..dear reader..

She stayed over last night. In the morning I had a lot of hetro sex dreams, wandering about looking for a man to have sex with, I'm not sure if I found someone. During the day I have had increasing memories of having sex with my mother. I call them memories they are more like impressions of memories. Its not like I can say they are new but its been a while since they have felt so real. The way she touched me and rubbed against me gave me much more physical pleasure than abuse from my dad or men. It's not like I can see her face in the memories, maybe it wasn't her, maybe I'm just putting these feelings onto her because I have rarely felt, very close to her. Even when I was little. What I can remember clearly that amongst the carnage of 2001 I was having sezuires, flashbacks, lots of memories that I was reliving and accepting as part of my past. Until one day she came over and I couldn't do it anymore. I remember standing on the stairs in my flat in Aberd...

I'm glad that Burke's book exists and others like it but all the survivor stories I have read so far have left me feeling like there is so much more to be said, so much more that needs to be learned and the writers did not put as much of themselves into writing as they could of. I do not want to take anything away from the extremely important work done by Burke's and others just that I feel I need to explore the issues such books raise in me and how little I feel they are addressed. As I said in the title this is a personal response, the abuse I experienced occurred over a longer period and involved many more people so it is not surprising that I should finish the book thinking 'is that all?'. The first thing that bothered me about it was the beginning where she describes her life first in terms of her relationship with her father then her husbands. As a feminist this is frustrating for me, surely there were other important relationships in her life as she grew...

It got a bit weird for a while last night, for a little bit. I had been reading 'Wholeness', the abuser father of the narrator was an anesthesiologist who injected her and gave her pills before she was molested by friends of her dad. I started to feel a tingling all over which reminded me of the times I have been put under to have teeth removed and for the laparoscopy. It wasn't particularly intense and it felt unnerving rather than scary. Unlike the woman in the book I have mostly been conscious of the fact that the 'normal' family facade was just that. During my teens the 'me who had never been raped' was a pretty thin veil, not enough of a personality to even call an alter. I don't know how many times I swore to my self 'I will never, never forget this', I would often loose the details through the hypnotism or whatever happened afterwards but I rarely lost the feeling that awful things were happening and that I had to fight. When I tri...

write a whole book about me that is. Although not today because I'm tired and irritable. Been spending a lot of time walking that fine line between weeping and not weeping. I wish I could just cry, I'd feel better then, that relaxed, cleansed feeling I used to get after cutting. I'm not even tempted to do anything like that though, carrying and giving birth to the permanently hungry fairy prince sorted that out. Maybe I would of grown out of it anyway. The new psychiatrist isn't a big believer in therapy. She said she's not sure dredging stuff up helps and she's right there is not point in dredging without the proper support to deal with it all. I still want to do it though, wish I lived in California like the women who wrote 'Wholeness' did. Could really use some of that looking deep inside to see the parts of myself and visualising to give them what they need. Memories keep pushing but they rarely break the surface. There's been sex me...

Had a fantastic laugh out loud dream last night. I was reading Triumph over Darkness by Wendy Ann Wood in bed, its very simply written and maybe that helps the messages of hope and healing get through. Anyway in the dream I was very drunk and very happy, falling over, getting lost, dancing with other weirdos in weird jerky styles. I didn't feel like a weirdo though and they didn't look like weirdos either just people, experienced people dancing and letting off steam. I ended up in Cardiff, where I snogged a the member of a boy band and got a lift home in a a big black flash truck-car. On the way to the car I passed a stretch limo it had something on the roof, I'm not sure what if was - a piano or something and I remember looking at it and saying 'tasteful' and who ever I was with laughing with me. At one point in Cardiff I wondered off down this narrow street of white houses and realised I was alone, but all I had to do was say 'stereophonics' in a We...

Felt less awful today, especially after my 'Wordless Wednesday' award. People have called me 'strong and courageous' before but it was hard for it to mean anything. It wasn't a choice, I woke up, sometimes in the middle of being brave. Answering back, making phone calls, remembering everything, smashing up their objects, smashing up their people. I get too cocky about the violence and omit that one of my survival skills was nothing to do with violence although it did motivate it. I fell in love with people, I would see someone who had something I needed, a position of power, a personality trait, a way of seeing things and would dedicate my life to giving them as easy a ride as possible, sometimes literally. I would fight their abusers, hide their money, give them new names, new identities, everything I couldn't do for myself. I was well aware that part of my motivation was just that, to give someone something that I needed but couldn't get. But there...

It's just my late teens and early twenties I want back, not to see him again. It's this latest virus thats making me feel ultra depressed, its not love sickness. His wife was on the wrong list long before she met him and he walked straight into it. He was always blind to the amount of genuine conspiries behind our life 'choices'. Listen to me, no wonder people think I'm deluded. In Glasgow I knew he was in trouble outside, the back of a car, a group of Fife men, one with a video camera. I was standing at the bar, trying to be indifferent, trying to be what I had to be if I was to become anything in that city. I couldn't do it. I put my drink down and ran out there to put the video camera to its best use as far as I'm concerned, as a blunt instrument. The violence is always a blurr afterwards when its me thats doing it, but during it time slows and I feel like a force of nature. After he'd pulled his trousers back up we sat on the street with ou...

We haven't been getting on as well as we were. It's only to be expected I have had three colds in the last three months. Each one hitting a a lot harder and longer than the one before. He was great at first, leaving me to sleep and not shouting or repeating himself lots when he talks. He's sick of it now though, too much Tom and Jerry, too much time with a ill, fatigued or pained mother. As the last cold faded in to a nagging cough and general knackeredness one of the lumps in my armpit started growing again. I knew I couldn't go through what I did with the last cyst, which was to be in constant pain before eventually giving in and going to see my GP. She lanced it after spraying my hairy red swollen pit with some sort of freezing spray and talked about how her daughter had used the same spray when on holiday as she squeezed out the red smeared clotted stinking green sludge. My eyes watered. She said she had never seen one so big. So this time I went for the...

I looked it up late last night, courses starting new. Voice projection and audition preperation. What the Doctor said really stuck in my mind, 'Your still young enough to do anything you want to do'. That and the women in a shop who spent 10 mins telling me how young I looked for my age. Folks who went nowhere near as I did carry a lot more scaring. I'm lucky. Looked at Humanities postgrad as well, would love to do that at some point. But I need to look further for my healing than books and hiding. Acting out could be exactly what I need. In dramatherapy we did work on how it feels to be in the spotlight. I was dieing to burst out 'I love being in the spot light, as long as I'm okay and I know what I'm doing there its fantastic!' I felt like I should be able to give examples and I couldn't. I felt like a freak - but in a good way. The college isn't that far but its 2 bus journeys and is full time. It's the only thing at the momen...

My sister said nobody cared. I said it was her that didn't care, my arms burn and twist. He just took me, he had decided I was going to be his first so he engineered the opportunity and did it. He couldn't see any reason why not to do it, he believed in love. I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't blank it out, or scream, faint, or go dead like I usually did. It didn't feel like the worst thing in the world. I even looked at him and felt comfort in his looking back that I never thought could be a part of sex. I was about 14, he was younger. In some ways it made things so much worse. It felt good, it gave me core of faith and peace that I needed. It brought me a sense of treating flesh as something that wasn't disgusting I had keep double checking myself in the mirror, suddening I was cute. But it also forced contact between the parts of me that fought, schemed and went through all the truama and the parts of me that just hungout in my bedroom ea...

Tomorrow all this will be over twitter. The smoking in doors, the irregular sleeping hours and random eating patterns will cease, the Fairy Prince returns. I will have to clean and shop. A few conspiracy theories and antisocial memories seep out. I feel no more fear than I did before. As it laps around, shrinking and stretching both our horizons. Tomorrow the medicine taking, Tom and Jerry Show watching and dish washing begins again but without the noise that was there before. We will swash buckle across the park, over bridges and across the burn to Morrisons for chips, peas and cake. Peter Pan and Captain Hook. Until then I leave the radio on and let the others seep a little closer to my senses as their faces turn to remains.

Saturday morning bliss. The thick socks I bought myself for xmas, supplies in. Brew made and junior (bless every perfect aspect and direction in his precious body and gentle and lionlike soul) is elsewhere. Wrote about murder, not of a baby or child. Someone who was registered. With family, with history. I dont feel much in the way of fear or regret about it, I'm sure it will come though. I just feel a little bit more like a human being, a little more like I am part of my own body and mind more than my past. I was imagining I was trying to explain something to someone in a pub. When I didn't have the luxery of not being to remember. When I had to give people answers. Not because I was tortured into it but people needed answers. They needed alternative explanations about all the shit that was going on had gone on the wasn't based on manipulating them to an agenda that did not and would never have their best interests as a priority. Even if most of the time a...

I cant remember what he was saying, what he was spitting and ranting about now. I never got used to the words,I blanked them out like I could with physical pain and intimdation. I just went deaf instead of numb. I found the senses were easily manipulated when necessary. I could make my self temporarly partially or completly deaf, dumb, blind or numb at will. Provided my will was motivated by extreme levels of stress. Anyway, he was a nasty one, a long timer, the dirt in a graze that could never be washed out, he had the oppurtity, skill and will to discover my limits and push me past them. The type that never got to deep into the hiarchies behind the day to day bullying, currioption, rape, torture and slaverly that manipulated the easily percieved power stuctutures behind peoples lives. Or as some mights say, 'A thug who had done well for himself'. He was the kind I found it difficult to escape from. I could tell he was about to get physical, in the pub in front of...

Been twitter stalking people I used to know. I know its a bit unwise, of course it doesn't feel great to see the tweets about their interests, career and friend filled lives, the photos of the 4 kids and their horses, when I live in a street when kids smash car windows. There was police everywhere today, blocking roads and asking people where they were going, its a very different life. I still get upset thinking about how their lives dont seem to have been affected by the shit we went through, they didnt have as much of it as me. It's a reality check, they're not going to be showing up anytime soon. They have to much pleasantness in their lives. Fuck them. I'm hardly the type to be a footballers wife or DJ's girlfriend. It was fantasies, fantasies that got me through. I look at them and their industries and feel greatly relieved as well as hard done by. It's not like they dont know what goes on beneath the surface, they were fully educated in it and ...

I'm back! Sort of.. Haven't been sleeping well for a while now, crashed out on the couch today for a wee while as junior watched tinker bell. Now I'm awake, lots of bed related anxiety.. Stopped smoking and then started again... Xmas good on the food front, not so good on the lack of bike and ipad for junior front, very bad when found sis with drink problem crashed out on her daughter's bed as they all went mental around her. Why it still gets to be so much I dont know, I think its because I see her in me and hate it. I don;t want to talk because I'll hear her accent, scared to think incase I'm repeating her though processes, the ones that make her hide drink in her room and say she has no money, that means she can put up with crap from a man who doesn't love her, that help her manilpulate and exploit everyone who cares for her. Junior was Joseph in nursery show, well chuffed. New doc said she didn't know me well enough to know whether I...