..dear reader..

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 ...