Wednesday, June 29, 2011

just briefly

I'm feeling guilt.
Why? because I kept going in to be with my dad.
And getting abused again.
I traded sex for comfort.

People keep telling me that a terrified, traumatized 6 year old had to take what she could get.
This seems logical.
But I can't believe them!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

half of me

What sort of demon have I got inside me? I am terrified of becoming my father, becoming evil, hurting, harming, destroying.

He is half of me and I take him wherever I go!!!

I won't kill myself, but I really want to right now.  I want to get this evil out of the world.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

a dying boy

I seem to be reading a lot of  child sexual abuse stories lately...and I read one of a young man who'd obviously been through really awful stuff...then I read the young man was very lonely.

Then I read that he was dying of cancer, only going to live a few more years at best.

This bothers me very much.

I actually started crying (like I don't do enough of that!) on the way home...and I realized something.

I'm really glad I have been able to heal.  I have the therapist, the supportive spouse , the friends, the websites, the meds that keep my distress levels low enough to do the horrific inner work I need to do to live.

I have been through hell itself.  But there has also been joy. I am struck by how grateful I am to have that, how tragic that he will not. How much it pains me that he will never take this journey.

And I'm going to correspond with him, as I can handle doing so...because if I were incredibly wounded and terminally ill...I'd want someone to do it for me.

Admittedly, my big heart may be fully complemented by my thick head for so doing.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

repost: the kitchen floor

(Another repost from a message board...important bit...)
More to add...I remembered this in the middle of an e-mail to my friend Squirrel...During this weekend's proceedings I got down on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor and made this weird wailing noise....

I know, that was what that keening was about...I remembered the way the despair settled on me, I knew something undefined and horrible was going to happen, and I had screamed until hoarse for my mom to not leave (for work), and I couldn't say why, couldn't blocked it all hair hanging over(my face) and my hands on that carpet....I had got down on the kitchen floor then too. I think he ended up picking me up, because I was there on my hands and knees, bleating in terror...throat too raw to scream any more...I had screamed like a trapped animal and it had done nothing, nothing. I remember that carpet, someone had carpeted that kitchen floor with this weird patterned stuff,
nubbly and hard under my hands. The kitchen lights were blazing, I heard the crunch of gravel in the drive, he carried me upstairs I think he hit me hard, openhanded across the face rocking my whole head sideways and hurting my neck....maybe more than once, I seem to remember his face pinched in fury.
He could never stand me crying, so he hit me until I stopped.
But he hit me often enough.
He had sex with me often enough.

I was six. I loved this man like the sea follows the moon... helpless to stop myself.

He was hitting me and raping me, forcing me to a revolting arousal I was not ready for,tangling pain, blood and comfort in my mind. I was going psychotic from it.



I need to do something besides hurt.

But basically, the emotions of the rape I just remembered are new and fresh in my mind...It is both devastating and just incredibly gross...I thought he had peed in me, I was revolted, in pain...

I felt good earlier today, but I started thinking about how much I had loved him, before he hurt me.

And it's devastating. I just can't express how much.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

members of kitteh commiteh

I feel crappy, you get cats.

This is Rooftop...except I call him...Squirt. Because he does... squirt stuff, that is.

These are the two freeway rescues, Dangercat and Fly. DC is the orange.

Oh, yes, more later...somebody left on the kittymaking machine.

The shit

Meets the fan.

New recall.  Typical for new recall even.


I feel filthy? check.  I wonder how much I co-operated in my own sexual use? check. I feel like a used cumrag? check.  I sit around wailing, screaming, and rocking myself? check. I have fear, pain both physical and emotional, and a feeling of stunned numbness? check.

The new images this round:

Joel, the neighborhood pedophile who raped my mouth/throat when I was four...he left the room to turn on that gawdaful loud twangy country music, and when he came back he had his pants off, with his plaid shirttails dangling... I believe he had on BVD-style underwear. oh, white, saggy socks. That's new, dirty on the bottoms.
His legs were a little chickeny...guy legs...and very hairy. Dark, black hair.  I think his thighs were at eye level.
He said "We're going to play a game." Then into blurs and blips. Some days I can remember what it felt like, like my jaw was going to get ripped off its hinge, like he was going to shove that dick of his into my brain or like I was going to vomit on him...and then darkness.
Not today, but I remember that I have remembered.  So, yeah, I re-pack things?
My throat feels swollen, but I've been yelling.  I got down on the floor, hands and knees, and just yelled, for no reason I could say.

Although while I was doing it I remembered how terrifying it was to know I could scream more...that my voice was turning into a croak...that I could scream more...and no one would hear, no one would save me.

The final image.  Oh boy.
I am in Mom and Dad's bed.
Dad's finger in me, sliding in and out no two, I think he spit on them, I think he spit on them, oh yuck, it feels ugh, my hips bucking, he's pushing on my clitoris, I think he flicked it, ohgawd feels ah DISGUSTING I am breathing hard oh I feel..."You like that, do ya, huh?"  AHGH! NONONOOO I DONT WANT OH NO I WANT AGHDDD!STOP NO (but I'm not allowed to say no I'm not I'm not AH no Daddy no! STOP PLEASE STOP!)

Uck, he made me like it, he wanted me to like it! He wanted me to have fun! Why couldn't he just rape me just use me just fuck me no he has to make me fucking enjoy it too
I was his little puppet, his toy, he owned me he made me filthy he fucked me he owned me he colonized me he's in me he owns me I still get aroused! May all the gods and demons curse him he still haunts my insides.
Flicks of me tiny and a grown hairy man black belly hair and my legs hurting, my twat hurting, this huge thing in me his face grimacing, his gasps...SLIMED this EWWW did he pee inside me I thought... me feeling...arousal...ugh disgust...ASHAMED...he came in me oh yuck.

I am sitting here aroused; and revolted at both him and myself.

I am fucking disgusting. AAAGH!

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Oh, crap.

I chose not to send this to an online friend, because ...she is this sweet, sensitive person...and...the idea of her hurting for me is not a happy thought.
H, I love're an angel walking around, don't let anybody tell you different.
This is triggery, if you delete it without reading...well I will read it to myself then...I willl have it. It was important, so very important to write...perhaps not so important that someone read it.
Your heart bleeds a lot. 
Don't bleed for me.

I may write a poem about it, actually...images are rattling in my head...
I am feeling like I'm going to be having a really bad flashback again. Like the one before...I can't remember what I've told memory is going.
The last wasn't so much that I became broken inside, as I realized exactly how shattered I am at a core level.
And all my armor blew off.
For used to just bother me when my wife shouted at miscreant inanimate objects. 
Now I'll really want to walk out of the house or go to sleep, to get away from her.
OTOH, last night I was on my hands and knees, giant grin on my face, chasing an armadillo around with a camera at a floodlit gas station.
So it's like...I'm starting to be all the way here now.
Like I haven't been since I was either six...or four.  The first abuse was at four, but it wasn't incest, it was oral rape by a neighbor...I think it took the more serious, later body invasions, the rapes by the predators I could never escape but had to uncle, my dad.
That was what it took to send the essence of me away. What broke my heart in truth, because it's still broken.
Does that mean to some degree I'm like a small child arriving, from where I've been packed away?
I think so...
I'm sorry for sending you this pain, angel-lady.

An interlude: my coworker

 I think I have more heavy-duty caca coming...but it's not here yet, just inbound.

So, my coworker...I have worked there for a little over a year...and he never shows up on time.

I was warned of this by the lady I replaced...and I said to myself "Okay, if Moral Hazard (Haz for short) won't show up on time, I want that time on my paycheck."
Haz, you see, ends up being 8 to 10 minutes late, 5 days a week.  Hot damn, that's nearly an hour a week I have to wait on his delinquent ass.  It needs to end up on my check, not his.

We had one blowup about it...I tried to talk to him about it...this because he complained I was going by the clients time, not some other time.  Not that he was on time by the cellphone, which is run off of a national standard time.

If you are late by that, bud, your ass is late.  If my ass is late, I don't lie.  You don't get to either. Life's a bitch.
Man up or show your ass up on time. It's called honesty.  Your Christian ass should try it sometime.

Well, now the client's time is set to a national server, it's accurate.

And now...Haz keeps trying to rewrite my time on my shift reports. Which is how I fill out the timesheet prior to faxing it off if I haven't written it down on a second piece of paper(something I have now been required to do; thank you Haz.)

Only....he has no access to liquid paper.

Not only that, Haz has no access to a clue. He's a MORON.

He writes over my numbers in a completely different hand!.
He does not even have the brains to notice that I close my fours at the top.  His are like an inverted H. That, and he makes these big bubble letters. I scrawl like a doctor.

I got pissed and reported this to the supers, because as it initially stood, he saw the timesheet last, and probably got away with altering my time at least one week, before I noticed. The rat bastard.

 My company sucks...they told me to fax my timesheet in...never mind he's engaging in altering a legal document. Supposed to be an insta-fire!
Real professional there, folks.

But I decided if they don't care, I'm not going to be pissed.  I'll just stop it.

Haz tried again with yesterday's shift report. 
 I left a note in thepocket of the notebook tonight:

" If you want to forge my time, you need to work on forging my writing style more accurately if you have any hope of it working."

I printed my name, drew a horned smiley-face and left it in there.  I may start photocopying the documents before he walks in.
I have a camera.

Get proof.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

sleep and rain

Ever since the Mayday Flashback, I've been having insomnia.  Resolved.  I think I slept 24 hours in less than 48.

But I may be getting sick again from the sinusitis...the 9 year old infection in my head. The doctors seem to think it can't exactly be cured, just managed.   So I have to clean a little more aggressively, irrigate better.

I was going to go for a motorbike ride... But apparently something I dreamed was happening is coming true.

We're about to have a good rainstorm. We've been having an epic drought. This is good.  The land's been gaping open, yearning for water. Fools flinging their cigarette butts out has set the roadsides on fire.

Oh crap, I think I left my car window open!

Friday, June 3, 2011

friends in the box part 1

I have contacted people, and people are E-mailing me...

This makes me feel ridiculously happy. I feel like I am opening presents on a holiday.

I am trying to get a 19-year old girl on a survivor's forum to save herself. This is hard because everyone's destroyed her, abandoned her, kicked her to the curb.

I think I'm going to lose and she's going to kill herself.

This makes me very sad.  She's a very lost and very broken little child... seems much younger than 19.

I see my broken self in her.  If/when I lose her...this will hurt.

We older people...we all let her down, failed this bright, sweet little child so horrendously.

Dealing with her this much may be too painful for me, I may have to talk less to keep from upending myself...I'm crying over her.