Trying not to go old school.

I have really been struggling since my last therapy session.  Just a few minutes of conversation about sensory memories and I have just really been having a hard time since then.  I know that to always keep coming back to the truth is how I am going to make it out of this mess.  So I am just trying to be really honest.  Just starting to think about the sensory memories- really- I have become a bit of a mess.  I have felt for a while now that I have finally 'conquered' most of my self injury issues.  I have been trying to talk about my problems with food and I have not cut myself in a really really long time- so I have been feeling good about that.  But this entire week now I have just felt like a fountain overflowing with ideas of self injury.  The things that happened in the past hurt me so much- both my mind and my body- and for years I tried to push away all of that pain by creating new injuries.  Injuries that seemed far less painful than the pain I was put through when I was a child.  And I did it for so long- the self injuring- that it has taken a huge amount of work to stop hurting myself in the present and to realize I need to talk about it and let myself feel and think about the original pain so that I can finally pass through it and let it go and not just keep adding more pain over the top in hopes that it will make me somehow 'unknow' about the true and deepest pain of my past.
It sounds kind of simple- be honest.  Be honest about what really hurt me.  But it is difficult.  And I feel like I have spent most of my life working to just cover, cover, cover the pain.  It is difficult just to sit with it.  'Just' to be honest about it.  Honesty.  It feels nearly impossible.  I am trying to remind myself that is just the 'feeling' of it.

(I was 3 years old.)

This is the drawing I made today in my art therapy group.  The text reads:

My very first

memory is of

staring into my

underwear and seeing

a large stain of

blood

The most difficult part of healing from incest or any kind of sexual abuse. And my biggest fear of all.

Even as I typed out the title here I want to cry.  Yesterday I saw my doctor and one of the things we talked about was "sensory memories".  He told me that dealing with sensory memories is the hardest part of the recovery for almost all survivors of incest or of any kind of sexual abuse.  I came home from therapy and ate until I was so sick I could not move.  (My unhealthy response to my fear.)  I ate too much, I cried, I cried more and then I called my friend and said about fifty times "I can't do this work anymore!"  Then I slept and I had a huge nightmare that I kept waking up from but falling back asleep into.  It was this horrible dream in which I was being raped repeatedly and each time it was becoming more violent, more brutal and more clear to me how much pain I was in.  This morning I woke up and ate way too much food as soon as I was up.  I called my friend Eve and cried and talked to her for about an hour.  I felt like a superhero when I was able to wash the dishes and walk the dogs.  I have done so much work to get better and I have made so much progress.  I am frightened by the few sensory memories that I have had come back to me and very scared because I know there are many more.

But I am trying to look at this whole shit mess of pain as good news.  First, I am trying to remind myself that my mind now feels like I can tolerate these sensory memories and that is why they are coming up now.  I have fought for so long to hold them back but I know it is a sign of my healing mind that I am starting to be able to tolerate them now.  Second, I am trying to see it as extremely good news that I have come to the hardest part of the healing.  I know this is the hardest part not just because my therapist said that but because the idea of remembering the actually FEELINGS that are attached to all of the stories and images in my head has always terrified me more than anything.  But the good news about dealing with something so awful as remembering the physical feelings of the rape and abuse is that I have already started.  I have already started to do the hardest part of the healing.  It is not like I have to get through this and then there will be some other 'hardest part'.  This is it.  I have reached the most difficult part of the healing and it feels so bad I literally do not have words to describe it.  But I am there, I am here, I have started.  And some part of me keeps focusing on how painful this all is but some other part of my mind thinks:  This is a thing I will go through.  And to "go through" by definition means: THIS WILL PASS. Or: I will pass through this.  There will be the other side and I am on my way there now.

I still want to cry.  Maybe even more now.  I am so frightened and not just by the physical memories... I keep feeling 'stuck'- I mean- I feel unsure what to do next- what to do today, what to move toward, what to do to comfort myself, what to do to move in a direction that will be toward healing and growth.  So I keep getting to this place of feeling 'stuck' and when I ask myself what is going on- what I am really feeling or trying not to feel or what am I so afraid of???  I keep coming back to the same answer.
I feel afraid of my own power.  I feel scared of my strength and my creativity and my own strong and healthy mind.  Knowing about the power I feel in me now makes me know that I have NOT felt powerful for almost all of my nearly 33 years on this earth.  And then I feel sad.  But I want to hold that sadness in me about all that was taken- my childhood, my sex, my heart and I want to know that I can be strong today.  I could not protect myself from my abusers when I was little and a lot was taken.  But I can take it all back.  I can be strong today, I can acknowledge the past that was so painful and I can live a great life in the present.

I want to run and bike and draw and sew and not be scared anymore.  It is difficult to not be totally overwhelmed with sadness about the fact that I have felt so stripped of my power for most of my life.  But I am grateful that I held on and pushed through- even when I felt like I was powerless.  And I have made it to this moment and now I do have a choice in what I do.  I have a million choices.  And the first choice I am going to make is to not let old feelings of fear control my daily life anymore.  Every morning when I wake up I feel sadness from the past and anxiety about the past and the present and the future.  After I type this I am going to make a sign and hang it by my bed so when I wake in the morning I will see it.  I will have to figure out exactly what I want to remind myself of when I wake.
Ok... I just made the sign.  I will hang it on the wall right next to my bed after I finish typing this.  :)  One of the many things I have learned about having survived a huge trauma and working so hard to recover from dissociative identity disorder is that it is easy to go into old patterns and very often you have to remind yourself of the most basic things...

Also, I keep thinking of this:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other
people won't feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

Hello Monday. (It sure is nice to meet you.)

Yesterday I went into the city to meet Christopher and it turned out there was a huge festival happening right in front of his building.  We were planning on going to an art museum but we instead ended up watching a parade and flamenco dancing and eating some really incredible food (by incredible food I mean: grilled corn on the cob- on a stick and covered in parmesan cheese!).  At first we just started walking through the huge crowd and I probably would have kept walking but he stopped to look at the parade.  And it was incredible- people in amazing costumes and dancing to great music.  So we were standing there in this huge crowd of people and I (I who have always hated crowds and parades) suddenly thought:  "I haven't hated parades- I have hated happiness."  And it is not really even that I have "hated happiness"- it is that I have been in so much pain and unable to really feel or know a lot of happiness- because it made me know about the parts of me that have hurt so much and for so long.  At the end of the parade we watched this group of flamenco dancers and it was amazing.  There was so much to see- it was hard to know where to look- the costumes, their hands, their flying feet- I could hardly take my eyes of the woman in the middle- the one in red in the photo- she was just amazing.  It was powerful and exciting and while we were standing there in the gorgeous weather listening to this great music and watching these amazing performers I had another kind of shockingly wonderful thought:  I suddenly just started thinking how everyone is handed some kind of huge troubles in their life and it doesn't really matter what kind or how much or where or when you are when the difficulties happen- it is more about how you respond to the adversity.  I have known this for a while- but yesterday was the first time I ever really could FEEL it.  I think I have spent a long time feeling like what happened to me was SO terrible, SO awful and that it somehow made my life different from other people.  I know what happened to me in my childhood was really heinous- but everyone has awful things in their life.  And I think the hardest part about life is not even the terrible things that happen that you can not control- but your own response and the responsibility to respond to both the beauty and the difficulty in the things that happen while you are alive.  I later told Christopher about this thought I had while we were watching the dancing and he said it made sense that I would think of it then- the flamenco is so purposeful, intense and deliberate- it was like watching a choice to celebrate being alive and human.
After all of that we took a big walk through the city and went to the art museum.  We got there just in time to hear a great piano concert.  The only composer I knew from the entire program was Copland and I am not usually a big fan of his- but I loved the piece that was performed.  The entire program was a thrill, all of the music was wonderful and it was great to hear music by composers that I had not before heard.  The pianist was brilliant and by the end I was smiling and thrilled.
This morning I woke up feeling slightly less than great and had a bit of a rough morning.  Then I talked to Eve on the phone for a while and I told her about yesterday and my struggles and some of my other thoughts and we had a really good talk.  I felt a lot better after that.  It was raining here today so I thought I would not be able to run- but then after we spoke I decided to just go out and run in the rain.  And while I was running I realized I was not dreading my therapy session this afternoon.  And I started thinking about how it is possible for me to change my thinking about my body (how much I have hated it) and my feeling about going to therapy (how much I have been scared of it).  And I had a great run.  And it is great to know that it is possible to heal.

Thank you again to all of my friends and the people that have been leaving extremely kind words of encouragement here.  I really appreciate the kindness and help.  xoxo

Prayer.

Our Father,

who has set a restlessness in our hearts

and made us all seekers

after that which we can never fully find:

forbid us to be satisfied with what we make of life.

Draw us from base content

and set our eyes on far-off goals.

Keep us at tasks too hard for us

that we may be driven to Thee for strength.

Deliver us from the fretfulness and self-pitying;

make us sure of the good we cannot see

and of the hidden good in the world.

Open our eyes to simple beauty all around us

and our hearts to the loveliness men hide from us

because we do not try to understand them.

Save us from ourselves

and show us a vision of a world made new.

--Eleanor Roosevelt

(This image is of a t-shirt I made during my residency in Venice.  I have been drawing out the same prayer in sign language on the back of the dress that I have been making.) 

In my head.

You Are There

by Erica Jong

You are there.
You have always been
there.
Even when you thought
you were climbing
you had already arrived.
Even when you were
breathing hard,
you were at rest.
Even then it was clear
you were there.

Not in our nature
to know what
is journey and what
arrival.
Even if we knew
we would not admit.
Even if we lived
we would think
we were just
germinating.

To live is to be
uncertain.
Certainty comes
at the end.

16, 17, back of dress and skirt in progress.

I will not be silent anymore.

I started posting images of my artwork and writing on this blog more than three years ago.  As soon as I started this blog it became a place for me to work out and share the journey of my recovery from child sexual abuse.  In the past three years I have come and gone from this blog with the writing part- sometimes not writing much on here for long periods of time.  A lot of things have been happening recently- in my mind, my healing and my work to recover and I have not been writing much about it.  I often have enormous fears about writing the truth here.  Sometimes I worry what other people will think of me and sometimes I do not write because it is so painful for me to say in a clear way the things I survived- hard for me to really read it myself.

With all healing there is change, growth, new ideas and new ways of thinking about things.  So even though sometimes it is very hard for me to write about what happened to me here- both because of my own reactions to it and my fears of what other people may say or do in response- my fear of not writing the truth here has become larger than my fear of writing it.  I know that the other stories I have read and heard from other survivors are what make me feel most like it is going to be possible to truly heal and recover from the trauma of child sexual abuse.

On Monday I had a therapy session with my doctor and told him something I have never before said aloud.  And then all week it has been plaguing me.  I have felt sick, scared, crazy, enraged- because of the past- because of something that happened to me fifteen years ago and I was unable to speak about it until this past Monday.  And then after I told my doctor about it on Monday I told a few close friends that I was really "struggling".  I told a few people that I had told a story to my doctor about something that happened to me when I was 17 years old and it was the first time I had ever spoken about it.  But I did not tell anyone the details of what I had told my doctor.  It seemed too much, too awful and almost cruel to even repeat.  So I have just sort of kept it to myself and I have felt like it has just been eating away at me inside.  The last couple of days I have been thinking about killing myself- feeling like I can not keep tolerating these memories from the past.  This morning all I could think was of packing up and throwing away all of what I own and then killing myself.  This was my thought anyway- then I called my good friend Eve and told her how I was feeling.  I told her I felt like I could not tolerate bringing up this stuff from the past and thinking and knowing about how awful it was.  And she told me that if I needed to tell her or say it- that I could.  I wasn't really sure it would help me and I did feel bad telling her about something so awful, so grotesque- so completely heinous.  But I did tell her.  And then I cried. A big cry.  A big, huge, deep from the deepest part of my hurt heart cry.  And when I was done crying Eve was silent for a few minutes and then she told me she had to get off the phone- that she would call me back in a few minutes- she needed to go and vomit.

I won't write the details of the story out here.  It helped me to tell her, it has helped me to write this.  I have no need to write out the graphic details of the heinous abuse I survived- but I do need to write something about it.  I need to write here more when I am struggling.  I need to talk about what is happening.  One of the things that is happening is that I am getting better and it is scaring me.  And I know that because I am healing and stronger than I was before I am able to tolerate knowing about and talking about my past- a lot of which has still felt like a 'black hole' in my mind.

One of the things I am really struggling a lot with right now is eating.  It is hard for me to take care of myself in this basic way because I have so much conflict over the pain from the past and my wanting to get better and be real and really have a good life now.  The problem with dissociating and not feeling real for so long is that finally starting to feel is very foreign.  And scary.

And I have all of these thoughts and feelings about being alive and real and my body and what my body went through and how to feel about my body now.  There is still always some part of me that wants to disappear- that wishes this body of mine (and my heart and mind) had not been hurt- and the physical part of that turns into a feeling of: I do not know if I can care for this body now.  How do I accept this physical body that has had so many filthy things done to it?  How do I accept so many things that really were so completely unacceptable?  I am not sure.  But I know I have to keep talking about it- to my doctor, to my friends and on this blog.

So many people get away with rape and abuse because the victims have often been threatened or are too frightened or too terrorized to talk.  I am scared too but I refuse to be silent.  I am a survivor of incest and my real name is Jenny Sawle.

(Cover me) Dress in progress.

trash (bag) 15

Thirteen, fourteen.

Something too large to see. (The getting better.)

I have written on here many times before about the pain of the past being and feeling enormous and I have specifically written of the abuse that it was "too large to see".  And it really was- which is why I dissociated away from it.

This morning I was out running and it was sunny with a breeze blowing and I was listening to music and thinking of the bag I am going to sew today before my therapy (bag 13) and I suddenly realized what an incredibly difficult time I am having seeing my own progress and my own healing (because I also realized in the middle of all of those good things that I was feeling a bit of hating myself).  It is much easier for me to keep hating myself- my mind, my body- than it is to acknowledge my progress- see how far I have come and how much I have overcome.  A part of me does not even want to be writing this here because even this idea and truth feels so painful- so I am compromising and just writing a quick blurb about this idea because I know it is important.  Of course it is important to recognize my progress, my healing, my growth- but there is a sadness in it- a grief almost.  Of course it feels good to be so much less frightened every day and night and to feel stronger, healthier- it is just- there really is a lot of sadness in letting go of feelings that you have had all of your life even if they were painful memories connected to horrific abuse and lies told to you by abusers.  Change is difficult- no matter how great it is.

Poem for today from 'The Writer's Almanac'.

How the Stars Came Down

by Pat Schneider

Night. How the stars came down
arching over us, and the only name
we had for them was shooting stars.
Why there were so many was anybody's guess.
My great grandmother thought the world
was coming to an end when Haley's comet
flared across the sky. I lay flat on my back
and watched the night sky falling
all around me and I wanted,
more than anything, never to go home.
I did, of course. They put us campers into busses
and drove us back to tenements,
asphalt and streetlights in the city.
What I didn't know that night
in my bedroll at Sherwood Forest Camp
was that when I got home,
home wasn't my real home any more.
I had a new home in my remembering
and it was dark and safe and beautiful
with shooting stars still falling all around.

Opera in the Outfield.

Yesterday Christopher and I went to "Opera in the Outfield" and watched a live broadcast of the WNO perform Verdi's "Un ballo in maschera".  It was fantastic.  It didn't seem that crowded but I read in the paper this morning that 11,000 people were there.  I was so excited I got a t-shirt and so did he. The screen was huge and even though the image does not look very clear in the photo I took- it was AMAZINGLY high quality video.  The performance was great and it was fun to watch it on such a huge screen and in the nice weather.

Eleven, twelve!!

Tomorrow I am going to be out for most of the day so I decided to make two bags today.  I need to go back on a few of the bags and add some details- some snaps and pockets and things like that- but I feel like they are getting better as I go.  And after I finished the two I made today I cleaned out all of my sewing supplies and reorganized it all.  It feels like there is some momentum building here and I was not really expecting that.  I think the bags will continue to become better as I go and then if I can sell a few I will have supplies for more- so I can keep going.  Anyway- it is making me feel good to be making them.  Yesterday I spent time drawing, sewing, knitting and reading.  I went to bed feeling super crafty and very much healthy.
Tomorrow I am going to a simulcast of an opera and I am excited about that.
Yesterday I started reading the book "Push" by Sapphire.  It is the book that the movie "Precious" was based on.  I did not see the movie- but the book is incredible.  It really is amazing the amount of adversity that people are able to tolerate and overcome.

Have a cry. (Bags nine and ten, dress in progress.)

I fixed my sewing machine, finished the bag from yesterday and made another for today. I also had my art therpy group today and I drew on my dress for three hours. I don`t feel great today but slightly better than yesterday. I love what Eve wrote on here yesterday. Thank you Eve. :-)

Tomorrow---by Eve Judy

Tomorrow
The hope of Tomorrow has always been my dream.
Day after Day, I think about what I will finally do tomorrow
I plan
I write
I put off
Because I will always have tomorrow (or so I tell myself)
Tomorrow I will start to exercise
Tomorrow I will organize and de-clutter
Tomorrow I will sew and do art
Tomorrow I will finally finish composing a whole song
Tomorrow I will listen to good music instead of watching re-runs of tv shows
Tomorrow I will start over
And then, after my walk, my photography session, and my spinach omelet, I realize that tomorrow has become Today
It didn't happen all at once (which of course annoys me b/c I am a very all or nothing kind of girl)
It doesn't always happen when I want it to either
But I am learning that I can re-train my brain
I can
And I am
Tomorrow becomes Today with every small step
One at a time
One walk
One purse
One at a time
And after a while I won't dwell on the Yesterdays that were Tomorrows
I will just focus on Today.

Jenny and I have been friends for about 15 years. She is an amazing woman and one of my best friends. On her recent visit to my home, we had many good talks and therapy sessions. In one of them, I realized that I was really holding myself back from happiness on purpose in an area of my life. My resolution of this was to be going for a walk everyday. Even if it means only a few blocks. Now thwarting my efforts has not been my great ability to sabbatoge myself but a pulled calf muscle which actually happened the day before my grand revelation.....but I have been mostly muddling my way through it anyway. And I am going to keep trying. For the first time in my life, it doesn't feel like a chore, but rather a great opportunity for growth.
Let the freedom continue:)

No metaphor.

Today I feel bad in a way I really can hardly describe.  I have therapy but I am not exactly excited about that.  Hopefully my therapist can help me though.  I spent almost 3 hours working on handbag #9 and just as I was about to attach a handle my machine stopped working.  And I can't seem to do anything to get it to work properly again.  Normally I might cry- but I can hardly even care about anything right now.
I feel physically sick from remembering the past.

Bag project day 8. Dress (the part).

I will try to start writing more here again soon.  I have been struggling a bit since I got back from my trip and restarted my therapy and art therapy.  But I am making the bags and jogging and drawing- so I feel like I am kind of doing the best I can.  I will keep posting images even if I am not yet able to write much here.  Thank you to all of the people who read this and follow me on my journey to recover.  Thank you.

Bag project (days six and seven).

"Avalanche falling fast"

"Pink glow of happiness" (Poem for my sister on her 35th birthday.)

Lighting Your Birthday Cake

Of course we didn't come this far
without leaving a trail, but it's only
footprints on a beach; one wash
through our memories, and it's gone. Strange,
so much passion, commitment, doomed
to be drifted over like
Troy and Babylon, pitiful echoes now
of all those eager heartbeats.
You've always cared so much,
about us, sure, but really everything—
hungry kids, dolphins, over-
population, and the old foes: batterers, bishops,
gunslingers, chauvinists—nothing escapes
your rage or compassion; earthquakes in Asia
shake our midnight bedroom. You always knew
that the bright bird of sympathy
is the only godliness on earth,
hovering over these grubby streets
on better wings than angels'. Now
I can't believe in a world without
your bonfire of outrage, small flame of anguish,
pink glow of happiness.
Remember how I need your warmth:
as you blow out these candles, make a wish
to keep the fires burning.


by Philip Appleman

Yes. Yes it feels good to feel better.

Here are bags four and five. They all need some finishing, but I have made 5 in 5 days- So I am just feeling pretty good about that. Once the bags are really finished I am going to start to put them up for sale- maybe here or maybe on another site. I will probably do some drawing on them first too. Tomorrow I go back to therapy after my two week break. I am a little nervous- But I know I am getting so much better. As my friend Eve said to me yesterday: "Let the freedom come." Yes!

Day 3.

So this is the project. I am going to sew one bag a day for thirty days- as part of helping myself to overcome my fear of power and my own creativity. So this is the third bag and third day of the project. My friend Eve came up with the idea and she is helping me (and herself) by doing her own thirty day project. She will be writing about that on here soon. And I will be writing more too. And the final day of the project will be October 7, which will also be my 33rd birthday. :-)

Day 2.

I just got home from my trip and I am pretty tired. I am going to write here tomorrow about this `project`. :-)

Jenny and Eve: Day 1.

My very good friend Eve and I are going to be working on a project and posting about it here for the next 30 days. Today was day 1. I will be back home tomorrow and I will write more about it then. :-)

Extreme happiness.

I am still on my holiday.  It is wonderful.  I am spending time with two different friends and they are both wonderful people.  And great cooks.  So I have been eating some really great food.  This morning I woke up to homemade raspberry and white chocolate chip scones.  And great coffee.  Both of my friends are really into good coffee... so I am really having the best of everything.  I have a little cold and that is kind of annoying- but it is good to be with friends and be happy.  I will be writing more after I get back- which is Thursday.  I will try to upload more photos before then.

Picture.

Holiday.  :-)

Happiness.

My trip is going really well.  My last post was after a hard day- but even most of that day had been really good.  And after I wrote here I felt better right away.  All of my friends that I am staying with are wonderful and kind and I feel like I can talk about anything I want or need to.  A lot of my fear and anxiety goes away when I am able to talk about what is making me anxious.  I have been eating so many great foods, drinking great coffee and tea and having a lot of fun.  I have also been sleeping good every night that I have been here.  That is a big deal for me.  And today I took a nap and I almost always wake in a panic attack after a nap- but today I woke up feeling ok.  So things are going really well.  Oh... and the weather is great- cool and wonderful here. 

Rape.

I keep wishing I could write better or articulate my thoughts more clearly here- but right now I just want to say something so I am just going to say it even though it is probably not going to be in the most poetic way possible.  I am glad I have this blog because this is one of those times when something so difficult has happened that it is hard for me to know how to think about it and it always comforts me a little to write it here and know there are people that will read it and somehow I imagine that those people can help me hold part of what feels like such a completely intolerable story.
I am in the Midwest right now and one state away from the state I was born in.  Today I went with my friend and we drove from the state I am staying in over to the STATE I WAS BORN IN.  I have not been there in seven years.  As we were crossing over the state line I felt like I wanted to throw up.  The last time I was there was seven years ago when I packed up my car and with Lloyd on the front seat I drove all day and night out to live on the east coast.  And not long after I left there (seven years ago) I started working with my doctor and he was the first person I told about what my father had done to me.  So it was a big deal.  And I knew it was going to be a really big deal but I was not even sure how.  It was just... so painful and weird.  I think I expected something to feel very different- but instead I felt something that scared me so much more- it did not feel different- it felt the same.  After 7 years of having avoided that place and talking over and over and in and around all of the awful shit I have gone over in my therapy, my art, my dreams and my nightmares- I thought I would feel some strange new way when I was back in my home state.  But I felt the same.  Only it was an awful 'same' feeling.  And all I could think was: I ALWAYS KNEW.  I ALWAYS KNEW what my parents had done to me.  I think I have liked to imagine that there has been some imaginary line between me and the past and the past and the past seven years and the past and now- but there are no lines and imaginary is imaginary.
I got through the whole thing ok- we talked a lot and I felt like I went on too much about the past, about the abuse I lived through.  I have had this rage and sadness building up in me.  I have a lot of feelings- this sadness- this rage- this nausea over the pain and the pain of the memories.  I guess it is best summed up by me saying:  IF THERE IS A HELL I HOPE THERE IS A SPECIAL PLACE THERE FOR THE TWO PEOPLE that created me.  I know that is awful to say- but I am just beyond caring right now.  I feel like I try to be careful what I write here- I worry about someone I know reading this or slander- but today I felt so hurt, so fucking hurt and so fucking enraged that I wanted to drive to the house of my abusers and torture them to death.  But I would never do that and I hope they both live to be a 100 and suffer long and miserable lives having to sit knowing what they did to children.  PEOPLE WHO FUCK KIDS MAKE ME SICK.

Tonight my friend is exhausted and she went to bed early and I am sitting here on her computer hammering this out.  The only thing to do now is talk.  I hurt so much I want to hurt myself but I do not want to hurt myself anymore and I am sick of that and I was already hurt too much.  So I am writing this here.  And I am going to keep telling this story of what happened to me and of how much I hurt myself after my abusers stopped abusing me and how I finally stopped hurting myself and how it is possible to get better and I am going to keep getting better and I am never going to be silent about incest.