Its coming. And, I truly feel I can’t face it. I keep finding myself there, in that fucking baby pink nightmare that was my box. Before I found out that hell was only down in the basement, I regarded that pink box with all the horror my little self could muster. I still feel it, its… choking gagging revolted horror. And, I feel sick at my stomach. I don’t think I can do it. I’m so fucking scared. I don’t want to die. And, even if it isn’t real… it is to me, while it is happening it IS REAL. And, I’m scared, I don’t want to die.
So, flashbacks suck, and I’m kinda loosing my sense of humor about it.
I’m sitting here almost in tears again….
No… it aint funny.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Drowning...
The first time I remember him drowning me... I was little, really really little. My guess is I was about 2, maybe just a tad younger...
It was after one of the first penetrative fingering sessions. I was bleeding. I got in the tub and the water turned red and I thought I was dying. I panicked and started making a fuss (Granddaddy rule one: Don't call attention to yourself unless you really want my undivided attention. Granddaddy's undivided attention, sucked, every time.) and he stomped into the bathroom and demanded to know what the fuck was wrong with me. I don't remember what I babbled at him, my memories of my own actions are very fuzzy and unclear most of the time (cause what I did didn't matter, what was going to happen, happened, and I had no hope of influencing the outcome once he started shouting), but I remember him with an insane amount of clarity over 30 years later. His smell, the texture of his skin, the lines of rage and I now believe fear that stood out on his face whenever he looked at me...
At any rate... he discerned that my concern was that my death was immanent. And, it pissed him off a lot. A whole lot.
He grabbed me by the back of the hair and jerked me up out of the water, holding me against his chest. His voice became very precise and slow. "Why you always gotta pick the hard way, Cunt?!?" (I still hear that shit. I hear that cocksucker's voice every time I do something fucktard stupid and then have to run around and fix it.)
"This is what dying feels like." And then he used my hair to hold me under the water. Until after I quit fighting. Until after the world dimmed to black. After the brilliant white light. And, then blackness. Then everything was out of focus. His foul breath, chewing tobacco and Old Milwaukee, it was blowing into me, forcing my lungs to do... something. And, then everything is puke and snot and shit and pink bloody water.
When the world finally starts to refocus... he seems like a monster. The line with reality is gone. Time doesn't exist anymore. I panic and kick him... and the world darkens and seems to take on a blue hue. And, I know... he is the boogyman... and something in me breaks.
And, then its another day.
It was after one of the first penetrative fingering sessions. I was bleeding. I got in the tub and the water turned red and I thought I was dying. I panicked and started making a fuss (Granddaddy rule one: Don't call attention to yourself unless you really want my undivided attention. Granddaddy's undivided attention, sucked, every time.) and he stomped into the bathroom and demanded to know what the fuck was wrong with me. I don't remember what I babbled at him, my memories of my own actions are very fuzzy and unclear most of the time (cause what I did didn't matter, what was going to happen, happened, and I had no hope of influencing the outcome once he started shouting), but I remember him with an insane amount of clarity over 30 years later. His smell, the texture of his skin, the lines of rage and I now believe fear that stood out on his face whenever he looked at me...
At any rate... he discerned that my concern was that my death was immanent. And, it pissed him off a lot. A whole lot.
He grabbed me by the back of the hair and jerked me up out of the water, holding me against his chest. His voice became very precise and slow. "Why you always gotta pick the hard way, Cunt?!?" (I still hear that shit. I hear that cocksucker's voice every time I do something fucktard stupid and then have to run around and fix it.)
"This is what dying feels like." And then he used my hair to hold me under the water. Until after I quit fighting. Until after the world dimmed to black. After the brilliant white light. And, then blackness. Then everything was out of focus. His foul breath, chewing tobacco and Old Milwaukee, it was blowing into me, forcing my lungs to do... something. And, then everything is puke and snot and shit and pink bloody water.
When the world finally starts to refocus... he seems like a monster. The line with reality is gone. Time doesn't exist anymore. I panic and kick him... and the world darkens and seems to take on a blue hue. And, I know... he is the boogyman... and something in me breaks.
And, then its another day.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Pick A Direction
So… and mother fucker k. The way I figure it, I can either deal with this fucking bullshit… this whole fucking Granddaddy goddamn issue… yeah, that sounds manageable, but the facts, the facts dude… and come on, the last time I decided on this approach I kinda thought I was mother fucker nuts… I’ll never deal with this on any real level enough to make peace with it and quit allowing it to paralyze me. But, you know what… I was wrong. I fucking dealt with it. It may still be a can of worms and no I aint in love with it, it still gives me shit… but its more predictable easier to cope with shit cause at least those worms are now in some reasonable, recognizable order. This shit though. This shit I have no fucking grasp on at all… it causes the rooms to turn to bugs, the bathtub to turn pink, and glass is in all the food. I’ve got to grasp it. I can and I will. Will I bitch? Will I whine? Yes, and fuck you, I have a right to, it sucks. The whole goddamn problem here is that it fucking sucked too much to be born. Yet I bore it. And, I am standing on the other side of it. And, I’ve tried suck it up. Suck it up and act like it don’t matter. Cause that’s a lie. It matters every fucking day. When there are times that all I can do is be still for the next minute, when that is the only way to survive my life when, come on mother fucker really… it aint that fucking bad. In fact, it aint bad at all. There is shit that aint right, things people do that piss me off, but, I’m not being abused. At all. it’s a life free of abuse. Of any kind.
So…
Anyway….
Guess that’s enough talking about it…
And, like before, random unordered shit. Whatever is on my mind that I don’t feel too chickenshit to tackle at the time.
So… what the hell am I gonna do first.
This mother fucker. Sometimes, I just get so overwhelmed by full on rock out fuck you mother fucker revolted rage that I find myself unable to even focus on anything when I think of this bastard. I hate what he tried to do to me, what he did do to me… I live my life based on him and his ideals still. Everything I do has to be weighed, carefully to figure out if my original reaction to it has any basis in reality because I can’t ever fully trust myself not to drop back into that animal. That fucking thing. That thing that I gotta love. Cause its still me. And self contempt is completely counterproductive to living any kind of productive, positive, useful enjoyable life. Cause really,
Quit stalling chickenshit.
I didn’t come equipped with painslut training. This is a bitch ass fact of life. Jack taught me that, gave me that beautiful gift. Taught me how to be pretty, and make it natural, and truly own the worlds best fuck you. Billy taught me to love it. To enjoy their pleasure, my pleasure, to accept… and Bryan taught me how to use it to make love. But, before that… getting fucked was pretty much a bitch. A big old fucking mean, ice cold, rock hard bitch. And, I pretty much hated it, every time. I perfected the art of ignoring it with Jimbo Hamilton. He was okay about that, and so I just, ignored him while he did his business… as long as I pumped my hips or whatever, remained cooperative, he didn’t hurt me more than was necessary. That made life easier. I can ignore a ridiculous amount… These days, I generally choose not to, because its not fucking healthy dude. Its just not. If something hurts, and I let it build up, the bill comes due. And, that’s usually ugly. Best to keep the tab low wherever possible.
I’m stalling again. I know I gotta quit. I am scared.
Scared that if I open this can… I’ll drown in fucking worms. But, the mother fucker is gonna pop open. The four o’clock nightmare. Its after four now… I could go to bed, I could chickenshit out on this… I could even use the excuse that its late, I sleep all day, blah blah blah… but that leaves me still here. I gotta fucking do this. I’ve simply got to.
I have not lost the will to change, nor will I shut the world away. I will get the fuck over this and be a goddamn productive mother fucking member of society. There is a time for everything. Survival is the bottomline but you have to have your eye on something bigger or that’s all you ever do, survive. Fuck that.
He was a cock sucker and he hurt me. And, I can face that. I lived through the shit, I can deal with the fucking aftermath and I won’t let it eat me, I will not drown in mother fucking worms, cause HE CANNOT FUCKING WIN. I WIN MOTHER FUCKER I FUCKING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
AND ONE MORE TIME
I WIN
I MOTHER FUCKING WIN COCKSUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That out of the way, I’m going to talk about the dehumanization.
He got that shit right. Like, I’m talking real right. Right to the point that I just got, just like, within the last six months, that I really, really am a person just like every other mother fucker on this god forsaken ball of dirt.
I don’t really know how to explain it, I don’t even know if you can comprehend it if you aint been there. I bought in. Early, and completely. I was his cunt. And, to me, that didn’t necessarily mean the thing that I had between my legs. That was just a hole, just a tool to be used. I was a tool to be used. Aspirations to be a good pet were the ceiling. The best to hope for, to get the chance to be a good and useful thing, a thing with enough purpose, that created enough of a positive emotional response to be allowed the privilege of things that are basic needs like food, and sleep, and shelter from the elements, oh for the love of christ drink… to know that they were going to come, that was a almost impossible to attain goal. I knew I was disposable. Worth no more than the cats he tortured, made me torture, petted til they purred and then skinned alive. I knew.
I was whatever he wanted. And, what he wanted wasn’t human. It wasn’t possible to be human and be that. And, I don’t know how to tell you what it was like. I don’t know how to say it so it doesn’t just sound… pathetic. And, if it was, I’ll accept that, but that’s not what it was. I am facing it and I’m saying that while I can see what a pitiful creature I really was, how boo hoo heartbreaking and all that shit it is… when I look at Sunni and form the pictures in my mind with her in my stead, as my shrinks have instructed me to do, to be fair to myself, okay yes, that’s pitiful, that’s enraging, that’s … horrible. But, from inside my head, in my memories, it aint like that. From in here, it was… yes, terrifying… but, also… just fucking life. When you take all the drama boo hooing out of it, and approach it from there… its just different.
Fuck. Okay, I didn’t manage to tell a story, but I’ve been writing forever. I’m exhausted. And, I still think this was productive. I’ve picked a direction for the week. Extremely young, earilest memories of the acceptance and buy in to the (now I know its false, but at the time, for all intents and purposes it was a fact) fact that I was less.
So…
Anyway….
Guess that’s enough talking about it…
And, like before, random unordered shit. Whatever is on my mind that I don’t feel too chickenshit to tackle at the time.
So… what the hell am I gonna do first.
This mother fucker. Sometimes, I just get so overwhelmed by full on rock out fuck you mother fucker revolted rage that I find myself unable to even focus on anything when I think of this bastard. I hate what he tried to do to me, what he did do to me… I live my life based on him and his ideals still. Everything I do has to be weighed, carefully to figure out if my original reaction to it has any basis in reality because I can’t ever fully trust myself not to drop back into that animal. That fucking thing. That thing that I gotta love. Cause its still me. And self contempt is completely counterproductive to living any kind of productive, positive, useful enjoyable life. Cause really,
Quit stalling chickenshit.
I didn’t come equipped with painslut training. This is a bitch ass fact of life. Jack taught me that, gave me that beautiful gift. Taught me how to be pretty, and make it natural, and truly own the worlds best fuck you. Billy taught me to love it. To enjoy their pleasure, my pleasure, to accept… and Bryan taught me how to use it to make love. But, before that… getting fucked was pretty much a bitch. A big old fucking mean, ice cold, rock hard bitch. And, I pretty much hated it, every time. I perfected the art of ignoring it with Jimbo Hamilton. He was okay about that, and so I just, ignored him while he did his business… as long as I pumped my hips or whatever, remained cooperative, he didn’t hurt me more than was necessary. That made life easier. I can ignore a ridiculous amount… These days, I generally choose not to, because its not fucking healthy dude. Its just not. If something hurts, and I let it build up, the bill comes due. And, that’s usually ugly. Best to keep the tab low wherever possible.
I’m stalling again. I know I gotta quit. I am scared.
Scared that if I open this can… I’ll drown in fucking worms. But, the mother fucker is gonna pop open. The four o’clock nightmare. Its after four now… I could go to bed, I could chickenshit out on this… I could even use the excuse that its late, I sleep all day, blah blah blah… but that leaves me still here. I gotta fucking do this. I’ve simply got to.
I have not lost the will to change, nor will I shut the world away. I will get the fuck over this and be a goddamn productive mother fucking member of society. There is a time for everything. Survival is the bottomline but you have to have your eye on something bigger or that’s all you ever do, survive. Fuck that.
He was a cock sucker and he hurt me. And, I can face that. I lived through the shit, I can deal with the fucking aftermath and I won’t let it eat me, I will not drown in mother fucking worms, cause HE CANNOT FUCKING WIN. I WIN MOTHER FUCKER I FUCKING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
AND ONE MORE TIME
I WIN
I MOTHER FUCKING WIN COCKSUCKER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
That out of the way, I’m going to talk about the dehumanization.
He got that shit right. Like, I’m talking real right. Right to the point that I just got, just like, within the last six months, that I really, really am a person just like every other mother fucker on this god forsaken ball of dirt.
I don’t really know how to explain it, I don’t even know if you can comprehend it if you aint been there. I bought in. Early, and completely. I was his cunt. And, to me, that didn’t necessarily mean the thing that I had between my legs. That was just a hole, just a tool to be used. I was a tool to be used. Aspirations to be a good pet were the ceiling. The best to hope for, to get the chance to be a good and useful thing, a thing with enough purpose, that created enough of a positive emotional response to be allowed the privilege of things that are basic needs like food, and sleep, and shelter from the elements, oh for the love of christ drink… to know that they were going to come, that was a almost impossible to attain goal. I knew I was disposable. Worth no more than the cats he tortured, made me torture, petted til they purred and then skinned alive. I knew.
I was whatever he wanted. And, what he wanted wasn’t human. It wasn’t possible to be human and be that. And, I don’t know how to tell you what it was like. I don’t know how to say it so it doesn’t just sound… pathetic. And, if it was, I’ll accept that, but that’s not what it was. I am facing it and I’m saying that while I can see what a pitiful creature I really was, how boo hoo heartbreaking and all that shit it is… when I look at Sunni and form the pictures in my mind with her in my stead, as my shrinks have instructed me to do, to be fair to myself, okay yes, that’s pitiful, that’s enraging, that’s … horrible. But, from inside my head, in my memories, it aint like that. From in here, it was… yes, terrifying… but, also… just fucking life. When you take all the drama boo hooing out of it, and approach it from there… its just different.
Fuck. Okay, I didn’t manage to tell a story, but I’ve been writing forever. I’m exhausted. And, I still think this was productive. I’ve picked a direction for the week. Extremely young, earilest memories of the acceptance and buy in to the (now I know its false, but at the time, for all intents and purposes it was a fact) fact that I was less.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Fuck a bunch of bugs...
They are crawling on me, worse into me. I feel them. Billions of them it seems like. The mice are bad, the dead things are worse... but in some way I cannot to this day describe, it was the fucking bugs that was the worst of it. They were just waiting for me to die and be edible carrion.
I think some part of me fundamentally understood that even then.
Sometimes when I am almost asleep I hear them and feel them and god help me even taste them.
Fuck a bunch of bugs... that's all I'm saying.
I think some part of me fundamentally understood that even then.
Sometimes when I am almost asleep I hear them and feel them and god help me even taste them.
Fuck a bunch of bugs... that's all I'm saying.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Poof... Be Gone
This wouldn't leave me alone last night and I needed to sleep. Here it is...
Its cold. So cold I fear I may get sleepy cold. Sleepy cold is bad. It hurts for weeks. I have to fight it. I move as much as the suicidally (murder, its murder, boogyman will kill you... wants you dead) short chain and my own agony will allow. I notice the weak mewling noise and recoil, hunting for the kitty. I have to escape the kitty... its gouged out eyes will accuse me. Blame me. Show me my monster. But, there is no kitty. The sound is coming from me. The kitty is me. Its in me. The monster is me. Its in me. This realization terrifies me and I start to really shriek and fight. The chain digs into my throat and abrades the skin there. I know I have to stop. The blood starts to flow from my neck and I hear the floor above me creak. I know I have to stop, must stop, STOP... but my absolute horror is driving me. I cannot calm myself.
And then, the boogyman is there. And some part of me is glad. The intensity of my physical agony takes some of the vitality of the absolute panic of my realization.
Its cold. So cold I fear I may get sleepy cold. Sleepy cold is bad. It hurts for weeks. I have to fight it. I move as much as the suicidally (murder, its murder, boogyman will kill you... wants you dead) short chain and my own agony will allow. I notice the weak mewling noise and recoil, hunting for the kitty. I have to escape the kitty... its gouged out eyes will accuse me. Blame me. Show me my monster. But, there is no kitty. The sound is coming from me. The kitty is me. Its in me. The monster is me. Its in me. This realization terrifies me and I start to really shriek and fight. The chain digs into my throat and abrades the skin there. I know I have to stop. The blood starts to flow from my neck and I hear the floor above me creak. I know I have to stop, must stop, STOP... but my absolute horror is driving me. I cannot calm myself.
And then, the boogyman is there. And some part of me is glad. The intensity of my physical agony takes some of the vitality of the absolute panic of my realization.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Welcome
K.. So Screaming Secrets really served its purpose. The parts of me that lived Raven’s life have shrieked their horror, their terror, and dealt with their helplessness and I have made some level of peace with that period of my life. I am standing on the other side of it, finally, and I’ve grown so much. I will not hide anymore. Not out of fear or shame or any other damn thing. Fuck em and fuck you too if you think anything other than right the fuck on. No, I haven’t put it behind me, on some level I think that’s a fantasy that will never come to pass and I’m okay with that. Those that don’t learn from their past are destined to repeat it. Fuck that. I’ll not be ANYONE’s victim anymore.
But, there is a place I could never really go there. Granddaddy. Cunt. Training the bitch.
I am braver and stronger now. I know I can handle it. I know I can get past it. I have faith in me. But, I am gonna have to face it and deal with it… just like I did with being Raven.
So Raven has screamed. Now let’s turn to the bitch. I doubt she will be able to articulate anywhere near as well… humanity really helps with communication… and it didn’t take long to loose it.
Here we go… down the rabbit hole… I’ll keep my touchstones close, keep your mouse in hand… when it gets too much click that little x. I don’t expect anyone to follow me down here… but I’m going. I’m going and I’m gonna bring that little girl out into the light and teach her not to fear it. But, first, I’ll have to convince her she’s human.
But, there is a place I could never really go there. Granddaddy. Cunt. Training the bitch.
I am braver and stronger now. I know I can handle it. I know I can get past it. I have faith in me. But, I am gonna have to face it and deal with it… just like I did with being Raven.
So Raven has screamed. Now let’s turn to the bitch. I doubt she will be able to articulate anywhere near as well… humanity really helps with communication… and it didn’t take long to loose it.
Here we go… down the rabbit hole… I’ll keep my touchstones close, keep your mouse in hand… when it gets too much click that little x. I don’t expect anyone to follow me down here… but I’m going. I’m going and I’m gonna bring that little girl out into the light and teach her not to fear it. But, first, I’ll have to convince her she’s human.
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