December 28, 2014

Bright eyes.

Ow.

Its quite sharp at the moment and has been for a few hours. If it was a shape some of us would say a big curvy blobby orangey red, others spikey in cold blues and white. Others think yellow because of its association with cowardliness. The cowardliness of those that caused it  more than the weakness it causes in us.  To 'me' at the moment its the colour of his skin, its the ache of a phantom limb, the weight of how it feels to be bought and sold, to be less than livestock. Its the pain of being tortured from infancy and still being able to bond and knowing how that bond will need to be destroyed by everyone around us from those than gained the most from slavery, to the managers and fellow slaves.  They all saw us as something that can not be. Every second of love, of pride turned the world charcol grey with hate.

It's so far from over. How can we let anyone near us after knowing what it felt like to be touched by someone who knew us and looked up to us.. Someone who we found over and over again that gave us and still gives us our sense wholeness, of personhood.


Maybe it was around this time of year when Ferris murdered baby Rosa (the first).  Maybe it was around this time that he helped us remember so we wouldnt be so confused about why I was in such a mess. So I could at least make a small step towards mourning and accepting that is needed to get out of that state of terror, shock and disbelief that makes it so easy for the abuser crews to revicitimise us.

Its good to have furr balls about the place, even if the mom of the adolescent boy wont let him anywhere near her, she growls even if she hears him in another room and is possibly pregnant. Bit concerned that she is going to get too big and wont be able to squish herself flat enough to get out from underneath my bed.  The wee lad is great highly entertaining and doesnt do that whole attacking your hand because they get too excited from petting thing that lots of cats do. Had a lovely hour or so dozing cuddled up with him on the sofa, zonked out on gabapentin, codrydromal and brandy.  The only relief from pain is getting wasted. We love the way getting zonked up opens up our mind but hate that we have to take drugs to feel in touch and comfortable with our selfs.  Must be three weeks or so since our last spliff, we get the idea to try the things we would be likely to do if we had plenty, like keeping housework under control or playing with our toys but not the drive.

Anyhow. Cheers brother husband and sorry we wont use your names here, I know you would tell us just to do whatever we could to feel comfortable and always wept with us or for us when we couldn't.  Would be great if you could turn up soon. Couple of CID asked is I had heard from my 'husband' on the night Laura died, we just looked at them and shook our head. The more human ones asked if I was married once the tools had left we showed them our naked hands and said no, talked about how every thing is taken off me, the slavery and the DID.  When we were talking about Laura's two we said it would be good to talk to someone unbiased, to figure out what was best for them.  She said they were all biased towards me. Things feel much safer but dont know how true that is.

Bring weed. Lots of it. I have enough to feed us and their is enough space.

xx


Cant properly proof read this (when can we ever?)..