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 remember looking a her across the room in my bedroom and managing to say something like 'Christ that was awful', she agreed. But the fourth? Ritual Abuse and Mind Control (2011) does mention Groundhog day as Imbolg (with milk) in the Satanic calendars involving human sacrifice (p.22) but that is the 2nd. Most of the 'holidays' and moon phases listed on the calendar rings faint bells (so many years, so many groups, so many locations) especially Candlemass but I'm still not anywhere close to giving up much in the way of specifics. But as I sit here and think about it I have vague memories of being in my bedroom behind other cult members standing around some sort of rape on a man, it might of developed into a sacrifice I'm not sure there were times when it was common for me to see bodies taken out of my room. It had become pretty normalised and my mind was wandering I knew that the end of Imblog/Candlemass whatever had some special significance for me. I was going to be the centre of attention. I can remember detesting the feelings like excitement as well as dread that were rising in me as well as the faint hope in finding yourself conscious and not disassociated. I hated the excitement, like the feelings of sexual arousal that I've experienced when close to rapists and before rituals as the body prepares itself for the inevitable.
I searched online to try and find any special significance about the 4th. The only thing that had any real resonance to me was Rosa Parks birthday. I know I used to keep her in mind when I felt that everything was hopeless, nothing would ever change and there was no point in trying to resist. Just like I kept the Holocaust in mind when I'm told 'things like that don't happen'. She said No and it changed the world, I said No, when I could. They got it out of me, my hopes my ambitions my heroes. I can hear myself saying her name to group member once I'd been taken to some open state, standing in my room and knowing it was going to bring a hell even more personalised than before. They were after my intellect.
'With milk' brings back the disgust at having to allow group members to feed from me. Where's my bairns you cunts?