I won't go.

Also copied from my livejournal:


My mother is huffing around because I don't want to go to a performance at the theatre I used to go to. Not shouting at present because she is 'too ill'.

I used to go there until I gave up because I wasn't enjoying it anymore. I was far too busy being worried I would be assaulted again.

Even if he still goes there and is in the cast I see, I would be unlikely to see him. 

I still don't want to go. I wouldn't want to go even if I was the only person in the building.

My mother doesn't know and she booked the tickets after a fair amount of guilt tripping. So "Well, you told me you wanted to go" doesn't hold up because I explicitly told her I didn't. Many times.

She won't just accept "I don't want to" and has turned it into some sort of "Well, next time you want me to go and see something with you…" followed by how selfish I am and how she doesn't want to see anything I want to.

Which isn't true. She's always been enthusiastic about musicals we've seen and my mother decidedly isn't enthusiastic about things she doesn't like.

I am aware that if she doesn't know, she can't do anything about it, ect.

The time I tried to tell her I'd be assaulted (a different time to the above), she told me I didn't know what the words I was using meant. The time after her sister (who used to be my mother's ex-boyfriend's boss) accused my mother's ex-boyfriend of watching child porn, I got yelled at for suggesting that he might because no way would he do such a thing. Admittedly, I didn't think it was abuse that the time but I was 11? 12? She should have known.

So. I'm not telling her.

Even if she did believe me - which since it wouldn't incriminate her in any way is possible, though I'm not sure how the time when I was 13 would either - she'd just use it as an excuse to shout at lots of people, guilt trip me and whine about how I don't trust her.

For the time being, she is going to take her best friend and godson. I'm not allowed to stay here for the weekend when I could go to my fathers and if I'm behaving selfishly I don't get a choice. Now I'm supposed to phone him and explain why I have to go.

I understand that it is hardly a bad punishment but I don't think it should be a punishment. Or, that she could at least deliver her disappointment (anger? It's hard to tell.) differently. It shouldn't be a shock; I told her months ago that I very much didn't want to go.

Edit: My father has refused to have us because he doesn't want to get ill. So, we're staying here.

This post is like my head: a mess - Part Two

Part of Christmas Eve was spent sleeping on the bathroom floor because my mother insisted she'd share the bed my brother and I had and I couldn't bare the idea, even though I don't think she'd sexually abuse me (again). She would wait until we were almost asleep and then wake us up with yelling.

Cruel words fire out of her twisted mouth, as she leers over my stepfather who kept his eyes shut. I grab my brother and ran into the bedroom. I'm still not strong enough to hold the door shut. My brother begs me to open it as her fists pummelled the door. He wants Mummy back. He wants nobody to get hurt.

He puts himself out there to stop it, shaking as hard I do. I covered my head with my hands. I cannot protect him. I have failed. I am a failure.

We attempt to comfort each other later that night. But we barely hug. If I hug him, I might cry more and I might be heard. I wish I could stop shaking enough to save him.

Another night I attempt to push her out of my room.

The shouting continues. It starts in the mornings and tapers off and then starts up again.

My stepfather calls her a horrible woman. Tells her she uses us as pawns.

My mother will later pretend nothing has happened, just as she has before.

I argue back for the first time in years. I want her to hurt, but ultimately she will hurt me more. I want to show my brother that he shouldn't copy that behaviour.

Later, I manage to keep my brother in our room by pointing out that "If anything does happen [stepfather] is stronger than either of us." I stare up at the ceiling, waiting for the shouting to end. He later asks me if he can leave to go to the toilet. I feel cruel because I have detained him.

My mother doesn't want to ski, she doesn't want to stay behind and she doesn't want to be alone. She sleeps peacefully and then jumps up and begins her shouting tirade. My brother was getting his shoes but now feels compelled to stay. I grab him but realise he doesn't have his shoes. I try to get his shoes but my mother launches herself towards me and I put him down quickly. She grabs my hair and the back of my coat - though it doesn't hurt - and shoves me towards the fridge. My stepfather must have stepped in because I didn't hit the fridge.

We leave my brother behind because he won't come, go to meet up with friends. I am ill and worried. His phone is turned off so my mother can't get through to him because she called and yelled down the phone. She claimed they had no money (though she did) and that we were being cruel to my brother. I had to deal with the rude text messages because my stepfather was driving.

My brother showed me the missing part of her phone case, broken from where she had thrown it against the wall.

We go out for dinner with my stepfather's friends and she transforms herself into the perfect mother.

I cannot split 'Mummy' and 'The Mother' - named so after I read that someone abused did that with theirs many years ago, though I do not remember its title - without knowing what I am doing. I have recently made an attempt to merge them. I now see everything my mother does as a plot to keep me quiet.

I tell my mother of her shouting and how I used to fear coming home (when I was younger and things were worse), how I wasn't allowed to smile. I do not mention that one occasion she sexually abused me, nor how she used to laugh when her ex-boyfriend used to sexually abuse me or the dozens of other things.  She tells me my memories are warped and that she is not a superhuman. She asks me, still shouting, what I want from her, but I do not say because I can never have what I want.

You cannot change who people are. - My mother

She asked me if I forgave her, though she didn't accept my memories or apologise. I told her "No." She tells me I can talk to her, strokes my cheek and tells me she loves me. She asks if I love her, I say I do but I cannot trust her.

She returned to her shouting tirade the next morning. To her mocking and snide comments.

I am terrified that she will become more angry when social services question her. I am filled with doubt about speaking out. Things aren't so bad now. I am mostly haunted by my dreams, my fears and memories.


For reference, I have been sexually, emotionally, and physically abused as well as neglected  inthe past. I know this post probably seems as though nothing has happened. This post covers different times of day and different days altogether. Nor is it exhaustive.

This post is like my head: a mess - Part One

I wrote this, yesterday. It remains unfinished because I couldn't bare the pain. I wrote it while trying not to pick up a knife:

I texted my friend to tell her I was back in England and asked her if she wanted to do anything in study leave, unless she was actually going to study for the entire thing in which case afterwards (I have no exams until June but I intend to do the work I should have done over the holidays).
It was more pleading, actually. Since I offer to give up my free ticket and pay for someone else if we went to the cinema. I gave the reason for this that my mother is still being an arsehat. My friend picked up on this, phoned me, explained that I shouldn't come into school tomorrow because it is study leave and asked me what was wrong and was I okay. I told her I was fine and it didn't matter.
I don't think she believed me because I don't even believe myself.
I'm not accustomed to being phoned, or people who in real life seeming concerned who aren't being paid to.
But I hit the same block as I usually do. My mother could probably have heard through the walls, though I could have gone downstairs.
If I start speaking rather than typing, I feel like I might fall to pieces or never stop crying or that my room might just suck me in like a big black hole. I want to speak almost as much as I don't want to speak.
I want to tell her that one of the reasons I'm a bad friend is because I feel as though I'm constantly keeping a secret, but there are other reasons. I want to explain why she shouldn't be my friend because I am bad at it, but I don't want her to lie and tell me otherwise and I don't want to lose her as a friend.

I had returned from a holiday to Canada earlier that day. Skiing is one of my favourite things to do, however my holiday was tainted by all the arguing.

I do not know.

I do not know if I have autism anymore. I have met my psychologist. I have another appointment in February.

I have since reported child abuse.

I cannot tell where my problems start and end.

It is possible for both to exist together.

This blog will probably talk about child abuse now because I feel am damaging my online life by keeping it on my livejournal.

I've been ill since mid-July, I think it was.

Remember that doctor's appointment I was going to? Yes? (Okay, most likely not because you're probably reading this post prior to the previous one.)

I wanted to avoid a referral to the Children and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAHMS) and go to a particular place; I've hear CAMHS aren't so good.

I lost my nerve before that part.

I got asked ridiculous questions like "Are you good with computers?" and completely missed a joke again, except this time I didn't even realise until afterwards when my mother told me.

There was also "Do you have any friends?" (apparently, I don't talk to my friends enough for me to fail this) and   "Do you not understand what people are saying, or just can't express yourself?" with "Can you read the reactions of other people?".

I even got "Do you prefer talking on Facebook or face-to-face?" I so very nearly replied "I use other methods, such as instant messaging." As I opened my mouth to say this, I realised she actually meant "Do you prefer talking to people by electronic communication from a distance, or face-to-face?"

I told her I preferred talking to people on Facebook.

I also got a referral for a blood test. Testing for a variety of things, such as anaemia, glandular fever, diabetes, liver dysfunction and more.

I won't hear from CAMHS for months and the blood test results won't come through until Monday or Tuesday.

I'm not sure I like the updated interface so much.

The oddest things come out of infections. (Sorry about the disjointed text.)

I now have an an ear infection. I've had it for a few weeks but I thought it had to be really bad to go to the doctors about, also I wasn't sure if it was an infection or a spot. Turns out, it was an infection and now I have a perforated ear drum, and I'm taking the dose which is suggested for 'severe cases'.

It hurt massively in the middle of the night, and then at approximately 7:45 it popped and I could hear again. It hurt, but then the pain dulled a little (or, maybe the ibruprofen had kicked in) and there was even more swishing in my ear as well as some more dark liquid coming out. Fetching, no?

I woke up late (not something I do often) and then I had a half day because it was open evening, yesterday. So, I had to skip breakfast. As I finished early I didn't have lunch at school, but the doctor's new system - with the absent doctor - meant that they'd call me later, which turned out to be 3:30 as finally got to purchase my lunch. I got an appointment at 5:30 and seen at 6:00.

In the meantime, I was dragged around the high street. We got new folders for school, some book covers for my brother, new converse, food shopping and to the butchers amid a variety of other things before we finally went to my grandmothers and I got to sit around for a bit.

Apparently 87% of people come to the surgery with stupid complaints like "Can you check my children over to make sure they won't get a cold when they go back to school." and "I drunk a lot of alcohol last night and now I feel sick, what's wrong with me." and that's what they mean by not coming unless it's bad. Although, the triage nurse (our surgery now has a system with them in to save the doctors' time, some people have an issue with this but as long as I get my antibiotics, I don't really care.) said that it's usually people like myself and old women who've had a chest infection for six weeks who don't turn up.

Also, I've got an appoinment in three weeks (I was offered one in two weeks time, when their patient load goes down because one of their staff is back from her holiday but I have school.) to see a doctor about getting referred for AS. The nurse thinks her husband has it, but she also said that AS is the sort of thing which people still become high flyers with and that only family and close friends notice. She also thinks that 80% of the population has it.

Still, I got my referral to a doctor. She didn't even read my entire bulletpointed list, so it's probably a good thing that I didn't take the six page version.

I counted out the weeks on my fingers, to see if I had a class at the time the appointment was at (we have a two week timetable).

The triage nurse commented "You're counting! You don't have Asperger's."

To which I replied "Yes, I do count… I'm very bad at maths."

"So am I."

I then realised she was joking. Ooops.

Way to hit a stereotype.

I managed to refrain from talking about Asperger's/Autism, primarily because I'm not a fan of speaking to new people but also because I realise that correcting someone who is well trained is not the best way to get what I want (a referral).

I would be on a school trip, but my mother thinks I'm too ill. It was team bonding. I'm not sure whether I should be glad I'm not being forced to mingle and have people touch me or disapointed because I'd been waiting for this opportunity to do the activites for a few years. So, I'm writing a blog and if, it makes my ear infection go away faster (from resting) I'll be pleased.

Still nervous about the appointment. The appointment will be approximately a year after I first started suspecting I have AS. In the correct month, too.

I feel slightly sick. That's a common side effect of the antibiotics, though so it might have nothing too do with my nerves.

A Welcome Note

I first joined blogger in 2007 because I could, I later used it to watch a classmate's photography blog once or twice.

I've meant to keep a blog on here for various reasons, for expression of thought, mostly but what I wanted to express has varied over time. I've opened blogs and closed them without making entries and I've contemplated writing entries but not really been sure what I was writing was good enough, or unsure of how to say what I want to say.

I have another blog on a different platform for different uses but as I gain more followers who are there from fandom - though not for my fanart in almost all cases - I feel less comfortable with expressing myself.

This blog may not show my worst days, because I rarely write on those and it may not always be happy. It may be seemingly random, irrelevent, triggery or otherwise an information 'overshare'.

I am currently in the process of going to the doctors to get a referal. Something I want, but am terrified of doing. So I call myself lazy.

In truth, I do not know what lies ahead of me, I do not want to speak to people and I'm scared. I hope to go to the doctors, soon, though.

This blog will probably detail my journey through life; diagnostic, school and otherwise.