I hate being sick. At this point I am well past “too weak and dizzy to stand” but eating is still a problem. I ate ground beef and vegetable matter last night for dinner. I had to go to the restroom three times last night and cry as I paid for the hubris of believing I am able to digest roughage. Noah made oatmeal for breakfast. I ate five bites before my stomach is cramping and horribly painful. I’ve been crying a bunch.

I feel like crying just because my body is functioning in annoying ways means I am weak and pathetic. Just shut up Krissy. Everyone gets sick. Quit being such a fucking pussy.

I don’t talk to anyone else the way I talk to me. This is probably a good thing.

Yesterday I managed to end up in a conversation with a woman who has been raped by the same people. Awkward. I feel terrible guilt for not supporting her more when she pressed charges against one of the guys. I was post-Puppy depressed and not functioning. I had not yet been sexually assaulted by that guy. At that point my basic understanding of the situation was, “Oh man signals got horribly crossed and she feels very hurt.” Then he did the same thing to me. I tried to “fix it” and make sure my signals weren’t coming across wrong. Actually, he just didn’t care whether we were clear or not. He wanted what he wanted.

But what were we drinking. What were we wearing. How did we lead him on? She said she had depositions from ten other women he has raped but a woman in the bdsm community went to the police and discredited her by telling them that the rape-victim was a slut who must have asked for it.

That’s what happens when you are stupid enough to go to the police after being raped in my community. The other women will ensure that you can’t have justice because involving the police will create drama.

I spend so much time believing that the only thing I can do to prevent myself or my daughters from being raped is to drive off a cliff with them in the car. I don’t actually intend to do it. But it breaks my heart that my girls will almost certainly be raped at some point. That just happens. And there is nothing I can do about it.

I feel terrible that I made little girls for this world. I could have created boys who were not rapists. But instead I bore little victims-to-be. I am going to put them in martial arts and have them learn how to operate every weapon we can get our hands on. I want them to be able to severely harm any guy who tries something.

Yes, yes women rape too. I know this. With a woman it is usually more about coercion. I think I can train girls who can resist coercion. I worry about them being small and delicate. They are so thin and frail seeming to me.

I keep them safe because I ensure that they have no contact with the world that does not involve me standing there and watching. Ok, sometimes I delegate to Noah and the Godmamas. And we’ve had other babysitters. Not in a long time. Not since the Godmamas stepped up. I figure if I get one weekend a month that has to be good enough. I don’t really have anyone else dependable and trustworthy enough. I don’t want them to get used to a string of random babysitters. The people who claimed they would be here are liars. I need to stop listening to what people say at all. Actions speak quite loudly.

My kids will bloody be kept safe. If I have to kill someone to do it. I hope it never comes to that. We stay home a lot in order to lower the chances it will happen soon.

When I am sick I feel pathetic and helpless and weak. I am reminded that I can do so little. I can’t keep people safe. I can’t protect anyone–not even me.

Someone I haven’t talked to in years asked me how I have been. I said, “Well most of the past three years has been a series of mental breakdowns as I deal with being raped a lot. I wasn’t allowed to deal with it when it happened and I’ve stuffed it for decades and now it is completely overwhelming me. If I didn’t have kids I would be dead. If I didn’t have kids it would not be worth dealing with any of this.”

My male friends alternate between telling me that “it doesn’t matter if it is illegal it will never be prosecuted” and “I won’t take your rape seriously unless you prosecute.” I want to jump off a very tall bridge. I want to jump off a building. Since I matter so little I want to cease to be.

Better that ten guilty men go free than one innocent man go to prison. Better that tens of thousands of worthless whores be raped than one innocent man suffer.

I want to die. I want to die so much I feel like I am drowning. I don’t matter. I am a worthless whore. My government tells me so. My community tells me so.

“I’m not going to ruin that nice boy’s career for you.” “You must have wanted it.” “Well what position were you in that made these boys think it was ok?”

I existed. I’m sorry I was so stupid. I would like to change it.

But I have these kids. These little rape-victims to be. I hope not. I hope that they will inherit the status of their father and be safe. I inherited my father’s status. I am nothing. I have no worth. No value. There is nothing about me that is worth defending.

No one wants to defend me. They just think I deserve what I get.

I want to die so much.