I found somebody on the net i was looking for. He has another daughter just a baby. I Don’t know what to feel. I was like hell no when i seen that. I want to contact his ex wife. Ask if he has contact with his kids. Have they told his new wife he’s a paedo. She’s got beautiful blue eyes from him. Like the other kids. So clear. I don’t want them to be turned dark by him like his other children’s eyes were. He’s on the other side of the world in another time zone. What can i do. Nothing. He got away with it then and he’ll still get away with it. Fuck him. And fuck my mum who said she knew he was dodgy but still dropped me off every weekend.
Being in a constant pit of hell. Reliving shit over and over then getting new memories is horrendous. That’s the only word but fukn horrendous.
Sometimes the pain is physical. Like intense pain in the nether regions or chest crushing pain. Not being able to eat because of the gag reflex. Triggered by said new information coming into view. Memories and flashbacks are what cause the thoughts and the nausea. The guilt shame and blame that i can’t shake. So much i need to process that i feel its going to kill me sometimes. Sometimes i just Wish it would. Will medication help with flashbacks and memories or will only suppress emotions? Due to flsbk and memories being something the brain controls.
So tired of it all. I just wish i could disappear off the face of the earth. To be alone. In quiet. To reflect. To have peace. To be alone. I’m alone in my mind anyway and it would be nice to just literally be alone. Not have anything to deal with but looking after myself. To cry. To sing to sob to be angry sad or happy. I just want to be alone. By myself. Please let me run away. I’m not here in mind. Let me not be here in body. God please take me with you. Away from here. From everything and everyone.
Do you ever lie to yourself, therefore to other people too? Do we all do it? I know it’s something I have done for many years. Partly because I was groomed to lie about what was going on and even to lie to myself about what I felt. It was also because I and everyone else couldn’t handle the truth. Lies were my friend. It became difficult to know the lie from the truth. I was tangled in lies for years.. until I began to unpick it all 2.5 years ago as I entered therapy.
Since then, I have not only learned the truth but also how to continually analyse my behaviour and things I have said, to ensure those lies that remain, are confronted or at the very least noticed, ready for processing later.
I hate that I have anything left in my behaviour that is a result of grooming…
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Oh my head hurts so much. It’s probably the constant pot smoking killing my brain cells but I’d rather be high than nothing. I’ve told more people about the stuff i went through. Including my dad. It was hard but i did it. I don’t feel any better for it. In fact i feel worse. I just don’t know how to process everything. I thought If i told it might disappear. It might feel different. But it doesn’t. And that hurts.
I made it. By myself. I’m actually fuckn proud. The boys were so amazing on the plane. Anxiety wasn’t too bad. I had to be in control. I couldn’t be fucked in the head like i am lately. This old lady in front of me got up and said how lovely i am with the boys and how wonderful i speak to them. It’s nice to see. That was nice because i was nice. And I’m not very nice lately at all. I’m such a Cunt actually. but the boys were so great. Thank God for Good children.
Moving letter to the man who killed her father.
I don’t know your name, but you killed my father on June 9, 1973, in Stockton, California. My father was thirty-two years old then; I was ten. If he had lived, he would have been 74 on November 29th.
I am a 51-year-old woman now; my father has not been with me for most of my life, and yet I still feel his presence; I still miss him. When I was ten, and he was killed, I hated you. In fact, I hated you for many, many years. Somehow I got it in my head that you were a drunk driver and killed him while driving drunk. Perhaps someone told me that, or maybe it’s just what a child creates, to make sense of a senseless world. Admittedly, that story helped me for a while. It gave me a place to focus my…
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