Scared and Sick

I'm pregnant. There you go I've said it. I'm pregnant. Not only that but pregnant by my own father. Things don't get much worse than this. I've known it for a couple of weeks but was only brave enough to do a test on Monday thanks to the saneness of a friend from work.

I saw the GP on Tuesday. I have another appointment on Wednesday coming to tell her what I want to do. I don't know what I want to do. I have four choices - termination, adoption, keeping the baby and killing myself and the baby. Of course I want to do the last one. Of course I do. Stopping myself is the difficult thing.

I need space to think and reason with myself, space to work out which is the best option for me. But I can't think. Every time I open my eyes the word 'pregnant' in big black letters is in front of them stopping me from seeing anything else. Every time I close my eyes the word wanders through my brain like an old fashioned screen saver. I'm pregnant. Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

I told Fr S. He was so supportive. I'm going to speak to him properly on Wednesday to discuss things. I told a couple of friends at work. One told me I had to get it 'dealt with' straight away. I told JC at the cmht. She told me it was a 'massive mindfuck.' I agree with her. She was good. She's organised me to see the psychiatrist tomorrow to discuss my drugs in case I intend to keep the baby. I wish I knew what I intended. I told C. He said he'd be there no matter what.

I keep crying. Crying and throwing up. I go to work and just about cope with it. I come home and cry. I lie on the sofa and cry and cry and cry. This is beyond overwhelming. It makes other overwhelming things look like a fucking joke. This is to big for me.

It feels cruel. Everything about this feels cruel. All the options feel cruel. If I have a termination I'll have killed two children. Two of his children admittedly but two children. That is a horrifying legacy. I don't want to kill the baby, it's not the baby's fault that this is happening. But I can't bare the idea of growing bigger, of something of his growing inside of me, taking me over, becoming a thing of its own. I know that's not fair to the baby but I don't want it. If I have the baby I'll be constantly reminded that it's his. And I'll have to keep the baby safe and I don't even want to keep myself safe. If I give it up I'll have the horrific pain of walking away from a baby that's mine, even if it is his too. If I kill myself I go to hell.

It feels preposterous to me that this should happen again. Twenty years, almost exactly, to when it happened before. The anniversary of my abortion is the 26 February. And that still hurts with every atom of my body. To be in this position again is too much. Too much. Too much.

Going mad

Over the last few days I have been sitting in a corner quietly going mad. Or more honestly, sitting in a corner, whining on twitter and going mad. I like to share my madness with one and all, for their own good you realise.

The voices have been persecuting me for a week now. And when I say persecuting I actually mean it. They have been behaving in an utterly hostile manner. It's almost impossible to live with something in your brain screaming at you to hurt yourself, to kill yourself, to destroy yourself because you are evil, hateful, worthless, sinful, unwanted etc. etc. To me that's persecution.

It's really hard if not impossible to fight against the endless tirade. Sleep is impossible, thinking is impossible, conversation is impossible, concentrating on anything that isn't Notgod is utterly impossible. Even listening to music is impossible because Notgod has a habit of screeching along with the music making it utterly intolerable.

I'm still calling him Notgod but at the moment he is God. I need that to stop. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm possessed by Satan or a demon or something. It feels so awful as to be demonic. I spoke to Fr J about this on Saturday because he preached about demonic possession (well mentioned it in passing) and I got all paranoid. He thinks I'm not possessed but what does he know he's not living with the constant barrage.

I saw CF at the cmht on Friday and he got me to double the amount of antipsychotic I'm taken. So far this has been of sod all use. Notgod is still blasting away at me like he owns me and I feel completely fuzzy with the drigs now. So thats an all round success. If things don't improve I shall go back to the normal dose in a couple of days. The fuzziness just makes the shit worse.

I've been cutting a lot over the last couple of days. My arms, legs and breasts are covered in cuts now and none of them are deep enough or sore enough to take the pain away. Notgod likes it when I cut though - it quietens him for a few minutes. I can satiate him with my blood but he always wants more. He's a vampire consuming me cut by bloody cut. He wants all of me gone. Dead. Finished.

I've been thinking about suicide a lot. Or more accurately trying not to think about suicide because Notgod is forcing me to think about it. Different methods and thoughts are going through my mind but the top one is still tablets. Surely I've got enough different kinds to stop this for now. I saw JC at the cmht today and told her I wanted to die. She seemed to understand it but then banged on about distraction techniques which are fucking useless because I can't distract myself from whats in my head. Tis impossible.

She thinks it's because I'm struggling to process what happened in Scotland and I'm stressing about the next visit. No shit Sherlock. But the truth is she's adding it by putting this intolerable pressure on me to do something about it which I don't know what to do. She thinks I can't cope with thinking about it so I'm just breaking out all over the place emotionally. Which is possible but it doesn't make it any easier to cope with. Grrrrrrrr

I have to believe this will pass but it's been a week now and I'm struggling to believe that it will. I think this is the future and I can't face a future like this. Suicide seems like the best way forward. The only reasonable solution to this overwhelming pain. But I'm scared of suicide - I need to find a way past that fear and into oblivion.

Torn in Two

On Friday I had an appointment with JC at the cmht. The reason behind this appointment was to discuss practical ways that I could organise my life so I'm not at risk from my dad. This was always going to be a difficult session.

To be honest, we talked around the subject more than we talked on it. We talked about the pressures that lead me to be at risk. How pathetically desperate I am to be loved my family. How I feel I have to protect my sisters and E. How I have this fantasy perfect family that I manage to convince myself I'm part of and how the reality never matches up with this overwhelming fantasy I've created over the years.

She said I could go up there and not stay with my parents. She doesn't understand the sheer, monstrous pressure that I feel to fit into my family and to act out the scripts that have always been mapped out for me. How for me to say I didn't want to stay with them would mean them emotionally abusing me for months and telling me how shit I am. How I cannot thole this emotional abuse any more than I can thole the other forms of abuse that comes from them. How weak and scared I feel when presented with the reality of my family.

She brought up Adult Protective Services again. I kept asking her what they could actually do to stop me going to see my family and she wouldn't reply which suggests the answer is 'not very much.' I hate being threatened with APS - it makes me feel like someone who has no control over my life and my destiny. Someone who needs to be protected from themselves, someone who is pathetic and incapable. That is not me in my head. Yes, I fuck some things up but surely I am able to have autonomy over myself. It reminds me of being in care and having other people who I didn't know and hadn't met standing over me telling me what was best for me. To put it very mildly - it makes my hackles rise big time.

Nothing was resolved in this session, nothing at all. I have to go back in a fortnight and go through it all again. I want to pin her down on what actually APS can do. I need to know what I'm fighting against to prepare for the battle properly.

I said my confession on Saturday to Fr S. After I confess the priest has an opportunity to offer advice. He echoed JC in a lot of ways. Said I had to find a way to exist with my parents which didn't include this because it broke me. Said what was happening was no good for my father either and if I wanted to honour him, I had to find a way to stop it happening. He's right. But he gave me absolution which is what I so desperately needed.

Notgod came back with a vengeance on Monday night. I fell asleep in front of the telly for half an hour and had an incredibly violent nightmare in which I was being eaten alive by a man who wanted to kill me. He kept eating chunks of me and punching me and kicking me and I couldn't escape. When I woke up I was greeted by Notgod telling me that I was an evil cunt and I deserved to be treated like this. I agree. He has been there ever since telling me of my evil and how much I need to hurt. I'm trying to hold out and not cut but it's becoming increasingly impossible. I cannot step through Notgod's speech into a world where I'm safe. I cannot do it - it is too intense and overwhelming. He takes my head over and plays with it, plays with me, my emotions, my needs, my desires. He tells me the negativity of myself that I know and increases it ten fold with his shouting. I hate Notgod and I wish he'd go away.

Last night the serial killer was very difficult. I told her how hard it was feeling torn apart. On the one hand there is my family pulling at me, yes in an incredibly impossible way for me to deal with, but pulling at me nonetheless into a world that I understood and although I hate it I fit into it. On the other hand are the grown ups in my life - JC, Fr S and the serial killer - telling me that I cannot be part of that life, that if I want to be me I have to recognise that I can no longer be that person. So I have one of these on each hand pulling at me and I'm being torn into two bits. And all the time this is going on Notgod is making it difficult for me to fight either side.

I don't know where to go from here. I spoke to the serial killer about having a break from therapy, about trying to reduce the pressure from that side. I spoke about moving back to Scotland and just giving up the fight and dealing with the pressure from that side. I spoke about my truest desire - the desire to completely give up and kill myself and stopping the pressure all together. I cannot handle the pressure.

Getting through the days

At the moment I'm running on a barely functioning level. Too much of my head is taken up with thoughts of things I don't want and can't cope thinking about.

I went to mass on Saturday and the reading was from 1 John. I was the only person there and when Fr S read:

'We are quite confident that if we ask the Son of God for anything and it is in accordance with his will, he will hear us; and, knowing that whatever we may ask, he hears us, we know that we have been granted what was asked of him'

I freaked and shouted out, 'That's not true.' I begged and pleaded with God before I went to Scotland that it be ok. I know Fr S prayed too because he told me he had. Surely not being hurt is in accordance with God's will. Surely it must be. Why could it not be? What sort of God would have my being hurt as part of his will? I was explosive with anger. Either praying didn't work or God wanted bad things to happen to me. I know this is the age old mystery of suffering and nothing new but it hit me so acutely at that moment.

I'm angry with God. I'm furious with Him. All my life I've tried to be what He wants and I can never be it because of my humanity. But I try. And every time He lets me down and allows others to hurt me. I know this is puerile and stupid but it bothers me. I don't understand what He wants from me. I don't understand what to do. I remember as a small child trying to stay up all night praying in the hope that bad things wouldn't happen. But they still did. Over and over and over again. God didn't listen to me. I believed it was because of my evil. He still doesn't listen to me now.

Fr S was quiet for a moment and then he just continued gently while I completely sobbed in the pew. I was desperate, absolutely desperate and full of grief because I felt so abandoned by a God that at times seems capricious in His behaviour.

I managed to hold it together at work until I got home when I spent the evening curled up on the sofa with my jumper over my head like a two year old, crying. I cried most of the night - I felt so abandoned by God, so abandoned by the one entity who supposedly never leaves or forsakes you. I understand the saying on the cross, 'My God, My God, why have You forsaken me?' I understand it with a depth and intensity beyond bearing.

On Sunday I completely lost it. I didn't go to mass in the morning. I curled up on the sofa with my jumper over my head again and cried instead. In the afternoon Fr S phoned to see if I was coming to the service that night as I was meant to be reading at it but I couldn't stop crying to speak to him. All I could say was that I was too evil to go into church and I couldn't read there. The reading didn't help either. It contained a line about sinners not entering heaven. I can't remember the exact context because I ripped it up into pieces on Sunday afternoon because I couldn't handle it.

I must have been a complete mess on the phone because Fr S phoned back later on to see if I was ok. I wasn't. I'd just cut myself for the first time in ages and was beating myself up over it because I was gutted that I'd messed up. I just wanted to give up and not exist any longer. I couldn't handle the pain I was feeling inside. All the hatred and evil squirming around inside me, destroying me, hating me , taking me over. Overwhelming awfulness.

On Monday I had to phone JC at the cmht which I did. She was actually very reassuring and told me that it wasn't the end of the world to cut myself as I was trying to cope with something that most people would struggle to cope with. We talked about the week coming up and what I would have to cope with and how I would do it and if I didn't manage it completely it didn't really matter. Except it did. I got through the day in work mode - desperately stopping anything real from bothering me by being the chirpy bright person who makes people laugh. It worked to some extent.

I went to the serial killers on Tuesday and just sobbed. I sat there for fifty minutes and pretty much did nothing but cry horribly and hopelessly. I tried to talk but I was crying so hard I couldn't really. Pretty pointless session really unless she understands just how hard I'm finding things at the moment.

After the serial killers I went to mass. (This is turning into quite a religious post isn't it). Going was probably the most helpful thing that's happened this week. The reading was the story of Hannah being desperate for a child and praying so hard the priest thinks she's pissed. Fr S talked about how Hannah was 'praying in the bitterness of her soul' and how we should also feel about to approach God from the bitterness of our souls. That immediately made me sit up and think. That was how I was feeling - my soul was infested in anger and bitterness and I didn't need to hide it from God, I could be honest with Him and pray of my grief and sadness and hopelessness and abandonment. A very good thing.

The serial killers on Wednesday was much more difficult. For some reason we got onto discussing what actually happened in Scotland. She kept using the word 'rape' and I kept responding very negatively to it. I was begging her not to say it because I couldn't handle hearing it or dealing with the repercussions of it. She said 'rape is what it is when someone holds you down, stops you from breathing and forces you.' I was hyperventilating and crying and begging her not to say it because to hear it out loud made it true. I snapped then and shouted, 'he raped me thing, he raped me now and he raped me then. He raped me over and over and over. Are you happy now?' before running out the room and throwing up. Great, what a mental. I had to go back in because my stuff was there and she looked quite shocked. I think she understands now how difficult I find that concept. I hate the word, I can write it down but I really struggle to say it out loud. It overwhelms me with its connotations and thought structures. I was really angry at her for forcing me to say it and for forcing the thoughts and the word.

I had to do a reading at a funeral today and I was very nervous but it went ok. I'm glad I went actually because it calmed me down a lot in my head. I'm beginning to think maybe God can be trusted. I don't know where that thought has come from but I think its time to go to confession and let myself take part in the Eucharist again.

A difficult week. And I still have to face the cmht tomorrow. I'm exhausted and emotionally completely worn out. I wish I could have some time off to cope but I can't. I have to keep going at work until my next leave at the end of February.

What is rape anyway?

Is it when you acquiesce because in your head you can't believe there is an option anymore?
Is it when you acquiesce because you've turned into an abused four year old in your head and are utterly terrified?
Is it when he holds you down and puts his hand over your mouth and stops you from breathing?
What is rape anyway?

What word can I use to describe what happened? Is rape the right word? It seems too big, too strong, too offensive a word to describe it. But it may be the right word. I don't know. All I know is how I feel now.

I want to die. I want to exist no more. I don't want the whirling of thoughts in my head. I want to escape from this. This hell of the making of him and me. It wasn't only me. It was him as well. I think. I don't know.

I can't look back further than what happened. I can't look forward. I can't bear the present. I can't exist in this explosion of pain that is ripping through me. I can't fit in my head anymore.

I hate me. I hate me beyond hating. I hate what happened and I hate what I did in response. The response to being raped (if it is rape) should not be to go and get beaten and sleep with a married man. I am a sinner beyond excuse. Beyond redemption. Beyond existence.

And I don't even know if it is rape.

Christmas is Coming - *Panic*

On Christmas Eve I'm driving up to Scotland for a weeks holiday. I will be staying with my parents. Yes this is a stupid thing to do. No I don't feel as if I have a choice. I'm already big time stressing about it and have been for a wee while. I don't know if I'll be able to cope. We shall see.

Last weekend the stressing got really bad. I wanted to cut myself but I'm refusing at the moment because its a bad thing to do. I took the weekend off work and took a lot of tramadol. Not an overdose nor because I was in pain and required serious pain killers but because it left me feeling out of myself enough that I didn't feel anything. Not feeling is the way forward. I know this is a bad way to behave and I shouldn't do it but it worked for a couple of days and it made things bearable.

I knew I really needed the serial killer this week to work my way through the complex and difficult thoughts I'm experiencing about going up to Scotland. I was gutted on Tuesday when I got caught in an accident and only arrived at the session with four minutes to go. I needed that. I desperately needed that and instead I was stuck in the car staring up the arse of a tanker that wasn't going anywhere.

I went on Wednesday and it was a really difficult session. It was the last session before she goes on a fortnights break and I desperately didn't want her to go anywhere. Even if I'm away, I wanted to know that she would be there for me to keep me safe. Stupid cow. This is after I begged her last week to come up to Scotland with me to keep me safe. She can't keep me safe. Nobody can keep me safe.

I realised I was terrified that she wouldn't come back after the holidays. I kept asking her and she refused to say 'yes' instead settling with, 'It's my intention.' That wasn't good enough for me and I had a complete panic attack on her. Why couldn't she promise me she would come back. Is she intending to be eaten by a giant dinosaur next week or something. I need to know that she'll come back or I'll probably start believing she's dead again which was a bad position to be in.

She thinks things have moved on since I last went to Scotland. I'm not so sure. She thinks because I now have a memory of what happened to me as an adult I can use it to protect me. I think that's not true. I know that if it comes to it I will be utterly and completely unable to say no. I don't think I realise saying no is an option in these circumstances. I keep replaying over and over in my mind what happened last time I was up and trying to make sense of it. There is no sense to it, just a horrible pornographic abuse tape playing constantly in my head. Bleurgh. Horrible. It makes me want to vomit. It was bad last night. I was in bed and I couldn't escape it. Result - another day off sick for me. Fail, fail, fail.

We talked about how I'd met a man online that I was tempted to meet up with on Saturday so he can hurt me. She thinks this is a bad idea. So do I but I know I need it. What does she care? She's going away anyway. She thinks that my decision to meet him is to do with her not being there. Probably it is but its also to do with my overwhelming need to self harm and my utter refusal to do so. I need to hurt. Please God let me hurt. Also its good preparation for what will undoubtedly happen in Scotland.

I feel so confused and alone. She doesn't care - all she wants is a happy little Christmas with whatever happy little family she has. She doesn't care about the fact I'm absolutely terrified about whats going to happen. I need her and she doesn't want me. Irrational I know.

I keep deciding to cancel going north but that means I won't get a chance to see E and I desperately want to see him. It's been more than three months since I've seen him and I don't want to miss out on this so important part of his growing up. I also need to believe that he's safe and if I see him maybe I can believe that.

Anyway I know this is a completely whining blog and I'm sorry - things are just getting on top of me at the moment.

Well that was weird

Today I had an appointment with a social worker who works with both social services and the cmht to discuss the situation with E. I found it really quite weird and depressing.

It started off with her telling me she had to report what I was going to tell her to social services. I responded by telling her that I had no intention of giving her enough information for her to be able to do so, something I managed to keep to.

We discussed why I was so fearful about social services and I told her that I thought they were crap. We had a discussion about how a lot of that was predicated on my experiences of care but I managed to persuade her that that wasn't entirely the case being that I used to work for the social work department of a council and that I currently have close contact on a professional basis with social services. I told her I knew they were overworked, underfunded and on many occasions burnt out and cynical and that I didn't feel that people in that position were best able to deal with the circumstances.

Unfortunately I also lost it and told her I was terrified that they would take E into care. By this point I was crying and trying to persuade her that I wasn't being emotional about this but trying to be as objective as possible to which she replied, 'I can see that.' Bitch.

I told her what I had done - the letters I had written, the conversations I'd had and attempted to have with I, what happened in Scotland and the fact I'm planning on phoning my brother in law tonight to discuss this. I didn't mention that I'm terrified of the conversation. I also told her what the solicitor had said and how I wasn't prepared to go to the police.

I said I wasn't prepared to speak to social services without a guarantee that they would behave minimally and appropriately. She said that there were no guarantees. She talked about when she was persuading someone to go into hospital because she thought that would be the best place for them but that she knew the chances were they would be medicated against there will, harassed by other patients and possibly raped. At last someone as cynical as me. She said even if I went to social services there would be nothing to stop E being raped by a teacher. Great. I know she was trying to say that there were no guarantees but I just found it horrible.

One thing she did say was that I couldn't stop something happening entirely. I could only do my best. I told her that that wasn't good enough. She said that was my emotions and my history talking and that I had to do what I could and then walk away because I couldn't go on like this. I know this to be true but I don't know if I can do this. I'm always going to be terrified.

I can't remember how we got on to it but we discussed the fact that one of the things stopping me is my desire for the perfect family. She said I had to choose between what I wanted and protecting E which upset me as i thought that was somewhat unfair considering I've been trying so fucking hard to put something in place to protect E and I was fucking raped trying to protect him. Ho hum.

Then she started banging on about the Adult Protective Service and asking me about the referral. I got very cross as it wasn't what the meeting was meant to be about and its something that makes me feel deeply vulnerable anyway. She kept asking what my problem was and I admitted that I didn't want to be thought of as someone who needed a referral. I also told her I was angry because I know the police are involved in APS and I thought it was up to me whether the police found out about what was going on rather than someone elses. I said the whole thing made me feel very emasculated and I didn't want to discuss it further.

So now I have to talk to K tonight. I currently feel really low, vulnerable, worthless and overtaken with the uselessness of what I'm going to do. I can't protect E. Nobody can protect E. I don't know why I'm even trying to except because I'm a selfish fuck who wants a family. Not even just a selfish fuck - a selfish fuck who needs social services involvement herself because she's too much of a mental to be allowed her own autonomy. And I have to phone K and tell him his wife was abused for years, that E is potentially at risk and that she left him with dad to go for a run. A conversation I can't wait to have.