Author Archives: JLakis

About JLakis

Jessica Lakis - Writer/screenwriter. Geek & mental health blogger. Conqueror of the Useless. NERD INVICTA!

Chilling to the Third Reich

I was reading the news from Ukraine yesterday and needed to get away mentally. So I put on the audiobook of The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by, William L. Shirer. I look forward to listening to it everyday. Like ya do. Wut?

The writer and reader has this old fashioned, Futurama reporter voice plus sass and ‘tude to spare. Shirer was a reporter in Berlin and Vienna for CBS until late 1941 when the US declared war on the Japanese Empire, and Hitler declared war on us in response. He watched Hitler’s rise to power up close. He has his personal diaries. Plus, he uses information from “secret captured German documents,” first hand records from within the 12 year Reich.

As he loads his cannon with facts, he dresses down these slimeballs like they deserve. Less “the most evil minds of the 20th century!” More, “carpet chewing,” “enormous waistline,” “drug addled,” “former pimp,” and “pervert.” A lot of “Beck knew Hitler was talking out his . . . hat.” The names like Von Stupnaegel. Minor characters who “ate half a pound of ham to calm down” after meeting with Hitler. And he always is keen to note how each of these characters ended up, mainly hanged. Hurrah!

Sure you have to gut through the barbarity, but that ultimately is what gives moral impact and urgency to the book. Those are the stakes. Saving humanity from these inhumane men. But I also know how the story ends. Bunker tirades, poison, bang!, shallow grave on fire. And Nuremberg. πŸ‘πŸ½

He doesn’t spare the Brits or the French for the sort of blindness that makes me want to reach through the book and strangle the appeasers like Chamberlain. He is kinder to Roosevelt and Churchill. But makes note of the hypocrisy of our treatment of American minorities, the British colonies, and the Americans and British who defended the Nazis, like Charles Lindbergh and the shamed Prince Edward.

He speaks honestly about the so-called “Good Nazis” such as Albert Speer who used slave labor. And the German generals who later said they opposed Hitler all along, yet still planned and executed his campaigns. He gives credit to the heroic attempts on Hitler’s life, particularly Valkyrie. And the actual guy who was played by Tom Cruise was an even better man than depicted, and handsomer.

There are some exciting stories, like the rescue of Mussolini, which would be a great movie except it’s about a Nazi daredevil pilot and, well, Mussolini. I would love to somehow find a way to make that story work.

There are the journals of Goebbels. The diary of translator Dr. Schmidt. The actual words and thoughts. Like lackey Jodel’s lament that none of the Wehrmacht got how brilliant Hitler was. The infuriating treatment of Russia by England, forcing them right into the arms of the Nazis. The drugs, the sick parties, and 3 hour monologues Hitler made his dinner guests endure.

It’s absorbing, interesting, horrifying, and entertaining (which even this history still needs to be), yet its ultimately a warning.

I catch all sorts of odd reactions to my obsession with memorizing this tome. But it’s not much different than reading The Lord of the Rings or any high stakes book or film, except it happens to be true. Yes, it’s factual, but it wouldn’t have survived all these years as THE book on, well, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich if it weren’t also True, powerful, and moving. Even if you are laughing at the impossible German names.

Dark times are sometimes best reflected on through a mirror. The past several years have been one long dark night. And this is the book that helps me through. Because it’s over. The bad guys lost. Hitler and his cronies are dead. And while mass murderers, like the shooters in Buffalo, NY and in Christchurch, NZ, are reaching back in time for the same old Nazi B(aloney) S(andwich) and pseudo-science, and “Florida Math” sounds a lot like the “Aryan Math” that rejected Einstein — The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich may also be the most important book out there. Did you know that the Nazis actually encouraged young Aryan women to have children without co-parents and raise the babies of their rapists? Mm-hm. You could also do far worse for storytelling. Have a laugh at these freaks, but take them seriously, and keep hoping that the good guys win. Or at least suck on the sweet tears of defeated Nazis.

– JL βœŒπŸΌπŸ’™πŸ’›πŸ––πŸΌπŸŒ»πŸŽΈ

PS – If you’d like a PDF copy, you can contact me via my “First Contact” page in the menu. Also, cut me some slack. I listen to Morrissey to cheer myself up. That’s how I do!

Check out myΒ Instagram!! And connect with me on FacebookΒ hereΒ and here.

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Stop Hitting Yourself. Stop Hitting Yourself. Stop Hitting Yourself.

I know the feel, Supes.

My father was the target of an International Conspiracy. Every time the man approached an empty intersection “a friggin’ parade” would pass by. Pulling out of the driveway? “Everyone and their mother” had to pass by our house.

Furthermore, someone was attempting to kill this man at all times. “Jim, you’re killing me.” “Frank, you’re killing me.” Even parts of the Trinity got in on it. “Jesus Christ, you’re friggin’ killing me.”

If only I had it so good! I am in league with myself against myself. The center of my own conspiracy. I am friggin’ killing me.

I don’t begin my days thinking, “How can I hurt myself today?” Maybe I should start. Maybe I could plan it out better? I am open to suggestions.

Allow me to list this last week’s round of self harm. I cannot even believe the first one because it was straight out of my Father’s Greek-o-vision.

If you are unfamiliar. Take the story of Oedipus. A young man runs away from home because of a prophecy that he’d kill his father and marry his mother. What’s the worst that could happen? Oh, if you’re thinking being sold into sex-trafficking, bless you darling innocent!

Oedipus travels, is forced to kill a man, becomes King and marries a Queen. And now for the twist! He was adopted! And he killed his bio-dad and married his mom after all. Then Oedipus gouges his eyes out. Like ya do.

So, that’s true Greek thinking. That and making sales people cry.

Long ago my father pointed out a dangerous bannister he was positive one could catch a pinkie finger on and tear it off! 😳 Yeah, right…OK, yeah I just did that thing. My pinkie is still attached, but my body continued forward. First down me!

I have also been cutting myself. Most recently with a soap dish! (I get creative.) I literally asked for it. I asked Stan to get a not-for-camping soap dish. He got this cool stainless steel thing. First time I used it, I dropped it. It bounced off my head before somehow gashing open my pinkie toe. Hitchcock would have been pleased with the blood in that shower, and the bathroom floor, half a roll of toilet paper, gauze, bandaids, towels. Finally I taped it tight, put on black socks and went to bed. Try practicing Sun Salutes without the top of your foot!

Truly, my Dad had a long list of things “you haven’t lived until” they happened. Like a burning cigarette butt between your toes, “cauterizing” one’s toes with boiling water, etc. Only the annoying part is that — while I may have laughed at his warnings — since his death I have either experienced any and all of these, or met people who have.

In life and in death, the man insists on always being right.

So the right pinkie finger I balance my phone on and use to pick my guitar. And the pinkie toe I also need to hold a plank. Oh, and then there is the right thumb and arm I almost jammed up roller skating, but was wearing guards! Too bad I wasn’t wearing them the next morning when, walking my dog, she bolted across the street and I fell on the same hand, jamming up the entire right side of my arm, including the thumb!

I have managed to harm every extremity and the attaching bits on the right side of my body in one week. Just by going about my life. And yet I expertly pulled my dog back onto a dock after she thought swimming might be a good idea, and I can hit a forearm stand!

Maybe it’s how I rush around. Or maybe I just need to develop my Greek-o-vision. Whatever it is. This is my cry for help, as I balance my phone on my right pinky finger, and type with my jammed up thumb to elbow to shoulder situation to write this. Help me. Maybe bubble wrap? Didn’t work out for Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes, but I’m not dressing to impress. I just want to stop hurting myself! Wait…maybe it’s a conspiracy! Everyone and their mother is friggin’ killing me.

– JL βœŒπŸΌπŸ’™πŸ’›πŸ––πŸΌπŸŒ»πŸŽΈ

I have a Medium blog now! Check it out!

Check out my Instagram!! And connect with me on Facebook here and here.

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Trauma Therapy II, This Time it’s Personal

Can I cry now?

If you have been following this blog, you’ll know that I spent nearly a year coping with and escaping from evil people who made hating me a lifestyle. You’ve followed my story to our New Year’s Eve escape to a hotel where we lived with our dog and cat for three months. So, it is time for an update.

We have moved! And I love our new home on the Chesapeake Bay. My neighbors don’t seem to be actively out to get me, which is a pleasant change. In fact, there is quite a town atmosphere, with lots of neighbors of all stripes, nice restaurants, art galleries, and every dog on the street barks just like mine does! It also has a contagious sense of civic pride. And Harriet Tubman lived here. Freedom for me meant moving South. Go figure.

My favorite housewarming gift from my (almost) MIL. (Although I love the stick vac, Mom!)

But one of the million pieces of fallout from my move to freedom was that I had no therapist for months. My therapist was not licensed to practice in this state.

I have done everything I could think of to keep my emotions in check. I failed a lot. But I just needed to gut it out, I knew. Once I had a permanent address here, and became a resident, I got the help I needed to find a new therapist. I found her through Psychology Today (the best way to find the specific help you need). She turned out to be a woman from Poland. Who better to understand trauma than someone from a nation that spent a lot of time not existing, or being tormented by Nazis and then Soviets?

I saw her this Monday past, and it was a revelation! She loves the book my previous therapist and I used, spoke about Jung, and didn’t blink when I spoke about Camus’ The Plague and being an Existential Humanist. Ah. Eastern Europeans, you know what we Greeks have been on about for ages.

But, most importantly, she is older than I am. I am too far gone to be seeing therapists working on their doctorate. Besides, as late Gen X, Millennials are well, like they actually think like shit should work like it should, ya know? And they like trust people? What-ever…πŸ™„ #trustno1

I am happy about our first meeting. It’s always rough to start with a new therapist. But I felt good about her. I think she will challenge me more, too. I speak and write a decent game, but it doesn’t take too long to realize I have some “issues.” But I am not often challenged. I hope she challenges me.

I felt incredibly sad after our first meeting, and it took a day or so to work it out. I need a place and person to break down to. I’ve held myself so tightly, and continued to function as well as I could. But I need permission to let it out and let go of the trauma of Buttface Becky and her single-celled organism of a husband. I NEED to cry.

Only after I have let this go, can I truly begin to heal. Hopefully, this woman can help me. Until then, I hope she just lets me cry.

May the Force be with you, always.

– JL βœŒπŸΌπŸ’šπŸ––πŸΌπŸŒ»πŸŽΈ

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Check out my Instagram!! And connect with me on Facebook here and here.

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