March 31, 2012

Light

Scotland hitting the early twenties in March. Bloody brilliant. Wierd walking around in a T shirt when the trees are all still bare.

Maybe I could of made more of it but I'm not a big fan of sunburn, I hate feeling cooked. Sunshine makes me want things though. More/better friends, entertainment, opportunities. Sex. Starting taking meds more regularly. Made some decisions, feeling like more of grown up who is learning how to care for herself. I keep seeing, feeling, sensing something I used to be much more aware of. It hard to describe, its like a dot, a point, a spot even, in the center of my mind. I'm not sure what it means, is it a center, a blind spot, a full stop? I'm not sure but I've feeling like I can explore being me. Like I'm more aware of my environment, the Earth, my body. Like I can allow myself to be.

I cried in dramatherapy last week. Someone else in group wasn't her usual self. She looked so hurt, so small and vulnerable it broke my heart.

NuShrink wants to start 'the work'. I can't think of a better time to start than Easter weekend. I hope he has ideas about where to start because I don't. I guess that's what I pay him for. He asked about where my strong sense of right and wrong comes from. Good question.

Drinking wine with alkysis and mom last night. She's split up with her useless cunt of a man. He txted her yesterday to say one of the bairns isn't his. I tried to talk to her about making time for herself, about getting help, talking, drama, art, reading, something. She said she didn't want people looking at her, that she couldn't talk without a drink. I suggested she was maybe abused more than she remembers. She didn't think so. The antirape ad came on, she said it made her scared for her daughter. I said she wouldn't feel that way if it hadn't happened to her. She's a brick wall, doesn't want help, cant see how different life could be. I talked about challing negative thoughts and being your own best friend. I said her drinking made me feel awful, spiralingly awful.

I felt a lot stronger around them. Like seeing her looking after precios wee ones in a stupor isnt going to hit me as hard as it has in the past. Like I'm finally focusing better on me and wee man.

Of to bed now though. It's fucking freezing.

March 25, 2012

Breakaway

Clothes on the hanger or hugged together in clean mountains. His room
a room. A bright, beautiful room. We make a good effort in a slightly hobling race to hold hands and reach the summit together.

I always glance across the city to point where you cant tell where the grey buildings end and the sky begins. She had put her arm around me without touching me once.

I start drawing my hands, my wrists. Seeing the contours the creases and the scars in oils, pencils, charcoal, pastels. My forearms, one brown one pale on a background of black and red turning to sunshine white and daffodil yellow.

March 23, 2012

What next?

I've been thinking a lot about studying drama and acting. Thinking about the practicalities. I feel quite lucky at the moment. I have a supportive GP, a psychiatrist and two forms of therapy. Sounds like a lot, putting it like that. Lots of people to write letters. Sounds good.

Difficult but great choices to choose from. College (if they let me have time out for therapy) or put the college off til next year and do other stuff.

There is an art class for mental health service users. I'd love to do it. But it clashes with drama.

I feel like I should be carrying pomp poms and be all skinny.

I have been enjoying my Glee recently. Skipped the Michael Jackson one but watched the Latin one and the Valentines day one. All extreme musical related cringing is cancelled out by all the gay people and the dancing. And boyish Britney. I feel so naughty watching it but it helps resolve many body issues I have ;)

Have to admit I love the time to myself. I really, lurve the time to myself. College should maybe wait a year. I've just started with NuShrink. I don't what to dive in to deep again.

We want art therapy
we need to flounce around
"we need to be among positive young people"
We need to be alone.

August is going to bring a lot of change. Good. The best change always happens in August its when I moved down here. It's summer.

March 22, 2012

over dub

...
She talked about how she used to get singing lessons. I couldn't tell the difference between her vocal and the chart version on the CD. She said it was dubbed, something about a noise caused using microphones, or something. It was difficult for me. I did my best to encourage her, when she along to Tracy Chapman's 'Revolution' I could hear her voice was good. At home I was thinking about it all and started to wonder if her voice was being used to produce bootlegged tracks...

Dancing and tears in dramatherapy. Little me and rabbit. Everyone has a Rabbit.

Simpsons episodes on mind control cults and Marge as a glamour model. Usual genius.

New Shrink soon. A little apprehension.

Pub today. 1 and half pints of Guinness at two separate locations. Both went down like magic.

Thinking about drama, thinking about moving forward.

March 19, 2012

Toke and Toast

Just spent about half an hour re-arranging my pictures. Suddenly they seemed so prop like. Artificial. We will sort out a box of toys for the living room tomorrow and take the clothes drier in here. Stared at the 'Chocolat' print wondering if it has a safe place. I left it where it is. The mood has been breaking. I applied to college, cleaned the kitchen. Bought her a card, forgot the address but phoned to tell her.. I bought myself wine (Morrision's extra special), fair trade chocolates and received a very humble gift from the green goddess.

Watched news. Syria. BBC News, reporter saying they were finding groups of women without any men, the women said they took them all way. An older man said he saw them round up males and spilt their throats. Pictures of bloody corpses, a man stumbling across mounds of dirt with a child shape wrapped in white cloth.

I've been reading Peter Levine, just a little. I knew when I was younger that prolonged disocation often led to complex PTSD. I've trying to note to myself how my body feels, feelings of tingling, pain, breathing and heart rate. I have seen it as a route I will have to tack for a long time. Scary though. We're not talking about a car accident here and that is bad enough. It feels like all I ever am is a constant series of reactions to trauma. Stuck in cycles of abusive relationships.

I was in a state for a while. I tried not to see the little green and white lump like an old alcoholic looked at a nip to see them through the night. Then tried to roll a joint the size of one I used to smoke when I was growing. It all hit hard. How the slaughter is unbearable. Send them in I thought. I'd rather a 16 or so once or twice a year from 'rogue elements' than something as systematic as this. Bomb them, it can't make things any worse. Just do something.

Now there's a warmth, tingling and extreme vulnerability around my throat, the strong taste of metal and a thudding ache in my chest and nervous energy everywhere else. So hard to acknowledge responses when they come so hard and so fast. I tell myself it just the way things are sometimes. I should know. Sometimes, quickly, sharp, clean and quick. Other times slow, hacking, dark and loud.

I'd been thinking about how I was going to impress my shrink. He said something about the need for progress. I know my eyebrows became slightly raised. Progress. I used to be almost dead on a regular basis and now I'm not. I used to take crystal meth because it made anything possible/bearable. Now I buy a bottle of wine once or twice a week and feel a little guilty. Is that progress enough?

But we only just met. I have been not believed in the past about being so matter of fact about the few things I do remember. What the fuck do they expect, its not like its the first time I've spoken about any if it.

But I will make the reference phone call soon. I will go to see the man. I might just get a hair cut and when shes thinning around my neck I will put my chin in the air, breathe and except the pictures without flinching or buckling.

March 11, 2012

Potential

'Potential' he says, 'I like to support people in realising theirs'.
Yea I know. It's a word I've heard before, many people have said that about me. That I have 'potential', potential to make them money, potential to become something I don't want to be, potential to scrub up well, potential to be starved, potential to be drugged, potential to kill, potential to please people, potential for a photographic memory, potential to rememeber nothing, potential to be manipulated, potential to become nothing more than a shared lump of pain riddled ignorant flesh.

He didn't mean it like that of course and I never told him the word is a bit of a 'trigger' for me. Everything is a 'trigger'. Espically people looking at me and talking.

Going back there has stirred me up in ways I wasn't expecting. I want to go back. To be part of a city where there are lots of possible sources of support. Where hundreds of thousands have been abused and thousands that are prepared to talk about it and help others. Where theres music on the wide streets that a sea of people, where there are more than two lanes of traffic. Reading Alice has made we wonder a bit if I was too quick to get pregnant, to follow the hormones, instead of fighting for some kind of independance. I still see the word of work as patriachy, a world where I'm devalued, exploitated and disrespected. When I see successful business women, I don't feel jealous. I feel their sacrifice, the bits of themselves that were locked down or cut of to let them become who they are and men just look like walking suits. Document thin symbols of masculine authority in the public world that translates into superiority in the private. Or the other way round, whatever.

I want to fly, I want to be my body, I want a break from being on the edge of tears all the time, desperate for drink, drugs and guitars playing my tune my way, my fingers don't bother with alters much they had a direct line to my soul. If I played for long enough I would wake up. But it was taken from me with the same hateful force that it was thrust upon me and the faint scars on the finger tips on my left hand are just creases caused by dry skin.

I wish there was some way for things to get better without them getting worse first.

Old city- New Shrink

I set the alarm far too early, I always do. I have all these fantasies about all the stuff I'm going to do in when I get up. I dragged myself out of bed about an hour after the alarm first went of with plenty of time to do what I needed to do. I showered, took down the details I needed from my emails and remembered my phone, mp3 player and everything. Hanging about the house when I have an appointment is always a nightmare I'm often very early for things. This time it was handled it positively by eating a pretty decent bacon sandwich with a cup of tea in the very basic bus station cafe. The bacon wasn't too fatty, the marge with lightly spread and melted, the tangy cheap tomato sauce was perfect. The girl serving was smiley. I was going to buy fags afterwards but all the cash machines charged so I resisted and sucked heavily on my inhalator like a toddler on a dummy. There was the customary panic about the bus not turning up or me taking down the wrong details but it was brief and I didn't freak out in the crowd of peoples waiting to board.

Back in the big city the fags were bought, the usual 'Sorry' from the man selling because of my soft spoken mixed up accent. The same from the cute bloke in Nero's, mocha with cream and a blue berry muffin. Texts between me and G, I was very glad of them in the limbo time before the appointment. Freaked out a bit when I saw the key pad at the door of the rooms, wondered down the stairs, went back up, pushed the door, discovered it was open, buzzed the correct number and a man came out. He seems alright, he cant make it every week either which convenient, and he's read the Greenbaum speech, and he accepting more the half the going rate.

On the streets there was a few unfamiliar gawkers, and a possible wink, nothing too much to deal with. Afterwards I ordered soup and roll I couldn't eat (thickly spread unmelted marge, and noodle soup that was too greasy and salty) then got briefly lost stretching my legs before the bus journey home. A few minutes of sweaty panic and self criticism before things looked familiar again. Journey home was sleepy and picturesque. Saw the usual little me curl up and go to sleep, another took her place, a more damaged, bruised, battered child, who has virtually no sense of self. I held her and tried to ask her if there was anything she wanted but she has little practice at identifying what she wants, her head is down but started to look around. She lashed out at someone, I told her we have to accept everyone, its different now, were safe.

I bought potato salad back home and saw myself sitting on a mans knees in Italy. I hadn't been eating but the smell of his potato salad makes me curious and I ask for a taste. I like it and eat more, a man sitting opposite goes and gets a big plate of different foods, I taste lots its wonderful. Someone offers a cherry tomato, I try it then spit it out in disgust. There is laughter and I'm offered a little sip of wine to wash the taste away. Everyone is smiling and happy that I'm eating, well almost everyone.

March 08, 2012

Fear

Really nasty dream last night, biggest sis said the jumper I was wearing had been a present from her to me and she wanted it back, she took it off me. I protested back my mum was on her side. Lots of trying to save babies from my mum, pointless phone calls to the police and trying to convince myself that because wee man is four hes safe now. When I first came round, first I had to figure out where I was and after that I felt like there is no fucking way I'm leaving him with them this weekend. At the moment I'm hoping its like the big talking boulders in the Labyrinth telling them to turn back, at their worst when your own the right track.

Still scared though. But I need it, I need to move forward but I can't bare the thought of anything happening to him. I don't know if I should go, I know I probably will go though, I'm hard wired to be brave whenever possible. He's so adorable how can I even think of doing anything that might put him in danger..

Saw the new psychiatrist today, she really is pretty wonderful compared to the last one. She has no idea about ritual abuse and mind control but she mentioned things like 'complex PTSD', anti psychotics not being appropriate, and said she wasn't sure if labels were all that helpful. I agreed except in terms of getting benefits, she said we will cross that bridge when we come to it and it wont be a delusional disorder. I think she might be a bit pissed off at the last prick.

Day two of no smoking (again) got patches and a little inhaler thing which I am currently sooking on like mad. Still want a spliff, a big woolen blanket, some good radio and to rock all the little mes for a while. Doc said she understood why I would like cannabis so much if it blocked out memories and helped me sleep. It does neither of these things for me, I start seeing patterns in things and get all excited. I told about the distinction for creative writing I got during a time of regular, quality supplies. It helps me remember.

Think its probably best if I give the reading a miss tonight, some of them in the 'Healing Ritual Silence' book are really positive but I don't know until I've read them. Christ I'm tired, tired and scared.

March 05, 2012

Needs..(?)

New dramatherapist is lovely, the first was good but this one maybe has a wee bit more feistiness about her. I'm a good bit further on of course as well though. The reading I've been doing, and just that bit longer living on my own and feeling more or less safe. We talked about Little Me and I picked a furry animal with big eyes to represent her and put her in the sand box. I choose others to, an eagle for angry me, a ram for obvious sheep/lamb related reasons, a Russian dole for party girl and a dolphin for harmony me. I was worried the eagle might eat the sheep. She talked about individual dramatherapy and I am quite tempted but we need the group stuff as well, its a laugh, I like the other group members, its extremely good for me to be around people and feel safe. I could see people coming out in individual therapy in ways that wouldn't happen in groups though. She suggested individual sessions for when I wasn't up for group, a very good idea, I think wee might just do that.

Ordered an mp3 player for the journey to and from the new shrink. I'm really looking forward to it, having therapy that bit further geographically from family. I will walk more when wee mans at nursery when I have tunes to, good, good.

Woke up in a lot of pain this morning, its eased now but it was awful at the time. Lots of flickering around, trying not to associate absence of spliffage with absence of love. A was driving me to meet the new dramatherapist when he said it didn't think spliffage helped, he doesn't know what its like in here, I've told him some stuff so he thinks I've told him a lot. Bottles of wine, much better for me, so is cutting fantasies, tremous and feeling like I'm dead weight. He got me to that appointment though and took junior to nursery so I can't complain to much.

Biggest sis was on a major bender recently, turned up after traveling down from my dad's so pissed she could barely talk. With two little kids, rucksack and buggy lost along the way. The next day my mum couldn't go to work because she was blotto again. Fucking terrifying, so angry at her partner for letting her leave, two buses, one train in a state with two kids. His kids. I wish someone along the way had called the police, shes protected from rock bottom and I can't see her facing up to the problem until something horrible happens. I love those kids. I wonder if she got together with her lad because she knew he wouldn't help her in anyway what so ever, he'd just be a prick and give her an excuse. Fuck knows.

I told my mum that over Christmas I told big sis that my dad had admitted the incest, him and his brother. All she said was 'really?'. She supporting me in therapies by babysitting even though she doesn't believe in it which is more than something. I don't know if she has much memories of everything that happened, she keeps herself too busy to have much time to think. I remembered something the other day, I don't think I've written it before, not sure. I was in my mid teens, on the bed in my room, she was dildo fucking me, anally. I was crying and begging her to stop. It must of been some networked controlled weekend. I saw a flicker, felt a hesitation, a change in her, I pulled it out and put it under her nose. 'Look mum, look at what you doing, what your doing to me' She keep her eyes lowered and hurried out the room, shutting the door behind her.

Right. Whoes gonna do the dishes?
Fuck it we'll go to Morrisions for tea.