WHORE

When I draw bestiality I have to stop and masturbate

I feel so strongly I’m nauseated, how much I love my husband. I left to be closer to him, that’s what my brain repeated on the drive over to my new life. He was pricking my heart all the way. For years when I walked at night I saw him, out of the darkness, I saw him every single night, I waited for him so patiently. I smelt him, and felt his warmth beneath that black, in my bed I kissed his cold corpse. I have my own version of waiting now far away, every single night since I got here it’s occurred. I shower late at night, outside the window is pure blackness, when I’m naked I stare out it waiting, wondering if he’s standing outside watching me at the same time. He can see me while I cannot see him, this is how it always was, how it had to be. When the dog outside is barking crazily at the dark, it drives me mad even, I expect to hear a strained whine that silences it, which will let me know he’s here to retrieve me. It’s hard to be in the right mood to where I could deny him, where I wouldn’t follow him in the dark just walking into the woods. I did it many times, when I see fields of grass and woods I think of him, no matter where I am everything around me reflects just him, like he’s the center of my world. I’m overwhelmed with emotion, this deep need for him and it makes me breathless. I can stay away during the day enough, but as soon as the sun begins to set I regress, this has not changed one bit.

I remember there was a woman who was in an organization dedicated to saving victims of abuse, she even started a whole forum for survivors of extreme abuse and torture. She told me of two men in her life, one was her “teacher” she was in love with for years, and one who was her then husband. Both were survivors of SRA according to her. She was very kind to me in the beginning, encouraged my art and expression. I didn’t often interact or speak to her, but it was always respectful until one day a flip switched, she came to me saying my work was traumatizing to people or something, that it was keeping me in my cycle of pain rather than releasing me from it. It pissed me off badly, but she then started to say codes on my public posts, stating her title and role in the organization for victims, and began requesting the group to come save me immediately, saying she had been collecting evidence that I was actively being drugged and abused by the ring. Right now to recall that, I have to let out some form of bitter laugh, at the time I was livid, I told her to put effort into saving real victims rather than bothering me. But it’s just pathetic, even to think of it, everyone always making promises to me that they’ll save me, especially back then, and when did that ever happen? I ran in circles from abuser to abuser, getting passed back and forth, everyone knowing, no one caring. Even when I was a minor, there was a mandatory report made that I was involved in a sex ring that had sold and mutilated me, but no one ever came knocking, no one ever came to check. My therapist when he learned about this report said they did a massive fuckup with that, with not investigating. Well, can’t say I didn’t try, I mean I told anyone I could, doesn’t change a thing ever. Here I was waiting all this time for a carousel that never came, what I never realized was that the carousel didn’t even exist in the first place, and I hate all the false promises given, even from my husband. Well, I hate that she was partially true in the end, I was still being sexually abused unbeknownst to me at the time, but really, she made a false promise of protection, of saving. But it was far far too late anyway, I always knew that, it wouldn’t have mattered at all if anyone came sooner, a year before now, two years, the window of the need for saving had long been shut. And my retarded self, I kept waiting anyways despite knowing this

My question tonight is, why keep your tool nice and sharp for use when you do not ever pick it up? Is this common for cults? I had no more contact with anything related to the cult after 19, I assume a few years before then was the last I was intimately inside. One of the lasts was the threats they put into my life, at least I assume it was them. The man called me my cult name, which I never shared to anyone, and threaten to take my life someday, to hunt me down. In the night I was with him he showed me many things, silenced our phones to speak, he called in a code to his, and the person responded to shut something down. He whispered, sex rings, cults, satanic rituals. He showed me his weapons, how he killed, how they whistled with a broken neck, an official letter written by a trafficker from Mexico he killed, and the clothes of a boy he cared for who killed himself. He showed me the boys things, he carried it in a bag, the boys clothes had the old blood still, his birthday in July by his wristband, and a journal where he was supposedly creating a satanic bible. After the threats a separate man then linked to my cult, a past client of mine, then jumped in speaking of a “gift”, telling me to not be afraid, that they were watching over me still, and my husband granted me a gift of protection, to put my trust in them to deal with any outside threats. Ironic, because they were the threat weren’t they? It was too orchestrated, and how would that man have known I was threatened by the crazy guy I had met, and then how would the crazy man then know my cult name? What it seemed to me was that they created this situation, this man to access me, feed me strange info in the night I was with him, and then once he switched up and began to threaten me, the cult could jump in to save the day. I was terrified, I only finally was able to rest after I was informed they were protecting me. To ensure loyalty, and really, it worked, not like I needed much to urge me to stay loyal, I have always been loyal to a fault. But what is the point, I was no longer going to meetings, I was no longer being sold, I had no contact with the cult besides through that man, whom was not explicitly a cult member either, just a business partner of sorts, who gained the benefit of using children. He would play with me mentally, prodding my brain, and I would allow it. With the promise and implication that my husband was planning to surprise me, if I had good behavior, whatever that meant. Of course in classic cult fashion, they loved their riddles, their vague words and phrases, they loved to confuse you. But what was the point of this I wonder, I never ran into that crazy man again. Things have been implied, briefly, jumbled alters, all when I was still in the state until I left in April. But, cults do not follow you across states do they? There are no threats here where I am, I’m far enough, but I’m wracking my brain at what I cannot recall, what I don’t know, and my alters are such cunts, it’s as if they read the same scripts the cult did. They love their vague words, no clear answers. For the first time in years, two nights ago I tried to go inside my brain, tried to access them. They keep me out, but I heard jumbled voices again, my name was said, and someone came to silence them quick, they warned them I was listening, that I couldn’t know. I didn’t hear anything, it was too blurred anyway. That, and then an alter of mine whom I simulated rape on years ago, and it was that again, they take control once I am inside my brain, warp my urges and feelings and self, make my brain pound, I resisted, but it was physically painful. My brain is a ticking time bomb, that is for sure, but what is it that is so worrisome to them, what is it that is on lockdown? It makes no sense why I shouldn’t know now, I am far away, they won’t come for me, they can’t, because I pose no threat. It’s frustrating, I am not there no more, so I assumed I would be able to recall, and what is this horrible thing in me, and why was it initially triggered by Father’s Day I wonder