Male Rape and Rape Culture... mgtow?

Sandman is a YouTube user I was referred to because I watch: The Amazing Atheist, Armoured Skeptic, Sargon of Akkad, Thunderf00t . And I had no idea what MGTOW was... so I watched his videos explaining about men going their own way. He often takes in $20 donations and if given good subjects will speak about them. Here is one that has been pissing me off mostly because social justice warrior feminazi's have been all over rape culture.

David was a viewer who donated money to have [this video] "false rape claims" discussed. "Especially how they affect men, even after the man is proven innocent." Which is a topic that I particularly get really upset about. (That whole article calls physical sexual harassment full on assault. I was more sexually harassed during middle school and high school and only my mother tried to help me, no teachers cared. She had to call the district.) I was very close friends with a man who is a registered sex offender because his wife didn't want to get a divorce, it'd look bad in the eyes of the church. So what does she do? She got their two little girls to lie to the police about things their dad never did to them, thinking that once she ruined his life she could tell the truth and damage undone, right? Well, no, once you're on that list, you're not off it. I lived with him for a while, when I was like a size 2!, and he was completely paternal to me. I mean he could have done the creepy-old-guy-hitting-on-girl-that-could-be-daughter-thing but he didn't. We only lost touch really because I moved 2,000 miles away and we are both bi-polar and depressed people. I should shoot him an email and see how he is... anyway.

 Sandman goes on to point out that third wave feminists cannot find statistics to prove wrong, that is claims of false rape. Much akin to people who believe in paranormal or aliens (or religion), if you cannot prove them wrong, despite that the evidence they have perhaps cannot be 100% disproved, that 0.001% unknown variable allows them to argue that they are correct. This is why they claim that there is a "rape culture".

The largest rape culture that you see in the USA is in our male prison system, and nearly everyone turns a blind eye to the problem. People make jokes at the expense of the victims. It is a horrible and violent crime that has become a huge source of humor to our society, which shows just how much of a bias and double standard that we have for men vs. women. Why are feminists not realizing that more men are raped than women during an average year? Don't they realize that no one seems to be addressing the issues about male victims, either? RAINN doesn't count them at all! So many are dedicating time and resources for female victims, but in comparison to the sheer amount of males, nothing is being done. You're only a victim of rape, if you're a certain kind of male victim. I think that's a rape culture, and it's men who're suffering it.

About 200,000 men are raped in prison each year... So then there is another figure of men and women, and boys and girls being abused of just under 300,000. So like 40% of our sexual assault victims each year are being ignored, made fun of, beaten, silenced, and everyone knows and doesn't care. (for some reason I got on a tangent and wound up on the social security's website looking at step's after approval... ahem... there was a political debate about $12 vs $15/hr 15 being more than I ever made which I found from Star wars.. but the min wage- SSI income.. Before that I was at Star Wars off ABC news which I had clicked on from the 200k men article above. So ADHD)

The only other rape culture that actually exists is among cultures that encourage rape, though. Most feminists who are around now are so rich and privileged that they never run into the type of girl or woman who might suffer from a real rape culture in the U.S. or visiting from abroad. Rape culture is alive and well in many third world countries, but third world feminists seem to care more about ruining my video games than actually helping child brides.

Sandman mentions that the first time that he learned about rape was an episodes about Matlock where a woman was beaten and raped by soldiers and then had to be taken to the hospital. The word conjures up images from that episode for him. I must admit that I am surprised, because whenever I hear the word I keep going back to my first boyfriend; I'm trying desperately to shove him off me, and screaming for him to stop. My hands are in fists punching his chest it's like a wall. I am screaming for mercy and in pain. The pain was so overwhelming it took my breath away for a while. I wonder if other people have specific scenes in their mind at the word?

Apparently someone that Sandman knew in university was "falsely accused" of rape and lost all of his friends. Why? The girl sobered up and had regrets about sleeping with him. No one would even talk to him. The women all hated him... even though he did nothing. I facepalm so hard- if this is true. I listened to this a second time proofing this.

Sandman is a hard narcissist though, and admits that this guy friend was a full of himself jerk, too. The girl "dropped charges", he said. He didn't say that she recanted. Maybe his friend really was a rapist? I mean it's not like it's something that a Canadian man is going to brag about to his friends when he's a pariah. They're not big on crime.

But because alcohol was involved I am inclined to think that the girl was like, "omg I cannot believe I slept with that douchebag... I didn't want it, he coerced me into it.. I was tipsy, I was trying to wriggle away from him, ya know? ... asking him to slow down... stop?" I could totally see that having had happen... but equally because of the way cops react to rape I could see having happened that she was brutally assaulted and the cop made her describe every last detail, and then she was told that she would have to repeat her story in front of a judge, two lawyers, the accused, and several other law officials and she dropped charges because she was a sobbing wreck after just reporting it to a single cop.

[article proposal of Roosh- after bad PR he claimed it was "satire" but it was heavily edited and obviously was not ment to be satire, as there was no original mention of his sister.] I actually shamed a guy who supported the idea of Roosh V's idea [video] of legalizing rape on private property, of removing his video supporting it... by describing the rape that is most vivid in my mind. I'll mix my own experience with a drunk sorority girl. I didn't mean to shame him to take it down, but I wanted to make him think.

So TRIGGER WARNING:

I could also see Sandman's buddy having done the following...:
She was kissing a guy who she thought that she knew, someone that for sure she cared about and trusted, and he was holding her so close. Words sweetly whispered in hair as hands caressed sides and legs enter-tangled and lips graced the sides of a neck. Suddenly, or perhaps just sudden for a moment, there is a tug upwards at a shirt and a smug relent as she let it come off with a smirk upon her face so she could allow him to give her attention. Everything so far she was enjoying with a haze of alcohol. His shirt was then demanded off, only to be fair.. perhaps his pants, too? No, no, she says, he can keep them on, but he discards them anyway, for comfort he reassures. Then he is wanting to tug her pants down, too, wishing to give her nethers attention as her hands are already roaming below his waist... He suggests that he might perform oral on her, and she blushes, and as he slowly drags the pants off her ankles he comes back to her face and kisses her. His hands are down there, they have not been down there yet [tonight], she is flushed...

Then she realizes that there is something wrong. Her face becomes stern, the tipsiness fades, she is sober, and she firmly says, "No, don't!" He smiles, sadistically, already knowing that it's too late and her hands are on his shoulders, legs trying to knee him, but suddenly he's inside her, ripping her insides apart. She screams out from pain. "Noo!!" The wind is knocked out of her for a moment, the sheer force and pain is stunning. After he gets to pace does she finally come back to.

Tears in her eyes she looks at her friend, "Please... stop! Stop!" he looks her in the eye, before looking away, it is chilling. Her hands can't push his body off. Her legs cannot get leverage in the awkward position that they are caught in. She can only cry out in pain and wait undignified until he is gratified with pleasure and finished before she can limp away home...

FIN

With me there was no alcohol, only innocence and naivety and someone who was already threatening my life. He could get into my apartment any time that he wanted to... the lock didn't work, and he knew exactly how to jimmy it. He regularly harmed me, and eventually I just came to realize that if you fight less, you get hurt less. I was a minor at the time and neither my parents or police would help me, not even people at my school would.

(Okay, um, Sandman's friend would probably NO WAY be a sadistic psycho like my ex to be fair lol. I mean how the fuck do you meet the eye of your victim and be like, yeah... suffer.... and continue?! I mean, there is a reason he's been in and out of jail for doing this to other women. I have a restraining order ready to go in case he locates me again!)

False rape accusations affect men, but then, it affects women, too. I was 17 dating a violent young man with a thirst for violence. Once he wasn't just happy enough with beating me, he finally decided it was time to turn me into an object for his sexual satisfaction. I fought tooth and nail, but to no avail, I couldn't win, and then I was thrown out into the street, barely able to walk, bleeding hard, limping home. If I had KNOWN police would have listened to me, protected me, I would have gladly had gone to them, but one thing I learned a long time ago- they do not help you. (<-story of a woman who actually got fined for filing false charges, but later her rapist was found and convicted, he had her ID.)

Unless perhaps you have some money to bribe a police officer with, you should stay clear of those particular men, the women in uniform seem alright though- but it could be because I am female. It sickens me that I've been ... coerced to turn to cops a few times in my life... They weaseled their way in, found out there was an assault upon me, insisted upon gathering information after I asked them to leave me be, and at the end of it? They upset me by asking me a bunch of questions for no reason and refusing to help, although acknowledging, yes, I was illegally assaulted.

I have been raped by a few men, I have never on-the-record told a police officer about any of it. Why? Because they will just ask more questions about it, dredge up the memories, make you relive every second of the first and last time it happened with the male you mentioned, and then shrug their shoulders. It is a viscous cycle between police becoming so jaded they don't believe real victims so real victims never reporting crimes, and fake rapes being reported more than real ones because the real ones are silent because we're rightfully scared.

One last thing digs at me... A woman's lifetime is a long time. So a chance of being raped, is it what, per life, per 25 years, per decade, per year? I was drugged and raped when I was twelve by a neighbor, at least once. (The drugging part makes it hazy, and repression.. large chunks of childhood are gone.) That is the furthest and clear-headed thing I can recall. But I was also molested by a female and male repeatedly between 6 and 11. So is this a stat of one kid abused or a kid three time abused? Or was at age twelve you count that a young woman raped? Does it discount when my first boyfriend did it later after I was done developing?

Okay... so I Google'd it... it says 1/5 women in their lifetime will be a victim of rape, or attempted. Now I have to call bullshit on this. I only know have had two female friends who weren't raped. Where are they getting their statistics? Maybe I just meet a lot of fellow messed up people.

"there is an average of 293,066 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault each year." So do they not count the men or women who have been raped before in their lives? lol... I'm one of the square pegs in a round hole.

So the real rape culture is left for women with third world cultures and countries... human trafficking... Male prison culture is heavy with rape culture and it is probably the most ingrained within normal American society. After all, like I pointed out, RAINN will only help certain male sexual victims... if that's not a rape culture in the U.S., what is?

F'in up, Homeless Again, News to Him

Home- It's a place where you feel safe, welcome, wanted. Where you want to go to. A sanctuary. You want to sleep there. Maybe you have family there. And for me it's been the most elusive thing for me to find ever since I discovered how devious and evil my step-mother was.

So I haven't blogged in a while because I thought I had found a secure place, and it was for a while, but things were thrown upside down, at least for while. I thought that I would need to find a new place to go to live, and I know that in my heart that is what I need to do, still.

I've been struggling with money to afford to get to pay for the gasoline to go visit my doctors... Then when I saw my doctor, I tried to share good news, only to have it dashed in my face. Losing 25 lbs isn't enough, lose more. You shouldn't have any romance in your life until your back issues are solved.... That one hurt a lot. Then when I am home I was sat down and told that I was a liability and needed to ... yes, needed to, ..., not really told what needed to be done!

So now my best friend came and he helped me with my room. It is a lot cleaner, which I am SO thankful for his help. Now I can actually find things and work on disposing of donation items, trash, or other things, slowly at pace that doesn't hurt my back, at least too much. Tony, my landlord seems sated with the state of it, not happy, but satisfied enough.

I won't mentioned that I've fallen several times in my room, trying to get out of bed, just from weakness... my back gets worse every day. I need to go grocery shopping for food, but I have no one to take me. I feel like I am in an utterly hopeless situation. Most of my support system has fallen through. There are five people in it-- and I am ignoring them, and I don't know why. And of those five, two of them I've only just met!

Of the two I just met, it was very awesome. I went to Monolith  which was awesome. It was in Ventura. They were friends who play Warcraft like I do, and the place was wheelchair accessible, although it was a humorous way that we discovered this. First we thought that there was no ramp, and only five steps. So I grabbed my cane, and the railing, and made it up, only to discover that there were more steps, and there was a man explaining that there was a ramp on the far side of the building.

So we took the chair back down. I precariously went back down the steps, and we went up the ramps! There were some bumps between different flooring types and I had to guide my new friend on how to overcome the bumps (pull the wheelchair backward). Eventually we reached our destination, really early!

This gave me time to get to know my new friends. Which was awesome. Eventually by the time they were setting up, I was even able to talk to the dude doing the lighting and have the strobe set at a pace where it would not induce seizures upon me. How kind!

An Xbox360 was set up in the rear of the room, and I was told that there was going to be Marvel Vs. Capcom 3, which there never was, but I did wait with anticipation. As time went by and conversation died off I eventually wheeled myself over to the console and tried at King of Fighters '98 not realizing that instead of trying to unlock characters, I was playing an arcade download trial that only had like 8 characters. It was horrible.... some guy tried to join me and it said not available in trial and suddenly I realized why I couldn't unlock anymore characters.

So then... it was Marvel Vs. Capcom 2, which was not a demo. And I don't really know this game too well. Mike Z, who designed Skull Girls, always said that he wanted to "fix MvC2." And I played a fair amount of SG.... so once I recalled how to play MvC2, like after 2 rounds I began whooping the poor guy's ass of who was playing me, and turned on a handicapped, which didn't help him too much. Pfffft and Mike would always be like "learn how to play," you learn how to play Mike...and kick my ass.

And his friend faired little better. So hours of playing video games, I finally took a break and went to the dancefloor in my chair and a girl in a gasmask and cool outfit danced with me until my back hurt. Then I talked to some dude about WoW and how he should get back into it....

When I got home I felt good, until I saw Tony's mother. So I immediately shut myself in my room... and I've stayed here since. I barely leave it. Restroom and water are the things that bring me out. She is creepy. She babbles in Spanish at me as if I understand, which I don't. I am American, I live in the USA, and I speak English. I do not know Spanish, it is a foreign language. It is one hot topic that I feel much heat about in debate.

When I worked in the pharmacy there were so many instances of people who were angry that people did not speak Spanish, or would not speak Spanish to them. California is close to the border of Mexico, but it is not IN Mexico. Spanish is a fucking foreign language, if you come to the USA from another country, learn the native language, which is English. It is infuriating that there is a woman living under the roof right now, who had lived in this country for YEARS and she doesn't speak the FUCKING language! Yet she expects me to know HER FUCKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE?! WE'RE NOT IN MEXICO CREEPY LADY LIVING IN THE LIVING ROOM!!!!!!!

UGH..... I hear arguing and fighting a lot.... Always in Spanish which is fine, it is between the family. I mean, I understood when I moved in with a Mexican family, that yes, they spoke Spanish. That did not mean that I was supposed to learn a fucking foreign language though. When they speak it among themselves to other family members I am not bothered. But when that woman has the audacity to start trying to tell me to DO things, when I am paying rent to live here, and she is free-loading on the couch, and she doesn't evens speak the language of the country she is LIVING in.... AND she has LIVED here in VENTURA LONGER than I have!!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER?! There is NO excuse for her NOT to know English!!!!!!!!!!!!

EVERY other immigrant has to learn English, because people don't bow down to their needs, why are Spanish speaking immigrants given exception?! It is so racist and biased it drives me mad, especially because I dated an immigrant for almost 7 years! He was from the Philippines, HE learned English. People from China, learn English, people from Germany, they learn English, people from Russia learn English, Iran, English, Romania, English. Everyone else I know who is from a non-Spanish speaking country they learned English, why do Spanish speakers have something up their asses that makes them feel that they are SO much better than EVERYONE else, that they are SO MUCH MORE entitled than EVERY OTHER SINGLE PERSON including every citizen of the USA and every other immigrant that everyone else should learn Spanish to accommodate them?

Ah yes.... well.... This is something that has been bothering me every since I moved to California. It felt like I moved to another country. I had to study to be a Pharmacy Tech. to find a job, because I didn't speak Spanish actually. No place would hire a fresh high school graduate who had honor roll in AP classes and other good stuff, previous exp, but didn't speak Spanish.

And then my computer crashes.

To have people close to me who are supportive, even if they are busy most of the week, is nice, and I feel unfamiliar with how to deal with it, and I am sure that they both feel rebuffed by how I have ignored them up until we finally met and went out. It all goes back to home. As I return back to the place I live now and get ordered to do things in some foreign language, I do not feel at home, but also for most of my life now, home has been foreign.

When my elder sister left the house, my step mother, not my father, my step-mother began to cite that they were having 'they same problems with me.' [That they had had with my sister.] Almost immediately. It took only about two months.

The problems that lead my father to ask my sister to leave, which he never got the chance, she left before he could ask her to, were numerous. She turned 18, said she had a physical for the Navy in Chicago, and didn't return. But, she was flunking out a grade, failing classes, skipping them, not doing homework, constantly arguing and fighting with our parents, and then later our father and step-mother, she would have friends who did drugs, smoked, and drank alcohol, and she was sleeping around. There were so many other things wrong that she was doing such as sneaking people into the house and wrong doings against me that I shall not mention, but when my step-mother said that they were having the SAME problems with me?! I was astounded.

It began slowly at first. My bedroom was put downstairs, away from them. I was asked to clean more and more of the house. I was asked to cook the meals. I was discouraged to eat the meals with them. I was getting straight A's but if I got a B that was very very bad. I got very involved with church on the weekends, and if I did anything wrong, that would be taken away as punishment. One day I did not hear something that my aunt said to me in the kitchen, so as punishment I was grounded severely for weeks, no television, music, computer, or anything. Not even church. Just because I hadn't heard her. She had asked me to do something after I had descended the stairs to my bedroom. It was her mistake, not mine, but I paid for it.

As I sang the song from Oasis, "As he faced the sun, he cast no shadow," my father grew angry with me and I apologized. They grew upset with me that I was depressed. It was a thing that deserved further punishment, my depression. Soon when I began to self-mutilate, that too also deserved punishment.

So the same problems, I got good grades in college classes, I was devout in church, even volunteering on retreats. I had never kissed, although I had a terrible crush on a guy for years, I hadn't even held hands with a boy except for once, and I felt so guilty! I had never, have never, touched drugs illegally... I wasn't out getting drunk, I did not spend time with people who did drugs or got drunk either. I didn't spend any time with any friends really... Except when they shoved me off to my best friend at the time, who had her son, Nick, she was friends with my sister, had gotten pregnant at 16, and they would constantly abandon me upon her. But I didn't mind, I loved her.

But I cleaned the whole house, I cooked for them, I stayed out of their way, I hadn't kissed a guy, I got good grades, I was nothing like my elder sister, how was I committing any of her errors? But my father listened for some reason and agreed. Shortly after I was 17 I was beaten and kicked out to my best friend Nellie... she'd lost her son by then. My father got away with beating me and kicking me out illegally, too, from the police and children's protective services. Amazing. No one wanted to see my bruised ribs, or listen to what had actually happened.

After that I thought I had a home with Nellie... until I turned 18 and she suddenly told me that she needed me out because she was trying to get her son back... but even before that- she had called me a slut when I had crushed on the same guy as she had and then changed my mind. I 'dated' him for a brief period, but he was too ashamed of me to even hold hands in front of others, so I couldn't handle it, and for that she, my best friend, my ONLY family at the time, called me a slut.... still hadn't kissed.

Then I thought I had found another home until I got news that that was insecure. Then I came to California on vacation and stayed here. I found refuge out here, expecting perhaps to be raped, murdered, left or dead or something... I was raped that first night, not left for dead, but he stopped though.

We were supposed to go to his house, and he made up a fishy excuse that his parents were arguing, so we went to a hotel. He was a nurse, and his scrubs and stethoscope were draped over the seat.... it felt all so planted and fake..... I knew I was being mislead, but I had no choice, I was here in his territory, I had been tricked, I just needed to survive until I could figure out a way back to Chicago.

The hotel was nice. He was nice. We hugged, it was okay. We kissed, it was less ok.... then other things happened and I began to resist, but he seemed not to notice. It was as it he took no notice to my complete and utter resistance to removal of clothing and being touched and kissed and such, how I cringed, cried, shook, whimpered, begged quietly for it to stop. It wasn't until I finally spoke up loudly, yelled for him to stop that it stopped. I had to yell. I was so afraid, expecting a hand to enclose my throat like my first boyfriend would have done, or to cuff my face, like James would have done to me.... but no, instead he stopped.

I was shaking from fear and trauma and he hugged me until I fell asleep. I awoke hours later alone in the hotel room alone.... It was freezing. My things were in his car, and he was gone. He had met me online, had me, and left. I went and took a bath to try to cleanse my shame, it was during this that I heard someone unlock the door. I was terrified that it was a friend of his, coming to have his own turn. When I came out in a towel and holding the hair drier as a blunt weapon I was surprised when it was him... He said he had had to help out at his house and had woken me up and told me, and was so sorry that I'd been worried. I cried as he held me again.

Even after all this, he approached me for sex again and again, even though I trembled and shook and begged..... When I finally asked him about it years later, he broke down as a man, degraded, like he should be, shocked... I hadn't been consenting? How could he have been so blind in the first place is what I wonder. Over the years I finally stopped begging, stopped fighting it, and got used to it... I guess maybe he forgot what was going on, though there were instances where I would protest loudly and it still happened.... and even with this, it was news to him on the day I left.

Seclusion from PTSD

So I have been sequestering myself in my room since I got the backhanded snide comments from the father of the family that I live with, accusing that I am choosing not to pick up my room due to laziness and not medical reasons that doctors are legitimately getting angry at me for breaking... I keep going to the E.R. because I am breaking the rules that the doctors have been setting. I am lifting too much weight, moving too much, doing things that hurt and not stopping because I keep thinking that I need to please the new people who have come into my lives.

While I was sitting in the ER alone, I was feeling miserable. Before I had gone I had made sure to call my back doctor's office and get confirmation that I should be going, and I was told to go... But, the doctor seemed to think that there was no reason for me to be there. At least he wasn't like the brilliant genius doctor who said "there's no reason to expose you to more radiation with an MRI." I was very glad I left minutes later, an MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging... nothing radioactive about it.

One thing that caused me issues, and often does, is they wanted me to pee on demand. Through an ultrasound they saw that my bladder had a decent amount of urine in it. Can other people just pee on demand like if they were told to stick their tongue out or cough? I mean, I can't pee unless I either have to pee, or it happens out of my control. But doctors and nurses always get upset and annoyed at me when I tell them that I cannot pee on demand and that I will have to have to get an urge and even then it might not come.

I was hostilely told "Well just try!" by a nurse, and handed a bed pan. It dug deeply into my flesh and I tried forcing my muscles as hard as I could, but nothing was going anywhere. I tried pressing on my bladder, nothing. I had four more little cups of water, and no to no effect. But as I was lying there alone in the hospital, with that bed pan beneath me, I was thinking of some of my pet peeves about peeing...

I can only do it in a toilet, and I can only do it absolutely alone. In ladies bathrooms I often have to wait a long time, or at least until it is very empty before I can go... then suddenly the memories of why I had this huge avoidance of urinating outside of restrooms in isolation flooded back to me and I began to cry out from more than just the physical pain that I was in.

How can I tell doctors that I can't force myself to urinate because it is part of my really screwed up PTSD from when I was a kid? 

As a kid before I realized what molestation was, and not just something that I didn't like and was a secret, I could go piss in the woods, or even on the side of the road on long road trips if it had to happen, hehe.

There is so much in my life that my past abuses have affected me in how I am today that I don't even realize and cannot identify, let alone begin to work on, that it hurts so much. But beginning to identify it, lets me begin to work on it. Once I stopped crying, I was able to get a wheelchair and finally pee for those damn doctors.

END SAFE BLOG HERE

but there is more to that night that affected me

----WARNING THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS MENTION OF CHILDHOOD SEX ABUSE---

So there were 2 culprits who affected my bathroom behaviors and feelings. But the first one and predominate one, she was a close neighbor. She was a girl, so when she'd ask me to come in the bathroom with her, it didn't seem that weird at first... but the things that she began to say and talk about while there I didn't like.

She also had terrible games... house was one of them. I loved to play house as a kid! But not with Lizzy. She'd always make me the wife. Every kid knows the fun part of house is like the day. A job, pretend eating, pretend shopping, and dressing up... But Lizzy being older than me, she'd guide the day... She always brought nighttime so soon, which I didn't like, because she would never let me be the husband.

We had to undress for bed, of course, cause we were playing realistically... and she wanted to play more like real. And at the tender age of 5, with her finger, she got over me, and pretended to be a husband and showed me what they did.

Lizzy would never talk to my sister again, they were best friends, and then my sister would hate me forever, if I ever told anyone... and besides we were just playing... why would I need to tell anyone? My sister was always envious when the three of us played and Lizzy wanted to go and play house alone with just me... her eyes felt like daggers in my back, the jealousy, but I didn't want to go.

She's also play doctor, which started off completely normal... but turned into like a gynecological exam... When a neighbor girl who was my age moved in later, I was so over-joyed, I had an excuse not to be near Lizzy, ever again.

Yet as I was sitting in the hospital trying my damnedest to pee in a plastic tub while I heard all these voices around me, I heard a young girl, Lizzy's voice, and the things that she would say to me, want to do to me.... and the nightmares began again.

Other things in my life, other people, other events too... it's driving me back to old habits, that I want to self-mutilate, I'm walking on a razor's edge. Maybe I need to move.