My Memories

Trigger warning: CSA, Incest, Abuse

I’m new to this blog, and I’m new to this fronting thing. Hah, I’m Lolly. I’m trying to figure out myself but I’m remembering like everything right now. It’s awful! But I like fronting, it’s kind of great. I like fronting with my long time partner Ox (I call him Kuzu though hah). He doesn’t talk, but you can totally read his body language. 

Sorry I’ll stop swooning haha. 

I’m trying to avoid getting to this. It’s painful, but I’m numb to it mostly but kind of not. Hah. 

I remembered a really specific time I was raped by ‘father’. Two times kind of, but in the same place and they could have happened at the same time. I don’t think so…

I remember this as much as I remember the one we were going to have him arrested/going to court for. It’s intense! Woah.

It was brought on by mother talking about this time when father basically kidnaped us and drove us to Missouri to go to some stupid tourist attraction. The more I think about it the more I remember whoops ahah. 

We were camping, and there was a pool. We were swimming on the other side of the pool from him, probably avoiding him because he might have been grooming us. But he called us over and we swam over and sat in his lap. 

I figure you know what happens next right? 

The other one I remember is same place and in the hot tub/pool. There was a hose and he called me over and did stuff to me with it. 

Sick ficker. 

I didn’t want to go into the tent with him that night, probably because of that. On that same trip I peed in his car seats and he freaked out and hit me in a rest area. He was over protective of his car. 

Okay I’m done with this aaaaaah. 


Hating on myself

Trigger warning: abuse, self harm, and suicide mention.

The other night, in a moment of pure stupidity that is only caused by something I’ll get into later in this post, I decided to look up my abuser on Facebook. 
My mother had told me he had a new one, and I won’t lie I’m curious to see how far I can push myself with the ‘I don’t hate you, I just don’t care’ which in it’s own way is a lie. I try not to hate for my own personal reasons, but deep down, if I hate anyone it’s him and his wife. So I looked. 

As I scrolled I got more and more disgusted by what he posted, but it was a kind of emotionally detached disgusted. Like, it would be funny if I didn’t have the connection. 
Then I stumbled upon something that I know he knew I would see. A post on my birthday, that was basically him emotionally abusing me by working on the old connection we had. The old ‘I’m your father, I’ll always love you’ b.s. 
I didn’t believe if for a second, but it sure did make me mad. Not like a blinding rage mad, but just so dumbfounded with everything. I got very upset, ran outside and quickly grabbed two fistfuls of snow. 

The pure icy cold brought me back down to reality, enough so that I could walk inside, collect my phone, and walk to my room. I was fine, my heart was racing, and my hands were cold. My eyelashes were frozen with wet tears and I was shaking, but I was fine.

My mother came in a moment later, I was vaguely mad at her for coming outside then quickly abandoning me for the house- she later told me she wanted to see what he wrote. We sat on the floor, and I vented. 

I was amazed by the pure stupidity of it all. He actually thinks we still have some sort of connection. Some cosmic love that will reunite us when I finally see the evils of my mother. 

All I can think is about when we were 16, and we did go back to live with him. It was hellish. I got my first self harm scar that is still visible. I stayed there being sexually abused by his wife’s daughter because of some reason I can’t even think to know.  I lost everything. I didn’t go back to school when I finally came home. I became scared and withdrawn. I tried to commit suicide multiple times in the coming years.

My life turned to one giant nightmare for years, and is only now settling down again. Though, I will say my life wasn’t very good before this. From ages 12-14 when I didn’t see him were okay, but the rest was an abuse filled mess. 

And he actually thinks we still have a connection. He must think I didn’t read the police transcripts for the rape case I had against him. The one where he calls me a ‘crazy stupid lying c**t’. 

After I venting to my mom, something (aka a protector) told me to try what my therapist calls a ‘butterfly hug’, where you cross your arms against your chest and pat your shoulders one at a time. It’s an EMDR thing that surprisingly worked really well. 

I went back to feeling a little more worked up than normal, but I was otherwise okay. 

This whole incident got me thinking about why I do this. Why I look up my abusers, or at triggering things. Why I’m always testing myself to see how far I can go before I push myself over the edge. 

Joji, the protector that deals with Adam and I’s b.s thinks it has something to do with feeling emotions. Being emotionally numb to nearly everything is draining. When it moves into the body, that’s when we self harm. But when it’s just all too much, when there’s no ticking in our heart and we feel broken we push ourselves to feel anything. 

It’s kind of sick. It’s something I definitely need to talk over with my therapist. Why do I feel the need to push myself over the edge? I don’t know. 


Just Jump In! 

Sometimes in life you just have to jump in. That’s what I’m doing with this blog, jumping in – feet first of course. We aren’t diving here! 

To start this blog off right, I figure I minus well share a memory this system has that we cherish to no end

Mexico; the greatest time we have ever known. We went has a school trip, it took a year to raise all the money for us and 14 days for it to be over. I didn’t want those 14 days to end.

Now, none of us are very keen on spicy food, or beans, or vegetables, or… well most anything that isn’t chocolate, a milk product, bread, or fish- and even then some of those foods don’t always make the cut! None of us are very social either. We’re introverts through and through. In high school it was worse, because we were still being abused, and any friends we made we couldn’t really keep. 

So if not for the friends and not for the food, what makes Mexico such an important part of our life?

I can’t really put it into words honestly. ‘The experience’ is the only way I know how to say it, but it doesn’t seem like enough! 

We look back on memories of the Yucatán Peninsula with fondness and rose colored glasses. 

On the drive back from the airport, it was 45 F, freezing rain and dark. We were in a school bus wearing nothing but a sweatshirt. Our life came crashing back on us, and it came crashing down hard. 

That same year, we later went back to our abuser and suffered abuse that we can’t even think about. It changed our life for the worse. The years following would be filled with nights spent in the car driving to woman’s shelters, group homes and hospitals, and a horrible lawyer who didn’t give us the chance to get justice. 

Mexico was the last hoorah of my teen years, the last bit of time I spent feeling like a normal human. The last time I was able to go outside and not be afraid of my own shadow.

Mexico will always be special to us, and I hope we never forget it.

Written by Cloud.