The Whore

 

September 18, 2021

J.R.R.Tolkein in his trilogy “The Lord of the Rings” begins the series with the novel “The Hobbit”. In his fictional world, he describes young people who are in their late teens to early twenties as tweens. Here in this article I am using the term in the same manner, though it is usually used to describe kids just entering their teens from childhood.

In our recently published article, “Pitfalls”, https://kris-tuzac.blogspot.com/2026/01/pitfalls.html I describe being dead spiritually. I too describe a long history of abuse at home and school, and I allude to the time spent with my first wife of whom I call... “The Whore”. It is this period that I want to talk about today. In other articles such as “PTSD”, and “Why Me?” I describe a relationship based solely in disrespect, callousness, and contempt. I also describe what the most likely reasons for those behaviors were, and why they took place, but we did not touch on what being there and trying to live those, behaviors were like.

The story of “the Whore” is a sad complex tale of a person of who has no identity, someone of who has no clue as to who she is, or was supposed to be. The last time that I had any type of dealings with her was approximately ten years ago, where she informed me quite unnecessarily; speaking about herself and I quote, “I haven’t changed”. I did not care and really did not want to know and this, “information” was still her regular attempt to fuck with me and try to get in to my head.

The whore as stupid as ever. I understood what her intent was, which was to try to rattle me. Make me believe that she, at least in her own mind, was as “dangerous” as she had been as I'd known her her in our youth. She had never struck me as being dangerous, instead possessing only a low form of cunning.

This was still her behavior after having had zero contact with me for over twenty years, I was not disappointed in her, this was what I expected from her, simply because she truly is a really shitty person. Here I could list the myriad things that I detest about her, and her whoring ways, but the things that make it clear that she has no identity are these. There are four completely different stories as to where she grew up and went to school; she scared an exchange student out of high school and back to Portugal. Her Mother gave her a “drink” made by a voodoo priest to make her vomit if she was ever poisoned, and finally, her out of control sexuality, bouncing around on the ends of no less than 200 different dicks in the last year of our marriage. Oh, and she is psychic too.

The above paints a really ugly picture of an individual who is really mixed up. But this article is not about her, it is about me and the damage done to me, and how I was made to believe that I did not deserve anything or one better. The effort to break me began when I was a toddler, there was regular physical violence, there was regular emotional neglect, there was regular spiritual abuse as well. In all of the above I fought back as best as I could, but being a child my efforts came to naught, and I was made to feel guilt and ashamed of trying to protect my boundaries. Over the course of sixteen years, this led to my having such poor self-esteem and lack of self-worth that it had become impossible for me to communicate my own needs or desires. Regardless of how mean the previous statement is, I was in a place where none of that mattered. She cared nothing for people and orchestrated the rape of a minor by an adult male; unfortunately, it would be many years before I found out about that travesty. The point being is that I was so battered that I had spent the previous ten years with her not really caring what she did, or who. By not caring, I was continuing to allow my needs to go unmet and with her, I had no expectation that they would be. During my entire time with her, I was only reinforcing the negative lessons that I had been taught growing up.

My aunt and uncle hated her and begged me to get rid of her, and as much as I knew they were right about her, I was stuck in the unenviable spot where I was just not finished hurting. At that time just a year after dad’s suicide, I could not have made a change like that anymore than I could make the sun stop shining. And there I stayed until March of 1991 when my or maybe quite possibly not daughter was born. Then my thinking was all about her in the form of a question. The question being, this beautiful little life form, this little person, how am I to raise it to be a healthy happy individual being as insanely fucked as I am? And too the other question was, how do I begin to protect her from her deranged mother? Then further complicating the situation, the Nanny reentered my life with all of the non-dealt with baggage from high school. I need her to tell this part of the story as much of it is difficult. 

  

PTSD

 

February 28, 2021

PD This is what's happening inside your head every minute as you suffer symtomatically. There is no respite from it. The people who should be helping you, instead abandon you because your behaviour scares them. You either don't care, or you drown in guilt about behaviour you can't help

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) occurs when a person endures a traumatic event so severe that it leaves lasting psychological scars. Over the past few decades, awareness of PTSD has increased, yet diagnosis and treatment often remain frustratingly slow—sometimes taking months to confirm, followed by long waits for government-funded psychological support.

PTSD can be triggered by various events perceived by the individual as deeply distressing. Though commonly linked with prolonged trauma, it may also develop after a single intense event.

Typical causes include:

• Physical or sexual abuse

• Domestic violence

• Workplace trauma (especially among first responders)

• Death of a loved one or profound grief

• Childbirth complications

• Torture or assault

• Severe accidents or health crises

• Near-death experiences

• Military combat

Research suggests that around 33% of those who endure severe trauma will develop PTSD. While anyone exposed to trauma is at risk, factors such as pre-existing anxiety or depression—and possibly even genetic predisposition—may increase vulnerability.

There are four key symptoms doctors look for when diagnosing PTSD:

1. Flashbacks — Vivid, often uncontrollable re-experiencing of the traumatic event, usually triggered by emotional cues, causing intense anxiety.

2. Avoidance — Deliberate or unconscious efforts to avoid reminders, discussions, or situations associated with the trauma.

3. Detachment — Emotional numbing or withdrawal from relationships, activities, and life in general, often as a coping mechanism.

4. Memory Loss — Inability to recall parts of the traumatic event, either temporarily or permanently, with the body still reacting subconsciously to triggers.

If you or someone you know may be suffering from PTSD, help is available. Mental health hot-lines, medical professionals, psychologists, and peer support groups can offer guidance and coping strategies. Recovery involves acknowledging the trauma, understanding your triggers, and learning healthy responses. Though healing may be a lifelong process, it is possible with the right support and resources.

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Warning: The following personal account contains mature subject matter and is not suitable for readers under 18.

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The woman I’ve often referred to as "The Nanny" played a profound yet painful role in my life. We met in high school when everything seemed full of possibility. Instead, we ended up hurting each other in ways neither of us anticipated.

The biggest mistake of my life wasn’t meeting her—it was meeting her so-called "best friend," someone I’ve called "the cow" or "the whore" in other writings. She wasn’t even on my radar. She was a Grade 12 student hanging around with a freshman, (Grade 9) which already felt off. I was caught somewhere between grades 9 and 11, and the social dynamics were complicated.

Our relationship began antagonistically, mostly revolving around control over the Nanny — a massive red flag I failed to notice amid everything else falling apart. As my relationship with the Nanny deteriorated due to trust and communication issues, this "friend" wormed her way into my life.

Within hours of spending real time together, we slept together — an early sign of how hollow and manipulative this relationship would be. She was 17. The experience felt less like passion and more like a performance, leaving me unsettled. What followed was years of toxic on-again, off-again involvement, fueled by her constant infidelity, manipulative games, and my growing sense of deadness inside.

PD Signs of a Toxic Relationship. The thing with the whore didn't descend into this, it started here and never changed. This went on for 10 years.

This wasn’t PTSD — this was me feeling utterly hollow, hopeless, and emotionally dead. I stood by as she slept with my friends, their brothers, and whoever else crossed her path. Things only started to shift when she got pregnant — and I had no idea who the father was.

What finally shattered any remaining attachment was discovering she had enabled the rape of a minor. My disgust hit a breaking point. I asked her when she planned to "calf" and told her to get the hell out of my house. Later, in a grotesque attempt at reconciliation, she walked naked into the living room, lay on the floor, spread her legs, and started masturbating in front of me.

I was disgusted when she began to jerk off in front of me. Quite a bit went into this scene. Four days before I'd thrown her and her pedophile boyfriend out of the house for raping a 14 year old child. Evidently while she'd been away, she'd decided that this was the way to seduce me back to her. She appeared shocked when I told her to quit it, and that she was acting like a whore, and to put her clothes on. She appeared utterly unable to appreciate that she'd done anything wrong. The thing really flummoxed her, because she got on the phone and called some crises line, and told the individual on the line that, she'd gotten naked, and had tried to jerk off for me, to fulfill one on my “fantasies”. Sadly for the whore, I overheard that part of the conversation, and called out loudly enough to be heard by the crises line person, interrupting their spiel about “some men can't handle their sexual fan...” “Did you tell her that you and your pedophile best friend raped a child, and that your existence disgusts me?” The crises line person said something about calling the police, and the whore hung up on her. I then spent a couple of hopeful hours waiting for the cops to show up, but they never did. The whore then fled to her pedophile boyfriend's place to warn him. She stayed with him for the next week. 

I was so revolted I left the house to get coffee.

After nearly a decade of this hell, the happiest moment came near the end. I was getting ready for work when she walked in, covered in bruises, with a split lip and black eye — the result of yet another abusive relationship, this time with a violent, predatory man. I looked at her calmly and said, “I hope it was worth it. You disgust me. We’re done. You’ll have the separation papers soon.” That was the happiest moment of my marriage.

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So, how does this relate to PTSD?

In my article The Mothman, I explored how certain people and events seem meant to teach us hard lessons. My mother started that lesson by treating me like garbage. This woman — with her cruelty, disrespect, and manipulation — continued it. And in return, my hardened indifference became a lesson for her. The violent man who beat her? Another chapter in that same cruel education.

The lessons only stop when they’re finally learned.