September 06, 2011
Today has been a strange mixture of feeling crushed and okay. I am accepting I need a lot of attention right now and for the foreseeable future and am so much less annoyed with myself for not being 'normal'. I could smile at myself for not doing the dishes tonight, they are soaking and can be easily rinsed in the morning. I will need to stay busy tomorrow morning away because I will be weedless, which will be all lot more bearable now I've realised myself from the course and have ordered healing books. I feel like I'm going through something important right now, its really starting to sink in that I have options and futures now. That the decisions I make effects my future - fancy that..
My little spiritualism is still vulnerable but getting better. I know I still need it, some sort of vague faith in forces in the universe that are so far unknown. Experience and insight taught me it was bad to let someone else tell you what religious truth is, it is personal and unique to everyone. I believe that so little is understood about life in general but people's brains in particular that the truth would sound like magic. I believe in telepathy and shared hallucinations that can be manipulated. I believe in these things because I have experienced them and was charged with developing skills to enable people to control others telepathically. I am well past believing all this is just a pretty story made up to hide the truth because it is the truth that I made up stories to protect me from. It was all about extremes, and harnessing the powers that people have when they endure extremes stress. I wish I did not have these beliefs but it could be worse, after all I believe in 'group hallucinations' not resurrection or instant healing that I have heard other survivors discuss. I have those memories to but can't believe them, partly because it seems so impossible but partly because I was involved behind the scenes more. Something about the way I split made me very useful to some. It's horrible there is so much information in me that could help so many others but I am just not able to go to the places in my head that I would need to. But there needs to be more to me than 'ritual abuse', more than a machine that churns out the past for the benefit of others.
Saying that I know I have a lot more to say and will be blogging by thoughts and reactions to 'The Courage to Heal' to help me sort it all out in my own head and just to have a voice I suppose. But I'm keeping my odd beliefs with pride, for the moment anyway.
I couldn't say much of this to your face. I learned that talking about rape and telepathy in the same breath isn't too smart, kind of takes away your credibility. So I had to start compartmentalising it all, making layers of truth for me to uncover when the time was right.
Then of course I was always interested in spirituality, religion, ideas about the soul and such so maybe the abuse would have looked very different to me if my head wasn't full of the otherworldly already? One things for sure there was diffidently a lot of rape and a lot of drugs and the occasional murder.
September 05, 2011
Don't know when it started without anyone else involved though, but it was bad in my early teens, until I learned enough violence to fight him off. But I remember the red glow of a cigarette and his smell in the dark when I was younger, and that horrible feeling that he was 'one of them' to and that I had no hope. He is an alcoholic and of course that doesn't mean he did it anymore than my mother's smoking is a means as a blocking her inability to stop it. But as I write this I see her screaming no and launching at him and an earlier memory of middle sis telling me it was all my fault. Did he rape me in front of them? That might of been to much for my mother, behind closed doors is one thing in the living room in front of everyone without any others - my mother tolerated it all by compartmentalising this would have crossed a boundary for her. Stuff at parites of course there was always drugs and it started too young for me to remember anything real. Just that feeling of being in a room after it happened, staring at the same objects and patches on the wall I stared at then. Telling myself then that I knew it was happening, that I loved her, think I stopped telling her it would never happen again. I was so small.
So am I going to end up remembering it all? Or walking around accepting that as a child and young adult I was drugged up by strangers, family and friends and handed about at parties like a toy. They would always arrange for any possible friends I had to be at the next one. I'd hang around with people I knew would fail me because at least then I wouldn't get my heart broken quite so much. How do I reclaim my body after that?
'She likes it'
I just don't get how getting someone wasted and fucking them in front of people could be entertaining. So it would happen again because I just couldn't believe those around me would let that happen to me never mind take part.
So I smoked joints, like I am now so that the present becomes the past, the pain turn to aches, my muscles relax and my brain turn to prettier things, pretty things in me that I kept for myself and no one else. I'm thinking I could maybe share them more now.
I'm just not in the right place to argue with the ideas of Descartes, Mill and so many others. Their ideas were used in the ritual abuse to, not that I can remember how exactly beyond books being used as physical weapons that is. Having intellectual dicussions with group leaders was part of my training/trials it helped them get right inside my head.
So, I've ordered 'The Courage to Heal' and a book on healing my inner child. I was lent a copy of 'The Courage to Heal' when i was in refuge for the first time but was no where near ready for it. It helped me see how I was still surving in a state of constant crisis no where near thriving, which at the time didnt feel particulry helpfull. I think is also contains accounts by ritual abuse survivors, which had a massive impact on me in terms of believing myself. I don't think going back will be a walk in the park but I need to do something, continuing the way I am has never or rarely been an option. I was always being damaged so my sense of self protection is geared to moving on, I was never home but now its different and have to turn all that energy into healing and its not easy. Healing and surviving can seem like opposites when its on going. How could I talk to an inner child that was being tortured regularly by people with great intelligence and torture experience, all she wants is to share the details. Details I couldn't handle when it was still happening, my body was screaming those details at me all the time I couldn't let myself see her if I wanted to keep going.
Now I have to put all the thoughts of what might of been, and might still be to look at myself as is. To accept the multiples that where abusers along with the warriorers, earth mothers, priestesess, police informers, party girls, international spys, property developers and fuck knows what else. I remember always resisting the abuse of children but got to really enjoy non sexual violence against people I saw to be 'real' rapists, I knew that if I kept 'taking it to far' they would stop using me. Remebering little flashs of the things I've done gives me very mixed feelings. I'm amazed and shocked that I could do so much damage to someone, then I remeber aspects of where the violence came from and stop thinking about it. I've got a lot of guilt, complex, twisting, ingrained guilt and I want shot of it.
September 04, 2011
The order of service was forced in my hand but I didn't want anything to do with it. I knew too many words would be missing but I was glad they'd used her favourite picture all hair, tan, smile and Scotland undulating behind white clouds gathering above. Although she swore she had a shocking hangover that day I was never sure. She didn't seem that drunk the night before when she came out of the dark of my tent at me her skin all smooth and cold like tatties out the fridge.
I looked like you when I was younger. A photo at the bun fight proved it, the cutting slope of our noses that ask to be broken. Earlier at the family grave I choked on the smoke of our shared vice as the grandkids threw dirt on her lid. I felt the words she used on me too often scar
across my brain, Yi can.
September 03, 2011
September 02, 2011
September 01, 2011
Today I played the part of the character based on middle sis while young dude asked the questions I wrote for her. My questions were all based on asking her why she hurt me. My answers were short just whatever came into mind. Then everyone else could ask my character questions to the group 'teacher' had lots. Afterwards I talked about a greenybrowny feeling in my belly and we moved on to someone else. It's not easy when the focus is on you, but we all go because we need it, the spotlight that is, just for a second.
August 31, 2011
Did I mention I was really grateful about the recent rise in income... It just means so much to me and the wee man. Its the confidence boost that comes with enough money that is missed the most when there is not enough. There must be some mistake, here I am a parent with a 2:1 honours degree, enough money, no rape, flat of our own, more or less sane. It's all rather beautiful.
August 30, 2011
These days my priorities are different. I have to do housework, get the shopping in, bring up my son, do the bastard ironing. It's all so much harder than run, fight or switch. People mean something, everything means something. In survivor mode everything and everyone is a tool to aid escape or not worth bothering about. I balanced every carefully up, did the best I could and didnt worry. Everything is much more complicated now that I am in charge of managing my relationships!
I hate how much I resent the housework sometimes. What is wrong with keeping a good, safe, clean home for my son? But still this persistent feeling that life is too short for regularly cleaning the bastard kitchen floor and that washing the friggin cutlery is a waste of my time and talents. I miss the faces, the hands, the little bodies that when I held I knew my role in life and my position in the universe. I was to protect them using every conventual and unconventual method my imagination and training could come up with. I so rarely feel that certainty anymore.
I did work in a kitchen in my teens to pay for my hash and hated it, I'm sure that hasn't helped me not despise all kitchen work and the inferior role that is associated with. Washing your rapists dishes is no fun.
But I think part of me is to scared to want to build my life around my son in case he is murdered or taken away like the others even though I know that's unlikely. I just hope my issues don't become his. When he was small and I held him I had to hold back all the memories of birth and babies but some broke though, mostly good ones when I loved and was loved so much easier than I feel I could now. I am ashamed of my desire for space from my current wee man when I think about how hard I fought to be in this position. Just to get pregant, give birth in a hospital, register the kid and live as a single mother on benefits. The life I have now was all ever wanted for so long, no guns, no glory just peace and love.
August 26, 2011
It's getting close though and I'm terrified of the thought of losing control. Kneeling on the floor, imploring Smily, who was again playing the mother, but in this time for Griny who was dealing with her mother's detachment. I was the child again, asking for recognition, for respect, love, attention, anything from the parent. First for the young lad and his dad then for Griny yesterday and her mother. It's amazing really, makes me feel all hippyish. Its not easy to feel comfortable with your hippy side when I spent years of my life with a head wired for war. Hippyshit in war is insult to injury, it's the evilest of enemy propaganda because it doesn't encourage you to fight as hard as you need to survive. It's a cop out.
But in drama therapy, everything is valid, There is no taboos and your body is your tool for your own and others healing. It feels so clumsy trying to explain how it all works in the group and make up names or descriptions that convey people well enough. I definitely like mental ill people and drama therapists, but I knew that.. They're who I fought for (with crystals in my pocket - the darker the stone the better because I think everyone needs a bit of faith - it brings luck when the goin is hard)...
Then afterwards I met G.
Who (of course) I no longer have a massive crush on now that we have actually met in the Holy presence of Queen Dolly.
I had the soggy student pasta followed by Belgian waffles and chocolate sauce washed down with two glass (1 large 1 small) of actually semi decent red. She had the macaroni again, like in Edinburgh... Blimy I am interested in her in a whole load of weird ways. Nothing I am able to rush into though, unfortunately she doesn't seem the able to talk about anything at a level I need to leap into anything. She might get used to me, people have gotten used to me talking comfortably about abuse related issues in public places before. She didn't seem happy when I talked about Drama Therapy in the quiet bar and she works in social services, I'm a little worried shes trying to take her work home with her. She said I was lovely in a txt earlier on. I waited hours and txted back 'thank you xxxx'.
One thing we definitely have in common is relationships "and stuff" freak us us out.
August 23, 2011
There is no point wishing my life away. In some little way I believe there is more to me valuing the support I get currently from my mother and my relationships with my sisters that is more than resignation to situations outside my control. It has helped me see them as victims too, helped me seperate what happened from me because I had no option but to sperate it from them. Parts of me has forgiven my mother and my oldest sister, but as far as my dad and my other sister go its a very differnet matter. Now that I've moved out and away I doubt there will be many occasions where I see my dad or middle sis, they will no longer play a role in my son's life. I knew I couldn't cope on my own and had no where else to go but I mourn the life we might of had constantly.
I can understand how people think it is wrong that I still have contact and allow contact between my son and people who I know have done horriffic things to me. But I hear a lot less lies, I won arguments I refused to let it go. It has made me stronger.
So much more to reality than words such as 'abuse', 'rape', 'ritual abuse', 'satanism' can ever cover. I think I am too ready sometimes to not feel alone that I deny the unique horror I expierenced. I try to make something palatable for other people when the facts are simply not palatable. I tried so hard find another way out but this is the only one that worked. My trials are over, I dont expect to have house full of cloaked up rapists using forms of sexual and emotional torture that I cannot repeat. If I work, doing anything for anyone the money comes home to me. My son will know nothing of the experience of it, these things I am sure of. It's a different world, and every big scandal and toppled dictator confirms it.
August 22, 2011
Taking survivors' accounts seriously can help us decide whether lives such as they describe could conceivably have been lived. Sarah Scott, Beyond Disbelief: The politics and experience of ritual abuse (2001) p.66.
No cloaks here.
But April snow pelts the jogger in shorts
and the granite memorial in a one pub
two cemetery North East village.
The nerves of another wisdom lost to grinding
won't give up. I am not buried.
but was a soldier as a child flat chested,
armed, sewing the heather with wire
eating out of tins and counting everything
twice until the November
when my peers took me back to the burn
where I shared my plans to show me theirs.
and cold Angus waters. One girl can hold so much.
Like our old white hen dead beneath the hen hut; no more clucking
amongst the common reds.
The air was turning green when the game keepers
gave me my options, sky
and birdsong soaked up their empty souls,
I chose the kennel
and further resented Ernest
for over salting his tattie skins.
It's not good
and he knows I hate too much salt.
Uniforms set me loose, hosed of the dog shit, took me to the suits
then left me in the field
with orders to ask for help.
I watched the Scholastic ledger turn to cabinets
through my application
Years on the phone
making holes in the wall with
with a cork board pin sent me
and my E cups in a C cup bra
to a warm Southern suburban study
a golden tree dappled light full of savinours and art objects
that I would have to kill to examine alone
Make sure they know not to mention the money, emphasise costumes,
and if they cant remember any baby sacrifices make one up.
In Latin as broken as he was.
The bracken turned to split bones
all the houses are machines. I scrubbed carpets and rinsed
signs from my body and no longer worried about what they meant
You will see the world.
drugged, dissociated and subjugated. This is a pewter chalice
either half brimming or fallow my god I could make any alloy shine
Pulled to a T shrinking to a dot, just another zero,
no xs left to mark the spot
but still I reproduce, there are corners
in every Holliday Inn
that will be forever me.
clatters through and open north facing window
the cat stands on the space bar and the monitor lights
up the room. I'm huddled and racked
in period pain smiling
as Junior sings gaffuwing in his sleep.
almost June. My dreams went from rust
to jade overnight, the bikes are opening up along the straight lines
that lead from the house. Outside my niece is singing
Someday my prince will come, we'll meet on match.com
and of to pub we shall go.
Not that I agree with them much. My GP told me about someone who was recently failed for DLA, so asthmatic he could barely walk up the corridor. I guess sometimes the taboo nature of bad mental health can bring positive things as well as being a major factor in what keeps some people ill.
Have joined Triberr which I am very grateful for, @Prozacblogger and everyone else who has made me feel a bit less isolated even if I it makes me feel like I'm being touched. Realising this is pretty important, that I shut down at any sort of touching, emotional or otherwise. Thanks to G for the hugs that have helped me realise this to. Doctor on Wednesday morning, no word from any psychiatrist so need to chase it up and start getting real with her. I self medicate, I'm sure I've told her this. The current prescribed meds are either not working or making things worse. I've already cut down on them. I want another specialist and I want to know if I have aspbergers. Usually there is a lot of sympathy but nothing can be done. If the docs could legalise it they would. If I've found it to be the best treatment, stick with it. I've often went in with expectations of a 'drugs are bad' lecture but found myself being the only one that is saying there is anything wrong with it. Thank fuck for all the good GPs I seen over the years. Their compassion for me and insight into whats wrong with me have been the difference between a life without hope and a life with one.
I just wish they'd written better notes...
August 21, 2011
How could I turn down any oppurtunity to defend my self?
The police showed me a tape. It showed a bloke touching me and then me beating him. The bloke was missing. They thought I had agreed to it all. I didn't.
What was I supposed to do?
I forgive myself for being an agent in my own exploitation but this does not mean I accept that it will continue.
I wish I could tell you about the music, some of it was beautiful and it was mine. I made it. I knew what all the levels and dials did. I didnt need to disassociate. I was always disassociated.
GP this week, this isnt working. I need to feel I'm at least working towards a better diagnosis and better meds.
And Dolly, who I've always admired and respected... it was very good to see and hear her, even if the Queen Latifa impression made me slightly uncomfortable.
August 14, 2011
August 12, 2011
I woke up feeling like there was someone lying beside me, it was calming, comforting but he's not here. He is married with children and businesses and a whole bunch of shit I don't have. I guess the clique about never getting over your first love is true in my case. To be honest I never get over anyone, too much memory loss to make enough sense of something so I can let it go. I go round and round in circles of remembering, heart breaking want, forgetting then remembering again. While the people who are the focus of it all get to move forward with their lives, their relationships, their careers.
I wish him courage and love and hope he wishes the same for me.
I wrote this without my best friend, its not nothing. But what do I do with the rest of the evening? Music doesnt help, just takes me back to the studios and reminds me of the people taking the profits from work I was raped into creating. TV doesnt help, it makes me feel isolated. My few friends are all working. But I feel better for writing this and at least I did the dishes! lol
August 05, 2011
The 2:1 is precious though. There must be some mistake! I can feel it seeping into to be and making me feel less of a loser, good news. Couldn't of done it without Marge Piercy and my delusional pespective that reads Women on the Edge of Time as laden with historical and biographical fact. The same word in our notes 'bizzare behaviour' and the burning hot sense of humour.
Exam coming up, oh dear...
August 02, 2011
I know I can't do the hours I need to do this now to be a 'writer'. I am the proud recipient of a wee bit disability money. Very proud recipient. He's 4 now, ordered new clothes and wellies for us both. Cant wait to see him in the rain in his new raincoat and fireman wellies - he will stand out for sure on any grey day :)
Couldn't believe how easy it was to publish from word, what a dough ball I am. Might use it more often makes for prettier pages.
Anyhow, cheers to an extra £200 a month, to a growing boy in new clothes and a mum who has eventually come to terms with her body enough to buy the size 14...
aplogiese to the vunrable overworked souls that probably made the clothes. It's not right I know I respect and hurt for you... I misunderstood something pretty fundamental when I voluntereed for single parenthood, i.e. the need for a bread winner...
August 01, 2011
...taking survivors' accounts seriously can help us decide whether lives such as they describe could conceivably have been lived.
Sarah Scott (2001) p.66.
For the unregistered.
No cloaks here.
Just April snow shrouding the bare legged jogger
and the granite memorial in a one pub
two cemetery, North East village
the nerves of another wisdom split by years of grinding
I am not buried.
but was a soldier as a kid, flat chested,
and initiated sewing heather with wire, casing the boothies
lying in the lichen eating out of tins
and counting everything
twice. Until my sister's birthday
when they took me back to the burn
where I shared my plans to show me theirs.
Air turning green when game keepers debriefed.
Open sky and birdsong drown out their death.
I choose the kennel and further resented Ernest
for over salting his tattie skins.
It's not good for you
he knows I hate too much salt.
Green berets pulled back the bolt
hosed of the grainless dog poop
took me to the suits
then left me in the field
to keep talking. The Scholastic ledger I dutifully kept
turned cabinets to crates to warehouses
partly through my appeal. Bracken turns to bleached femurs
the houses are marching machines.
I scrubbed the symbols of my flesh
and lost interest in the meanings.
You will see the world.
..drugged, dissociated and under orders.
This chalice is neither brimming nor fallow
my god I could make those alloys shine
like moonbeams between my fingers.
Pulled to a T
shrinking to a dot, just another zero, X marks the spot
still I reproduced. There are corners
in every Holliday Inn
that will be forever me.
Racked in period pain smiling
Junior sings guffaws in his sleep.
My dreams go jade
from rust tranced by the bikes opening
up down the straight lines
that lead from the house.
July 30, 2011
I've been feeling like a fraud, the facade of being a 'good girl' runs deep. I am a 'good' girl and that surprisingly enough, made me a pretty good thug. But no one can be good or bad enough to escape intact anyway. Sometimes I just wanted to make people smile in a good way, when everyone had their clothes on and there wasnt too much pain. It was my way of saying 'remember me' the worse the abuse, the louder and more intelligent the voices. But you cant walk out of hell without getting fucked up, thats the whole thing about hell.
July 27, 2011
heavy silence. My clenched fist released
and rested on the scratched black
of the interview room table top.
I leaned forward to repeat
that same indifferent tone that none
of us bought. For the tape,
Detective Inspector Pinkerton
has just fallen on his arse.
Behind the walls the laughter rattled
I’m sure I heard the dogs
howling their tails battering cages.
Despite the hell, the horror, etc.
It almost, always makes me smile,
his flat flailing feat and manicured
hands grasping nothing
broke my face
into the smile I thought I’d lost.
Fist published by WomenWords publishing
July 23, 2011
The conception was a chore but
there were fireworks the night his minuscule doubling
numbers were captured by my uterine wall.
Tired of painting over the old dirty terracotta
curtains still days from their rails.
I watched bursts of ancient science
jewel the tight face of the black Tay,
and heard the crackles
like tide pulling through pebbles.
I knew his names long before
I found him watching me sleeping
from his aching elongated head.
First published by WomenWords Sunrise Over Manchu Picchu
Sunrise Over Machu Picchu: A Collection of Women's Voices
July 21, 2011
It's been more or less quiet since then. Execpt for that new year.
At least I am not asking that same old question as often as usual - Can I go home now?
I refused to follow because it might
do me good and that makes them right
when they said ‘do as your told and
everything will be fine’ but as long
as its short I give it ago. The child is away
so mother plays desperate for views desperate
for trouble still flinching whenever anyone
thinks my name. I am a survivor and I stand
amongst the documents that prove that I was
there and he was here but today they are confetti
clogging the drains when it rains.
I walk on the ground but it feels
like wet paper.
But thats what rape can do, accepting the physical pleasure that sometimes happens along with the pain, disgust, terror, humiliation and sense of overwhelming injustice just feels impossible. I would make my self a million different people than do that. But it happens, especially if the rape is a regular thing and whoever is doing it is into the unequal sex side more than the torture. How can you have a body again after. I can't live with a the best parts of me assigned to different people either. In my early teens I read a bit of Descartes and thought I had it sussed. Its not ME its just my body, I am somewhere else and more importantly SOMETHING else. Until a guy in tech class suggested otherwise, I can't remember exactly what he said but I knew I was wrong. It wasn't some different material that was being treated like that, it was me and the only way to fight it I discovered was to take it very very personally.
Still dont think I am properly here though. I'm still well dissociated, I think. I blame it on the electric shocks, and other methods of brain interference but think a lot of it could still be shock. Shock so deep your brain makes you think you are on the other side of the room just to survive it. I want better diagnosis but cant get it if no one is prepared to back me up and say how bad the abuse was, how sophisacted and how regular it was.
July 17, 2011
Philosophy is moving on but still not reading. Writers block is one thing but readers block is even worse. Thank I founf twitter or a really would be going mental. It's like everytime I pick up a book its just another symbol of what I have lost, what I could of been and what I was. There is still a big part of my delusional brain thinks that none of it happened. That one day I will wake up and just start getting on with all the things that are so hard, like making friends, stopping smoking, managing a job, being an a student. I never stopped being in my early teens, when I still believed I might be okay. When I still had hope that my brain was looked after enough to be okay. That all that pain, shock, drugs and shocks wasn't a match for my big brain. Before I learned how to really bond with anyone. I can't move on from it, I'm 11/12 forever.
Child alseep on top of the duvet with his wee jammied bum stuck up in the air, hes ace.
Police chief quits though. Story still isn't moving fast enough for me. All the News Of the World Stuff after the Arab Spring really makes me feel like everything is changing. That the systems that I couldn't fight and destroyed me are crumbling. I wonder if their will be a phonecall and believe it is possible. I could dance properly, or could if I tightened the old pelvic floor a bit and warmed up properly anyway. Which is all a much needed distraction from not having enough money and not being able to stretch what I do get properly. I think it might be strangly linked to why I wont read any fiction, I cant contrate enough to read a supermarket novel then maybe I'm not ready to work. The whole idea fills me with terror, the way I'd act around most people just makes them ostracise me for being to shy and awkward. The bosses will only like me until they realise I can't do the job and by that point I'm looing for places to cry and getting really ill..
Anyway, there is no NoTW, Murdoch's in trouble.... and I have a cute bloke as an fb friend, and a girl date in August.. so why so I still feel so bummed out most of the time? oh yea
July 16, 2011
Well that brought on the ouchies, painkillers not to keen to go down, I don't blame them.
Could I write a poem called 'Estuary'? not today.
July 15, 2011
I guess its the same with my family because I've seen their worst. There is not a fucking thing they can do that would give me a nasty suprise. I've seen it all, fought it and came to some arrangment that didn't involve anymore violence. But people I dont know, people who haven't abused me. Christ that would really hurt, Its always so much worse when its from some one I liked and with family/friends they give me constant pleasant suprises of showing warmth, generosity, love and honesty occasionaly to.
And of course I think all this is really, really fucked up..
July 13, 2011
July 10, 2011
But what do you do with infromation like that, they claimed they suffered with problems with the police to. I was disinclined to believe it, not that everyone didn't get hurt, of course. Everyone did, some just did better afterwards than others.
Eitherway I'm not looking for trouble, beyond blabbering on here of course. Watched Sky news for hours today, happy but desterate for further developments. They did do some good over the years but the filth they pumped out usually just brought out the worst in people.
July 09, 2011
I got some private apologieses though, they count for something when geniune but not hellish much.
July 08, 2011
July 06, 2011
I'm quite excited by it. Giving it a go again. I can't stop thinking about her and Dolly Parton. I even caught myself staring a Zoe Ball in a lustful manner. Scary. Sexulaity is a funnt thing. Can't say there is no regrets over men from match.com though. But I just can't see it, apart from my fellow poet but we might of lost our moment. He sent two fb messages tonight, one was the usual banter about the weather. The next just said 'I want to see you again'. I was really attracted to his excessive wordiness at the beginning, not sure how I feel about this change in tactics. Its just fun so far with lass though. I let myself doodle her name, remembering Carol Ann Duffy's 'Rapture' wishing I hadn't givin it away the the first girl that could be bothered to show up at my door.
July 04, 2011
That's one thing about being a ritual abuse survivor or an organised crime/intelligence services escapee, when you say 'it could be worse'; you mean it.
He did really well today, was a massive help to everyone but he was powered up and didn't stop talking all day. It's always a nightmare when he's like that and I'm off. Its the stuff he talks about feels like he's twisting an knife. So and so bought this, so and so worked at that. The worst talking is about people buying houses or his family in South Africa.
Now I'm sure South Africa is a natural wonder and not all the people there are thieves and rapists but if someone asked me to live/work in South Africa I would be tempted to garotte them. The shit that goes on over there just turns everyone to a complete tool, another cog in the wheel of cycles of racism, misogyny, inequality and violence. When he talks about how much the staff earn I want to jump out the car.
When he talks about people he knows and their big purchases I cant help wondering, how much of a percentage of that was directly or indirectly taken for me. Where did the money go from the regular rape scenes, or the occasional stuff. I used to mark notes when I could.
Sure its paranoia now but I would never of found out anything if I hadn't tried to quash fears put done to paranoia.
July 02, 2011
June 30, 2011
So one more time, an essay on whether or not AI can produce something like a human mind. This could be a turning point to returning some sort of regular study habit that I can't bear at the moment. I could do so well - do I care enough? I've written a plan for it and will start it tomorrow, 1. read essay. 2. take notes on essay... I got 30% for the last one so this one means do or die under in examination conditions later on in the year.
Anyway, at least I might be going to see Dolly Parton with a woman soon, I had two pints of Guinness yesterday in an actual old pub served by an old friend and its stopped raining.
I've had parts of 'Anti matter' in my head for most of the last year, they never feel finished but I am starting to want to move on from these sorts of poems and go back to writing more prose. The comedy violence novel, it should only take a decade or two to get right..
In 'Anti Matter' I wanted to try and contain a strong reminder to readers about Haut de la Garenne and the investigations in Jersey. I wanted to make people wonder about how those teeth got there and the fact that somebody somewhere knows. I will never forget the day the excavations were announced, sitting on floor of our room with the new carpet, my son crawling and drooling behind me as I wept. Also wanted to convey I sense of the strength I got from doing every I could do to resist.
June 27, 2011
Neighbour started her shit again, could do with out it. She slams doors so hard the whole building shakes and screams so high pitched you think its cats fighting. Didn't care first few nights here. I was almost soothing to here the rukus and not be involved. None of my business, not my family, not where I live. Progress = smugness
But I'm flinchy today. That pressure in my nose, like after youve been punched, remembering weekends when my parents were away. My sisters leaving them to it but they did try sometimes. I remeber being shocked at what my oldest sister who go through to try and get them to leave me alone. They forced me to smoke hash and swallow hash. I loved hash and felt it was a great loss when that to reminded me of them. Not sure how it ended, think I did a favour for someone with more contacts than the rapists, someone who had enough time for me to not want me to be treated like that. All I can really remember about their faces is the sneer, the nasty fake laugh and that cold practiced self conscious body language, like little boys being the bad guys from movies. Except they didn't play at the roles they took them to literal conclusions.
I hate feeling like this, more tea..
I haven't seriously believed in my writing for several days now, thats why I'm here, typying and listening to kool and the gang. I keep telling myself something will come up, but I can't imagine it. I don't push myself enough to be noticed. I feel too vunrable, too distanced and it's obvious, to damaged; to try and compete with people who have abused me at anything would be laughable. There is so much coherent writing, well strucutured pieces about ritual abuse 'Survivor to Thriver' stuff that I feel a bit unsophisticed and seriously uncool. Man, egos are bad enough but badly damaged ones -impossible. ;-)
I see them on their knees, scared and awake, talking to me as an equal.
People love stories but I don't feel able to share mine, although I still need them validated, still want people to like me even if I hold back on the only thing I have to offer - my stories.
Told gut from match.com how I felt about his hands. He phoned me. But I don't know what he said.
Mum gave me money from gran. Ordered fucking lovely office chair, but anything would be lovely compared to the backless, poop stained thing I sitting on at the moment. A good thing, a very good thing.
New books on their way to, for me and him, this is also a very good thing.
June 26, 2011
Nothing makes me feel more otherworldly, so much in awe that 'religion' makes sense, as watching space physics programmes. The pictures of nebulae, the attempt to grasp everything within the human mind make me feel a sort spiritual humbleness. A need to pay respect to the beauty and vastness. Besides that surely its a natural response to question the purity of science after the Nazi's and their technologies. Likewise, scientific projects, institutions and companies paying for research have bottom lines the same as everyone else. Eroding the evils caused by ignorance is not usually a top priority. Science depends on theory in order to investigate and theory is subjective.
Like the first time I got barraged with bullshit I was only trying to suggest alternative ways of looking at things might be possible and not looking for a fight. It has raised on old fear of atheists. I was always interested in them, they were often outsiders. If I was going to get any real help then it seemed to me it was more likely to come from those on the fringes. But sometimes people are on the fringes because they are worse than everyone else, not better. I would wake up for them, hoping. There is probably anti-atheist conditioning to though of course. I was right about one or two though and learned to not love people because they were tortured for it.
Despite the effort put in to make me otherwise I'm not turned on by things that are shoved down my throat. Reminds me of the sort of preach to the converted feminists that puts people of feminism.
I believe in evolution. The older I get the more answers I find in the ideas of Dawkins and others that our behavior and choices are a result of genes being turned on and off and reacting to our environments. Brains are being made all the time, with different possibilities into environments that are changing. Social change are ideological revolutions are real and tangible. Hybrid vigour, survival of the quickest to adapt. Human institutions evolving to reflect new brain patterns, new ways of seeing.
Agnostic because of the awe of science and because I'm lucky enough to see a sunset from a beach, or look into the eyes of my son or think about the achievments of the human mind and feel absolutely certain that magic is real.
My mums moving on, taking her with her, granted but still putting herself first. Maybe thats not the best way to look at it, my sister has a diesise. We all have diseases but her's is arguable the worst. She's woman with a strugglying bloke. She can't go on benders and get away with like my working dad can. But on the other hand, how the fuck can she do that. We would take them, she could do what she liked for a day or two, a month or to without it risking the kids. My thoughts were just for the little one, hes such a smiley wee dude.
June 25, 2011
Doesn't make me want to write this stuff. Some tidyin done, shelf up, bath panel undercoated. Beats making hits for whores. Beats.
My gran messing around with beetroot and liver showing how it was all made up. Messing up her spotless kitchen trying to turn what happened in something much more edible. Weaving words and levels of meaning as a poet. I played along but knew the differnece between old blood and new.
I'd seen him, others to but this one I knew. His name was Jake and naming him for them was academic, that was his name already I just shared it. Little people are made of such little parts, execpt their middles that go on and on. The longer it went on for the longer there was no way to escape it; it was my middles that were pulled out to.
Got a tweet back from Trevor, had to tell him he was beauitiful.
First message on here from someone who isn't me. Thank you.
Feeling a lot cooler towards man from match.com. His mail about not wanting to start anything incase he moves away is on my mind whenever he talks about coming over. I'm not sure I can take anymore hours of being around those hands without holding them. Maybe I should tell him this? Hmmm.
Lovely, 6 music a break from shouty glasto coverage with Andrew Collins. Need to get into African music more, ace.
Makes up for friend whoes racism seem to get worse when I need him the most. Horrible.
June 24, 2011
What a pishy day, started around 4:45. Unlikely to be a good start. Gave my best shot though, boiled eggs and scraped the last of the butter onto wholemeal. Took washing in and out. Got on of us showered and one of us dressed well before 10. Then went out and bought pies. Got very bored and tired and eat the post shrink donut. Eventually it was time to prise mini me from the puter and get him to nursery, at this point it started bucketing down. He loves it, I was cold and wet.
Walked to shrink, miserable, scared, vulnerable, Black Eye Peas on radio, mourning Fergie, legs sore, lungs weak. Man in waiting room on phone to his support 'Tell Dr whatever he's a liar, he said I'd get a CPN and (other visitors)' 'One guy came in and when I told him what I was doing to cope he just left' and best of all several time he says 'I took a lethal overdose in November' all in the tone of a business call. Made easier by the unexplained presence of a psychiatric nurse when I eventually go into his tiny, shabby office. Feeling like a window licker. Same questions, same answers. Dosage upped, and on the scales to make sure he was right about me putting on weight. He's leaving, new job, somewhere else.
More rain, supermarket, bananas, onion, garlic, wine, peperami, dodgy novel. Feel briefly better before its back into the rain, breif sunshine, collect gene carrier. Chatty, happy, strawberry smoothies. The storm above my head is unnerving as I make the spag bol but he's indifferent. I worry about the electricity. Eat too much spag bol, love it, during stories I am the wire from my bra start protruding into the edge of my boob. It's 8:30, 6 music stopped working and he's still awake. Tears, channel hoping, wine, friend eventually, and I enjoy Shameless USA, except for the sex stuff of course and the focus on the perspective of the handsome white educated young man because her life was just depressing before him...
Here, smoking, 6 music working. ;-) xxx
June 20, 2011
Lots of communications from the man from match.com. Hence the mistaken email, christ the things I do when I have no spliffage, scares me heaps. I'm definitely telling him a lot more about me than he is about him, but that might not be a bad thing. We share a lot in outlook, my scared brain worries that its dangerous because when things are going well, problems come out the blue at me.
I'm taking a break from studying after the philosophy exam. defo. In general I don't believe in the approaches taken by Western academia in regards to anything but don't have the energy or commitment at the moment to use their own arguments against them. Focus on typing the abuse, tweeting little a birdie in spring. Praying for disability allowance..
June 15, 2011
I never did and still don't. People who photographed anything professionally, might and did photograph me. It was pretty viral in some areas of some industries.
Any way there is no disturbing sepia photos of kids on Room thankfully. Any adult portrayal of children makes me uncomfortable but I am aware there is most likely partly my oversensitivity to the exploitation of other peoples misery for easy money. So I'm giving it a go. It is pretty compelling but to be honest the kid does start to grate after a while. It's written completely, so far anyway from his 5 year old perspective; in his voice, through his mind and that makes long reading hours pretty tricky. This annoys me a bit because I do like to get to the end of novels. I like to read for hours or not at all partly because my memory is rubbish and I will forget the beginning by the time I get to the end. Another reason is that if I can be bothered to read it means I am probably a bit overly emotionally involved in the subjects and I want it to be over so I can move on. Maybe the shorter reading sessions are working better in terms of not getting overly involved in a positive sense, I don't think it is going to give me any nightmares. The mother is too strong for me at times which stops the novel from being as challenging as I think it should be. The story is about how in some ways all the little boys fantasies have come true by being locked in with his amazing mum, still breastfeeding as any thing else so far.
I am lovely the feeling provided by their release though. Being stuck in a room like that, symbolic of the mind frames many people are trapped in. Especially me with the nature of my 'work' and 'gifts', 'privileges' and 'duties' in the scene. The mind sets I had to throw and weld together had to be strong and stepping out of them feels a bit like feeling real day light for the first time.
June 14, 2011
I am not going to make in jokes about her lending me a tenner or anything that would be bad taste, and undermine the meaning of being a 'ritual abuse survivor' who has found the world where nothing is denied without consideration. Even if they do turn out to be white dudes on the job. Any how wine gone, smokes low, back to bed,
June 13, 2011
June 12, 2011
But when I try and read over stuff, I get this feeling that I do have a voice and that I am an active member of meaningful society which means there is more to Westernism than slavery and mind control. If this is true then my dreams have already come true, so what do I do next?
lol I guess... xxx
June 11, 2011
Talking to gorgous bloke on match. Too gorgous, I started to feel awkward like I have an extra head. Too many attractive rapists to not feel freaked out when bowled over by someone's good looks, sad isn't it but it was always worse being raped by someone who I wanted to consent to. Made me feel even more worthless, my feelings of even less consquence. I opened up spam porn by accident that is probably got a lot to do with it to, nothing puts me back like accidently viewed porn.
I dont want to end the day on that note though. Still looking forward to our 1000 page view party, still a good way of but getting there. Still wanting to read other peoples memories or opinions of abuse and see what that brings up then handle writing about it. Feeling gay today, like all the flirting with blokes is faked, its deep programming. oh if only I had someone to share my life with things would be so much better... pish
June 10, 2011
Think I should give my self a break from the structured stuff and just read and write about whatever I want. Use here more, tackle the old notes. No forces by big square brain into round holes.
Feeling better now though, might even put the washing out, or at least out of the washing machine anyway.
The more I think about the more justified I feel in attempting to claim disability. With the lawyer dudes help I will have a chance, certainly didn't on that form on my own. How many depressed people are able to be truely honest about how it effects their day to day living? As with the compensation claim though I don't like thinking about how much differnece a bit more money would make to my ability to look after myself and be the best mom I can to the wee homie. It's not fair, I hate all that work hard and anyone can achieve anything bollox, so they were lucky thats all. Lucky enough to not mind licking the right boots, lucky enough to be able to put career uber alles. Lucky enough to not be locked up, shot, raped, drugged, electroculated to an extent where they are unable to work all the way to the very top of systems that almost virtualy them. While most of the money on the world is just numbers being passed around, or just sitting there of no use to anyone.
June 09, 2011
Will be drinking with mother tomorrow night, another mother daughter flitting and bonding evening. I'm sure it will go great except for the back ache from the humfing crap about. I'm so glad there will be more distance between her and my sister. She's an energy vampire, a rubbish drunk and an insenstive boot. Where as my mother is just shit at dealing with shit.
As for the sister that is going with her the is no reason to presume the horrible spirit downing monster will not return. And as far the brother-in-law that acts like women are the only ones with any duty to physical care... The way he talks her sometimes has really spoiled a few days for me.
They made me name people, so I put little reminders in the names. Footsteps to the truth.
Been getting that burning cervix feeling again, the only real solution put forward by doctors is coil or hormonale injections... Think I will stick to the little round yellow pills and the painkillers for the moment. Shame poet friend is fading away, I think more time with him would have been very good for me. And we would of made beautiful babies.
There was a tweet today about capitalist being really bad at capitalism. That was explained because the bottem line is not money, its oppression, its politics. 'Satanism is politics in its purest form', cause politics is all about making your voice louder than others. So cutting out tongues and damaging language centers is therefore rational. Of course they same stability arguments used to prop at Arab dictators was used to prop up white drug dealing, child killing, porn producers and to delete my police records.