The human zoo

Due to the inability of the human mind to think about the extent to which I've been violated and exposed without being psychologically incapacitated, I block it out far more than the conglomerate realizes.  If I were to spend a lot of time thinking about what people who have criminally violated me for years have seen, and thinking about what millions of other people are going to see for the rest of my life and after my death, I wouldn't be able to function.

I am not sure why so many people insist on reminding me of their enjoyment of these crimes.  I don't know if they think they're going to attract me or if they are merely extending their criminal enjoyment by reminding me of my helplessness.  It really doesn't seem to matter to them how many times I tell them to stop, so I think it has to be the latter.

It has taken me a long time to begin to understand why these people have ever thought that their feelings and behavior toward me should be characterized as caring or affectionate.  Their intimate, unauthorized, group familiarity with my body and my bodily functions has made them think of me as a human pet.  When I talk to them, they don't hear human words; they hear some sort of animal sound.  The angrier I am, the funnier they think it is.  Sometimes an angry thing I say breaks through their complacency; that's when they increase their reminders of their power.

At this point, I am the aging but most identifiable star of the human zoo that has proliferated around the Boston area for years.  We are all free entertainment, an inexhaustible source of narcissistic supply.