"You are a major pain in the arse!"
"Actually I'm just a lieutenant."
Lots a uncle rape memories at the moment, it really was quite extensive. Mum was in the house one time and screamed for her help she opened the bedroom door and angrily told me there was nothing she could do about it before shutting the door and leaving him to get on with it. After slashing my arms and wrists he asked me why I'd done it. I said 'why do you think?' he asked if I hated him, I said 'course'. I think he left the room after that or maybe we made that part up. Another time, presumably a year or so after because the bed was on the other side of the room, arrived back in Scotland after being god knows where, must have gone awol or some shit because there was no blanket amnesia, I was jaded, fully aware of my potential for violence and how abusers worked. I acted like the very vulnerable parts all broken, terrified, needy and small and just as expected him and my dad followed me up to my room where I was waiting for them. When he went for me I kicked him in the head and knocked him to the floor. My dad didn't move. Words were exchanged and they left me knowing for one night at least we wouldn't be bothered by them.
No therapy until the end of September, no drama until October. I've started the Courage to Heal, again and ordered the workbook which had been put of for years because we vary of what will be triggered not necessarly in the work but the book itself has been in someone's possession before. There's DID books around my bed but we're struggling to read them. DID is complicated enough without trying to understand who is organic and who is a program. Really struggling with irritability, tearfullness and cutting impulses whenever there's no weed. Held the knife to my skin when I was cutting a courgette in the messy kitchen, its blunt anyway. Keep reminding myself of how it feels after the rush; sore, bleeding and bloody stupid. No sign of Summer, not for weeks know. The thought of shaving the legs now makes us nauseous. Therapist seemed almost surprised by the way she was so present and then so absent, back to the same old super depressed ANP where everything and everyone is on lock down and everywhere the wards, the barracks, the nursery, the hills all feel like the aftermath of a tsunami or scorched earth policy.
"Actually I'm just a lieutenant."
Lots a uncle rape memories at the moment, it really was quite extensive. Mum was in the house one time and screamed for her help she opened the bedroom door and angrily told me there was nothing she could do about it before shutting the door and leaving him to get on with it. After slashing my arms and wrists he asked me why I'd done it. I said 'why do you think?' he asked if I hated him, I said 'course'. I think he left the room after that or maybe we made that part up. Another time, presumably a year or so after because the bed was on the other side of the room, arrived back in Scotland after being god knows where, must have gone awol or some shit because there was no blanket amnesia, I was jaded, fully aware of my potential for violence and how abusers worked. I acted like the very vulnerable parts all broken, terrified, needy and small and just as expected him and my dad followed me up to my room where I was waiting for them. When he went for me I kicked him in the head and knocked him to the floor. My dad didn't move. Words were exchanged and they left me knowing for one night at least we wouldn't be bothered by them.
No therapy until the end of September, no drama until October. I've started the Courage to Heal, again and ordered the workbook which had been put of for years because we vary of what will be triggered not necessarly in the work but the book itself has been in someone's possession before. There's DID books around my bed but we're struggling to read them. DID is complicated enough without trying to understand who is organic and who is a program. Really struggling with irritability, tearfullness and cutting impulses whenever there's no weed. Held the knife to my skin when I was cutting a courgette in the messy kitchen, its blunt anyway. Keep reminding myself of how it feels after the rush; sore, bleeding and bloody stupid. No sign of Summer, not for weeks know. The thought of shaving the legs now makes us nauseous. Therapist seemed almost surprised by the way she was so present and then so absent, back to the same old super depressed ANP where everything and everyone is on lock down and everywhere the wards, the barracks, the nursery, the hills all feel like the aftermath of a tsunami or scorched earth policy.
