Rape Seed Oil

I am writing my thesis and in the process I am interviewing people on their subjective experience of taking psychiatric drugs. Something which has been of little interest in the world of research, as psychiatry prefers to define the truth of those they subjugate while turning a blind eye to the appalling consequences their ‘truth’ has on the lives of so many. Life stories are blithely brushed aside as inconsequential and yet here I am listening to the shattering narratives of childhoods lost and then as adults being labeled and negated all of which has inspired me to write this piece…

Rape Seed Oil

A crime. Hidden in the innocuousness of innocent words, for who would think oil created from seeds would have the name rape, but that, my dear, is how little children, – oh suffer the little children to come unto me – are turned and twisted until they shatter, into the fragments we call borders but the system put in place to cure these defects, see only the lines…

Border Lines

These children, they are everywhere you know, you find them in the schools, the playgrounds, in their homes… yet they remain invisible, not because they are not there but because they are not seen. Some in limbo the crimes unseen they are alone and reality cracks, what is true, what is not…

“One thing for sure, I am to blame, the shame, oh the shame that tells me I truly am to blame”. Tactics are employed to make him glad or better yet forget the bed so, “I’m not bad – not tonight, please may I be a good little girl, tonight”. Little hands are folded kneeling by the bed, “please God please, please, please may I be a good little girl tonight” and out of the darkness swirling and soothing, the saving words of “oh suffer the little children to come unto me”, come and she can sleep, knowing she is a good little girl… at least tonight.

Down the road a little boy cowers, terror oozing, he knows. Desperately, he searches, his eyes darting here, there, everywhere seeking out… but there is no escape.  Thud and mother screams, profanities exchanged, each word and sentence screeched, spittle flying and suddenly, laughter as the glug, glug, glug of liqueur poured, changes, like a click in time, the rage, to love, to… the little boy knows not what. One thing he knows for sure, tonight he will not be alone. The monster is coming, reeking breath, putrid, the stench of smoke and fermented barley and… blanket torn from tiny clutching hands, the heavy breathing which means… but he dares not think, I must escape, get out, but how. Please God help this little child to come unto thee…

Not far, same street, sobbing, shuddering, hiccups mixed into one, little boy knows, oh he knows, as he hides under the bed. Footsteps nearing and the ice moves in, frozen fear like a giant bell jar stops the tears. Dead. His little face becomes cold, a sneer crosses his mouth, way too young for being so old, but now he is ready. Out he comes from under the bed, standing, skinny little body shaking but brazen and defiant, he faces the inevitable, pretending he doesn’t care laughing, chanting, “sticks and stones may break my bones but words”… Only he has no words, for when there are no ears they cannot be heard and, let’s be honest who has a language for ritualized abuse, I don’t, do you? Neither does he and instead his mind splinters, like shards of ice as silenced voices become his secret companions. Years later, he or is it someone else and does it matter, is to be found on some back ward, a forgotten schizo for whom nobody cares.

The school, neat rows of children tidy, uniforms, tweed skirts and blue ties at odds with modern day fashions yet impress with their order and air of exclusivity. Good school everyone says, but she knows that is not so… hated and bullied, nowhere to turn, a teacher had smiled, invited her in and suddenly…

Yellow, yellow everywhere on her back her favorite place, blue sky above and mummy’s voice soothing, calming, ‘rapeseed so pretty don’t you think my dear’.

But now, all of a sudden mummy is angry “look at your legs” she shouts “your pretty red tights are torn!” Red and skin mixed into one… Red, red danger must escape, the field of yellow changing, rustling, growing ominous by the second, the pretty yellow flowers are transforming becoming taller and taller, they start to clutch, her arms, her hair, head pulled back, wind panting like a dog, yellow ripping her legs apart. Danger, DANGER imminent invasion, her core is exposed, access is granted just not by me. She screams, time to go… her legs being separated forced apart and then…

Tick tock time has gone, new place, safety has been found, at least for now. The comforting voice of the protector saying he is big and strong and will keep her safe. Mother earth is singing gentle lullabies, murmuring “she is safe now” to the protector. “Thank you for saving me, getting me out, this world is so nice please can I stay”. No the protector says, not now, not now, not now… his voice echoes and suddenly she is back only time really has passed, for it is late, much later than when she left. Mother is angry “not again” she is shouting “how many tights do I have to keep buying? Where are those pretty red ones you had on this morning?” “I don’t know” she says wondering how the elves stole them again without her noticing, “it’s the elves” she says and feels the stinging pain of mother’s slap “don’t lie you are too old to talk of elves and fairies and stupid childish games”. She is confused so many gaps, memories gone, life is confusing and she is afraid, always afraid and so very alone in this world…

but not in the other…

40 COMMENTS

  1. The horror I have is going to a mental health day centre and talking to people only to find that a large proportion have suffered child sexaul assault and the day centre don’t want to know. Several members have told me about it and the place it has in their adult problems but the day centre offers knitting classes and dominoes and a pool tournament. It mimics what happens in the families that these people came from: keep things quiet and don’t talk about what really happens.

    • Unfortunately the day centers aren’t the only place that this happens. The very same thing happens in the state hospital where I work. Without a doubt 80% of the patients in our units are there because of trauma inflicted on them as children or teenagers. Instead of working with the trauma all the psychiatrist do is pump them full of the toxic drugs. They refuse to sit down and talk with them about their issues. So, as they do the thorazine shuffle out the door when they’re relieased staff says, “Oh Mr. So and So; you’re doing so much better now than when you were first admitted!” They can’t figure out why we have a revolving door in Admissions! It makes me furious. I can count on one hand the number of the so-called “professional” staff who do any kind of talk therapy at all and this in a hospital that holds 250 people!

      • I asked my day centre to send some Peer Supporters on a really good and really cheap conference on surviving child sexual assault for mental health professionals and service users.

        The manager freaked and talked about bad counselling and how they would refer people to appropriate services if they, “disclosed,” (ergh yucky term, so clinical, so, “Professional,” in bad way). There are no services and how come so many members tell me but not the staff?

        It is the basic ideology that is wrong and it makes me furious too. Most activists in this field are fighting for civil rights and against the power of drug companies, and quite right too, but I also want it recognised that the mad are for the most part traumatised and in need of understanding and that if we want to reduce the number of seriously distressed people in society we need to ask what has driven them mad and then address these problems.

        Bah I say to pool tournaments and knitting clubs. Bah.

        I hope you survive your job Stephen Gilbert, most of the good staff leave as they find it too hard to stay in such inhuman environments.

        I wish you luck.

        • I agree; bah to pool tournaments and knitting clubs! They are only attempts to stymie the real work that needs to be done.

          People don’t just do things for no good reason. Every action has a cause and until we sit down and begin looking at the causes we are just blowing smoke through our hats!

          Thanks, I appreciate your support.

  2. Psychiatry is a drunken step-father – ready at all times to unleash his rage on the vulnerable son or daughter.

    The labels it uses are nothing short of foul name-calling; the hospitalizations, locking a child in a closet; ECT a violent assault to the head; the medication, mind-altering, brain-damaging, body-injuring, spirit-numbing drugs; the prognosis, an angry, out of-control step-father telling a child they will “never amount to anything.”

    No. I’m not a scientologist!

    Duane

  3. I still don’t know what this is, but as a victim of years of forced drugging and custody battles with the state as a child I find it offensive just by the fact that I think it has something to do with that (?) but is completely incoherent and self expressive (selfish) and not taking the issue the slightest bit seriously. If that even is what it’s about. I have no idea.

    Stuff like this just hurts any effort to end these injustices. You sound crazy and incoherent. If someone came to this site for the first time and read this, most people would permanently turn their ears off to any kind of anti-psych drug talk in the future. I can even just envision a child or a parent trying to get through with a psychiatrist to stop drugging a foster kid but the psychiatrist is rolling his/her eyes and thinks of this article and says to themselves “Just loon talk, blah blah blah”.

    What was this even about? Sexual rape or forced drugging? Ta know the “rape seed oil” is the injection, right? It’s a play on “grape seed oil” which is what the drug and ester are mixed with for those depot injections. But you (I think?) seem to be referring to sexual rape? So confusing, your “thesis” makes no sense what so ever.

    • Actually, rape IS the name of a seed / flowering plant.

      http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rapeseed

      Sexual assault, abuse and rape is a HUGE cause of so much harm. The I N J U R I E S get diagnosed as a disorder when in reality, an injury is an injury.

      And yeah, the damage from sexual assault, abuse and rape DOES wreck people. Messes people up. It “disorders” a person. Impact. Shattering. Devastation so vast, we know what a bottomless pit is.

      I personally think you are behaving quite rude and inconsiderate of Olga and her blog’s topic. It may be a guess, but I’ll say that English is NOT her primary language.

      And RAPE does not communicate “coherently” anyway – it’s not like rape is a form of slow, passionate LOVE making (which WOULD be coherent, yes?). Yeah, you get it.

      She made it clear what it’s about:

      “Something which has been of little interest in the world of research, as psychiatry prefers to define the truth of those they subjugate while turning a blind eye to the appalling consequences their ‘truth’ has on the lives of so many. Life stories are blithely brushed aside as inconsequential and yet here I am listening to the shattering narratives of childhoods lost and then as adults being labeled and negated all of which has inspired me to write this piece…

      • And that just confuses everything even more. I’ve more than once heard the term “Rape Seed Oil” to refer to depot injections, but what does an actual rapeseed have to do with any of this?

        From Wikipedia:
        “Rapeseed is a bright yellow flowering member of the family Brassicaceae (mustard or cabbage family…. is cultivated mainly for its extremely nutritious,[3] oil-rich seed, the third largest source of vegetable oil in the world ”

        Where as “rape seed oil” in the context of psychiatry means Depot injections. There’s too much confusion between the masses and those trying to spread truths about psychiatry and it’s drugged already. We don’t need any more.

        • What does rape seed oil have to do with it? Read along, carefully:

          “and suddenly…

          Yellow, yellow everywhere on her back her favorite place, blue sky above and mummy’s voice soothing, calming, ‘rapeseed so pretty don’t you think my dear’.

          But now, all of a sudden mummy is angry “look at your legs” she shouts “your pretty red tights are torn!” Red and skin mixed into one… Red, red danger must escape, the field of yellow changing, rustling, growing ominous by the second, the pretty yellow flowers are transforming becoming taller and taller, they start to clutch, her arms, her hair, head pulled back, wind panting like a dog, yellow ripping her legs apart. Danger, DANGER imminent invasion, her core is exposed, access is granted just not by me. She screams, time to go… her legs being separated forced apart and then…

          Tick tock time has gone, new place, safety has been found, at least for now. The comforting voice of the protector saying he is big and strong and will keep her safe. Mother earth is singing gentle lullabies, murmuring “she is safe now” to the protector. “Thank you for saving me, getting me out, this world is so nice please can I stay”. No the protector says, not now, not now, not now… his voice echoes and suddenly she is back only time really has passed, for it is late, much later than when she left. Mother is angry “not again” she is shouting “how many tights do I have to keep buying? Where are those pretty red ones you had on this morning?” “I don’t know” she says wondering how the elves stole them again without her noticing, “it’s the elves” she says and feels the stinging pain of mother’s slap … ”

          The rape scene is happening in a field of rapeseed flowers.

          I think the real issue here is that you’re disturbed by the graphic sexual account of a “Borderline Personality Disorder” person. See, you’re NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE the psychology. You’re supposed to see the cause of the harm, and it is depicted AS IT IS EXPERIENCED.

          Such violation is experienced as a psychological WARP (where the girl is driven into her head (scientifically known as “delusional”) and cannot make sense of what is happening to her. And not only is the poor girl raped, after that she is assaulted by her mother!

          Man, WHY DON’T YOU GET IT?

          • It is poetic writing. Many people will find it confusing but the subject matter, the sexual and violent abuse of children is in large part the cause of adult psychosis.

            Several people I have talked to have experienced forced drugging by psychiatry which mimics the original assault. People describe being restrained and drugs pumped into them against their will. It correlates to the original trauma in a manner which shocks me every time I hear about it.

            An understanding of poetry like this can help people understand the experience of people who are traumatised. Not necessarily this poetry and it is not essential to understand any poetic writing to understand people who are traumatised but it can be one way of understanding more of what people who end in psychiatric hospitals have experienced.

    • It is my experience that whenever our immediate reaction to something is, “This is crazy!” what we’re actually dealing with isn’t another person’s craziness, but a block in our own consciousness, usually produced by fear.

      We can quote studies and statistics, and understand with our rational mind, “This or that percentage of all children in any age group experience/have experienced abuse.” So what? It’s just a number, statistics, purely rational, technical language, stripped of all emotion. That’s why we can quote the numbers and statistics without putting ourselves at risk, emotionally. But real understanding doesn’t happen unless we also understand on an emotional level, unless the numbers in the statistics have become real human beings, and we’ve listened to them, and overcome the block that our fear has created, allowing ourselves to feel what the words of the real human beings do to us, emotionally.

      The numbers and statistics are out there, it’s not difficult to find them. Even psychiatry itself has no big problem quoting them. What it does have a huge problem with is when the numbers in the statistics become real human beings expressing real human emotion: “You are crazy! Incoherent! Mentally ill! Psychotic! Now, take your meds (= shut up, because we can’t deal with the emotions your words stir in us, because we can’t deal with our own pain)!”

      Quoting the numbers and statistics is important. But on its own it won’t do much. Real change will only be possible if we can overcome our fear of our own pain and hurt, and allow ourselves to feel it.

      Olga’s words go deep on the emotional level, indeed so deep that some will have to protect themselves against them: “Crazy!” I’d say, take that as a compliment, Olga. Your post hits home. And, if your writing here is really crazy, then so is Herbjørg Wassmo’s Tora trilogy, for instance.

      • People who have never done their own “work” at looking into their own fears and pain have absolutely no business working with the traumatized people referred to as the “mentally ill.” You must come to know your own terrors; catch them, pin them down, and observe and note everything you can about them. You must embrace them and sit with them. This is the “work.” If you cannot or will not do this then you have no business in any of the so-called “helping” professions.

        It always amazes me about the number of professional, psychiatric staff who have never done their “work” and continue to retraumatize people in the name of “helping” them. You can smell it on any psychiatrist who hasn’t done her or his “work” the minute they walk into the room. I want to grab them by their necks, pin them up against a wall and scream into their face, “Why are you here! What did you think you were getting into! PHYSICIAN, HEAL THYSELF!”

        • I couldn’t agree more, Stephen. Unfortunately, the “helping” professions, especially psychiatry, the way they work in our culture, serve as the perfect platform for projecting and acting out one’s trauma rather than as an opportunity for self-examination and -reflection. That’s probably why they attract especially those, who are the most afraid of confronting their own issues.

          • In earlier times any doctor aspiring to be a psychiatrist had to go through psychoanalysis before they could practice. At leqst by doing that you had the chance to uncover your fears and work with them so that hopefully you didn’t visit them on your paitents. These days psychiatrists don’t even know what you’re talking about when you bring up psychoanalysis, or they curl their lip in disdain and disgust and make disparaging remarjs about it. They never once realize how much they’re exposing their ignorance for all the rest of us to see.

  4. This abuse is so preventable. My granddaughter is being drugged by her addicted parents and DCF is blocking all attempts to help her. I don’t understand….its a 3rd degree felony to commit rape and drug and abuse a child but its OK if that child is your’s. Our collective voices have power. Please sign my petition on http://www.signon.org/sign/sarasota-sheriffs-office
    you dont have to break a family apart to save a child, just change the power structure. Please speak for those who have no voice. [email protected] Thanks

  5. Hi Olga, this is actually an extraordinary evocative piece, it truly encapsulates the simple terror and fragmentary existences of people place in situations of abuse and terror. Worthy of Kierkegard maybe, or the inner thoughts of a character from Kafka, but this is not fiction, this is real, really real. I can certainly empathise with anyone who finds it difficult, I have, as your words are of such strenght as to bring out ones own deep emotion, not always an easy experience. And your kind responses show the beauty of your soul. Thank you!

  6. “Tick tock time has gone, new place, safety has been found, at least for now.”

    Its a beautiful piece Olga, and I congratulate you for capturing the image and overwhelming need for SAFETY in the resolution of traumatic experience.

    I know the “socially inclined” dislike the the biology angle of discovering the “human condition.” Neuroscience language is certainly non-poetic with a vengeance, although it is making great strides to uncover the hidden source of our gift of creativity. Alas, not much of really good science gets a run in the mainstream media, when it comes to mental illness. Fear & loathing, still rules the ignorance of reality in which we live, with emotion fueled subjectivity, constantly confusing the debate.

    Yet there is a new horizon coming into view, with people like Stephen Porges, Jaak Panksepp, Antonio Damasio, Allan N Schore and Peter Levine, to name a few. Please consider Porges discovery of a third branch to our autonomic nervous system, and his articulation of our “unconscious” perception of SAFETY!

    “What determines how two human beings will act toward each other when they meet? Is this initial response a product of learning from culture, family experiences, and other socialization processes?

    Or is the response the expression of a neurobiological process that is programmed into the very DNA of our species? If the response has a neurobiological basis, are there specific features of the other person’s behavior that trigger either feelings of safety, love, and comfort or feelings of danger?

    Why do some children cuddle and warmly conform to embraces, yet others stiffen and pull back from the same overture? Why do some children smile and actively engage a new person, while others avert their gaze and withdraw?

    Does knowledge of human biology help us to understand the triggers and mechanisms of these behaviors during normal development? If we learn how behavioral features trigger neural circuits that facilitate social behavior, will we be better able to help children with severe developmental disabilities, such as autism, improve their social behavior?

    By processing information from the environment through the senses, the nervous system continually evaluates risk. I have coined the term neuroception to describe how neural circuits distinguish whether situations or people are safe, dangerous, or life threatening.

    Because of our heritage as a species, neuroception takes place in primitive parts of the brain, without our conscious awareness. The detection of a person as safe or dangerous triggers neurobiologically determined prosocial or defensive behaviors. Even though
    we may not be aware of danger on a cognitive level, on a neurophysiological level, our body has already started a sequence of neural processes that would facilitate adaptive defense behaviors such as fight, flight, or freeze.

    A child’s (or an adult’s) nervous system may detect danger or a threat to life when the child enters a new environment or meets a strange person. Cognitively, there is no reason for them to be frightened. But often, even if they understand this, their body betrays them.”
    NEUROCEPTION: A Subconscious System for Detecting Threats and Safety. STEPHEN W. PORGES University of Illinois at Chicago.

    http://www.lifespanlearn.org/documents/Porges-Neuroception.pdf

    Best wishes,

    David Bates.

  7. “Why do some children cuddle and warmly conform to embraces, yet others stiffen and pull back from the same overture? Why do some children smile and actively engage a new person, while others avert their gaze and withdraw?”

    With all respect to, especially, Peter Levine, I think, no whatsoever advanced neurobiological theory can give a more clear and convincing answer than Olga’s piece here.

  8. Thankyou for so accurately describing my life and that of so many people like me.

    Yet what does the system do? It continues to tell me I have a chemical imbalance in the brain and that ALL of my problems are caused by it. At most I am taught how to do things, no one looks at why I don’t do things.

    I still cannot hold a knife without dissocating, but no, that is my chemical imbalance in the brain, not my abuse, and so they drug me up and then teach me how to hold a knife and how to cut up a piece of fruit!!! Then I am labelled as non complaint for not doing it, when I dissociate yet again.

    And of course the labels that are handed to you to refusing to have any contact with your abusers!!!

    Much easier to label someone as schizophrenic when they acuse someone of sexually abusing them, than to possibly consider that the crime actually occured.

    Even when they admit you have PTSD, they then go on about the need to treat the biological aspects of the disease first, as there is no point in treating anything else, until the biological aspects have been treated first – and this is when they are treating you for PTSD!!!

    And they say I’m insane!!!!??????

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