May 28, 2012

Growing: Part Two.

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 criminal connections.  The aim seemed to be to worship Satan by following every and any calender because causing hell was always going to give power to whoever was inflicting the tortures and humiliations, psychological abuse or whatever. Lots of ritualistic rape timed around women's ovulation dates. Power struggles over me when my eggs and flesh was popular. Lots of unritual 'straight' rape outside of rituals and group settings.  In the home, the workplace or school when the group alters had been put to sleep.  leaving mindset that thought nothing bad had really happen.  Those rapes hurt so much.  The rituals involved lots of semen and anything else they could think of and as many ways as the time allowed.  The biological father was the Master of Ceremonies of the products of the pregnancy and whatever happened to me as long as the foetus was part of me and immediately after birth. It gave them power, encouraged competition between men and physical stamina and mental vulnerability and social exclusion for women.

I am remembering more.  One of the scariest things is knowing that no matter how effects me I will be hell bent on knowing more.  It worries me than one day it will take on too much momentum and I will loose control.  Again.

Why are you in here reading this when you could be out in the sunshine.  It's later than you think.

We are beautiful.  Scary but also beautiful..

May 17, 2012

Broken Jigsaw

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.  I remember when I was pregnant with wee man a friend of my mothers came round, I had decorated my room and was showing her around.  She spotted a stone I had bought and said it was beautiful and that I had definitely cleansed it.  Later on my mum was pretty cynical about it and expected me to join in.  She went well quiet and was maybe even a bit shocked when I said her friend was right, I had cleansed it.

Pretty sore right now and know I will find it difficult to go back on the pill in a few days time, or go and try the injections.  I want to talk to my body instead of just taking pills in the hope that problems will go away.  Saying that I've upped the dose on the antidepressants and don't feel bad about it.  I need to get my brain out of misery mode and as I am short of friends, money, faith, opportunities and ideas about what is 'fun' the pills will have to do for now.

Keep seeing things in the darkness when I close my eyes.  Bubble bath, water kind of pink some sort of objects at the bottom.  I didn't see long enough to know what they objects were but I'm assuming they were for sexual torture.  The water was pink from blood and it was probably around October, 2001 definitely in the flat I had back then.  I saw thighs and pubic hair, peoples' faces and other things that terrify me before I make out what they are.  I get complacent about how much I know, I even said to Nushrink that I didn't think there were many surprises left for me to remember.  No surprises maybe, but there is obviously a lot that isn't processed.  I think its to do with abuse that by people who were well trained in how to stop people from disassociating or bringing up alters.  Seeing the person who the alters were created to protect being hurt so badly killed some of them  Such stuff I would forget soon after the sick fucks had left.  I see a pretty young female, possibly from a girl band/model/actress.  She wasn't alone of course.  They were familiar, especially in 2001.

Been thinking about how much I remember from before we moved to the Glen and how memories after then are harder to think and talk about, even apparently mundane stuff.  Like I lost some sort of support when we left Fife.  I have a sense of being told (not by my parents) a lot that a the ritualistic stuff was 'just pretend' and occasionally that it was real, depending on the group, the ritual.  I was warned before hand, taken through step by step what was going to happen.  That's why I was so surprised when those young men broke into that orgy and took a machete to the cross I was tied to, so close to my arm.  Closer than the man had meant to by the look in his eyes.  I hadn't been expecting it and that's why I remember it.  I dawned on me how out of control everything was and how unsafe I was.  When we moved to the Glen though things must of changed, if I was told what was going to happen it was by the people who were going to do it, not different people who had some compassion for me.  I was three or four when we left Fife I had a sense of being special, of being a bit protected from the hell around me but that ended in the Glen.

Psychiatrist told me to try Nytol for the sleeping problems, gentle exercise and a hot water bottle for the cramps.  She's alright really but I am herby renaming her as 'blonde psychiatrist' because she is and nothing to do with any sexist stereotype..

May 09, 2012


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 respecting everyone else is pretty tricky when you were never taught how to respect yourself.

Been reading Overcoming Childhood Trauma by Helen Kennerley on and off for a while now, think I really like it.  There is lots of encouragement to read whatever you want and come back to exercises when your ready.  It's simple, gentle and teaches you how to challenge the negative thinking that abuse leaves so many people with.  I know a lot of it already but I haven't yet felt like I'm wasting my time by reading it again, like I'm actually internalising it this time.  There is a lot of emphasis in setting goals but cutting them down to smaller steps and focusing on the positive, its helping me to believe I can do the things I want to do, like writing some sort of story of my life.  I have ideas about where to start and can see myself doing it.  My god I would feel so proud if I could get someone to publish it but it would take a long time, maybe a very long time.  Maybe it would come a lot quicker than I think..

It took years for Old Shrink to realise how just letting things be wasn't an option to me, that couldn't just accept.  I wonder how long it will take Nushrink.  When I first saw him he asked if I had any questions, I didn't but I do know.  Does he have a therapist of his own, for starters.  Wish moving to place where there was more therapists for people for me was an option.  Maybe in the furture.


What do you do with a drunken sister?

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 monkey answered, said she couldn't wake her mum up. 

If she had asked for help years ago, maybe she would get better support from us but everyone is so tired of it now.  She was getting a bit more honest about it for a while, but not trying to get help.  She seems so far away, nothing she says makes much sense.  I think mum is starting to hate her a bit for it, the way she takes her for granted.  I wonder if helping my mum wash and dress my grandad before he went into hospital has triggered something.  If it has its totally unlikely that shes aware and even less likely that she would talk about it.  Its like she's totally cut off from her self, her own feelings, her own life.  She said she wasn't looking forward to spider monkey going to school and the wee lad going to nursery.  If that isn't a sign of total insanity then I don't know what is...

And me?  Well, I've got ma Sonshine, ma telly, and ma baby plants.  The depression does seem to be shifting slighting, sometimes.  G disclosed a bit of her own horror to me and I really felt for her.  Stopped eating quite so much, still spending though.  Should be better when new books arrive.  Ordered a new bra, bought time to, still trying to force myself into bras I was wearing when I was 8-9 stone when I'm 11-12 now.  Daftie.

No Nushrink this week, won't leave him with Alkysis.  No fucking way.  I think it might be time to take a massive gamble and hope for a semi decent social worker.


May 01, 2012

For the dead.

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 anal country to say very little to man with a Scottish accent, who has never raised an eyebrow or called me delusional and has read the Greenbaum Speech.

But I left the mess on the floor, its all clothes, bags, and the entrails from a cupboard evicted for a personal choice, for a medicinal risk.  Anyway, wee man is sleeping, this is our place and his body is his body.  I talked about his genitalia with him tonight, telling him to keep his foreskin clean, that his tinkle was also called a penis and bits below was his testicles wrapped in his scrotum and that I didn't know all that much about his parts because I didn't have them.  I told him I have a clitoris, a labia, a vagina, a uterus, ovaries and little tubes.  Thankfully he didn't ask what the labia is because I'm not sure.  He asked me if I laid eggs and said he wanted me to have a baby growing me.  I said I needed a man for that and I that I didn't want one, he said he was a man and could make a baby.  I told him that we couldn't with me because that would be yucky and the baby would have two heads and that he wouldn't be a man until he had hair EVERYWHERE.  The bottle was unopened at this point.  Maybe I have got beyond the fear of his unmodest boy parts.  Hope I haven't disturbed him, maybe the bit about the baby with two heads wasn't a good idea...  Private parts aren't dirty parts, that was my intention !?

Anyway, unnecessary food is on its way.  Hey if I had a social life I'm sure I would spend a lot more.. And by the way, anyone who reads this and feels anything for me, anything but hate, voyeurism and disgust that is, thank you.

I haven't kept the promise about leaving my family yet, I haven't got the money back, or killed them all, I can't remember most of your names, but believe me when I said I love you and traced a heart on your palm, chest or head, I am with you.