..dear reader..

'Cheapness of life' is the theme for tomorrows therapy session.  We didn't feel quite so isolated and undermined  last session when she tried to suggest a murder we had described wasn't real.  We have sall gone through periods of not believing it was ever real, some of us still do.  We are not as worried as we have been about how difficult it will be for her to put down the books and the reading enough to see me and all that we are.  We sent her the Exaro link and are getting the impression from the emails between us since that its maybe is starting to dawn.  Hopefully. There are plenty that aren't going to even think about waking up or reaching out if their experiences growing up in a culture where death and violent death is mundane isn't established as a shared truth. The floor in her office was inviting for the first time last week.  There was a wee toy down there.  The floor though. I can see it really easily, take boots/shoes of and get do...

I think it was my child therapist who first described DID to me when I was about 14/15.  When she talked about the chronic depression of the Apparently Normal Personalities becomes they are so disconnected from the Emotional Personalities, from the body, from everything my eyes must of lit up and jaw dropped.  It was truth, bloody truth.  From the NHS!  From another human being! Not in a setting that was very. very wrong!  To me! Whatever ANP was there to hear that has been behind a lot of the parts since then are recognisable as me.  It was an exit sign, I couldn't always see it or know if it was possible head in its direction but I'd still seen it, it existed.  She never gave it as a formal diagnosis, she wasn't sure that police getting involved in whatever was going on at home would help, she didn't have any confidence in her colleagues in psychiatry either. The other day my current therapist talked in terms of being David a...

Wee man's wee facial injury has been causing me a whole heap of anxiety and some specific flashbacks.  Being held down in my bedroom while someone hit my front teeth with a hammer.  Very calculated blow enough to cause lots of pain and bit of bleeding but not shatter them. It was my family and Savile related but I can't remember exactly who was there. I had no chance of of not being aggravated even if I had tried.  I had an at school alter who knew she could never wonder why she felt so awful or where she was in pain and never to try and do anything about it.  I bit into something at lunch, twix or something and ended up crumpled head head down weeping in agony in front of a packed dinner hall. There was another time a lot more complex tripping me up, again in my bedroom with my hands tied behind my back so my mouth would hit something carefully placed before me.  Given instructions on how I had to fall, that time was with Scottish Ritual Abuse type...

All quotes from Breaking Ritual Silence: An Anthology of Ritual Abuse Survivivors' Stories eds., Jeanne Marie Lorenze & Paula Levy (1998) 'When you are born to satanist parents, you drink paradox with your mother's milk.' (Jane Solay, p.132) 'And I will write it someday; I will tell. I will tell in words that people will not be able to look away from..' (g & c, p.7) 'By age fifteen, I had been raped thousands of times, witnessed scores of murders, and killed..' (Joy, p.25) 'Killing just seemed natural and matter-of-fact for us. (Morgana, p.61) 'They taught me that everything has life and everything is sacred, then they turned around and forced me to abuse an animal or use one of the elements in an abusive way.' (Two Bears Running, p.41) 'I was an interrogator and an assassin.' Morgana (p.62) p76/77 Dx

Every time I arrive somewhere or fought to leave a location, it has been through the hope that I could find somewhere where I felt I had never been before but in agonuy, drugged, terrisfied or just not me.  Hoping that I could find somewhere without that crippyling oppressive atmosphere.  It gave me a sense of worth.  It was a horrible feeling that hit me everywhere I am sometimes.  A strange painful sense that I've been here before even if the images, flashes of body memories and the like seemed to be about something positive.  It couldn't of been me because I couldn't laugh like that.  Mostly though pains where sharp and the memories increasingly sequencial.  I never knew if I was reacting to the place where I was, the place I had been or the places I was going.  There was a group when I lived in Aberdeenshire ran mainly by young Scottish men and women in their early twenties and thirties from families who were known to have cr...

Heaps of pain recently, not sure if its because I missed a day on the pill after it had just settled down again after the antibiotics. Maybe its the reading, the chatting on twitter, the time of year or a combination of all. It does feel like the reading is opening my mind up but I still shy away from writing things down the moment they come to mind. I remembered being in the back of a police car breast feeding, my milk had just come in and I left a wet patch on the seat. I'm getting snippets of phone calls when I was small not just of being controlled and terrified but of people, or a man anyway trying to tell me who I was, what was going on, trying to arm me against it all. These people have always been there, they are part of the networks. That's what makes it so hard for me to let it all go because it was through the cults,the organised crime, the corruption that I got only real love and recognition. How can any one understand if they haven't been part of? Maybe...

Can't wait to get the books through, although I have a feeling that will change dramatically by the time I hold them in my hands. I'm going to have to deal with these memories and aim towards to a place where I don't need to smoke. That's the plan anyway... Today has been a strange mixture of feeling crushed and okay. I am accepting I need a lot of attention right now and for the foreseeable future and am so much less annoyed with myself for not being 'normal'. I could smile at myself for not doing the dishes tonight, they are soaking and can be easily rinsed in the morning. I will need to stay busy tomorrow morning away because I will be weedless, which will be all lot more bearable now I've realised myself from the course and have ordered healing books. I feel like I'm going through something important right now, its really starting to sink in that I have options and futures now. That the decisions I make effects my future - fancy that.. My ...

I am depserate to write about the way the organisations worked and the sort of people who were in them. I dream about really getting down to all the little differences between people socially and how they were translated into acts of violence in both structured and spontanous situations. But I'm scared, I have no criminal record and there are no records of me giving statements or working with the police in any way. Not that I can access anyway, at the moment. I watch the news, waiting. Waiting for something that might bring about a breakthrough. I'm more stable now, I have a voice I'm not scared of the press. But there was a lot of very public, influencial people involved as well as drug or arms lords and gang leaders. I'm scared of the positions the hold within the public consciousness. I'm not even sure if I have the right to challange the common culture like that.

I remember talking to someone who I beleived was Rebeka Brooks. They had heard everything. That means they didn't just know about the crimes being commited by powerful people. They knew about the child murders. They heard me beg for help when I was pregnant. They knew everything I couldn't remember and needed to know, or so it felt. But what do you do with infromation like that, they claimed they suffered with problems with the police to. I was disinclined to believe it, not that everyone didn't get hurt, of course. Everyone did, some just did better afterwards than others. Eitherway I'm not looking for trouble, beyond blabbering on here of course. Watched Sky news for hours today, happy but desterate for further developments. They did do some good over the years but the filth they pumped out usually just brought out the worst in people.

I know how ridiculous this sounds. Doesn't make me want to write this stuff. Some tidyin done, shelf up, bath panel undercoated. Beats making hits for whores. Beats. My gran messing around with beetroot and liver showing how it was all made up. Messing up her spotless kitchen trying to turn what happened in something much more edible. Weaving words and levels of meaning as a poet. I played along but knew the differnece between old blood and new. I'd seen him, others to but this one I knew. His name was Jake and naming him for them was academic, that was his name already I just shared it. Little people are made of such little parts, execpt their middles that go on and on. The longer it went on for the longer there was no way to escape it; it was my middles that were pulled out to.

I want to go through my notebooks sometimes slashing line breaks and impaling full stops all over the place. Deleting, embellishing, cleaning up. With the old cliqued witch Virginia Woolf at my shoulder, smouldering away in her Victorian clobber. Vanishing if I dared turn my face from my writing habit. It's different now though there is Twitter, and an Arab spring that no matter what the summer brings has unleashed feelings and thoughts that violence cant bottle up again. I wish I could write pulp or proper academic standard literature, consistently. I am moving away from just aiming to rock the tiny minds of people with instrumental poetry about lost babies. I will always to do that but I also want to share the other stories. Amazing stories, in stunning dramatic settings, with compelling people and triumph over severe adversity. Now I am in a position to build, to invest, to grow I can separate the language I use from what happened whilst admitting how much of an in...

I'm not sure I've ever felt this at home before. If I did I'm sure I wouldn't remember and besides I would know it wasn't pernament. The state of mind, the material conditions the social oppurtunites, all changing all the time. Not so much as up and down as exploding or imploding. The meds are probably helping, working on the delusion that most of it never happened. I had to cling to it very tightly then it was a crutch. Now its not needed, I have a place, a place that's as unconventional, akward, pretty and intimating as me. Recently I've been told 'I love you' 10-20 times a day. He can forgive me for being grumpy sometimes, so can I. Drugs can be good. But I'm no where near trying out the coil for the pain yet. a coil to help discomfort , does it leak morphine? My star crossed mind gives me afterpains at the very thought. My god I over commit myself sometimes, acting like I have to live in a way that pleases the social worker, this ...

My support worker was round today to help fill out a form, she was looking quite lovely. She dresses younger than most women her age and it really suits her. I was looking at my matches again and was totally unaffected apparently I'm back to being gay.. and broody. It's difficult with wee man this now, partly because he is 3 which means high maintance which makes me irratiable and very cute of course which makes for severe guilt over the grumpyness. The other reason is because of the work I'm doing, going over stuff, remembering, writing. I've seen kids his age die in horrific, slow, agonising deaths. It kind of bums people out when I talk about that stuff, or I get told how unlikely it is.. I might doubt some of the pictures in my head but the emotional memory is unquestionable. Sometimes they would they would give us time, make out like everything was different and act all human. Once they were confident me and the wee one had bonded properly they would ...