..dear reader..

My mood got better yesterday probably because the actual day of my birthday brings a bit of a break in the tension. Saturday was pretty awful though, no money, no cards or wee pressies in the post all those memories of friendless birthdays in the past. Today started pretty awful though, dreams about a tiny baby that someone had left, I let on older woman look after it. Then I heard crying when I went followed the sound I found the baby at the bottom of bath full of water. I scooped her out and turned her over to get rid of the water, before long the baby was a plastic glow in the dark skeleton that I felt there was no point in carrying around. I can still feel the little warm body close to me. February is more Haloweeny that October ever could be, everything is so bleak. After feeling grumpy for a while I went back to bed and had a word with myself. We didn't resolve anything but we decided on the necessary things to do, feed, wash and cloth boy which I did happily. I wa...

Breaking Ritual Silence: An Anthology of Ritual Abuse Survivors Stories an Amazon import from the states. Excellent, I would recommend it to anyone regardless of how far along they are in terms of remembering and accepting. Not that it's the kind of thing you can read quickly, but even having it around is good. Struggling to find the right time to read though. Last night was fine, some of what I have read so far are more testaments to survival and healing rather than records of abuse, I went to sleep in hope. I read some when wee man was at nursery today and was worried that I might of been swaying I felt so dizzy waiting to pick him up with the other parents. Going to the shop and walking him home was fine, he was chatty as he usually is and we had a laugh. When we got back in I started feeling claustrophobic and really depressed again. Chances are I would be feeling that way anyway, I hate it when my birthday falls on a Sunday. Much easier for all those weekend Satanist...

I often find myself tracing a heart shape on my thumb nail, on my clothes, on the telly remote.. Last night I remembered, we were in one of the school out buildings, Craig was being raped, tortured by a man we were all watching. It was a really small school so its not impossible we were all there. I started tracing a heart shape on my finger with my thumb hoping he would feel it and he would know that love was real to. I'm not sure if our teacher was there but I remember staring at her face one time, I think it was in that same building, trying to figure out what she was feeling, what she was thinking. Was she honestly into all this? Her face contorts into joy. Been reading Breaking Ritual Silence (eds. Lorena, Levy) not an easy read but necessary. Still disheartened by how much writing survivors rely on fantastic therapists, and group therapy. Stuff like that doesn't seem to exist in Scotland, to small a country I guess. I contacted one of the editors from Manipluat...

February more than half way gone. I smoke far too much and do by best to ride the waves of fucking memory and relief its over. Trying to believe March will be better, there will be snow drops and daffodils, more light and the endless fucking anniversaries. Today the killed your saviour, yesterday they ate your baby, tomorrow your mother will shit on you. Not that I see much but the 'I love yous', hear the crying and feel the nausea, the shadows over the brain, the opportunities cut of and the high walls between me and creativity. But he ate well, we laughed today, got new shoes, a new book and me mocha, he spoon fed me the foam from the top. Maybe I have no right to complain but I will, at the bank I forgot about him but he noticed, in the morning I couldn't keep my eyes open and after tea, mince tatties and orange squash I wanted to throw up, such Scottish meals never sit well. I remember arguing with David the male voice from the corner of my mouth how it made a lo...

Although neither my child psychotherapist who I saw from thirteen to eighteen and the adult psychotherapist I saw from eighteen gave me a D.I.D diagnosis I am remember more and more about alters presenting themselves during sessions. My child therapist had toys in her room and used to stare at them a lot sometimes. I played with them at some point, with an alter I couldn't share consciousness with. As an adult I remembering making my shrink laugh, I would try to be serious but these voices inside me were much more interested in trench/slave humour. They are very good at it, they would make shrink laughs so much he would have to take his glasses of and wipe his eyes. Then they would hit him with the hard stuff. I lost my comedy duos along the way but I'm looking for them now. They were so unflinching they saw the heart of the matter in everything and made it more palatable by making it funny. Mixing the horror of reality in with puns, observations and jokes in a way tha...

Oh good its snowing dont have to feel guilty about not leaving the house. So of the top of my head and without trying to much: David: boy me 'whatever' James my twin: 'help me', never grew up Suzi: formaly known as whore me but now accepted and loved 'Fuck them all' Mum me: 'It's okay, your have everything you need inside you.' Jade: serious hard ass 'go on fuck with me' *evil grin* little lou: head down, lips pursed, crys if anyone tries to talk to her. lawyer me, humanrights me, police me, researcher me, money me and many, many other professionals. Gagged, bound, crippled. murderer me: 'yep, thats me, the only one that brought about any real therapy or change. Its a vocation.' *wink* Mia: grew up and protected by organised crime wanted to take over, pretty quite at the moment 'bastard dumbfuck thugs dont know what theyve lost' Gia: spiritual me 'the life in all things will show you the way, pray, dream, see....

Its a bit unrealistic to think that just because I'm not being tortured, raped, witnessing the violent death of children or whatever, all my multiples have just 'gone away'. It's difficult to think about. When there has been mind control from a very early age their is no 'core' that isn't a deliberately created construct. There were times when I would look down at my hands and think 'oh my god I'm me'. Not very many times. I'm not sure what I feel when I looked at my hands now, beyond annoyance that I need to cut my nails that is. They're not my hands, were just stuck with each other. Increasingly tempted to go calling to see who I can dredge up. The reading has helped me loose my fear of hypnotism, with the right person of course and I can't see how I can find who ever that is anytime soon. I remember that terror of realising I'd lost time. Working in Tesco, stacking freezers. I was working down the aisle tidying up ...

Continued dodgy physical health makes it so much harder to do the normal stuff people do that keeps the depression manageable. The sore legs I got from housework got worse and now my throat is so sore I cant face eating and feeling nauseous when I do. Several times in a row now I've come home from staying at my mums and woke up with a nasty virus the next day. Maybe the colds are away of avoiding dealing with the difficult relationships with my family, maybe its little mes' still waiting for their mum to stop it all and explain everything away. I think about the time in the Glen when there was a load of porn being made and someone took pity on me and told me to go to my bed (alone) because I wasn't well. Strange that someone should be so involved in child porn and then for some reason have the compassion to let me of because I had a fever. Maybe I think that if I stay ill I don't have to be involved in all that society crap. I haven't managed to draw a lin...

'You mentioned something about birthdays being difficult for you, and it brought to mind what I've heard about Satanism.' My body sagged as every muscle in my body relaxed. The massive anxious crippiling weight on my brain lifted. It was like the sun coming out. I stared at her, my eyes all big and non-scary, the breath all gently left my lungs. Then I looked down at my fingers as I fidgeted with them. 'Well, I think so. Judying by all the big wooden crosses, backwards talking and stuff. Theres lots of talking. I don't know what its all about but its like a huge dark patch in my head. When I think about it, it isn't just orders, do this, do that. There's loads of it'. She was quiet and covered her hand with her mouth, leaning her head to the side, blinking. 'It's why I come here'. 'I'm not going to remember this.' It hit me hard and I recoiled into weeping. Grammer, spelling, punctuation, tone and style changes...

I'm glad I said all that. I know every time I communicate things that I am expected to feel too insecure to even think about, I feel a little a lighter and a little more settled in my flesh. I have a lot of really oppressive dreams involving bags and bags of black rubbish sacks, filthy showers and broken toilets. The earlier post has brought those dreams to mind in a less stressfull way, like the chaos in my head and body is being addressed. Cause whatever else it all might be it is definitely shit. The ritual abuse, the Satanisms, MK Ultra like mind control programmes, the rape, the varied, creative and well researched forms of torture, the government sponsored scientists training subjects for involvement in organised crime and international terrorism. It's all just shit. Shit I'm not prepared to let keep me in pain, indoors and terrified of my own existence for the rest of my life. Most of the people who I have really known at any point, who knew and loved me us...

In the late 80's early 90's whenever I saw Saddam Hussein or Gaddafi on TV my first thought was always, I know him, he can't be that bad he was nice to me'. I remember big round tables with Baath party members, rape and torture from their sons, gold taps and serious levels of opulence. The casual disregard for life that I was already familiar with although it wasn't used to it being so public and in the open. Bloody hell I would think if this is what they are 'publicly' what the fuck is the Satanism going to be like? There generally wasn't any. In my memory the responses of middle eastern dictators to ritual abuse was extremely refreshing, they weren't fazed much. They thought it was all fucking mental, Gaddafi, Saddam, indignant in response to the inhumanity, the basic anti social nature of Satanism. I had to laugh. They reminded me of my Scottish Grandads sometimes. Of course the vast majority of contact was over the phone and you never r...

Reading Olgo R. Trujillo's book, have stopped after the part when her dad gets her brothers involved. I remember that hope to, seeing my sisters with him. They want to help me, to talk about the truth unlike Olga though I can't go into any detail about what happened next. It's not even blackness, just that the nanny part of me stops me from seeing any more like 'dont worry your pretty head about all that my dear'. There are flashes of my sisters on top of me anything else gets pulled back before it comes to the surface. I love the fact she writes about her eyes moving back and forward, the flickering, daytime REM I've talked about in previous blogs, inner restructuring. I'm sure I used to hold moments in my fist like she did as well, until it was found out and I had to think of something else. Left hand making cord shapes along to Beth Orton, I used to think that the first thing I would do when the trials were over was learn how to play the guitar p...

My sister's ex used to come up the road. I've tried to remember if it started when he lived down stairs from us but all I can remember is watching a film in his living room, I can't remember whats it called, its about teenagers having sex, named after a bar or something. But when we moved away he would visit in the night, like I said my dad had the keys and wouldn't lock the doors. He often used this drug on me, it would totally paralyse me but had no effect on my head or what I felt. I was totally conscious, he had some knowledge of working my alters dissociative states so someone was training him. He would get my little nephew involved to, he would touch him gently and ask him if he liked it and tell him he loved him afterwards. He was never gentle with me and would talk to my nephew about me, saying I must be a whore to let them do that to me. He had been training my nephew since he was tiny, one of his first words was 'whore' he would say it whenever I...

I didn't want to have sex in my room, for obvious reasons. He agreed, he was older and wanted to wait anyway. I wasn't so sure, I couldn't see the point in waiting when I barely remember one day to next. One day we took the dog out and I took him into a field and behind a wall. The field was pretty bare it must have been about Spring time, or maybe a less cold day in autumn. I had thrilled myself all day at school feeling the condom in my pocket. My public consciousness didn't know what I was holding but was well aware of the excitement, there was dread to, but I knew that could easily be a sign of doing the right thing, of going against the conditioning. A while later there was a phone call, they found the condom. 'Christ.' I said, 'Haven't you lot got anything better to do?'. 'It was consensual then?', 'Yea it was my idea'. Then I remember getting out of car, outside a big old, Church in a big old city. There's an int...

....Zeta had to do with the production of snuff films that this person was involved with...Omicron had to do with their linkage and associations with drug smuggling and with the Mafia and with big business and government leaders. The Greenbaum Speech D.C Hammond 1992 In his speech Hammond describes the programming of people to form different alters to form different functions allocated with letters of the Greek alphabet. I have chosen the quotes above because so far I have been fustrated at how little money making and connections between big business, organised crime and political leaders there is in literature about ritual abuse and mind control. I remember the song out in the nighties I think it was the Shaman, the lyric went something like 'Alpha Omega, for you I will also have time.' Or at least thats what it is in my head. It made me go cold the first few times I heard it. Lots of things made me go cold, I knew was all part of that stuff that I couldn't remem...

It wouldn't of been possible even a week ago to type 'Messiah' and explore the stuff I am about to explore, maybe I have touched on this before but I don't think so. There is still a fear that this will help identify who I am and that talking about this will start things up again but it is not stronger than the need to see it out written down and 'out there' instead of being 'in here'. Reading Ritual Abuse and Mind Control: The Manipulation of Attachment Needs has taking a lot of the power and the shame away from that word. I finished the Chapter on programming yesterday and read Chapter four 'Love is my Religion' written by an anonymous survivor last night. I am not able to give the coherent linear outline of what happened like this author did but reading it has made me feel a lot more confident that one day I will be able to. Being made to feel special, being told that you have special powers is a tactic often used by abusive cult groups...

I was looking online to try and find out for reasons why this day is difficult. This is definitely not the first year where I have looked at the date on the 3rd and felt terror about the next day. Last year the Arab Spring was an excellent hope filled distraction but not this year. The reports coming out of slaughter in Syria last night where awful. Beyond the fairly usual nausea and lightheadedness today, my teeth started chattering even though I was warm and my feat have been twitching. Its pretty low key that only really mean something to me because they are on top of the pain and the lost, scared feelings. The book I've reading doesn't place much particular emphasis on February but it reminded of the significance of birthdays in Satanism. The girl I was involved with at school had her birthday on the 7th and that year when it never ended they tortured us both badly, no drugs, no customs, just pain, humiliation and trauma. After the worst for that day was over I reme...

Heaps of pain recently, not sure if its because I missed a day on the pill after it had just settled down again after the antibiotics. Maybe its the reading, the chatting on twitter, the time of year or a combination of all. It does feel like the reading is opening my mind up but I still shy away from writing things down the moment they come to mind. I remembered being in the back of a police car breast feeding, my milk had just come in and I left a wet patch on the seat. I'm getting snippets of phone calls when I was small not just of being controlled and terrified but of people, or a man anyway trying to tell me who I was, what was going on, trying to arm me against it all. These people have always been there, they are part of the networks. That's what makes it so hard for me to let it all go because it was through the cults,the organised crime, the corruption that I got only real love and recognition. How can any one understand if they haven't been part of? Maybe...