..dear reader..

As usual I only remember good advice when it's too late. I've been told not to disclose to people that arn't properly trained or emotionally equipped. Stupidly I answered as many questions as I could even though I wasn't comfortable with it. After all these years still a disclosure whore, giving it all away for fuck all. In the middle of asking about the babies and wee ones slaughtered while people laughed, I never mentioned the laughter I couldn't remember anything the way they were speaking to me. She has a go about the state of the flat and suggests that the mess is the reason I have a cold. She has a point but the timing was awful, really insensitive. Behold the all mighty power of women's aid.. I don't think so.. After I got my mate to come down with an inhaler because I was getting light headed and not my breathing wasn't working right I felt much better. Asthma, chest infection, coughin up the steroids, no reliever.. They didn't e...

My support worker was round today to help fill out a form, she was looking quite lovely. She dresses younger than most women her age and it really suits her. I was looking at my matches again and was totally unaffected apparently I'm back to being gay.. and broody. It's difficult with wee man this now, partly because he is 3 which means high maintance which makes me irratiable and very cute of course which makes for severe guilt over the grumpyness. The other reason is because of the work I'm doing, going over stuff, remembering, writing. I've seen kids his age die in horrific, slow, agonising deaths. It kind of bums people out when I talk about that stuff, or I get told how unlikely it is.. I might doubt some of the pictures in my head but the emotional memory is unquestionable. Sometimes they would they would give us time, make out like everything was different and act all human. Once they were confident me and the wee one had bonded properly they would ...

I do love the stats, over 100 views now! The further away they are the more excited I am, one view from Vietnam, cool. Very shallow I know but it takes my mind of the letter to accompany to subject access request. No more than 4 pages... giving details about reported incidents which is very difficult because all the trauma, mental illness and drugs makes it pretty dam near impossible to remember single incidents. But I remember trying, memorising things that happened which made things worse at the time and is still inaccessible. Think I will talk to lawyer first, not sure though. 'Personal touch quean, thats how you got us' 'But I've tried, over and over and over.' 'Please. Give us a chance, were on tenderhooks.' 'Your on tenderhooks? Trouble sleeping? Problems giving your family the quality time they deserve?' 'Were sorry. Please. One last try.' 'I'm still working adamt I! I keep thinking its my life now, my will, m...

I got a lot done today really and I resisted the urge to not leave that flat by putting some washing out and taking it back in again. So.. did she, didn't she? Is the women described in a poem called fighting talk who lifted a child out of my arms the same women I opened a door for on Monday? Is this another job that has no objective other than taking me down so I can be taken out. Or is just me seeking out risk in the belief that if I go to it I can limit the damage. She hasn't gotten back in touch since I said I had been talking to the police, she's a very busy woman. And tomorrow, take the house, refuge is getting me down. Be prepared for phonecalls, from law. Phone the support, don't let her get me down. Training is limited in depth and width, she is doing a job this shit is not her life. Ask if she can print stuff for me. Do other stuff, no names no writing about past, go for walk, study, clean, talk.

I am working on a subject access request, not an easy thing. It's the kind of thing I used To to fantasie about, admited I was a subject admitting I had rights. sometimes losing information, things I have told people about and never heard again is like losing a child. All feelings of being part of something of being visable and needed, lost. I never talked to get it out, it was away of keeping hold of it without letting it destroy me, of documenting my fight and what I was up against so that I would know what it took to get in the broken state that you get when you fight. I needed everything counted so I would know how long it took and never doubt myself.

Maybe it wasn't fair on her but you can't get her say. Well.. She did say she was feeling like shit so its probably a good idea she doesn't drive.. The dust and teeth shavings drill off by the almost rehabilitated concentration camp dentist were predictably inhaled then settled in bronchial tissue. Prone to inflammation especially if I have been getting lazy about remembering the steroid inhaler, it feels like my lungs are packed with fibre glass, again. The more uncertainty I hear in other peoples voices about taking the flat the more certain I am. I will feel safer, women's aid staff will not have keys to my flat, I will not be living in a building full of women who have put their hands up and admitted to being in abusive relationships. It will be mine, mine and wee man's, with shops, takeaways and parks nearby.

Everywhere needs decorated, everywhere is dodgy cheap wallpaper and patches where the holes from shelves have been filled in. The floorboards are a mess, but they are putting in a new bath and there is good flooring in the kitchen, which is tiny, but has a balcony, which probably wont get much light. Most of the views are of houses, other flats, the last row that looks out onto the field, where they put the dodgers. I love it and there is a spot in the big bedroom that looks out between flats to trees, field and some space. I will need a table there. This week I have been multi agencied up and went to the dentist. A not very charming easter european woman. Most butchers treat the flesh they are working on with more gentleness but she has put in five fillings, including work on my front two. I put my tongue against my teeth when I nervous and don't usually floss. Two more on the other side, descale and polish and I'm done. Think I will take the local next time though...

There has been a bit of pink sofa action recently to. An perfomance aritist got back in touch, she's been off and on back again. She suggested meeting up some time when she is around I said yes that would be cool. I haven't heard back. And a newbie. Who said you wasn't suprised I wanted to be a writer because my profile was so good. I was considering carrying her child. Until she said she is thinking of joining the prison service. There has only been two out lesbians, (other than the heroin useing mommy's girl who buys her hash from a guy who was a first love until he raped me) who I have had a semi sustained verbal interaction with, one of them is a prison warden and the other wants to be one. Hmpf I have had 365 views on match.bloodycom and 6 unread emails at least 3 of which are from lads with photos I noticed. Can't afford the subscription to read the mail though.. Men notice me more. Maybe its the different profile photos, the lads get the one we...

I am feeling like the walks along, the pitches and the burn with headphones on isn't such a good idea. Like I shouldn't use that short cut to a and bs. Like words are too beautiful to describe something so ugly. I'm thinking I'm working to fulfil promises I made to myself. I'm feeling like painting some walls and working on my shoulders so more. Feel like taking my time. Wish I could be arsed writing more though..

She said a few times, making sure I understood they are not in the best position to give support for that sort of stuff. Then who is? Not enough people talk, and those that do only talk about certain aspects. The only way proper support can be put in place for people like me is if people like me are supported properly to share what they know. Round and round we go. There is always too much about confidentiality. I hate thought of what I say not going any further, we will never disclose.. please disclose away, thats why I'm talking. You don't have the training the support me properly use the information to find the right support. But thats outside our remit.. I'm supported my antidepressants and much improved sense of my own value these days. I wont be making the same mistakes. I think I need a word with Izzy's man. My god the lawyer dude was everything I could dream of in a lawyer dude. Old but not too old, grey haired with notes that must of been incomp...

The short walk home through a close September dusk picks me up I follow a gray path through green by the redish burn of other peoples homes. The orange stars in the mid distance glitter on the textures of streets,roundabouts and warehouses. Down the hill then I cross the road without looking twice or stuttering my stride. I look down the burn, it's froth and stretch finds a home in me.

The extracts from my medical records arrived today. Nothing in them that will be much use, lots of letters about missed appointments and nothing from my shrink before H. A letter from the police saying they had nothing, but it looks like they might have searched using my new name. I'm going to pay the tenners and see what if anything is on file. Data Protection Act, which has probably meant anything I need know has been destroyed. My god their is fuck all rational about bureaucracy. Lots of appointments though. At least I have sorted out an opportunity to talk about some of my dead babies, and a name. Couldn't face going out this afternoon. Felt so guilty about it, its September and sunny and I let the boy watch TV all afternoon. A couple of blast of 'Sunshine on Leith' and a mini mediate and I moved away from focusing on the hopelessness of attempting to get information from secret societies that are rich and armed when your skint and scared and thought abo...

I dreamt about George Micheal last night, father figure. It was lovely. I really wish I had taken better care of that back up disk. I dreamt in the hotel that I chucked it out. I'm worrying now that it was a multiple rearing her head and It wasn't a dream and did I actually chuck it. As for all this blaming canabis rubbish, stop it!

It as been great, getting help really can make your day. It's to easy to yet used to getting or not getting it. I was told that it might be worth going for it now, five years ago. I thought that was pretty laughable but I remember the serious faces, it was the wrong time. Now though, I'm pushed forward by my son and the way he lights up the room. Not made for corners and keeping his head down, not that anyone is. Tomorrow I am planning on phoning Izzy's promise to ask for help with the cica. There are reasons why alot of the research and training about ritual abuse is here. I know I have talked to them before but I was also coming into or stumbling out so major truama or crisis. The literature and the poems will keep me swidgy mind safe.. hail ale ..

I think the course is going to answer a lot of questions I have had and further my understanding of loads of issues relating to art and the twentieth century. Which is really cool because thats stuff I wonder about a lot. How my experiences relate to violence in the 20th century, how it was accepted as part of Western culture and traditions. I can see myself getting specific it's exciting. The poetry is in the pity. The best 20th Century literature - Woman on the Edge of Time because morals matter, but 1984 is pretty good to. Maybe I should have read more. Extra sensory stuff is important to me because of a faith in evolution, that is physical in structure of our brains and bodies, beyond an ancient liberal faith in the progressive nature of civilised society. Society is not 'civilised' it belligerent and oppressive. Increasing communication between each other and within out selves brings better lives to everyone, or can do..

I'm glad its saturday. Busy week so he's watchin zingzillas, were both still in our jammies. Book burning what an idiot. They should build a mosque right on the site in recognition of the extremist act of ugly architecture that was the twin towers. Healing through aestheticism. Seriously though, how the fuck would it be disrespectful? A multicultural centre that included a mosque and a church would work for me but which denomination? And as for Dawkins going on about how bad religion is, that for good people to do evil it takes religions, what bull. Its none of his business anyway, he is a bad as the antievolutionists. For good people to act evil takes organisation, religious, economic, social whatever. Religion is just a way of validating and internalising social structure. It mediates between individuals and their strength but it has contributed to some pretty funky art.. Enough marxist ranting. xxxx

Tomorrow, is Friday. I wish I had bought more food. and some beer. Nevermind, we are not going to starve and I have baccy. Tonight I added some sentences to the first chapter I've lost my back up disk and don't even care. Don't have the heart for poetry at the moment I want to do something more technical. It's just that pushing thats needed to write, it is beginning to wake up. With this stuff though there is nothing to be gained from trying to force except deteriorating mental health. By writing about it I can forgive myself for the mistakes I made the last time I was in a place like this. Its not easy knowing where my boundaries are, all those words. Some go somewhere, somewhere very different, some relate to definite observable, document things others are just about the past.

He eats lots of bread and honey, some bread and cheese then a banana. Its a while before footie and I don't want to sit in front of the telly all that time so wee go outside. I suggest the playroom before noticing there isn't any cars in the car park. There is no one let us in and he throws a tantrum. Pummels me with his little fists, screaming 'No Sorry' because I say im sorry the door is locked. I walk a few steps away and let him scream feeling very ill. Then we go outside and play rolleypolley. He has probably forgotten about it but I get an apology and a hug which makes me feel a little better but still pretty ill. After going up the climbing frame and down the shoot a few times we go inside. I do some ironing to stop myself from having a spliff. On the way to footie I wished for about the 5th time this fortnight that I had shaven my legs and was wearing short, or at least shorter trousers. It's lovely and he is in his buggy, happy to be outside he ...

A bit late getting up, the battery on my phone had ran out and dude doesn't come through as soon as we wakes anymore. He plays in his room. He puts the telly on and the last of grans free range eggs. He messes about but I get him to eat the bits of yolk that hasn't hit the floor. I scoff mine down, yolk not quite runny enough but still flavoursome and lovely. At the nursery he sits down next to his groups leader without a problem. I was going to mention he hasdn't pooped for a couple of days but he looks so settled next to her I just leave, happy with my kiss and hug. Outside its beautiful and warm. A few wispy clouds in pale blue September sky, I get out the donated headphones and walk down past the pitch then along by the burn, sucking in an earned, guilt free mini spliff. On the long pedestrian bridge, the view and beats pushes the light a little further into my broken corners. Back home, make tea, roll a cigarette then phone the law people after a couple o...

It don't think going to get legal advice alone is an option at the moment. I feel my eyes rolling and my blood pressure plumating at the thought of it. Hopefully I can get someone to come with me, then go to a and bs afterwards, for a chill out. It will not be easy. The bloody overview again, yuck. My god the weather is fucking awful, the only people outside are running, sideways rain. Wee man quiet at the moment. I'm breaking the rules in the kitchen, during the day too! Not eating any fruit today, weve ran out and I'm not going to the shops in that. Left overs for tea, pizza, sausages and frozen peas. I'm sure it will work for him. Talking about the myths surrounding domestic abuse and got good marks. Except the bit about people who come from abusive families being more likely to be abuse, I always get that one wrong. Hate the thought of people who have been treated right maltreating others. Surely, its not their fault they are fucked up. Let ,it go....

I ironed today. Its not its the first time. I have often ironed juniors leaving the house clothes. It was different this time though. I wanted more. I wanted to fill drawers and cupboards with cheap cotton ironed clothes. The energy needed to be part of a local extended family was forgotten pretty quickly. Christ even if everyone was sorted its tiring all that knowing, caring and bonding. Loads of hugs from the newbie, they forget fuck all. I have decided that sunday night wine, ironing and chill out is going to be part of the routine. Mondays will be busy and I think I can congratulate myself. I'm so glad we are here. The area, the nursery, the poems being printed, the people, christ even the bloody weather has been right. I'm eating fruit for fuck sake. Think I might not take the antidepressants for a couple of days, I'm starting to get pretty scared its going to well. Things always went amazing until I found myself in intensive care or much much wors...

It's not as strong but still there, that ache that hates myself for not just letting things go. To be very grateful for the life and soul I have left, a fear or knowledge that the drive for some sort of justice, recognition or compensation is a drive to obvilvion. But it isn't the same as cutting my arms, shagging an idiot or getting pissed. This voice, a face a history that told me safety depended on me not shutting up. Someone who was incapable of knowing or doing anything about what would keep me safe. A faith and it is a faith. That kept and keep and dispite the glowy people, voices from above and hugely powerful secret societies. That I am different and born into a situation that demands that I be even specialer. Words like 'destiny', 'prophet', and 'genius' are same as every other word. An attempt to describe something, to define something that is constantly changing. Like 'love', 'hate', 'truth' or 'shoe...

Felt pretty good when I woke this morning. After the mail yesterday I wasn't expecting to, I used to be pretty cynical about antidepressants like all they do is chip the corners of everyone thats aching and breaking from being a square peg hammered into a round hole. Chemical lube. But the past months I have sorted out a lot of things for me and wee man. The depression lifted I could move about easier, I could let the sunshine work with much less come down. As usual I wake early, briefly of course. I know from experience that leaping out of bed at first rousing is a mistake. By 9 I will be crumbling by ten folded. But good thinking happens if I've made sure Im comfy enough. But the bad dreams will continue if thats what the night has been about. All the notural stuff had been very positive recently, empowerment, managment until the other night. Snow, water, resort, repeatedly lost son, I kept expecting or needing my mother to keep and eye on him she was indiffer...

After leaving my son up the road the came down for an intoxicated weekend. Meet my mum outside matalan slighty worse the wear and me and my boy have been down here ever since. A week after arriving we had temporary accomadation and support, two weeks and we hve a morning nursery place in a new shiny school. Shame about the no spliff rule though after the letter from CICA. Goddam curropt pigs, it's too late for me to backdown but this might jeopordise my safty, I'm in the right place though. my god dont know if i will get used to this keyboard really can't be arsed getting it changed even if it doesn't have a cd drive i can put tunes on usb thingy. Weather has been so good, lots of long walks, healthy meals and quality time untill I got home today all chuffed cause I piked up my new baby and the sky was still blue. To another totally impersonal and insensitive letter from CICA. pizza for tea, very grumpy mummy means very grumpy boy, tears and tantrums all round....