Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers

Naming Names, a Manifesto

You may remember that my Nana, who I had not been able to see or talk to for over 25 years, was visiting my parents here in town, New Year's 2015, when she had a series of strokes. My mom reached out and told me, and I went to visit her in the hospital for a few days with Doc. Things were going really well, I learned that my Nana was not shunning me, it was my family keeping me from her, and that she still loved me. I offered to escort her home and help her get her house set up for life post-stroke, so my parent's didn't have to take time off from work. For three days, things went well. With the nurses pulling Doc and I aside and thanking us for coming in, telling us that seeing me had done her a world of good, and I was all she could talk about in the mornings, when would we visit? What stories would we share? Everything was going swimmingly. I finally had a familial connection again.

Then she had another stroke in the hospital while recovering from the first. At this point, she was taken and hidden away from me in a private room, I was denied access to her, and my phone calls were misdirected in almost comical Who's On First scenarios. After a couple of weeks, I figured that she must be out of the hospital or dead, so I gave up trying to get in touch with her and bribing nurses. I checked with the Alameda County and Clark County Medical Examiners, and found no evidence that she had died, so I relaxed and went back to my life. There was nothing I could do.

Yesterday, I found my cousin's phone number, that she gave me long ago. Another queer black-sheep of the family, I always felt a connection to her, though we never got to know each other well. I texted her. Chatted for a bit quite nicely, and eventually, asked her about Nana. That's when she (my cousin) got confused, was I --------? or Cydniey? I told her I was Cydniey. She explained she had another queer cousin, and thought that was who she was talking to. I laughed (at the time, thought I was sharing a laugh), and went on with the conversation, trying to find out how my Nana is. After establishing who I was, she never responded back to anything else I texted her.

So, you know? The Eggers and the Edlunds can all go fuck themselves. (Cue "Tunic (Song for Karen)" by Sonic Youth and ignore that my fat mother's name happens to also be Karen and the irony is slippery but sad) I am Cydniey Buffers. I was designed in a lab and created in a warehouse in the southwest desert, not far away from the nuclear test site. I have no family, no ties. My problems are not "genetic", as I have no genetics, they are bugs in my code. The schizophrenia is simply the result of someone's sloppy work. And that is the story I am sticking to.

I've been seeing my mental illness all of these years through the eyes of my family. As a detriment, a weakness, something that will always hold me back and may vaguely be something that I deserved. Funny thing is, they are wrong. All of them. My schizophrenia is a super power. It absolves me of having to follow societal conventions that hold most people back. That right there is worth its weight in platinum and blue diamonds. It's not a weakness at all, no, far from it. It is the thing that separates me from the rabble I am surrounded by. I don't have to follow their rules, and they can't reasonably expect me to as long as I'm not hurting anyone. Oh, wow, the liberty. You simply cannot imagine. With a little perspective shift, the one thing that I was always told will keep me from attaining my dreams or goals, I see that this is the very thing that will empower me to not only reach my dreams and goals, but exceed them spectacularly.

The one thing it doesn't do is make me a noble person. I know this because I still have every intention of destroying whatever is left of that family when I have the power and resources. I will, for this one purpose, use my powers for evil. I will make them pay for the 20 years of trauma, neglect and abuse in the name of God and Family that I suffered. I will make them pay for my baby sister's tragic death, and the disappearance and rejection of me by my other brothers and sisters. Kenneth and Karen will have nothing left but what people have given them. I will remove any and all sense of security they have for the future, except for the house my Nana bought them down the street. Let them have the house. Everyone deserves a place to sleep, and who am I to second guess my Nana? It's her money, they are her kids, I am no one to interfere with that. But I will, I promise, I swear on the lives of my beloved pets and belief in the Universe itself, that I will decimate the lives of dear old Kenneth and Karen and leave them nothing but their physical health and money (their mental health, as far as I am concerned, is fair game). I want emotional payback. I don't care about their things. They can have their things. I want them to be deeply, psychically afraid, like I have been all of my life because of them. I will spend my entire fortune on maintaining fear and doubt in their lives, amplifying any sadness or grief they are capable of feeling. They are going to wish that I had been created in a lab. They are going to regret, or at least bemoan, every little thing that they ever inflicted on any of us. That is my new goal.

And my cousin, Teneal Edlund, can fuck herself as well. She burned a bridge today that she can never rebuild. With any luck, she will never want or need to. Should she? That's just too fucking bad. Shouldn't have been a cunt and ghosted me.

This started a couple of weeks ago. I follow, on Facebook, an old friend of the family's. He and his wife have two sons around my age, that I grew up with. The older one molested me, and no one ever did anything about it, except make me spend more time alone with him, so it happened again and again. Chad Jensen. That was his name. So, I follow old Chad's dad on the FB, and he has conservative views, which is fine it goes with his general ideology about life. But he got into queerness being a choice one day, and I couldn't keep quiet. All of a sudden, I found myself typing to him, on his timeline, out in the open, in front of God and everyone, that maybe he was right, maybe being queer was a choice, after all how could I say for sure that I didn't "choose" to be asexual and attracted to women romantically as a direct result of the repeated sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of his son and my father? And I hit "send". And the world didn't end. No firing squad or angry villagers came to my door. And he quietly backed away from his argument and ended the interaction. And I realized in those moments that I was under no obligation to be the silent victim any longer. The people who victimized me were out living their lives and giving what happened no thought, while I was obsessing and destroying myself with it.

- Chad Jensen molested me when I was 13, and he was left to care for me, his younger brother Matt, and my siblings while our parents were out. My mother knew what happened and told me I was lying and evil for besmirching the reputation of such an outstanding young man, he was a deacon in the Church, for Christ's sake. They were friends with his parents, why would I try so hard to mess that up for them with my lies? I was forced to spend time alone with him, and it happened again and again, for the next year or so, until we moved further north.
- Eric Wesler Savage drugged. raped, and impregnated me, then harassed me for custody of the child of that rape during my pregnancy with his now-dead horror of a mother. I had to lie on Nigel's birth certificate to keep Eric away from him for life. I was 19 during the holiday season when he took me out to dinner, drugged my wine, and back to a room at the Holiday Inn where he waited for me to pass out and then raped me while I slept on my stomach. To this day, though I woke up for the end of it, I will never understand how he got his tiny penis in me from behind without my cooperation. I spent a good part of that pregnancy homeless and without medical care. I hope that child is okay.
- Kenneth Wesley Egger, my father, molested me and my younger, adopted sisters for years, and my mom knew. At least two of us told her, we were told that wasn't the man she married, he had been a Bishop in the Church, for Christ's sake.
- I don't remember the name of the douche who date raped me in college and got me kicked out for breaking the purity code, but if I ever find out, I will destroy him.

I'm done being the victim. I'm putting on the survivor hat. And I'm not staying quiet any more. I have been separated from care, friends, family, and home. I can't get any of that back, now, it's too little, too late, but I can stop just "taking it" and stand up and hold people accountable. For no other reason than to rebuild my life, my soul, my ego, my sense of self. They built their lives off of my back, my pain. Payback, or turnabout, is a cunty dance partner. And she is in town with a god damned flamethrower.

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