..dear reader..

Before we broke off I said to my therapist that I wanted to continue giving a brief overview of my teen years but I think we will be going back to talk about the eighties. Its not images and sensations connected to the sexual abuse by my Scottish dad that flood every time I feel even remotely connected to my own sexuality.  Its all about Savile now.  I came round and remembered various times through out the years. Every time I would notice how much older his body was and how closely I had seen it age, how much my body knew him, it felt like big chunks of me had been cleaved of. He was one of those that it didn't matter how much I did or didn't fight, who I did or didn't tell I would still myself being raped by them and them with the same void in their eyes.  The flashbacks from previous traumas would be so common and so intense sometimes I didn't know when I was remembering something that...

I cant say much, cant remember much but when Radio 1s Dream Team told me they were getting involved with Clifford sometime in the mid nineties I knew I wouldn't be getting away from them anytime soon.  The gang rape, Spooney and his spoons; the control he had over my life, the pregnancies, their fascination for embryos, fetuses, their skills at manipulating my dissociated states and multiples, shit eating and writing symbols on my body would continue as would the cover ups.   Most of it happened in my bedroom but when Timmy wanted money for his own company I was taken out of the house to clubs and whore houses to be pimped.   

The McCans? I never felt traumatised when Lord Leveson started to appear on the telly. I didnt want to look too close and still don't want to. Usually don't have too dig deep to know that there is something very wrong going on.  I always put off remembering for as long as possible.  It will always be there though, near the top of the 'Shit that is really difficult and will have to be dealt with but not today or tomorrow pile.' The constant themes that were the only grounding I had. The aspects and senses of it that were never forgotten.  Savile. Cyril Smith Mr T and the music industry in general; the BBC, big business, celebrities and conspiracy theories. Some bloke from coronation street and what the fuck does Maggie know about all this?  The basic gut level barriers that keep us all animals. 'I was a victim of incest.' 'I think pedophiles should be strung up by their balls.' 'Yea me to.  But ...

I feel that people need to take a step back from the whole black and white thing when it comes to Satanic & Ritual Abuse.  What we are trying to expose here involves activities so evil that it happened beyond the scope of human memory processing abilities and so insidious that is corrupts everything and everyone it came across.  Feel the anger, express it. Please do not believe that 'justice' can be resolved with quick fixes or long term investigations that bring very little in the way of real consequences for those who gained the most or improved opportunities  for victims to find safety and healing. After all what we are taking about here is people being routinely and expertly forced to do things that were totally against their conscience and everything they held true.  Then to do these under order or suggestion and then out of preference. I am not saying all pedophiles are victims to, or that there is any circums...

'Give us time.' The policewoman had said. I'd been talking about Savile when he was still alive.  We knew nothing would could happen when he was still alive and that I was too ill to give them much in the way of details that can be investigated, that the nature of his offenses and the cover up goes much further than groping girls and people turning a blind eye.  'I've got Savile's porn', Ferris had said in that bar.  I almost spilled my pint.  I guess I should be grateful and amazed that I still respond emotionally to anything and not hate myself for still believing what people say.  During it all, I had to cling to anything resembling hope even if I knew it was bullshit because I needed it to get through, the next day, the next minute, the next year.  Can't seem to turn it of now even though I have a safe home and an child that is with me and isn't being raped.  Where did the belief that deep down most people want to do the right ...

Looking through notes from 2004 trying to find the names of some of the people I talked to when in refuge.  I knew it was unlikely I would find any, I'm far too well trained to remember or write down peoples' names.  Did find one, written at the back followed by 'CPU' will mention it to the police when I speak to them.  There was a mention of a policeman who 'was good with ritual abuse victims' hmmm. Also found this poem, I guess it should be called 'All in my mind' There's a dead baby over there It might be me I sing to her and she sings back But it could all be in my head. There's a big heavy cross on my back Everyone's shouting things at me, In a while I will be lifting that cross above my head I'm in a lot of pain But it might be all in my mind. Their placing bets on who will win The murdered or the rapist Neither of us wants to be here But its probably all in my mind. I know you, You've comforted me, I've c...

  Haut de la Garenne on the telly again, not for Bergerac though this time.  On my knees in front of the BBC, new carpet but and a crawling drooly infant. I felt my hand still gripped rock hard until I opened it and saw those bloody broken roots in my small palm, dark dampness and a violent face. They didn’t dig up much, just words scrawled in cellar, a concrete bath, ashes in an improvised fireplace and lots of teeth. Your not a bad boy. But you left more in the damp earth, concrete pits, lakes and spreadsheets we screamed in. Something still burning when those that ate the evidence are getting promoted and buying bigger houses. Something permanent and recoverable in the meticulously crafted torture tools, tarpaulins and fallacies of ritual abuse: the dark energy of the human sciences. Definitions: exclude human foot soup or marinating foetuses minorities and neighbours crushed under crosses and put through the mincer.

One of those big spinney kicks I think people call them round house.  I came back just as my foot is about to connect. I'm in my 'normal' Scotland clothes; jeans, a Tshirts and the boots that I wore to school.  The men in suits and rich clothes siting around the edges of the room are laughing.  They know I have come round.  They know I was aware, that I had seen what I had just done.  The kid was already injured, bloodied.  I don't know if it was me that did that.  I have the echo of one of their instructive voices in my head but I don't what he said.  The knowledge came like it was supposed to, input processed, assessment reached; fractured skull, broken neck.  This four year cute blond boy wasn't going to scream in agony or have his hopes purposely raised to be destroyed again.  He was nobodies' toy now.  It was his face that helped a lot to keep me floored d...

Pretty hard to prove historic sex abuse, pretty hard to prove sexual abuse that happened 20 minutes ago.  Your word against theirs and abusers have a sixth sense for the vulnerable.  They know people don't want to know, don't want to believe, would rather accept things 'the way they are'. There was plenty witnesses to many things that happened in Partick from November 2004 to March 2005.  Most of them have criminal records and already have complex relationships with the police.  My mate kept calling me a Brit coz he saw me talking to Blair.  This pissed me off considerably as he had also seen me talking to IRA members.  Not that I think blowing up civilians achieves fuck all but I've spent my live trying to escape the clutches of British institutions.  There was stuff in the press about me around then I think, I could never see it.  Definitely a few occasions where there was heaps of journos outside the bar. ...

Hmmm. Tried not to get too down hearted about it.  He's such an easy target.  The sort of common or garden paedophile that took up the lower levels.  They were looked down on by most ranks.  This meant they were exploited, bullied, blackmailed, humiliated and abused to an extent I found it hard not to feel sorry for them.  I argued about it with a friend in the mid eighties, she hated them all equally.  I felt that at least the ones that had sex with kids because they found it irresistible tended to talk to you more and were more likely to be a bit nicer to you.  The other ones, people with more clean cut, family man, respectable type public roles had to take drugs, watch films and be raped themselves to have sex with a child.  It was a means to an end.  Many rings had ideologies built on some sort of belief that by going against every social and humanistic instincts a human had brought about liberation and would eventually ...

I started by emailing the NSPCC.  The media was saying people should contact with them or their local police.  I didn't want to call the local police although I do have the name of someone I talked to when I first moved here and a social worker who I also discussed things with.  I was told it was being investigated but they were very busy I have hear nothing since.  My therapist that is destructive for me.  They forwarded what I sent to the Met.  Felt great when I saw .met in my inbox, from an actual police person, with their own email address and a direct dial to Operation Yew Tree.  I sent of my details and waited. Last Thursday I was riddled with it all and anxious about the transvaginal the following day so I phoned and asked for the some officer.  Half an hour later I got the call back.  I repeated much of the stuff I have said to Woman's Aid workers and whoever Woman's Aid workers had wanted me to repeat it to.  She wa...

Not all at once of course.  I need to figure out as much as I can as part of the mourning process, to figure out who I am, to figure out where I want to go.  Talking about Savile, Jersey, ritual abuse and all the rest is me looking after myself and those I love.  It will not take over my life though I will take my time put my health first.  I cant keep hiding from the names and faces that lurk behind my eyes, forcing them into the pitch black, no words zone.  I will say whatever I say and write whatever I write.  Stop thinking so much and be more.  Getting back in touch with the truth isn't something I only do when there is some shit in the media it is a constant long term process.  I will hope that others come forward and accept it when I feel like I need them but remember the reason I remember, the reason I talk is for me.  I have nothing to prove to anyone but I would like to be part of something which expo...

Turn the page And it's covered up with a white sheet. Dont read between the lines that exist but are never represented that are seen but never documented.  Lines like scars that trace the boundaries between what we will and will not remember. I want to draw a curvy landscape and a rectangular city but I trace my little foot and the line from the bus stop to my therapist's office. Over the rainbow isn't that much different. They just don't pretend as much and leave their corpses out to rot in the sun instead of deep in the bracken. I told my therapist when I was 22.  It was ongoing.  I took the bus buzzing with pain and hope.  He would tell the police.  I would be listened to, I would be cared for.  He called me delusional. I told a man at the hospital he wasn't involved in all that so much I thought he might be a good man.  He told me there was nothing he could do, that trying to stop it would makes things worse for me.  He said he...

There has been some rain this week drenching the outside of my windows as watched TV under a blanket or was wrapped in cotton in bed in the dark.  The light has bee tremedous.  Something in its angle or nature that goes right through people and wakes something primitive and positive, something cosmic.  Alexander McColl Smith, watching the search for a lost girl.  Whats the point of dredging rivers if there is any chance the kid is still alive, shouldn't they be knocking on and kicking down doors, pressing the snouts On Monday I had an appointment with my GP.  Stronger painkillers prescribed, a brief discussion about the vaginal scan I put off because of pain and fear.  The flu jab, I mentioned pulling my medical records.  The records of a fictional character, the legal front to a life undocumentable.  Tuesday is dramatherapy day, every session getting more emotional.  Making body sculpts for the last week.  I place someone as m...

Transvaginal.. I have given this some balanced consideration and am considering cancelling the appointment.  I have voluntary attended numerous examinations in this region in order to find out why I hurt all the fucking time.  I found exactly why on numerous occassions.  People where torturing me.  Down there and in there and sometimes down my throat.  Have you ever been raped with a transvaginal scanner when you were already in constant burning twisting agony?  At doesn't matter how many disassociated states you have some things are just so painful they get though to you in ways you never forgot.  'Life Defining' Your the NHS your supposed to take months to get round to stuff.. Fuck. Can I reschedule?  

While my neighbours are digging into Fifty Shades of Grey (its about deviant sex - my shrink told me) I am recently discovered the joy of back to back sex in the city episodes.  I always loved the frank discussions, the women and their relationships/careers etc pretty watchable but had to turn over during the dirty bits or risk blackouts and vomiting.  I've found so of it mildly and comfortably titillating.  Expect most of what Samantha gets up to of course, watching her in some positions makes me hurt but the thought that a woman might enjoy performing oral sex on a man no longer makes me want to firebomb everything everywhere.  The openness of their communication with each other, their lack of inhibitions and lack of guilt over inhibitions inspired a long hard think about a particular highly attractive ex.  'I finished' as Carrie and the girls say.  The last episode I watched tonight was the one where the ginger one's mum dies and Samantha loses h...

When we first spoke on the phone I thought her accent suggested she might be too posh but she's not.  The psychiatrist was cheery, down to earth and had read my notes.  Read my fucking notes!  That is rare thing.  Now all I need is a cheery, down to earth gynaecologist and it will be full clip.  G has been and gone.  We went for walk after therapy and had lunch overlooking the water, it sunny, it was warm and the food was worth the money. So Diagnosises then.  He drew a Venn diagram to try and sketch out where he wanted to go in regards to my psychiatric conditions.  I appreciated the way he worked and the fact that he does work.  'I will do a bit of research'.  From a psychiatrist, a fucking NHS psychiatrist!!  Bless 'im. Gotta mention Liverpool though.  And not mention 9/11. 'hang themselves in shame' - Classic. 

All quotes from Breaking Ritual Silence: An Anthology of Ritual Abuse Survivivors' Stories eds., Jeanne Marie Lorenze & Paula Levy (1998) 'When you are born to satanist parents, you drink paradox with your mother's milk.' (Jane Solay, p.132) 'And I will write it someday; I will tell. I will tell in words that people will not be able to look away from..' (g & c, p.7) 'By age fifteen, I had been raped thousands of times, witnessed scores of murders, and killed..' (Joy, p.25) 'Killing just seemed natural and matter-of-fact for us. (Morgana, p.61) 'They taught me that everything has life and everything is sacred, then they turned around and forced me to abuse an animal or use one of the elements in an abusive way.' (Two Bears Running, p.41) 'I was an interrogator and an assassin.' Morgana (p.62) p76/77 Dx

Can't put a price on feeling positive and inspired. Sooo. No one has contacted social services about my sister yet.  Well not as far as I know anyway.  After her last binge mum agreed again to give her one last chance, as long as she went to her sessions, took some drug that might help cravings and stayed sober.  Mother also offered to pay for Alkysis's to have private therapy.  This had me spitting a few feathers at the time.  Alkysis has never shown much interest in therapy whenever she has been offered it in the past.  Legend has it that she went to one AA meeting and turned up gutter and was asked to leave.  She made out she was still going for weeks taking my mums and money and hitting the pub, or the bus shelter toilet with a bottle of rum or whatever it is she does.   Whereas I have a sense of 'therapy' being one of my first conscious words along with 'no', 'lawyer' and 'sore'.  'Police' came a bit later.  She has n...

...mixed with water and some of the kids apple and blackcurrant in fact its delicious.  Can't be very fine if you down it neat in bathrooms though.  Anyway.  Tia has been on my mind a lot.  I'm sure I'm far from being the only one who finds themselves watching girls and cute boys trying to memorise what there wearing, the time and anyone they may talk to. On a much happier note.  There is pollen in my possession and in mother's to probably by now.  It's a massive trigger seeing my sister drunk with or without her kids.  Seeing my mum seriously stressed out and not copying is as well.  The kids are all fine though except for mine who has picked up the cold and is sprawled on the sofa with a hot water bottle and Ben 10. He's excepting calpol, he must be feeling really crappy.  Ate a good bit of macaroni pie with extra cheese, peas, sweetcorn, prawn crackers and fruit though.  I decided ...

'I'm an alcoholic.'  Her wobbly face seemed puffy but its hard to tell because the hell in her eyes makes it difficult to look closely.  'What do you want me to do?'  Her centre of non focus shifted from my direction to the vague direction of Mike the kids' father and then our dad.  Mike asked her if she had any money and if she did to give to dad or her adult son up in Aberdoom.  He's twenty, just left another broken family with two wee ones, he's usually fine but gets aggressive when drunk or angry sometimes.  He is also best friends the last person who assaulted me (just a slap and a push) and boasted about sexually abusing my son.   I wonder how far the aggression from my sister's son towards her drinking is a factor sometimes.  I remember a shared abuser, you see, between me and the nephew.  He was our downstairs neighbour when we first moved to town before my sister got p...

Theres a holiday/Westcoastaphile piece that I've started but isn't ready quite to go back to yet.  I loved it but on benefits and with no car it wouldn't be possible to live there.  I'm giving serious thoughts to phoning child protection before the next crisis.  Wee man is going to be 5 soon.  The memories are still coming, they are becoming more detailed, more of a sense of how I felt.  I've also remembered a husband and got in touch with some of my sexuality.  I know his name and but haven't googled it yet.  The 'married with 2 children' bit always hits me hard.  I don't know how this is going to effect the relationship between us and my family.  It takes a lot out of me being with them.  I know parts of me has wanted to spend time and space with them as a way of staying in touch with whatever I lost at there hards.  Parts of me that chose to be hurt by familiar predictable people than have hope and have it smashed so irrevocably...

the more I think about what I want to write the more I realise the story is already known, its the story of me that I write to separate myself from the past.  Drama therapist poned today and asked about wee man's safety.  Difficult questions to answer but I'm always glad that someone other than me is asking.  I've already talked for hours.  My mother's hands are full of arthritis and she was always running on empty anyway.  Alkysis is either drunk or shaking and often blind because she is always breaking or losing her glasses.  The little ones, well granted they can strop for Britain and have given some nasty from behind hug tackles but I think its a while before I need to worry about them pimping me out.  Better the devil you know and devils that are old, tired and struggling with desises are the best.    West Coast trip planned soon.  Increasingly becoming a bit of a thought.  I wonder what memories I'm chasing now....

Citraliprams at 40, there is a load of light outside and inside my flat, my weed works and I have a 4 year old and a wii fit.  It's all pretty ace.  There's also loads of people unhappy about the corruption in the banks, government, press and police too.  Its barely scratching the surface of course but still the arrogance that people in power have is being challenged and their decisions scrutinised.  It makes me feel a bit more comfortable.  It feels a very long time since hope was watching the light grow above the hills or through my bedroom window wondering if daybreak would bring and end to that nights activities.  Wondering if it would be worth looking at then figuring out who my assailants were and if they were likely to leave at dawn or not.  Preparing for whatever was going to happen next could make a lot of difference but mistakes were disastrous.  I came round once, back to my flesh, my room, my life and found that ev...

And she is but it feels like part of me dies whenever she asks for a hug.  I'm sure it would help if I told her this but I'm too busy dissociating. But as a friend once said 'A friend with weed is better'.  Luscious addictive black x.  I just wish we could just relax and go with it but were both all rigid with PTSD and self consciousness.  Add sexual tension and I start to feel pretty fucking overwhelmed by the old feelings of trying to act normal with someone directly after they had raped and/or tortured me.  Grim. The deaths in the family have made me feel much more secure that's things have changed enough.  Its great to have a place to say that.  My mum and Gran said they are crying all the time.  Alkysis is still drinking.  The whole going to watch her dad die and then come home to a messed up house, two hungry preschoolers and a drunken daughter makes it hard to hate my mother with the same se...

Goodnight Grandad, I have have no idea of the sort of man you really were.  After the initial glimpses and sense of journeys with you I have questioned again my assumption of you as a cult member.  You used to talk about my Gran in a sad way.  There was things you wanted to do but couldn't because she wouldn't allow it.  You wanted me to not have to worry about getting my dress dirty, you ignored the signs and my rigid following of signs by swinging high in the play park.  I was terrified when a women calm walking.  I thought she might be undercover police, she was a friend of yours u chatted for a while.  You seemed really happy that day.  You hated my laziness but I was so drained the older I got and couldn't sleep well even when left alone.  Your role in it all?  You've got me there I have no idea.  There a fantasy, there always is.  A need of mine being accepted over the phone, the right words at the right time.  My...

Saw my grandad twice over the long weekend.  He said something about someone called Alan and 'I couldnae stand up to them'.  I couldnae help wondering if related to the sense I've started having about going on trips with my Grandad when I was very little, 2ish say, a good bit before we moved to Glen.  There was arguments about it. Incest glimpses, my legs are bended up towards my face, he is on top.  My dad was an obvious bastard but Grandad not so.  I have the usual sense of disbelief when the images and feelings are not ones I have already become accustomed to. My cousin's funeral on Monday.  The doctors have been saying my grandad doesn't have long for years.  I never believed it before but today I lent over his devastatingly frail and angular frame and tried to lift him up against his pillows I knew something big had changed.  Thankfully a nurse saw this and they sorted him out.  Outside in the corner a woman kept crying...

Every time I arrive somewhere or fought to leave a location, it has been through the hope that I could find somewhere where I felt I had never been before but in agonuy, drugged, terrisfied or just not me.  Hoping that I could find somewhere without that crippyling oppressive atmosphere.  It gave me a sense of worth.  It was a horrible feeling that hit me everywhere I am sometimes.  A strange painful sense that I've been here before even if the images, flashes of body memories and the like seemed to be about something positive.  It couldn't of been me because I couldn't laugh like that.  Mostly though pains where sharp and the memories increasingly sequencial.  I never knew if I was reacting to the place where I was, the place I had been or the places I was going.  There was a group when I lived in Aberdeenshire ran mainly by young Scottish men and women in their early twenties and thirties from families who were known to have cr...

Wish my psychiatrist knew a bit more about Ritualic and Satanic Abuse. I was talking about nightmares and how May the 1st was an important day in the calender and she asked me if I was a practising Satanist (because people have the right to practise whatever they choose).  The look on my face answered her question.  I started talking about how I have heard there is 'satanists' who aren't into killing babies and eating shit but I trailed of and said I believed in healing and would like to get more into  meditation.  I said that I didn't know what my parents believed during the abuse in terms of their alters/drugged up/disassociated states or whatever but outside of it they're both staunch atheists.  I've always found it a bit stifling.  Sure a share a healthy disrespect for organised religions but to rule out all spiritualism, all sense of being part of something bigger, of a connection and wonder in regards to everything and everyone, not for me....

Cleaned the kitchen today and the hall, did a puzzle with wee man.  Starting to think about how much I could enjoy living in a clean prettier house, buy flowers, lavender oil for my burner with the cute witch and her pussy cat.  Chill out in my room reading and writing in the evenings instead of curled up under a blanket in front of rolling news, eating too much, chain smoking and feeling used and abandoned.  Starting to not feel guilty about DLA, I know its stupid but that feeling that just because working makes me ill doesn't mean I don't have to is difficult to shift.  So used to being forced, to my interests, needs, health being of no consequence.  Goddam Cameron and his working = 'doing the right thing' doesn't help, why to I even hear it?  Partly because I made the conscious decision to go against all the wrongness of Satanism and State corruption and criminality to respect people and society.  Which is fine but res...

She's wasn't guttered this morning, but she was high, singing, and being a bit vague.  It's driving my mum mental, coming home from seeing her dad dieing in hospital to a drunken daughter and a messy house.  The wee ones free to roam about.  Mum kept making little digs, about money, about broken specs.  She doesn't know what to do, me neither.  When mum was at the hospital I didn't try and talk any sense into Alkysis or anything, just listened.  It's pointless, she was talking about not moving with my mum, how she was going to sort the landlord out.  How she loved looking after my son with her own two.  She hadn't told my mum about not moving with her of course.  She seems very deeply in denial about everything, I don't think giving her my abuse books will help.  I can't see her managing well on her own, in fact it scares the shit out of me.  We've been there before, traumatised kids, Psychosis phoned her once and wee spider m...

I light a candle (never white), pour more wine, roll another ciggy. Pray to my plants, tune in to an old friend/lover/pimp/abuser/Savior coz he's familiar and plays soul.  Ask a text friend for a hug, and shudder when a flesh one reaches for me, shes not to be trusted.  It's getting dark.  I wonder about more food, more drink, some drugs, but I'd never leave my sleeping son, I'm not really hungry and my supplier doesn't supply anymore.  The dreams were easier last night, I went to sleep thinking I could start a time line, not today, there is never a good day to remember, to exercise, to eat less, to stop smoking.  Certainly not today, maybe its an excuse.  Like my sisters.  My mum came home from the hospital after two hours sleep waiting for her father to die to hungry infants and a mess.  But at least I talk, at least I have the balls to remember some of it, to prance and curl in drama, and pay and pay to travel across this a...

When I mentioned to Nushrink that my sleep was being disturbed by vivid oppressive dreams and nightmares every night he asked if there was anything significant about the time of year.  I said something about it being spring and how I often have sleep problems at this time of year but couldn't say much more.  I think he wants me to go further with him, give more details but he will have to be patient.  He also wants me to be very careful what memory work I do on my own but I never get never far and never try very hard. I looked up the calender part in Epstein, Schwarthz and Schwartz's Ritual Abuse and Mind Control  the 19th of April marks the 'the first day of the thirteen-day Satanic ritual relating to fire ... This day is a major human sacrifice day, demanding fire sacrifice with an emphasis on children' (p.26 - 27).  I see charred skin and remember the off hand way in which a young man threw a newborn into a bonfire after an older girl ...

Changed my twitter to profile to just say 'survivor' but I haven't really been feeling it lately.  'Victim' fits better.  I know that's not strictly true of course, I'm not being forced into anything anymore but I find it so hard to really imagine a better life.  There is so much damage, so many abusive relationships for as long as I can remember.  One of the books talks about a silver lining, someone who made you feel human, cared for and loved.  I'm not sure I had one.  I don't have the strength to get beyond it all.  Everything I have gets used up on the day to day, the viruses, the single parent hood, the living with it all. NuShrink said I seemed to be opening up but I know I don't talk coherently much.  Things just evaporate when I start to talk or write and I'm left feeling dumb.  He says I could just do nothing and continue as I am.  I have a long way to go with him.  If I thought like that I would be dead, a dr...

Shakey from the Ventolin, stirred up by the news, dead spy suspicious circumstances, forget about the truth, press/police/politicians corruption: likewise.  And wee man has been ill and grumpy.  Mild four year violence pretty regularly, I hate it, don't want to be scared of my own son but I am.  Naughty step/thinking space employed several times today.  He's stopped listening to the word 'No', I can't look at him as just someone else that ignores me when I say No.  Been too lax on him recently, too wrapped up in my own tiredness and struggles.  He got his appetite back today though and tomorrow is another day, he's well enough for nursery, I'm well enough to clean. The goddam dreams.  Intense, vivid, often violent and impossible to decipher.  Family turns bad again, so I take wee man out in search of safety but the locations keep changing, Glasgow, London, Aberdeen I tell myself.  Later he's a girl, Henrietta, until a yellow...

Very happy to say that my own little patch of earth is doing well, the twins have settled in fine.  Its great.  Not that I'm entirely comfortable with it, of course.  What with it being illegal and all.  But I can't deny all the myriad of positive feelings I have about it.  Daft hippy shit like having a relationship with growing things.  Nurturing something that can never be violent towards me.  I saw a book on Amazon about the benefits of marijuana and it brought to mind the good stuff.  The sudden sensations of being in my body, how its aching from tension and needs stretching, exercise and care.  That mental motivation to get shit done.  To tackle mess bit by bit, taking lots of breaks and deal with it.  That feeling of being able to know myself and love me.  Of course, there is always going to be a part of me that disapproves.  The 'drugs are bad' part, that wishes I didn't want it, didn't need it, to...

So the twins are in. A bit late they were literally like beansprouts by the time I got back from my mum's. I'm having the whole infinity with it again. Feeling for them. Not sure about the led though but only time well tell. This is Scotland remember, not much of acceptance of medicinal benefits of banned substances. I feel writes growing in my mind. Little capillaries linked what I was, what I am and the kind of life I used to dream about. Maybe that's why I dream about the Glen so much. Getting so close to the contours of pine forests, the hit from rhododendrons. Something happen in my when I spent a lot of time outside an moving around out there. I feel in love with the rural landscape and it made me feel like a poet. Still want to punch middle sis if I see her for more than a day and a night. She keep repeating in her usual style when drunk, that she 'loves' her nursing work. I'm glad she is getting on better with her two. She still turns into...