#OR MAYBE MY BRAIN IS BEGIN SO SHREDDED I DONT HAVE A CHANCE OF BEGIN A NORMAL HUMAN BEGIN ANYMORE!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bratkook · 4 years

Text

like you used to. jjk

“So kill me like you used to...”

part two.

pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut word count. 2.9k note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)

It always started with a phone call.

Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for.

Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do.

The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change.

They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”

The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of.

“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”

He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”

Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off.

Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same.

Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer.

It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different.

Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument.

Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be.

You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more.

Love was never enough.

Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.

Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car.

He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings.

He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore.

All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.

Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him.

He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment.

As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him.

Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point.

“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you.

Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”

“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no.

“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this.

Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”

There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you.

“I know.”

You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child.

“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you.

This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname.

The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago.

“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night.

Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang.

Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”

He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”

You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss.

A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again.

Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life.

Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop.

It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue.

“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.”

He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone.

You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily.

Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less.

He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was.

Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him.

As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again.

It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker.

“I miss you Kookie.”

Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine.

“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”

And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.

#ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #heartsforbts #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #jeon jungkook #new

1K notes · View notes

chakazard · 4 years

Text

This town eats dreams

And I've been living here for so long

I don't know if I've ever had any

This town eats dreams

Building up its appetite

In the strange transformative hour

When the sun gets stuck

On the way down

Under flourescent lights

The bitterest alchemy

Dreams shredded into pulp

And me more bitter than the next

Because I had none to start

Or else they're buried too deep

Under other people's handwriting

I don't know how I got here

I don't know if I was ever anywhere else

I thought I would be safe

I never had any dreams

None in the safe pouch of attainability

Not even in the miscolored stretch of transcendence

But that's for another time

This town eats dreams

And I thought I would be safe here

But it snuck a claw into my brain

And now I can't escape

Returning every week

Trying to rotate my eyes

So I can at least follow the sun

No chains to climb out of here

And swing like the triumphant spider

Diminished by scissor

Diluted by copies

And no map out of the frozen land

This disguise is so thin

But nobody ever sees through it

I almost want to shake them

The shape the colors the lacks thereof

Dull in the way

That only fake things are

But you never see

Even when the sun hits it

Time moves forwards

But they dont tell you it moves backwards too

They gave me a name and

They checked a few boxes

And they drew and fit me

The way they were told

But none of that was right

And none of it was me

If it had been me would I have had dreams

And would they have pulled me out

Before I got to this town?

Always intangible

Better than speaking in the wrong voice

You can hear it in the language

When you pick words for sound

More so than meaning

And they told me which way was up

And I had no reason to doubt

But now I don't trust anything

Unless I'm told to

Time moves forwards right?

And boy becomes man

But what if that boy never does

Was he even a boy at all?

Where did he end and I begin

When did I know who I am

A nice shiny star on the calendar

I can point to that date

And commemorate the turning over

Of correcting and forgiveness

It was not the fault of anyone

That I was misnamed and dreamless

Time moves backwards

I exploded into being in adolescence

And whatever existed before

Was a precursor in the wrong dimension

Shaking scrabble tiles out the sky

To spell names and nouns

Tumbling over definitions

I'd need a weapon

To collect one I could live

Proudly and shine on the wall

On the other side of the sun

Is this the reason I am a collection of enemies

My flag has a hammer a pentagram

A sickle and yes 50 stars and some odd stripes

I never denied where I was from

This is the land where anthems grow

And hands are clasped

Twelve eyes on me

And not a one gets the shape right

They squint and try and erase

The parts they see that just can't be

I wouldn't say I was hiding

It's nature's cruelest camouflage

Begging to be seen

By not known

Not even by my other sides

Keep the front to itself or pay me back

My eyes are the moon

My hands the stars

I am dirt I am sky

Do not deny me the chance to be both

My shapes are multiple

My voices malleable

This town eats dreams

And shits out screams

That possess our voices when we are alone

Sobs leaking out our eyes when we least expect

We must build ourselves up

Clasping hands

Doors and windows facing east

Asserting our existence

As parts that reflect the whole

The air we breathe in

Remains air on the inside

Connecting us to what is outside

Striking the notes in the appropriate order

And singing resounding harmonies with the past

This town eats dreams

Steals smiles

Maybe it stole mine in the present

And swam back to scoop them up

From the past

And that is why I think I never had any

The possibilities could swim

Between the ears forever

This town eats dreams

And locks us in shapes

Freezes us in cubes

Little train cars on a dead end track

But the shapes of half formed dreams

Leave an impression on us

And we can use that to ignite something

Hopefully

#poetry #chakazard #very long poem #significant writing

3 notes · View notes

shoujax · 5 years

Text

You can survive, you can endure

The following is not a happy tale.It is not written with the intent to garner pity, sympathy or retaliation for the parties involved. This is a story about child abuse both the psychological and physical variety. This is not a story of revenge, malice or spite. I do not forgive the parties involved, but I bear no ill will. There is love to be sure, as you always love your family, regardless of how mad or crazy they may drive you. I forgive many things in my life. But I will never forgive the overlook, ignorance and at times allowance of my abuse and in later years the callous disregard when I finally began to voice what happened.

This is a story of healing; acceptance, coping and even enduring . I am a survivor of physical and psychological abuse, and to some that statement may seem or come off strong. But that is the phrase I will use: Despite everything, I survived, endured and am healing. There is zero doubt in my mind when my family learns of this they will refute or attempt to explain this in their own way. This is not about them. For the first genuine time in my life, this is about my healing. Not them. They had their chances countless years, and failed me. My siblings, if they remember, probably never will admit these things happened.

So, here I am. 33 years old finally telling a story that should not have needed to be told. There were so many things that could have been done to stop this story from ever needing to be told. But as I said, in order to fully heal I tell this story as it is: true and direct. I must stress under no circumstances must my mother be considered the villain. She DID raise 3 children through 2 very difficult marriages and endured abuse that is never my place to speak of. But she did enable horrible abuse from the age of 8 to 16: the psychological horrors of my father notwithstanding. That I do not forgive because he never has felt remorse or allowed me to talk about it in depth.The reading subject from here on will be graphic. The end of this tale will I hope shed some light and show my true goal for telling this tale.

The earliest memory I have is Kieth, my biological father and my mother again getting into a screaming and physical fight. My mother had a trailer on my grandparents property because that monster was an abusive, horrible person and my grandfather was truly the one person who scared him more than anything.I would have been about 3-4 at the time. I was smart enough to know something very bad was happening and didn't hesitate, i ran crying to my grandparents house on top of the hill, scared to death I wouldn’t make it in time to get help, but I did. He never could hold down a job.

The next few years saw us move from apartment to apartment to just hide. By this point my brother and sister had been born. When I got old enough to understand better, I found out he violated restraining orders left and right but they never did catch or hold him for very long. There nights I remember consoling my baby sister and little brother trying to keep the noise out because he would find us again. Screaming and banging on the doors and windows for hours. Police would come, he’d flee before they got there. This cycle would repeat more than I ever cared to admit.

The greatest shock of my life was the age of 4-5 was I’m not sure if he did it out of love or fear, but Kieth saved my life: albeit he caused what happened next to occur. They fought yet again and i left with him to go to a nearby gas station for...I’m not even sure what to be honest. He got angry again as we were heading back to the car and he opened the door..and i knew nothing but pain. Somehow he had opened it hard and fast enough that he had busted my head open. He took me to the hospital and the one thing I know I remembered was him holding a towel on the wound as i lay in the front seat. There was a look of worry. I will never know if it was for me or if he was scared for himself. I would like to think there might have been SOMETHING akin to a shred of honesty. I don’t know. I never will.

I had to of been about 6 or so when finally my mother left us with our grandparents and she fled to hide in california.I didnt know at the time, and I dont know what she told my grandparents, but she later admitted to me in my late 20’s Kieth tried to sell me off to a child sex ring for money. She knew her children were in severe danger, and my grandfather was the one person on earth he was scared of. My life was calm….until she returned with her new husband when i was 7-8. His name was Tom. And Tom would begin the longest streak of abuse no child should ever have to endure.

There was shouting here and there but normal family things. The first true horror began in 3rd grade. I was in the bathroom with my brother brushing our teeth and I don’t know what conversation led him to coming in and getting angry to be honest. Maybe I said something, I don’t know, but whatever it was did not justify what happened next. I was spun around, grabbed by my upper arms, lifted and put firmly against the wall. He had this look of a very angry animal on him...it wouldn't be the first time I ever see “The look” Anger, fury and rage filled him. He told me to knock my shit off and hurry up or i was gonna make everyone late for school. I was...shocked. I didn't tell my mother. But I did tell a teacher. I thought surely it’s gonna help. How utterly wrong and stupid I was. I was picked up and told not to say a word. We went straight to my grandparents house. I couldn't comprehend why I was in trouble until my family rounded on me. How dare I make up a story to hurt him. This was a man who loved you as his own and this is how you repay him? My family was very authoritarian so arguing back or talking in defense was completely shunned. I knew if I said anything it would get it worse. So I sat there dumbfounded and in silence. For the next hour I was berated, talked down to and said what a bad child I had been. And finally the words that burned into my brain. “His heart is like a sheet of paper. You took it and bundled it up and crumpled it. It’ll smooth out as he heals, but there will always be wrinkles.” We went home afterwards and when my mother left, he took a belt and beat me. Spanking me hard, and how dare I embarrassed him like that and if I told anyone about this punishment it would be worse. Small things happened here and there but nothing noteworthy until we moved to south carolina and ohio. The spankings got progressively worse to the point I had bruises and learned to accept the pain.

Ohio I dont remember much except for one incident. It was the day I had a school play. He gave me a black eye for I dont even know what reason. My mother put makeup on it to cover it up and told me not to say anything. I never did until now. That was the first time I never spoke out when I should have...maybe I could have stopped it before things got much worse. I was a fool. We moved into a trailer in a new area and my brother and I had to help him make a driveway and clear the land because they had no spare money. A barely teenader working like an adult. I let that go but not what happened next. The spankings kept getting worse, but I guess he thought he’d do worse. He didnt like how thin i had helped make the limestone roadway and told me so. I must have said something to voice how miserable I was. He grabbed a shovel and with the flat side hit me on one side near my chest. The pain was unbearable. I was knocked on my back and while i was down he stomped the other side of my chest. Kneeling down he got as close as he could while I was frozen scared and hurt. He said I made him miserable and I deserved this as I needed to be more of a man. If I told anyone, Hed do worse.I never did and hid the pain well. To this day, my ribs ache if touched wrong. Somehow I held onto hope that maybe finally if my mother saw me miserable and he didn't notice I could stop this pain from ever happening again. Weeks passed and she worked long days while yet again he could never really find solid long term work. I had no chances to do so, and I was growing depressed but never showed it. Finally he hit me as hard as he could in the back of the head when I turned away from him. I made it to my bedroom and laid down. Crying. And at last my mother returned and she must have heard me and walked into my room and said “Josh What’s wrong?” I looked at her almost beggingly and said” My head hurts.” I didnt elaborate. She got angry because she had worked a very long shift and told me if i had a headache go get some medicine out of the cabinet and deal with it. As she left I finally stopped crying staring as an acceptance grew in me. She was NEVER going to help me. She was never going to listen unless she saw it herself. That’s when I realized I could never trust her to tell her any of the bad things that were happening. I suffered in silence for another year. During that time more beatings, more hopelessness and in general a life of what i felt was true genuine fear and hopelessness. I had no clue what was going to happen next. It would get worse.

The older I get, like some, the harder it is to pinpoint exact dates but the tragedy of these next two incidents occurred during my fourth and fifth grade years While seemingly unimportant to some these two singular events will stay with me forever. To set up the story, my brother had messed up our closet door, naturally we shared a room and all the joy of privacy i got. I was desperately trying to fix it because I didn't want HIM to hear. I had finally succeeded and was about to collapse with joy...until my idiot brother pushed it back inwards and laughed and i let out a yell….HE heard because of course he did. He came in, didn't ask for an explanation, saw what happened and hit me. Then proceeded to stomp and destroy a cherished toy that was my world. Now everyone needs to understand, i was a very introverted child. I didn't make friends easily and had few. I loved to play by myself and had wonderful fantastic imaginary adventures. His reasoning for doing this act was simplistic in his words “You wreck my stuff I wreck yours.” I didn't realize the nightmare wasn’t over yet.

My mother picked us up from school two days later and genuinely looked upset. She explained he burned everything. I got there and went out back and sure enough, the charred remains of a large bonfire were still smoking. He went after all my stuff first. My brother barely had anything touched and my sister, thankfully, was spared the majority. Of course my mother as always did nothing but say she was sorry it happened.

Thanks mom. I can always count on you to make me feel better. A shame you chose misery over your child. As always.

The second event was the court ordeal. Long story short because this one wasn't so traumatic as it was, what I believe, caused a wedge between myself and my brother because we were forced to change schools.They spanked me at school and my mother was outraged. I believe solely because she believed punishment should be handled at home, which I find insanely hypocritical at this point. The paddle they used stung yes, but it did not hurt as much as what step-douche did to me on a weekly basis. I wish she cared enough to go to war with him as she did when she took the school to court and sued. We had to switch schools but honestly.the true problem was what happened before.

See the punishment for what i did ASIDE from that was a day of suspension or sit in a small closet like room all day. No supervision and total isolation. My mother, of course, was not there when we spoke to the principal…step-douche was.He flat out told me if I picked suspension I would regret it. Happy birthday to me, cause thats right, my punishment was carried out on my birthday. Total isolation. And once again no one helped me. Honestly how I never acted out is baffling to me.

That night when I got home and everyone was asleep, i got out of bed around midnight and went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife I could find. I sat down and rocked and i wanted more than anything to end the life of the person who was causing me pain and inflicting hell on me. I’m not sure why, to this day, I never acted. Eventually about 4 am after sitting there and reflecting I went back to bed. Im not sure why I didnt. I’m glad it passed but I will never know what stopped me that night.

All of this before I was 12 years old and it still wasnt over yet. 6th grade we finally moved back to Florida. Nothing really changed. Except now we enter middle school…

I wish aspergers had been more readily diagnosed and doctors didn't just slap an ADHD label on everything. I was teased, bullied and picked on. I had no sense of humor and couldn't understand things like sarcasm or jokes. Life at home was hard...life at school was hard. My family never listened to anything if it disrupted the status quo. I felt genuinely alone and isolated. Now this wouldn't be a happy story unless I added in a life altering event that actually changed things. It was ironically during a shop class and once again I was being bullied, but for the absolute first time...I retaliated. A detention and oddly...the guy and I actually became friends...I didn't know it at the time. But between being hurt by others and the punishments at home for the weirdest infractions...i came dangerously close to considering suicide. In fact the day this next event happened I had already started planning how I wanted to end it all. The kid who bullied me in shop came up and struck up a conversation about Pokemon and we to this day share a friendship. I told him last year finally, he’s the reason I'm still here. If he had not come up and given me that one act of kindness I wouldn't be here.

I was still bullied all through 10th grade but had friends here and there.It made it tolerable. Junior year is where I hit my lowest and to this day my family does not know what happened.

3 football players ganged up and raped me in a locker room after school. This had nothing to do with my sexuality because at the time I hadn't given it any thought yet. Because my mother always said, “Don't ever do anything to embarrass your grandparents” ad religiously restated this, I decided to be quiet on the whole thing. The sole saving grace being i wasn't too traumatized by this experience as a whole. I did not consent this is true, but it was at the time I was beginning to think about it and maybe that’s why they did what they did. I thought I could trust one of them, and told them, apparently I was mistaken.

There are other things of course, the usual stuff teenagers go through, but the final absolute straw that broke the camel's back was I refused to feed animals my brother and sister wanted. I finally after 17 years told my mother no. I wasn't caring for animals that they should be taking care of and I was tired of everyone else shoving responsibility on me. They had some stupid sporting events after school they were doing. And I was finally sick of it. Its shocking on one level that something so ridiculously mundane as pet care made me finally snap. We argued and I moved out. I couldnt take it anymore. My grandparents, finally, took me in.

Now some of you are probably wondering: why I would I write this down? Is it pity? No I don't want pity. Im now 33 and I have a wonderful, if not always easy, Life I wouldn't trade for anything. There are some updates. The 3 who assaulted me in high school I have forgiven. One is dead and if there is justice he got what he deserved. Another apologized and he actually meant it. He begged for forgiveness and has done good with his life. I bear him no ill will. We all do stupid things, but if we actually are repentant and try to do good, i can honestly forgive. The last has a wife and kids so I won't ruin their life because of my pain and he knows that. He's never apologized but he does worry occasionally if I'm ever going to spill the beans. I have but I haven't named him.

As for my family....Im not sure if I can heal right. They dont want to listen to me. “You’re 33 years old, Grow up and get over it.” “Stop causing drama” “It happened so long ago, what do you want us to do about it?” That last one actually DOES stick with me. I think at the core I want some compassion. I want them to feel bad. My mother isnt an evil woman, there were many good times, but they are completely overshadowed and eclipsed by so much negativity, I cant say she was a good mother. She has never once listened to me and if she reads this I’m going to tell her the same thing I finally worked up the courage to tell my grandmother: “This is not about you. This is about me trying to heal, trying after decades to heal so I CAN move on. For the first time in my life this is entirely about me.” My family remains to this day the greatest source of my stress because they genuinely believe, because they refuse to listen to me and not dismiss what I say, they loved me and supported me financially growing up. You may have, but you failed at making sure your child and grandchild was happy. That I was safe and felt loved and supported. You failed as my guardians and maybe that’s why I’m still trying to heal because you all will never thing you did wrong.

So we come full circle. When I started writing this I borderline thought it would be longer. But it’s ok, it was hard getting through just to this 8th page. And there are other things I can't talk about and probably will never be able to go into because I don't want to deal with being ridiculed and teased as an adult about some aspects. I’ve come to terms with those issues and people who matter know about hidden parts of me.

This wasn't intended to shame, although there is a sliver that hopes maybe if they read this they will feel something, this is about sharing a story. I’m not the only one out there to have a bad childhood. Many do, but it takes courage to talk about it. That’s the point of all of this. Talk to someone. It may take years, but seize the courage and get it out. Dont let it sit there because you have to “tough it out.” That's a bullshit answer older generations have said because they don't want to deal with issues like mental health. And yes it is hard to finish writing this as I just told a friend while I write. But before I finish I have some people who deserve to be named specifically for making my life better. And they deserve to be known by name because of the profound impact they have had. This is only people from my childhood.

Fred Eirman. You saved my life in middle school and I have never forgotten it.

David Coburn. My uncle. You were the only one who listened at times. And indulged my likes and hobbies.

Harry Webber. My second cousin. The only person in my family who cared enough when I was at my lowest points to be there for me. While the rest of my family hated you for stupid, pointless reasons.

This isn't a story seeking pity. This is a story that I want to say the following words if it affected you and you also had similar experiences of abuse. I offer the following words and please take them to heart:

You can survive. You can Endure. You can recover.

Reblog and share and even comment. Get this around so MAYBE it can help someone.

#childhoodabuse #healing

4 notes · View notes

apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

Psycho thrillers: five movies that educate us how the attention cultivate

Power, savagery, fatality and reality the movies can educate us plenty about lifes large-scale concerns. From the Godfather to Groundhog Day, five psychologists pick the cinemas that tell us what realizes humen tick

Ten days ago in London, the Hungarian director Lszl Nemes hosted a preview screening of his film, Son of Saul. He explained that if beings didnt want to stay for the Q& A afterwards, that was fine; he wouldnt take personal offence. The gathering chuckled politely. Thats the last laugh youll have for a while, he told them.

Son of Saul Photograph: Rex/ Shutterstock

He was right: Son of Saul out in the UK on Friday is what you might call a taxing watch. Set in Auschwitz in 1944, it presents a era in living conditions of a Sonderkommando, a Jewish captive forced to work in the gas chambers, disposing of the deaths organizations. Almost every frame is filled by the beyond brutalised face of a mortal fated to die and already living in hell.

The film armies you to grapple with “the worlds largest” frightening moral selections imaginable. Should you delude your fellow prisoners into thinking theyre just going for a shower? Can you square a duty to truth-telling with a responsibility not to justification farther damage? Son of Saul requests topics few dare to pose about the human condition. Numerous movies from the sacred to the debase do the same. Here, five leading psychologists look at the classic movies that explore how human beings work.

Groundhog Day by Philippa Perry

Freud caused his patients the chance to re-edit their narrations

Andie MacDowell and Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Image: Allstar/ Columbia

In Groundhog Day, weatherman Phil Connors lives the same day over and over again. At one point, he has a schmooze in a forbid with two drinks: What would you do if you were stuck in one region and every day was exactly the same and good-for-nothing you did mattered? That simply summing-ups it up for me, replies the wino. Summarizes it up for a lot of us.

Freud inspired patients to tell their narratives and got them to free-associate around their narrative to find out how they thought and experienced about themselves. This rendered his patients the chance to relive, re-examine and maybe re-edit their narrations in terms of the room they impart themselves in the present. Our earliest context has a profound impact upon the americans and anatomies, to a great extent, how we watch and interact with the world.

When we firstly satisfied Connors, played by Bill Murray, whatever happened to him in his past has shaped him grumpy, contemptuous, disruptive and insulting. He is trapped in the narcissistic defence of assuming he is superior to everyone else and we consider parties being circumspect around him and not enjoying his company. In psychotherapy, we often talking here self-fulfilling revelation if you expect everyone not to like you, you behave defensively and, hey presto, your prophecy starts true-life. Being caught in the same day is a metaphor for how he is stuck in this pattern.

Groundhog day also illustrates object relations belief: the hypothesi of how we find bad objects( a negative influence from our past) in objectives that are around us in the present. To find our bad object we search for and find negative characteristics even when, in other peoples sees, there used to be none. For precedent, at the Groundhog Day gala that Phil reports on from the small town of Punxsutawney, he can only determine hypocrisy and satire, whereas the TV creator, Rita( Andie MacDowell ), discovers the grace of institution and the delight it brings to the people. In object relations theory, the relevant recommendations is that the psychoanalyst was becoming good object for the patient, and with the psychoanalysts facilitation individual patients learns good objects where hitherto they could not. Rita is Phils good object and the catalyst in Phils transformation. Her influence begins to rub off. He detects the joy of educating himself in literature, art and music. He acquires out about beings, assisting them and befriending them rather than writing them off and finds out that this has its own reward.

The tradition of Punxsutawney is that if the groundhog, too called Phil, can see its shadow on Groundhog Day, the town will get six more weeks of winter. It takes Phil the weatherman quite a long time to see his darknes more, but when at last he does, the working day miraculously moves on. In Jungian assumption, the darknes refers to negative various aspects of your own personality that you reject and project on to others. There are also positive aspects to the darknes that is still conceal from consciousness. Jung said that everyone carries a shadow and that the less it is embodied in the individuals awareness life, the darker and more destructive it has the potential to be.

Although we dont have the indulgence of living in the same day for as long as it is also necessary in order to recognise how we sabotage ourselves, our missteps do have a garb of happening often enough for us to become aware of them. What remains of our lifespan is hour enough to do something about it.

Philippa Perry is a psychotherapist and the author of the graphic tale Couch Fiction .

The Godfather by Steven Pinker

It explains why the impulse for savagery derived to be a selective programme

James Caan and Marlon Brando in The Godfather Photograph: Moviestore/ Rex/ Shutterstock

The Godfather is not an obvious choice for a mental movie, but its stylised, witticised savagery alleges often about human nature.

Except in war zones, beings are extraordinarily unlikely to die from savagery. Yet from the Iliad through video games, our species has always apportioned time and resources to destroying simulations of violence.The brain seems to run on the adage: If you want quietnes, prepare for conflict. We are mesmerized by the logic of promontory and menace, the psychology of alliance and sellout, the vulnerabilities of their own bodies and how they can be employed or shielded. A likely interpretation is that in our evolutionary record, brutality be a major enough threat to fitness that everyone had to understand how it works.

Among the many subgenres of violent presentation, one with perennial appeal to brows both high and low is the Hobbesian thriller a storey set in a circumscribed zone of chao that saves the familiar trappings of our times, but in which the exponents must live beyond the reach of the modern leviathan( the police and judiciary ), with its monopoly on the legitimate use of force. Examples include westerns, spy thrillers, battlefield dramas, zombie holocausts, seat tale and movies about organised criminal. In a smuggled economy, you cant sue your rivals or call the police, so the credible menace( and occasional expend) of violence is your one protection.

The godfather of Mafia movies is, of course, Francis Ford Coppolas The Godfather trilogy. The screenplays are a goldmine for remarks on the human condition in a state of nature, beyond such constraints of modern institutions. Four wrinkles stand out: in the opening stage, Vito Corleone, having promised to mete out some bumpy justice on behalf of a victimised undertaker “whove been” abandoned by the American leviathan, demonstrates how reciprocity provides as the plaster of traditional societies: Some era, and that day may never return, Ill call upon “youve got to” do a service for me. But until the working day, accept this justice as a gift on my daughters wedding day.

The opening panorama of The Godfather

Following the tragic death of his eldest son, Vito addresses the heads of the rival violation households and shows the tactical rationality of evident irrationality: Im a superstitious male. And if some unlucky coincidence should befall my son, if my son is struck by a bolt of lightning, I will accuse some of the people here. Elsewhere, he elaborates: Coincidences dont happen to people who plow collisions as a personal insult.

A foot soldier of one of these adversaries explains why the inclination for savagery advanced to be a select programme , not an indiscriminate bloodlust or a hydraulic pressing: I dont like violence, Tom. Im a businessman. Blood is a big expense.

And for all our hotheaded counsels, Michael explains the knowledge of ensure your ardours: Never hate your foes. It feigns your judgment.

Steven Pinker is Johnstone family professor of psychology at Harvard .

Rushmore by Dacher Keltner

It shows us that to consolidate in dominance, we must unite others

Jason Schwartzman in Rushmore. Photo: Rex Shutterstock

All art, French social theoretician Pierre Bourdieu debates, is an expression of social class, from the music you experience to the trinkets you put on your walls. Few cinemas, though, have undertaken the class subdivide between the haves and have-nots as imaginatively as Wes Andersons 1998 cinema Rushmore.

The film reveals at Rushmore Academy, a prep school in Houston, Texas, and tells the story of the friendship between schoolboy Max Fischer( Jason Schwartzman ), the son of a barber, and rich industrialist Herman Blume( Bill Murray ). They both fall for a lately bereaved teacher at the school( Olivia Williams ), and resort to misguided tactics to triumph her affection. As this timeless strife undoes, the film illustrates various following principles class and dominance uncovered in psychological science.

The first that affluence is rising unethical and socially detached action is on display at a birthday defendant for Blumes sons, who attend Rushmore Academy with Max. The two sons greedily shred through a collection of presents( and are most enjoyed by a crossbow ). Nearby, Blumes wife flirts blatantly with a young man, while Blume sits far away from the mayhem, languidly convulsing golf balls into his dirty pool.

The puddle vistum in Rushmore

This scene captivates recent considers showing that upper-class individuals are more disposed to impulsive and socially aloof behaviour, including misconstruing others ardours, swearing, lying in recreations to win prizes and flouting the regulation of the road.

Navigating power structure, such as prep schools, is the cause of stress for lower-class individuals, and can heighten levels of the stress-related hormone cortisol. To adapt to such social emphasizes, people from lower-class backgrounds reach out and is attached to others a second principle of class and influence. Studies find that it is parties from lower-class backgrounds who share more, collaborate, attend to others carefully and do acts that unite others, a intend by which they can rise in strength when paucity the advantages of lineage. With brilliant detail, Anderson accompanies this principle to life in Maxs defining social inclination: forming sororities. Max is at the head of every imaginable guild, including the beekeepers culture, the kung fu golf-club and the astronomy squad all touching, quaint acts that discover a deeper principle at participate: to increase in dominance, we must unite others in common cause.

Dacher Keltner is a prof of psychology at University of California, Berkeley .

Altered Nation by Sue Blackmore

It plays with the question of what we mean by reality

William Hurt in Altered Regime. Image: Moviestore/ Rex/ Shutterstock

Ken Russells Altered Position is based on a wild time in the 1970 s, when a whole lot of professors took hallucinogenic drugs. One of them, John Lilly, started working with isolation containers where you swim in saltwater in total stillnes, resulting in absolute sensory deprivation with resultant vivid imagery and bizarre sensations.

The films hero is a scientist called Eddie( William Hurt) who starts experimenting with psychedelic drugs to explore other countries of consciousness and our notions of actuality. At one point he emerges from his isolation tank having been transformed into an parrot but Im not so interested in this kind of hopeless fantasy. What interests me is how the cinema manages the altered commonwealths of consciousness. We know that when you take hallucinogenic drugs of this kind, a very early hallucinations are simple, colorful, geometric decorations. Passages and spirals are common, as they are in out-of-body and near-death knowledge. The movie has batch of passageways, and a wonderful maelstrom near the end, where Eddie is being sucked away into oblivion. That is all extravagant cinema material, but the maelstrom leaves a good suffer of hallucinatory know-hows, and is rather well done.

Lilly was trying to understand the nature of actuality, and thats what this movie gamblings with. What do we make by world, regardless? You might say that what we know, and what Eddie in the film presupposed, is that there is a physical actuality and our intelligence interprets it, and that hallucinations are not real. But if you make a hallucinogenic drug into most peoples mentalities, they get remarkably similar experiences.

A lovely detail in the film is where Eddie starts for a formality with an indigenous tribe in Mexico. He is given a tonic, goes into an extreme adjusted territory and considers flows of idols coming out of his body. The hotshots are not real in the sense that there are no white-hot lights flowing from us, but lots of people who take those same doses appreciate the same thing so there is a kind of reality here, a kind of shared experience.

In consciousness analyzes, we struggle with the hard question of consciousness. It is a deep riddle how do subjective know-hows arise from objective intelligence task? We dont know. Numerous people, myself included, say there isnt actually a hard problem. We become dualists in childhood we think that recollection and psyche are divide and thats why we have a problem: how can the knowledge arise from the intelligence? Somehow, we have to see how the two are the same circumstance. Many people have these hallucinatory suffers, or go through intense customs, and claim to have achieved non-duality. We dont get that explanation in this film, but it would be amazing if we did.

Sue Blackmore is a writer, professor and visiting professor at Plymouth University .

The Seventh Seal by Susan Greenfield

Its about the psychology of parties the hope you are going to be better

Ingmar Bergmans film is so striking and implacable, unlike most movies nowadays. A knight, returning from the Crusades to plague-ridden Sweden, is visited by Death, a pale-faced, black-cloaked attribute. They play out a chess coincide which, if the cavalier triumphs, will stave off his demise.

The Seventh Seal

The fact The Seventh Seal is in black and white and was reached in the 1950 s is evidence of its staying appeal, in the same way Greek misfortune weathers it is something that speaks of eternal appraises, folks hopes and anxieties, and is not dependent on current culture. It has been satirised, most famously by Monty Pythons The Meaning of Life, in a sketch in which Death transforms up at a middle-class dinner party. Its funny, but it doesnt detract from the original, where everyone is fated at the end. It is the opposite of the joyous stops of movies we have now.

The film has a very dark, nihilistic feel to it in an age when people are soft and easy. There is one panorama where one of the specific characteristics, an actor, is up a tree, and Death comes to looked through it. He expects him who he is, and Death says he has come for him. The man adds its not his time, he has his performance to do. Death enunciates: Its cancelled. Because of death. All the fantasies and hopes you have are annulled because of death.

Im not recognizing also that Bergman was inevitably expounding any particular mental assumption, but he does talks about the silence of God, which perhaps for many parties echoes true. I think it is about the psychology of beings the hope that you are going to be better and different, to think that you can get away with things.

The knight goes to confession and starts to tell the priest about the chess move he is going make and, of course, the clergyman is Death. You cant overcome fatality and all of us are playing chess with demise, in a way hoping well be the one who wont get cancer, wont have a heart attack, that this happens to other people , not us. I think there is that mentality in numerous parties, and this film brings it home to you. I am an rosy party, and it clears me appreciate life because of its highly transient and arbitrary nature.

Susan Greenfield is a scientist, scribe, broadcaster and a member of the House of Lords .

The post Psycho thrillers: five movies that educate us how the attention cultivate appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2uHivwX via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

Psycho thrillers: five movies that educate us how the attention cultivate

Son of Saul Photograph: Rex/ Shutterstock

Groundhog Day by Philippa Perry

Freud caused his patients the chance to re-edit their narrations

Andie MacDowell and Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Image: Allstar/ Columbia

Philippa Perry is a psychotherapist and the author of the graphic tale Couch Fiction .

The Godfather by Steven Pinker

It explains why the impulse for savagery derived to be a selective programme

James Caan and Marlon Brando in The Godfather Photograph: Moviestore/ Rex/ Shutterstock

The Godfather is not an obvious choice for a mental movie, but its stylised, witticised savagery alleges often about human nature.

The opening panorama of The Godfather

And for all our hotheaded counsels, Michael explains the knowledge of ensure your ardours: Never hate your foes. It feigns your judgment.

Steven Pinker is Johnstone family professor of psychology at Harvard .

Rushmore by Dacher Keltner

It shows us that to consolidate in dominance, we must unite others

Jason Schwartzman in Rushmore. Photo: Rex Shutterstock

The puddle vistum in Rushmore

Dacher Keltner is a prof of psychology at University of California, Berkeley .

Altered Nation by Sue Blackmore

It plays with the question of what we mean by reality

William Hurt in Altered Regime. Image: Moviestore/ Rex/ Shutterstock

Sue Blackmore is a writer, professor and visiting professor at Plymouth University .

The Seventh Seal by Susan Greenfield

Its about the psychology of parties the hope you are going to be better

The Seventh Seal

Susan Greenfield is a scientist, scribe, broadcaster and a member of the House of Lords .

The post Psycho thrillers: five movies that educate us how the attention cultivate appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2uHivwX via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes

apsbicepstraining · 7 years

Text

Psycho thrillers: five movies that educate us how the attention cultivate

Son of Saul Photograph: Rex/ Shutterstock

Groundhog Day by Philippa Perry

Freud caused his patients the chance to re-edit their narrations

Andie MacDowell and Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Image: Allstar/ Columbia

Philippa Perry is a psychotherapist and the author of the graphic tale Couch Fiction .

The Godfather by Steven Pinker

It explains why the impulse for savagery derived to be a selective programme

James Caan and Marlon Brando in The Godfather Photograph: Moviestore/ Rex/ Shutterstock

The Godfather is not an obvious choice for a mental movie, but its stylised, witticised savagery alleges often about human nature.

The opening panorama of The Godfather

And for all our hotheaded counsels, Michael explains the knowledge of ensure your ardours: Never hate your foes. It feigns your judgment.

Steven Pinker is Johnstone family professor of psychology at Harvard .

Rushmore by Dacher Keltner

It shows us that to consolidate in dominance, we must unite others

Jason Schwartzman in Rushmore. Photo: Rex Shutterstock

The puddle vistum in Rushmore

Dacher Keltner is a prof of psychology at University of California, Berkeley .

Altered Nation by Sue Blackmore

It plays with the question of what we mean by reality

William Hurt in Altered Regime. Image: Moviestore/ Rex/ Shutterstock

Sue Blackmore is a writer, professor and visiting professor at Plymouth University .

The Seventh Seal by Susan Greenfield

Its about the psychology of parties the hope you are going to be better

The Seventh Seal

Susan Greenfield is a scientist, scribe, broadcaster and a member of the House of Lords .

The post Psycho thrillers: five movies that educate us how the attention cultivate appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

from WordPress http://ift.tt/2uHivwX via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

0 notes