top of page

The making of Raymond's eyes and ears Pt 1

Many things occurred in spring of 2019 when I ran from Boston to supposedly find safety and protection with my “family”. Looking back it was one of those stupidest, naive, and ultimately destructive things I could have ever have done for not only myself, but for my children, and even my estranged family as well.

Truthfully, I never would have gone to that family reunion that year. I never really knew any of my family. Once my father left at 9 my mother kept me completely estranged from that entire side of the family. After the Navy and the kids being born, I hadn’t spoken to my mother for years. She always hated me for running away from her and her untreated munchausen's psychosis when I was 15.

My mother tried to care, she really did, but fact of the matter was she never wanted me or any child, would have aborted me if she could have, and the only reason she kept me was because of pressure from the family and my dad. Growing up I was always more of a hassle to her than anything else. Especially after my father left. Oh my father tried to stick around for a couple of years, but ultimately his own untreated PTSD and mental issues left him using me a his own personal psychiatrist. The times I did have with my father were spent hanging on on the back of his harley for trips, spending time in pool halls, and hanging out with drug dealing rednecks in trailer parks.

After the divorce my mom worked all the time and I was left with him to watch while he worked. He ran an autobody and horse trailer painting shop up near Boise. He raised german shepherds for the police department and the junkyard. Ultimately I will never call him a “breeder” because he never was one. They simply never got our dog Sammy fixed and she and Jasper had something like 17 litters. I spent my childhood years hanging around his shop, alone except for the dogs, and the puppies when Sammy had a litter. One of my earliest memories is of one of those litters, I had crawled under the body shop to play with the puppies. They were still brand new and Sammy used to crawl under the foundations of the shop to have her litters. So there was a crawl space there that I as a little child could fit into as well. I crawled under the shop while Sammy was in the yard one day not understanding that the litter was still so young Sammy would be bothered by it. She crawled in after me and blocked the only way out of the crawlspace and refused to move because I was stuck in between her and her litter. I recall being stuck under there screaming for hours. My father was in his shop and didn’t even hear me screaming. He finally came out when he was finished for the day and heard me and pulled Sammy out and got me out. I’ve hated enclosed spaces since that day, and I’ve loved puppies ever since. That litter was the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing it under the shop that day. I curled up with the pups and they crawled all over me and licked my tears and gave me something to hold on to.

Less than a year later my mother moved us to Texas to live with my Aunt and my abusive POS Uncle who cheated on her every chance he got and was basically the most misogynistic, self absorbed, brow beating pig I have ever known. My cousin Jenny was born with cerebral palsy, she was wheelchair bound and the things he did to her while my aunt was asleep in their bed at night I’m sure she knew about, but pretended she didn’t. My cousin Dusty was adopted, and him being a boy he got away with bloody murder. Absolute insanity. And while he got away incessantly with things like putting bugs in my soda pops, and pissing on my bed, and jacking off in front of me, I had a bar of soap stuck in my mouth for over an hour once by my aunt for calling him a “jerk”.

My mother knew what my Uncle did, and I honestly believe that’s the only reason we moved out of my aunt's big house to a little apartment in Katy away from her sister where she barely scraped by and hated me every second for it. I had my own house key at 9. My mom used to leave for work at 5am and come home at 6pm and slide her dresser in front of her door so she wouldn’t have to see me or speak to me. We would go for days without even so much as seeing each other.

A few years later and the doctors visits and the procedures and the operation started. How in the world an 11 year old girl needs an esophageal wrap is beyond me. She went through doctor after doctor all telling her that there was nothing wrong with me. To give me vitamins, get me to a therapist, stop making me live off cold hotdogs and week old pizza. To this day I cannot stand Dominos Pizza. Finally after a year and a half of incessant doctors appointments and procedures and missing half the school year she finally found a surgeon that would do the operation. I was out of school the rest of that year, and my mother became the pride of the family for “taking such good care of her ungrateful brat of a daughter”. My grandmother despised me, and in turn so did the rest of my aunts. The only cousin I was ever close to was Anthony. My mom passed me around to all the aunts, “burdening them” with be because she simply couldn’t handle. My Aunt Bobby loathed me, stuck me in a church school, then kicked me to the curb after I got kicked out for asking too many questions of “the wrong nature”.

That was when my mother started talking about brain surgery for me. Now I had something wrong with my brain, she had me on birth control pills at 11, ridiculous amounts of pills daily, and my hormones were a rollercoaster. I was so terrified of the next operation I ran off to live with my father whose alcoholic fiance’ absolutely despised me. She made my life an absolute hell while the entire time she doted on her own daughter and sons and allowed them to harass and abuse me every chance they could. My father didn’t care in the least. She was his meal ticket. His rich real estate agent fiance' that gave him a chance at the good life and nice houses and socialite parties…. “How could I be so selfish to ruin that for him!?” he screamed at me one day. That was the day I stole her mitsubishi montero with plans to drive back to texas. I was sobbing and swerving all over the road on the highway by the time a cop pulled me over with the dog in the car because she wouldn’t shut up and I couldn’t think of anything to do with her while I was leaving other than bring her with me. I had no plans, no gear, no money for gas even. Oh I knew how to drive, I learned that with the Latin Kings in Texas, but looking back on it, and knowing what I know, I believe that was the first full blown anxiety attack I ever had. When the cop pulled me over I couldn’t even talk. I was just sobbing so hard I could barely breathe. He took me back to my dad’s and I was in military school a month later.

COTEF was the best time of my life growing up. I got my GED and made plans that as soon as I turned 17 I would force my parents to sign off and let me join the military one way or another. And that’s exactly what I did.

After the Navy, I moved to Maui, HI. I spent many years on that island learning all kinds of things. Massage therapy, Chinese medicine, botany, herbalism, ceremonial magic, martial arts, yoga, surfing… I got certified as a wilderness tour guide and a wilderness EMT, went to business school classes, chemistry classes, shooting classes, nursing classes…. Anything I could learn and get my hands on to read I did. Then Chris Freitas met me and poked a hole in a condom one night. He told me I was “the most beautiful girl he’d ever dated and he always wanted children”.... And that was effectively the end of my freedom from abuse in any sense for the next 15 years.

I had that tiny window, those years on Maui before I met Chris. From the time I made that deal with Captain Kendall Card until that moment I made what would ultimately be the gravest mistake in all my life, going out on those dates with Chris Freitas. Oh Chris saw it exactly for what it was. I was dealing at the time, had my own apartment, a brand new tacoma…. Every local boy's bread and butter as a breeding mare.

I look back sometimes and wonder what would have happened if I just hadn’t taken Raymond’s offer. If I had just tossed that letter that day and kept working and never looked back. Or even if I would have kicked Chris’ pathetic ass to the curb when I caught him cheating on me when I was pregnant with Madison….

It doesn’t matter now. Ever since that day it’s been nothing but “well that’s what she gets for fucking around with the triads” from the police I’ve begged for help, stalking rapes and harassment from the Hawaiian syndicate psychopaths, and my own family using me as an ATM and “running my businesses” and “making my decisions for me”.... All the way up to Susan, who never knew me, met me once when I was 3, never gave a crap about me, and never saw me as anything more than her meal ticket back into high society life after she married my convicted pedophile pig of an Uncle Jim.

I suppose this is where it gets to 2019. After they killed that fire fighter in West Concord by injecting an air bubble in his vein because he grew a conscience, and I panicked and ran back to the one place I never should have. To people who were supposed to protect me and ultimately just sold me while the whole time they used the excuse “we were more worried about her kids”...

To be continued….


bottom of page