Archive for April 8th, 2005

April 8, 2005

‘Husband don’t know what he’s done

Kids don’t know what’s wrong with Mum

They can’t say and she can’t say

Putting it down to another bad day.’

Inspiral Carpets.

I knew it was too good to be true. Efexor – the magic drug, the miracle drug, the drug that enabled me to live on an existential island. (Sorry, Donne, a (wo)man can be an island and I was one until my miracle drug started losing its potency.)

I found a support group on the net for ‘abuse victims’ or ‘survivors’, as they prefer to call themselves. Fake it till you make it, as they say. Unfortunately, I encountered a certain person I’d known from another support group. Apparently, he was the epitome of evil although, frankly, I have seen and read and heard worse. So, no refuge there then.

Or maybe I should avoid making premature judgements.

My Ethereal World

April 8, 2005

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April 8, 2005

This articulates how I am feeling at the moment, after having heard that Andy may have goen to court this week. No one bothered to tell me what the verdict was and I don’t have the nerve to find out…

“Final Straw”

As I raise my head to broadcast my objection
As your latest triumph draws the final straw
Who died and lifted you up to perfection?
And what silenced me is written into law.

I can’t believe where circumstance has thrown me
And I turn my head away
If I look I’m not sure that I could face you.
Not again. not today. not today.

If hatred makes a play on me tomorrow
And forgiveness takes a back seat to revenge
There’s a hurt down deep that has not been corrected.
There’s a voice in me that says you will not win.

And if I ignore the voice inside,
Raise a half glass to my home.
But it’s there that I am most afraid,
And forgetting doesn’t hold. it doesn’t hold.

Now I don’t believe and I never did
That two wrongs make a right.
If the world were filled with the likes of you
Then I’m putting up a fight. I’m putting up a fight.
Putting up a fight. make it right. make it right.

Now love cannot be called into question.
Forgiveness is the only hope I hold.
And love- love will be my strongest weapon.
I do believe that I am not alone.

For this fear will not destroy me.
And the tears that have been shed
It’s knowing now where I am weakest
And the voice in my head. in my head.

Then I raise my voice up higher
And I look you in the eye
And I offer love with one condition.
With conviction, tell me why.
Tell me why.
Tell me why.
Look me in the eye.
Tell me why.

So, I Never Made It to Rome

April 8, 2005

So, I never got to see the pope’s funeral after all, only filtered through the television screen. No substitute for Rome though, The pope’s death brought back a lot of memories. Of my childhood in my primary school which was nothing short of idyllic. Getting a 150 RQ when I was ten.

They say she was something

In those formative years….’

Tori Amos

A nun driving us to France in a bright red mini-bus, walking up the hill from the school tothe church, And then that secondary school which was nothing short of hell. And the first person I confided in about my eating issues – a priest, who was, believe it or not helpful.

And then there was the sexual abuse. Not from anyone to do with the church but from a young man on my street. I remember reading an account of the canonisation of a young seven year old girl who fought off her attacker so valiantly he killed her. I didn’t do that. I did the usual. I co-operated. This made me sob uncontollably at my GP’s desk. Why didn’t I fight harder?

And the pope is STILL dead.

And I wonder if he noticed my absense in the crowd.

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