this is why i dont generally journal

i feel like this blog has just come down to a summary of how things are. that's not at all what i intended it to be. this is supposed to be a place to journal, to vent, to express myself and really, it's just (lately) one big apology letter for forgetting about it. that stops today.

these last few weeks have been very hard. i'm trying to be very open with my friends now - the ones i trust - to let them know where i am really at as much as possible - to be vulnerable enough to allow in the care that i so desperately need.

my one friend who i stay with for t, she knows i have "a dissociative disorder" but not that it's DID. DID is scary. The name is scary. The situations are scary. Everything about it is scary - at least to me. i so so so dont want to lose her.

and then all of the stuff lately. parts acting up, coming out, being so needy. flashbacks all over my days... and nights. nightmares of bizarre things like my mother being angry or my father trying to drown me (which really happened), or my friends getting angry or scared and running away. and of course the always repeating dream of the police chasing me down to kill me...

i dont even know why i'm writing this anymore. my head is so full and going so every which way, i guess this is going to be a "stream of consciousness" entry. confusing as all get out for anyone but me, but enough of a vent for me that i'll feel better when it's over.

TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the main flashback i've been having lately is driving me crazy. i was 12 or 13 and we had just moved in to the new house, not the one with the sra, but the one after, where he stalked us. i still had boxes everywhere and was going thru them when my dad came in angry as all get out and scary scary insane looking eyes. he threw me across the room onto my bed where i fell backward onto the mattress. bad bad bad. i forgot to apologize and i was in a bad position for this anger to be released on. i fought back. i thought i was fighting for my life. bad bad bad. fighting back is bad. he had my hands held down over my head and managed to get in a blow to my belly that was so hard it left me seeing stars and unable to move. before i knew what was happening, he'd taken my clothes and had me cowering under his anger. stupid stupid face. his stubble burning my skin as he hurt me. next thing i knew he had a knife. a madman with a knife. my father. oh god. he weilded the thing like crazy and before i could take a breath, he had it on my private parts. cutting them and causing awful pain. he was trying to hurt me bad bad bad. he was going to carve out my clitoris. stupid stupid stupid. nothing stopped him and i couldnt fight it hurt so so badly. idk how it ended. like most of my memories it cuts off there. i likely switched to deal with it. idk. but it freaks me out.

body memories. pain pain pain. miserable and fear like crazy.

idk. i have to stop now.

sorry.