annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary



Today was harder than I expected. Quite a bit. The woman at Victim Support cried at one point  which did me in completely. Almost cried, welled right up, about ED. For fuck's sake, what am I meant to do with that?

The question was should I go to the police and report this event that happened sometime in the early 1970s? I didn't report it at the time, because I thought it was my fault and in the 1970s the police would probably have thought so too and would have seen me off, feeling worse than I did already.

The question I got back was what did I hope to gain from doing this? Answer: by  them taking it seriously, giving it a crime number, taking my statement, trying to find the man involved, I would be able to believe that he was to blame, not me. I believe that with my mind, my intellect, my reason, but I don't feel it. I feel guilty and dirty and ashamed and culpable. She thought that if I do report it, I will feel good for a while but that it won't last. This is from her experience of working for over ten years with victims of sexual assault. She thought I needed to work on changing my feelings myself, rather than relying on someone else's opinion.

She also thought that it was quite clear that a serious crime had been committed, a crime that is second only to murder,  and if I want to report it in the interests of justice, she will support me as much as I need. She can go with me to the police station and on any future occasions such as to court if it goes that far.

I don't know.

I don't have to decide today, obviously.

I have succeeded in changing thoughts and feelings at a deep level in the past - like doing The Artist's Way course and allowing myself to develop as an artist more in the last ten years of my life than in the preceding fifty years, during which time I "knew" I had no artistic ability, and also with stopping smoking. So it can be done.

At the moment I can make myself feel his guilt by asking myself what I think of a man who, in response to a girl he knows passing right out, becoming unconscious, is to remove her clothes and fuck her.  Then it feels clear - he has violated her and it doesn't matter how she became unconscious. I need to find a way to fix that in my mind.

After that it was art group but I couldn't do anything. I just kept fidgeting about.

So I gave up and went to see ED, but she was out with her key worker, which is a good thing, but didn't feel like it at the time.

I did a quick beach clean - a proper two minute one - and everything I found was a bit orange or yellow which pleased me a bit



And that was my day. I also walked 3.4 miles here and there and round the poxy housing estate where I live, but I haven't done a meditation, so I shall do that now then go to sleep. Tomorrow YD and I are going to London again, in search of art.


I am grateful for: warm weather; a card from an old friend; a blog to pour shit out into; a camera on my phone; an early night.


sweet dreams xx

12:39 a.m. - 15.03.17


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