poor support
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 start up again. The wee one would be raped, torn apart, smashed against walls, cut up, limbs snapped, drugs poisions.
Better go back to doctors soon and print out that letter.
I told the sexy support that I remember the women who writes books and sets up support for people like me. That after I saw her at the office I read a poem I wrote and linked the faces, she plucked a new born out my arms and told me I didn't need 'that'..
I love you angels..
how far do I take this?
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 start up again. The wee one would be raped, torn apart, smashed against walls, cut up, limbs snapped, drugs poisions.
Better go back to doctors soon and print out that letter.
I told the sexy support that I remember the women who writes books and sets up support for people like me. That after I saw her at the office I read a poem I wrote and linked the faces, she plucked a new born out my arms and told me I didn't need 'that'..
I love you angels..
how far do I take this?
