Ahh, now I no longer need to say "ex-friend", as I can use the more appropriate quondam friend:)
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Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Quondam, another word for "former friend"
Ahh, now I no longer need to say "ex-friend", as I can use the more appropriate quondam friend:)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, May 19, 2014
The Depth of Human Evil......Trigger ALERT
Therapy today. Very, very physically and emotionally challenging. One of my roughest sessions to date. It's been about seven hours...and the realizations, the ramifications have surfaced.
I won't go into detail. Sometimes I worry that a pedophile or unstable abuser will get ideas. I don't need to write it to know that it is absolutely true. It is still a fresh, raw wound.
I'm astounded at the horrendous acts that can be thought up, passed down from generations and perpetrated against children. Horror is the closest word I can find.
I was tortured. There is no other way to put it. I was tormented and threatened. My heart was filled with terror. My throat was silenced in fear. My dad managed to get me alone, put me in an....extremely violent position whereby he could have easily killed me in an instant. I, for awhile, when this took place at seven, firmly believed that he was actually going to kill me this time. It was that painful and precarious a situation. I came so close to death at his hand.
As he tortured me, threatened me, he created a phrase,a code word so that every time he said the word, I would relive and remember his tortured threat. To give you some insight...it probably took me anywhere from 10-20 minutes to actually, verbally break through the wall and say the code word. It had that much power and fear over me. Yeah, try spending even ten minutes saying one single word. There was massive resistance and an outpouring of scattered, deep emotion.
This one "incident" was so severe, that it could have easily put someone in therapy for a year. So damaging and destructive. It will take me awhile to sort it all out. So much terror, pent-up. Figuring out how to let go and process.
No child, much less an innocent animal, should ever, ever have to endure the torture I lived through. I am astounded that I was able to continue to live a quasi-functional life after this incident.
More later.
I won't go into detail. Sometimes I worry that a pedophile or unstable abuser will get ideas. I don't need to write it to know that it is absolutely true. It is still a fresh, raw wound.
I'm astounded at the horrendous acts that can be thought up, passed down from generations and perpetrated against children. Horror is the closest word I can find.
I was tortured. There is no other way to put it. I was tormented and threatened. My heart was filled with terror. My throat was silenced in fear. My dad managed to get me alone, put me in an....extremely violent position whereby he could have easily killed me in an instant. I, for awhile, when this took place at seven, firmly believed that he was actually going to kill me this time. It was that painful and precarious a situation. I came so close to death at his hand.
As he tortured me, threatened me, he created a phrase,a code word so that every time he said the word, I would relive and remember his tortured threat. To give you some insight...it probably took me anywhere from 10-20 minutes to actually, verbally break through the wall and say the code word. It had that much power and fear over me. Yeah, try spending even ten minutes saying one single word. There was massive resistance and an outpouring of scattered, deep emotion.
This one "incident" was so severe, that it could have easily put someone in therapy for a year. So damaging and destructive. It will take me awhile to sort it all out. So much terror, pent-up. Figuring out how to let go and process.
No child, much less an innocent animal, should ever, ever have to endure the torture I lived through. I am astounded that I was able to continue to live a quasi-functional life after this incident.
More later.
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Monday, May 12, 2014
For Roia, A Famous Music Quote by Oscar Wilde, you have undoubtedly heard :)
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, May 11, 2014
I hate mothers day
I really do. I detest those "social norms" that I cannot escape and that punch me in the face at every turn. I refuse to go online to see those drippy, dreary sentiments directed at others And myself. I hate being reminded that some people have caring mothers. I hate that mine was a coconspirator bitch who mistreated me so And yet demanded flowery shows of devotion and undying loyalty.
I won't go outside, as every frickin idiot who walks by wishes me a happy mothers day as if I'm something to be admired for raising kids that...haven't exactly turned out to be stellar citizens.
I really hate that Grandma is dead. She was the closest thing I ever had to a caring mother. Maybe that's why I really hate this day, more especially this year.
Yeah, last year I finally told my mother that I am no longer her daughter. Best fucking move I'd made in awhile.
So some people have loving mom memories. I guess I'm jealous, too.
Thanks mom for all the hatred, the slaps, the inability to look at me, hold me, show genuine affection and, of course, the complete inability to love me one iota. Thanks for applying the make up for covering bruises and telling me cover stories to tell others. Thanks for the years of physical starvation when help Was available. Thanks for forcing me to lie. Thanks for letting dad molest me and for accepting that it was okay. Thanks for sacrificing me to save yourself. Thanks for denying my allegations, you know, the ones you knew were true, to save my brothers and sisters from knowing dad was a bastard, incestuous, pedophile. Thanks for rarely taking me to the doctor, telling me it was "all in my head" and that I must be making up my physical pains. Thanks for getting mad, upset and isolating me when I was sick, instead of giving a fuck and nursing me back to health. Thanks for breaking so many brushes beating us. Thanks for making us feel sorry for you when you hurt your hand beating one of us. Thanks for allowing dad to beat us and making us think it was normal and we deserved you. You fucking sorry excuse for a mother. Thanks for the truly miserable, pain wracked years of my childhood. Thanks for falsely making me believe you gived a shit. Thanks for never letting me know what it felt like to be safe and loved. Thank you for allowing me to endure weekly rape from your husband. Thank you for taking away any sense of self-identity I may have had. Thanks for telling me about stranger danger but accepting the incest. You were a sorry, pissant excuse for a mother. You are a hollow, empty, deplorable person who should never have been "blessed" to have so many children. Yeah, fuck you, bitch.
I deplore all holidays, but this one head and shoulders above the rest. And I'm supposed to "celebrate" and be honored and shit. Fuck it. I should just stay in bed.
I can't stand it. Can't wait for this day to be over.
I won't go outside, as every frickin idiot who walks by wishes me a happy mothers day as if I'm something to be admired for raising kids that...haven't exactly turned out to be stellar citizens.
I really hate that Grandma is dead. She was the closest thing I ever had to a caring mother. Maybe that's why I really hate this day, more especially this year.
Yeah, last year I finally told my mother that I am no longer her daughter. Best fucking move I'd made in awhile.
So some people have loving mom memories. I guess I'm jealous, too.
Thanks mom for all the hatred, the slaps, the inability to look at me, hold me, show genuine affection and, of course, the complete inability to love me one iota. Thanks for applying the make up for covering bruises and telling me cover stories to tell others. Thanks for the years of physical starvation when help Was available. Thanks for forcing me to lie. Thanks for letting dad molest me and for accepting that it was okay. Thanks for sacrificing me to save yourself. Thanks for denying my allegations, you know, the ones you knew were true, to save my brothers and sisters from knowing dad was a bastard, incestuous, pedophile. Thanks for rarely taking me to the doctor, telling me it was "all in my head" and that I must be making up my physical pains. Thanks for getting mad, upset and isolating me when I was sick, instead of giving a fuck and nursing me back to health. Thanks for breaking so many brushes beating us. Thanks for making us feel sorry for you when you hurt your hand beating one of us. Thanks for allowing dad to beat us and making us think it was normal and we deserved you. You fucking sorry excuse for a mother. Thanks for the truly miserable, pain wracked years of my childhood. Thanks for falsely making me believe you gived a shit. Thanks for never letting me know what it felt like to be safe and loved. Thank you for allowing me to endure weekly rape from your husband. Thank you for taking away any sense of self-identity I may have had. Thanks for telling me about stranger danger but accepting the incest. You were a sorry, pissant excuse for a mother. You are a hollow, empty, deplorable person who should never have been "blessed" to have so many children. Yeah, fuck you, bitch.
I deplore all holidays, but this one head and shoulders above the rest. And I'm supposed to "celebrate" and be honored and shit. Fuck it. I should just stay in bed.
I can't stand it. Can't wait for this day to be over.
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