Faultline and Jackson Police Reports

There is an article down below that shows some key points about Adjustment disorder. This has been stated many of times as waste basket diagnosis. "DECLARATION OF INTEREST" and "LOOSE DEFINITION" have some rather fine points though. Some people might think I was suffering from a "Jan Brady Complex". "Marcia, Marcia, MARCIA!" Since I do have an older step sister and a younger sister. That is not the case here. In my opinion, it was "Norman Bates Syndrome". Without the motel. Think Anthony Perkins shouting out. "MOTHER!" Don't take any showers when I'm present. Please see humor in this. I do. Now, if I know this is hysterically gay. Which in a way, it is. Then I know, I'll be fine. Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional but I'll be fine. Another joke here.






Back to the editorial / article, please read it threw first. So you know what I am bitching about. The, "DECLARATION OF INTEREST" and "LOOSE DEFINITION" will point out that anyone who suffers from this scrutiny, will return to a sense of normalcy with a small duration of time. Read, " ACADEMIC NEGLECT ". What I see here, no one really gave a shit about this subject matter. Reason why, my opinion. You can't make much money off this disorder, when it's up to the person to get over it spontaneously. Look how many publications have been made in the last twenty five years. What I find really odd. Is the, "SYNTHESIS". That the answer lies in those who have suffered and moved on from such the disorder.






In the, Police reports from Jackson, NJ. I was already out in the open. Not to mention the Eddie Warner and Sam Manzie controversy. I do have to say one thing. It was a bad time to be an out kid. The tension sucked but this go's for anybody. Or who anyone who even heard about it. To those who were apart of it. My sympathises for even mentioning this horrible ordeal.



http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,987156,00.html



Teenage years are pretty much a living hell for anyone. We all had to deal with the clicks, social high school politics, the hormones, teenage rebellion stage. Acne! Experimentation. ETC. ETC. ETC. Maybe I should have just waited till prom to open my mouth. Yes had to go threw gay ordeals, one example having a lunch tray thrown at me. With a condom on it. White lotion pouring out of sides and someone saying, "That is the closes thing to a dick you are going to get!" In front of a whole cafeteria. Not to mention, many walk outs during classes. Guys acting like they were coming onto me. I seen the main office more, then I saw my own damn homeroom. Walking target or ticking time bomb. Your choice and what you want to use as a label. Hell looking back at those years, I even made fun of myself. Wait a minute I still do.






I will go more into my teen years and my child hood years later. Right now, lets get into the reports. Her story of the insane delinquent teenage rebellion. To say the least. Came more to a shock to me. What most do not know, is my version. Since I had to keep my mouth shut about this subject. This is just one example of many of the abuse situations that came into play. I did not want to be in that asylum called 1140 Aldrich road. I didn't want to see the crap for what it was. That day of 09/16/98, I was going to dye my hair. Buying the popular hair product that just came out by L'Oreal. A brunt auburn red. Fairy! Shit sorry, wrong product. Feria.








Instead, I got to take advantage of an invite to hang with two friends. We went to Avon by the Sea. Where my trashy flamboyant self danced and did cart wheels in the sand. It was get away for awhile. To have good time, and not think of the disaster which I called my fucking teenage dramatic life. We all had them. I think anyone can understand that. I didn't care what was the price was for staying out that whole night. I wanted the night to last. Even though, I knew there was going to be a price. When I came home , I did enter threw my window which was on the ground floor. I had no keys, because they were taken away from me. There was cheap alarm system that installed by my father. Wait a minute, adopted father. I really have to get use to that term now. But when the alarm the was off one day...I cut the wire by rubbing the window up and down on the it. So when it was alarm set, the connection would not take.








When I entered my bedroom, there was a letter and I tossed it out. Completely sober, hence what my mother said. I went to dye my hair. Well the time, to pay the piper. I though, it was going to be a bit of bitching and that was it. Maybe a grounding. Nope, I was wrong. After hearing her thrown a fit for over a half an hour. Also her becoming more aggressive and hostile, I ran upstairs to the phone. Which was in the kitchen. Where she had put a block on the phone. Meanwhile, the dye pasted it time limit. My mother embraced her hysteria by then. I told her, to unblock the phone so I could call the police. I could remember the screaming. Her voice like it was a car screeching halt. "Do it, Call them! Call them, god dammit! Call the fucking cops!" Well with all going on, and me not knowing better. I didn't know you could call the cops when there was a block on the phone. This was being the 90's and well me being a trashy degenerate.







Anyway, long story short. I gave up and decide to go over to the neighbors house because of her fit. She was not all stable and I was not going to leave my kid sister with this women. I said, "That's it, were leaving." Dashed to her room. I hated bring Marlena into this, but no one was safe in this household. Pushing the door open to her bedroom. Which was down the hallway from the kitchen. I said, "Get your shit, were going!" She didn't know what was going on. By face I could see she was confused. Let alone scared. I did grab her by the arm. I turned around and then was maced by my own mother. Screaming was the first reaction I had. The second reaction was to get my sister out of the room. I grabbed her by the shoulders and then swung her around out of harms way towards the door which was the only exit out of my sisters room.






Once she was in the hallway, the third reaction came to mind. Football players tackle. I brought my head down, and ran right into her. Making her lose her balance and stumble. Pushing forward. Out of my sisters room, into the hallway, into the master bedroom. The master bedroom door flew open where my mother fell backwards flipping over her own stair master. Hitting the floor, with a loud thud, which shook the fucking entire bedroom. I turned away screaming and blinded ...having only the lite hallway and a figure that looked like my sister. Screaming out for her to run to the neighbors, we both ran. Ran down the hallway, into the dinning room. Opening the sliding door and pushing are way to the stairs . Running down the stairs, threw the back yard, threw the gate to the neighbors who were tending to there lawn.





The neighbor, flushed my eyes out with the garden hose. By that time the red dye now cake into my hair was now coming out, almost looking like a gory mess. After the police and everything was out in the open. I was stuck in that moment, having no clue what was going to happen. Completely numb. My sister was to return to the house hold. As for me to stay outside. By this time , my new hair color was Ronald McDonald RED. A man came by that council and consoled to gay youths. He was a probation officer. After he talked with my mother he told what I had to do. Eat dinner, go to school. Stay out of her way and if she does something. Well I should know what I have to do. But overall, this comment stayed in my head for a long time. "Do yourself the favor. Get emancipated!"





http://www.larcc.org/pamphlets/children_family/teen_emancipation.htm





What was I going to do. No money, no answers, hardly any guidance. I was not ready. Shocked not from her actions but from what transpired. How much more shit did I have to fucking go threw. What was I going to do. Go to harbour house for 2 weeks and then get kicked out. Press charges. The questions of second doubts played threw my head. I just had let it subside and try to get a grip. Not saying I was the picture perfect kid here. I screwed up many times but was a OUT GAY TEENAGER with many issues. I put on this show, a flaming spectacle. Like it was my shield, the more people made fun of me. The louder I got and increased the gay. I believe I explain this before in a previous blog. I just didn't want people asking or seeing my home life for what really it was. This is just one of the many, many, many problems. I had to go threw with great old mother dearest... 2.0!







So does any think she deserves RESPECT? Now, there something that I noticed on these police reports which no one is going to see, but I will mention. Each police report had a different social security number for Mrs Marliyn Blodgett. Not to mention that one of the medical records, states another different social security number for Mrs Marilyn Blodgett. That is a total of 3 different social security number used by same women. Every document I obtain she never made a mistake, using my number. When it came to hers, there was room for error.





Irregular alert. Irregular alert. If I grabbed my sister around the neck like she said in the report. Wouldn't there be hand prints around my sister's neck. Finger prints. Something. As for Cat, Adam, Ginny, and Marlena this really has nothing to do with them. They just so happen to be there, or be mention. Sorry. Anyway, not to mention lets point out counseling. I did have to go, after all this bullshit. About 3 or 4 sessions, and each session I asked. "Why isn't my mother here?" The therapist replied, "Well the session are for you!" I pointed out that the problem was between her and I. And nothing was going to get accomplished until she was came to a session. So after the last session, my mother asked me. "Was the therapy working?" And I said, "No, because you not there!" She cancel therapy.






The next report had to do with me running away. I did run away numerous of times before that. That was my nature to run away from there problem before it became something far more worst happens. In this instance, I didn't know where to go but I did not want anyone following me. So I left a bus schedule and went the opposite direction. If seaside is south, where the hell do you think I'm going. I found my derlict ass hanging by the Howell park and ride on route 9. Stepping onto the first step of the NJ transit bus. Doubt played threw my head yet again. The second guessing. Now, if I had a crystal ball and been able to see the future of me being maced. Believe me, ten dollars and a blow job for the bus driver would have definitely gotten me to at least New York City. Who knows, never really push myself to be Jail Bate Prostitution Whore. Okay another poor joke but I think anyone can understand this issue.






MTV CROWD? Really? Really? REALLY? I have to say one thing. NO FUCKING COMMENT! ( while I roll my eyes ) You know, it's one thing to acknowledge that you might be that kid. It's another to find out, and accept that. YOU ARE THAT KID! I would like to see members of my family and those ex friends who could not stand me put there heads on the chopping block like I had too. Not saying I'm any better, because I'm not. Far from it, but no body else is either. Let them take the walk of shame, then walk the hallway of shame, and go threw the maze of shame. I mention something about my mother, who makes Joan Cawford look like a Fucking saint. She mention something her deserving respect. Albert Camus said, Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear. Now I might be mean in saying this but, READ IT AND WEEP BITCH! .