*note* - I am not cutting now. This is simply what is on my mind when I look at the cuts from last week. This is me, this is my history, this is the pain. I wish to share with you.
-one of the others, im sorry I cant tell you my name

These scars
and cuts

They are my history. They are my pride, they are my embarassment. They are the worst and the best thing that I could ever hope for. They are the culimnation of years of being violated again and again. They are the only thing I have as proof of What They Did. I am angry, I am angry at them. I am angry, but I am not angry because I am terrified of what my anger would be like if it came out.. I am just irritated mostly. I wish I could get agry.

Instead, I cut. Slash. ANGER. Slash SADNESS SLASH SLASH SLASH.

As I look at these damnations, I feel the roughness against my skin,run my fingers over the ridges of ugliness, skin that I so diligently broke, I say to myself "Look! Look here! SEE HERE! I AM TELLING THE TRUTH! SEE MY PAIN! This one here, this is for the day he took me to school and punched me in the mouth and called me a *****. These, these are for when he snuck into my bedroom late at night. This one, is for when mommy lost control and kicked and kicked and kicked. These are my ******* badges of honour that I SURVIVED and this is half the reason I do it. I do it for the release, I do it for the sight of the blood - maybe if I drain a little at a time the bad energy will drain with it.

Badges of honour, that shame me and make me hide. Imagine if they gave away cuts to soldiers coming home from the pointless wars they fight - Is it a pointless war I fight within myself? Should I just give?

Why don't I have enough bades of honour now anyways. Lord knows, Ive cut enough over the last twelve years. You know you are good when you can cut in the washroom because you remembered your razorblade in your purse, while having lunch with your therapist.

I look to the future and wonder, is this it? Forever a slander of criss crossing fury with no pattern, no design. Is it a cry for attention? Lord knows it is. It is a cry for validation, a cry for someone to save me from myself. It Is a cry because the only woman who beileved me has died. my grandmother was my goddess, she taught me everything I know that is good. She was the ray of light in an otherwise horrid, slime covered, domesticated cattle childhood. They say, " we cant admit you, because you are not suicidal and you don't cut badly enough"

I breath.

I stare.

I wonder if next time I should try and go deeper.

Goddess forgive me, why in the hell is it that my pain IS NOT VALID because I do not want to die? MY PAIN IS DAMN VALID. I AM SAYING IT TO YOU BUT YOU DO NOT HEAR.

I do not want to die, I want this to go away. I want to wake up and have it be morning and it be clear, I want to walk to the windowsill, open the window, take a deep breath and be excited for the day.

Instead, I cut.

I show others, and cringe. What good are badges of honour if you cannot show them off?

I wonder to myself, is there any honour in these after all?

I wonder what will happen if I just go a little deeper.

I wonder what will happen if I just go a little less deep.

I wonder what will happen if I stop.

Will the world stop moving? will I leave and will an alter take over and do it for me? this is cruel, I am cruel and I have to be.

for if noone abuses me, I will have to. Someone does, bad girl, dirty girl. Slap. Crash. Bang. Hold Still. Bad.

Daddy had a gun rack, but he never hunted. When we were four, daddy held a shotgun to our head. The bastard made us put his disgusting thing in our mouth. We were so scared, we couldn't hold our pee in. He slapped us for it. We were so scared...

Cut.

When we were 12, we began to understand. We locked our bedroom door when he was after us. We screamed. He broke the door down. We tried to jump out the window, anything would have been beter than what he would do. He pulled us back, and beat us. His hand on our bum, no, no no...Fetal position, desperately trying to hold our little pajama bottoms on. He spanks us, but he spanks us and then we feel his hands all over, and then pressure and then more pressure and it felt like the whole world tore apart, and then we were gone.... the leaf outside the leaf outside, the leaf outside... Jack Frost is our best friend. He makes patterns for us to go to the special place in.

When we were little, nine we think, we arent sure. Mommy wanted us to do the dishes. It was summertime and we were at the wonderful summer cabin. We liked it there because daddy couldn't go. We wanted to read comic books in the loft, and not do dishes. We didn't know this would make her hit. And hit, and hit.. and we fell, to the floor, and tried to go numb, but the kicking,the kicking and in the ribs and in the parts daddy hurt so many times before..

Cut.

When we were 11, daddy came to th summer cabin and we wouldn't stack wood. Our best friend Erin was there, and watched him punch me so hard I fell to the ground.

She ran to tell my mom. My mom told her I probably deserved it.

when we went to court, that was the only thing he said he did. The rest he denied.

Cut.

And the bastard had the gall to smile at me in court, and lean his arms back, and yawn, I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take him and hit him and hit him and make him hurt like he hurt me.... and I wanted him to be good daddy again too..

Cut

When I was 12, after I ran away, when I suddenly stopped calling him on the polices investigation, he sent me 1500 worth of mall certificates. With a note, that said he hoped I wasnt upset with him, LOVE DAD

Yeah dad. you bastard. Try and buy me off will you.

I wasn't going to use the certificates, but my grandmother, the woman she was GRHS, told me that after everything he did, I deserved those certificates and I should go out and buy whatever I wanted, not even withstanding what anyone else said.

I went out and bought soft fuzzy clothes, pretty clothes, even a skirt, which I was never allowed to wear when i lived with daddy. Bastard didnt want to share the skin with anyone.

Cut.

In grade 7 I told my friend in school about him hitting me. She took me to her house while her mother called childrens aid. They talked to my dad. They told me to go home. THEY TOLD ME TO GO HOME. THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME AND THEY DIDNT AND THAT MAKES ME ANGRY

CUT.

See spot cut. See spot bleed.

See spot get stitches and feel horrible and wonderful about it all at the same time.

Look, Look Sally, see spot fall apart. See baby spot make desperate cries for help.

See everyone ignore spot.

Spot does not matter. Spot is only a dog, and dogs are only good for one thing.

When I finally got away at age 13, the longest most brutal embarassing trial took way. It lasted until I was 17.

When they questioned me, I would go away. I would go someplace else. I confused words like penis and vagina - I said at one point during trial that he put his vagina in my penis... I was terrified, and the defence murdered me for it, saying that I rehearsed my statement. And that I was lying. I got mad. I even yelled at the defence, saying why the hell would I go through four years of this garbage if I was lying?

They also said that because I only told them about as much as that %#@&#! putting his mouth on me at pretrial, then I told everything at trial. WELL NO %#@&#! I WAS A TERRIFIED LITTLE 14 YEAR OLD GIRL WHOS FATHER WAS STALKING HER. really, what did you expect. Excuse the cursing, but it needs to be said.

He was a forester. I can NOT be anywhere near the sound of a chainsaw now. I see him, I can smell the woodchips in the shed where he ran his hands over my flat innocent chest...WHAT KIND OF MAN LIKES THIS AND WHERE IS MY DADDY MY PROTECTOR AND MY ROLE MODEL.

He bought me everything I wanted. I had a car phone when I was 10. Because he wanted my mouth shut.

I dated a drug dealer/gang member when I was 17. I let him to the same.

He never hit me, but he %#@&#! with my mind so much until I was basically brainwashed from dating him.

I never would have dated him if someone had protected me.

You know what? Im having a cigarette. And I dont give two shits if anyone says smoking is bad for you, you know what else is bad for you? Pedophiles and violent and emotionally abusive people. People who leave children to their own devices out of laziness or some other thing that is not beyond their measure.

Therapy is so hard. It hurts, sometimes physcially all over again.

I hate it
I hate the mirror
I hate nothing though at the same time. There is just this perpetual sadness every bone in my body. The ache. The need to release it. I cut.

But I do other things to. I spend. ALOT.
I drink, because it takes away my fear. Not everyday, maybe once every two weeks or so. For that little amount of time I can be in the crowd of dancing people at my favorite bar, and I can smile without shaking.

I know its bad, but its what I do right now. It wont always be.

I sometimes take the drug mdma. Now, I don't take street pills. I get it from a reliable source who uses it non officially(though they are a psychologist) for mdma therapy. Its been a while since I have. I have had wonderful results when trying therapy while on it. It is like I can open up and I can show the pain in a way that is understandable to others. I can cry without shame. I can ask for help. I can get help. I don't hide.

When I was 18, I met a guy on the phone lines *party chat here locally* I was so lonely and afraid of my dad, i thought that if I had a guy around he would protect me.

On our first date he raped me. He held me down, and asked me if it felt good while I cried. After he was done, he rolled off of me and said "oh my god, are you crying?"

BASTARD. you were on top of me while I was saying no, like you couldnt tell i was crying.

I never told the police. I let him walk. The ex I dated offered to have his fingers broken. I said ok. I feel terrible, awful, the most horrible person on the world for this now. But at the same time, I don't.

My lover now, God bless his heart, he is so good and pure. And so patient. One of the littles actually trusted him enough to come out tonight over msn messenger. She was hiding in her snail shell but she came out and said:

*hides under imaginary snail shell*
21/03/2006 10:46:39 PM ||Shade Mandie - exhausted you wont get hurt
21/03/2006 10:46:47 PM Mandie - exhausted ||Shade *peeks out*
21/03/2006 10:46:54 PM ||Shade Mandie - exhausted *smiles*
21/03/2006 10:47:22 PM Mandie - exhausted ||Shade *in echoey voice* snails ware shells so they dont get hurt
21/03/2006 10:47:44 PM Mandie - exhausted ||Shade im goin to ware a snale shell too
21/03/2006 10:47:48 PM Mandie - exhausted ||Shade (sn)
21/03/2006 10:47:53 PM ||Shade Mandie - exhausted okies hun
Mandie - exhausted: tap tap
||Shade- *peeks in a little*
||Shade hi are you men man or are u nic man
||Shade - im a nice man
Mandie - exhausted: you kan com in too if yor skard
||Shade: meow?

She went to hide after that.

Im terrified he will leave me now because of this. I mean it has to be weird right.

I hate being the survivor of abuse. I wish I was something else.

There is so much more, but I just cant type anymore.

Thank you for listening.