying my father's scientific racism and support for apartheid here. I am just pointing out that such views are not the views of minorities or people of color. It is not right to speak for them. I am certain about this point. To pretend that race does not exist makes it incredibly hard to make a case against racism or white colonialism.

Then again, liberalism has been stolen by people who glorify ISIS and radical Islam, who do not care about gay or transgender people, who do not speak for African Americans or Black South Africans, who have alienated the working class, and who do not comprehend feminism. These people do not speak to me. I have always been the moderate progressive/classical liberal. I have a little respect for the Hard Right as I do for these people. Again, save your letters and arguments for someone else.

To discuss matters with these people is to face censorship, arguments, denial, and going in circles. They have no concept of or respect for the simple notion of free speech. For me, free speech means free speech. That means no censorship of any kind.

There is no point in having an artistic or activist bent if you are going to limit the rights of others. Eventually, you will limit your own rights. Not my bag. This includes the use of nudity in advertising, questionable films, burning the flag, stepping in protest of the national anthem, political protest, or any other expression of free speech. I am more concerned about pollution, razors on the beach, and garbage than I am about the practice of free speech. If you don't like it, don't listen to it or read it. And it is up to parents to regulate what their kids have access to. It is not a court matter. Case closed.

The First Amendment provides that Congress make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting its free exercise. It protects freedom of speech, the press, assembly, and the right to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Leftwingers are like that boyfriend or girlfriend you just couldn't get rid of. The one who wants the truth and then gets mad if it is not what they want to hear. The one who complains his or her feelings were not taken into account when you stated the truth. The one who takes everything personally. The one who wants the truth on his or her terms, with or without reality.

The one who wants to shape things his or her way. The one who hates reality. The one who confuses reality with fantasy. The one who thinks he or she can control things. The one who thinks nothing bad happens to anyone until it happens to him or her.

The one who is offended by normal conversation. The one who confuses directness with deliberate hurt, abuse, or bad manners. The one who expects to be catered to. The one who wants everything his or her way. The one who always needs an audience. The one with cognitive dissonance combined with suppression and arrogance, but can't or won't acknowledge it. The one who only wants to see what he or she wants to see.

The one who will be different than the others. The one who lives in Polyanna world. The one who thinks it is wrong to express natural, realistic, or negative thoughts. The one who engages in toxic positivity. The one who thinks he or she is special. The one who thinks he or she is entitled. The one who thinks he or she is a savior. The one who attacks others who disagree.

The one who punishes people who do not agree. The one who expects to get whatever he or she wants. The one who thinks he or she can shape the world and relationships to his or her own agenda. The one who lies himself or herself to get what is wanted. The one who forces things to be his or her way. The one who keeps secrets.

The one who uses the past against others. The one who accepts something, then plans to make things his or her way. The one who won't take no for an answer. The one who punishes honest people. The one who spreads lies. The one who is passive-aggressive. The one who expects others to read his or her mind. The one who changes minds all the time. The one lies and lies, but denies it. The one who finds reality an inconvenience. The one who hurts, leaves, punishes, lies, defames, and then comes back for round two.

They have a lot in common with Cluster B personality. I don't expect people to automatically get this, but it has been brewing in my head slowly like tea in a samovar for thirty years. Thirty years of observation from college to rape to travel to relationships to a bunch of other 365 degree stuff, that is.

Does the cycle of abuse cause Cluster B personality? I am not an expert on Cluster B personality but I doubt abuse causes people to develop Cluster B traits. I believe most Cluster B personalities are abusive on some level. That does not mean they are all a bunch of rapists, sadists, domestic abusers, and predators. It means there is a spectrum of abusive behavior. Evidence shows that people who grow up in abusive families repeat patterns. That is what the cycle of abuse is getting at. It was never meant to justify abusive behavior on the part of abusers or to suggest that abuse victims automatically become abusers.

I believe most serious abusers were born with narcissistic, socopathic, sadistic, borderline, and psychopathological traits. They may or may not be abused. Early childhood trauma, substance abuse, and head injuries may correlate with the development of abusive tendencies. However, there is has always been a nature versus nurture debate that is ongoing. As one psychiatric student told me, "Correlation does not mean causation."

I am not convinced that the statistical claim is true, "One-third of abuse victims become abusers". First of all, no definiation of abuse is given here on either side. Abuse runs the spectrum of neglect, control, and verbal abuse down to murder, rape, choking, and domestic violence. I have been on the violent edge of that spectrum as I am a rape and choking victim. For many years, the other stuff looked mellow to me. I suspect Stockholm Syndome combined with being a survivor of violence has made me feel lucky to be alive and far too tolerate of verbal abuse in my own life. I am not a verbally or physically abusive person.

I take offense at someone claiming one-third of abuse victims become abusers. Most of the abusers I have met have never made any claim of victimhood. Many of them, however, have admitted to a great love of hardcore pornography, violent family traits, and dysfunctional childhoods.

It makes sense to claim, however, that one-third of abuse victims end up in abusive relationships. People tend to trace back their steps and repeat themselves in life. It is as if a script is being played out and relived in their lives and heads.

Cluster B personalities are charming and erratic by nature. They do not seem abusive at first. They are masters of manipulation, passive-aggression, gas-lighting, bait-and-switch, acting, pathological lying, guilt-tripping, and veiled hostility. Personality disorders are hard to treat. The most responsive is borderline. Fifteen to thirty-five percent of borderline personalities respond to therapy.

There is some evidence that D.B.T., or Dialectical Behavioral Therapy, is most effective with personality disorders. Leading experts suggest that one to three percent of severely narcissistic, psychopathic, and sociopathic personalities respond positively to treatment. There is always the risk of acting and disguising. These personality-disordered people are known to respond to attention, positive or negative.

The desire for attention is at the core of a dysfunctional Cluster B personality. These days, the I.C.M. may describe them differently. My rapist, the Doctor, was certainly like this. For various reasons including privacy, he will be called Greg*.

When I left him after two months, there was a certain look in his eyes. It was as if the Jeckyll was coming out from behind the Hyde. I thought he was a split personality. His eyes were a mixture of cobalt and light sky-blue. He had the most beautiful and deceptive eyes. They contrasted with his curly head of black hair. He always moussed his hair in a disgusting way. He also put oil in it. I never touched his hair, which he viewed as his crowning glory.

In the morning and before we went out, he spent several minutes fawning over his image, especially his hair. His back was a mess of popped pimples. I never touched them either. The idea that I ever touched or had sex with this man after what he did is probably astonishing to others. It feels normal, if disgusting, to me. It is what I know.

I never really understood Estelle's* problem. She took to drugs like a duck to water. Her first choice was opiate prescription medication. Her acts as a street addict were basically a rich girl's attempts to cozy up to a dealer with access to morphine and crack cocaine. Apparently, there were monthly morphine injection parties at one guy's house up at Mount Royal. Mount Royal is the area on upper Knox Mountain west of Magic Estates. It over looks Poplar Point and is accessible via Mountain Road off Glenmore. Estelle never lived up there; she was an Upper East Mission brat who hailed from Regina, Saskatchewan.

Stories circulated that C.D.* the one who planned these parties. As he was the dealer du jour in the early to mid-nineties in this lakeside town, that would not surprise me. I banned C.D. from coming near me after he produced acid on sheets of stamps and envelopes in Johnathan Segal's restaurant one Sunday morning in April of 1993, when we had gone for drinks.

He kept offering two tabs for $35. I had no interest. He then tried yelling to get patron's attention. That failed to work, so I told him to sit down and shut up. That also did not work, so I threatened to report him to the R.C.M.P.

*Name has been changed.