..dear reader..

Can't wait to get the books through, although I have a feeling that will change dramatically by the time I hold them in my hands. I'm going to have to deal with these memories and aim towards to a place where I don't need to smoke. That's the plan anyway... 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 ...

Thats why you have to get down to gory details sometimes - it cleans. The dramatherapy must been working its magic. The invite to drink in a pub after the session this week is helping me feel brave and a social animal to though. It's very cool to have a friend. I've completly lost all interest in her sexually though and have gone back to thinking about a good honest working class men again, as I tend to do. I think I can say with almost total certainty that I would turn down one of them right now to: sex? yuck. Although I am vaguely warmed by the thought of sex at a later point in my healing journey... I hope I'm right in thinking I'm ready for 'The Courage to Heal', I went through a patch before of reading self help books and I'm actualy looking forward just to be reading anything in book form again. I have to be able to stay calm whenver I read something that I don't agree with. The issues are so major and aimed at the vunrable I'm so wo...

I don't remember how it started but I remember making films where I had to 'drink Daddy's milk' they kept us dehydrated to encourage us to swallow, as usual with me, it took a lot of takes. 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 mot...

The comments left on my blog post 'I am Selfish' have really helped me get my priorites in order. I need to focus on me right now, I knew it would happen. Once I moved away from my dad and the family home where so much hell happened I would find myself wanting to think all the time and not able to do much else. As much as I dont want to quit my studies, I've not been able to read properly for months because I can't focus long enough. Putting myself through an exam would not be helpful. I just hope that when I go back the OU will still be up for paying. I feel so grateful for the open university for all the courses and funds they given me, this computer, my flights to London for the Summer School, so much stuff in life that has been good and needed has come from the OU. I feel like I'm letting them down whenever I get a bad grade so quiting another course is not an easy decsion but one I feel I need to make right now for the best interests of myself and my wee ...

  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.  

The tall sunflowers bowed their heads outside the tinted taxi windows. Back in Scotland the oil seed rape is short and half yellow. Earlier my sister yanked at my niece’s arm like an angry bell ringer or trying start a stubborn lawn mower the silence is still heavy but wasn’t enough to drown the homecoming of nights as warm as our hottest days. Taking me back to stand on the tiles, tired and relieved With someone around ten years my junior, snug and viable under stretchy pre teen skin. Their shock washed him out and I held the child to my breasts like our midwife was David Attenborough.

Fuck the studies, I need to focus on being a mum for a while. Being a mum and going to dramatherapy. His bowels have been a bit funny recently probably made worse by me letting him eat to much fruit and drink milk..Parenting myself as well as him is complex beautiful work and its full time I need to stop convincing myself otherwise. I understand why I do it though, volunteer for far more than I can handle though and it isnt always because I'm responding to pressure from society. There is issues I need to deal with or at least identifyed and understood a bit better before I can go back to assignments and exams again. I still dont see how I have enough support to stop self medicating, but I do feel supported becuase of twitter friends, comments on my blog as such. It's all really starting to open my eyes to a world where survivor narratives are central. I know I work slowly, to slow for people face to face but over twitter and blogging, I have the space to figure out who I...

Not feeling to good realy, wobling on the edge of tears a bit. There is so much I can't handle, I know I need more time but I'm so desperate to make up for lost time that I spend to much time wishing. I'm grateful a lot to but I still want more. They can't just do that to be and then get on with their successful lives leaving me in the muck. I was already in the muck, they would say and I would struggle to disagree. Still though how can systems like police, social workers, communities be so vunrable that the sort of slavery I went through could happen so openly. By abusers are everywhere, they drive buses and taxi's, they teach at schools, they work in charaties and jobcenters and the truth is that many may have legitimate claims of me commiting violent acts against them. Violence was something that all my conscious mutiplies had to accept, some easier than others. How could you go about taking all that through the courts? Child Protection Police generaly h...

in drama therapy today. I drew us fighting in beautiful countryside when we had to come up with two characters in conflict. I drew it in pastels, so every week we had to go back an use out pictures my hands and jeans get covered in green and blue. I wanted to have them calling each other names like we used to do. She was older and better at it. I called her 'pig' she's call me 'cow', I'd say 'tart', she'd say 'whore' etc. I couldn't do it though and kept it to myself. I hated remembering the constant yearning in me to understand why, wandering about that Glen alone and trying to figure it out, I think I was 7. 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. A...

I have chocolate, some tasty French red and Lower rate DLA, which has put up my income support, which means clothes are being bought, Ladybird clothing - the best as far as I was concered when I was a kid - because I liked ladybirds. Always fascinated by gender bending, how could something called a 'ladybird' possibly be a boy? Anyway, I'm gonna buy tickets to see 'Mary Queen of Scots Got Her Head Chopped Off' with G. I love to see most things that are on, but after reading the play for school I have always wanted to see it. I remember the way Scots is used to explore universal themes as being fucking awesome. Liz Lochhead seemed to condense all the wisdom of Scottish women in a way the humbled and inspired me, her understanding of history, gender, war was formidable. As far as I remember I hope I don't end up siting there without a bloody clue and if G feels that way then fine, it will equal out how I'm going to feel all the way through 'Smurfs 3D...

I wish I wasn't but it part of the healing I hope, so I will grow out of it. I need the time to focus on me, to figure out what I need, what I need to be without. It's not as simple as it once was, when all my energy went into getting out of what ever situation, relationship that was hurting me the most. Life becomes easy when your life is in danger, my vision literally, became tunneled, my whole brain focused on finding the door, the words, the acts of violence or the movement of money that would get me away from wherever I was. There was no need for consciousness it all happened by it's self. 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 c...

Tears, this week. Last week we focused on a young man with huge absent father issues (I got to be him). The week before, a really quiet bloke got madly shouted at when he played the role of Smily who played her own mother. She got right into it. It was one of the powerfullest things I've ever seen or heard. She seemed so controlled, the way she poured out that vile. I have only missed one week so far, very good attendance record for me. 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 ...

I think I'm moving on from feeling a sharp pang of jealous isolated pain when I read about abusers not having a choice but to have no contact with their abusers. It hasdn't worked out that way for me. My abusers were family, all of them, my community, my school teacher, my friends, everyone I knew basically. There was so many networks some used all of us, some didnt. People pic an mix. Meeting new people was so hard, they would be forced into the abuse as well usually the sort that used options, like 'do this to them or we will do that'. Nowadays I am too crippled with socialising problems, post tramatic stress symptoms, trust issues and general bad health to get out there much. 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, hel...

      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.                                 Stones         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 ...

Even the government thinks so. 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 kno...

How can you not get into music? 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.

... with G. Goodnight despite the state I've been in recently, too much traveling to get dangerously drunk and Dolly was lovely. What a figure man.. G was intersting, lovely at times but when I txted her to ask if it was a date she replied 'lol, dates and relationships freak me out' I didnt like this, espically at first but I understand I am in no position to criticise anyone one else for immaturity! Wasnt sure about her wanting lots of hugs though. I was bound to be a bit uncomfrotable with physical contact with the amount of anxiety I've been feeling. It's been horrid, really horrid at times. Really sliding into dysfunction which made my guilt ridden before I had the wee man who is currently next doors watching 'Dispicable Me' with a bowl of ham, raisins and cheese. I have some cooncil rocky, which is; apparently, shit loads better than nothing as I'm blogging this and not under the duvet or pacing from room to room. GP this week, this isnt wo...

Well, my friend drop by and left a little 'friend' so I'm no longer thinking of sticking pins in the eyes of radio one Djs or fire bombing the exgirldfriends of lovers that drank my blood. Theres fuck all mysterious or supernatural about being scared of people who drank your blood. Its a fucking awful thing to do to another human being. To take the life force of someone else inside you without their permission. And thats without thinking about how they obtained said blood. Lots of believes about freedom coming from literaly destroying boundries. It doesnt destroy dualism only strenthens it. I wish I could say more. But this is primary an outlet for me, although I have a lot of time for people who have missions to educate and enlighten about abuse thats not where I am. I am all about me, this is all about me, waiting and doing my best to believe that its not going to happen again. I dont need to be split anymore, its ok to look down. All thats there is belly fat an...

Just read a piece that says cannabis can help with aspergers tics. Although its been suggested I have it, its never been diagnosed but without cannabis I struggle. I rock, dig my nails in my fingers and bit my hand sometimes. Of course all that could just be my body feeling stressed because something it is used to having isn't there any more. I smoke because it stops me feeling like a victim, I can write essays, poetry when I have a smoke, without it everything feels like walking in deep dry sand. Of course it makes me feels weak relying so heavily on something that is illegal, that makes the very people who worked me more money but it has been my best friend for a long time now. A friend I over use at times, that is sometimes too strong, or polluted but it makes me feel alive and gives me hope. 4 times today I have read the opening lines to Charles Dickens hard times and then put it down again. Smoking endless roll ups and doing my asthma no favours. One thing I'm sure...

I am studying philosophy to help my brain, its not a matter of trying to return to previous understandings its about making new understandings, new ways of seeing. The old ones couldn’t of been that good anyway. But all the memories brought back about the circumstances in my life and my flesh that were going on all the other occasions I read or tried to read the same old texts. I argued against them well once do I need to do it again? Is studying just a form of selfharm by constanting picking at mental and emotional stabs looking for the perfect skin that was once there. 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 dea...

Cant get any page views for 'Song' - its beautiful people! bloody philistines. Only joking of course, LisatheRiver put a link up to it and every second someone spends on here means a lot. Its a difficult issue - how do you make ritual abuse palatable? Or least palatable enough to be taken seriously and given any thought at all.. 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 t...

       ...taking survivors' accounts seriously can help us decide whether lives such as they describe could conceivably have been lived.   Sarah Scott (2001) p.66.            Song. 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     pulse on.                  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  ...

I am depserate to write about the way the organisations worked and the sort of people who were in them. I dream about really getting down to all the little differences between people socially and how they were translated into acts of violence in both structured and spontanous situations. But I'm scared, I have no criminal record and there are no records of me giving statements or working with the police in any way. Not that I can access anyway, at the moment. I watch the news, waiting. Waiting for something that might bring about a breakthrough. I'm more stable now, I have a voice I'm not scared of the press. But there was a lot of very public, influencial people involved as well as drug or arms lords and gang leaders. I'm scared of the positions the hold within the public consciousness. I'm not even sure if I have the right to challange the common culture like that.

I doubt there are many people who know about the political and physical realities of extreme abuse who isn't either an organised criminal or used to be. There is no way out without working the system and that means working illegally at whatever with whoever might help your situation, even if its just a tiny bit better. 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. RIP Amy

There was a clatter, a curse then a stretched 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

River 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

We were in a drugs and incest drenched Fife village when I was told that. They were making porn behind the back of the pub and in the graveyard and wanted to involve me. All hell broke lose, people showing up or phoning then disaprearing again. Violence everywhere, me doing my best to keep drugged to that fine degree where fighting and not crying were possible. I knew there would still be rape and death but it meant I was free from one set of rituals at least. The most memorable ones at that. The ones that had seemed in the Glen in the eighties to be at the centre of it all. They were all over Jersey at that time to. Free from masonic conspiracies to keep me quiet. Left to the street, a dysfunctional family and the relationships that grew beyond what was instructed. But the longer I go without them, the people in whoes arms I woke up, came round or became lucid, the more the memories start to twist becoming something that fits in easier with everything else, something ugly. C...

I read myself back into the footsteps 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.

I've been struggling with the raw writing on survivor blogs. I'm jealous of their articulation skills course and part of me wants to find a criticism to justify not reading more. But there is so much love and acceptance out there I am angry at myself, as always for never being able to look on the bright side. Although I have no right I can be a right snob, when things dont meet whatever ideas I have about what constitutes art. All that time with eyes searching for an exit, a weakness in the system that would lead to another hell closer to the surface. I cant just sit back and think about the good things I have sit all tensed up thinking about the bad. 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 whoeve...

All excited about a bloke that I met on match.com is now a friend on facebook. From the contenent grew up in Scotland, utterly, utterly delicous. Far too good to be true must be an arse wipe really... 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 ...

It was a word in their games, I cant remember exactly what it meant but it hurt lots, down there, in here. Dj enterage once the djs have told them to bugger of. Not sweet. 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.

It was a Christmas present from my mother from the year I lived in Glasgow. It's beautiful and means a lot even though I'm not exactly sure what it means. It was the year I sent her a letter saying I didn't want anything to do with or the rest of the family because of the abuse. She ignored it, which felt like an insult. Not enough people in my life to cope though. Didn't have the skills to get what I need from people. The only way I knew to see people was going to pubs then they shut down the local and yuppied it up I was lost. Not a bad thing either as it was a violence and theft infested dive but I hadn't gotten used to some of the people who hang around there. There's no way I was up for working (and suffering) in order to excepted into another dark corner of Glasgow. In the end I had to walk away from people who were probably did their best because I thought they might be accessorys to rape and theft where I was the victim. Who wants to be in a po...

Been feeling ill every time I come back here after my last posts. Not that said very much, enough to put the nausea through me though. Essay done, started the next one as well. Two essays to do on the philosophy of religion, I'm much more comfortable with that, i.e., blind unquestioning faith is never a good idea but science and its philosophies are not perfect, proper open debate means saying open to everything including faith which has done and does some good stuff over the years, not just persecution and oppression. Might need to come up with a few examples and shit which I'm looking forward to. I hate fundamentalist Athesists so should get a passing grade at least. Changed my mind about taking a break after the exam, going to do a 1st year 'voice and texts' instead, then 2nd year English, then 3rd year.... Only because if you dont read you cant write and I find it so hard to read if its not part of a course. Annoying. Keep buying second hand books cheap of A...

I remember talking to someone who I beleived was Rebeka Brooks. They had heard everything. That means they didn't just know about the crimes being commited by powerful people. They knew about the child murders. They heard me beg for help when I was pregnant. They knew everything I couldn't remember and needed to know, or so it felt. 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.

I make so much out of so little. News of the World getting shut down, the press all over the press, like any of it has anything to do with what happened to me. The press/police/thugs all selling and swapping phone tapped information, where I'd be, how injured I was, how regressed I was, who was pimping me, who was planning on pimping me. Which famous fucks where being ritualy abused which were organising it. All that information from taps about child abuse, rapes, murders, fraud and fuck knows what else just deleted. Not titilating enough. Repeating what I knew was essential for me to keep switching personalities. I had numbers I would phone up and just upload it. Clearly, without emotion, sometimes anyway. Who, what, when, where, why. Get it all out it didn't matter who to as long as it was out of me. Dreaming it would get out and I'd find away out that wasn't becoming like them, dreaming there would be public apologieses, arrests, jail sentances, the kids in ...

Really hope we can get away for his birthday. Just been looking at holiday camps and trying not to cry. That inferior feeling of not having enough money, its shitty. But if I get back dated disability, and split the cost with my mum then maybe, just maybe... Its never enough, summers are always like this I want to be MOBILE. I dont just mean being able to drive and afford to keep a car. I want to be on the road, on a train, in an airport going anywhere that isn't here, where ever here happens to be. I need to be living out of suitcases, traveling from beach to sunset to beach. Its the only cure for that lazy summer reslessness I get. Sights just get samey so quickly and so completly that it burns to look at them; I need eye food, nose education, palate stimulation instead of mac and cheese and a trip to the park. We should be on the beach all day and dancing all evening then falls asleep and I look at the stars and listen to the crickets... *big sigh*

The rest of this really isn't that interesting. 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.

Watched Aljeezra for hours this morning, FIFA being criticised from a culture of luzury and secrecry that encourages curroption. The News Of The World critised heavily for unethical practices, questions about payment to the police from the press, it all makes me feel a bit better about the lack of a murder investigation in Jersey. Lots of 6 music too, quite a blissed out day. A smoke of medicore but mellow hash on the veranda watching the light releft of the rain bouncing of cracked tarmac. Used my weights, tried to put on outside clothes then took them of again and used the weights again. Made a proper tea which I at least enjoyed. Bliss interupted by wee man's tantrums but then he fell asleep in my lap at 6:15. Bloody lucky to have this flat with a living room that has windows on three walls, high enough to be cozy, no one above us.

Had better days, had worse. 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 t...

They just dry up sometimes, not like the times when it feels like all the words have got stuck in the tube trying to get out. Thats a different thing all to together, linguistic constipation, the worst thing is the worry over where and when there will be a movement. Theres is no where safe to really talk about the details, the issues can be dissucsed, the conditions the encourage it but the actual names, places, acts, timeframes all exist in another world, in a different language that no one can remember how to speak. But this isn't that, this has a silence to it that is closer to tranquility than suspense. Then theres the constant cycle of shock, denial over a strange but familiar feeling, 'fuck am i bored?'. I have been writing on here for over a year now, so many memories that dragged me under so effectivily for so long have an new layer to them. I wrote about them on here, they are not weighing on my shoulders like they used to. I am so much more than the sum of ...

Its conversations in Thames House, and the home office that is making this essay difficult. Bastard government everything is their fault you know. I studied the same essay that is referred to in the assignment question as part of my education. I got really into it, took on the big boys in arguments, felt comfortable with the whole mind/body problem, had it all sussed out. Was well proud. Of course its hard being reminded of whatever the fuck was going on there but I don't want it get in the way of my studies much more than it is currently. Will not ever EVER take on 2 courses at the same time again. Ug. 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...

I'm a long term student of art and history and I history has shown art and politics as interdependant. Something to do with words, images, sounds and the things they symbolise that I can no longer articulate, means I'd rather read the work of modern African poets than try and decipher T.S. Eliot as beautiful as his work is. Eliot may has opened up my ideas about good writing but studying Okigbo and reading the poets in my The Penguin Book of Modern African Poetry have changed my ideas about humans, culture and oppression. I want my Poems to have messages aimed at changing the readers understanding of something but I also want it to wow, to be considered 'good' art as well as having a voice that needs to be heard. I have 4-5 of them and its taken over a year. One of them is long though so that counts for something. I am getting so impatient waiting for replies from people waiting to see if work is accepted, I just want to get them out. I've had parts of ...

Trying to convince myself I can face studying tomorrow. I've been through all the mind body arguments, they were demonstated through the reactions of my flesh, in turning on and off and on of my genes. I exhausted the differing perspectives until my brain split, they broke my mind proving that the only thing that could survive was a computer. I don't want to go back to Descarte, I don't want to try and work through agruments based on definitions I know to be all wrong but can't prove. Using the flaccid tools of a crumbling langauge. I just don't have the heart.

Feelin battered. Remembering how slaps and punches were sometimes regular events. Glasto remindin me of T in the park when my sister's boyfriend hit me and a barely noticed I was that shut down. I wonder if when I'm dead they will look at my skelton and say 'christ she was right, she was horribly abused.' The worst of the damage is in all the fleshy bits that will rot and look weird when there normal anyway. 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 wh...

I said I was an atheist, I'm not but part of me wishes I was. 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 ...

My mum phoned yesterday from her work. My 37 year old sister was intrusted with my mum's bank card and bought enough drink to drink herself into a stupor. My other sister was phoning, my 3 year old niece answered and said 'mummy's sleeping'. When my mum took my brother in law home after their shift the place was a mess and she was to drunk to speak. So moany sister got the kids the next day because my mum had to work. No more updates yet. 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, he...

I know how ridiculous this sounds. 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.

Making the most of the early morning. Wondering about the possibilities that a new psychiatrist will bring. Maybe they'll be worse, I have a feeling it will be a she, which is fine. I just hope she gives me chance, come on, deluisional disorder? No Post Traumatic Stress? No Aspberger's?. Give me chance here. The urge to discuss rich and famous as gone, wahay. Not daft you know much better to discuss, Sugarbabes, Tong, Beckham, McQueen and endless bloody footballers with police, social workers and charity staff no chance of it going on any pernament record there. You see, not daft me. 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 the...

Three new followers, @AllRacialJokes ('make fun of all'), @Unicornbooty ('Gay is good'), @Faithfullblogs (Christian) made extra lovely by the fact I hadn't followed them first. I feel all smog and eclectic. Its real democracy, out their in internet land, or least as close to 'people power' as has ever been achieved. Makes up for friend whoes racism seem to get worse when I need him the most. Horrible.

In the end we all have to. 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 unex...

for sending her an email about child sacrifice and my alcoholic father that was meant for someone. Well, its certainly an ice breaker, I don't need to worry about what she will think about it all.. I overuse disclosure as a way of testing strangers, not as bad as I used to but still have that urge. Especially in polite or formal situations. I start fantasting about talking about horrific injuries, who they treated children and the way it undermines everything that is upheld. Especially job interviews. 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 d...

If I'm ever to make any serious attempt at writing me I need to know my genres. This is bastarding hard, considering my genres are ritual abuse survivor stories and lets face it the fucking tabloids. Not just all the cozy euphemistic long words of academia. I'm going to have to face up to all those books with the fake handwriting titles and cover shots of kids pulling the same poses I had to. What's the difference of someone taking a photograph of kid crying in order to distress the viewer and doing it to gratify? Part of the same system that uses children as a focus for our difficult emotions. Of course the cover shot kids will be treated differently, but how do they know? How do they know they are not photographing a kid who has made those same expressions but with even less clothes? How would they kid know the difference? I never did and still don't. People who photographed anything professionally, might and did photograph me. It was pretty viral in some a...

It eased off a lot today, gets me thinking its just going to keep getting better. I do have a tendancy to think that, about everything. I wasn't going to mention but then I remember I started this to share, even if no one is listening. Just whats its like day to day, when the truths of your life are denied official, privately, publicly. Of course there is very deep self censorship. At the end of the day who the fuck wants to die for their words. Let the wine talk .... So I am going to say that I am very, very proud that Yoko Ono is now following me on twitter. She is a proper feminist in my books and they are slim on the ground. 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,

and listen to music until the room becomes home again. Some days its not possible but it has been today. Nerves soothed, bathroom sink cleaned. Look at books to see the shape and remember the sound of words but stop reading as soon as it hurts. Take the painkillers, enjoy the silence.

I'm really glad I've put those pages up, its like they were burning a whole in my brain, in my notes. It's so ingrained in me, the perception that I can never be a participant in Western thought, just a subject, that I would be classified and therefore could never classify. Ritual abuse is just colonial practice and colonialism is Westernism, much of it a lot more subtle than the acts described in the empire history course I had to quit because it was all to familiar. 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

Day of ouchies seriously brightened by being called a Satan worshipper on twitter. In not generally very secure, call me a whore, a slut, a lazy bitch or a junkie even bits of me flinch. Call me satan worshipper though and it all goes crystal clear. I'm good. I'm emphatic and its universal not in a way that is restricted to people that serve my interests. I have always gotten off on arguing with people who have restricted ideas about religion. Haven't had much opportunity for that recently but now I have twitter I am satisfied again. It's safe, controllable and I'm already losing my appetite for it. It's not particularly constructive telling people their beloved texts are ancient propaganda. I do feel like I know what I'm talking about though.

Then why do I feel so bumbed out? Because I flirted behind the back of a non boyfriend, because someone told me god is against gays, or because I stirred up stuff by rereading and posting pages from the past. Or because I'm a bit of a loner and no amount of time on twitter can undo the betrayals of the past. Or because I have no crisps. 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 r...

Okay, it was an big electric organ but still it weighed a lot more then we do.

Wee man not in nursery, the ibuprofen wasn't working. Feel guilty now. He's been a nightmare recently about nursery. He's happy when I pick him up but resists most of the way there. As for the essay, it might even be a fail. Not that bothered, I've the time now literature is over and the next module, is 'Minds and Bodies', Descartes, bring it on. 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 ...

There is fuck all wrong with radicalism, you dumbfuck mainstream motherfuckers...

Up to 16 followers, I guess like wee man and his computer I will start to loose interest in a bit. Bit obsessed at the moment, couldn't give a fuck about essay. I will do what I can tomorrow and post it. Every act of academia counts... 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. Footste...

I used to get good marks for 'communication' at school, now I don't have the will or the ability. To busy thinking I know it all wish I could be arsed to prove it like I did in my teens. Writing essay's is shit when you have done fuck all course work. I took me a while but I think of Social Darwism as liberating. Feminism is the genetic responses to the cultrual climate. We are all dorment, waiting for the right enviroment to show our true colours. There was a fair bit of it at the scientific end of Satanism. It's truma and stress that turns genes on or of. I argued education and safety would do the same but they weren't interested in the same genes I was. They were all about breaking bonds, I was about making more of them and making them stronger. Annoying now that the kids that followed them will have a lot more 'bonds' in their life than I do. There was a tweet today about capitalist being really bad at capitalism. That was explained bec...