Public Converstaions can be wildly amusing!!!!

Paper, leather and glue are might powerful.

Shashicka Tyre-Hill's photo.

a Favorite of mine…

Song

Sabrina fair,

    Listen where thou art sitting
  Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
    In twisted braids of lilies knitting
  The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair:         40
    Listen for dear honor’s sake,
    Goddess of the silver lake;
            Listen, and save!
  Listen, and appear to us,
  In name of great Oceanus;         45
  By the earth-shaking Neptune’s mace,
  And Tethys’ grave majestic pace;
  By hoary Nereus’ wrinkled look,
  And the Carpathian wizard’s hook;
  By scaly Triton’s winding shell,         50
  And old soothsaying Glaucus’ spell;
  By Leucothea’s lovely hands,
  And her son that rules the strands;
  By Thetis’ tinsel-slippered feet,
  And the songs of sirens sweet;         55
  By dead Parthenope’s dear tomb,
  And fair Ligea’s golden comb,
  Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks,
  Sleeking her soft alluring locks;
  By all the nymphs that nightly dance         60
  Upon thy streams with wily glance;
  Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head,
  From thy coral-paven bed,
  And bridle in thy headlong wave,
  Till thou our summons answered have.         65
                          Listen, and save!
SABRINA rises, attended by Water-nymphs, and sings.

By the rushy-fringéd bank,

  Where grows the willow, and the osier dank,
    My sliding chariot stays,
  Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen         70
  Of turkis blue, and emerald green
    That in the channel strays;
  Whilst from off the waters fleet
  Thus I set my printless feet
  O’er the cowslip’s velvet head,         75
    That bends not as I tread:
  Gentle swain, at thy request,
    I am here.

The Right Choice for Shooga

mygirl

I want to write this poem because I just want you to know,

I love you more than anything, but have to let you go.

I have cared for you for a brief moment in time, and now that we are here,
I can’t imagine leaving you, I’m over come and can’t stop the tears.

So I will set my selfishness aside and try really hard to be strong.
Even though I know that I want you here with me, in my heart with me you will always belong.

We’ve had a couple months together, but it just is NOT enough
But the cruelty that bore us both into the world, to our love has given rebuff

So, please my love forgive me for the choice I have to make.
I would to God I didn’t have to, but to keep you here just for me would be a huge mistake.

What I have to do is killing me.  It’s breaking my heart to let you go.
But I trust that Jesus will watch over you, and I will pray for you always that you will be happy and grow and grow and grow!

I know that it is scary, I am afraid too.
I don’t want you to have to be alone, I don’t want to be alone either and that’s the fucking truth.

I know you will not understand and I wish I could let you see
How much I want my love to be enough and how hard this is or me.

No matter what does happen I hope that you can forgive
But I only wanted you to have the best life, one I couldn’t give.

It is something that is only possible if I completely let you go
Hand you to the loving arms of those who really know

I’ve had a lot of loss in my life but things were always taken away
This will be the first time I will be giving my baby away but also a way

to live.

Shooga, I love you so much and you will be with me everywhere I am, I know
-but God it hurts so very much to let my baby go

Don’t tell me to just “pray!”

Journal 2.20.15

“May it be a long and healthy hate!”

In my mind I keep going back to the MASH episode where that Hawkeye doctor guy has a patient that is only 15 years old.  The kid lied to get into the army.  At first the doctor promised the kid that he would not turn him in when the kid said that he knew that he was supposed to be there.  After thinking about it and considering that the kid could die or worse the doctor changes his mind and turns the boy in.  As the MP’s are taking the boy away, the kid glares at the doctor and says – I will remember this forever and I will hate you for as long as I live. The doctor smiles warmly at the boy and his reply is this,

“May it be a long and healthy hate.”

 

This episode is particularly intriguing to me because the doctor realized that with the boy living he would have to opportunity for growth and time for perspective and understanding.  If he had kept him there, death was a obvious and overwhelmingly strong outcome – hate is a choice, but – in my mind – the doctor also knew that the boy could live a long life.  It was a choice that really hit home for me.  You do things for people and with people even when it is difficult.  You cannot control others choices.  The only choices you can control are your own.  That was also something that struck me about this doctor’s choice. He took into consideration the boys whole character, and also his own.

 

This is something that I see in you a lot.  You are looking at me in a loving way.  That freaks my shit out something fierce – because I am very unfamiliar with it and that scares me more than the horrible things that are more common place for me.  I do not understand a lot, but I do know that you care.  I hope you know that I know that.  I am sorry and I do not mean you any type of harm.  I am not able to be as honest with other people and I fear that you will see my words and read them in a way that is angry and nothing more.  I share with you how I feel, but only portions of the feelings.  I have no clue how to share it all and because there is so many many feelings – I am scared more than I am anything else.  I want to understand.  I also want to be understood.  You tell me the wonderful things that you understand about God, and you speak from your heart. Why is it that I am not allowed the same opportunities and respect?  Is it because I understand things in a different way?

There was a movie a while back, called ‘The 6th sense.’  The little boy says something to the effect of  – now I draw rainbows, they don’t have parent teacher meetings over rainbows.  This child had crafted images and pictures about the devastating and scary situations that plagued him in his every day life.  That boy was suffering, but all around him – no one could deal, cope, nor would they/ could they understand. When he spoke of the REAL things that were happening in his life his actual experiences he was declared a freak and gazed upon as a project rather than a person with feelings and a beating heart that mattered like the rest of the muggles in this God forsaken world seem to.
GOD!  I am not trying to be a bully, and I am not trying to hurt you or anyone else. But I am trying to be heard.  You want to be heard right?  You like feeling valued and your opinion noted.  I do too, how am I so different from you that I do not deserve the same type of respect?

Perhaps I am going about it wrong.

I am told to be silent.  I am verbally (and otherwise) punished for my sincere pursuits and instead of being listened to I am told that I must listen.  In the place of kindness, I am met with pitiful frustration if I do not confess my ‘real’ sins and do exactly what whomever suggested.  I cannot even get in three full sentences before advice is offered.

“This is what you NEED to do…” is the most common phrase used.  At this point I have not even asked for anything.  I try to look at things from their perspective and to bind their good intentions with mine and create a common idea from where the conversation could persist.  I ask questions and seriously consider why they would be saying to me whatever it is that they are saying. As I listen, usually I can understand what they are going through, and offer support with no advice unless it is asked of me. But, the same type of respect is not reciprocated and I do not understand why?
I get told what I NEED to do and what they KNOW GOD wants me to do it.  However when I suggest anything else – like a different perspective – then I am suddenly ungrateful. Some have said that I deserve what has happened in view of the fact that it has not stopped yet.

I spoke with a counselor, who is at least 15 years my senior, and she told me verbatim “When you say ‘no‘ with enough force, you will not be raped or molested or beaten anymore.”

That is preposterous and laughable!!!!!

How many times have I said –  NO!!! –  and not a damn thing changed for the good???   If anything it was worse.  The conversation that we had was not in a therapy session.  It was just a regular conversation between two women.  Rape happens when someone says NO and they are made to do it against their will.  What in the fucking hell is this woman telling her clients?

You see, I understand the basics.  I really do.  I also see that my situation and me personally – my shit is severely complicated because the way I was raised in this hellish torture and abuse. It was vast and also tremendously complicated. Anytime that violence occurs it is a bad thing.  My experience with violence has not been a quick trip to hell and back to safety.  I wasn’t attacked only once.  I was not attacked by the same person all the time either.  It didn’t just happen for a week, a month or a year.  I was sold and I was raped by men and women – as many as 16 a night (sometimes 5 nights a week) before I was ten years old.  I was sold for three nights to a man who paid for me with a piano that I was forbidden to play on for a few years… then when I was older the piano my body salaried for was given to another.

I have been beaten, stabbed, drugged, raped, betrayed, impregnated, had children inside me murdered, been burned, and forced to participate in these same things forced upon others.  I have seen people killed and burned… and none of that is the heavy shit!!!…….

Believe it or not I am very well aware that NONE of this is normal

and NONE of this is going to be mended with any kind of quick fix.  I KNOW THAT!!

A simple “just pray” and/or unsolicited advice from well-intentioned but unreservedly uncomplicated people -who would rather choose to belittle me for my ‘seemingly never ending’ questions, instead of trying to understand what I am saying – seems to me right now, as a whole, quite pathetic and violating in its own right!  This too adds to my anguish while confirming my isolation and gives more reality for me that I am aberrant, so consequently I am to be locked within the four corners of my mind – worthy of nothing and wanted by no one.

For society to accept my experience and me as a person, I get it, is too much.

For me to bear alone is the same.

As you know, Trust is NOT something that I come by easily.  I don’t trust anyone fully!  The direct and barefaced truth is I don’t think that I even know how to do it.

When I say that I want to die, that I am ready to give up this is what I am saying:

“It is too fucking awkward for me right now! My emotions will not behave, (as I have been taught to keep them behaving,) and have become terrifying and daunting monsters. The pain from these unruly emotions, with my experience, is toxic and seems to be poisoning in my heart.  What feels like a slow torturous immanent death, would be relieved if I could only be strong enough, brave (?) enough, ‘good girl’ enough to fucking execute myself in a proper and honorably scrupulous – upfront way.  Precisely as an obedient daughter ought-to-do, right?”

Just because I talk about this stuff does not mean that I want anyone to save me.  Jesus already did that, so because of that, in the end I will be just fine.  Do you want to know what I really want?  I just want friends.  People I can hang out with and talk and joke and laugh with.  Mutual respect for mutual respect – nothing more.  I want friendship without fear of murder and intense manipulation or forced masculinity and/or femininity.  I wanna be free to be me!!!

I know what I can do as far as finding a place to live and a vehicle, that shit is fucking basic and oddly unsophisticated!  I don’t need anyone to do it for me!!  If I decide to do it, I will be the one to do it.  In the same breath I also admit that doing all of this carries infinitely more than just a simple hint that this too will be a waste of time.  Violence has not left me alone and I am realizing more and more as the days pass how they are getting around their promises and their covenants that they have made to me.  (It isn’t just that they want me to kilI myself.  No, they also want me to hate, and be angry, and if possible hurt other people… ben-jou-min told me that knowing me as they do, if I get angry and am mean to someone – because of who I have become and all of their trainings…  killing myself would be justified and I would need no one’s permission after that.  OR if I did not take my life I could be so angry and shamed that I would finally give in and fasten myself to them once and for all.  You know what?  He is absolutely right!) Since it isn’t over, and my head and heart are at odds; add to this the fact that my physical disposition is not armature nor clever anymore – What is there to hope for?

I am not saying that there isn’t hope!  I am saying that I don’t know where it is, or how to hold on to it.  I know how to do the grown-up stuff that takes no emotion and relies on timing, (for example pay bills, dr appointments, etc,).  But that is only the constitutionality of it all.  It is too simplistic and for me is NOT hopeful and NOT in any way a form of happiness.  I have done it.  I have done it many many times.  It does not seem a new great adventure to me.  I’m jaded and apathetic and this combination frightens me because it leaves me in despair.

Knowing that it does steal what hope I seem to want to have, I try to look at it from other perspectives.  I think of Narawa and wonder how she might look at the situation.  I can feel her excitement about the prospect of getting a car, and driving it.  Feeling a possibility for a comfortable living space, unwatched by a hovering ‘caregiver.’  Calli would look for the colors in the place, and she would trace the designs with her gaze memorizing each of the corners and curves.  Because of symbolism taught in her time, Notti would be sure to place her hand in dye and use her print as a signature on a spot in the new place as her own.  Julia would adore the freedom and independence of living on her own.  Symentha would be the protector, as best she could, and Sis d would tuck everyone in at night and sing them a song for tenderness and sweet dreams.  These are the ambitions that are still architected within me.  Each time another start is eminent I feel all of these things.  I habitually deny the facts.  I have only hoped with an eager and ample helping of excessive optimism.  If that were not true, how could I still be here?  Being excited and aware at the same time that torture and death were on your doorstep seems to destroy any trace of hope.  Indeed the hope is exterminated.

I cannot deny the bastardly defecations anymore.  The truth is still the truth.  If you sprinkle powdered sugar on manure that does not change the shit into something I would want to eat.  That is the same to me as someone saying to me “pray” and your problems will (fill in the blank with floofy promises and absurd niceties).  It is ludicrous to me.  I have prayed, in fact I still pray…..  But, I understand that the type of protection that others believe in, that I hoped for for a long time IS NOT there.  In my experience being true to this Higher Power has to do with the protection of your heart.  Physically I have not been protected, by anyone.  But, my heart has been protected all my life.  Not from heartache, but from becoming hurtful, vengeful, spiteful, and hateful of others.

Having an oddly wide range of unfamiliar emotions and also not knowing how to properly address them and express them is colossally uncomfortable.  I am doing my damndest, (I laugh and cry considerably more than I ever have before) if I am never going to go beyond this point … if this phase has to be repeated and repeated… and I am still alone, and still pursued, and the consequences are the same – what kind of life is that?

Live in fear and live alone until you die?

Then why put off death?

For fear that some god will send me to hell for some evangelical eternity that I don’t even honestly believe in?  There are more than 1 way to the top of a mountain…  and I do not have to get there the same way that you do.  I do not subscribe to the opinion that getting to God is a one way and a one way only kind of thing.  Many have told me that my beliefs are not Biblical and that I am under the influence of an evil spirit.  Isn’t it interesting to see how a distinctive and diverse idea can give birth, in some, to an unenlightened and boorish scorn towards the idea and also the bearer of it.  Humans are creatures of habit, but that does not excuse arrogance and is no justification for ignorance.

I understand that I just need to work through it… and at my own pace.  I am still hopeful (fucking retardedly so) that there is hope.

Being told the same thing over and over again even using different words  – feels a lot like some of the violence I have been enduring.  Dangerous people can use popular and positive methods for their purposes and this spreads confusion and heartache.  I ask questions to get the specific answers to those questions.  If every fucking GODDAMN answer you give me is ‘just pray’ then why the hell would I wanna talk to you about anything ever again?  Pray, seriously?

Stubborn Conversations with diety

Moving to a new place…..

I should be happy to leave here, but I’m not.

I should be excited about my own place, but I’m not

I should be proud of myself, but I’m not.

I’m sad.

I’m way more depressed.

and I hate me all the more.

The birthday gal said it was the first birthday in decades that was celebrated for her.  She hugged me and said thank you.

I wish I could feel what she meant.  I hope she can feel that she is important.

Maybe one day I will feel that I am too.

This whole day has been nothing but positive and delightful on the outside.

but, inside – I am all the more, amply in fact, heartbroken.

Meeting people, celebrating with people, hoping to help others to feel loved and like they belong … these are good things, right?  But good things like friendship, love, and family are facades …  I am tired of living in the world of extremes   ….  I want some place in between.

 How do I stop hating me?

I was trying to talk to a good friend about an incident that happened that I did not believe was related to anyone direct in my lineage.  I could not even say the words.  I could see it happening, but even now I can’t say it.  The frozen response and the lack of words mixes inside me somehow.  I find that I don’t even know how to say it.  I can sign it.  Maybe it is because it is too emotional?  Perhaps my mind is not developed in that portion to be able to communicate the emotional and the physical and the pain??? I know that when it began I could not hear well at all.  Having been born deaf, and having to deal with the hearing issues… maybe that is contributing???  I don’t fucking know!

I am not sure.  I wanted to tell him.  I wanted to say the words.  But I could not because there were none.  Sometimes I pride myself on being able to speak what I mean.  The irony here is that Most people do not understand me and that means It is a me problem. I am functioning, but not living.  I am here, but I feel that my taking up space is worthless.

I am worthless.

I can listen to others, as I have been taught.  I can understand them and be compassionate.

I cannot listen to myself and I have zero compassion for me.

Does any of this matter?

Do I matter?

I feel as if my very best companions have died and I want to die too.  I am so confused and I am in every way exhausted.  My heart is heavy.  My body is weak.  My innards are achy.  I am bleeding from what I have not discovered yet.  I cannot even play the piano because I have to leave it behind as well.

This is another new beginning, a time to start again.  Whether I want to or not it is happening.  No matter what I want, everything still goes on.  I am no longer a child but I still feel alien in this world.  I have wanted to belong for so long  and now, I just want to give up.  I just want to give in.

Fine!  I am the problem.  Fine I will take the blame.  Fine! Fine! Fucking ….(deep breath)…. fine.

God is there – yay.  people love and care – yay.  the world is how it should be I suppose.

Except for the fact that I am in it.

God, I hope I die in my sleep, because tomorrow night I will be alone.  There will be no chance for witnesses.  …..  and of all the suicidal thoughts that are written here – I am not afraid of what I will do.  I am afraid that it will be as the last time I lived alone.  More than every three days I was violated: in my apartment, in the parking lots, walking anywhere.  I was free game then and I don’t know if anything has changed.

I was attacked in my apartment.  In the parking lots.  Walking anywhere.  Who can be trusted?  Who can’t be trusted… and how can I know?  I am tired.  I do not want to play this repulsive game anymore.
But, I don’t get to choose.  Living seems cruel.  Death seems sweet, but only because I have not been there.  The grass isn’t always greener, and I don’t know.  But, sooner later we all find out.  Jesus!  I hope it is much sooner for me.

Working on understandings

portions of a personal letter to a caring professional

“…In a regular society a person may struggle with self esteem issues, depression, every so often an eating disorder, or an addict. This seems more normal, if that even fucking exists, than a single person who has PTSD, constantly considers death, failing health, insomnia, grand ideas, no literal hope, eating disorders, 34 years of prison camp like experience, a quick wit, the ability to overly control emotions down to blood pressure, attachment malfunctions, isolation in the extreme, self harmer, flash backs to any day in horror, no positive solid family anything, great with numbers and music, fatigued in every way, abducted into human trafficking at around 18 months old – still to be released at age 35.7, paranoid of what’s there, excessively – repeatedly raped, lied to and abused.

That is not close to normal.

That is a challenge –  and what a monster of a challenge it is too…”

“Though there are causes, I am not a cause.  There are many cases I am involved in, but I am not a case.  This is huge and there are many challenges, me personally though,I am not the challenge.

I am just me.  I am not a problem that has to be solved.  I am not the reason any of that fucked up and horrendous stuff happens – I am just me.

I am not the piano that I can play whether I play poorly or well.  I am not the sleep I do or do not get.  I am not the cigarettes that I smoke.  I am not a charity case, and I am not mentally ill to the point of not being able to take care of whatever shit I’m supposed to take care of.

 I am just me.

Have you ever felt desperate inside to belong and to be accepted?  I gaze up at the stars at night and beg for understanding from God and I ask, DO YOU SEE ME?

Aside from the shit and the coarseness that can be my exterior, Dr. so – and – so, do you really see me?

I don’t abstain from food because I’m worried I’ll be fat or because I need a sense of control in my world. I don’t want sex from a guy because I don’t like men – I don’t wanna have sex with anyone… male or female for the same fucked up reasons. Red is blood and torture and pain to me. Words mean little if actions do not support them. Bla bla bla bla..

I know that some people care, perhaps though they can only care to a point. I do not want my shit to complicate their life so much that they would feel trapped or manipulated in any way.  If I accommodate that in its entirety for the world,  I feel – right now that I’m right about being as fucking careful as I have been and will not be able to change that.  I understand how perspective can change the way anyone sees the world.  You don’t think that what I could say could do that for you.  In fact, you have assured me that it would not.  I can understand and appreciate why you would say that to me – but you don’t know what I am going to say. If what I say is disturbing, which to me it is, and you acted worn to it – how would that be any less confusing?

The other night I made a huge decision, and then I carried out the initial steps of the plan.  In doing this I know that I am in grave danger, but it was and still is the right thing to do.  My heart was beating so loudly I could not hear my radio.  I had a temp of over 102 almost immediately after I made the first transaction with the information…”

“Ya, all of this is speculative, and could be ptsd – right?  I am sure you could be considering if it is a flashback, or a messed up nightmare.  It isn’t.  I just fucked with the hand that ruled the world, and after realizing my precarious situation, and the honest fact that I don’t understand, and I don’t know who I can/should trust –   I did not call anyone.  I did not call you.

Do you understand that my fear isn’t baseless? Do you see that my understandings of the ‘darkness’ and the ‘light’ are equally traumatic?

I have no idea what you really see.

I want to know, but then again I don’t want to be ‘set free’ again. Truth sets no one free.  It wasn’t true then. It isn’t true now. Truth binds men to obligation not in love but in responsibility and societal acceptance. This is part of the problem. Workers of darkness can be protected by the same light that shines on good men that die by popular vote. That is justice. That is social reform. THAT is why hope it’s moot anyhow. Hope for heaven. Hope with God. Actual hope here and now is useless.  Good men who want to make a difference will sink into the mud just enough to gain the trust of all. No one is above reproach. All give in. You do it, I do it. I’m shunned and shamed because I want out. The irony is you, being a good person, want me to stay and continue on being assured that torture and masochistic treatment will continue and I am the one seen as crazy.  I think that you want me to believe you and to trust you. Aside from reading and talking with people, do you have a clue what I’m referring to? Experientially? Do you have any personal frame of reference?”

The strangest part to me is that I STILL REALLY REALLY WANT TO TRUST YOU!!!

“Do you trust me like you are hoping I will trust you?

Considering everything that I have experienced, and everything you have experienced of me since you met me, why would you trust me? Sometimes I wonder if I am in a situation that you might not even believe exists and is still happening – because you seemed as if you were shocked.  (Do you know how many times you have told me that you didn’t realize that it was still going on?  At least 49 times in the last 8 months.)

I do understand that my problems and me as a person, these are not a part of your everyday world.  I get that you see me twice a week for a couple hours, and the rest of your life is yours.  I do understand that.  Do you understand – also – that when I walk into your office, I am going into a place that is not ‘safe’ with a person I am not able to trust fully, and who listens, but sometimes does not hear what I am saying?  Do you know that I deal with some vast aspect of my torture every moment of every day whether I am awake or asleep?  And do you realize that I cannot cope like you can because I do not have the support, the fucking desire anymore, nor do I have your ‘good’ experiences.  I am not trying to put you in harm’s way and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in most respects.  I am uncomfortable.  I am in harm’s way.  You cannot walk this path with me unless you are willing to be in both places.

I’m not trying to be cheeky, nor do I mean any disrespect.  I have nothing if I have nothing.  Fake for fake is less than nothing.  I just want to be real and to understand.

Thank you sir!”

My Reflection knows…

Right now I am looking at myself in the mirror. WOW! after all those scars, the wounds and bruises inflicted on me by others and also by myself, after the trials that I was not supposed to survive – I am still standing right here. I don’t know where I am going, but I know where I have been. I have walked across red hot coals and my feet still work. I have been stabbed in the heart – and as I place my hand over my heart I can feel the beating is still very strong. I cannot move like I could when I was young, but I can move. If surviving is the goal then I am fucking doing it! I have a scar on the right side of my face from a dog bite when I was 4 or 5. I have tats and other marks of similar origin that hold memories of their own. I have fractured ribs and torn ligaments. But, none of these things have taken me from me. Though the world tried to make me a monster, I remain ME!!!!!

LOOK! In the mirror – d’âge moyen , yeux brillants , femme she is smiling!
So, I straighten my fucking victory crown and wink at her… I’m gonna walk out of here like a mother fucking boss!!!!!

Great lesson!!!

In my mind I keep going back to the M.A.S.H. episode
where that hawkeye doctor guy has a patient that is only 15 years old
the kid lied to get into the army
and at first the doctor promised the kid that he would not turn him in, because the kid said he knew that he was supposed to be there.
after thinking about it, and considering that the kid could die or worse
the doctor turns in the 15 year old boy, so that he can be sent home
as the MP’s are carrying the boy out, he looks at the doctor and says
I will remember this for ever and I will hate you for as long as I live
the doctor smiles warmly at the boy and says:

“May it be a long and healthy hate!”

My trouble with foodage!

Sometimes, being honest can have serious repercussions.  Many have told me to be careful and not put it all out there.  Some have even threatened me with violence if I did.  There are a lot of things that I can understand in life, but using threats of violence to keep someone silent I do NOT.

In an attempt to NOT give in to that type of persuasion – here is the following…

I don’t want to eat.  and I know that I really need to.  There is a weird paradox going on between my head and my body.  Physically we all need nourishment right?  Mentally it fucks with my mind and heart and memories etc…

The fact that I do, when I do, makes me feel pathetically weak and moronic.  And NO I don’t think that about other people, in fact, I wish I could let all this shit go and be more like them.  But, right now – I can’t.

When I do get food out, I feel extremely guilty.  Even if it is my own food!!  So, I eat as little as I can (most times) and forget the rest.  I try to match what others do when I am eating with people.  I usually cannot do it though.  does not mean I don’t wanna be like them, just the memories are too strong and I can’t fight them and me and my heart and the pain all at the same time – I’m just really not that strong.

I have not thrown up for months now… and that is a big thing.  I think that I am too in tune with my body (being on this massive fucking hyper alert overdrive bullshit!)  and every flux inside me gives me alarm.  I am used to the wanting.  I am not used to the receiving.  I am at ease more so with the lack of …. energy is not the correct word, but I cannot think of the best one for now…. energy rather than the creation of it.  Much like a spider can induce a flow of epinephrine in a person to whom the spider gives a fright – feeling food being processed inside of me freaks my ever living shit out!  just the simple act of touching food to my lips causes me alarm.  I can cook and bake.  I can do the math and set the timer.  But, I don’t want to eat it and I don’t want to be pressured to do so either.

It was always so confusing for me.  being told that I should never eat.  then when around ‘family’ and ‘friends’ I was forced to eat.  As soon as they were no longer around I had to down the ipecac and throw the food up.  Then there came the laxatives and enemas and to the extremes of high colonics!

All in preparation for what? Just so that when some grown up person(s), who had paid a fucking dime for me, would go down and fuck me they didn’t get anything they didn’t expect????????

In a totally and completely damnable way, I can understand – to a point – why this was their fucking policy.  Clean child prostitute for a dirty wealthy pedophile.  Fantastic!

Being part of the prosy walk and being forced to drink a lot and puke it up later was all part of the experience.  Before I would go to a doctor’s office, r would bloat me up like a fucking fish!  I would go in and would be of whatever right weight I was supposed to be.  After getting back home it was the same thing all over again.  Ipecac, laxatives, enemas… and a slew of degrading and shameful tactics that confused me and causing a profound damage to my existence in a complete way.

Does it still matter?  Should I still try?

It does not feel that on this subject I have made any progress.  Of course she is not finished with me yet.  She still sends people after me, and according to her I will be dead in less than 2 weeks anyways – so then is there a fucking bastardly point anyhow?

I do not have to eat unless I want to physically be more capable.  I do not want to eat because of all that is written in the above.  I want to eat because it looks like something that people enjoy, and I sooooo want that.  I won’t eat right now cuz I cannot muscle this shit out.

grrrrrrr

On a different subject – Truth is I’m afraid that I might not ever know the things I’ve always dreamed of. Terrified am I at the thought that this hellish life is exactly how I see things now and not anything to be desired especially if the value I have tried to find in me and those around me betrays me before real progress and comfort can be found…for me.

Mostly I am scared that all the things I heard and saw, the ones burned and completely burdened upon my brain, are the good in humanity and the best of this world. I have been witness to deaths, murders, ritualized abuse, hating and lying, cheating, prostitution, theft, torture, manipulation, public beatings, savage rape… and the list goes on and on.  I want to see the fucking point to all of this and I want to stick around long enough so I can.

If nothing can be done and they are gonna kill me anyways… is there still a point? I’m not asking for some type of emotionalistic appeal from anyone – I’m looking for hope.  Down to earth, honest to God, realistic and utter hope.