November 19, 2012

Give us time.

'Give us time.' The policewoman had said. I'd been talking about Savile when he was still alive.  We knew nothing would could happen when he was still alive and that I was too ill to give them much in the way of details that can be investigated, that the nature of his offenses and the cover up goes much further than groping girls and people turning a blind eye.  'I've got Savile's porn', Ferris had said in that bar.  I almost spilled my pint.  I guess I should be grateful and amazed that I still respond emotionally to anything and not hate myself for still believing what people say.  During it all, I had to cling to anything resembling hope even if I knew it was bullshit because I needed it to get through, the next day, the next minute, the next year.  Can't seem to turn it of now even though I have a safe home and an child that is with me and isn't being raped.  Where did the belief that deep down most people want to do the right thing come from? It certainly wasn't what I experienced, another part of the programming I guess.

The support over the net has been so good, the comments, the DMs, the tweets but feeling like part of the human race, part of a community has its downside after so much brutalization.   The past starts to become real, events start to matter again and not just as the sort of shit that happens to people like me.  Keep thinking about Henry, he was mine, that's what the look in eyes said; 'Mum'.  He wasn't the only one of my boys sent to Wales.  There was another one, an older one, our eyes met when I was part of a squad sent down to silence them.  The betrayal, the not surprised but still disgusted at what I was part of, of what I had been turned into, in total contrast to his brother but just as devastating.

I half see baby hands, I half cry, I half hear their voices on the phone talking about their lives in those homes, that home. I don't know what happened to the older one and as for the Henry, I can finally mourn him and feel that bond.  The bond between an abused teenager and the life made by me, to finally look into innocent eyes and know love is real to.

Watching the goddam press preview on Sky I saw myself strangling McAlpine with a cord or something with great determination.  I'm not convinced it was just a fantasy.  I don't generally have this much hate and disgust for someone whose politics I disagree with.  The cults, the rings usually involved families not just individuals with a shared interest.  I read something somewhere about an art collection, that rang a bell, 2001?.  I suspect that if he is involved he is no bit player.  Don't know, maybe he is just a victim to although he isnt acting like one.

Today, tomorrow, the next while isn't about him though, its about the boy who was happy to see me as I killed him and his brother who saw his only source of hope turn out to be just like everyone else.