March 29, 2013

Good Friday

Spring ANPs waking today.  Girls that came from good homes, that laugh easier and freer who developed their understanding of themselves outside of abuse, who were loved when they little.  I will never be comfortable using the term 'Apparently Normal Personalities' in regards to anything that is me but its what we working with at the moment and it has a ring to it. ANPs are the parts that manage the day to day running of things.  For me that has to include who deals with the constant flashbacks of horror and disturbing associations in every day objects and activities.  I haven't read or reviewed any of the reading on ANPs and ritual abuse victims recently, I'm trying to work with my therapist mostly and notice who is around with us rather than delving in to other people's research.  Due to the holidays I have two weeks until there is any more appointments though, my brain will probably be pretty different by then anyway.  Sure its been mentioned that 'ANP's, who also choose which of the parts that hold all the emotion, all the trauma are allowed to speak change according to time of year in ritual abuse victims.  We nod at this.

This is the 20 year anniversary of some particularly significant stuff.  I started waking up at times I wasn't supposed to, thinking about things I wasn't supposed to know about.  I was aware I didn't have a child's body anymore, I couldn't convince myself I was a boy, the parts made to preform specific roles in rituals couldn't hold me anymore .  Lots of things had changed since I had last been that aware and much of the stuff that was the same just didn't scare as much anymore.  My therapist mentioned that there was evidence to suggest that something to do with teenagers' brains and particularly teenage girls' brains were harder to control than children or adults.  It rang pretty true.  She talked in terms of the changing physiology of the brain, I talked about ovulating, pregnancy and motherhood, having someone you loved that had never raped you inside you, brings out survival instincts. She called this evolutionary.

There was no fake family, going to school, 'normal' life states of mind that thought they had never been raped and if they had it was only once or twice.  There was no space for them.  Every fucking religious, pagan, historically significant day between sometime in late November 92 till sometimes in late Summer 93 was marked.  The big ones were prepared for, trained for.  With regular boots of forced prostitution, pornography and gang rape by groups of mostly young men who knew others were doing it and they would get away with it between the calendar dates.  I didn't feel much of it to begin with but I was watching and remembering continuously in ways I never had before.  In December I started to really feel it and by late February I noticed that I was able to move, to speech, at will.  It was catastrophic, all the numbness, the dissociation, the denial had lifted.  Everything that was happening, was happening to me and it was the people I lived with that were making it happen and people much more respected and connected than me that were making it happen.  There was so much rape, the police were heavily involved, any attempt to fight or avoid it was pointless.  Sometimes I had to try anyway it made it easier to do what I had to do when running or fighting wasn't an option if I knew I fought to stop it from happening..  By the summer I had discovered the benefits of choosing to take and seek out my own taste in drugs, going to festivals and attempting to negotiate the dose with pimps, producers, handlers and other abusers.  The porn.  It's out there.

I've been thinking about looking into medical negligence compensation, I've been thinking of writing politely and hopefully properly proof read letters to complain about the way the police and NHS mental health services have failed me my entire 30 something years. I've given up on post grad English, I don't have the three and a half grand and I cant be putting myself under any more pressure this year. The woman from Speaking Out, said I should contact met 'ongoing investigations into living persons connected to information I have given them' or something of that ilk.  I named Savile, I don't know how many fucking times to police, mental health services, charity workers, social workers, teachers, people in pubs.  I lived through it and function reasonably well most of the time, I chased them up til I got the opportunity to give some sort of a statement even though I have done plenty of things that could put me in jail. DNA samples don't get amnesia, just the people that run them.    There is fuck all else I can do at the moment, except pray and I don't mind admitting I've been doing that.