I don’t have a power issue, this world has a power issue.

Visited the therapist Friday. That was Good. Trying to get a inkling of how my power issues work. Loads of, I don’t know, I guess burping up old stuff, connecting stuff. Difficult. Did not come to the point of ‘dealing with’.

Went to my brothers afterwards, kids where there, playing computer games. Funny thing is that my brother out of the blue remarked that he had thrown of a game from his phone because he had gotten addicted to it. At which moment he returned to his computer to play a game. I don’t think he has any idea.

My sister in law, the youngest and I played a board game. That was good fun. Brother and sister drank wine. No problem for me. And it was no problem telling them that I did not drink beer because I have been telling everybody over the last few months that I was going into therapy to control my weight. Not drinking beer is part of that and I also told them that I feel like it makes me depressed. At which my brother says: Yes, I have that too, have not drank beer for 2 years because only 1 glass makes me depressed for 3 days. I drink wine now.

All in all, nobody is surprised if I adjust my intake of anything. Over the years I have shown strong, funny, ever changing likes and dislikes towards all kinds of food. I do have to endure listening to all the weight loss tips and hints now. 😀 But I am sure they beat getting tips and hints about not drinking. Ghegheghe. Note to self: do not give anybody tips on anything unless they ask.

There were a few nasty remarks from my brother that were below the belt. We got into a tricky conversation about the artwork of one of the dead brothers of my sister in law. He was in an art school but painted like a 10 year old and 80% of this art showed pictures of a young boy being raped while the parents where within sight but did not see anything or react. And the paintings also portrayed his dead brother, mostly buried. I questioned whether they had ever tried to find out what those pictures meant, saying ‘if it where my child I would be extremely worried’. This is the moment the shit hit the fan. I should have known better. Don’t even want to go there in explaining, she panicked and non of it was true. Ever. And if it was there is no use digging because he too is dead.

“I think differently about such issues.’’

‘Yeah, but you claim the right to finding a trauma anytime.’ – this was my brother.

Well, yeah, since you were standing laughing while I got beat up, undressed against my will and ‘searched’ by your friends I guess you will not find meaning in anything that I say. – but that was my thinking, I only said ‘Oh really? Is that what you think…’ At which the sister in law started flighty looks from him to me and back. No need to argue that I do have a power issue. I wanted to beat him to pulp at that moment. Still do. Don’t feel like getting over it. Feel like getting even.

Dunno what is worst, the betrayal then, the things that happened or the blaming that he does now. I guess I can conclude he’s not my friend.

Today I found the kids gaming and watching tv all at the same time. Daughter noticed it was her father’s birthday when she opened Facebook. He had been in the room for an hour already. Sister in law and I went out for a beautiful bike ride through the countryside. I miss my homeland, but apart from the countryside I don’t have a lot to turn back to.

Going home was difficult. Sitting in the train going away from my family to my house in the city has always been a ‘drink me senseless’ moment. Didn’t. Came home, cuddled with the cat, made a vegetable juice. Stuff hurts. Major trap and I didn’t even set it myself. And that’s another trap thought.

Not happy that I stopped drinking. Dangerous moment. Try different approach, thinking what drinking would add now. It would add that this what hurts gets hidden or buried, mixed with fake drunk feelings and that my heart would feel stiff and untouchable. It would not be able to breath. Now it hurts but it is alive. Wonder if I ever cried about the shit that happened before. Think not. Cried about my mother turning me away about it. Not protecting me when I asked her to help me.

‘Mam, they are doing it again!’

‘I am in a conversation.’

‘But mam, they are doing it AGAIN! You said that I should come to you if they are doing it again. You said you would help me, tell them not to.’

‘I am speaking with Mrs E, don’t interrupt and don’t go standing here, get away.’

A few weeks before she made me take my cloths of in front of them because they were dirty and I was not allowed in the house because she had just vacuumed. She already knew the boys had been chasing me, trying to undress me and ‘see how it looks.’ They had heard you could put things in it so they had sticks. That never got so far. I fought. I never screamed, that egged them on. Their father was an abusive alcoholic, everybody but my parents knew that. They boys often had broken bones. And my brother laughed because he thought I got what was coming to me for some reason.

It still hurts. Guess I have to choose my friends more carefully. I did not do that then, even though I knew they were up to something. I’ve always known, earlier, at that moment and later what men would come after me and try stuff. I had special shoes for going out with very stiff and pointy toes. Don’t try to hit, kick. No heels, can’t run. An elbow in the solar plexis when they were behind me, big dicks grinding in crowds, then turn and look innocent and worried and say: Oooh, I’m very, very sorry! A knee in the balls or a knee in the outside of the upper legs, both cripples them and it does get the message home. Prepare to fight back if they get irritated. Loads of do or die, or do and die decisions.

I once twisted a guys nuts with my hand, like 90 degrees or what. That felt so strange that I can actually still feel it. It is 20 years ago. He shouldn’t have been grinding up on me repeatedly. I had warned him. He doubled over. He looked green when he came back up. I had never seen anybody look green, so that was strange too. And then he left which was convenient. My brother was there too, he laughed his head off. I was already a little drunk, got way drunk after.

It should have been strange that he was grinding up on me. And it should have been convenient that my brother was there so he could have helped me. I should have been worried at seeing somebody turn green with pain and nausea. These are sentences where the words strange and convenient are at its right place. I can see power issues having a firm grip on me within the above sentences, weird detachment in the wordings. Feels like a serial killer in the making, apart from that I did not go there, got self destructive instead. Guess that is the female way out.

It was after the 7th or 8th time or so that I was involuntarily grabbed by my boobs, arse or crutch and/or pinned against a wall and French ‘kissed’ that I did not warn anymore. I felt a little weird about that but I reasoned it was fair because they never warned me either. War was on.

I was this overly cute tiny little 50 kg girl with beautiful, cute high round boobs, a firm round ass and a very shapely shape, extra small waist, small and straight shoulders, but very strong from the farmhouse living. I knew nothing of that than. I asked my brother why all these guys were touching me. He said: ‘You look like this cute little Guiney pig, they just want to touch it.’ Strangely objectifying. Specifically for a 17 year old kid who as it turned out, had to wait another 7 years to be kissed.

Me starting to drink and not handling that well did not improve my safety. I never told my parents anything about this. I wouldn’t have been able to go out anymore. And then I wouldn’t be able to get drunk anymore, living was already hurting enough for me to want to not be there anymore, and if I was, not wanting to notice that I was.

Here I am 30 years older. Fat, broke, cynical, have this ‘don’t touch me’ attitude. No kids, too dangerous, don’t want to have a chance that I got a girl because I knew I would never be able to protect her. And let’s not forget the drinking. :-/

This is where I am broken. When it comes to dangerous man I have started to rely on my intuition much more. But still if I see something odd I talk in my head to the guy: ‘If somebody is going down it is going to be you.’ Natascha Kampusch said about her abduction: I knew the man in the van wanted to do something very bad to me, but I felt I did not have the right to take care of me and walk away because my mother had just been very angry with me.

And that’s why I have to learn to put socks on my feet when they are cold. Even if I feel bad about myself.

Happy that I quit drinking. Not happy with the shit that shows up. Guess tomorrow is another day.

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