From inside out
(written several years ago)
I am writing this on behalf of all those inside this person. We are her personalities, insiders, or as she calls us, her voices. There are 50 plus of us on the inside, most of the time we are in her head. We can and do talk to her. She is what is commonly called the Host. It is her body; she is the person that was born. Throughout her life our host was abuse in many ways, by many people. No one would listen to her, we used to talk to her, but they told her we were not real and she was to ignore us. And so she tried.
We would take her hurt, when some one came to abuse her, she couldn’t take it, and so one of us would step in and come out, or would be created, by her unknowingly. She was unable to cope with it alone. And why should she? So she made us, each in turn as she needed. We used to ask, why should we suffer for her? What had we done to deserve being hurt so bad? But despite our questions we came forward and took her pain.
We don’t grow, why not? Because we are stuck at the ages we were created, some get can older, as they heal. But for us stay the same age year after year, and that may be all well and good if your getting older and don’t want to. But for us it’s like being trapped. We look in the mirror and wonder, who is that looking back, I think, I’m 15, but that isn’t the body of a 15 year old! Why don’t I have my own body? I’m real, I can speak. But no one wanted to know us.
It’s hard living inside another person. You have to go where they want to, unless you take control by coming out, which we can do. But now we have rules about that, and it’s hard, when you want to sleep but some one else wants to play. Or the Host’s body is tired, but its morning. It’s frustrating not having your own body, and being able to do the things that others your age would be doing, it’s very hard excepting that it’s her body and we have to do what she wants at the end of the day. After all we are part of her, she is not part of us,
For many years she tried hard to ignore us, but like a bad smell we wouldn’t go away. She created us for a purpose, that being to help her, and once we got over not being able to do what we want when we want, we had to learn to work with her, yes we are part of her, but we are individuals too. We have rights and feeling that needed and need to be taken into consideration. But equally she has rights, and her rights come first, as she could just take loads of medication and that would numb us into not existing, something that she and we do not want. Having set ground rules, like keeping appointments we have learned to work with her, which is after all what we were created to do.
Being inside a person has it’s good and bad points, for a teen its great looking like an adult, going where adults can go, but for those within the Host who are young it is harder, they are but children, and so often people who do end up speaking to them treat them like adults and expect them to understand, though they live in an adult body and have knowledge far beyond that of others there age, they behave and act like the children they are, we all behave in the manner of the ages we are. It’s hard to explain why you’re scared like a child, but to others you look like an adult. And that’s why we have to be careful witch personality is out, when we are not in our room, to protect us from the harm others who don’t understand could do.
There are some within us that we don’t know, we try our best to keep them inside, these are the ones who have not excepted that it isn’t our Hosts fault that they got hurt, they still blame her, and given a chance would hurt her. When they manage to come out they block us, this means that we don’t know what they are doing, and can’t protect our Host, and that is our worst nightmare, we were created by her to protect her, and to not be able to do it, hurts us. But we know in time they will see as we have seen, though our Host may feel it, she isn’t to blame in anyway shape or from for what has been don’t to her or us.
We know it’s hard for our Host, loosing time, and apart from times when we are all blocked out, we do our best to fill her in with any time that we may have been out. We tell her who we have spoken to. And what we have been doing. We try our best not to push our way out, and really only do that now without asking if we feel she is somehow at risk.
All we have ever wanted is to be acknowledged for the parts of our Host that we are; unique individual parts of one being. We just want people to try to understand, and may be say hello once in a while, we want to be able to take the littles (personalities under 11) to children’s shops without being stared at. We would like to be able to buy them toys without having to explain, we would love to be accepted as part of our Host. We are just like most people. We just want to be loved and cared about.
Our dream is to one day be able to show the world the wonderful person that we are honed to live within, to be able to show them the parts she has created. To show the world that we and our Host are not something to be scared of, as so many people are scared of what they don’t know or understand, we would love to help them know and understand the true gift of survival she has.
Thursday, 14 August 2008
Just tthe way I am.
Just the way I am.
(written several years ago)
For most of the first 20 years of my life I was abuse, by not just one, but many men. And at times my mother too, No one listened, it wasn’t believed to be the thing that people would do to anyone, let alone a child.
So I was left to find my own way of coping and getting through each event as it happened, I didn’t know back then how I was doing it, but I was, I often didn’t remember what had happened, just know from the pain and discomfort I felt that something had happened. I didn’t care either, as long as I didn’t have to remember, it didn’t matter to me. Little did I know that I had found an amazing way of coping, all those so called imaginary friends I had in my head, weren’t that at all, they were real! To me it just seemed that every now and then a new voice would appear in my head. And that was fine by me, it was some one else to listen too. Who didn’t hit or shout at me.
So when I wanted to or needed to, I would just disappear, Day-dreaming they called it. I just wasn’t aware of anything. And that was ok, if I didn’t know I was lonely or being hurt it didn’t feel bad. It couldn’t feel bad.
I was told constantly to ignore what I heard in my head. And in the end I thought they were all right, that I was just holding on to childhood imaginary friends. So I tried to ignore them. For many years I would not listen to them, I got so good at it that eventually I could hardly hear them, Some days I would find I had self harmed. But I wouldn’t remember doing it, So how could It be attention seeking if I didn’t know I was doing it? They just said I didn’t want to remember. Yet I spent so long wishing I could, then at least I would know why I had done it.
Time just seemed to disappear. It would be 6pm and in what seemed like the blink of an eye it was 8 or 9pm. I used to think I must have just been so tired, I had fallen asleep.
But then there was the phone bill. Calls were being made, to whom? I didn’t know where half of those places were let along know any one who lived there. Cups of drink on my table, things like squash? I hate squash. Pictures I hadn’t drawn, a child’s writing and drawings? But I’m a grown woman. Where did they come from? I would sit at my computer intending to type up some poems, suddenly it would be hours later, and there in front of me was a poem I hadn’t written.
I used to feel so confused, and scared by it all. Who was moving my things? Who was drawing and writing? And who was making phone calls? I thought I had been asleep one day when the police turned up, asking me about a child? What child? I have no children? But apparently a child had called some one from my phone. An all I could do was say sorry.
Then, a few weeks later they turn up again, same thing, a child calling some one from my phone? And then there was this call same time every week to the same place, but I thought I was sleeping? So I called the number, I found out that a 14 year old had been calling them, but how could that be? I was the only one with access to my phone. I was told she was part of me, one of the voices inside my head? But they were just my imagination? No! It was explained to me, they were part of me. They were real! I wasn’t imagining them after all.
Now I had to learn to listen to them again. I kept a journal where I could ask things, like what was their name, and how strange it was to see things being written back, that I hadn’t written, not even in my hand writing. It was so confusing, it was hard to under stand, yes I had voices in my head but others out side of me could hear and speak to them too? I slowly leant to talk to them, to listen to them, I found out that at that time I had over 15 different voice, (over 50 now) but they are not just voices, they are personalities, different sides of me, so to speak, and they varied in ages, from the youngest who is 1 and a half years old to the eldest besides me at 29 years old. And after a year of getting to know them, I suddenly had a family, I had friends who cared about me, I was not able to care about me, I felt so guilty about my abuse, some of them even blamed me. Because I let them be abuse? They hurt me because in there eyes I hurt them. But in learning to love and care for them I was learning to love and care for me.
I learnt that when ever I was hurt, scared or face a situation I couldn’t deal with, I unknowingly created a person to deal with it for me; To protect me from being hurt? I didn’t know I was doing it; I could never have managed it if I had tried. I wouldn’t have had a clue how to. They had helped me when I needed it most, and now it is my turn,
We had to learn to work together; we had to set ground rules, just like you would within a family. I had to keep the younger personalities from taking medication of any kind, just like you would a child. And in return they get time to be who they are, children, and they get to play and have fun. Something I hardly ever got to do.
This has given me some advantages and created some disadvantages. When I have had enough, when I can’t take the memories any more, I can disopear. When some one says or does something that makes me feel uncomfortable, some one else can come and deal with it for me. It is hard however, not knowing what is going on all the time, knowing I have put something in one place and finding it in another, And its kind of annoying to make some food and then not get to eat it, especially if it’s the nice foods, its funny how I always end up eating the vegetables, but never the strawberries. If I’m with other people and I’ve lost the thread of what’s going on, then it means someone has been out, I then worry about what may have been said, and I’m always scared that I might find myself in the middle of nowhere surrounded by strangers.
Some how as I child I found a wonderful way of coping with the abuse and abusive life style, for those I have inside, I have the greatest respect, I know I created them, but without them I would not be here today. I am proud of who and what I am. For some reason I was given a gift to help me survive. And all I know is that the brain is an amazing thing, learning to live with what I have has been hard, so many people don’t try to understand, or are too scared. And all I want is for people to except me, But most of all, them for whom and what they are. Amazing, individual, wonderful parts of me!
(written several years ago)
For most of the first 20 years of my life I was abuse, by not just one, but many men. And at times my mother too, No one listened, it wasn’t believed to be the thing that people would do to anyone, let alone a child.
So I was left to find my own way of coping and getting through each event as it happened, I didn’t know back then how I was doing it, but I was, I often didn’t remember what had happened, just know from the pain and discomfort I felt that something had happened. I didn’t care either, as long as I didn’t have to remember, it didn’t matter to me. Little did I know that I had found an amazing way of coping, all those so called imaginary friends I had in my head, weren’t that at all, they were real! To me it just seemed that every now and then a new voice would appear in my head. And that was fine by me, it was some one else to listen too. Who didn’t hit or shout at me.
So when I wanted to or needed to, I would just disappear, Day-dreaming they called it. I just wasn’t aware of anything. And that was ok, if I didn’t know I was lonely or being hurt it didn’t feel bad. It couldn’t feel bad.
I was told constantly to ignore what I heard in my head. And in the end I thought they were all right, that I was just holding on to childhood imaginary friends. So I tried to ignore them. For many years I would not listen to them, I got so good at it that eventually I could hardly hear them, Some days I would find I had self harmed. But I wouldn’t remember doing it, So how could It be attention seeking if I didn’t know I was doing it? They just said I didn’t want to remember. Yet I spent so long wishing I could, then at least I would know why I had done it.
Time just seemed to disappear. It would be 6pm and in what seemed like the blink of an eye it was 8 or 9pm. I used to think I must have just been so tired, I had fallen asleep.
But then there was the phone bill. Calls were being made, to whom? I didn’t know where half of those places were let along know any one who lived there. Cups of drink on my table, things like squash? I hate squash. Pictures I hadn’t drawn, a child’s writing and drawings? But I’m a grown woman. Where did they come from? I would sit at my computer intending to type up some poems, suddenly it would be hours later, and there in front of me was a poem I hadn’t written.
I used to feel so confused, and scared by it all. Who was moving my things? Who was drawing and writing? And who was making phone calls? I thought I had been asleep one day when the police turned up, asking me about a child? What child? I have no children? But apparently a child had called some one from my phone. An all I could do was say sorry.
Then, a few weeks later they turn up again, same thing, a child calling some one from my phone? And then there was this call same time every week to the same place, but I thought I was sleeping? So I called the number, I found out that a 14 year old had been calling them, but how could that be? I was the only one with access to my phone. I was told she was part of me, one of the voices inside my head? But they were just my imagination? No! It was explained to me, they were part of me. They were real! I wasn’t imagining them after all.
Now I had to learn to listen to them again. I kept a journal where I could ask things, like what was their name, and how strange it was to see things being written back, that I hadn’t written, not even in my hand writing. It was so confusing, it was hard to under stand, yes I had voices in my head but others out side of me could hear and speak to them too? I slowly leant to talk to them, to listen to them, I found out that at that time I had over 15 different voice, (over 50 now) but they are not just voices, they are personalities, different sides of me, so to speak, and they varied in ages, from the youngest who is 1 and a half years old to the eldest besides me at 29 years old. And after a year of getting to know them, I suddenly had a family, I had friends who cared about me, I was not able to care about me, I felt so guilty about my abuse, some of them even blamed me. Because I let them be abuse? They hurt me because in there eyes I hurt them. But in learning to love and care for them I was learning to love and care for me.
I learnt that when ever I was hurt, scared or face a situation I couldn’t deal with, I unknowingly created a person to deal with it for me; To protect me from being hurt? I didn’t know I was doing it; I could never have managed it if I had tried. I wouldn’t have had a clue how to. They had helped me when I needed it most, and now it is my turn,
We had to learn to work together; we had to set ground rules, just like you would within a family. I had to keep the younger personalities from taking medication of any kind, just like you would a child. And in return they get time to be who they are, children, and they get to play and have fun. Something I hardly ever got to do.
This has given me some advantages and created some disadvantages. When I have had enough, when I can’t take the memories any more, I can disopear. When some one says or does something that makes me feel uncomfortable, some one else can come and deal with it for me. It is hard however, not knowing what is going on all the time, knowing I have put something in one place and finding it in another, And its kind of annoying to make some food and then not get to eat it, especially if it’s the nice foods, its funny how I always end up eating the vegetables, but never the strawberries. If I’m with other people and I’ve lost the thread of what’s going on, then it means someone has been out, I then worry about what may have been said, and I’m always scared that I might find myself in the middle of nowhere surrounded by strangers.
Some how as I child I found a wonderful way of coping with the abuse and abusive life style, for those I have inside, I have the greatest respect, I know I created them, but without them I would not be here today. I am proud of who and what I am. For some reason I was given a gift to help me survive. And all I know is that the brain is an amazing thing, learning to live with what I have has been hard, so many people don’t try to understand, or are too scared. And all I want is for people to except me, But most of all, them for whom and what they are. Amazing, individual, wonderful parts of me!
Life History
(writen for support workers by jo)
my earliest memory is of asking my mother to stop him from hurting me, and her responding why? i was 4. in the front room with the so called family friend and she was in the kitchen. she came in and watched. i dont remember what happened, but i know what did happen, a child that small is left with physical pain, not just emotional.
the first thing in life i remember is being hurt and let down by the one person who was ment to keep me safe. she has never done so since, she lets every one down. she should never have had children. she sure should not have had girls. boys were the best thing. girls were nothing but trouble to her.my primory school chucked me out, as they couldnt cope with my poor sight. it wasnt fair on the other children. is some thing i remember hearing, i was also told later in life that another child was caned for steping on the white lines that had been painted, she steped on them to stop me stepping on them. at 6 i was taken to a new school, to look and see if i liked it, only once i came back to the heads office having been shown a drawing by the artist tony heart. i found out i wasnt looking round to see if i liked it, i was left there. no good byes. they were gone. i was in a strange place with strange people. and i would stay there for the entire auturm term, it was christmas holiday before i saw any of my family again. on the one hand it was good, the so called family friend wasnt there. no more play fights (that were not) but on the other hand there was a head who saw me as ready trained. i knew to keep my mouth shut and do as i was told. my reward was a curly-werly. (i hate them with a passion now)
then came the devil. yes it was a man dressed up but at 6 i didnt know that. and even now i struggle remembering. figures in monks habits (but black) with no faces and red eyes. that still haunt me. i may know they are not real but at one time to me they were very real. its strange to think but once i met the head and the devil and some other guy who took me out in a silver car, i longed for the family friend, he was just one. and tho she watched or joined in, it wasnt as scarey as those others. with them i was the unthinkable. and took part in the unbeleivable.in my first year at this school one time when i was going home for a week or weekend. i was left at the education office, the staff said mother was picking me up and must have been running late, they all left. the post man came and went. i thought id do some thing grown up and go home alone she thought i was good for nothing then at least she wouldnt have to come pick me up any more cos i would be able to do it my self. i walked through town that was easy. i passed the bus station and walked down the road i thought was the way home, it seemed so long, id never walked it before, only gone along it on the bus or in a car, i knew i had to turn just after the cricket ground but it never seemed to come, i turned back thinking i had it all wrong, a van pulled up and asked me directions to where i dont remember i kept walking the side door opened and i was in the van. i wondered if the devil knew i wanted to tell and had sent them to punish me for even thinking about it, i didnt fight, it was pointless and besides i had already learnt not to fight. they droped me off where they had picked me up. i went back to the bus station and beged the driver to let me get on the bus, it was the last one going that way. i had no money and it was dark. he took me to the bus station office. they called the police who took me to the village hall where the family were doing judo, my elder brother came out told them a taxi should have been bringing me, they thought as it hadnt that i hadnt come home. they didnt even speak to her. they left. my heart ached so much, i really had hoped they would know. but they didnt know.
the only real friends i had were those in my head, id always had them, but i got told off for being a lona and told they were imaginary friends i didnt want to grow out of, and it was high time i got real friends. i was ashamed of every thing, of all that had been happening, and of having friends in my head, i ignored it all. things happened i just shut off. when i was 11 the school closed down. the head was gone. no more curly-werlys. i had hoped the devil would go too but he didnt. a different school ment being at home more and so the head was replaced by the family friend. it had come round in the circle. him to the head, the head to him. Mother had boyfriend after boyfriend, if thats what you called them, they were here then gone some faster than they arrived. many were not there for her but for me. and she knew. she alowed some of them to forefill their sick fantasies, one i remember was holding a gun to the head of a child. (that child ended up being me)
i did try to tell, but at my first school i was told little girls shouldnt tell such terible lies. and sent to the head. in my second school they didnt know what to think, some seemed to show compation in giving me time but others thought it was all lies, it had to be, no one would do such horid things, i was made to feel like an outcast by some, just like the village at home, people who crossed the road thinking they would catch my bad eye sight. parents who wouldnt let their kids play with me for the same reasons.one day my hand got broken i went to school pretending nothing was wrong. but some one noticed. for the first time in my life some one noticed me. he was so kind, how odd it should be a man. i was terrified of him, i couldnt tell him. i so wanted to, after all he had noticed. he know the hand wasnt from a fall, he even dared to ask who did it. but tho i longed to tell i couldnt. not a man, all men have contact with the devil. he had contact with all men.
then she phoned the school one day to say i would never see my elder sister again she had left home. this made them think, what kind of person rings a school to tell there child such a thing. they started to watch me. watch my moods. my silances, they said i was a day dreamer, i always wished i could dare to have dreams,through all this i had a friend but i didnt know it. Doughie. was at my first school and my second. he knew i was in pain. but being a child he didnt know what to say or do. finally 14 and i find out i have a brother that i didnt know i had, my auntie was actually my sister. for some reason staff at school sundenly realised how messed up my life was, do you have a social worker? nope i argued. till i heard his name. a social worker? he was the man in the silver car...
i didnt see him again, i told them i wanted a lady. in time i went in to care, she put me there, she asked if i wanted to stay at home, when i said yes she told me i knew where my room was and to pack. she was keeping her man.tho this happened in front of a social worker and 2 of the staff from school they kept trying to get me to go home. knowing her men wanted me. i was passed from pillor to post i had 12 foster homes in 2 years. having spent 2 years at one who the father saw me as legal cos i was 16. where as the other foster child was 15.
19 and i wanted to give up on it all. i had self harmed for years but at this point i wanted to die more than any thing. Doughie was gone (he died, and i saw it happen, it wasnt an accident or natural causes, he was run over by a drunk driver, while he was having an epoleptic fit in the road) and grandad was gone (he died) the only people in the world i cared about and cared about me. there was nothing my life hadnt been a life at all. i hadnt even existed. i was just here.since then i have tried to commite suiside many times, and i still self harm, there is too much pain to say or explain this is only a snipit. right up till i was 29 the so called family friend used to come and see me. i dont see her now unless my sister is there or she will hit me. in her mind i am the seed of the devil. in her mind im inperfect. and defected.the police came one day looking for a child that turned out to be me? thats when i realised those friends in my head from childhood were still there and fighting back. i ended up in strange places, in hospital having taken overdoses. talking to the police. well actually they talked to me, like i was shite. made me take back things i said with threats of being locked up.eventually i found out those voice in my head were part of me. when i couldnt cope with some thing happening i made a new me to cope. but i didnt know i was doing it or how i was doing it, but im left with many parts of me. hurting. still children. still needing to be safe. needing to be tought there safe. one day i realised thanks to some one inside that the devil had brown red gloves on just like the so called social worker with the silver car. all that time the devil had been a man. but to me and to them he was and is often very much real.while i know now i am safe not all of me does, so i feel there fear. i have a lot of pain still. and often i wish i could die. because death would be easyer to cope with than the pain.
i take tables to cause internal pain, but if they were to kill me my mind thinks it wouldnt matter any way. and if i take them to die but dont then my hope is they will cause internal pain at least, like liver damage and alike.i know im not in danger like i was, i know im not the devils child. i know the devil as a physical form is not real, but some times its these things that are the hardest things on earth to beleive.
(writen for support workers by jo)
my earliest memory is of asking my mother to stop him from hurting me, and her responding why? i was 4. in the front room with the so called family friend and she was in the kitchen. she came in and watched. i dont remember what happened, but i know what did happen, a child that small is left with physical pain, not just emotional.
the first thing in life i remember is being hurt and let down by the one person who was ment to keep me safe. she has never done so since, she lets every one down. she should never have had children. she sure should not have had girls. boys were the best thing. girls were nothing but trouble to her.my primory school chucked me out, as they couldnt cope with my poor sight. it wasnt fair on the other children. is some thing i remember hearing, i was also told later in life that another child was caned for steping on the white lines that had been painted, she steped on them to stop me stepping on them. at 6 i was taken to a new school, to look and see if i liked it, only once i came back to the heads office having been shown a drawing by the artist tony heart. i found out i wasnt looking round to see if i liked it, i was left there. no good byes. they were gone. i was in a strange place with strange people. and i would stay there for the entire auturm term, it was christmas holiday before i saw any of my family again. on the one hand it was good, the so called family friend wasnt there. no more play fights (that were not) but on the other hand there was a head who saw me as ready trained. i knew to keep my mouth shut and do as i was told. my reward was a curly-werly. (i hate them with a passion now)
then came the devil. yes it was a man dressed up but at 6 i didnt know that. and even now i struggle remembering. figures in monks habits (but black) with no faces and red eyes. that still haunt me. i may know they are not real but at one time to me they were very real. its strange to think but once i met the head and the devil and some other guy who took me out in a silver car, i longed for the family friend, he was just one. and tho she watched or joined in, it wasnt as scarey as those others. with them i was the unthinkable. and took part in the unbeleivable.in my first year at this school one time when i was going home for a week or weekend. i was left at the education office, the staff said mother was picking me up and must have been running late, they all left. the post man came and went. i thought id do some thing grown up and go home alone she thought i was good for nothing then at least she wouldnt have to come pick me up any more cos i would be able to do it my self. i walked through town that was easy. i passed the bus station and walked down the road i thought was the way home, it seemed so long, id never walked it before, only gone along it on the bus or in a car, i knew i had to turn just after the cricket ground but it never seemed to come, i turned back thinking i had it all wrong, a van pulled up and asked me directions to where i dont remember i kept walking the side door opened and i was in the van. i wondered if the devil knew i wanted to tell and had sent them to punish me for even thinking about it, i didnt fight, it was pointless and besides i had already learnt not to fight. they droped me off where they had picked me up. i went back to the bus station and beged the driver to let me get on the bus, it was the last one going that way. i had no money and it was dark. he took me to the bus station office. they called the police who took me to the village hall where the family were doing judo, my elder brother came out told them a taxi should have been bringing me, they thought as it hadnt that i hadnt come home. they didnt even speak to her. they left. my heart ached so much, i really had hoped they would know. but they didnt know.
the only real friends i had were those in my head, id always had them, but i got told off for being a lona and told they were imaginary friends i didnt want to grow out of, and it was high time i got real friends. i was ashamed of every thing, of all that had been happening, and of having friends in my head, i ignored it all. things happened i just shut off. when i was 11 the school closed down. the head was gone. no more curly-werlys. i had hoped the devil would go too but he didnt. a different school ment being at home more and so the head was replaced by the family friend. it had come round in the circle. him to the head, the head to him. Mother had boyfriend after boyfriend, if thats what you called them, they were here then gone some faster than they arrived. many were not there for her but for me. and she knew. she alowed some of them to forefill their sick fantasies, one i remember was holding a gun to the head of a child. (that child ended up being me)
i did try to tell, but at my first school i was told little girls shouldnt tell such terible lies. and sent to the head. in my second school they didnt know what to think, some seemed to show compation in giving me time but others thought it was all lies, it had to be, no one would do such horid things, i was made to feel like an outcast by some, just like the village at home, people who crossed the road thinking they would catch my bad eye sight. parents who wouldnt let their kids play with me for the same reasons.one day my hand got broken i went to school pretending nothing was wrong. but some one noticed. for the first time in my life some one noticed me. he was so kind, how odd it should be a man. i was terrified of him, i couldnt tell him. i so wanted to, after all he had noticed. he know the hand wasnt from a fall, he even dared to ask who did it. but tho i longed to tell i couldnt. not a man, all men have contact with the devil. he had contact with all men.
then she phoned the school one day to say i would never see my elder sister again she had left home. this made them think, what kind of person rings a school to tell there child such a thing. they started to watch me. watch my moods. my silances, they said i was a day dreamer, i always wished i could dare to have dreams,through all this i had a friend but i didnt know it. Doughie. was at my first school and my second. he knew i was in pain. but being a child he didnt know what to say or do. finally 14 and i find out i have a brother that i didnt know i had, my auntie was actually my sister. for some reason staff at school sundenly realised how messed up my life was, do you have a social worker? nope i argued. till i heard his name. a social worker? he was the man in the silver car...
i didnt see him again, i told them i wanted a lady. in time i went in to care, she put me there, she asked if i wanted to stay at home, when i said yes she told me i knew where my room was and to pack. she was keeping her man.tho this happened in front of a social worker and 2 of the staff from school they kept trying to get me to go home. knowing her men wanted me. i was passed from pillor to post i had 12 foster homes in 2 years. having spent 2 years at one who the father saw me as legal cos i was 16. where as the other foster child was 15.
19 and i wanted to give up on it all. i had self harmed for years but at this point i wanted to die more than any thing. Doughie was gone (he died, and i saw it happen, it wasnt an accident or natural causes, he was run over by a drunk driver, while he was having an epoleptic fit in the road) and grandad was gone (he died) the only people in the world i cared about and cared about me. there was nothing my life hadnt been a life at all. i hadnt even existed. i was just here.since then i have tried to commite suiside many times, and i still self harm, there is too much pain to say or explain this is only a snipit. right up till i was 29 the so called family friend used to come and see me. i dont see her now unless my sister is there or she will hit me. in her mind i am the seed of the devil. in her mind im inperfect. and defected.the police came one day looking for a child that turned out to be me? thats when i realised those friends in my head from childhood were still there and fighting back. i ended up in strange places, in hospital having taken overdoses. talking to the police. well actually they talked to me, like i was shite. made me take back things i said with threats of being locked up.eventually i found out those voice in my head were part of me. when i couldnt cope with some thing happening i made a new me to cope. but i didnt know i was doing it or how i was doing it, but im left with many parts of me. hurting. still children. still needing to be safe. needing to be tought there safe. one day i realised thanks to some one inside that the devil had brown red gloves on just like the so called social worker with the silver car. all that time the devil had been a man. but to me and to them he was and is often very much real.while i know now i am safe not all of me does, so i feel there fear. i have a lot of pain still. and often i wish i could die. because death would be easyer to cope with than the pain.
i take tables to cause internal pain, but if they were to kill me my mind thinks it wouldnt matter any way. and if i take them to die but dont then my hope is they will cause internal pain at least, like liver damage and alike.i know im not in danger like i was, i know im not the devils child. i know the devil as a physical form is not real, but some times its these things that are the hardest things on earth to beleive.
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