New Worries and What Ifs

In the last few weeks it seems to have become a weekly requirement that I accompany my mother to the McFaul household, or at least the houses of the descendants thereof. This does not please me especially, but I tend not to argue. I cannot bear my mother’s whinging that I am “contrary” or “unappreciative” or whatever negative adjective she has recently learned. So I just go, and behave in an introspective fashion throughout. That’s if I don’t crack up, that is.

Anyhow, this week was no different. Yesterday evening wasn’t too bad, though I became annoyed at my cousin Sarah once again trying to offer her own brand of psychoanalysis on both her and myself. Other than that, I just sat with her son, ScumFan, whilst he played his X-Box and watched Family Guy.

But despite the presence of a sleeping pill, I hardly slept at all last night. I have become increasingly neurotic about the welfare of Marcus, Sarah’s grandson, Maisie’s great-grandson, the baby alluded to here. I will come back to that in a moment. Additionally, I was worrying about C (of whom I can now speak in non-abstract terms) and the psychiatrist on Friday.

Let’s start with C. The last fortnight has been absolutely crazy and I am baffled as to how I will condense it all into 50 minutes for his dubious delectation. I am nervous about even seeing him again. How will he react to the cutting episode? Will he blame himself? Should I care if he does? Regardless of whether or not I should care, of course I do. And I am still pissed off about him not being there last week, though I coped much better with it than I did the last time there was a fortnight between sessions. Or did I? Did I not have at least two major episodes of possible psychosis and definite loss of lucidity?

This post, written by From the Same Sky, kind of sums up how annoyed I was with C, though if I am entirely honest I was most of all hurt by his absence. Pathetic. In fairness to C, he did warn me well in advance that he would not be there last week, but in fairness to From the Same Sky’s therapist, at least she tried to rearrange the appointment, which C did not. That’s somewhat irritating.

Anyhow, although it is nice to openly refer to C as C again, avoiding mention of him on this blog for over a week was surprisingly easy. OK, so I didn’t avoid mention of him. I actually suffered from severe mentionitis. But at least it was non-personal and abstract, and largely relevant to the points I was making rather than just C-obsessed rambling shit. Or at least I hope it was..? Interestingly, he did not pervade my thoughts during the C-on-the-blog-fast as much as he had done previously.

But he did pervade many of my thoughts last night – or rather, what I was going to say to him did. I went over and over the minutiae of the last few weeks, trying to work out what was and wasn’t relevant. However, unfortunately I still don’t know; nothing is resolved and I will be walking into the appointment tomorrow mentally and intellectually blind.

The overthinking about the psychiatrist was along similar lines. I have my first appointment with him/her on Friday morning, after Lovely GP successfully pushed the appointment through. It’s not that I am not glad of this; of course I am. It’s about time and it is a necessity.

I have no idea whether this person is a man or a woman – I’d prefer the former, but I can live with the latter if she is competent and empathetic enough. My main concern is that he or she is a recently qualified medical doctor who is merely training in psychiatry. That’s better than nothing and I will try and not to pre-judge the person if this is the case, but it is a potential concern.

Basically there is stuff I have not discussed even now with C, such as some of my more interesting hallucinations, that really do need to be brought up with the psychiatrist. Tomorrow, after C, I will work on the list I made for him here, and add the additional stuff to it. I was mentally trying to do this last night, but again to no avail.

The other issue as alluded to briefly above was the welfare of Marcus. I have always believed, rightly or wrongly, that I was the only one sexually abused by Maisie’s husband. I don’t know why; I suppose I just have seen no evidence of any effects of such abuse on anyone else – but then would they see it in me? It could well be a factor in my mental illness, but there are plenty of other issues too.

I lay awake worrying, however, that the kid is not entirely safe. I am a female, and I was about 10 when he abused me. The baby is just over one, and is male. Nevertheless, does the mind of a paedophile necessarily care about these distinctions?

I have often castigated myself for not pursuing the matter, for fear that my belief that I was the only victim was actually incorrect. I have a number of younger cousins (strictly speaking they are my cousin’s children, my cousins-once-removed, but given that my actual cousins are in the main a lot older than me and I grew up largely with their children, I generally just refer to my cousins’ kids as my cousins. For the sake of reference, Marcus is my cousin-twice-removed; my cousin’s grandson. Maybe I should draw a fucking family tree to explain this mess of a family). Were they victims too? Did I allow them to be?

So now there is a new child, his great-grandson, and there will be others I’m sure. Am I condemning them to something vile and unspeakable?

I detailed briefly my reasons for keeping quiet here; essentially, I have no wish to ruin my mother’s (and some of the others’) life/lives by fucking up the entire family. Most of them, all of them probably, wouldn’t believe me even if the issue was made public. Unless, of course, I was not the only one. In any case, there is absolutely no proof that it ever happened, and since I am mental I’m sure they would think it was a figment of my imagination.

Indeed, is that a possibility? What even is my reality? What has it ever been? Is it really fucked up that I have been known to deliberately dress provocatively in front of Maisie’s husband to frustrate him cos he can’t control me and my sexuality now? Is he real? Am I real? Do I care one way or the other?

So all this cack was going through my head last night. Lots of fun and games. Today was even worse though; I was exhausted and had try to maintain enthusiasm over the baby whilst he was babysat by the various McFaul family cocks whilst his thankfully vaguely normal mother was at work.

The baby is OK. I don’t like children, but really, he is OK. He is extraordinarily well behaved for a child of his age and frankly has kept me sane a few times when the crowds and the noise in that God-forsaken house become too much for me. But all I wanted to do was sleep, and at one point I did pass out on the chair. Apparently Marcus found this amusing, but he let me be and waited until I was awake to demand my attention.

Anyway. There is no computer in the house and the cellular internet access is rubbish (they live in the arse of nowhere) and can only be accessed from one or two tiny points in the house, so I had to break free from the prison of the twatting living room to get contact with the outside world. Checking some messages, I saw a new blog post from Introspective at Conversations with my Head.

Introspective’s abuse was so severe that it makes my very different and largely one-off experience with Maisie’s husband look like a scene from Mary Poppins, so I cannot and will not compare the two situations. All I will say is that her post resonated with me in light of my overnight thoughts.

So after reading (and commenting on) this, I went back to the bastardhole living room. I walked in on Maisie’s husband cuddling and kissing and slobbering over Marcus and I nearly freaked out. (NB: I would have freaked out whether or not I’d read Introspective’s blog, given my insomniac thoughts).

Let me put this in context. The baby is treated with such rapt adoration in the household that it borders on reverence. When he arrives, all attention instantly diverts to (and remains with) him. Maisie’s husband’s behaviour was not in any way unusual; indeed, it was conducted in an open fashion in front of several others. It is almost certainly simply a demonstration of great-grand-paternal love and affection.

But my paranoid mind will not allow itself to be entirely convinced. What if? What if? Is it the start of something? Where does it lead? Will it be my fault if he touches the child?

I don’t know. I hope these fears are thoroughly unjustified, because I know I’m probably not going to act on them unless I have genuine reason and evidence that causes suspicion. Bad.

Anyone following the above link to my comment on Introspective’s blog will see that I confessed something there that I’ve never confessed to anyone before. It’s in the public domain now so I might as well acknowledge it here too. I haven’t deliberately hidden it from anyone; it’s just such a usual (if bizarre) part of my existence that I have never thought to bring it up.

When I go to bed at night, I see hideous, warping, bizarre and deeply frightening shapes. I recognise now that these are probably some sort of hallucinations, but I have been having them for so long, since I was about six or seven I’d guess, that I have hitherto not thought of them as such. I said here that the first manifestation of mental fuckuppery in me was the itchy feet, but I hadn’t considered the shapes, because I am so used to them now. They don’t come every night – but certainly many.

They’re hard to describe. There’s always a black background, and the shapes are sort of grey-ish – it’s sort of like seeing them through a haze too. They are 3D and of the consistency, I suppose, of the ‘lava’ in a lava lamp. Except they are far less benevolent than the stuff in a lava lamp. They warp in shape and size. They seek to suffocate me, fuck with my head and drive me thoroughly mad, to hurt me, damage me, kill me – or at least haunt my consciousness.

I don’t much react to them in any outward way anymore; as I say, much as their malevolence frightens me, I am used to them and kind of expect them now. In any case, this is one for the psychiatrist, I think. I hope I don’t start protecting him/her too…

So to bed. I wonder if actually thinking about them will encourage the shapes to come tonight? I wonder if my fears re: Marcus/Maisie’s husband are justified? I wonder will I crack up in front of C tomorrow? I wonder will I sleep at all tonight? I wonder what the point of anything is?

Well, I’ll be back tomorrow with my usual post-C analysis, I’m sure. Good night.

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3 thoughts on “New Worries and What Ifs

  1. I wish I could make a comment that was useful but I can’t. All I can say is that I know where you are. And it fucking sucks. Everytime I get an unexpected chap at the door or the phone rings part of my mind is convinced it’s the police saying my dads been arrested. I’m terrified that because I’m too pathetic to say anything or do anything that other children have been hurt. My fears about the baby are just all of this focussed. The what ifs are truly awful.

    As to comparing abuse – there’s no point. I’m coming to the belief that in many ways the abuse is irrelevant – what’s important is the impact it has on ones psyche. There’s no hierarchy of abuse.

    Please take care and good luck with C.

  2. Your blog is seriously blowing me away. The memories of abuse that I’d never mentioned until last year, seeming unreal, terrifying bloblike shapes in the dark trying to kill me (thank FUCK they were only there when I was 4 and never came back). It truly sucks. 😦

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