Posted in art, blog, blogging, dissociative identity disorder, Girl blogger, mental health, mental health awareness, Positivity, recovery, therapist, therapy, trauma, Wellbeing

Bitter therapy pills to swallow.

Just for fun, I thought I’d illustrate some of the bitter pills you have to swallow when you begin therapy.

Posted in blogging, dissociation, dissociative identity disorder, Girl blogger, health, lifestyle, mental health, mental health awareness, repressed memories, trauma, traumatic memory, Wellbeing

Worst nightmare and potentially a name.

This post contains details of graphic ritual abuse. Please consider your own safety before reading ahead.









Um… What the fuck. Just had a horrendous nightmare after a pretty positive morning.

I returned to bed cos I’m a bit unwell at the moment candidate felt sleepy.

I’d had a positive check in with Sienna this morning and was feeling happy and then this!!!

I’m not sure, but I think I might have gotten the name of someone involved in my abuse.

It’s not a name of anyone I know of in real life so who knows. But a quick Google search showed up at least one big business owner in this town who ages with certain other people I am suspecting. But not totally sure about.

I am holding onto the reality that this nightmare isn’t necessarily concrete memories.

But it was more details about satanic stuff. And my god, even though the dream didn’t feel mega real like a flashback or memory, the felt sense of the fear, the remembering, the awfulness of the details, the feeling of “yes this really happened to me” that was real. There’s something about that dream that has kernels of truth embedded in them.

That I have had my memory of this stuff wiped clean, somehow. By those who did the harm. That feels real.

The devil paraphernalia, the skulls, they feel real..

Something about them hurting my scalp…they took my scalp… That feels somatically real. I keep wanting to touch the top of my head, to soothe it I suppose.

Clearly that can’t be real, there would be scars or I’d be dead. But it feels in my body like it happened.

I’ve written the dreams down in order to try and ground myself and work through it. Though this isn’t my writing, it’s an 8 year old child part I think.

The details are gruesome so please don’t read if that stuff effects you badly.