February 23, 2013


Very draining fortnight, the statement last week, three sessions this week and next week its my 'birthday' next week. As usual I can't bear the thought of the birthday.  It's my Halloween.  At least at Christmas there's lights, decorations and chocolate everywhere.   There's been a shit load of tears and there is probably going to be a shit load more.  My supplies haven't been supplied and the poor lanky female in the cupboard whose due in about 10 ten days has lost a few lower limbs and was far from over ever endowed before.  My god, I forgot how good home grown bud can taste, even when its well immature and fresh out the oven.  Must leave the rest..

The psychiatrist wanted a nurse to be present while he takes a history.  He's quite open about the fact that he's 'working in the dark', as he puts it.  He seems to think that if he reads my file more and looks into things he's going to figure out what ever is going on for me. I wished it him good luck.  He brought in the same CPN that I saw in refuge, she literally scoffed at me then to.  It sounded a bit deliberate the way she got the pied piper's name wrong.  I think she did the exact same thing last time.  Last time I saw her one of the workers from Woman's Aid said she was a bit shocked at the way the CPN had talked about me when she showed her out.  There was talk about saying something to someone about her unprofessional behavior and attitude but it never happened.  I won't be talking in front of her again but I might ask if she remembers me from refuge.

Psychiatrist said he wanted an investigation of his own, I would of asked what sort of investigation and into what but I was occupied in trying to sob with some sort dignity. We didn't have much time his next patient arrived and he told me when I was about to leave that he wanted to talk to my parents.  For obvious reasons I wasn't too keen but said we can talk about it next time when I will probably also give him their phone numbers.  And PsychoSis's as well for that matter, not feeling vulnerable to the point of not being to handle a ranty phone call from her.

He often asks about my sexual history and fantasies and I find it all very hard to answer, sexual experiences and fantasies are things that other people have.  I have rape and exploitation and memories of sex that felt good at the time. He's asked several times how many forced abortions, not in hospitals I've had.  I kept saying I didn't know.  It's like he doesn't understand what DID/MPD are and actually mean in terms of someone long term memories.  We haven't really talked about mind control at all.  I got the feeling he is starting suspect the majority of what I'm saying didn't happen.  He asked if he could speak to my therapist, I'm totally cool that.  She can give him the sort of academic overview that I can't.

New drama therapist seems okay.  I made up a story about a fox whose happy solitude is broken by the wails of a starving young family that live on the other side of a deep, dangerous crevice.  He takes them food, purely to shut them up but is injured on the journey and is forced to stay and be taken care of by the family he set out to help.  She says she's into using movement and I definitely need some of that but I it's probably going to hurt.

My one to one therapist wants to give me some education on the current thinking on DID and multiples so we can establish some sort of vocabulary to describe what goes on.  I told her about Sally and Rab.  I think Sally was Savile's previous 'favorite' that I watched him and his associate murder.  I told her hair was beautiful before they started on her, she said it was dyed and when I see Sally her hair is mousy.  I often took on the dead, my way of dealing with it I guess it gave me a purpose.  I could help them answer the questions they need answered and they stayed with me always and protected me from the worst.  Rab on the other hand, was long dead before I was born, what with him being Burns.  I was thinking the other night  I would love to write the story of the relationships between me and all the people in my head, we have so much fun sometimes.  That way the focus is me and the amazing ways that the human mind can survive shit not focusing on the abusers, what they did what and what pub they went to for a pint afterwards. It avoids a lot of the legal/safety worries.

I also told her about the flashbacks of birth in my room, the stiff, aching body when I stood up afterwards and then walking into the bathroom to find Alkysis had drowned the baby in the bath.  She thinks its probably mind control.  I'm not so sure.  I don't think the mind control stuff usually comes back in dribs and drabs like that.  The mind control stuff was about giving me (as in the ANP 'apparently normal personality'..)experiences of rape that I didn't completely dissociate from that were with 'me' all day and all night. They don't come back in very sensory emotionally overwhelming flashbacks years later because they weren't blocked out at the time.  Furthermore, the 'me' that exists in the mind control rape stuff would often seem sort of unrecogniseable when recalled.  She if generally really shocked and surprised that whatever is happening is happening.  Where as any 'me' with any kind of self consciousness, isn't.

May hear from the police next week, find out what the almighty Met are saying.  Not that I'm giving much of a fuck.  I can't see me been treated by them in a way that will make me feel safe enough to really open up about everything.  The officer who took the statement was very clear about including that I have information that is relevant to Fernbridge though.     

February 16, 2013


Txted my pal this morning to find out my chances of getting any weed today, she said probably not today but soon. Today is the anniversary of a still birth for the couple she gets it from.  This was enough to set me off, crying loud enough and long enough for wee man to hear and come in the room to ask why I was sad, why I was crying.  Still birth? In a hospital, with medical attention, the support of a long term partner/family/friends, a burial, a name, a date without being concussed, drugged or hit with enough mind control so you forget the specifics, feelings never go though.   Flowers, hugs, sympathetic GPs.  I don't think many of mine born after 22 weeks or so were still, to begin with anyway.  Why the little fuckers would hold onto life so hard I'll never know anymore than I know why I held on to life when I could of so easily just of let go.  Except of course to piss people off.  It was the thought of exposing my family one day that did it some days.  That would include the same woman who calls herself my mother that I've just handed wee man over to for the night because I'm in too much of a state to do much with him and don't have anyone else.  Even though I knew what would happen to them I was often so glad they were there, with me and knowing they were going to die meant I didn't have to fear them being brought up as fucking posts and to rape, betray me.

It's still February.  The 15th stands out like many dates at this time of year but I can't give you names of those involved in each specific occasions, sometimes my family and Savile, sometimes just family, sometimes Savile and others, sometimes police, sometimes just others and of course no real evidence.  Early stage forced abortions, the Dream Team, lots.  Usually in my bedroom.  

Clicks have started on the line again, I guess that means the police from up here have contacted the met.

Talked about some of my Ian Watkins experiences, how Savile showed him how up to bring up little me and how him and the bitch from the Suger Babes hurt both me and PT, how they tried to get others involved but they weren't into it.  She didn't include it in the statement, she waiting to see what the met think about the rest of the Savile stuff.

February 11, 2013


You know that scene from Tangled when she first gets out the tower and is literally swinging between proud glorious elation and weeping guiltily depression.


I'm gonna focus on the 80's.  Time, after all is the only healer and I will make more sense if I try and limit the scope of what I talk about.  Except for a couple of on going issues of course that I need to get out the way first.

My mum said today that she didn't think things would ever change with my sister and the kids will be taking away if sis turns up at school pissed and my mum isn't in.  I said she was being defeatist.  We talked about Alkysis's GP whose advice was to try and get the drinking down to a half a bottle a day and that mother thinks speed may have been recently reintroduced.  I can't see how anyone can accept a life of total misery like that without at lest pretending to be looking for ways to make things even just a little bit better.

Some stupid song on the radio was the catalyst to flashbacks about first true love best friend eternal other half lesbian teenage lover.  It's been a long time since I could remember us together in any real way.  All the abuse memories get in the way and the best I could come up with was occasions when I had lost the will to say no.  Wee man burst in thankfully after the proper cry was over.  Then the phone rang, I was glad of the distractions.  It was gran she wanted to know how to put her TV onto the kids channels for spider monkey and her cuz.  Mum had dropped them off on route to taking snot face to the doctors with a massive fever, my sister was intoxicated and not making any sense.

I hang out with wee man before phoning my mum at the hospital on her mobile, she's waiting to see a doc, Tommy has brightened up a bit I could here him chatting in the background.

My notes for tomorrow are pretty much ready.

February 05, 2013

Ramblings from a Straight Jacket.

Right Digital Spy!!

I've joined but am still not allowed to contribute! If I could I might flag up the 'straight jacket' comment as pointlessly abusive and possibly in breach of the sites' terms and conditions.  I have dreams about being a professional writer, the blog is partly a way of working out my voice and trying out different styles, testing what I can and can not say.  It is also (and probably most importantly) for venting and a way of recording my memories (for me) as they come up because I often forget them.  I am not interested in arguing about cannabis, you don't know me or how cannabis helps me enjoy life and instantly stops any thoughts of self harm or suicide.  I have had enough misery and hopelessness in my life and am not prepared to accept a second more of it than I have to.  My current psychiatrist gave me the diagnosis of both DID and MPD which I find useful because when I'm dissociated I'm 'not there' no one is, but with MPD I am someone else, although usually I am conscious of everything I say and do as the result of team work between alters.  The anger in the poem is a reaction to some of the comments but is also a response to the sensationalisation of all kinds of sexual abuse and how victims are often further objectified and alienated by the professionals, fiends and family members who we desperately turn to for help.

There is no point in trying convince anyone who has faith in existing systems such as police, courts, politics to protect the vulnerable or of the scale of corruption, cover up and violence that is inherit throughout.   Telling anyone I talked to police about Savile and everything else while he was still alive 2 years ago, 7 years ago and god knows how many times as child or adult when it was ongoing is not going to make any difference if they have already decided I'm a nutter.  I am far from the only one who only feels confident to publicly  discuss rape after the abuser is dead and other people are all ready coming forward.

Please don't interpret my blog as being written to be a factual account of everything that has happened to me and everyone who has hurt me.  I'm a creative writer trying different ways to express, share, work through and move on from a horrific childhood and early adulthood. It is a personal blog, that I write for personal reasons which of course anyone can interpret what ever they like from it.    

February 04, 2013

'Like Fiction'

Someone on a forum put up the email that Jimmy Jones put up on his site about Savile.  Someone read it and replied that it 'read like fiction'.  As a past and hopefully future student of English I found that quite interesting, as was the stuff I read on Digital Spy today.

Like Fiction.

ma unkempt grammar, fidgetin voice
an messy register don't satisfy your info lust.
Soz the bastardised language, unlikely
themes and scatty tense teases but
never places in your lap the perfectly formed
balance of immaculate grammar
and convincing graphic imagery.  Ma
fractured & crushed attempts at truth
can't gratify all that starved, surging longing
for an empirically structured but hard
hitting first person narrative.  Coz any mes
(you see) that went to school, they
never got away and are all rotting
still with him in his unmarked grave
or wrapped round our friends
at the bottom of the Irish sea. 

February 02, 2013

How do you know Savile to?

Over the years he took over how I was treated by other groups.  Taking away any ritualism that wasn't completely abusive.  If they refused Savile turned against them, there was some mixed feelings at seeing men who considerable themselves untouchable being treated in the same way that they had treated me.  Savile wasn't too interested in discussing nuances of Satanic theory.  He had no time for any 'genuinely religious' Satanism, he explained to the leaders how to simplify things and then demonstrated on me and others.  Harm for the sake of it which was 'real' Satanism as far as I was concerned, all that bookishness and dead languages missed the point because it didn't cause enough harm.  Of course anything that went on that didn't directly hurt me was to be cherished and he took a lot of it away from.

I looked forward to the time when Savile would introduced himself to and infiltrate the groups and bloodlines that were big on seeing Satanism as a form of political, spiritual and social resistance to state hegemony and oppression.  Brutalising your kids physically before they are brutalised by society intellectually.  Rape your wives so their sexualities don't become tools to subjugate men.  Kill ur babies so the bond between mother and child so it doesn't enslave you. Destroy all bonds between family and peers so relationships don't become manipulated by the requirements of elites.  Some such groups loved getting their hands on rich and powerful and torturing them in ways that were said to represent the effects of inequality on lower classes.  To get access to such symbols of elite power they had to gain favour with the bosses of the rich and famous so much of the time was spent attempting to meet the will and whim of the leaders of elite ritualism.

When I heard Marx being referenced or discussed by such 'socialist' Satanists as a left leaning idealistic young teenager it made my blood boil and I got an insight of what Satanic abuse must be like if your were deeply Christian or Islamic or whatever.  I deeply hated hearing things that I believed used as justification for destroying the life options of others.  Such groups sometimes saw me as a pet and tool of the elite and I was extra punished for that.  I worked hard to sabotage and collect evidence on those elite groups, I felt like if people stopped raping me I might be able to address some of those ingrained social injustices and the power of media propaganda.  Most of the me's had long grown out of being upset at the things that were said but this got to us, lots of us.

I had started day dreaming about what could happen when Savile took them over like he had so many others.  It wasn't something we went in for, fantasizing about people being raped.  It made me very worried about how personally we were obviously taking this.   I thought he would teach them not to be so prejudiced in their approach.  That the point of Satanism was that there was no point.  That they would be taken down a peg or to.  Savile's appearance in some of the groups had caused a lot of destabilisation and even crumbling in some cases so that if you had your eye on the exit you were out.  Instead he seemed unusually prepared to listen to them.  It shocked me when I saw him start to agree and ask questions, thank them and engage with them.  He told me later that it wasn't because he really believed any of that tripe but had to bring them onside for some plan he had.

February 01, 2013

How do you know Savile?

'How do you know Savile?'

Sometimes I didn't even hear the words when people asked me.  They would have to keep asking and sometimes still not get any sort of answer.  I heard it this time though.

'You've got a lot to learn ***, Savile's a Satanist.  He's owned me my whole life.'

I started to move away I didn't want to start weeping in front of that cunt but Mory's beefy arm encircled my shoulders from behind and pulled me back into his half squidgy half solid mass.  I had to pick my issues with Mor and I didn't have the will or any need to fight this one.  He wasn't that much taller than me, his starting not much higher than the top of mine.  I leaned back against his shirt and looked up, its was all letting it's self go.  I gave a pretty pathetic almost canine sounding whimper before the tingling  numb waves smashing through my brain meant he was no longer holding me still but holding me up.  My knees had buckled but only a few that really knew me saw it.  I felt my mouth opening and sounds came out. Somewhere between a cry and a scream that sounded like it came from a small feral child but I was in my mid twenties.  Briefly I was back with the wolves in the snow again.  There was a real deathly silence in that bar.  The ex squaddie bar man was all pale and his hand was shaking when he held out a nip of something, probably a double or triple   I'm not sure but I'm thinking whiskey, maybe brandy.  He had a bad habit of doing the exact right thing at my most desperate moments but being fucking useless or worse the rest of the time, so its was probably brandy and not the cheap stuff.  Maybe a liquor if there was some around.  Mory didn't let me go, just moved with me as I reached over for it.  Things felt better after I knocked it back, the drink exaggerated that sense of near total physical and mental calm, the after glow when something rips forth like that.  People stopped looking like demon's, or zombie's or angels, they just looked like tired, exploited, physically & socially oppressed people. So more fucked up than others and none of us had ever chosen to be there.

There was a dinner and a night in a club I think when *** was there.  He was quiet openly watching me to that point that his wife had a word in his ear telling him to ease off.  I was aware of it and because it wasn't a rapey look, more curious and cautious than that it didn't really bother me that much.  I was a bit bugged that he was making me feel a bit self conscious when I was trying to make to the best of time spent with some the boys.  Unknown to me at the time but attempting to mother my peers in the field when we were under 10 had given many of them skills in wrapping me round their fingers when we were over 10.  Sometimes we found an innocence back then that we had cherished and defended enough to find again when we had the opportunity.   We often got strange looks, all that wet eyed pawing, arm stroking, hand holding and finishing each other sentences in groups, in public.  One of them made a joke about the guy staring that was acute as ever and ignoring him was much easier.

I knew it couldn't be avoided forever.  I was going to have to sit down with the fucker with my business head on and find out where he was at.  He did not bad, in the end.  I had no other options than to tell him as much as I could, he said all the right things.  I handed over the documents and let him buy me a pint.