Dear Loved Ones

When you want to have a relationship with an abuse victim’s abuser, and you expect them to act ‘cordial’ because its supposed to be a normal relationship (and its not), you’re embroiling them in more abuse. I cannot (not for the life or me or for anybody) act as if its OK for me to have any contact with either of my abusers (my mother or my father).

They’re equal bad: I tell you every time he beat me she sat in the corner and watched; I tell you every time she called me fat she did it to make herself feel better (because she’s the one who could stand to loose more than a few pounds, not me). I tell you I am tired of seeing, speaking, or hearing of the face  of an abuser who called ‘family’ meetings to talk about how I’m not working (when I blog all the time – right here), and I am tired of seeing the face of the person who hosted ‘family meeting’s  (to see if I’m’overweight ‘again,’ when I’m at a healthy weight for over 7 years now and not pregnant – as ‘overweight’ or ‘getting heaver’ is code for ‘pregnant). I am tired: its going to take a lot of time for me to live with the flashes ( that is visual memories) of being beaten, slapped, hit, kicked, choked, grabbed, and being made afraid to go ‘home.’ I’m telling you its going to take just as long to get over being made ashamed to be the size and weight that I am ( 5’9 1/2, 177 pounds, a size 8 dress, and size 12 pants); I’m telling you its going to take the rest of my life to make sure that people know I’m a victim of abuse and you better back away from me if you think its OK to tell an adult someone (when you’re not a doctor or a nutritionist) how much to eat, how to live, when to go to school (and for what program), or how much money should be in their bank account. I’m a woman (not a kid), and it took me a long time to realize how ugly my mother is on the inside (because of how insecure and angry with herself, and everyone else, she is). Her inner ugly is so damaging to other people (like a tornado): when she’s in a good mood (as is the case of my father) she needs you to sit and laugh with her. When she’s angry, she too yells so much the house shakes. When mother dearest wants to feel ‘in charge’ she comes in like the suffocating and debilitating negative force she is, and she sucks the life right out of you. I tell you I am tired: women can be just as abusive as men: I don’t care if you birthed a child or adopted one: if you choose to be a mother be to their credit (strength and happiness) rather than to their determent (a thorn in their side). I can’t forgive my mother or my father’s abuse because neither of them care to talk about it on my schedule (as a victim of abuse) and in a way that works best for me (as a victim of abuse). People in the family believe a woman can’t possibly be abusive, but they all need to know this: If I had my say, both my mother and my father would be in jail for domestic abuse (emotional abuse – that’s forcing me to hug them and say good morning and act like its all OK; psychological abuse – trying to make me question my worth in the scope of my career and my love life which I keep to myself; financial abuse – picking up my job phone calls and lying about me -to prospective employers – so they (‘mommy’ and ‘daddy’) can continue to humiliate me for being educated and  ‘not gainfully employed (when I am, I just need more cash flow),’ and for blocking my right to get help from outside of the Asidianya household; physical abuse – being slapped, hit, kicked in the legs, choked, my arms and ears pulled, and all else). I am tired. 

I have the right to be happy and I have the right to handpick whose face I want to see. Listen to me.

– Adaora

I need people to leave my posts alone (WordPress and otherwise). I have the right to a voice: you can’t shut me up or try to censor what I have to say.

We Have To Talk

I don’t know what people are thinking: my mother and father (who threatened before hand to do it) had me put in a mental health ward, in order to ‘prove’ me insane; they planned it before I knew it (perhaps in the kitchen across from each other) and they followed through with it. They said I ‘self harmed’ myself (wrong – I have scars on my arms and on my thighs from being burned with an iron by my arm – my father has harmed me); they said I can’t groom myself (when they smell and I’m the one who knows how to clean, look good, and blog about it). When I went, this is what happened: my father stormed into my room in my uncle and aunt’s house, said “come on now, let’s go” (roughly and as domineering as ever), and I said “no, you can’t force me to go with you…I won’t go anywhere with you.” Soon after that (minutes later) my mother came up the stairs, sat on it, and pretended to cry: “Adaora,” she said pitifully, looking at me, as if pleading with me to get the ‘help’ she and her husband (my father) so desperately need. I ignored her and went down the stairs to the living room. My father was nowhere to be found when I went down the stairs (that’s my abuser, a male who has almost beaten me to death, called me fat a million times – swearing and other wise, and a male who has tried to force himself on his own daughter (me). You tell me what about this is normal? Officers came in and I thought they were coming to talk to me about the 911 call I placed on May the 19th against my abusive father, but it wasn’t: In actual  fact, the 911 call (to my knowledge) hasn’t been looked into, and the person(s)I called 911 against (my father and my mother) were somehow allowed to lie to the point that I found myself being taken ‘voluntarily’ away from my things (important pictures, documents, and ID) by officers who perhaps were in on it with my mother and my father. Three weeks and a bit later and here I am. I’m still waiting for the cops to interview me about the prolonged abuse I’m a victim of (remember I’m an educated person and I have the right to ask questions using educated words and I have the right to know what went wrong in my childhood), and nobody explained to me “I am sending you to a mental health institution because your parents think you’re insane and this is going to take more than 72 hours – which they claimed was the deadline only when I got there – and we think it’s in your best interest to take all your documents (which were roughly looked through by who knows what).” I’m lucky I took my I.D with me.

Because of abuse, I’ve gone in and out of people’s lives: the one person I wanted and needed to see the most I couldn’t get in touch with before I THOUGHT I LEFT ABUSE; my father and my mother have abused me in a lot ways, to the point that neighbours look at me with pity and love, and nobody has asked me directly about it except for the one person I want to see. I go in and out of people’s lives, so when I was forced to go into a crappy mental health ward (which is made up of a bunch of incompetent nurses who don’t even have a doctor on call who is able to do a physical and check with my doctor – DR F. TAHIR) before injecting me with a medication I was told I don’t need to take (a medication which almost killed me), I clutched my I.D out of fear that if I died the one person I wanted to see (who very often has to drive by so I can see him) would be able to know I was gone.  Because I go in and out of people’s lives, when all this ugly happened, I had nobody I could trust around me and I was scared for my life alone. People only care when you die: that’s when they shed their ‘what could have been’ tears; they tell their friends how distraught they were are at such a ‘loss.’ On June 9th 2015 at about 8:30 pm, nurses injected me with a medication that almost suffocated me to death; In June 2010 my father tried to beat me o death; in high school my father choked me when my grades weren’t ‘good enough;’ I’m telling you I almost died a thousand times because of my incompetent father and mother, and most of those times people wouldn’t have known until it was too late. I just want everyone to know I am done with abuse in my life and I’m done hoping to be everything to everybody. I just want to be present for people who want to be present for me. I just want a happy now and forever without any parent abuse in it. Please understand how much this blog has been the thing that allowed me to stay sane, happy, and feel like I’ve been sharing myself and who I am (as I’ve grown) this entire time.

– Adaora

Here I am

Since writing this last post a few things have happened (and are on my mind):

1. After arguing my case (against my abusive father and mother), moving to ‘voluntary’ (which means I’m ‘free’ to leave mental health confinement), dealing with the hospital runaround (re: the staff responsible for ‘discharge’ not giving me straight information and consequently making me look like a fool), and finding out that (contrary to people’s claims) I didn’t need to go looking for a ‘rough’ homeless shelter (‘my best bet’) I am sitting here in a familiar place.

2. Going shopping for food and snacks with my aunt and reuniting with my important things (which don’t look exactly the same as they did when I was forced to leave them on June 1st).

3. Still trying to understand why the police haven’t asked me any questions directly (re: my 911 phone call about how I am a victim of prolonged generational abuse)…

4. Still have to go about finding and thanking everyone who called the hospital when they did (because it really made a difference). There was a lot of racist runaround (at every area of my stay at Montfort Hospital) and I have a lot of things I want to say about it; Local authorities in the Ottawa area and Montfort staff claimed I was to be there for 72 hours (after I got there, but not before my clearly voluntary stay) and I would like to know why. I know I’m black, but staying for over 3 weeks at a hospital when the persons who made claims against me (my mother and father – who don’t know a damn thing about me at all) need the help of a mental institution is very peculiar to me. Where is there mental health exam? Should I file a claim against them too? I believe my mother and my father have Elitist, Amorous, and Compensatory Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and I would love for experts to prove me right or wrong.

5. I’m not an expert at everything, but on my own time (in addition to a series of changed to ‘elective’ social work courses on my BA in English degree, Kinark and Children’s Aid Society work) I have studied Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Physical, Emotional, Psychological, Sexual, and Verbal abuse (that’s how I know what I know about my history). I know that I am a victim of all kinds of abuse, and I also know that there is a member of my family still being abused (in one way or another) by one of my ‘parents,’ and I have to make sure his mother knows that.

6. Time to check Queries.

-Adaora

 

Send Help – I am only allowed to stay here until Wednesday June the 24th 2015

Hello,

My name is Adaora Asidianya and I am at Montfort Hôpital at 713 Ch. Montréal, Ottawa, Ontario, K1K 0T2. The phone number is 613-746-4621

On June the 1st (Mike Ther***lt`s birthday) my father came into my aunts house (who lives in Orelans, Ontario) and tried to force me to go back to Whitby, Ontario, Canada (number 300, a house which I have blogged about in the last entries you will see before this one). Police came in and asked me questions and let me know my father made claims against me (proven false) about my ability to care for myself. Before I got to Orelans, Ontario, Canada, I called 911 on May 20th 2015, was given a place to stay (thanks to a police officer`s phone calls), and I was sent to the DENISE HOUSE in Oshawa, Ontario Canada. From there I was bullied (by my sister and my aunt) to come to my aunt`s house (here in Orléans, Ontario,. Canada), and here I sit in the activity room in the second floor of Monfort Hospital`s facilities. On June the 1st two officers told me it was in my best interest to come voluntarily to contest (recently proven false) claims that my abusive father and mother have made against me; I have burn marks on my arms and legs from being burned with an iron by my father – someone who claimed I harmed myself when he has harmed me for all my life because he`s been in it); I have marks on my neck and breathing issues and circulation issues from being choked and dragged and pulled by my father; my mother has been willing and compliant to my fathers abuse and my sister denies it ever happened. No officers have taken the time to question me (since making a 911 call from 330 Taunton Road East in Whitby, Ontario, Canada at Winners and since making 911 calls while in this hospital). I have been refusing medication since I got here (because I am a victim of abuse and not a mental health patient), and I have been fighting for my life and looking for stability since I got here.  I was injected with SYSTENNA on June 9th without a medical exam and with no effort made to contact my doctor (DR. F. TAHIR – Family Medical Care at the Garden Plaza in Whitby, Ontario, Canada) and I`m still feeling weak because of it). Doctors & nurses here want you drugged up on meds and unable to care for yourself; doctors & nurses here don`t care if you live or die, as long as you make them money (and I`m not making them money sleeping on their bed).

The following items are at my aunts house (won`t name the address for safety reasons)

RED AND BLACK GOOD LIFE FITNESS DUFFEL BAG (with my important documents)
RED AND GREY BOOK BAG (with books, documents, and cosmetics-  all mine)
BLACK HILROY WIRE NOTEBOOK – I KNOW WHATS WRITTEN IN IT
SHAKESPEARE ANTHOLOGY

Please call Montfort Hôpital in ORLEANS, ONTARIO, CANADA AT 614 746 4621 and ask for ADAORA ASIDIANYA (pronounced A-SI-DE-ANNE-YA) Please help save my life (because of abuse, I left my father and mothers house, and because of abuse, I cant use my Facebook (ADAORA FOODIE) to contact anybody (so they know where I am).

Signed,

I, ADAORA ASIDIANYA

Only The Names Have Been Changed….

M*****r, F*****r, M****r, F****r, M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r,M*****r, F*****r…….

For legal reasons (meaning, I don’t think I have any police backing and I am not interested in having any of their groomed goons following me around), I can only name them (with asterisks) and shame the hell out of them in the following ways: M****r dearest, when I got the injury I mention here at age twelve (an injury where I put my foot through a glass table – because you weren’t watching me carefully enough and you wouldn’t help me and my sister bind my foot injury – without medical help), and my f****r didn’t care to get off his BIG MAN job and take me to the hospital, why didn’t you ask one of the neighbors to drive me to the hospital? F*****r dearest, why did you drag me by my arm, pull me by my ear, and terrorize me because you got a prank call from kids that said “you kicked my dog” (when you say you hate dogs)?

I want to know.

-Adaora (not A****a)

How do you know they care?

001

You know they care when they believe in you (no matter what) and they stand by you when who they thought was a BIG MAN and his wife turned out to be an abuser (and a minion abuser) without a spine; he beat me and she stood by the door to watch and listen; he smacked me around and she giggled to herself and came outside her room to get a better look (because she loved every minute of it). She and he physically (she in high school, though she likes to pretend it never happened and he for as long as I can remember), financially, emotionally, and psychologically abused me, and she and he tried to make me feel like a fat slob when they’re the ones who could stand to loose more than a few pounds (not me). He and she are master manipulators and I hope they spend the rest of their lives (here in Canada or far away) happy together.

I have been hit, slapped, yanked, pulled (by both ears), dragged across the floor, beaten, held in choke hold, threatened, and made afraid to go ‘home.’ I have been abused for pretty much my entire life. I am a victim of abuse and I don’t care if everyone knows because I want to help somebody.

I AM A VICTIM OF ABUSE AND YOU WILL NOT SILENCE ME

Someone who (up until recently) I  thought was my family stole the password to this WordPress (MINE) and tried to troll and manipulate me into going back to my abuser (fa****r and she herself my m****r), Its so far gone that she or he (one of whom I suspect to be the culprit) tried to victimize me again by getting his or her hands on my personal place on the internet. The culprit(s) need to know they are no longer members of my family. You will not intimidate me, you have no idea what abuse I have lived through (and your little reindeer games are not going to work with me). Stop now or I will be forced to press charges against you. Do not f******* mess with me again.

I AM A VICTIM OF ABUSE (NOT AN ABUSEER)

YEP 244

– Adaora