A Note From The Writer

Welcome to the archived blog posts (when I was a wee blogger, wet behind the ears and not aware of spell check and various other gramatical structures!) I have kept the writings unedited or reworked as I am in the process of doing a massive rewrite of my entire life, many posts I have yet to publish and this blog was merely writing practise for the massive job of sorting out my emotions whilst retelling the story as cuttingly real and dramatic as the real memory was.. some of the posts contained are raw, streaming emotion.. many posts although painful to write, had a tremendously cathartic effect - cheaper than therapy one would say. I welcome new and old readers to keep in touch via my author email (sensualexplorersatHotmaildotcom) if you have any questions or wish to share the feelings and emotions raised by my work.
I will announce the publish date and title whenever it happens and I have been clean now for three years. It is possible.
But it is never easy. It's a lifelong journey, I will always be an addict, but I must stay one step ahead of myself and protect all that can be ruined in the eternal struggle to be
at ease once again, comfortable in this skin.
Thank you for being a part of my story.

Friday, December 31, 2004


Hee hee ! I couldn't help myself - I'm at an internet cafe blogging away like a true addict.
I miss writing when I don't do it - but it is really nice to spend time reading and rooting !!
Not at the same time. I just got my hair done too and it looks swish and fab and I have a new dress for tonight, plus I am totally and absolutely in love with this man.
*Cue gushy stuff - guys you might want to watch some sports*

Tonight is my anniversary celebrating meeting the love of my life.
Three years ago we made a commitment to triumph in life and somehow we juggle the tangle of missed opportunity and random luck whilst enjoying a passionate love for each other. So far..So good. You see from the very first seconds I knew..how easily it could be to fall in love with you.
Then when I got sick you just smiled and made me smile again too. It's beyond words - how generous you have been with your second chances and understanding of my past and my uncertain futures. You gave me a whole new reason to move forward and together we have the best and the worst of times - but we are the team to end all teams.
Be my best friend forever ?

It's a beautiful thing when you share a secret language of love that transends into sheer love of all things sacred - the curve of your neck and the kisses that blossom like butterflies and the bright white of your teeth as you smile - it's just that good. In the sway of the love song, the glow of the candlelight.. we reach for each other hands in the same warm blessing.
It's all about us tonight ...

How many times have you wiped away my tears, clung to my embrace, wined and dined
and danced and caressed me - endless. How many times have we gone banana's, giggled over who plays playstation better, you inject my medicines with such care and I give the best back rub in return. You always fluff my pillows and let me have all the fan on me.
You love reality tv as much as me and you can't buy clothes without knowing if it's flattering.
I have seen your self confidence blossom as you rejoyce in my endless security of love and real understanding. We are not perfect - but getting closer to it with every day we learn something new. I will never settle for anything less and it was you that made me feel like that by teaching me to love myself again. It's bigger than us now - our future is bright and empowered with each other.Every single day is a joy living with you by my side. Baby, I have given in tonight , I'm helplessly in love with you.

Happy Anniversary Darling

Tuesday, December 28, 2004



I am eight years old, playing barbies whilst lying on the carpet floor of my bedroom, I can feel it's harsh wool impose angry imprints on my skinny knees and I adjust my weight to make a new set of marks. I continue to play inside my fantasy world with the fantasy dolls as it never fails to satisfy. I spin the model maiden around on one of her plastic legs and admire as she pirouettes with perfection. My tiny fingers press over the molded swell of the doll's breasts then drift further down as I shyly examine the groove between her legs, nestled innocently enough under the tutu. I look up startled when I hear Karen, my playmate on a Saturday, hurtling down the hallway full speed. She is grinning like the cat who drank the cream as she empties plastic bags crammed with 'real' dolls clothes, (baby clothes) onto the floor at my feet. I shriek with joy and express my satisfaction with a round of hysterical clapping. Playtime !
Keenly we start to dress our dolls in the soft, lavender scented jumpsuits.Our giggles peppered with the snap of press studs as we fiddle our fingers around the buttons and bowties.
Karen was the only person in the world who knew that someone was touching me, but Karen was only eight too - so we just kept playing dolls. It cheered me up and made the night-time a little bit easier to forget.

Karen was an only child, how I envied her close and loving family were - even though she never rubbed it in and always said that I should be her sister as she always wanted one. It liked to sting at the the same time though - I always wanted to feel the way her parents cuddled her and looked at her like she was everything. They were always proud of her - even when she wasn't looking - but I would never fail to notice. Yep, she seemed really lucky to me.

I was only allowed to play with Karen because our fathers worked together as laborers. This meant that we would see each other on weekends as our fathers tinkered with tools, The Stepmother would be doing the Saturday shopping. Upstairs, we would play dolls in peace and I would tell her the latest developments - the latest thing The Monster had made me do to him. It was as if The Monster went away and thought about new ways to make me feel sad. It was as if The Monster only thought about him ; what was going to feel good for him - it did not seem to worry him if it actually hurt me. Who was I ?

Today I was anxious to tell Karen the way he had made me put It in my mouth this time. I told her and I told it all. I told her how I had to swallow this horrible sour stuff that tasted like curdled milk. Karen listened wide-eyed as I whispered incredulous about how big his dick was and how sometimes he could make me choke on it. I never cried when I spoke to Karen, it was just so good to be able to tell someone that I was scared I would frighten her away. I made her promise that she would never tell. I made her swear her life upon it. I knew that she knew my situation at home with him and what would happen if he found out I had told. She never told.
A part of me knew that we should tell a grown up - but what would happen then?
Nobody wanted me anyway - this would be finally a reason to send me away to a home.
Then there was Daddy. It was always about trying to make him proud of me. Make him notice that The Stepmother was not ever going to replace our Mummy. But he couldn't see – he just couldn't see anything like he used to.
He told me that wasn't able to just leave her and go back to Mummy - but why don't we ever stop hoping ?
He was going to be so ashamed of me. I was all dirty now.

I wish I told My Daddy the first time Stepbrother touched me. I wish I didn't wait four years.
I am so mad at myself Daddy - so very mad that I get very angry but I still cry when I'm red.
I'm choked up with shame and I feel like I have let everyone down. Mainly me.
That I can never be normal now and I will always be the different one - forever. It will be up to me to deal with this.
You said that we will get through it - then things changed and no-one wanted to talk about it.
It was like nothing ever happened and I was even more different know as I was so angry and so sad - not a very good daughter anymore I suppose.

How did I reveal the abuse? Well, a variety of things happened.
As an emotional precursor ; I saw an ad on television about Stranger Danger. I remember the nice lady had a voice that was smooth like syrup; she was appealing to me personally almost - telling me ever so gently that it was best to be talking to a trusted neighbor or your School Teacher if someone was 'touching' you. I was amazed to think that other little girls were doing these things too. All of a sudden I was not so alone and a weak smile struggled through the storm clouds.
I feared telling anyone outside the family - The Stepmother would be so embarrassed and I would only be more shame to my family. She worked so hard at trying to keep a facarde around this family - always battling with her drunk husband and the futility of poverty.
But I didn't know how much longer I could keep this secret. I was starting to lose the fight; I was starting to come down from the safety of the ceiling. I wished my birth Mum was still around so I could tell her all about what he did under the covers. Only in my mind, she would take me away and hug me for a very long time. I wish the courts never made me stay with The New People... I wish my mum did not love drugs more than she loved me.
I still wish that.

I started to feel so heavy inside; it was like my tiny body was filling with tears. My school shoes lagged in the hallways and my sandwiches sagged inside my knotted stomach.
For attention, I picked at my scabs that covered my knees until they bled. I then spread the blood in my panties. I wanted someone to see the blood, which at my age symbolized danger, and I wanted to show the world the place where I really bled. I sat on the toilet and picked at scabs on my legs, big fat tears rolling down my face as the drops of blood splashed onto my cotton panties from the tips of my fingers.
My heart was breaking...and it bled from everywhere.

I still remember the exact moment of afternoon that The Stepmother loomed at the door to my bedroom. Instantly, my mouth went dry and my hands fidgeted as fast as my heartbeat. I tried to remember if I had done all my chores and said all the right things. The air tightened between us as it always did and always does.
She tilted her head as if she was assessing what to say.
"***** - I have noticed when doing your washing lately", she seemed half cautious yet still distantly curious,"That you have blood in your knickers?" She said it almost like she had not witnessed the florid stains that had blemished my knickers since I was six.
I felt my face flush crimson and I wanted to hotly defend myself but I didn't know how.
It was happening. My secret - she knows and now your dead !! This is what you wanted. To be dead. I thought so much in so little time that I realized I had not said anything in response.
"***** - I'm talking to you young lady ? " Her brown beady eyes bore through me with a special brand of malice.
"Have you been touching yourself?" She looked at me with utter disdain.
I shook my head. I was mortified at the thought. It was not me that was dirty.
It was him.

No more words. I would not say it. I will not let her see me cry and if I speak … I am going to cry. A lot.

Many moments passed and she seemed to search the heavens for an answer so I was most surprised when she spoke.
"Has someone else touched you?" Her face started to cloud with a distant concern.

The words sounded like a million champagne flutes toppling from a overflowing fountain of lies.
It was so beautiful yet so tragic in the same defining moment.
Just say yes. You big cry baby! Who cares anymore ? Just say it. Say it !
I knew that if I didn't take this chance now that it may be another year or maybe another four until we had this discussion again.

I nodded grimly and another chain of his power fell to the floor.
Then I started to get really frightened that I completely froze.
I still get goosebumps when I recall the moment that defines my courage.
You can do this - YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. Even if no-one ever stays on my side at least I know that I didn't sit there and take it. I am a fighter. I am not always going to be weak.

Just live for today and maybe someone will come for me tommorow.
But I am frightened and I want it all to go away? It won't thats the beauty of the bruise, on the surface it always fades...

She was coming for me now and she would never leave it alone.
It finally dawned on The Stepmother that I was not able to verbalize this. I was constricted with fear and was physically unable to speak.
"Was it the neighbors?" Her face was a sheet of sweaty white, her eyes flashing. Her fists slammed into the doorframe and she cussed so loud that I jumped.
I shook my head.

"Do we know him!?" She started to back away from me, denial seeping into the furrows.
"Yes" My voice wavered. The carpet started to waver like I was in some emotional heatwave.

"Who is it - Tell me his name !" She spoke so strong that her jaw line shuddered with rage.

I took the deepest breath and closed my eyes. In my mind I reached up and grabbed the links of the heavy chain of secrets that were coiled around my neck and I gave it an almighty yank.
I'm screaming in my mind and the chains fall slow motion to the floor..They fall and I go too.

"Adrian" .

A single tear slid down my face.
That was the name that haunted my nightmares and now I was finally free of it's meaning.

That was all she needed - she spun on her heel and began to run to his bedroom that was at the other end of the house. I was never embraced and I was never held in that moment. All I could hear was the terrified screams of The stepbrother as she flogged him mercilessly, he was crying and so was she. I heard his high pitched screams even though I closed my eyes so I could be anywhere but here. How could I ever face him again ? Her shrillness flooded the house and I shivered on the floor , rocking back and forth ..back and forth. The last of my childhood slipped away and I never had time for goodbyes........

I wanted to scream and never stop I know that would mean she would only halt hitting him and come and beat me.
I was scared that if I dared to cry that she would have more emotional armory on me by shunning my need to be soothed. So I just went and had a shower and let the tears slide down the drain. The door flew open and she was there.
"Stop fucking crying - He's admitted it ok? He's just as upset as you so stop snivelling - this was the last thing we needed. We will not be telling your father - or so help you god! " I started to shake when she said this and she lunged into the shower pushing my ribs into the taps.
"Get yourself together - stop being pathetic !" She laughed cruelly and sniped " You really know how to ruin a family " She slammed the door and I was finally left alone for another few precious moments before the next attack. I had to try and remember to breathe as everything was going black, the tiles became like an geometric ocean of blue as I hyperventilated in the shower.

Minutes ticked by and I tried to stem the tears. I really did try.
I knew daddy would be home soon. I would never mention this again. I would try to do whatever she told me to do - she was more important to keep her happy because if I didn't she could make my life hell. We both knew that from experience.

The almost funny thing was that I didn't have to tell my Dad.
The night before Karen's dad found Karen's diary and when he read the entries she wrote about me and the whole sordid story - he showed it to my Father over a very strong rum.
They are still friends to this day for that reason. He got involved and told my Father everything. I still don't know how that conversation went or how it made him feel.
I just know things never were the same.

After the fifth double rum, he said goodbye and clamboured into the station wagon.
Dad was on his way home and he was as mad as hell.
But he wasn't my guardian angel anymore.


I found my internal spirit and together we rose

Her name is Hope
Her power is my Courage.

I made sure he never touched me again.

Monday, December 27, 2004

Welcome Back !

Lovelies !!

Wow - that was an interesting Christmas!
I missed you guys ! ( Not really that much as I am a lazy blogger atm)
I have just busted into the loungeroom laden with shopping bags from the end of year sales. I *heart* fashion that is 50% off* and I have been known to bomb heaps of cash at my favorite stores all the while screaming and at times busting out a move to the "ouns ouns ouns'" music that spews from those LOUD speakers. I mean really - all I need is a vodka tonic in one hand and ciggy in the other - and I would be at a nightclub. Omg.. I just realised that I'm starting to sound old....and like my Mother. The fake one.

* Sometimes you might even score the ultra-luxe 70% off but that is a discount usually reserved for all manners of exceptionally fugged out really random shit that you never wear anyway. Personal purchases; beanies and a super- ugly handbag and petite bikini's that don't really flatter as they struggle to cover my ass, it's like trying to squeeze a hippo into a hammock.

It's the first time I've gone to a Xmas sale but definitely not the last !
Holy Curumba - it was credit card heaven and 'cher chink cher chink' is still ringing in my ears. I have this glazed 'ketamine state of expression' that's rather permanent - ahh retail bliss.

The BF and I didn't buy presents to put under the tree ( which as yuppies we don't actually own) Yes, initially I worried was unromantic and I would go straight to "he's just not that into you" hell, but it totally worked out! We had loads of cash to spend as we enjoyed the manic phase of my depression and did all the shopping in two hours flat. But somehow, he spent less on me ( but ladies this will be rectified - it was only by 34.00 but that is a pair of black pinstripe knee length knickerbockers - bf this is a hint *)

Ok! Christmas day was marvelous. Best Christmas Ever.
I almost had my sister 99.9% convinced that my dad had a hawk tattoo ( he goes for a football team called the Hawks) on his penis with the wingspan etched around the curves of his balls - but dad was all gay and wouldn't play along. So then we made up stuff about my little brother watching my dog masturbate with his lipstick thingy on the carpet ( wierd but true) and Mum said we were mean bitches - and I'm like...and then ?
But that should illustrate how we all feel very comfortable with each other - I believe the masses call it 'weird'.We also discovered (very reluctantly) when The Stepmother gets a little plush on the Pimm's she gets more relaxed, mildly pleasant and very amorous ( that was Dad's unwelcome contribution.) Where the fuck is that turkey !

Now Stepmother is a heavy set woman with huge hooters - I won't mince words- plus it's well known she is the not the sharpest tool in the shed. But she is still family and this was Xmas. Anyway (as I was blogging) it was the tragic fate of my sister to walk into my parent's bedroom whilst they were getting jiggy in a 69 position. I mean, this is so NOT cool. Dad says she should've knocked - I think she wishes that as well in hindsight Dad ;)
I have committed to memory to always knock and yahoo at least six minutes before even entering my parents bedroom. I normally like to bring my own bagpipes and play them to herald my approach, a novel way to prevent this "visualis annus lickus horribilus interuptus grossus."My sister swears she can still hears mum's screams at night - just like Clarice did.

I won't draw a picture (as I can't be bothered) but you all have parents and we all know that it would be majorly - * searches for something articulate - meh - it's fucking disgusting !
I like to think my Dad only puts his hands down his pants when he is sprawled on the couch watching football and that is pleasure enough. The thought of my mother attached to his face like some 'sexual sea anemone' species is unshakable at best. My stepmother is short, dumpy creature with a mean little face and as I have said huge breasts. I call her "The Suburban Ewok" so that should paint a nice picture - it would be funnier if I could show you a photo but then I would be really pushing my luck with my family ( not that they're not actually used to this by now)
So anyway.. I will let you know it was my Mum was on top ( I won't be doing a to be continued post on this and I know you all wanted to know..lol ) and yeah it was not her best angle if you know what I mean.

I mean.. it was totally weird in a "Man, she has a very hairy asshole kinda way".Of course I am joking..I have no idea about the status of her asshole. Seriously.
I'm so dead if she ever reads this blog. I am going straight to hell.

So back to the Xmas dinner where my parents ( one real dad - one fake mum) try to mention it AGAIN in front of 'outsiders' !
Dad explains to our guests (including a laughing BF) how it's natural for a man to want to kiss his wives 'lovehole'. (I wish I was joking)
This is only the start of Christmas dinner (you know the part where everyone is starting to feel pissy and something is burning on the stove but no one knows yet) My blessed dad went to fetch a box from the bedroom that read"Nights of passion'. He announced proudly this box of miracles contained a mask , a feather and some oils for your privates (wtf !) He then began to 'hard-sell' my boyfriend on the merits of having a passionfruit flavored pussy. At this stage I wanted to be doing anything else but choking on my pork crackle ( which was burnt and ruined I might add because I am a shithead daughter and preferred to play GTA instead of watch the pork) Dad waved away my attempts to change the topic, after all he explained - I should get a box of my own as my Stepmother really , really ( argh) likes it. He passes the box of heaven over the dinner (!) but seeing I didn't have a pair of surgical gloves at my disposal, I politely declined closer inspection.

However, I now have this horrible picture seared into my brain; my Stepmother shrieking and looking dumb and blind with the mask on and for some reason she has all this chocolate body paint ( which I found in the fridge on the same day mind you - AND it was used !!) smothered over her HUGE puppies and my father is tickling her with a feather (somewhere) so she is sort of doing some nude wrestling on the waterbed and I hear a lot of creaking wood. Of course I picture dad's crazy face smeared with chocolate like some kind of mature oompa loompa and all I see is his white false teeth - it's really messed - I warned you of that from the start.
Then all of a sudden he tickles her (somewhere) a touch overboard and because my Mum is a moody cunt she then starts going "Oowaa ! Owaaa ! " (Dad would be too drunk to notice and can't see her grimaces because he has all that shit on his face ) so she slaps him repeatedly with her flabby tuckshop mum arms whilst calling him a drunken dickhead. As always my dad just gives up and starts smoking eighty smokes. Ugh I just pictured a my father's flacid penis, what is wrong with me !!!
I think I just spewed on myself and tore out my eyeballs.

The stepmother would proceed to go shower-down (nightmare) and as my dad is super cool and doesn't 'do pussy shit like romance' he would light up one of those secret 'marujuana ciggarettes' that we always find next to the 'secret porno'. Everyone knows about that shit Dad - even my friends cos we used to watch them when I was thirteen. It's hardly porn, it's soft porn and you should really get into 'Dirty Debutantes' I mean both Sis and I have left school now - so I think this means it is ok to start jerking the gherkin over any lady under fourty. I mean, I won't judge you. I make my Dad sound like a sex freak and I am trying to tell myself this is not possible - my mother uses words like 'condong' and 'wee-wee' and they have no idea what anal sex is. DO NOT EMAIL ME SISTER - let me have my beliefs ;)

I hope this is not some lame pyscho-babble for ' I want to make sweet love to my fat Mum' as that's just a terrible thought and anyone who thinks that is totally dumb. Dumb like the present someone gave me from their corporate hamper - Yes I do mean those Taiwanese peanuts or those inferior chocolates that taste like oil and dirt with some poo flakes on top.
Not that I know what poo flakes taste like.
New paragraph please...

AND the stepbrother ( of incest loving fame) failed to send a present (he doesn't associate with our family as he is ashamed of us and trying to pretend he is not a tool most of the time) for me ! I know - like that is totally bad of me to want a present from the child toucher , it was just that everyone got one but me. ( Sooky La La ) Shortly after the dinner from hell, the phonecalls started. I fucking hate talking to random relatives about shit and I'm sure they feel the same.
That is why they choose to live so far away from our dysfunction. I'm not talking about the cool family members - ( the aunty that smokes weed and the nana that gives you fifty bucks) - I mean the ones you wave at the phone going "No No No" but your mum gives you a Chinese burn unless you will talk to retarded Uncle Charlie. It's ok for everyone else as they are toasted on the Xmas punch so they just talk total shit - but I was not allowed to drink so I had to endure such stimulus as this without any mind altering substance ;

Grandma:Hello love, it's been about six years since we spoke - goodness how are you!
Me: Really good ! I am actually - [ cut off by the sound of dribbling noises and nattering]
Grandma - I'm making a boiled steak.
Me: Oh (me thinking that has to be the most disgusting thing ever to eat on Xmas day)
That sounds deeelightful. Everything is going well I have a great job *insert old job here* and we are having a great day, wish you were here. (we both know this is a lie and long awkward silence ensues in which she has a conversation with the boiled steak)
Grandma- I like bananas.

[ At this point I am covering the mouthpiece and trying to pass off the phone to anyone - even the dog while do. I mean this phonecall is seriously four minutes of my life I am never gonna see again. Of course no one else wants to speak to Grandma who-never-sends-money and is manic about her car with the stupid little cat toy with one eye which sits in the back seat. Everyone in the family is waving me away as I try and offload Gran. Suddenly everyone is helping Mum in the kitchen or studing the tablecloth for ancient codes of past awkwardness. As soon as I hang up, the hallejah hotline rings again. I hate answering the phone when I don't know who is calling.
Maybe it will be the good Nana! I answer the phone with a jovial aussie twang

"Merry Xmas".
Stepbrother: " Merry Christmas"
[I pictured him roasting like a pig over the spit and the apple up his bum and I'm carving into his flesh , laughing like the loony I am]
Me: 'What ? '
Repeat six times for utter frustration. He is sooo easy to get flustered.
Me:I hope your kids are having fun ( even though I never see them and they have no idea about our family) How old must they be? "*insert wrong name here must be about five now?"
Him: It's ***** actually * tight laugh* She is three now.
Me: Whatever
Me: I'll just put you onto Dad

As I pass the phone I make sure he hears me say "Thanks for the present" in the most mocking tone ever and everyone laughs in spite of themselves and I feel like The Evil Christmas Sibling Rivalry Champion of The World. Of course he had a cry to Dad about it like a proper nancy but as usual dad was too drunk to care. The Stepbrother gives shit presents anyway and everyone gave me half of the presents he gave them. I ended up getting the biggest present ( even though it was the biggest shit present then) . So, what I am basically saying is that I WIN!

It was awesome that he actually got all depressed about my comment and it was the best thing that he could've got me. He was trying to validate to my younger sister why he didn't send me a present (it's cos I don't send him gifts of course)
I mean I am writing a book about the ungrateful son of a bitch (lol) and he is going to be totally famous and even his wife and little daughter will be so interested in him - all over again.
But in the spirit of Xmas I am going to give him a little present. I hate to disappoint.
In fact I am blogging the letter of thought I am going to send him.
After all - it's the thought that counts and I have plenty spare for him.
I'm not going to buy him a present if I'm not ready to- I'm not at the forgiveness stage yet, maybe something to do with the fact that I was never acknowledged as being allowed to admit that what he did to me even happened ! In summary ; I'm not sending him a fucking present and playing happy families- just like he can't give me the four years of my childhood back. End rant.

I could feel myself starting to get into that "fuck the world funk" and today is a good day and so was Christmas.

I spent soooo much time with my good family - it was the highlight ! ( I know that's annoying when people do that 'sooo" thing but it was eight hours that I spent and that my friend is a record for our families tolerance for each other) Yes, I'm overjoyed that Dad wasn't too drunk and Mum wasn't too dysfunctionally hormonal that everyone managed some quality time. It was so precious and wonderful - I have missed six xmases so it really was like all my Christmases had come at once. I know I sound like a Gaylord - but I'm happy anyway.

It's funny how you can forget about memories of growing up so when you hear a story it's even better now - like the memory is all glitter and photo frame moments forever then. I found out that my sister got Sea Monkeys and Dad also brought a sheep home from the pub and it ate all the underpants off the line. I got hugged and kissed a lot and I felt really special. I even got a beautiful necklace that I know was expensive as everyone went really quiet when BF put it around my neck. *Must not wear in shower (sorry I just wrote aloud)

It's kind of odd listening to my family recount experiences as a family when I know that I should've been in those memories too..It's almost like we have contrasting mental snapshots of our shared child
hoods. In fact -I bet we could line up our ' stills of our subconscious' side by side and play spot the difference - I would find white polka dots instead of black polka dots on the doggie's bow tie..
But I let it go.. Because it's Christmas. I try to not focus on what I have missed out on in the past . Instead I will always try to enjoy what I know that I have saved for the future. I try to be bright and I try to be brave, for us all.
I guess it's the one day you can catch yourself in a moment where you are just smiling and thinkingthat "It all ain't bad , if only for today?"
Then your Mum has a major fucking meltdown over the crackling that is now totally black and the dog 'drops his guts' under the diner table and you are freshly reminded that life is not meant to be Merry.
Life is real and families are ugly too. I guess a bit of escape is what we all need.
I had the best time ever though and wouldn't trade a minute !
I hope you enjoyed your day - I bet you feel better about it now reading about mine !

One last thing - I really think we should lose those bon-bon cracker hats.
Note to Stepmother; Just because I don't want to wear one doesn't mean I have rabies and I am a cold hearted cum-rag.
I start experiencing some serious paper hat anxiety around mid July.

Ok I think that just about offends everyone - including Ewoks.



My thoughts to all regarding the Natural Disaster, a very sad and somber time and my prayers are with you all.

Friday, December 24, 2004

Template Time

Hope you like the new look - also I am starting a second blog as well.
Something just for writing without rules and and the usual blog trappings.
It's going to be naked and fabulously lurid and raw. I can't wait.

black and white

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Ho Ho Blegh...

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all the Heroinegirl readers !

Thank you so much for your support and encouragement - I truly loved meeting you all and look forward to a great 2005. I have been blogging for about four months now and the quality friendships that I have formed are precious and something for which I am very thankful for.
Heroinegirl will be back at Headquarters on Monday 27th with lots of news, memoirs and presents for you all. Please be safe over the holiday period and don't drink and drive blah blah blah.

Sing and dance. Help with the dishes or just give a nice massage to the person who did. ( This is what I do as I abhore common chores) Count to twenty instead of ten , when you want to yell (just cos it's Christmas)

Have tons of dirty sex and send masses of drunken sms's. Don't make your mum cry too much and eat until your stomach implodes itself. Try to relax and take for what it is - It's your life godamit - go on - get out of there - go live it !

Merry Christmas Sweetheart,

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

Crescendo Crash

Part One of This Memoir is entitled Crescendo click this link if you have not read it yet


My mind was like the cursor blinking on a computer screen, endlessly waiting for any kind of input or contribution. Blink.Blink.Blink. My stepmother and I had been fighting for close to two hours now, I was starting to wear down, my voice had become hoarse from shouting.
The Stepmother was towering over me now, shouting from the top of her lungs as she reached into my shell that I dragged me into her wrath. I thought of myself in that moment, as being just like the garden snail that I'd found hiding in the laundry. Just like she was doing to me, I'd fingered it's fleshy parts, fascinated by the creature's natural instinct to contract and retreat to the safety of its shell rather than counter-attack. My 'shell' was all that kept me hoping - it was the thing that made me different to my abusers. As long as I could remain hopeful about emerging from this childhood of pain - I stood a chance of making a shot at my life. So, in order to protect my real identity that everyone seemed to hate, I hardened everything on the outside when I turned seven years old.
I thought this would be the only way to stay true and not turn into her. That was my worst fear to turn into the Stepmother. As far as I was concerned, I was only like my birth Mother and that was all I had.
So I did whatever she asked so she wouldn't find me, the real me. The one my real mummy would one day return for. Maybe?

For as long as I remember, my childhood seems like a sick fantasy that I wish for. It's like I can't let go of a longing - like I could actually make it better than it was. Since then, I have grown up to realise family is everywhere.
I have family now. I am happy again at last.
I ran away from home because I knew I had the right to smile. To be a happy person and to not have to deal with other people's demons. I had a right to be my own person.
I wanted to be really smiling again, you know the kind of smiles that make your cheeks hurt ? I never lost sight of this day when I could help others, when I could be my own special experience to share with the world.
By sticking it out I was gradually losing the battle against the major undercurrents of hatred that had formed from The Stepmother's constant belittling and powerplays. A deep resentment that could penetrate my private moments, clinging like mercury to all the broken hopes that I had ever had and making them stained with spreading sad.
I remember that day so well. I remember the flash of wildfire in her beady eyes but her body was so cold and rigid to my hopeful embrace. I clung to her as I wept in her arms as I spoke rushedly of my dreams to begin my life, away from the family. My sentences piled on top of each other and I couldn't see her face but I noticed a shift in her breathing. Her embrace become tight and sweaty and I pulled away as the air become palable with uncertainty.
"You are only fifteen years old - I will not allow this - neither will your father!" she said calmly yet her face was flushed pink as if I had physically slapped her silly. I stood on my feet. I would have to make a run for it. I pushed past her and accidently knocked us both to the floor, a crashing and then she clawed at my arms , flushed with fury. It was horrible and desperate and sad.
Her face was a crimson contortion of l rage, as she fumbled forward to strike me, lost inside her own emotional violence. Her fleshy fists were wild and desperate but my skin had become jaded to her pain, so she flayed about, unable to be satisfied. She wanted tears and so I obliged. It made her stop for a moment. It allowed me to refocus how I was going to escape today - I didn't want to be this daughter anymore. Tommorow was no longer an option.
I cannot recall the exact dialogue of the fight, initially, she laughed off my plans and attempted to unhinge my will - I remained steadfast in my reason and thus a highly emotional confrontation unfurled. Right now - it was finally happening - at last I was saved.
I could not spend another moment with this women lurking in the shadows, I would not feel her menace for a moment longger. I wanted to regainsome privacy as a developing woman, I wanted to be constantly safe and I knew as long as I was here, I would be damaged goods. I was about to turn sixteen and I was going to leave today. I didn't know how I would do this. I just knew I had to go. I have never gone back either.
Nothing she could say - no many how many times she screamed and spat (merely inches from my face) that I would never escape her - that I would be ordered to return home and continue to be controlled by her. She paced in front of me , livid with my stuborness to emotionally crumble.
I ruined your family? Fine. I'm leaving it.
"What about your brother and sisters ?"
"You will never see us again. If you leave - you're not our daughter ! You decide."

"Mum, I am going. I'm sorry but this is killing me. "
I gesture towards my arms raised with welts from her stinging slaps.
"I don't expect you to understand this, but it doesn't matter anymore as I am going no matter what. You'll try and stop me but I'll never stop trying to escape. My mind is set." I stared at my feet in spite of myself.

My voice wavered with infringing sadness, but I steeled myself and only displayed a new kind of brave. The stepmother ran towards me hysterically and I shielded my face as I felt scalding hot tea seer my body. I tasted the sugary sweetness leech between my shaking fingers and I winced in uncontrollable pain. "I hate you" she spat. "You are a stupid bitch , I hope you die in the gutter" I was seated at the table and all I could hear was the steaming tea puddling onto the floor. I made my move towards the stairs when she turned her back. The Stepmother is three times my size and she tried to block me with her hulking frame. I started to cry and my arms ached withthe futility of trying to battle for my freedom and most importantly - for my sanity.
"Let me Go !" I grunted in a shrill voice. I felt the rage , bubble and boil. I clenched my teeth so hard that I felt the salty sweep of blood wash down my throat. Our breath was raggard, punctuated with grunts and the sounds accompaning a desperate struggle.I looked at her with warning and my eyes flashed with defiance.My voice, a cold and tight whisper now, as I struggled with her pressing on top of me.
"Let me go please - I don't want to hurt you." I felt panic rise inside me.
I felt like she was crushing me with her weight. I just wanted to be anywhere but here.
But she only smothered my body, with her dumpy shape, her arms and legs pinning me down. I had no other choice but to fight with all I had. It was to be our final physical fight.

Our limbs became twisted almost becoming futile with fury.
"LET ME GO !!" my voice shuddered with rage. I felt a tightness spread throughout my body and heat radiated from my cheeks.

My body unleashed all the years of abuse and agony and the white hot pain overflowed with vengence as I shoved her off me with almighty force.
"LET ME FUCKING GO!!" I was half screaming - half crying. Just saying it over and over and over.
I only realised that she had already loosened her grip, when I emerged from that dark place. She was panting and her nose was bleeding. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the doorway.

"Im calling your Father and you will not leave this house young lady" She shouted out to me as I had my hand already on the doorknob. It stuck and the door refused to open. I gave it a ferocious rattle and prayed to whatever was watching - and it clattered open, sunlight hitting my face. Fresh air flooded my nostrils as I started my walk to the bustop, her screams behind me now. I knew she wouldn't chase me out in public - it was only in private she could be brave. I heaved my bags up the hills, all I had was a garbage bag and a pillow yet I felt like a millionare. My skin was burnt and I had scratch marks covering my body. In spite of the roads being a little tougher on my own - I can't tell you how much I will never regret that day.
That day my rebirth, it's the real reason I know am a survivor.
The busdriver saw my smile and said it looked like I had just won the lottery.
But it was so much better than that - I'd won my life back !
I have never, even to this day, felt so free and so fresh. It was a magical moment I will never forget, what a magical busride of discovery and courage. I smiled the whole way.

I knew it wasn't over - but at least that house and the ghosts of the past were now behind me.
I knocked on Georgina's door and collapsed into her arms.
Safe at last ?

To Be Continued.

Yeah - I'm Not Dead

Helllloooooooo !

In case anyone was like the least bit concerned - I am still alive *air kiss*
I have been entertaining and mincing around parties and all that kind of jazz.
I will finish a memoir today cos even the BF is like can you do a memo today.
I think he means memoir. Not one to dissapoint - I will do it sometime today.
I have also discovered rom's and have been playing Wonderboy and Sonic The Hedgehog
and Alex Kidd In Miracle World - on my computer - I *heart* retro gaming !!
My sister has moved out of home and I am also helping her settle in - all's going well.
What else - I saw the girls on the weekend and we played karoke , operation (board game) and watched Return to Oz. Had the best time and we bonded all rather easy- which was super.
I love all my girlfriends and I am thinking of travelling to Africa next year.
Memoir to come !

Sunday, December 19, 2004

Inspire Me Inspire You

Hello lovelies - I just finished Ratchet and Clank 2 - I had to tell someone.
Now I just need to hire out Grand Theft Auto San Andreas but some fool went and stole it from my local rental shop - it always happens with the best games !
Thank you for your votes - I guarentee all of my loyal readers will get books.
Don't you worry - Heroinegirl never forgets where she came from !

A very special mention has to go to one of my highly appreciated readers.
His name in Blogland is Victorine Meurent and I have his permission to reproduce his email sent to my email heroinegirl@gmail.com This guy inspires me and now let him inspire you to realise that everyone can make a difference. Whether it be your time, an extra gold coin donation or just spreading the love this christmas.

Dear Heroinegirl

After reading the "thrill of the chase", I have phoned a local needle exchange and offered to provide 1728 condoms to them, however they asked meto ensure that they were various types, i.e Normal and Ultra Strong, so Ihave arranged to give them 12 boxes of 12 cartons of 12 packs of Durex Elite(for vaginal sex), Durex Select (flavour, for oral sex) and Durex Ultrastrong (for vaginal and anal sex, apparently "rent boys" prefer them). So your blog has resulted in them receiving over 5000 condoms, and maybe, justmaybe prevent Aids, Death or Pregnancy.

Also whilst I was at the wholesalers, I picked up 10 cases of Bachelorscup-a-soup, so the needle exchange will be able to give out boxes of tensoups to people as well.I wish you well, and appreciate your kind words
Take care
Victorine Meurent

How cool is that. I love my blog - I get lots of letters saying that many people have changed their minds about trying junk, parents appealing for help about kids, marriage proposals (ok only one) and lots of support and well-wishes. You guys are helping me get out my story - you inspire me everyday to share what happened to me and help other.
My reader's deserve the rewards !!
It would be wierd to see my book on a shelve and go oh yeah I know her.
She types naked and has no boobs and never farts.

Saturday, December 18, 2004

Saturday Morning

The morning sun seeps into the study with it's special brand of happy.
Why it's saturday morning and I am doing the housecleaning for the BF.
I decide to play my favorite song one more time..
Caring is Creepy starts to play on my itunes from the Garden State
and fingers find the volume
My bare feet start to spindle the bare floors in the melody as I twirl around and around. I slink my hips to the right, to the left .
I'm wearing a fresh white singlet over my pink boyleg knickers and that's it.
I let my mind drift away with the rising sounds of his voice.
A gentle smile plays upon on my lips as I sway. Snchanted with the tilt of the upswing. I flow my hands down my satin curves and sway my hips to the beat , eyes forever closed. I raise my hands above my head and
I am lost in the beauty of the sounds and feeling of survival..
I think the nieghbour watches me for a moment..I wave and she smiles.
I keep on dancing.....and always will...
(Memoir to come - see how I get distracted)

Friday, December 17, 2004

Best Of Blog Awards


Prize Package - First Place:
One year FREE blog hosting from
WiredHub.net Web Hosting Solutions, plus a FREE upgrade to the next level of service when the free period expires
FREE porting of your existing blog to WiredHub.net from
One by One Media
FREE blog design from Ciao! My bella
Prize Package - Second Place:
Four months FREE blog hosting from
WiredHub.net Web Hosting Solutions, plus 40% off on all hosting plans and a FREE upgrade to the next level of service
$25 blog design gift certificate from
Ciao! My bella
Prize Package - Third Place:
One month FREE blog hosting from
WiredHub.net Web Hosting Solutions, plus 40% off on all hosting plans and a FREE upgrade to the next level of service
All Nominees:
40% off on all hosting plans from
WiredHub.net Web Hosting Solutions (lowest-priced plan would be $5.95/mo.), and a FREE upgrade to the next level of service

The more in depth nominations the better !! I would like to go for most inspirational blog.
I would really appreciate the new design and hosting space - imagine what we could do.
We could have sort by catergories (for memoirs and specific topics) as well as inbuilt space for AUDIO posts, plus a domain and the safety of a secure host. This would be all I want for Christmas. Please help this happen for Heroinegirl - I can't nominate myself.
Not that I would...(ok maybe)


continued post to come btw


Final edit - now you can read.

When I was living with my parents as a teenager, my life was marred with unbelievable misery. Living was sheer agony. I wanted to die, many times.
The stepmother resented my slender frame and happy go lucky attitude. It had been like that for as long as I could remember. It was very clear that I wasn't considered her 'real' daughter. The stepmother's demeanor was static with bitter and self-involved envy. In fact, I am grateful that she is nothing like me - as you know I am the most open and loving person in the whole world.

However, as children will do, I kept wanting to please her and convince her into feeling like she could be my new mother. I know have to accept that no matter what I wanted, she just didn't love me.
I was a stupid child, not worth love 'right now'.
That was ok. I will wait.
I waited and waited and waited. But it never came....

High school was a welcome escape from the Madhouse. Whenever Dad wasn't home, which was most of the time, Mum would be almost unbearable. Being sexually abused as a child had a detrimental impact on my self-esteem. When it came to dating boys, I felt like they would never even see me until I was prettier. They wouldn't want to touch me until I had cooler clothes. Wouldn't want to hold my dirty hands before I could shave my legs. I knew all about sex and dick. I knew what oral sex was by grade five. This changes a childhood.

I felt sexually broken and spent. I was experienced in sex - not love. I was experienced in being used - not appreciated.
I wanted to be kissed by someone - yet I was so afraid. I trembled with fear.
I thought my vagina would be stretched and everyone would know. I wanted my first time to be my choice - not my brother.
Please - why did it have to be him ? It was meant to be special. Nothing was anymore, even if I wanted it to be.

After we lost the childhood home, dad packed up the station wagon and we hauled our trash to a place called Rockhampton, Queensland. This was an desperate attempt to save their marriage. Nothing to do with us kids. We had to leave lifelong friends and our home and everything we had.

It was a country town, the kind which is safe to walk home from school or leave the front door open. We knew nobody. The Stepmother never made any friends up there, which resulted in her controlling my life even more. I still don't know why they even uprooted us, but then again my parents are fucking idiots sometimes.
I remember my first day of Grade Nine - the stepmother had refused to hem my skirt so it was long and bent our of shape. It scooped down past my knobbly knees and she also forbade me to wear a bra or shave my legs or armpits. I had cheap shoes and we could never afford anything with a label or anything even fashionable.

Her rules were very strict and consequences were dire if she found out that I was trying to outsmart her. Severe punishments would be dreamt up if I even tried to wear makeup or earrings. It was not anything moral - it was just a way for her to control my sexuality. It was the way she never explained why. I asked her why I couldn't be a girl like all the others. "Because I said so." That's all I ever got. Then more screamings and then fists.
I was not allowed to have a boyfriend and I have never gone to a school disco. (never)
I missed a lot of special events as punishment and I was never driven to school, I always walked. I didn't mind. I wasn't allowed to go to any friend's houses after school or bring my boyfriend home. She would listen to all my phonecalls, open all my mail and read my diary. Keep in mind that this was right up until mid high school. I quite liked my old school and in spite of my odd apprearance, I always managed to make friends easily. I've always preferred to have a close best friend and nuture a wonderful friendship than be in a larger group of girls.

I met my first real friend, Georgina, in my speech and drama class - and she changed my life. She was amazing. She had raven hair that fumbled over her shoulders. I would watch her in English as she bit into a apple. I loved the way her white school blouse seemed to sigh over her lace bra. She wore musk perfume oil, she painted dolphins, read animal liberation and was a strict vegetarian.
I was fascinated by her and I confess I will always be. We clicked instantly and enjoyed an intense friendship. She knew I was being emotionally abused at home. The stepmother never liked my friends and any source of happiness that I could find was forbidden. However, it just made us closer. I finally started to laugh again and stop being so frightened of being a child. We played in the grass and smoked herbal smokes. She was instrumental in finding my first boyfriend. After the abuse - she was everything. I treasured her so much and when she left, things changed forever.


I loved the time we spent together, painting murals on her walls, eating chips and gravy while we cut class, singing Pearl Jam on the backseat of the bus. The town was ours to destroy and we crowned our youth with laughter. In order to escape my homelife, I would have to make up many elaborate lies and then hide over at Georgina's house for the weekend. Parties were forbidden (as I would only want to have sex with everyone apparently) and so was anyone sleeping over. (it was too risky for them to see Dad drunk)
Georgina's mum was a counselor and you could often find me sitting around her loungeroom and I spoke of my secrets, hot tears spilling down my face. I wanted her to be my mum so much. She let me talk about things. She hugged me and I felt something good.
I would watch Georgina look back and forth, from my face of pain to her mother's face etched with concern. We wanted to save each other - didn't matter that we were just friends - we were like sisters. I love her for that.
However, I was terrified of The Stepmother finding out that I had told anyone about how she treated me - they would ask me to leave and I would get frightened of bringing the wrath onto these nice people. Mum already had called the police on them before. It was a great second home for me and I didn't want to lose it.

Then I met a boy. Everything changed forever (yet again)

Hey - that's being a teenager for you. It is an amazing journey - I hope you made it out ok..
The first time a boy looks into you, not through you. The way you look down and you realize - your holding someone's hand !

You grip it as though your heart could explode through your chest. It's all hands and mouth and me me me and it's wonderful and heartbreaking in the same dance move. Everything is brilliant and crazy, some kind of beautiful you have never felt. You are free and you are falling in love in the meantime.

The afternoon sun shines on our silhouettes, as he leans in for the goodbye kiss , his bicycle brushing between the both of us.
But you don't even notice, for in that moment it's all tongue and strange, unfamilar fire. It's more than a dream at very last, yet you finally ask yourself - is it love? Then, you change forever. You are no longer a child. You grow, again.
Please don't go. I would always say to him. I remember him so well.
"But you will see me tomorrow baby" he said, pressing his lips into my frown.

Will I ? Maybe you will change your mind and decide I am not for you. That I am too hard, that I snap at you. That I have issues , that it is all too hard.
That you don't want someone that has so much pain in her life.
Maybe you will leave too. Just hold me for one more moment.
Let me feel something is mine - if just for today....
In the bottom of the bag I find your notes and your drawings - you are a talented artist and I remember the feeling of your eyes on my body as you etched my breasts upon the canvas. The way you traced I love you on my thigh for the very first time. The way..just the way..we were. First love..only one. There's only ever one. When I felt you inside me for the first time. We were so in love and you brought candles and my favorite chocolate. It was...everything. It was my first time with anyone that I loved. It was you.
When you slid inside me, I cried. As the first face I saw was him. Not you.
I saw my abuser.
It was already ruined, but we tried to finish. We had the best times , just touching at first. Then you worshipped me and I bloomed for you. It was all for you.
Trust..Love... I was dancing in your eyes and I twirled with hopes of what would be. Your kiss, the shape of your chest..I remember it all. I remember it even now.

When you made love to me the second time - it was better.
Then we both cried - sweet precious love. So important.

Where are you now? What would we say now? If you knew.
If you knew it all. Did you know I was headed for danger?
Will you be surprised? Will you maybe tell me - it was all a dream?

I remember feeling that maybe you could be the one?

When I was with Jason , everything seemed bright. It was like I had caught up with everyone else again. I could hardly believe this could be true, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I felt like I was worth something for the first time in my life and it felt marvellous. All of my life I seemed to have the worst luck, in that everyone I love seems to disappear.
I went into my first relationship very nervous and afraid. But it was wonderful.
Whispers of love during sex, so special that I cry but I am happy. Georgina, Jason and I were inseparable. I tried to hide the fact I had a boyfriend from The Stepmother or she would ground me for three months at a time. This happened twice and it broke my heart as she never relented and I hated home more than anywhere.
I decided I wanted to leave home. Georgina's mother suggested that I live with them. I cried in her arms all night, I still remember my face imprint on her tweetybird nightie. I was nervous inside, The Stepmother was bigger than me and she would often throw me around the house, no matter how much I pleaded with her to try and love me. We started to plan to build up my courage, I was just about to turn 16.

It didn't matter if I could build the courage to walk away - I knew she would make it her business to find me and drag me back home. Then, when everyone turned away from the sheer frustration, I would face her wrath and hatred alone.

When I would walk home with Jason, she would cruise the streets looking for me to make sure I wasn't spending any time with him. I was a nervous wreck. I lived in total unrational fear of this woman, which affected many relationships.
I wish I could feel about her how I know she is. I know she is weak, but it is like she has hardwired me from a very early age to always cower in her cruelty. I hate it. Make it stop.
I beg of you. But you can't can you? You can't. Only me. Only her.

It was the disgust she expressed whenever she spoke about my life or my appearance that was the hardest to understand. I am the most loving person and all I wanted was to be a normal child. When my birth Mother left me - I felt stained forever - maybe I was just not worth the trouble. Was I that easy to walk away from. It broke my little tiny heart.
Then I struggled to understand the incest - why me? Did he hate me and my father that much? And then having to live with both the Stepmother and the Abuser until I was just about to turn sweet sixteen.
She blamed me for Dad's drinking and accused me of trying to seduce my father. I wrote her letters explaining that I was desperately unhappy and wanting to just die. She laughed and told me I was a pathetic drama queen. She never understood me and never will. She will never read this blog and if she does she will never confront me. She knows it's all true, it's only me that wishes it wasn't.

I tried to talk to Dad in those moments of moonlight darkness. I knew he could see rivers of tears glistening on my cheeks , I know he felt my shudders of sadness when he hugged me goodnight. But he just looked at me with these vacant eyes, glazed with rum and not say a single word. No apologies. Nothing. He would taste the tears that ran down my face, rubbing them away with his thumb, almost like he couldn't bear to watch them fall. He spent most of the school nights and weekends down at the pub and often came home drunk, bursting into our bedrooms and making us clean the dishes at three in the morning.
My parents would push each other around and sometimes they would fight all night. When dad was on a "binge", The Stepmother would pack my brother and sister and a few suitcases into the back into our station wagon. Of course, she would leave me behind. I was not considered hers.
I wasn't important enough to take. I sat on the driveway and cried as she pulled away with my brother and sister looking through the back window. Eventually, daddy would come home and find me there and he just looked so old in that moment.
The house would be empty with strange stillness, so Dad and I went down to the pub. I would have a raspberry lemonade and we would talk about just anything - I would confess that I had a boyfriend and we would laugh and begin to relax. I love my dad, in spite of myself. I love the fact that one day - we might be comfortable with each other.
We would drive home together from our special dinner, laughing all the way - then stop dead as we saw that she had returned. The station wagon was back in the driveway. Dad would suddenly go all quiet and then everything would go back to how it was. I would not speak to him again for about seven months and when we did - it was different.

In the end he just avoided us kids and buried it all in the bottle, and it hurt me a lot.
The Stepmother needed us kids to feel she had a purpose, so I knew it would have to be me that would escape. I told Dad that me fleeing home was on the horizon. He laughed it off and tweaked my nose, but I caught a glimpse of panic behind those eyes - he knew our days were numbered. I cried every night, silent sobbing. I have never felt so intensely sad and alone. The Stepmother would slap my face and call me idiot and I would get so mad I would want to kill her - so many times I snapped and then just cried and cried and cried. Although it felt good to go crazy - it made me very tired. I wanted peace. I wanted something better than what my parents could give. I had to take a chance.
They fucking failed me - my childhood was terrible and I would never get it back. But what about the rest of my life? If I would give her my joy - she would take it. It was all she ever wanted to do. I started to get angry. The panic gave way and I knew I would have to get out of the house. It was either that or be fucked up more than I was. It was a call to action.
I was not going to let my adulthood go the same way. It was now my life and unlike my childhood - I was now in charge.
I started to scream with excitement into my pillow. Freedom! After years of abuse and emotional manipulation, I would be able to smile again and not have to explain why. I could finally not feel guilty about being loved by people.
I would stop being accused of flirting with my Father.
So I started to make my plan to escape, risking everything I had, which at 15 was not much. I didn't know how to cook or clean or how I would live. I just knew I had to run. It's all my heart had been saying to me. I was dying on the inside, my soul lost and struggling with it all.

It wasn't that much so I figured I had nothing to loose.
But I lost Dad - and I miss him. He always blames himself.
Maybe one day - he will save me from the sadness that was my childhood and help me understand - but for now, I will just grieve that I lost him.
I remember the morning of the escape, they way the new dawn broke and made slices of peachy light across my face. I had no idea that I was about to change my life forever. It was the day I stopped being a victim.

To Be Continued


One of our regular readers has posted up his assessment which is called Heroine.
Read it here. He has asked for feedback and I know that you can leave it here
Heroine is actually the title that I wanted for my blog as my manuscript is labelled Heroine. I made it Heroinegirl on my blog because the blog is also about my normal girl life as well.
Can't be a superhero all the time darlings! But back to the piece, the writer is male butI think he covered the female perspective quite well. The client hitting the girl - maybe needs more reason ( this doesn't normally happen unless girl is not attractive, stolen money or guy is a pyscho - none of this happened to me personally) This guy reminds me of Barry and parts remind me of my Miami stories - even the room number is the same.

What do you think guys ? A few parts of this seem like my story but maybe I am being paranoid ? I am so worried that someone will beat me to my own story. This is why I don't like to blog so much as I think it subconciously lodges in peoples creativity. I know at least five people that started blogs from reading Heroinegirl. It's just such a emotionally charged blog this one - some people even say addictive. That's sweet - I'd rather you be addicted to my blog than Junk ! Anyhoo, I am just being a ninny on my own blog ; I've probably broken some rule or something. *shrugs* It's good work regardless.
Comment as you wish.



Thursday, December 16, 2004


I just want to be well again, want to open my eyes and not feel everything has become so lurid yet plastic almost in the same instance.
I want be a precious metal and sparkle again, not pounded into the angry dirt, buried by my rage within. I want tears to release me, from behind those faded eyes. I hope for my limbs that will one day reach forward with hope, not hang limp beside me with despondance. I want to rejoice, feel the winds of change upon my face instead of a feeling of hot breath upon my neck. I wish to sleep deeply , lost again in the magic of your lullaby. Instead, I count my blessings as I struggle with myself for one more day. That is all we can do for now, in the downtime of life.

bless babies bottoms
bless the friend who gives you their beachtowel when you forgot yours
bless first kisses
bless giggles and sparklers
bless chocolate (all kinds)
bless kittens and bless puppies too
bless survivors of natural disasters
bless your favorite song
bless tacos with all the fillings
bless holding hands
bless the underdog
bless peace and quiet
bless your wedding
bless your deathbed confession
bless the smell of the air - a minute before it rains
bless having a really good cry
bless winning a debate
bless the birth of your children
bless driving down an open highway with your best friends
bless your grandparents
bless imperfections
bless letting go
bless all of the soliders
bless instant messenger
bless people that wait in the car until your inside and safe
bless the best fireworks that you ever saw
bless my readers
bless survivors of abuse
bless my sexy lingerie
bless compliments and bless those that give them freely
bless a really long stretch and a shared yawn
bless wisdom in the young
bless freshly whipped cream
bless getting the car parked right near the entrance
bless a good haircut and the way it just makes you go "sweet"
bless paris and bless london ( the cities)
bless berets and bless courtseys
bless justice and bless freedom
bless my toned tummy
bless my bubbles in my bath
bless your health
bless your financial security
bless your decisions to try and be your best
bless your sanity
bless your second helping
bless parks and lying under trees
bless clouds and blue skies
bless people who know manners and use them
bless your partner and bless your bullshit won't drive them away
bless your ability to survive
bless the boy who returned my purse, money intact.
bless all of the children
bless self confidence
bless solitude
bless your favorite teacher
bless the rockstars and bless the legends
bless my multiple orgasm
bless pancakes, bacon, eggs
bless mayple syrup licked from my fingers
bless condoms and bless safe sex
bless freddie
bless kurt
bless jim
bless book deals and bless your dreams coming true
bless being honest with your friends
bless them loving you no matter what
bless not forgetting what made you who you are
bless kentucky fried chicken and bless gravy
bless getting the right amount of salt on your popcorn
bless girl's nights out and bless boy's night out too
bless a freshly cleaned bedroom/house/car
bless all the hugs from your children and bless those butterfly kisses
bless being hygenic and always looking neat and tidy
bless getting real letters in the mail
bless even more getting parcels
bless your birthdays and another year of life
bless your home movies
bless removing new shoes after a big night out
bless all of your digital pictures of what makes you - you
bless sweetdreams and bless goodnight
bless travelling and bless your culture and mine too
bless the smell of freshly washed hair
bless lust and bless the feeling of being in love
bless my sensitive nipples
bless kissing at the rollerink
Bless homemade waterslides and sprinklers
bless slumberparties and the person who remembers the joint
bless cheese and biscuits and good conversation
bless punctuation
bless all the bloggers
bless my sight, my hearing and my working limbs
bless cake and icecream on special occasions
bless really good food
bless all my dandelions past
bless your school trophies and bless last place
bless vomiting when your really really fucked off your face
bless not having to clean it up cos you fall straight asleep
bless me that I will always laugh at myself
bless people that can't dance but have fun trying
bless my daddy stops drinking
bless being tipsy
bless the feel of skin when swimming and bless the sounds in my ears
bless my hysterics
bless nuding up
bless finding 20 dollars in my jeans
bless my courage
bless fire drills at work
bless methodone
bless my sister and her new life as an adult
bless internet banking and bless technology
bless my education
bless books, music and bless the artist
bless my old cubbyhouse
bless my memories
bless my strength to overcome the bad ones
bless cartoons
bless back massages and footrubs
bless the library
bless you for dusting the lash from my cheek
bless getting one extra in the vending machine
bless magic tricks
bless perfume and the person it reminds you of
bless my laughing fits
bless slamming doors
bless gentlemen
bless slipping over on stage
bless all of my nerdy friends that are so, so cool.
bless the geeks and bless the freaks
bless style, grace and poise
bless your commitment to love like no other
bless headbanging and bless my sore neck the next day
bless doing some brilliant piece of writing, music or art
bless your special talent , bless mine too
bless your snort laugh
bless accidental farts
bless your privacy
bless photo albums of you in the 1980's
bless sport and keeping active
bless a really nice pair of boobs
bless a nice smile
bless my lovely gazelle legs
bless air conditioning in summer
bless log fires in winter
bless hopping into bed after a really hard day
bless snowflakes
bless rainbows
bless all of the animals
bless even spiders and rabid dogs
bless forgiveness
bless moving on
bless saying yes
bless being able to say no
bless your independence
bless going to a really awesome concert
bless free passes and bless winning prizes
bless winning poker, monopoly or charades
bless just having fun, even if you lose sometimes
bless getting good health results
bless the support of others if you don't
bless courage
bless you
bless me
bless being alive


bless my anti-depressants will keep working until I can do it on my own. until then - i will write this list out somewhere.
bless your support !