Still working through my damage.

Prior to my crash life wasn’t perfect, far from it, I had the same problems as everyone else. No matter how much I earned it wasn’t enough but the standard of living was great.

I was born in poverty, the houses that I grew up in were knocked down by the time I was 7 seven because of human lice and something else infesting the street, they took down two streets of housing.

My father was an emotionally abusive, sexually depraved paedophile , a nonce, I was his focus of interest which is something that has followed me all my life and while as an adult I can drop “ my dad used to fuck me “ into a conversation like I was ordering a scone the stink just doesn’t wash off.

I’ve often wondered if my father fucked me because I was born a hermaphrodite, “ neither Arfur nor Marfur, you want to make up yer mind”.

Like I had a choice in how I was born, I was butchered at birth and sent home to guy who would teach me how to suck his cock.

I’m dripping in sleaze, I ooze self loathing and the only way I got through life this far is by sheer luck.

I was the first person in my family to graduate college, the first to go to and graduate uni and also the first to get a PhD. I was certain that while I was born into a nightmare I wouldn’t live one and I worked my arse off to get to where I needed to be and over time I embarked on a bit social climbing.

I managed to move from flee pit to members clubs picking up all those social things that kids from the bottom never get taught, the secret codes of the upper classes.

I look at my life and I have pride in what I achieved, I might have stepped on a few heads going up but my fall was so hard I’m not back where I began.

People wonder why I find it a challenge to live. I’ve had 14 genital surgeries all to fix issues that were inflicted on my when the surgeons decided that being a hermaphrodite wasn’t acceptable in our country so they butchered me, the NHS then lies to cover things up and I found out at 35 what had truly happened and my world imploded, although in a sense there was a relief because it explained, to me, why I never felt like me, I was never given the chance to be me, the ‘normals’ robbed me of that.

I cry, I cry a lot, everyday at least two, I just get hit with a wave of over arching sadness that it’s impossible to contain, I weep while changing the bed, while wash up, anytime really. I’m sad that child me had to go through so much and yet adult me is still shovelling shit.

I fight myself daily, I check myself wondering if the actions I’m about to do are me or the damage to my impulse control which has already made one bank withdraw it’s services following a rather splendidly frank yet verbally abusive email. Oh well, I’d be pissed if it was Coutts but I lost that account years ago.

I’m worn down, worn out whatever. I’ve lost my tenacity, the defiance I had as kid that helped me through the shit storm, all I have left is this empty vessel and it’s making so much noise in my head I need it to stop.

Divergency as a result of childhood trauma is expected, it’s how kids like me cope, everything packed away in little boxes kept away from my waking life left to seep out into my dreams in paralysing nightmares, my brain damage has also brought down that partition and now I spend my days with not so happy memories of time spent in dads company, do things, making secret promises and being seen but not heard.

The brain damage has also changed my personality. I find myself running on hair trigger, I find myself resentful of the successes of others which really doesn’t me feel good about myself, I’m not happy at my ever shrinking life.

I feel like a failure, a waste of both air and space. Ive gone from a 40% tax contributor to someone classified as disabled, mentally disabled. I hate it, I’m bereft for my old life and resent my new one and it’s wrapped up in this dark shroud of death, my death.


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