No more code words
Week two of shitty shitty cold virus. Closing my eyes just puts us back there, under blankets that there isn't enough of, no heating in the room, single glazing. Symptoms just dragging on and on. There's no past, not future. Just an awful present. The virus making it impossible to distract our self from our core, of not just food insecurity, lack of physical care and Margo's unpredictability, the chance
of a slap from Lynne or someone or much much worse it's all these things and the living with seeing the torture and deaths we have witnessed of people who would and in some cases did do what they could to keep us warm and fed well and the attempts at our own life and the knowing there would be more. The uniforms, the accents, the connectedness and the privileges of the killers. The knowledge that left us with, the understanding that there would be no safety and no healing. The annihilation of what propaganda described as normal childhood, we were forced to believe in things just so they could take it away, there would be no power in denying us something if we never believed in it to begin with. The lies,
the cold and heartlessness and the hunger day after day blotting out any sense of our mother and of others to that they couldn't kill so easily and that would never forget about us and never think we were okay or lost for ever. The reality of places and peoples were no one was treated so badly and where what we can do inspired love and not savage oppression. Everybody hates us already
and we are just a kid, how much more will they hate us when we are older and are still alive? All the lies will make out that we have not fought back as much as we do and have people thinking we are more controlled and ignorant of the truth of who we are and what is done to us will help protect us. Another fucked up irony of being hated in such a consistent, universal and organised way, some of it would end up helping to protect us, there was a bitter comfort in that. The dogs to, sometimes they would comfort us but if Bill found out he would force them away and we would be left feeling even colder, and even more scared and so much more alone.
Closing my eyes just puts me back there and sometimes there is screaming that might of been our own or maybe someone else.
We are warm here and we have a son who is exhausting especially when we cant give him all the attention he needs but he's not being raped or raping. There is no Bill and Margo here. Or anyone else. There is no shed and voices from over a fence that make sure we can never heal. There is no calls from Niall where we are split by gratitude because at least someone talks to us and helps us sometimes and knowing he is not on our side and we have to hold so much we know about him back incase the memories crush us or we would show the absence of denial by saying and doing things that would initiate a fight we were not prepared for.
Viruses will always be awful but we will not always be suffering from them. There will be better days, more productive and less grumpy with our son days soon definitely and a chance of good things coming to and not the certain knowledge that there will be more hell. We beat and scared hell away and will be able to do so again if it trys to come back. We don't have to feel grateful just for still being alive and for being able to feel how it feels to be us but we can feel proud and long for the days when we don't have one foot in enslavement with the other in a place of agonising isolation with an annihilated self in both camps. Growth happens.
of a slap from Lynne or someone or much much worse it's all these things and the living with seeing the torture and deaths we have witnessed of people who would and in some cases did do what they could to keep us warm and fed well and the attempts at our own life and the knowing there would be more. The uniforms, the accents, the connectedness and the privileges of the killers. The knowledge that left us with, the understanding that there would be no safety and no healing. The annihilation of what propaganda described as normal childhood, we were forced to believe in things just so they could take it away, there would be no power in denying us something if we never believed in it to begin with. The lies,
the cold and heartlessness and the hunger day after day blotting out any sense of our mother and of others to that they couldn't kill so easily and that would never forget about us and never think we were okay or lost for ever. The reality of places and peoples were no one was treated so badly and where what we can do inspired love and not savage oppression. Everybody hates us already
and we are just a kid, how much more will they hate us when we are older and are still alive? All the lies will make out that we have not fought back as much as we do and have people thinking we are more controlled and ignorant of the truth of who we are and what is done to us will help protect us. Another fucked up irony of being hated in such a consistent, universal and organised way, some of it would end up helping to protect us, there was a bitter comfort in that. The dogs to, sometimes they would comfort us but if Bill found out he would force them away and we would be left feeling even colder, and even more scared and so much more alone.
Closing my eyes just puts me back there and sometimes there is screaming that might of been our own or maybe someone else.
We are warm here and we have a son who is exhausting especially when we cant give him all the attention he needs but he's not being raped or raping. There is no Bill and Margo here. Or anyone else. There is no shed and voices from over a fence that make sure we can never heal. There is no calls from Niall where we are split by gratitude because at least someone talks to us and helps us sometimes and knowing he is not on our side and we have to hold so much we know about him back incase the memories crush us or we would show the absence of denial by saying and doing things that would initiate a fight we were not prepared for.
Viruses will always be awful but we will not always be suffering from them. There will be better days, more productive and less grumpy with our son days soon definitely and a chance of good things coming to and not the certain knowledge that there will be more hell. We beat and scared hell away and will be able to do so again if it trys to come back. We don't have to feel grateful just for still being alive and for being able to feel how it feels to be us but we can feel proud and long for the days when we don't have one foot in enslavement with the other in a place of agonising isolation with an annihilated self in both camps. Growth happens.
