S.M.A.R.T
Maybe I should spend longer on the appeal letter but it's not easy, my head goes blank. I feel so stupid writing anything, like a clipe, its stupid.
Found "stop mind control and ritual abuse know" and have put it on my list of things I have to do. If anything I am bound to get a sympathetic ear hopefully and hopefully and opportunity to contribute to research. They might be able to help with the claim but if not it should at least be a bit of support.
Dad not working today, one of them in the house is bad enough but both of them is a nightmare, he just reads and doesn't engage or help out, except to give wee man ice cream for breakfast when the fridge is full of fruit. I guess I should get up quicker but its like waking up under a pile of rubble, takes ages to negotiate my way out underneath all the crap before I can communicate or preform essential tasks like going for a pee or getting breakfast sorted. My mum just cleans, and uses the washing machine all day. I hide out struggling to be in the same room, wasting time, hating myself for wasting time and day dreaming about magic fixes. I can believe myself sometimes how hard I used to work, to make things just a little better to give one kid a bit more of chance, to give myself a little real comfort, to expose. The tiredness, the overworked feeling never leaves. Like the dehydration used to get little kids to swallow, the endless takes because I refused. That feeling as your own body betrays you.
Tomorrow I post my shoddy appeal and start an email to smart.
xxxx
Found "stop mind control and ritual abuse know" and have put it on my list of things I have to do. If anything I am bound to get a sympathetic ear hopefully and hopefully and opportunity to contribute to research. They might be able to help with the claim but if not it should at least be a bit of support.
Dad not working today, one of them in the house is bad enough but both of them is a nightmare, he just reads and doesn't engage or help out, except to give wee man ice cream for breakfast when the fridge is full of fruit. I guess I should get up quicker but its like waking up under a pile of rubble, takes ages to negotiate my way out underneath all the crap before I can communicate or preform essential tasks like going for a pee or getting breakfast sorted. My mum just cleans, and uses the washing machine all day. I hide out struggling to be in the same room, wasting time, hating myself for wasting time and day dreaming about magic fixes. I can believe myself sometimes how hard I used to work, to make things just a little better to give one kid a bit more of chance, to give myself a little real comfort, to expose. The tiredness, the overworked feeling never leaves. Like the dehydration used to get little kids to swallow, the endless takes because I refused. That feeling as your own body betrays you.
Tomorrow I post my shoddy appeal and start an email to smart.
xxxx
