Vampyra - Queen of the Goths

I have become serious about the few endevours left to me with my current situation - the creative side that was supressed for so long, the part of me that my mother seems to think counts for nothing and is a waste of time, space and energy.

It has started earning me money and believe it or not involves writing though I would be the first to admit that I am not a good writer, I can not spell for toffee and my gramma isn’t exactly brilliant either. However, with such formal creations I tend to draft ten times minium before I even let the King look at it and as he is a latinized man he is a bit tooo good at gramma and rips my work to shrds and puts it back together again.

Anyway I have found a group to go to and this has be fantastic, it has also served as my social outing of the week though it is still early days. They have been really boosting my confidnce but it obviously finishes late and then there is the after pub trip which is as important to me.

The King comes out with a sleepy Lady to pick me up, she is generally happy with her milk and sleeps in our Chariot. I’ve been considering getting the bus home but have several issues with this in that it is a) around the time of pubs closing and there are lots of roudy people about and b) I’ll have to walk through the woods at closing on midnight - there is only one bus after 5 pm and that is the last bus so it doesn’t sound like a fantastic journy for someone who is scared of the dark and has been attacked several times and is petrafied of drunk roudy people when on her own.

The King and I were working it out and mulling over how we could make this work but then the Walking Skeleton bustled up to me yesturaday and begain to say that she would pick me up on her way home from that insufferable game of bridge.

I know this is her being helpful but the emthasis was on me not having to bother the King, like my persuits are nothing and can be cast aside, plus I would not feel at all comftable with this situation and she is bound to forget me or be drunk and I do not get driven by drunk people - I tend to moan if they’ve only done the legal limit - I just hate it.

Fortunatly the group has just moved nights so it is no longer a tenable solution for her to pick me up but then in brisk ‘telling you off’ tones she informs me, ‘there is a bus at 10:30 you know, there is no reason you can’t get that home.’ Grrr BUT OUT you fucking witch - I know, I know she’s being ‘friendly’ but the tone and what have you, had my back right up.

Plus this has sort of caused a self esteem crash again and now I feel crap and selfish for trying to luanch about the only career that is still tenable to me. She also keeps coming around and trying to get me to go to clubs and societies that do what I would love to be doing but as amateurs - I am not an amateur and I can’t stand the thought of paying to do what I should get payed for doing plus I can’t fucking do it can I? No I can’t other wise believe it or not I would be doing it wouldn’t I?

FUCK OFF - PLease?

I self harmed this time, the worst time ever becuase of the Walking Skeleton. The King does not comprehend how violated and angry I feel at her invasion.

Imagine if you will our bed chamber, dishevieled with bags of luandary waiting and sexual parifenallier strewn everywhere, the Lady is not currently allowed in our chamber due to the danger of low windows and small inquisative children.

I had had a very good day writing and talking to people and I was carm and looking forward to our anniversary the next day - sure I had been struggling emotionally prior to that and have been tailing the King as I need to be near him for fear of my stupidness taking hold once more but I was happy.

Then I enter our chamber to write upon this blog of sexual things I planed - when I notice the radiator is out of place. I enquire as to why this is - the answer is that the Ancestor brought in the repair man to look at the broken window - no warning as to when the man was coming - nothing and she came in too and on top of that it was mysteriously scheduled for when I wouldn’t be around - I am always missing at the same time every week, I feel that this was just a litttle too convenient.

I looked at the pair of my nickers in the door and embarressed shame and then resentful anger boiled over inside me. I hate this I really do - why should I strugggle to keep up appearances if I could just be me here things would be so different. Why do I have to hide yet again who I am my nature, my passion, my fear.

They saw the room in a state I would not permit a visitor to see and they didn’t ask - no one asked me, I was yet again just swept aside as if nothing.

On top of that the King asked me why I hadn’t tidyed it - becuase I NEED FUCKING HELP!!! I need light for a start - there is only a bed side lamp as the main light gave out eight months ago and I can’t see to tidy the fucking room. I have the Lady to look after and he’s working so hard how can I make him do it?

Anger, resentment, shame and then to the fact that I don’t handle unwanted invasions into my personal space or areas that I consider to be personal. The Gremlin did this, the Gremlin would stay in my room and I would be in with my brother, he would take my knickers out of the draws and line them up and stuff I would find them in the oddest of places, he would eat all my little caches of sweets that I had hidden amoungst the underware so that my brother would not touch them.

He would move my things, touch them but it the underware thing that makes my skin crawl, and the remit from the Maternal unit that he didn’t understand what he was doing. As if being what he was ment he was incapable of hurting people or being bad or wronge, he doesn’t understand you confussed him by hugging him and telling him you loved him, well he may have been a child in a mans body but it was a mans body with mans desires and I can’t even bring myself to writ of the consequences of this.

My skin feels dirty I want to shower and shower and shower I want to use the scrubs and things but I’ll never feel right and the invasion of the Walking skeleton into my domain - my sexual domain no less, something I have stuggled to feel safe and secure enough to creat, reopened this wound and now I suffer the consequences of me struggling to make the emotional real - I still can not brush my hair and I have places I need to go - I must look at state.

Dispair has me once again the feeling of sickening dread is within me - stupidness calls me and I don’t think I am stronge enough to resist anymore though for the Kings sake I know I must try.

I fell from grace - months I had gone with no self harm, no idiocy, no stupidity of this self destructive and pointless nature and then on the eve of our anniversary I sink once more into that pit of dispair and this time with violent anger.

The cercumstances of my fall from grace I shall cover in another post, along with the build up to it. Things culminated in such pathetic idiocy.

I couldn’t speak for rage I stood by the window wanting to destreoy myself or the window, the King stood next to me waiting incase he had to rescue me but he failed to see the warning signs - I’d had months to think up unuasually and less detectable forms of punishing myself or inflicting pain, down in the very depths of my soul I was struggling - hoping for this release.

I knew that I couldn’t really mark myself for fear of them not operating and so I had ripped at my hair and there were tearing sounds but the King is wise to this one now. What he wasn’t expecting was what I did next - I picked up a shoe from the shoe rack, sort of heels but not steeletos and I hit my head with it. The pain cut through the numb fury - I realed.

I hadn’t realised I’d hit myself so hard.

The King saw and was angry but I caried on realing and I couldn’t speak and I was holding the place I had hurt, the pain sharpe and matallic but I felt dazed and sick. Soemthing was wronge, it had just supposed to be pain, I wanted to feel pain but now I could feel something else. I lefted my fingers from my head my hair must be wet from the rain, cold disbeleif flooded me as I bought my fingers in line of sight.

Red, glisterning, the King paled, I knew something was wronge but couldn’t think, so dizzy. He sat me down and I felt coldness seep from the pain - I always assumed that the blood would be warm but it wasn’t it felt cold and it ran down my face and through my hair and down my neck and the King was crying with anguish and fear and all I could say was, ‘well that was stupid,’ it seemed strangly serreal.

I never ment for that to happen, I was numb and scared and the King was crying, ‘I can feel blood?’ I asked as if this was some strange phenominer, like I hadn’t just smashed my own head open. I wanted to drink I was nuaseas but he wouldn’t let me. Realisation that he thought I had concousion entered my adled brain, hospital I knew he’d want that - I didn’t.

‘If you have to take me I hit my head on a cupboard door,’ I said with a dead vioce it felt like treacle had tried to drown me.

I felt sick and had to be given a bucket, scared in some far away place I said, ‘Its just shock that’s all, I’m suffuring from shock, it’s the blood, there’s lots of blood.’

I felt dizzy and disorientated but the nueser subsided and the King helped me to the bathroom to clean me up, I looked in the mirror and through the dazed glaze it show not me but some buetiful heroine with wild hair and dark eyes and blood dark and glisterning in riverlets down her face - I looked like something from a film or book cover why I should have been thinking like this I don’t know- it was strange.

The King helped me remove my cloths and I nelt in the bath to use the shower - ‘its like when I died my hair,’ I said, again strange and distant from what was actually happening to me, the water was alarmingly red/pink and then yellow for a long long time.

I can’t believe I did this to myself - it still hurts and I still feel so odd I am ashamed of making the King cry, ashamed of cuasing that much damage to myself - its just rediculous and I’ve probably ruin all the cloths I was wearing at the time.

Last night after all of this when it had turned midnight and I quietly and subdully wished the King happy anniversery he said, ‘I knew long before I married you and before I proposed that our life together would involve lots of time spent dressing your self inflicted wounds, I love you.’

Not sure if that made me feel better or worse - I love him and he is so tolerant and caring and this has to be the crappist anniversary presant I could possibly give him.

I’m not sure I have the strength to writ this post but it is something which I need to express and it is more than a burden thinking of it and not commiting it to words, words I can share.

I risk triggering my stupidness but again I feel that writing about it may help in the long run.

I’ve been tidying the chamber of love and slumber otherwise known as the bedroom when I discovered the book set the King keeps trying to get me too read. They are by Dave Pelzer and chart his escape from child abuse (I think). They were given to the King to help him deal with his own past and so when I had the first flash back he bought them too me.

This is half my issue with them, that night things were so intense and I saw my past again, felt it, dam well smelt it - it was real again and I was plumged once more into a waking nightmare I had thought buried in childhood play.

The King carmed me by reading extracts from the book A Child Called it but this also increased my scense of guilt. I remember saying to him, but that was so much worse than what I was subjected too, however it did come close to some of the stuff I whitnesses and that made me feel sick, nuaseous that I let it happen, that I didn’t stop it.

The King says I was hardly more than a baby myself at the time and that the Tormentor had a psycological hold on me, but I should have stopped it, I should have shouted or something. I watched as she got her own son - a toddler to break his sisters nose - I will not go into detial as I feel it would be unfair on them.

I was supposed to be the girls best friend but I got rescued and she didn’t and she then hated me so much, the resnetment was there even in our teens and I can’t blame her though the visciousness I suffered from her was enough to drive a pre-teen to the thought of suicide.

I look at the book set and I feel cold - how can I read about the anguish and pain of this other person - how can that help me? I cried and cried the night of the flash back and each paragraphs imagery is burned deeply into my brian.

I have to deal with the screwed-upness of more than just the Tormentor and her Cronies though - things that I still feel a cold dread about even mentioning to the King. There is the Gremlin stuff and probably the most damaging part of my history - my Maternal Units reaction to these things and infact just how she treated me though I know she never ment me any harm.

I came to adult hood with a keen scense that this was all my fualt - all of it - they wouldn’t have done it to me if I hadn’t deserved it? Then to the religous doctrine that I had rammed down my throat that God only gives you as much suffering as you can handle. I tried to tell them - I tried to say what that woman was doing what the Tormentor had done - stuff that I don’t even remeber now, and they went and asked her about it.

Betrayal by my perants and they sent me back and I cried and cried and was told that I was evil and a lier and I believed them!

I thought I was mad - I thought I possessed by the Devil. I was 4 and a half years old and then five but so young - how come I felt so anceint? At five I felt I had lived several life times - I am still huanted in the Dream Time by things I do not know how to express.

I have to stop now - I can feel the destress within and I can’t push things too far.