the HATE…and dAmAgE cOnTrOl

USS Vulcan AR-5 postcard circa 1950

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I know what I am doing-it is typical and something that comes on in my head and my inner spirit….damage control, I just do not know how to control it.
In my damage control actions…such as yesterday-I begin by destruction of anything positive….any good,or even things that I care about. Even me-inside….with the exception of just one minor thing that yet has come to give me peace.
That is death.
I want it so badly….and yet my commitment to what is higher than I,my feelings about God-and that death belongs to God….the action of death-the property of death,it belongs to God. Otherwise I believe I would have succeeded several times in the past.

It is almost August. Only a few days from my birthday just having passed.

 In 1969 I was as thrilled as I could ever be. I had just turned 18 and in only a few days more I was going to Fort Hollibird in Baltimore to be inducted and flown off to Great Lakes. I still remember FPO Poltz…our drill instructor-and will never forget his face in mine at 0400 in the wee hours of the first day…..him screaming at me that I’m not at my ‘momma’s house’ anymore.

I was going to end this yesterday-I may still have no choice….damage control set in over the week and my first attack was the Internet(it begins with soft blows and goes into realms I cannot recall) as I telephoned the Internet provider and said to dis-connect the service. I think it will be cut today.
Second task….I made it into town on fumes of gasoline to return my library card. No available computers then-you have to have a library card.
Those are soft and easy….my fear is-my insides are raging to create more DAMAGE!

What is it? Why is it?
Really-I do not know how to answer because it controls me…not me controlling it,and the way I see the aftermath of my actions is clear…I am bent for destruction.

I hate this life.
I hate it that every morning I wake up…not an hour after-nor 10 minutes after…the very instant I can feel the darkness of pre-dawn surrounding me I feel it. The memory-and sounds,how I can hear the sound is beyond me? But I hear the sounds of the men in barrack D….sleep sounds of breathing and snoring and the hum of some kind of machine in the background-the breathing of the building. The memory of being attacked and the inventory I have to take each morning of the past….the rapes and the strong arm handling of taking me around barrack D,to be used when ever.
That haunts me-and becomes the greatest part of my damage control….it drives me to get hurt again. My ‘legal’ way of doing it with out Gods permission. Not quite death-but hopefully it could be and I could run across the one that would do me the favor and finish the job the men who took the balance of my life in barrack D,the balance they had no courtesy to do.
Why didn’t they kill me?

The song about rape and sexual assault is not a sweet song-there are no gentle stanza’s. There was no fun in it…there never has been. The sexual task in life is as I said-a task…a fucking job! A mental illness in disguise. What is a gentle touch like?
What is love?

I almost am ready to quit writing these pages about my personal history. The recent discovery how deceitful kin-folk can be…to tell you they love you,and to jab you every time they do. The taste of what my life was fresh in my mouth while none of them really cared and never understood…and never wanted to know,they have made me want to quit-might as well,it is my life they want me to quit telling about…so why can’t I die?
The time I spent in the Navy was to always be a reminder to me. My one brother said to me “it was just a job”…as if it was something that mere to me. It wasn’t-it was what I wanted for all of my life. We were taught to want to serve our country-to defend our rights.
My rights were not defended.
When I was raped I was told by the officer who was the first to see me…piss all over my uniform and my face bloodied from being punched…the officer said “get used to it”!
When?
When will I get used to it?
When will I not feel the guilt when ever I see and meet a real veteran-a veteran of a real military life? How can I shed myself of the shame each time I meet a man that went to Viet Nam…where I should have gone-where I could have been wounded legitimately….not the way I was.

When you are hurt it is supposed to be where someone comes and cares for you-nurtures you and keeps you comfortable.
When I was hurt all I got was offered up as a possession to my main attacker and his two pals-a piece of property. No soft touches-only my right arm twisted up behind my back each and every morning and through the day. Traded for favors-where I earned nothing but the taste of someone forcing their penis in my mouth or having to accept the rest…which was worse?
It has always made me hate kisses-to be kissed on the mouth because of he disgust I have for myself and thinking of the filth.

I do not know what the out come is.
If my Internet is disconnected then these parts of my story are over-but my story for real will not end until the peace from death comes!
I am hopeful it is soon. My insides are raging with pain-God I hope it is something that is killing me like the doctor has said! Peace.

It is a funny odd thing. The night before I went to boot camp I watched the movie with Jack Webb (the star of the original Dragnet) called the ‘D.I.’ which stood for ‘drill instructor’ who is the main leader and training officer while one goes through boots.
It was made harder looking on the show-it was not really as bad,I actually liked it.
There were no social divisions-no need for dressing in style-everyone had the same uniform. And it was uniform! Correct, and it made me want to go the whole way pleasing FPO Poltz-and earning his approval. I was at home.
What a mistake it was to believe in family…to accept a duty with my brother Frank.
We would not be here today…I surely would have had a different life.

The critical of me…those who hate it that I have spent these days writing about what my life is about…they want me to quit! It is all a part of it….the tail of the days at barrack D,just swinging around to smack when needed.
Truthfully-for the one known as Carol to deceive and lie about her actual position in the place of family,to act as if she was just someone else-not Franks widow….it has hurt deeply,the deception. A person that never calls just to say hello-or,how are you…has picked and picked at what I said,only to turn out to have no idea nor foundation…just a sad person,who calmly feels just in her foul way. And-she has no idea who I really am! Just a continual trail.
These are evidence of the lack of respect and where my place is….you see-it was not over the morning I was discharged (with an Honorable Discharge….with no honor to go along with it)…it was not over at any time.
Once it began it stayed-barrack D.
They ought to know what it looks like inside of me…a view that is impossible to show. A sickening view….particularly when I hear the sounds of morning beginning or when I wipe my ass in the morning or shower afterwards-the damage.

Damage control is at a peak today. How long it is going to stay there I do not know…sometimes I gain control,sometimes I rage out of control-at least until the sudden wakes me up. The hate…it is embedded in me from way back from the days if this beginning-the new birth of Jay Herron,the birth of distortion and when I had to carry this part of me alone!
I requested my Internet to turned off because I have found myself searching for some one to harm me-hopefully someone who is also deceptive and plays like a friend but will hurt me like I’m human waste…steps on me and squishes me and in my secret hope…finishes me and takes my life and ends fucked up misery that I live through.
That when I begin to try to get control of damage control….turning off the access-but the access is still on!
I cannot believe I have to go through another day.