January 31, 2013

Going Native

'Here's your energy bars.  You confident your can work everything?'

It was hard not to love them for it sometimes.  Being dropped like that. What kid doesn't hate everything and everyone about them so much sometimes that they feel they would do anything to be somewhere, anywhere else.

'I hate it here' and two days later and you wake up in a chopper and your not tied and gagged.  The few people there smile and nod.  Call you by an affectionate nickname.

Generally a pretty keen student in anything survival related I give a enthusiastic nod which causes a bit of over eye coverage as the 'you'll grow into it' head shield, quickly pushed back into place. 'Okay then.' 'I'll see back at X in Y days/weeks'.

I got very good and very conscious when I was older at only remembering relevant info relating to safe places to find food, sleep, speak to people.  The actual instructions I held in a way I could repeat but didn't know until they were out of sight.  Wherever it was the air always tasted very sweet for those first few seconds after the drops were completed.  I'm on my own, my body feels well looked after and I have loads of really useful equipment, appropriate clothing for changes in weather and I'm also ridiculously well trained in a whole heap of stuff.  There was a change in structures and procedures when I was older and someone busted me for not bothering to listen to orders never mind carry them out and I wasn't allowed to work conscious again.  The days 'of it doesn't matter as long as your out there' were over.

As a kid though the sense of freedom was immense.  Sometimes you got sent out like that with your best mate..

A longer spat, living in a place and being left way on my own more than I ever experienced back in Europe.  Able to steal shit from the rich people I was living with and giving it to others, there was no way I was ever going to make it out alive without help from others.  Got caught, some people got body parts chopped of and I cried and screamed a lot.  The British dude who deals with all the 'difficult' me stuff turns up and a Saudi looking dude who turns up when all the trouble kicks off.  I watch them walk off together talking genially.  Plush greenery, tiled floors.

Out East, I mean proper East where it really is like going back a millennium.  I've wondered if there was some sort of Bermuda Triangle, Muller and Scully type time rupture shit out there.  Whenever I looked at maps or tried to imagine the globe there was a black mist over the whole area.  Hearing someone describe it as 'littered' with concentrate camp sites meant there is now a spidery map of railway tracks across it but so much still seemed blank and never mentioned.  Several attempts to study the Final Solution and what led up to it in the hope I could shade the map in a bit more all left me on the floor weeping and not writing any impartial well structured essays, not half way through the course yet.

In the palace I collapsed on my bed and woke up in uniform, equipped, in a humble, tidy, clean room.  I am happy.  Very happy.  I'm out the door like Lara Croft except I'm fully covered in body armor and a lot shorter.  The bravada drops pretty quickly when I'm outside somewhere rural and Northern Hemisphere.  Pine trees, mud vehicle tracks, marshy looking grass. gravel.  It's my 'something' environment.   I can't remember the term but it eluded to the environment where I spent the majority of my formative years of training.  It might have contained some sort allusion to breastfeeding or 'nursery'.  Something that I found deeply offensive when the man with stained teeth explained it to me.  We were out by the big half polythene tubes, like you see on farms.

Anyway, I know its not Scotland, which is something and head off.  An interim later I'm getting drunk in the town square everyone is singing and dancing, hugging and rocking each other.  A group of them give me a microphone, I'm very drunk.  I climb up some steps and  I keep singing but because I'm up higher I see the lines and the pile of heavy white body bags that are being counted and swung into trucks and break down.  Then I'm back in the crowd loads of arms around me and its warm.  There's a woman in a head scarf she's just shorter than me, she's older, she's local, she's saying something, she's pretty fervent  I'm nodding and crying, being held up.  They're all talking at once.

Interview prep........

Sent this to to Jimmy, https://renegadesblog.wordpress.com/2013/01/27/the-devil-inside/. He spent time in North Wales Care homes and refuses to keep his big gob closed on this and lots of other matters.  I've re-posted it here, then I'm going go back to it later and try and fill in.

'I'm not sure when I met him for the first time.  I remember a man who I think was Savile sticking his tongue in my mouth when I was a toddler and a group of men in suits laughed about it.  After that I taken to various places by various rings and was introduced to someone who definitely was Savile and was told not to let on I had met him before.  I cant remember him being part of anything definitely ritualistic until after we moved out to the country when I was four but I have a strong sense of ritualised abuse becoming very normal to me very early.  'I' wasn't hurt much during rituals before we moved, I was told they were 'just pretend' and was sometimes protected, I was being kept for something or someone who wanted my hymen intact and 'fresh' i.e. hadn't mastered my own disassociation skills.  After the move, the people who told me that 'it was all pretend' and 'your not bad, they are' were gone, except for the odd phone call.

He loved his Satanic birthday/Halloween parties.  I'm not in a place to provide much in the way of gruesome details, lots of rape, sexual torture and humiliation building up to sacrifice.  He sometimes talked about a girl who was 'before' me.  One time he took me somewhere, I think it was a shed or a garage, possibly in or near the Scottish glen where I lived with a bloke I often saw him with.  It might of been the same guy who he introduced as his 'producer' who Savile like to watch rape me sometimes.  I met the before me girl he had told me about her and I remember feeling excited about being introduced.  I think I'd been getting the impression that I would never live up to her.  I got to chat to her for a bit I think she was pubescent aged but she talked like she was much older.  She had long hair.  They took turns at her for hours and sometimes raped her together getting more and more violent then killed her.  He took my hand and made me approach the body, he crouched down next to it.  The floor was concrete the blood looked almost black in places.  He said something, I don't know what, I'd been told possibly by the people who said it was all pretend, not to listen to any of the crap that was spouted.

There was days being driven around Leeds or London, taken to hotels, posh houses, the hospitals.  He got off on tormenting really ill/handicapped people who were locked up, restrained or couldn't move properly.  Starting off in his usual over friendly creepy, cheeky manner, then shouting louder and getting physical, sometimes rape it disgusted me through and through.  There was long walks along quiet hospital corridors at night, sometimes to the morgue.  There was the ritualised rape in the basements of hospitals with his friends/associates described in those articles in the Sunday Express. I think those sessions were used to test out subjects for more extreme stuff.  There was at least one murder at Broadmore, someone had there arms wrapped around me while a young woman was raped, tortured beaten to death in front of a group of about seven or so people, there was a woman watching too I hadn't seen many women at this stuff and was surprised   There were occasions when we would go to Stoke Mandeville and tell me to wait in the car, I couldn't come in. I remember feeling quite hurt and ashamed when I was younger than I wasn't good enough to go in but when I got older I was glad to be left alone in the car.  I was often told or forced to hide when we were traveling places, cars, buses, boats sometimes to.  He didn't like it when I didn't think it was a treat to go on a plane.

There was plenty of occasions when I would be taken in through the front door to places, especially the BBC.  Stuff happened at Maid of Vale studios too involving lots of famous faces and voices that was deeply horrific and I may remember if the time is ever right.  I hated seeing the way everyone had huge smiles for him and told me I was a very lucky little girl.  I was introduced to lots of the high profile people who are known to have associated with him at lunches, charity gigs and stuff, sometimes he would offer me to them.  He always seemed to have a lot of power over young celebs, he would talk to them and they would bow there heads, look serious and nod. Sometimes I would ask people for help, like his secretary, staff at hospitals and I don't seem to be up for remembering anyone else I asked.  I phoned Childline once, maybe twice. It was horrible and made me feel totally hopeless knowing that lots of the money he gave to charity came from selling me and others.  He would laugh at me when I said he was going to jail or that someone was going to stop him.  He talked almost none stop sometimes but I cant remember a bloody word he said now and was probably none the wiser then either.

There was death parties out in Jersey and various other places too.  I would be in the van as he moved kids about, bodies too 'oh no no no don't you look at that' wrapped body shaped bundles in the back.  I was always very split, and split everyone else to.  There was the Jimmy Savile who sat me on his lap, introduced me to rich and famous people at posh dos and loved me and there was the white haired man who was an evil Satanist.  For a lot of the time during my teens anything I can vaguely recognise as 'me' was deeply buried.  But there's his hand on the curve of my slightly swollen belly when I am about eleven or twelve and the words 'Jimmy's baby'.  At some point something woke up in me, or us rather and he couldn't approach me alone unless I was drugged or something because I would go for him and beat him.  I could never finnish him though, maybe because I was scared, maybe because a bit of me still believed that it wasn't his fault and he loved me really.

There's the times when I came round during rape and realised it had been happening my whole life, I saw how much his body had aged and how I wasn't a little girl any more.  But I was.

He was present and took part in abuse in my twenties, he phoned me when my baby son was abused (I got to keep this one).  I've no idea what he said, he sounded old, almost apologetic.  I was glad the sound of his voice meant nothing.  I suspect I'm not supposed to still be here.'

January 30, 2013

I'm the 6th Spice Girl!!

I feel like a fraud sometimes.  I should be discouraging people from being too nice to ritual abuse victims,  chances are we have hurt hundreds of people and followed countless orders to quash the vulnerable.  I'm scared that someone is going to come out with something that I can't deny and I'll will loose all the support I'm getting.  I've got to challenge my self censorship though or I will never move on from any of it.  It terrifies the thought of opening myself up and finding mes that were broken and programmed to a point of being pure evil, actually getting pleasure from hurting those that can't fight back, relishing the creative procesess during the planning stages.  Well if anyone did come out with anything I wouldn't try and shut them up I would admit everything I believed to be true and explain as much as I could of the circumstances on the way down.  That's why its unlikely I would ever face legal problems, I would have a legal right to representation.  It's not a matter of taking others down with me, its about the truth and believing that without the truth no one heals. But who wouldn't be happy to go to jail for the rest pf their lives if it meant Tony Blair and his pals, some royals, loads of Tories, the entire secret services, loads of polices journalists and whole swathes of the music and film industry were going down to...

Something is going on though.

Things have gotten weird   Physically weird.  Started getting sore last night, it got worse and worse.  Body contorting, stomach swelling then shakes, face and hands kept shuddering, nausea   Eye balls rolling to the back of my head. Thankfully I had no appetite for the tin of Baxter's Pea and Ham Soup earlier and I don't own any crucifixes.   It's been a long time since anything like that has happened I'm so glad it was at night and wee man was fast asleep.  I could hear some of the me's screaming, there were plenty accompanying images.  My body feels all different now.  I put a lot of effort into seducing abusers as a child to create relationships where I was more in charge of the sex so I'd be hurt less.  I could see their faces, hear their instructions and encouragement.  I think there is still fair bits of me that feel responsible for it, that that's who I was, a little kid who was into sex.  It's not right but that's how the world is. Loads of Savile sex stuff came and went.   He liked to put on shows, I was given dance and singing lessons, he filmed them sometimes ('just for Jimmy') sometimes there was lots of people present, having dinner or whatever.

When those to PC's were round the quiet one asked me if I was a child star and if that's how Savile knew me.  It wasn't an easy question to answer and it took me a little while to say 'no' but I was in some circles I was.

Lots of vivid memories about playing the guitar, drumming, singing and loving it.

No hashtag

So then. Assange.  I feel its time to start articulating some sort of disclaimer.  Just because I say something on here doesn't mean I am prepared to say it in court or make formal complaints, doesn't mean I wouldn't either, with the right representation and support of course but this first and fore mostly, self expression.  I don't have any pals to chat about any of this shit and listening to all of it is maybe more than than anyone friend can do for anyone anyway.  I feel scared if I think I'm protecting someone and don't know why.  Maybe I will wake up day and will release that I people I thought were rapists were actually trying to help and the people I thought were resisting were in fact the sickest of the Satanists who personally over saw the production and killing of the wee ones.  But usually what happens if that I access more about the context of a memory fragment over time than realise I was totally wrong about something.  Although sometimes I remember how convincingly we (me, mes and other people) could fake things to protect ourselves from something worse.

Anyway, back to Assange.  I don't remember much about him growing up but I've seen him as a child.  He was growing up in abusive, ritualistic networks as well but the gatherings we were both at were occasional rather than regular.  There was non ritualistic rape in my room around the 90's.  He talked about how proud he was about being involved in publicly exposing high level corruption   I asked if saw any corruption in what he had just done to me and not going public on all the stuff our families were involved in.  I can't remember what he said.  I didn't like it.  

January 21, 2013

Thank you..

everyone for the encouragement and kind words, you reward all my efforts when no one else does and that means way, way more than I hope you will ever know ;)

I was prepared for the 'so why haven't you mention Savile before'.  Previous conversations are mentioned in  my emails to Yew Tree and to the 2 PC's back in December but I knew I would still hear it.  I told her I have, of course.  She hasn't spoken to her colleagues that have spoken to me yet so why ask that?  I'm preparing for a flat out denial from all them all regarding me saying anything about Savile before he died.  I know though. I talked they wrote, then I signed what they had written, if and whenever asked.

They were pretty dismissive, in attitude and tone to everything I said so no chance of any chatty mes coming out.  I asked her if she would be able to find out for me why Yew Tree didn't want to me to be interviewed before compiling the report saying there was no evidence of Savile's involvement in a ring, she said that was here to speak to me because of what I had said to Yew Tree.  I explained about the report that came out in December, she knew nothing about it but her colleague mentioned she had seem something in the media.  She didn't know, it wasn't anything to do with her, I would have to ask them myself.  So she hasn't spoken to Yew Tree but she is working under their remit and hasn't spoken to her colleagues but thought it fit to ask me why I haven't made allegations about Savile before.

The worst bit has to be all the stuff about where the officers I spoke to before were based.  That meeting with the two PC's, I will have to look up the date.  They came round because I phoned the local police asking when someone would be speaking to me because Yew Tree told me that was what was going to happen.  I was told whoever I was speaking to that she didn't know if it would be the same ones that were already dealing with Yew Tree stuff and get back to me.  Before the officers turned up I was phoned to make sure I was in by the control room of the local police.  When the I spoke to the officers about who I had already talked to, he nodded when I mention the local one and shrugged when I showed him the name of a Fife one and said 'Could be, that's Fife, nothing to do with us'.  They were LOCAL bobbies sent by the LOCAL police station that I had contacted and suddenly its all 'I have this from Fife police' and 'I dont know, you must of said something to Yew Tree about something that happened in Fife', aye, and loads of other places...WTF. No one from Fife has contacted me, I haven't contacted anyone from Fife.

I KNOW.  You always take down their names and dont speak them alone if you can help it.  Why does every bastard me have to learn the same bastard lessons?
Thing is.  I'm not in shock.  I'm not living day to day not knowing who I was 5 minutes ago or who I will be in 5 minutes time.  I'm not withdrawing from whatever personality destroying drug I've pumped full of for weeks.  I don't fine a DJ, a footballer,some C list celeb, family member, Royal, or someone I had previous thought of as a friend in my bedroom and getting all rapey anymore.  I'm not in refuge.  I don't have a delusional disorder diagnosis.  I am not suffering from concussion, dehydration or extreme pain.  I haven't just left a newborn in the arms of Jimmy Savile and I don't wake up on the phone anymore.  I'm not alone.

I signed some stuff so she can talk to my doctors.

'I've been looking for a lawyer.'
'Why are you doing that?'

January 20, 2013

keep talking..

So polis the marra, nae bather though, dishes are done, there's notes writtin and I'll run the hover over the hall again later.  There wis a wee bit o fonin back an fore over the time and a hav ti say, shi soonds like shi mite be a wee bit ov a numpty.  I've been wrang aboot folk on tha fone bifore tho.

I've even had a go at Wonder Webbing the curtains that are dragging on the floor in the living room.  Did a good job on the first side, the other is a bit of a disaster, but its all off the ground.

I'm just glad she is coming in the morning straight after dropping of wee man.  Not enough time to get properly stressed about it.  Therapy afterwards, which is really good. I wont be able to curl up into a ball afterwards and mutter stuff or think about smashing a cup and then using a shard to slash my arm, or going to the pub.

Maybe it won't be like that at all, maybe she will come across as professional and non-judgmental, empathetic and respond to me as she finds me and not to information she was given before and isn't up for discussion.  Maybe I will have worked with her years ago on something off the books, maybe she was in another ring from me growing up and we met a few times during bigger meets and she'll look at me like I came in off her son's football boots and smeared myself all over her freshly cleaned cream carpet.

Need to get it across that I'm saying that I was abused by Savile for most if not all of my childhood.  He was a big figure in the ritual abuse I experienced in Scotland.  He also took me to many of the institutions he is publicly associated with where I saw him molest and abuse others and I have contacted those institutions.  Sometimes there was more violent and/or ritualistic group abuse in the lower parts of the buildings.  He also took me to his flats, trailers and although I was sometimes hidden especially if we were getting on buses, boats or planes, I would be taken through the front door sometimes to, during daylight hours and I was seen with him on many occasions by many people.  He introduced me to many of the well known and powerful people he is publicly associated with (gulp).  I wont be making any formal statements alone.  Should I mention recent flashbacks of long walks with him in quiet hospital corridors heading to the morgue.  That I think there was one before me and I watched them kill her? Of course, if we have time and she lets me.

I also want to mention that it hasn't been reassuring that the Yew Tree investigation into Savile as a sexual abuser made no effort to take a full statement from someone who claims to have been abused by him lots or provide any explanation of why they did not want to peruse talking to me further.

I don't mind anyone saying that I am only inventing stuff after reading stuff in the press.  So often I would sit down at the keyboard planning to just let it all flow out.  Names, dates, relationships, the big deals, the murders but nothing would come.  Or plan to do big internet Illumaniti, Satanism, Ritual Abuse, Masons searches and take whatever I found apart, piece by piece, this is sort of true, this is made up and this is why.  I'd feel sick and distraught just looking at Welcome pages and chapter headings and go no further.  I couldn't understand how it could fly around my head so much but refuse to turn into black and white words that other people could see.  All I found myself really wanting to say was 'it hurts'.  But when the names become public things change especially when they are dead and public.  It's all been quite liberating at times.

I've remembered enough to feel absolutely certain I talked about Savile being a constant abusive presence in my life, particularly during childhood to police and/or social workers/Women's Aid workers who said they were in contact with the police in 2004 and 2009.  And fuck knows how many times before.

January 18, 2013

'Mes' - the plural of 'me'

Enough of all that formal, respectful, compromised, castrated, unemotional language bollox.  Documents don't need to be legal to be historical. You know what's going on behind all this emailing? A reluctance to admit that there is a lot more work to do in terms of the 'mes', and the 'others' the boys, the men, the old ladies, the blondes.  If I start reading or talking about my own experiences of multiple personalities and dissociated states I start feeling like my brain is being spread on toast.  I don't feel I know much about the others.  If I was able to do that they would be another me and not a totally separate person.  I'm not even sure I can tell them from actual other people when I start to think about it.  I used to love to make up new versions of people I met.  Fantasies about what I thought that person could of been if they had been nurtured and encouraged instead of brutalised.  Then I would try and go about doing all the things that the made up person would of done.  I really believed I was tapping into a person's spirit or soul to help it try and repair the damage the real person had done.  There is plenty of delusions still going on but they are total black outs in regards to some of the rape, false beliefs that people did everything they could to avoid hurting me, that they didn't choose to.

I've been seeing scenes that remind me of field hospitals in WWI, except bigger.  Miles warehouses or hangers of trolleys with various size, shape and injuries mes on them. Walking mes, some in daft wee nurses uniforms with the pointless hats doing their best to help them.  I'm trying to make some doctor types, some in elegant suits, perfect hair and expensive shoes, scruffy old trainer types and all are exceptional physicians.  Some with tans.  We had to stop putting patients in my bed or in my therapists office when we found them shivering and dirty in damp dark corners there just isn't enough space.  The accents though.  If you close your eyes and listen you would never think we all have the same face, the exact same DNA because we all sound so different.  There isn't any old ones of course, I'm only in my thirties now.  Most never had the time to know me like I know them.  Their births were auctioned   Their mothers were scooped and brushed up and taken off sets in squelching blacks sacks after their final close up.  I watched it all and felt everything they felt.

What next then? Well I need to start looking at the pictures of the various buildings and seeing what pops up. Think I will start with the new one.  That guest house, think some of the young men that are starting to appear at bedsides and in the aisles have something to say.  I'm not sure whats worse not being able to give them any names or being able to give them names.

January 17, 2013


I have opened a new emailed and called it B.B.C.  I've stopped now, I'm here instead, not knowing where to start.  But the radio is on (6Music - BBC), wee man entrenched in Epic Mickey 2, I have tea, I have heat, I have weed, there is plenty of bread and peanut butter.  When I spoke to my therapist about speaking out she didn't like the idea that I hold things back from formal investigations because they were unbelievable.  All of its unbelievable its starts in unlikely and ends somewhere far beyond current scientific understandings.  I could never come up with the right alternative and I wrestled with it a lot, thinking and rapping with it over years.  Everything always comes out like the stutterings of someone with significant brain abdornmalities, sometimes it seemed very apporiate and I went with it and creeped people out.

A restart and giving up on Chrome and a premature search for Pulps new single that was playing when things started freezing and I am back.  I really scared.  Something about everything involving me and the BBC, or me and people who worked at the BBC, or what other very powerful people wanting me to think about the BBC has always scared the living shit out of me.  I knew that whenever the BBC was on, being talked about, or I was in the presence of people who were associated with the BBC that 'I' wasn't me.  It wasn't just the BBC lots of music did it as well and big stories in the news.  I knew some of the girls on the Tennent's cans that were in people's houses and in the bushes and adamantly told someone once that they were my friends.

Some cleansing Wii remote detangling and two player back up, unexpected diarrhoea and another cup of tea.  How can detangle what I need to say in general and to anyone who will listen to what I want to say in this mail to an investigation about Jimmy Savile and the BBC. Well, already mailed this address, so that is where I start.

That'll do..  Short, to the point.

Dear Sir/Madame,

I recently emailled this address stating I am in contact with Police in regards to information I have concerning Jimmy Savile. I have not received a reply or confirmation from the Review regarding the email sent on Sunday the 13th and request that if possible you do so as soon as possible. I will also be forwarding this email to others who provide me with support and who wish to help me encourage other survivors to come forward and reassure other victims they are not alone and not mad. Due to the extreme and long term nature of the abuse I experienced on BBC premises involving Savile, BBC employees and others it is important that all effort is made to try and find others who are prepared to openly discuss what went on and what efforts were and are possibly still being made to cover it up.

What I am hoping to achieve at this moment however is to begin the process of finding someone from the Janet Smith Review who I can discuss matters with directly.

I will also be placing the main body of this email on the blog under the name of 'Daffodil Rites' please feel free to use this instead of my name when discussing me with others.

Kind Regards,

January 16, 2013

In response to anon comment.

An Anonymous comment on 'Again'

I saw the computer aged McCann image as a poster in a bar while on holiday in Greece last September. Gave me the horrors a bit. Had some weird and intense premonitory dreams while there, thought 'oh, overindulgence in the cheap local wine'. Came back to UK news of the missing Welsh child April, then the Savile story very soon after, and now my whole life seems turned upside down and my own memories of childhood no longer trustworthy. It's like quicksand now. What was real? I still don't know what to make of the idea of ritual abuse and people like Valerie Sinason. I read blogs like yours and still have no idea. I'm haunted by things that might be real and might be my own morbid over-imagination. There's a range of expensive ready meals called 'Look What We Found' that triggered fuck out of me. 

I really feel for this Anon, the triggers that cause intense horrible feelings but not knowing what they mean.  The constant nagging uncertainty about where I came from and everything I have every known makes it so hard to 'trust' or 'believe' anything especially if it comes from me.  You are not alone.

If I was to give advice (and I'm not sure I should, one person's healing is another's further trauma) I would suggest laying off the blogs and the media a little.  Make yourself some time, some peace when your well fed warm, etc then sit down and have a quiet word with yourself.  Ask yourself 'What's the matter?' and listen to any response without judgment or criticism even if you think it doesn't make any sense or 'can't be right'.  Talk to yourself like you would talk to a child you know and love.  Write down whatever comes to mind without thinking, without stopping.  It's unlikely you will get any big clear answers but if your body knows your listening it helps the anxiety a lot.  Look for little you and make her/him feel cherished.  

Good luck.

January 15, 2013

Letter to Savile Investigations.

There is a few typos left and its bit clumsy at times, especially towards the end, I have resisted the urge to fix them. Behold below! My letter to the investigations...

 As a survivor of networks in which Savile played a very significant role I have found and still find it difficult to remember, articulate and find the right person to talk to about this.  There is a lack of witnesses and victims coming forward and a lack of training in the police when it comes to taking claims of extreme organised abuse seriously. I am sending this letter to institutions who have ongoing investigations into Jimmy Savile to request that those involved keep an open mind in regards to the possibility of abusive networks that may have included the day to day staff in institutions from various roles and professions.  

I am aware that the recent Yew Tree report stated that 'offences were normally, opportunistic' (7.11,p.12) but I hope the severity of the crimes is enough to waken people up to the culture of disregarding unlikely sounding testimony because it has allowed Savile to thrive.  It is quite possible we are still in the early phases of understanding who he really was and what he really was involved in. Victims such as me tend to have mental health issues like substance misuse, multiple personalities, personality disorders, depression and complex PTSD as well physical issues.  We also have been failed by every institution we came into contact with as children and young adults.  We need a lot more than a few months of people saying the right things and see real differences in the way we are treated before we will have confidence in any public investigations. 

I was not surprised to read that 'there is no clear evidence of Savile operating within a pedophile ring' (7.12) but felt the mention of the the possibility of an 'informal' ring something the Police should be reassuring the public about talking about it.  As this is an open letter to several investigations I do not think this is the best place to start getting into specific allegations I have made or could make and what institution they relate to.  However, I think it is important that you are aware that I confident enough to state that Savile's network used institutions which housed the really vulnerable to find victims to be systematically abuse and exploited by criminal, abusive networks and the people they wanted to entertain.  Furthermore I witnessed the murders of some of these children and adults.  Although I understand well how rings of the sort I am describing can have so much control over victims that they believed they have witnessed or taken part in a murder when they haven't, I know my self well enough to say I knew some those that Savile was involved in killing.  I will be working with my therapist on how best to approach making a detailed as possible formal statement about these incidents.

Yours Faithfully,

January 13, 2013

Operation Yew Tree and me: Part 2

Twisty, ancient fucker isnt it?

Well if it is just a part one then the Yew Tree Report is a not bad example of big bureaucracy making some kind of attempt at recognising a very messing problem.  I have to acknowledge it seeing it written up like that  gives a sense of new freedom, a wee bit of faith in society in general.  One document alone doesn't change culture and practices that are generations old though but they can mark the start of processes of real and lasting change.

I didn't like the brief nod in the direction of anything organised though but then I wouldn't would I?  Article 7.12 'no clear evidence of Savile operating within a paedophile ring'.  It was good to feel the old history skills waking up.  At school I loved using documents as primary sources but I did cultural history at university and could longer understand why you would want to spend weeks of your life reading some bureaucratic bull when you could be examining and studying art, or listening to music, or looking at posters, cartoons, scribbles on a wall, anything to find out about the past.  It counts for a lot though doesn't it, even if it shouldn't, whats left of us by all the official jargon?

I have made first contact with the investigations Broadmore, Stoke Mandeville, Leeds, BBC.  If any of banterishness makes you think otherwise please dont think that its easy.  I did a little search for anything in Scotland but couldn't find anything and was starting to hurt.  I am scared.  Sometimes I am very scared.  But I always have been.  I have sometimes wondered if my compulsion to talk was a way of getting all the fear adrenaline I lost whenever things got quiet.  Forgive any long windedness that make creep in also I have been reading Stephen Fry.

Things are happening though.  CID phoned my mum and asked about my previous addresses.  Which is something pretty familiar actually   I'm pretty sure I've had conversations with people mostly family members that started 'CID phoned asking about where you've lived'.  Apparently its something they do and it doesn't particularly bother me.  There has been times that I have been phenomenally grateful to hear it.  It stopped me from believing, stopped me from going mental.  People in CID have heard of me.  Something is definitely going on.

It's difficult to say sometimes because its always been so hard for me know which people were who they said they were, were multiples themselves, were figments of my hope and imagination or horror and guilt, or something much, much worse.  Thank you people.  

January 11, 2013

Onward then.

Then the weed ran out and I got the letter saying I got no points and wasn't entitled to ESA.  The whole 'Im gonna get myself a MA in English' was much more 'wiz up' then, than 'yea man'.  I might as well put in the effort with the wee scholarship application though.  I need something and if not this than maybe trying for it will help me to figure out what.  I didn't want to completely abandon the idea because it is outside what bloody Cameron and his mates think I should get money for.  I've considered it a couple of times before but the idea seems to be germinating big time this time.  I'm not 'just' an unemployed, partially disabled, single mother with a difficult past, I'm all that but with an impressive academic record.  Not completely mental all the time and actually quite good at figuring things out.

I'm tough enough and sane enough to know that the current local job market is no place I need to be anywhere near at the moment if I want to preserve or improve health and parenting skills.  I'm sure that will change but probably not this year.  Or next year if I'm studying for an MA..

I'm sure the Savile shit is having its influence at the moment of course.  I might actually be able to be me now.  I might of been able to for a while but the little ones would never have believed.  Youngest 8, my arse, literally half in and half out a nappy.  Fuckers.  A well connect pedophile who isn't part of any rings.  Sure. We need more psychologists, psychiatrists and psychotherapists in the child abuse debate.  Lots of them and loads of different kinds.  Especially if they are openly survivors to.  Not the ones that haven't done any actual work with victims and perpetrators though.

Can't say things aren't heading in a better direction though.

Got more weed..


January 09, 2013


Am I really doing this? Sitting in bed with an ashtray nestled in my lap, a spliff in one hand, a pen in the other, notebook resting on my thigh   Radio playing Stone Roses and Blind Melon, in this cardigan that I have now had for more than half my life and hair that still needs a cut. Again.  Its natural, the only route to go down that's why I keep going down it.  Even if I don't really believe in it. I'm still interested, fascinated and its the only area I have experience to build on and a will to continue.  Maybe even a will to apply myself.  Various me's are excited and hopeful others are raising their sad eyes and resting their sore heads and necks. The course has been pre-booked, the 'please give me money letter' in motion, the set texts written down and wished for from Amazon.  MA English - you never know. Jane Eyre is on her way.

The phone call to say I am probably not getting ESA must of spurned me on.  I was asked if there was any more information I wanted taken into consideration though. So maybe SuperShrink or BarmyPsych can turn things around for me.  The money would certainly come in handy for paying the university fees.  I have a friend who would help and I think my Gran probably would to, I imagine my mum will be supportive, she has been doing a short course herself.  Its inheritance from her dad and she would be happy to help, if there is any left.  Arts & Humanities Academia, its what I am, whats left that's real.  English because everything is about stories, symbols and language at the end of the day.  Also because the course can be prepared for by rolling around reading novels whilst spliffing up, copiously   I'm hoping because its post grad I will be more motivated in keeping up with the course work, my attitudes are softening, more capable of putting effort into getting into something with out screaming 'its all bullshit' and abandoning it.

On other matters, namely Operation Yew Tree and Fairbank.  I've been acknowledging something.  Most of the people who have been linked or rumored to have been linked with organised child abuse, Savile, Jim Davidson, Lord MacAlpine, Freddy Starr, Gary Glitter, Rolf Harris, and their producers, colleagues  etc well, they aren't too cute are they.  Not just physically from the point of view of a yummy mummy like myself but also politically  socially, spirituality.  They are just not pretty.  Constant flashbacks of sex with Savile throughout the ages has a different impact to flashbacks of someone who isn't so obviously a creepy mother fucker.  The damage to my sexuality goes deeper.  He never 'groomed' me, not in the since of making me believe I wanted it.

What when the moments of returning torture, of feeling myself naked on all fours on a mattress prepubescent begging 'please no *** thats gonna be horrific' after being told was to be done and shown what with.  First they  do it to make you feel sick, then to make you feel pain, then to make it feel a bit okay, then to make you feel really, really sick, then sometimes ok again, then really, really sore until its at it sorest then they finish.  What if all that involves someone that you see yourself politically  philosophically or in some other way deeply aligned   Someone with reputation and a contribution to the world that I feel is valuable.Someone who unlike Savile or Yew Trees usual suspects who had the intellect and the sensitivity to make have laugh genuinely me laugh as a child, as a woman.  How to I handle that?  It feels so debilitating knowing there is so much I am still hiding from.

I've been thinking the whole 'wee man might of been sexually abused that New Year.' is actualy 'wee man was abused that New Year by my nephew playing enabler with his mate and there has been much more risk since I've consciously acknowledged and I have involved the police'.  I don't really do January's.  So asking the police if this is true will have to wait until February, unless they get back in touch with me of course!  I just have to stop apologising for the state of my memories and for everything else that is and has been out of my control.  Show them I'm a confident, articulate, educated young woman who isn't going to crumble to pieces if they ever actually did give me comprehensive timely answer.  I have pretty vivid memories of being told I did the right thing by them in recent years.  I got him out.  But that freezing feeling, that knowledge that everyone, including me is keeping harmful secrets from me is so alienating and so belittling its hard to ever feel anything else.

Since I'm making attempts at dealing with actual shit here there is something about the McCann case I want to share. I've tried to tweet about this but I'm been uncomfortable and a bit scared.  This isn't about some noxious old Tory or something this is about a little girl.  Its is also takes a long time to get enough confience to challenge the 'you will not talk' programming.  Also, everything I say is the result of committee decisions from my multiples, many of which I don't know very well or do not know at all.  This blog does not want to be seen as an resource for facts, it is creative writing not journalism.  However, it is written in the hope that we can get beyond the brick wall in the way of current attempts to understand, prevent and heal the issues associated with all types of child abuse.  Namely, we place most importance on empiricial proven facts rather than admit that the problem and covering up is endemic and we have a very long way to go to the as far as understanding its causes and resourcing appropriate support to support victims or prevent offenders offending  are  that exists because the only people who know the facts as far as the law is concerned are the abusers and the victims.  Neither of whom are  particularly likely to provide all the intimate details to strangers in order to prove a point.  I don't have magic approach to fix this stinking rotting problem but I do think we need to admit that whatever we are doing now is not working.

So Jerry and Kate McCann.  Firstly, Scottish and high profile media presence.  Not a good sign as far as we are concerned. Scotland and main stream media were pretty much controlled by corrupt abusive groups or their friends.  Doctors - well if they are involved it will be particularly nasty stuff, without people with medical knowledge and access lots of the reproduction, torture and experiments couldn't be done effectively and cleanly (leaving no or little long term or permanent evidence).  Definitely though Jerry in Glasgow in that bar, somewhere between November 2004 and February, come to think it of probably a couple of times.  Last time he and Kate (I think) met someone who was I guess middle ranking, not a complete animal but happy to take the dough type, Scottish bloke (possibly media links?).  I watched them a bit the bar was quiet, shit had pretty much wound down by then. I knew it would be pretty much be over for me soon in terms of physical traumas.  It felt pretty cynical and sickened watching them.

The gut punch of a twist (there often is one) is that on holiday in Spain with my family and wee man, I wasn't looking at anyone too closely - no trouble here. We were sitting at a table by the pool when I noticed a girl at another table watching me.  I smiled back, I was talking with my mum and sister we were trying to make some excursion plan or something.  I noticed she was still smiling at me, she may have waved.  She was giving me enough attention that the man and woman with her told her to turn round and stop it.  It was a bit creepy, she did seems a bit older than the usual smiley wee bairn.  It was and is; as things often are, very creepy.  Anyway I pretty much forgot about it until I saw the computer generated image of what Madeleine McCann would look like older last year and for a second I tasted that vile Sangria that was served.  There is obviously of a bit of me, us that thinks she might not be dead.  That goes beyond recognising the possibility that she might be alive, that thinks that was her in Spain.  I did and do think that who ever that girl was she was 'scene'.  She'd been brought up on images of me and that's why she knew me.  I cant think much more about it than that, I've been stuck here for a while now.  Maybe you can figure it all out for everyone?  So I can move on to trying to figure out something else and don't feel their fucked up little lives, futures and bodies in the palms of hands anymore.  Its just the sort of story the fuckers invented and carefully constructed to make sure I'm always terrified and always confused.  When you believe you have been the victim of mind control how can you believe anything else?

January 01, 2013

2013: Operation Yew Tree Extraction

Not 2113 as I was convinced it was last night..Its the 21 Century, easy mistake to make.

I was never very sure what to expect in 2012.  It had some significance, the went beyond the Mayan Calendar  even beyond 12,12,12.  There were times years ago when I longed for it to be 2012.  I always knew it would get better.  Aimed low you see, 'look for the bare necessities , until its safe to take more.

Things have been okay.  Therapy, Little Man at school, a safe and stable home, friendliness and support from twitter, maybe even a pal near by to! Then there was also the psychiatrist who reads notes and the deaths in the family.  I wouldn't admit that as a good thing anywhere but here expect maybe with a good therapist.  Two less people to worry about jumping out of a cupboard on me or wee man.  Two less people who may hold some tiny snippet of memory that might be used to completely rip apart my conscious understandings and take me back into hell where Satan, his minions and their forces are all very literal and very real.  There is a bit of me that feels that about any death though.  The older or more involved with any thing 'high profile' the better while any new baby born is a fresh, clean wee brain that with the help of other clean wee brains can cut through all this shit.

Both of the deaths in the family were male.  My granddad and a cousin who was a year younger than me.  The hardest, most emotional and distressing aspect to it all has been the increased contact and exposure via facebook of my late cousin's sister.  We have been close, I believe.  Its so much easier when everyone else involved in heaps of violent, horrible crime is a knob.  There were precious few moments of feeling close to my sisters growing up but it was different for with, don't know what to call her, PC will have to do (as in my perfect cousin).  Her parents moved up socially and economically and made a better job of getting out mine who moved geographically and made matters worse.

It was his heart that got my male cousin.  So I guess that means he couldn't of been all that bad...the useless fuck.

And my Granddad? He couldn't of been all that good but he wasn't that bad either.  I don't think he let me see whatever he was up to.

Cant be thinking about the last year without mentioned #Savile et al though.  Ongoing contact with the police, who are currently all pulling straws to see who is the unlucky bastard who is going to have to deal with me.  The chat with the constables went fine until I was showing them out and I reach out to open the door wider and brushed one of their shoulders, he flinched massively and I flinched as well and jumped back. The taller bloke had hadn't done the actual statement taking and hadn't said much, other than mentioning with a total dead pan face that he was 'down with the kids' after the short guy said he hadn't heard of any of the names I was giving him, causally looked back at us both like we were edijits . It was briefly all very uncomfortable, they left very quickly after that sounding a bit despondent.  I locked the door and scuttled back to telly and a blanket. The living room was fucking spotless and pretty lovely.  I'd actually been quite glad someone from the 'relevant authorities' was coming over because fuck all else was motivating me to deal with the state of the place.

I have some solicitors numbers but I need to have a good think about what I want to say to them.  I have always looked at it as the police as having the key to it all, the key to finding out, proving it, the key stopping it all, the key to whether or not it is dealt with, known about.  They need everyone's support.  Not that the police are in much of a position at the moment to be dealing with some thing this big until they have sorted themselves out.  So what I think I want to do is get help finding out how many police people will confirm they have spoken to me and about what, when etc before I can go any further with them.

I was putting it off before Christmas but I know what I need to do, or find someone to do for me. And that...is contact: 'The Social Worker, from the Social Worker Factory (awarded best in its category 1993, type 'Scottish Female').  The more I think about the time I spent talking to her though the more I think I may have said.  It makes me feel sick remembering how I felt before and after I talked to her, she made reference to a woman who she was going to be giving the Savile information to, pretty sure I signed. The was talk about a documentary by Newsnight by someone to me back when I was refuge in 2010 (think I said I'd heard about that but it wouldn't be happening when he was alive. Oops). Basically, all lot of questions that I feel I need to articulate and direct.  Another shitty ditch I have to get across, it wont be the first.  I'll get across but I might not be smelling quite as nice on the other side though..

Merry merry to all!