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I was born, or I died, on Thanksgiving night in 1986, depending on who you ask. I inhabit a body that is chronologically older than that date might imply.

I'm not going to continue arguing, online or off, with people who wish to deny my existence. I'm real and you can either sit with my truth for awhile or you can go away. I do not have that choice. I deal with the truth of my death every day and I do not know how I keep from blowing what's left of my brain away or committing suicide in the myriad other ways that have filled my thoughts since this horror show began.

More on that day (and a huge trigger warning) after the fold.

You really shouldn't believe anything that you read here. This account is… pseudonymous. You don't know me and if you go back to this, you may run away. I've been telling people about my childhood for 26 years so they would never look, think about or contemplate that Thanksgiving Night. So I would never have to look, think about or contemplate that night and its horrible consequences.

I was in the Army. I was asleep in my rack. I woke up. I was being raped. I was being choked. I was having my head smashed into a concrete block wall repeatedly. Repeatedly. I tried to escape and was driven off my rack, a high Army hospital bed, onto the concrete floor below. I landed on my left side. The rapist landed on me. I injured my entire left side with a neck injury that left me paralyzed for most of the rest of the night.

I was threatened with charges for "fighting".

I was not allowed to receive medical care.

The rapist was sent to my work sites to "remind" me what could happen, what would happen, if I continued to pursue a disability claim against the Army (the original reason I was in the hospital was a leg injury that I would learn later was a broken leg that was not correctly diagnosed or treated by the Army doctor).

And when I was discharged, the Veterans Administration discovered the broken leg but the local VA personnel decided, after meeting me, that its primary job was to protect the thugs in the Army who raped me and covered it up. I was denied all benefits except the broken leg that they had discovered and could not deny. I was interrogated repeatedly and told that my VA benefits would be cut off if I didn't drop my claim or if I ever tried to bring up anything else about my time in the Army.

Now you know the story of my birth. I'd tell you more but ghosts like me are capricious. The room has grown cold and there is no Sam or Dean to save you. You are alone, in my house, with an angry ghost.

Do yourself a favor. Don't read anymore. Don't recommend this diary or tell anyone about it. Why not? Because, as you all should know, angry ghosts do great damage until they are laid to rest. I am the only one left alive that knows where the bones are buried. You will not find or burn them before my metaphorical vengeance is complete. I am wild and out of your control and you best be afraid. You best be very afraid.

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