February 09, 2012

Whore (very unpleasant)

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 walked in the room sometimes, I was 10.

Another time there was group members in my room, I was on the bed they were arguing about something, maybe what they were going to do with me. My nephew, who was about 3 didn't like the fighting and took the initiative to stop it. He got onto to the bed and raped me. I told him 'No' and tried to push him of but the male group member pushed me back. My nephew has seen enough rape and sex to know what noises to make, what to say, how to move. I'm not sure if my family were there but sometimes when I think about it I can hear my mother hooting, clapping and congratulating my nephew along with the rest. They were all very impressed with him. It wasn't blacked out, it hang over me for a long time. At school, at home, it was so disgusting, so humiliating, and the way they cheered him on, it felt so unspeakable at the time because he was a boy he had more power than me regardless of how much bigger and older I was. The very sound of his little high pitched voice used to make me flinch, I saw my dad doting on him and felt so sick I would sometimes vomit. But I learned to speak, even if it was to wrong person, the place, the wrong time because every word puts more distance between me and then. There was men who used to phone and I would describe the things that were happening to me, for evidence, I continued with it long after I knew they were masturbating because I loved the sound of my own voice and the sound of the truth

I resented him and had tried not to hate even before the incident described here because they used his little hands to kill one of my own on a portable alter in my room. He didn't even resist. I did at his age but then I'd been trained to resist so it was easy. Why did he get to live? Why did he get to be with my sister? I resented and hated my sister for letting it all happen and because she got to keep her child and yet spent so much time in an alcoholic haze.

Despite my feeling of total disgust towards him I still had to try protect him and teach him better. He was only little and I didn't want him to grow up treating me like that, I couldn't do much about the others but he had a chance. I knew I would have to scare him into listening to me, I'm not sure how I achieved that but I didn't hurt him. No point in hurting someone to teach them that hurting people is wrong. He needed to know I would defend myself though.

My nephew is in England now, I could never say I loved him but he seemed to earn more respect for me as he grew older. Except for in Glasgow and that New Year of course, I hope for his kids sake he has a better choice of friends now than he did then. At the end of the day he knows I'm the only one in the family he will ever get any sense or truth out of. I felt my fear for him fade when we watched Scrubs together a few years back. It was the scene when the hardass lawyer woman (played by ER's nurse Hathaway) is walking down the corridor and hitting every man she passes in the crotch with a hooked walking stick in time to music (Big Spender?), 'I hate this scene.' he moaned. 'I love it.' Throughout the song he wails every time she hits and I laugh hard, by the end of it tears are streaming down both our faces. We made such a racket that once the song had ended and I went through to kitchen to avoid anymore bonding everyone wanted to know what was going on. Us ex-Satanists have to get our kicks somehow.

As for the group members, it irks me horribly that whenever I get a wee lump of hash, that makes me feel cool for a little while, that makes me want to write poems, cook creative meals, link thoughts and memories or go for long walks, that maybe it passed trough their hard core baby killing hands. I hate thinking that my money goes towards paying someone to hurt a kid, some nasty drug, petrol for their cars, to threaten social workers or police, whatever. With these sorts of torture merchants it was hard to know who was running who, but I reckoned from things I saw that they were sometimes used by intelligence sorts to fuck up other intelligence sorts (like me) and in return got a free reign to earn, subjugate, and get their jollies however they wanted.

The reason I've written this today (again?)is because I've struggling a bit with my son in terms of him wanting a 100 kisses, or when he sits on my lap and squirms or wants to cuddle up to me in bed. We did not bad today though in the end, sorted out the messy kitchen, watched Pooh's Heffalump Movie, washed his hair, sang to each other at bedtime (Eagles' Desperado, and his penguin song). He has never called me a whore.

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