#and it's terrifying that mom refuses to acknowledge the abuse and the trauma

[jonny-b-meowborn]

I know I don't have to justify my yesterday's breakdown after seeing my mom's ex, but I just want to make it clear how much I hate this man.

When I was ~14 years old one night I heard/witnessed an argument between them so bad, that the next morning I ran away to my sister. Back then she used to live in this small town near mine, but there was no public transport connecting the towns and she doesn't have a driver's license, so she hitchhiked to pick me up, and we walked along the road until someone picked us up. I left a note at home to my mom, saying where I am and that I don't want to come back as long as her partner lives with us. She didn't acknowledge the contents of the note, but she read it. I ignored her texts and calls the whole day, until in the afternoon she texted me that if I don't come back right now to take care of my younger brother (he was ~8 then) I won't be allowed to visit my cousin the entire winter break. So basically she didn't even ask me to come back because she was worried, but because she wanted me to look after my sibling, and she pretty much blackmailed me to come back. And I had to come back that afternoon, but since it was january it was dark already, and really cold, and no one wanted to pick us up for like half the way. The town my sister lived in wasn't too far, it is a walkable distance, but like, we walked for like over two hours in the cold before someone drove us to my town. And mom never acknowledged the whole situation, she was just angry but didn't talk about any of it. So yeah. I think if his presences made me do that I'm absolutely justified in panicking when I see him now.

[nxsanders]

✦OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN, CIS MAN, HE/HIM ✦ NOAH VON the THIRTY FIVE year old has been in Hidehill for HIS ENTIRE LIFE  and was a ACQUAINTANCE to Jade Parker, the ~~missing ~~first murder victim. Whispers on the streets are that the DOCTOR who lives in HORWICK. He is said to be PROTECTIVE and PRIDEFUL but I guess we’ll find out for ourselves. 

tw: domestic abuse, drug addiction

stats

Character Name: NOAH ASIM VON

Age: 35

Birthday: November 12, 1987

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male, He/Him

Sexuality: Pansexual

Occupation: Family Medicine @ Hide General

Neighborhood: Horwick (grew up in Hadley park)

Birth Place: Hidehill, Nashville, TN

How long they’ve been in Hidehill: All of his life

Face claim: Oliver Jackson Cohen

Inspo: Spotify | Pinterest

personality

 Lives in a sea facades

Charming and easy going

Father vibes to family - protective. Punch first and ask questions later when it comes to family. Even if the punching is doing more harm to loved ones than good

Strives to be the best he can be but finds his traumas and the secrets he has to keep to be very difficult

Good sense of humor, most of the time.

The more stable (hahaha) and normal (HAHAHAHA) of the Von family. 

key points:

tw: domestic abuse, drug addiction,

The second oldest Von child.

Mom was a total addict so he often lived with his father more than anything else. Grew up close to his older brother since Mason lived with their dad whenever shit got too bad with his mom, even if he can’t stand his attitude sometimes. Fully supports Mason eating outside during family dinners. But also respects the hell of him for being

Really resents his father for all his bullshit and the mess he made. He blames his siblings (and his own) dysfunction on him.

Grew up with a sense of responsibility over his younger siblings as they came into his life.

Tried to stay in the narrow path growing up. Never doing much drinking or getting involved with the stuff the younger Vons did. In fact, he’s pretty ignorant to the extent of the chaos and vices of his family for a reason.

Put in the effort at school and was able to get a full ride to pre med school. He became a doctor and currently works at Hidehill General in family medicine.

When he was 28, he met his wife Gina. They fell in love and were married a year later. Soon after, when Noah was 30, Caleb was born.

He doesn’t know when or how but things changed in his marriage. Gina became exceedingly abusive. It started off emotionally and mentally and then finally took on physical form.

The abuse has been happening for over five years now.

However, no one would be able to pick up on this hidden truth of his. Noah refuses to show his trauma. He knows the stereotype behind men being abused by their wives. Already, he can hear his fathers voice. Noah was weak and he had failed as a man, or so, that’s what he told himself.

Aside from that, Noah is terrified of ending the marriage. He doesn’t want to be a divorced man and a single father. He believes that will make him too similar to his father and that was the one thing he strives to never be like. Besides, he terrified that in a custody battle, he would lose his son. Gina is manipulative and if she wanted to, Noah knows she can spin the tale.

So he remains trapped. Only Nancy (his younger sister) and Maggie Jones knows what goes on behind closed doors. Nate, his brother, suspects it but Noah refuses to acknowledge it or admit it.

The murders have him on edge - nervous of who can be next but one thing is for sure, Noah will fight for his family to stay safe, even if it’s not always in the right ways.

biography.

tw: domestic abuse, drug addiction,

TBA

[martianmoonboy]

Personality disorders develop early. How can we judge people for developing these problems as small children going through trauma?

Trigger warning for physical, emotional, and verbal abuse, as well as emotional invalidation and early depended problems. (My depended was another 4 year old when I was 4 and she was mean, lol). This involves childhood abandonment too.

I started showing signs of dpd as a small child.

I had a friend I was obsessed with at the age of 4. I needed her approval to feel good about anything, and it crushed me when she told me that she thought I looked weird because of my new glasses, which I was very proud of.

I remember that around age 7, I drew her a very big picture of a park with apple trees and taped it together, and she threw it on the ground, and I was devastated and went to go cry in the bathroom. My mother followed and angrily told me to get over it. I couldn't understand why she was angry at me for having feelings.

She left the church program I was a part of, so I started focusing on another girl who I had previously gotten very angry at for daring to sit next to to my friend, and obsessed over our friendship.

During this early childhood period, I had a lot of separation anxiety from my parents. I would cry when my dad had to go to the store, and felt terrified and empty when I found out that my mom would be helping out in the program and so I wouldn't know exactly where she was the whole time. She told me I couldn't go back and be upset about it because I already told her it was okay. She also threatened to leave whenever I would do anything she didn't like, including reacting negatively to myself or my brother having our hair pulled and being slammed into walls (with our mouths covered if we were screaming for her to stop), and one time she did leave for a few hours...

I remember that I would never eat cookies given to me before lunch by Sunday school teachers because my mom had said it wasn't okay, and absolutely told them I wouldn't no matter how many times they told me it was okay. I didn't want to get hurt or screamed at.

My brother did it and he didn't get in trouble, which definitely confused me. Speaking of my brother, I also learned that if he was mean, it was just as bad if I called him mean. I had to use the word "unkind."

I also refused to acknowledge what my mom did to me as wrong, because she would always tell me what I did wrong afterwards, and in order to remain attached and thus soothe my separation anxiety, I had to justify to myself that my mom was always a good person who, in her words, just "lost her patience." I would be angry at other mothers who displayed the same traits, though, and vilify them for the day in my mind. I had to overlook abuse to survive emotionally.

I saw her mistakes as understandable due to a mixture of her manipulation and my own emotional survival, but couldn't handle my own mistakes and felt my self esteem crushed by them. When I found out around age 9 that I couldn't do math on my own anymore, I didn't want to try before being shown what to do, and this caused me to have a lot of arguments with my dad. I was previously always being treated like a gifted child by everyone due to very good memory that my mom nurtured in order to prove to her mother that she was a competent teacher, so I thought I must just be bad at some things. I didn't want to try only to fail. I needed instant gratification in order to feel good enough, and I had really bad self esteem when I wasn't the best... I kind of gave up when I wasn't being pushed in some areas, for a really long time, until I almost failed my math class in the 8th grade.

So as you can see, I developed several traits of DPD early on:

• Relying on one person to tell me if I was worth something

• along with criticism piercing my soul relationship hopping if someone leaves (disclaimer that now that I'm in a committed relationship I don't do that anymore)

• a reluctance to express my feelings that developed from being shamed for them, being unable to do anything without being given permission for fear that I would be hurt later on for it

• submissiveness to avoid being abused

• inability to do work on my own because without guidance I didn't think I could do anything new

I didn't realize that I wasn't neurotypical. My maladaptive behaviors were all defense mechanisms to protect me. I was wired for intense anxiety already based on my genetics... so when my mom made me her punching bag nearly every day for 3 years, and began disregarding my feelings from a young age, I had to protect myself somehow.

How are we supposed to heal from personality disorders when they develop so young? Seriously...

Also, why are we judged for adapting to complex trauma as if we could help having to survive? Shouldn't our abusers be shamed for making us have to adapt in ways that were harmful to ourselves and others?

I'm so tired.

[andersunmenschlich]

"Was I Abused" game

Copied and pasted from this post by @furiousgoldfish (to save space since you can't reformat anything in posts you reblog).

Is it accurate? Who knows! My memories of childhood are incomplete! Besides, a lot of these things seem frankly normal to me and not abusive at all... which, if they are abusive, is probably an especially bad sign. Hm. Anyway, on to the game!

Reblog and bold the things your parents have done to you! Italicize if you're not sure. (copy paste it all and then bold)

Physical abuse

parent slapped me to prove their point / teach me a lesson (I don't remember. It would have been loss of temper anyhow, not point-proving or lesson-teaching.)

parent spanked me as a “punishment” saying it was for my own good (Hey, I was raised full-on Michael Pearl TTUAC-style. This is foundational.)

parent pulled on my hair to force me to move

parent threw things at me while angry, things heavy enough to hurt me (Kind of? She and my sister were on my bed, top bunk. I was cowering on the floor. But I dunno if she was angry.)

parent trapped me in a room/corner so I couldn’t escape them (I don't remember. But I do know, in my very bones, that there was no escape from them. You couldn't run. You couldn't hide. And trying would only make things worse.)

parent hit me when I wouldn’t obey them / tried to confront them (To Train Up A Child, people.)

parent used a twig / stick / belt to lash at my body (Again—this is the Pearl technique. My parents broke a lot of wooden paint mixing sticks on me before discovering this whippy plastic rod about the thickness of a pencil! You could sharpen the end in a pencil sharpener, too. They had a ton of those, it seemed like. And a short one for trips outside the house; it fit in Mom's purse.)

parent grabbed me to force me to pay attention to them

parent pinned me down and physically prevented me from escaping (...Yeah. Again, this is the Pearl technique.)

parent brought me into situations where I feared for my life (I—look, it's not like the fears were rational or anything. It's just that the world is terrifying when you're autistic and so much hurts. And have been taught your whole life that "the world" is a terrible, dangerous place that can kill you both physically and spiritually. Yeah.)

parent made it painfully obvious for me that I’ll obey them or suffer injuries (I mean. TTUAC.)

parent threatened to beat me if I wouldn’t do as they say (This was the most basic part of my childhood. Like air. Under what circumstances would this not be the case? Unimaginable.)

parent forcefully fed me something I refused to eat (Does not letting you eat between meals, and putting the same food in front of you at each meal—over and over again until you either eat it or it grows mold—count?)

parent made an attempt at strangling / drowning / burning me

parent banged my head / body into the wall / furniture (To be fair, I hit him first. And it's not like I broke the table when his punch sent me across the room: I didn't hit it that hard. Just busted open the back of my head a bit.)

parent forced me into sexual activities

Emotional abuse

parent called me derogatory names and slurs more than once (Frankly, I'm still reasonably convinced that I am a monster. And evil. And I am definitely a fool, at least biblically speaking. "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no god,'" indeed.)

parent said my name mostly with hatred and scorn in their voice (To be fair, it was my name.)

parent degraded and humiliated me in front of others for fun

parent insulted and devalued something really important to me (I mean, in retrospect, it was dumb. Just a worthless paper model of a house, that's all. It wasn't even that great. I was a little kid, after all. So what if I'd spent all day on it? It was still garbage, really.)

parent deprived me of something that meant the world to me (I don't remember. I genuinely don't remember, but I still have trouble admitting that I care about anything because part of me is terrified that if anyone knows I like a thing they'll have a way to hurt me, and that fear has to have come from somewhere, right?)

parent yelled and swore at me in anger more than once

parent blamed me for things that were out of my control/not my fault (And they do feel bad about this now.)

parent shamed me for my physical appearance

parent guilt-tripped me for not pleasing them well enough (I mean, they tried. But good luck; I have no idea what guilt feels like. I bought a book about it because I was curious.)

parent regarded me as a burden, and shamed me for needing them at all (Hmm. I don't really do shame either. I was a burden, though.)

parent insisted I couldn’t take a joke after I was hurt by their insults

parent never comforted me / got angry if I reached for comfort (Again, to be fair: I'm autistic. I'm pretty sure they were just having trouble with my body language and facial expressions. Why else would they punish me for bad attitude when all I wanted was to be cooed at and fluttered over with the same concern they showed my siblings when they cried about their wounded knees?)

parent punished me for crying / showing fear / showing trauma symptoms

parent humiliated me for showing excitement and happiness

parent subtly let me know that my feelings and my problems don’t matter (They, uh. They don't. My feelings and problems are mine. Why should anyone else care? It's genuinely not their problem.)

parent got angry at me for feeling depressed / angry / tired / suicidal

parent blamed me for feeling depressed / angry / tired / suicidal (Who else's fault would it be? They're my feelings, produced by my body and brain, experienced only by me, in my own head. Dang if I see how anybody else could be to blame.)

parent compared me to cousins / other children to prove how I’m the worst (Dang you, Perfect Second Child. ... Although... in retrospect... that set-up wasn't great for you either, was it. Hm.)

parent decided for me how I feel when it was convenient for them

parent told me that I was crazy / delusional / need to be locked away (I don't remember. It sounds familiar. But I don't. I don't remember.)

parent threatened me with kicking me out / sending me away if I don’t change (Kind of? Does it count if you overhear your parents talking about it in their locked bedroom? Not their fault I was listening at the door, surely. They were genuinely considering it. I can't blame them. I was a terrible child.)

parent refused to accept my sexuality gender / tried to force it to change

parent required me to act normal to protect family’s reputation

parent isolated me from family activities they all enjoy (Nooo, haha, I did that all on my own.)

parent assured me that nobody will ever want me (I mean... "only a mother could love" is a saying for a reason. And if even my own mother couldn't love me, well! I don't remember whether anyone told me this outright. It just seemed... obvious.)

parent insisted that I was lucky and that I could have had it much worse (I could have!)

parent made me responsible for their well-being and made me the caretaker

parent insisted that their harmful acts were all done “out of love” (The subject of love was confusing. "I don't love you," "I hate you," "I have to love you because you're my child, so I love you—but I don't have to like you, and I don't, I don't like you at all" ...it was all very confusing.)

parent demanded I be available for their requests at any time (Well, yes, obviously. To Train Up A Child was very clear about this.)

parent punished me for trying to establish boundaries (Boundaries, boundaries. Hmm. Interesting concept....)

parent destroyed my belongings as a form of revenge (Revenge? I don't know. Consequences, I think it was. For keeping all my favorite toys on my bed, and nesting in them. So obviously they had to be thrown onto the floor. And at my head. Ahaha.)

parent made inappropriate sex jokes and comments in my presence

parent denied doing any of this and insists that all the blame is on me (I'm not sure they aren't right, honestly. As previously noted, I am a horrible person, and I was even more horrible as a child.)

Psychological Abuse

parent kept pointing out my flaws as proofs that I won't achieve anything (Mmm... was it them, or was it me doing this? Seems like they were always telling me how intelligent I was, how talented, how much promise I had. The voices asking why wasn't I doing anything, why couldn't I use the gifts God had given me correctly, why was I wasting it all, I'm the stupidest smart person ever, garbage, can't do anything right, etc., seem to have always come from my own mind.)

parent called me stupid, incompetent, ignorant, while withholding information that I needed to know in order to complete tasks

parent would change their side of the agreement at a crucial moment and then pretend it was obvious from the start

parent stalked me / distrusted me without any reason / invaded my privacy (I'm really not sure. What privacy? A four-bedroom house with twelve people in it has very little room for privacy. And if you have nothing to hide....)

parent attacked my insecurities and vulnerabilities in any argument (Dad's always been very good at this. It's his emotional intelligence, I think. Never been much of a cryer, but he can do it to me every time!)

parent forced me into degrading actions while they watched

parent threatened to leave me

parent regularly accused me of behaving the way they did

parent never acknowledged, praised or approved of my actions

parent always demanded they be acknowledged as right without any proof / explanation (Sort of? They had explanations. It's just that those explanations were often terrible. Not that my parents were aware of that.)

parent insisted that they’re a great parent using financial support as proof

parent insisted that I should be grateful for how good they are to me (Keeping me safe from the world! The evil, dirty, disgusting world, full of immoral monsters! Oh, the horrible things that could happen to me without their protection! ...Which is not entirely untrue, I guess. But... I dunno....)

parent gaslit me and tried to make me believe my memories weren’t real if I confronted them with what they did

Neglect

parent didn’t notice I haven’t been eating properly (Frankly, I preferred that. I never much cared for being forced to eat things that made me feel sick.)

parent didn’t notice I was sick / didn’t care for me while I was sick

parent didn’t notice I was injured (Eh. After the first few years of my life, that suited me just fine.)

parent didn’t notice I didn’t have clothes / shoes I needed for school (I didn't go to school.)

parent didn’t notice I suffered from trauma (Look, it's—it's the autism again, okay? Living in a world that hurts you horribly at unpredictable moments is traumatic. I didn't know it was trauma. I just thought it was life. So how could they have known?)

parent didn’t notice I was anxious and stressed (Oh, they noticed that.)

parent didn’t notice I was depressed (Once again—I didn't realize. So how could they? I'm really not sure this counts.)

parent didn’t notice I was cutting myself (Whipping myself, actually. With tree branches. Until the skin broke. Hmm, that was when I was in my early teens, though—as a kid I used to turn a little wooden rocking chair upside down and throw myself into the sharp ends of the rockers. To be fair, they might have noticed. Just... who really cares? I was a rough and tumble kid. Scrapes and bruises and cuts and what-have-you were to be expected. Anyway, there was no cutting; I never cut myself.)

parent didn’t notice I was suicidal (I wasn't. I'm not. I won't be. Mind over matter. Ha.)

parent didn’t notice I was being sexually abused

parent didn’t notice I was being bullied

parent failed to get me medical attention when it was needed

parent failed to teach me the very basics of self care

parent didn’t seem to notice any of my needs and feelings except the absolute minimum I required to survive (Uh. Anything more than the absolute minimum you require to survive isn't a need. You need to survive. Do you really need anything else? I mean, it's nice, a definite plus, but....)

when I notified them of these things, they denied it, accused me of lying, decided it wasn’t happening and/or blamed me for it

Financial Abuse

parent made me feel ashamed for needing money

parent made me feel like I was a financial burden to them (But I was. Come on, now. There's no way honesty counts as abuse. ...Is there?)

parent only gave me minimal money to survive (I don't—there were kids out there getting money from their parents? I mean, they're giving you clothes, food, and shelter already. What for would you need money? I must be missing something.)

parent made sure I never have a decent amount of money on me (Again—I never had that much money. Quarters from the Tooth Fairy: that was it. Money from birthday cards or whatever went in the college fund under their bed. "For your future." And I raided that stash later to buy books anyhow.)

parent took the money I earned from me

parent used the money to blackmail me (if you continue this way let’s see who will pay for your bus ticket!)

parent insisted since they “pay for my stuff” they have the right to control my behaviour and actions (and attitudes. Is this, um. Is this not true?)

parent had enough money for luxury but kept me without anything

parent refused to get my medicine / get me medical attention because it’s too expensive while they got everything for themselves (Nah, they didn't visit the doctor either.)

parent would keep me anxious over if they would pay my expenses or not

parent would make me do as much work for them as possible before they would pay for a necessity

parent kept me in the dark over family finances even when I was of age (Was that them, though? Or was that me? It's difficult to know what's going on with your money when you can't go outside during the day—so no bank visits—and you don't have the password to your bank account because you never asked for it, so you can't do anything online. Which was just as well, because my laptop was... not great. Almost certainly terribly insecure.)

parent would make sure I never have enough money to escape them

If you bold more than 5 things, you have been through abuse. For some particular ones, even one true thing on this list means you’ve been badly harmed by your parents. Also this list is not complete, there are many more abusive behaviours not listed here, feel free to add!

[gatheringbones]

[“Annie’s mother, Betty, a woman with strong religious convictions, had always been emotionally insensitive, and her childhood treatment of Annie sometimes verged on physical and emotional abuse. Although Annie had lived with this treatment for a long time, she reached the breaking point when Betty made a derogatory comment about Annie in front of her colleagues at Annie’s award ceremony at work. Annie’s feelings were deeply hurt, and she was embarrassed in front of her friends. The insult was so blatant that Annie was sure her mother couldn’t deny the wildly inappropriate nature and timing of her comment, as she usually did. But Betty wouldn’t take responsibility, coldly denying that what she’d done was problematic.

Over the next few days, Annie kept trying to get Betty to understand how hurt she was. She finally wrote a letter to her mother, telling her how she felt and asking her to sit down with her and talk it out. Annie put a great deal of thought into the letter, which was extremely emotionally articulate, in hopes that Betty would see and regret that her behavior had been so chronically insensitive over the years. But Betty didn’t offer any response. Emptiness hung between them, along with Annie’s impression that her mother couldn’t care less. “I want to say to her, ‘I’m your daughter,’” Annie cried. “Murderers kill people, and their moms still love them. We’re family; she’s my mom. How can she just let that go?”

This wasn’t the first time Annie had tried to reach Betty emotionally. After starting therapy, Annie tried to express herself and work things out in a healthy way whenever her parents were mean or disrespectful toward her. Although Betty routinely dismissed Annie’s outreach, she’d always remained in contact so she could see Annie’s three little boys. But this time it was different.

“What I can’t get over is that there’s nothing coming back, not even anger,” Annie said. “All I want is some level of response that shows this matters, even if I’ve just made her angry.”

In addition to being wounded, Annie was confused. Although Betty refused to respond, Annie knew her mother was sociable and capable of showing kindness and generosity toward other people. Annie understood that those relationships were more superficial, but this knowledge didn’t help her emotionally. “You’d think my mom would have some natural desire to make things better between us—some kind of acknowledgment, or maybe even something through Dad.” Annie’s sorrow and incomprehension showed on her face.

Annie was grieving over not having an emotionally supportive mother, and working through that would take time. But she was also aware that her appeals were making things worse, and it was important to address that too. Annie was confused. She was doing everything she knew to repair the relationship: communicating clearly, making respectful requests, and being emotionally honest. She wondered how they could work anything out without talking about it.

“Annie,” I said, “you’re doing all the right things in trying to make a connection with your mom. You’re looking for emotional intimacy with her, which makes perfect sense, but I don’t think she can tolerate it. While you think you’re just trying to relate, your mom probably sees it as a major threat to her equilibrium. After all, she’s been living like this for years. Your openness and honesty are more than she can handle. Think of it as though your mom has a snake phobia. You keep plopping a big, fat, writhing snake right in her lap. She can’t stand it, no matter how meaningful it might be to you.” Emotional closeness demanded a level of emotional maturity her mother simply didn’t have. But her mother’s silence made Annie feel like an emotional hostage. She couldn’t rest until her mother was happy with her.

I told Annie that the only way Betty was going to come around was if Annie stopped talking about her misbehavior and how hurtful it was. Annie needed to find a way forward that didn’t involve her mother’s participation. That’s the only thing that works with parents who are terrified of emotional intimacy.

Annie was open to my suggestions but still felt confused. She could remember Betty’s anguished visits with her own mother, who was also rejecting, when Annie was a child. Betty felt so unloved by her own mother that, after these visits, she was left sobbing with no one to comfort her but Annie. “How could she now be doing this to her own daughter?” Annie asked. “You’d think she’d hate to do that to her own child after she suffered so much.” It was a good point, but Betty was just passing her trauma down the line, as people tend to do when they repress their childhood pain. Annie was so intent on winning her mother’s approval that she’d stopped evaluating the relationship. She’d never asked herself whether Betty was the type of person she enjoyed being around.”]

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents: How to Heal from Distant, Rejecting, or Self-Involved Parents, by Lindsay C. Gibson

[themanofgloom]

Oscar & Alice (as well as Oscar’s overall past)

Alice Little is the name of Oscar’s ex.

She worked in the Dying Swan Theater before him, but left before he did. They met when they were both around 25 or so -- Oscar was a performer-slash-pianist, and she worked as a costume designer. They befriended each other and began to speak outside of work, and eventually, got together at around 27.

Their relationship was significantly healthy at first. Alice was a bubbly, comedic, humorous and goofy woman, and Oscar, although struggling with trauma and  mental illnesses, was the shadow to her light, often being reclusive and shy, but appreciating her support and help for his issues. At this time, he’d already begun therapy and was doing all he could to cope in a way that didn’t harm Alice, for he already learned his lesson of being toxic and unhealthy towards family members in the past. Sometimes, it was stressful, her watching him have days where he refused to proceed with daily activities in life due to suffocating anxiety, horrible intrusive thoughts, and the like, but she didn’t abandon him.

However, despite their relationship being built on trust, Alice did hide a part of her life from Oscar, and that was her attempt to handle her drug addiction. She’d already been to rehab and therapy before, doing her best to keep her life together after that, but she was going through relapses and lying to Oscar about her mental and physical state, even when he desperately wanted answers. He figured it out before she told him, and in fear of judgment, she broke up with him just two years after they got together, hurting him in the process.

They’d be on and off after that, not exactly talking but occasionally contacting each other. After their breakup, Oscar had intense with handling his BPD and how it affected him and others, and he stopped trying to cope in a way that didn’t hurt his friends. He returned to the toxic person that he was several years ago. He knew what he was doing, and he wanted to stop, but he still hurt people. A lot. He ended up losing most of his friends before he and Alice got back together, and then after the second breakup, lost the remaining ones.

Alice returned to Oscar, apologizing to him for the sudden breakup from before, and offered to be with him again. Oscar, at a time of desperation for acknowledgment and love, accepted without second thought. Already grieving for lost friends he abused and hurt, he tried to promise himself that he wouldn’t do the same to Alice. But, things slipped through anyway, and in his mind he tried to tell himself that what he was doing wasn’t hurting her; constantly suggesting himself to be hurt whenever she was upset because he wanted to be “good” enough to her so she would stay. Constantly blaming every single little thing on himself, announcing it out loud, shutting down every single piece of encouragement she tried to give him.

What made this worse was that Alice’s drug abuse was still being dealt with on her side, so combining that with Oscar’s behavior made for incredible stress in the relationship, where they went back and forth in emotionally/psychologically hurting each other.

Wishing to be the angelic, goofy, casual person she always wanted to be, Alice told Oscar they should move in together, in a house, ignoring the possible emotional dangers of that possibility. So they lived together -- and then Alice said she wanted to have a family.

Oscar was terrified at that idea, and Alice kept trying to force the concept onto him, even when she honestly disliked the thought of being a mother and was just reaching for an image that she didn’t represent. They were in a constant tug-of-war, until Alice became so stressed and unsatisfied with her personal identity that she overdosed one day.

The two of them had another event added onto their long list of trauma that week, and both of them, exhausted and distraught, broke up, for the last time. Even when Oscar tried to convince Alice that the overdose was his fault a day after that, wanting to be with her again -- if only because he wanted something to cling on.

Unfortunately, in that same month, Oscar was contacted by his biological parents, wishing to meet him. At 32, he last saw them when he was 11 years old. And, at a low point of his life, empty of self-love and starving for a sense of affection, he decided to meet them, hoping, despite all the abuse he’d been through, that maybe they’d changed. And maybe he over-dramatized everything when he was a child, and maybe now his mom and dad were better.

He was wrong. And he’d rather not talk about it -- his biological parents don’t deserve to be talked about. They twisted his vision, making him believe that they were simply stressed and not “truly” abusive to him as a child, and that he was selfish for preferring his adoptive family over them. Oscar left that day, and afterwards, after he came home, made a suicide attempt, with his own medication.

What happened after that seems like a blur to him. All Oscar remembers are his adoptive siblings, parents.... being there. Rob even offered for him to stay over at their apartment for a while, if he really needed it. But he was afraid, and didn’t want to risk hurting someone else again. So he decided to be alone, but did call some of his siblings daily. And then weekly. Monthly.

His physical and mental health were relatively low afterwards, so much so that he dropped out of the Dying Swan Theater for it. He gained weight from binging late at night and taking antidepressants -- which he later stopped taking due to his bulimia’s body image fears as well -- and became a heavy recluse. He had urges to cope with drugs, but he reached out to his therapist about that instead of hiding it, fortunately.

Oscar felt that he was a mess. He missed the stage. He missed his motivation for art and acting and music. He missed having friends, and he missed when he had plans, or what he felt to be a purpose in life. He found an interest in gardening, however, and found it therapeutic to take care of plants. He ended up selling his fruits and vegetables to a farmer’s market, and then that became his source of income.

Then... Molly. His younger sister recently got a pet, and told Oscar about it. Sent him pictures of a nice cute parrot. Told him that it relieved a lot of stress for her and her daughter. And, age 35 now, he got an idea. He feared it, but it was still an idea. Dogs were cute yes, but he didn’t think he could handle playing with one. Birds were cute, but he didn’t have much interest in a bird.

He went to a pet store one day... and laid eyes on a particular cat. Named Marley by the staff, sleek with black hair, looking like a long noodly kitten with emerald green eyes -- Oscar bought him on the spot, and took him home, not wanting to change his name.

Now, age 47, Oscar is doing much better mentally, emotionally, and physically. Throughout the years, he’s been taking care of his cat (and goose, Grayson), keeping healthy contact with family, and writing music and stories for the Dying Swan Theater. He’s been jogging/running out in the park to try and relieve what stress is possible to be relieved instead of going to self-destructive tactics. He makes more vent art, though that doesn’t mean he avoids self-destruction completely. There are times where he falls back into unhealthy behaviors and coping mechanisms, but he’s doing his best.

Sometimes, he does bump into Alice, or have dreams about her, or think about her. But he’d rather not look back at what they had, and instead focus on himself, despite the scariness of the journey.

[b0ttl3d-up-st4rs]

Well I'm gonna do what I do best and self reflect to an insane amount. This is probably gonna be a long post so buckle up.

To be honest my behavior for nearly the past year now is concerning to say the least. There's this little voice in my head that just desperately wants to get more and more hurt, more and more traumatized. Why is that? At first glance the negative approach could be to say its some sort of masochistic behavior and any negative repercussions as a result of this behavior is deserved, but I don't really think thats the case.

Self sabotage is a characteristic that can be exhibited in many mentally ill people and I am no exception. I think this behavior, of seeking to be hurt by grown men on the internet is partially self sabotage.

And I remember when I first started this shit show, I just wanted attention. Sounds mean to say, but craving attention is something the human soul desperately wants. And I was starting to feel some sense of self beauty but I didn't feel as though anyone around me was appreciating it so I tried to get attention from grown men because being showered in compliments and attention felt so good when my whole life I've never gotten any of that.

I think there's more too it, though. Looking back my whole life it's almost as if I've wanted to get hurt. In books I liked to sit around with the pain the characters felt. And its almost like I wanted to get traumatized. I've heard that people with trauma that they don't acknowledge is trauma or think its bad enough to be traumatizing seek put worse forms of trauma, in order to feel that pain is valid. And I think that's part of my issue too.

I do have unaddressed and repressed childhood trauma. I was given unrestricted internet at a young age and was exposed to the horrors of the internet. Nothing like straight up porn, but a lot of suggestive content. And in general being exposed to that caused me a lot of catholic guilt as I was raised catholic. I remember feeling like knowing these things were my fault. Many days I felt so guilty that I would pray to god to let me not wake up in the morning.

As a child I also questioned my religion a lot, which i think was traumatic in itself. Religion is a big thing. And as a kid I had a big issue knowing reality from fiction. Heck I still do. I remember as a kid my friend telling me that we were all demigods and one day we were going to run away to camp half blood. That the percy jackson books were real. It sounds stupid now, but I processed that as real and it was so stressful for me.

And I remember being 12 coming out as trans and as a part of the lgbtq community to my parents. They didnt react well. They said I was confused. My mom said I was both too young and too old to know. I fought a lot with my mom. And in general have a lot of unhappy memories from then. I was outed multiple times in my life.

My relationship with my parents still isnt good. My mom has a tendency to be toxic. I hate that I have to stay in the closet around my family its so painful. Like a month ago I mentioned the lgbtq community for the first time in years, asking my mom her opinions on it and if it changed since 2017, and it turned into her yelling at me and making herself a victim. It really hurt. I forgot how much it hurt.

I don't really have much of a relationship with my dad. We barely talk. Hes very emotionally distant. When I'm at my dad's house I sort of fend for myself. Its the exact opposite at my moms house. She's overbearing and never leaves you alone. It's like going between to extremes.

And honestly I can't wait to move out. My mom and I have arguments a lot. But hey at least I have some relationship with her, I don't really have a relationship with my dad.

I remember one time this year, I was during the end of a school semester. I needed to catch up on work because after talking to my abuser for like 5 months and then unlocking him I was left in shambles and fell into a really bad depression to where my motivation for school just disapeared. Im still dealing with that tbh. Anyways I had to go to a online meeting to choose my classes and I didn't get to choose the classes I thought I would be able to, and that made me really upset. But after the meeting I had to go to do am act of kindness (I chose picking up litter at a graveyard cause i like graveyards) for my school project but I was still distraught. If I was given some time to myself I probably wouldve been able to go without issue, but my mom wanted to go immediately. We argued. And when I got there I refused to leave the car because I felt so much like shit. We argued more. It was the worst argument I ever had. She even swore at me. Which she's never done before. And she ended up playing victim again. She does that a lot I guess. And doesn't really listen to my feelings. Whenever I try to communicate about my feelings with her it turns into an argument and she makes it about herself. So yeah our relationship isn't the greatest. And I think having mommy and daddy issues is a trauma in itself. Ppl deserve to have happy healthy supportive families.

Oh right and another trauma I completely forgot (funny how that happens) is when I was 14 and admitted to a mental hospital because I tried to off myself. It was so surreal and they forced me to learn how to make eye contact with people cause apparently thats "how they know im doing ok". Which is kinda fucked considering the fact I recently realized I might be autistic. And eye contact is literally so painful for me. It especially was back then. Anyways the place itself wasnt too bad but the feeling of being trapped overall sucks and being disconnected from the rest of the world isnt fun either. Also I dissociate all the time but I especially dissociated hard thru the whole experience. And sort of made myself into the perfect patient, repeating all their bs and literally lying to myself to convince myself that I was ok so they would let me go. So that was kind of weird.

Anyways I know I have it better than others. And honestly sometimes it's hard to tell what exactly was traumatic in my childhood. I probably forgot and repressed other parts of it too and am forgetting things. But needless to say these unaddressed traumas didn't help my mental state. And i do think that's a big part of the voice in my head begging me to just get hurt more.

Overall my mental state is fucked, It's been really hard for me not to be taken advantage of by another internet pedo. Heck the only reason that isn't happening rn is because no ones dmed me yet. Also I unblocked my old abuser and we are talking again now so thats fun. It definitely doesnt help the cognitive dissonance in my brain of him being actually a nice and supportive dude. I think thats also a part of me wanting to get more traumatized. Since my abuser is a nice person that should counteract all the fucked up sexual things he said to me in the past right? I mean others have it worse, had worse abusers that were actively cruel. That's part of the bitch in my subconscious brain talking. It sucks tbh.

Anyways yeah I probably need therapy but I don't feel comfortable talking about this to my current counselor and honestly its really hard to say out loud. I can talk forever about it by writing it down but the moment I speak words from my dumbass mouth I break down in tears and can't do it. Plus idk, I'm scared if I say anything she'll have to tell my parents and that my phone might be taken away or I'll have less privacy and for a closeted queer where my only current life line is the internet and my online friends: that is a terrifying idea. Idk. I'm fucked basically.

[beybladeimagines]

First of all, thank you for the great headcanons, I love reading your stuff! This is my request for you: In the Rising Manga we learn that Yuriy has a much younger sibling (because his mom probably got married again). What kind of person will that sibling grow up to be? And do you think they'll ever meet Yuriy? If so, how will that turn out? I'd love to read your thoughts on that :) Keep up the great work!

Mod Talks: And thank you for your continuous support, you beautiful being! I actually started crying while writing this, so thanks for giving me a prompt that REALLY had me invested. Been thinking about this all day and I’m excited to finally write for you. :)

So, when I read this, my heart instantly shattered, because I knew exactly what would be going through Tala’s mind (and no one can convince me otherwise). We have to acknowledge the fact that Tala has found more solace in his friends than his own family. He barely had the chance to connect with his mother and father due to the harsh circumstances of the household and Tala’s desire to be as far away from the abusive chaos as possible. When it comes to abusive environments, children are less likely to become abusers when they grow up if they have been subjected to abuse themselves (source: Me. A criminology professor. And other academics in the field of family violence. Next question.). I bring this up, because the things Tala has seen and been exposed to make him want to become…better. Just better. Like, a better leader, a better person, a role model to everyone who has had to face the same kind of struggle as him, etc. When he was young, it was very hard for him to communicate just how fucked up his household and Boris made him. However, now that he’s older, has matured, and has been able to reflect upon his life, he knows what he wants to say… Specifically, he knows what he wants to say to his mom and he knows how he wants to address that connection.

I think when Tala tries to reconnect with his mom again, he’s initially shocked by how quickly and easily she was able to move on. I think in his mind, Tala wanted to be her savior. If he could fix anything, he’d want to fix her life. He’d want to come back as the son is able to provide for her and instill a sense of stability. But he realizes that he can’t swoop in as the golden child anymore. She was able to find happiness and stability on her own. While he doesn’t fault her for that and is relieved that she’s okay, he’s also rather hurt, because he does feel replaced. Why did no one tell him about this new family? Why did it feel like a secret? Now that he’s back, would they want him to be apart of that family? Where does he fit in? 

When he finds out he has a younger sibling, he just feels…conflicted. He sees the love and support that this small being is receiving. He sees the kind and warm household that they’re being raised in. And he knows, HE KNOWS, that they’re still so small and fragile and need that extra care and attention, but damn it… Why couldn’t he have had the same luck? Why couldn’t his own mom look at him the same way she looks at that child? Did she ever? His mother is back in his life and he’s back in hers, and he knows that he’s getting a chance to start over again and he shouldn’t be jealous, but he just wishes that could be him. Doesn’t he deserve to be loved too?

In regards to how that sibling will grow up - I think they’ll be drastically different from Tala. They won’t experience trauma at such an early age, they’ll probably get a good education, they won’t have to fend for themselves, and the bonds they make with other human beings isn’t purely based off of pain. They’ll get a chance to be…normal. That’s just not something Tala has ever had. He had to grow up at an early age if he wanted to survive. He’s just now getting the chance to be a figure within his community. He’s just now getting to step out of the shadows. He’s just now pursuing a more honorable path that doesn’t consist of manipulation and ache. It’s weird, because they’ve both lived a life that neither one will ever be able to truly empathize with…

So, what happens when they meet? Will they ever meet? I’ve thought about this long and hard. I really think that Tala would originally be too scared to confront his sibling. He has no idea how he’d react, or what he’d say, or how he’d say it. He’s scared. He’s never held or spoken with someone so innocent before. Will he break them? Will he want to? At first, he keeps his distance, but I imagine his mother would get him to meet his sibling. I think that moment would matter a lot. His mother is taking the initiate. She’s not saying, “hey, look, had a kid while you were away.” She’s saying, “hey, look… You wanted to protect me, you wanted to be a guardian. Maybe now you can. I’m a big girl, it’s my responsibility to be able to take care of myself. But they can’t. I think they need you more.” She wanted a happy and stable family. Tala comes home with more knowledge and strength than he had when he was a kid. He can give that to his sibling. 

I think Tala would strive to be a good big brother. Don’t get me wrong… I thought about him just up and leaving, you know? He’s fucking terrified and confused, but… Leaving and refusing to be there is something is father would do. He doesn’t want to be like his father. He’ll be there for them. He has to. He finally has the ability to. That sibling is going to grow up having the strongest connection with their big brother. Tala is going to take them everywhere, show them how to blade, and protect them. He has to. He knows that if he doesn’t develop this connection, he’ll get a misconstrued vision of what family means. He’s so fucking tired. He’s so tired of having hate hang on to his heart. He’ll get a chance to finally learn to love someone and I think that’s going to help him heal.

[scum-belina]

Please pray for me and my mother. We are trapped in a situation so bad that I’m constantly struggling with suicidal urges because it really seems like the only way I can get out of this situation. My dad died of cancer in April and we’ve been stuck at the mercy of our cruel, unstable family ever since. My mom and I have no vehicle to even go to work or get away, and my grandpa is the only one who takes my mom to work, but he’s getting dementia now and I’m terrified for her every time she’s in that vehicle with him. The only other family we could move in with hates me because, I kid you not, I’ve not spoken to them for a few months because my depression and trauma makes talking about my situation even worse in my head. 

I’m just trying to survive while in the scariest situation and circumstances I’ve ever been in. I’ve told them that talking only distresses me, but they still hate me for it. The last time I actually did try to confide honestly in a family member was with my dad’s sister, she asked me how I was and before I could get even two words out she just told me I’d go to hell if I killed myself, and then I’d never get to see my dad again (he abused me and traumatized me but she refuses to acknowledge that). She really thought telling me that was her “helping” me, when really that night I was even more distraught and suicidal than ever, because she didn’t even want to know how I feel. None of them care to know. My own grandmother on my father’s side distressed me so much last year I tried to kill myself. I could write a book on how horrible they are. 

I’m rambling sorry. I’m truly at my breaking point tonight. I feel more distraught, depressed, and hopeless than ever. Please pray for me and my mother. I’m just so afraid.

[avaquet]

Rydaal: Shedding Our Skin

Day 3 prompts! Late night rendezvous! This story is for MERweek, and takes place pre-relationship. :3

WARNING: Mentions of abuse!

I paced the Tempest, and I thought everyone was asleep, or piloting. We were headed back to Aya to reunite the Moshae with the angara. I jumped out of my skin when Jaal suddenly came out of his room. He shared the same response.

“I thought you were asleep.” We both said. Not in sync.

“I can’t.” I replied. “Been walking the ship for the past hour.”

“I was busy sending a report to Evfra. Came out to get a drink.” He cleared his throat. “Care to join?”

I shrugged. “Sure. I don’t have anything else to do anyways.” We walked together down to the kitchen.

He sat down next to me with his water. “I uh… I wanted to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”

I chuckled. “I’m surprised your holding back.”

“Yes well, I also have to ask Evfra this, but I wanted your opinion on it first.”

“Ah, well, I’m listening.”

He smiled widely as he spoke. “I’ve come to enjoy being on the ship, with you and the crew. I was wondering if I may stay.”

“You don’t want to go back? Even...even after what you saw?”

“I want to stay. I feel important here, and we got many things accomplished. I feel like I’m not waiting on something to happen when I’m here. Also, the crew seems to enjoy my presence.”

I chuckled. “That they do, Jaal. I-the crew would love to see you stay, and you’re a kickass fighter. As long as it’s okay with Evfra, then we’d love to have you here.”

“What about you?” He took a drink.

“What about me?” I raised a brow.

“I want to know what you think about me staying. You are the one in charge.”

I scoffed, “Hardly.”

“Then let me rephrase. I care about what you think.” Jaal clarified.

That phrase oddly took me by surprise. I knew he was open about pretty much everything, but maybe it’s because I haven’t really heard that being said to me. I cleared my throat. “Um, well, yes. I really enjoy your presence here.” I smiled gently. “You’ve been a good friend to me so far, despite me being completely alien to you.”

“It nice to see that we can prove the bigots wrong. And myself.”

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled. “Ah, when I first met you, I wished they would’ve killed you. In truth, I was afraid we would have more opposition. I had only heard of what happened on Kadara, but I’ve never seen the Initiative species.”

“I’m surprised you volunteered to go with me then.”

“I’m not. Mainly because I noticed something that was extremely different in you, than the kett. And I wanted to see for myself if I could be hopeful.” He smiled.

“What was the difference? Other than we’re obviously better looking.” I joked.

“The way you showed your emotions. Kett have but one, dominance. They came confidently and asked for peace. Never said sorry, never seemed afraid. But you,” I scoffed and held back any more laughter as I remembered how I acted. “You were so afraid. You apologized for the way you landed. I...felt bad. Just a bit, I wasn’t sure if it was just an act. Then you pleaded Evfra for help.”

“So, you got hope out of my fear?” I grinned, not meaning it seriously.

Jaal shook his head, “Not exactly. But, if you were confident and careless, I may have been the one to plead Evfra to shoot you. Or permission to.”

“I literally dodged a bullet by being absolutely terrified. Ah, nice.” I gave out a dry chuckle.

He giggled with me, “I doubt they would’ve actually listened to me. Though, I am glad that I was proven wrong about you.”

“Hell, me too. I don’t want to be anything like a kett. Cold soulless bastards. Er, sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t make the kett. And I agree.” He had looked down for a moment then back up. “I have another thing to ask you.”

“Fire away.” Haha, fire away. After talking about getting shot. Hah…

“Did I make you uncomfortable on Voeld?”

I thought for a moment, “At first I felt weird, but I wasn’t going to complain. Voeld was a lot colder than any of us had prepared for.” Lexi had warned us, but like kids leaving the house in the middle of winter stating it is not that cold out, Mom, I’ll be fine! Off we went.

“Are you saying you got used to it?”

“Had to. Not that you’re uncomfortable or anything, in fact I think I rather enjoyed it. Though you gotta blame that one on me being utterly touch starved for like, months.” My face felt hot.

He cocked his head, “Are you...blushing?” I could see a small smile forming that made me feel funny.

There was an awkward pause of me thinking about how to respond. I cleared my throat, “Um, heh, yeah. Yeah I am. Just a… Just a bit.” I couldn’t look into his eyes. What in the hell is happening to me? I know what...just fucking why? Why now? Damn, this is so inappropriate. I’m like a captain of the ship and he’s a crew member. Except I’m not, and he’s technically not. He answers to Evfra, it’s just that Evfra tells him to listen to me. Ack, no no no no, you’re not feeling anything, Sara. You’re just touch starved and trying to trauma bond. This is just hormones. This shit will go away. Yeah but, this isn’t the first time I felt this. So? He’s spent his whole life fighting and killing aliens. Even if your feelings were true, do you honestly think he would reciprocate them? Could his brain have the wirings to feel any ounce of attraction towards you? An alien? Again, he fought and despised aliens his whole life. Him being your friend should be good enough is it not, Sara? Just accept it.

“Do humans really closet their emotions that much?” His voice broke my thoughts. “If you liked something just say it. What harm will it do to let others know that you enjoy something?”

“It’s ah, cultural thing. Usually people don’t sleep together unless they’re well...together. With the exception of children and their parents. Humans for some reason have to see literally everything as something sexual or romantic, because apparently plantonic doesn’t exist.” I mocked. “It’s stupid, really.”

It took him a moment to respond, “Was that why it was uncomfortable for you at first?”

I nodded, “Yeah. Society ingrained itself into my head, and I want it out. It would be wildly inappropriate for me to have that sort of feelings for you.”

He shrugged, “And why is that?”

“It would be like a co-worker getting with their boss.”

“So? Is that not allowed?”

What? “Wait, you’re telling me, it is allowed in your culture?” He nodded. “Doesn’t that cause like, biased or opinionated ah, um, things to happen? Like who’s in charge of what or where?”

“That happens anyways, does it not? Your feelings don’t simply go away when you ignore them. They’re stored. The only way to deal with them is by acknowledging them and getting them out. If you romantically like someone, you will still make decisions that show that. Same thing with family or friends.” He clarified.

“Aren’t there any problems with this? Like if a boss was with a worker and the boss made them a manager just because they favor them and not for their abilities?”

“Even though your culture sees it as inappropriate, does it stop what you’re describing?” I shook my head. “Making someone in charge because you like them, is wrong. No matter what. It hurts many many things. But people are charged by emotions anyways, ignoring them will not make a difference. Usually it makes things worse.”

“If word got around, people would usually fire the boss for even thinking about it.”

“That’s idiotic. Fire the boss if the boss abuses their power and puts someone in charge that doesn’t qualify. Don’t fire the boss for simply being a person.” He retorted.

“Our ideology comes from the fear of people acting out their emotions. Humans go to the extreme a lot, so we feel that ignoring these emotions will be the best.”

He seemed confused, “Ah, could you elaborate?”

“It’s not uncommon for...let’s say a boss who likes their worker, to try and have sex with them because of how they feel. And because they are the boss, they use that position to try and sorta order them or blackmail them to have sex with them.”

He had the most disgusted look on his face. “Not that that ever happens in our society, because it has. But that is absolutely outrageous and sickening. Abusive bosses should be fired. Don’t restrict others to being mere...robots because you refuse to fire a horrible boss.”

“But yeah. That’s where that stems from. Humans cannot handle their emotions.”

“Because you never deal with them.” Jaal seemed frustrated. “You’ve never learned how to properly work with them. For angara, this is taught from birth. It’s not perfect, but at least very few of us are emotionally repressed.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things frustrating for you.”

“I imagine it must be frustrating for you because you have to live in it constantly.”

I nodded, “Yeah. A bit.”

He let out a frustrated grunt. “No wonder...have I made your crew uncomfortable by...being the way I am? So open?”

“A little, yeah. But they sorta figured out it was part of your culture anyways.”

“Doesn’t excuse it. So, all the compliments I gave...they weren’t received as platonic, were they?”

“I cannot speak for everyone, but the consensus seems to be that no, they weren’t. And even if they were, it took everyone by surprise.”

He buried his head in his hands. “I’m...so sorry. I...I should’ve thought better.”

I reached out to his shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay. I believe we understand now. All first contact is awkward for a while. We’re just getting used to each other.”

He relaxed and looked at me, “Thank you. I will watch what I say.”

I sat back, “Oh pfft. Don’t. I love it when you compliment us. Or, we love it, anyways. Heh. Just...continue being you. We love it. I think your personality is much needed in times like this. And, maybe you could teach us a thing or two about dealing with our emotions.”

He smiled, “Maybe. I’m not sure how good of a teacher I will be, but I can do my best. Thank you, Sara.”

I bowed my head, “It’s not a problem. In fact it’s relieving to be around you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re contagious like that. Since you’re so open, I feel like I can be open and comfortable around you, too. I’m not going to complain.”

“I’m glad I have that effect. I don’t complain when I’m around you either.” He smirked. Is he..?

“Hah, careful. I already like you, you don’t want me to end up liking you or- wait. No, that’s not.” My face got hot again and then I was the one with the buried face. “I don’t understand words.” I could hear him chuckle.

“Hmm… I’ll have to think on that.”

[theygender]

Services made to monitor children's phones/etc without their knowledge should literally be illegal. Why is it not considered stalking just because the victim is under 18? Why do parents refuse to acknowledge that their children are human beings who have rights just like anyone else? How would they like it if they found out someone was reading all of their texts, monitoring every app they use, tracking their location, listening in on their phone calls, tracking where they go on the web and what they do, etc without their knowledge or consent? It would feel like a pretty huge violation of privacy right? You'd probably feel violated and mortified and sick to your stomach wouldn't you? Don't people realize that these services can also be used for horrific means by abusive parents? Do they realize that stalking their child makes them inherently abusive no matter what?

My mom already used to invade my privacy in horrific ways when I was living with her and I've always been terrified she'll find a way to do it remotely now that I'm in another state. I was going through my emails and found a message from a company called "kidguard" titled "text message monitoring" that claimed it was confirming my subscription. I spent the last few hours reliving trauma while searching through every fucking app on my phone, digging through the kidguard website (I found it through google, didn't click any links in the email for obvious reasons), trying to log in with the account info it gave me, and researching phone monitoring software in general and it seems like the email was fake (although the company seems very real and should be shut down fucking immediately, I'm disgusted) but I'm still panicking because this seems like something my mom would do

If I ever find out that it's true and she really is monitoring me in some way I'm literally going to cut her out of my life and never speak to her again. I'll block her on everything I literally do not give a damn. The only time she'll see me is when I'm visiting my little brother and even then I won't speak to her. I'll report her to the fucking police. I'll get restraining order if I have to. This is a fucking promise

In the meantime I want to physically hurt whoever sent me this message (I'm starting to believe it may be some sort of scam that's just using the site's name as a cover and has nothing to do with them) for causing me so much fucking terror. And I want all of the people involved with the actual site to be thrown in fucking prison for inventing literal stalking software to help abusers stalk their victims. Also in my research I found that some people who signed up for a trial of the site (not sure if it was through a scam email like the one I received or through the actual site) found that the "trial" actually ended up syphoning money out of their account, anywhere from $30+ to hundreds of dollars. And the only thing I can say to that is good. They deserve it for betraying their child in such an awful way and literally trying to stalk another human being. I hope they rot in hell

[c-elestia]

Hello~ it me.

I'm not using my main personal blog because I don't really want to be identified nor do I want anyone I know finding this. I'm gonna namedrop people but I doubt anyone will find this and if they do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Eric and I broke up last summer. I'm dating a wonderful guy now. But we've been struggling a lot because I'm unwillingly uprooting a ton of trauma and I am having a REALLY hard time sorting through it and making sense of it all. I feel terrible about how I react to certain situations. They aren't logical reactions and I'm finding it very hard to control them. So I'm going to try to take the time to go through my life & see where the connections are and hopefully make sense of all of it. 

If I could pinpoint the start of any sort of trauma, it would be with my dad. It's complicated because he's grown a lot and he's not nearly as bad, but it was a struggle for me to deal with him. The things I remember most when I was a child was when he would be mad at me and refuse to talk to me. I remember there was one night where I gave him attitude and he got mad at me. My friend encouraged me to apologize, which I went out and did. I went to give him a hug, and he pushed me away and told me to go away. 

There were many times where my dad would get mad at me and I felt like I was a bad child, so I never left my room. I wouldn't even go downstairs to eat. I would intentionally starve myself because I didn't want to face my parents. I would go days without eating. It was strange because this was all self inflicted - my parents didn't tell me to do this. Something in me wanted to punish myself because I did something wrong. I see myself doing this a lot now that I'm an adult. If I feel like I did something wrong, I jump to withholding something from myself to make up for it. I also remember when my mom got mad at me, I went in my closet & scratched my arms. It was the first time I remember attempting self harm. Again, this wasn't encouraged by my parents - it was completely self inflicted. I don't know why I had these extreme reactions to these things, but that's where I remember this all starting.

Growing up, I was very deprived from affection and validation from my parents, so I searched for it in relationships. My first 'real' relationship was in middle school, when I was 12. I dated a boy named Brian. I legit thought we were gonna get married lol. I can't remember our relationship that well cause I was a kid, but I remember him being really controlling. He wouldn't let me do certain things. I can't remember what or why, but that's all I really remember. He wasn't that bad, honestly. But I felt really restricted when I was with him sometimes.

After that, I started dating Joseph. I think that's when I had more trauma come up in my life. We only dated a few months, but he was obsessed with me. He told me we would get married and we'd be together forever, and I ate that shit up because no one had ever told me that before. I remember he would take me behind the school and try to make out with me and touch me. There were a lot of times where I didn't want to do this, but I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure how to. I remember him telling me not to leave him and that I was his while he was doing this. It was... really disturbing when I think back to it. We ended up breaking up after we had a fight & he didn't want to get back with me afterwards. I was only a kid, but that summer vacation was pretty much one of the worst. 

The whole experience was traumatic. I truly believed he wouldn't leave because he was the first guy who said he wouldn't, and then he left. I would have flashbacks of us behind the school and have panic attacks. I actually think that's the first time I remember experiencing panic attacks. It was bad...

It took me a while to get over him. Honestly, I don't think I did fully until recently. Anyway - after that, I started dating this guy named Kyle. I met him online and we were an LDR relationship. We dated for about a year and a half I think? He was fine, the only thing that was stressful was that when I wanted to break up with him, he threatened to hurt or kill himself if I left. That was hard, but I was able to leave him without any traumatic repercussions. 

I started dating Isaac after that. We dated for about three years. He was pretty much there while I was going through the worst of my mental health. This was when the psychosis, multiple personalities, anger/depression/anxiety was at it’s worst. He tried his best but we fell out. He was ok. He had anger issues which didn’t help. We had a lot of fights that included a lot of yelling and crying and him punching his wall, breaking things, all that ~fun~ stuff. He never put a hand on me but he would take out his anger on objects and that scared me a lot. The only trauma I really got from him was getting scared whenever someone raised their voice at me or they were angry at me. 

After that, I started dating Skyler. We weren’t together for that long, but he went to boot camp & and we weren’t sure if we would stay together after he joined the military. After he graduated from boot camp, he ignored me for a couple weeks and then broke up with me. I was at the height of my stress for multiple reasons, and that was the tipping point. I tried to kill myself after he broke up with me. Ended up in the hospital for a week during Christmas ~all that fun stuff~

I got involved with Joseph again. I was an idiot and believed his lies again. He said he wanted to make me happy and regretted how he treated me while he was younger. He just wanted one more chance to make me happy and be together for real, now that we were older. And I ATE that shit up, like before. 

We had sex a few times and apparently he lost feelings a few months while we were talking. lol. cool. 

It took me a long time for me to get over him, a huge roller coaster of him using me for his own benefit and believing he became a better person, only to realize he was the same shitty scumbag. Because of Joseph I am TERRIFIED of getting used or getting played by someone I love.

Also.... Brian from my Year Up cohort - we weren’t dating and I wasn’t attracted to him, but he pretty much bullied me while we were friends & then sexually assaulted me at a party, and then blocked me & continued to hang out with our mutual friends, and refused to give me any closure. That doesn’t need any explanation why that was traumatic. 

FINALLY... we reach Eric. He was the most abusive, yet it was not as noticeable as the others. We were together the longest. Ended up getting married. He was also there while I went through a lot of mental health struggles. I was still dealing with multiple personalities and anger/anxiety/depression. I was not the best partner to him, I will admit that. It took me a really long time to improve myself. but he wasn’t perfect, either. He cheated on me and did things that he knew would make me uncomfortable multiple times. 

He would say he wanted to be there for me, but would get mad at me if I reached out for support and accused me for being the reason he didn’t have free time. He would refuse to acknowledge what I did for him and refused to let me help him, and felt like he was doing most of the work in the relationship. EVERY TIME I approached him with something, he would get defensive and refuse to come up with a solution or somehow turn it on me. I literally do not remember a single instance where we communicated in a healthy way because he was so hard to work with.

Whenever we had a bad argument (if I felt like he did something that upset me) it would somehow turn into me comforting him because he would tell me how worthless and shitty he was and how I should leave him. Typing that out right now really sucks because I realize I have a habit of doing that now, and maybe it helps to know that this is where it may have come from.

He would say everything was his fault yet at the same time, he had this way of making me feel like everything was my fault... even at the end of our relationship he basically said us breaking up was my fault. It doesn’t make sense, but I can’t help but listen to him because that’s all I’ve been used to for years. I can’t help but feel guilty for literally everything I do. 

Wow... that was a lot. I have a lot of history of trauma, and I don’t think I even captured everything, but this is most of it. I’m gonna add a TL;DR just so I can organize my thoughts.

Trauma list of fun:

Parents: Did not give me a lot of validation/affection/encouragement, probably contributed to my low self esteem & craving affection from other parties. Would punish myself as a child whenever I felt like I did something bad (not eating/scratching myself.) Dad ignored me a lot and refused to talk to me when I did something that made him angry. Probably why getting ignored makes me anxious.

Joseph: lol this boy fucked me up BIG TIME. Was the first guy that told me we’d be ~together 5ever~ (was a total lie.) Major lovebombing. Did things to me without my full consent. Because of that, I started having panic attacks and flashbacks of traumatic experiences for the first time. After we grew up, used me for sex or when he was lonely and would lovebomb me when I started to get distant so I would get pulled back in. 

Isaac: Was ok. He had anger issues so I get anxious or scared whenever someone gets violent or raises their voice at me. 

Skyler: Ignored me for weeks without an answer whether or not we were still together. Ended up breaking up with me. Also probably why me getting ignored makes me anxious bc I’m always assuming it’s something bad

Brian: ...sexual assault

Eric: Also fucked me up big time :^) Gaslit me constantly, made me feel crazy, made me question everything, made me feel like everything was my fault and he was doing all the work, did things behind my back. I adored this guy and thought he was great, only for him to abuse me in the background in subtle ways. He left me without saying goodbye which made my abandonment issues SO MUCH WORSE. 

List of common triggers, maybe?: 

-Getting ignored

-Language that feels like I am being blamed

-People raising their voice at me 

-People being violent near me

-Any sense that someone is going to abandon me

This is a good start so far. I’ve sorted out a lot and can see a few patterns. I’ll need to think about what people can do to help me and how I can help myself. 

[14knightdawn12]

My abuser started sexually abusing me when I was three. Three. My first memory is of hiding behind a sofa as my brothers play hide and seek with us, and my not-cousin carefully telling me to touch and kiss his dick. I was three. I was three and my first memory isn’t playing with my friends and family but the disgusting sensation of my lips against the rough skin of something I shouldn’t have had to touch.

It kept going every time we visited them. I always went to his room because, I have to admit now, I was groomed. I knew that his actions were wrong and mostly I refused to let him touch me in most ways, but I still watched him masturbate. I watched as he showed me videos of child pornography and tried to tell me that it was normal, that the kids in those videos were having fun. I always told him that children couldn’t consent. That it was abuse. I thought, in a way, that maybe he was just misinformed. That I could change his views.

Somehow I didn’t make the connection between the victimized children in the videos and myself. Somehow I never thought of myself as a victim.

I was so scared of him having children of his own. I couldn’t go to the police, not when his father is a guard and his uncle part of the police. I couldn’t say anything because I was terrified of breaking the family apart, because my mum always told me to forgive and forget but never clarified that some things were not meant to be forgiven. Some things cannot be forgotten.

If he did have a child, I always figured, I would have to tell. It would be my fault if something happened to them. It would be my fault for not bringing it to attention, for being a coward. I don’t want to deal with that guilt but what could I do? Crimes have an expiration date.

Crimes have an expiration date but trauma doesn’t. Trauma is immortal in my veins, in my breath, in my memories. Trauma will never expire.

When depression hit, when the worst of my memories resurfaced, I thought about killing myself. I wanted to make it end—the pain, the fear, the shame. The feeling of poison brewing inside of me, as more and more memories resurfaced and claimed their throne in my conscious mind.

I told him I hated him, once, while he tickled me. He touched me all over my body and the imprint of his hands is still a shadow in the depths of my soul. He tickled me and I was laughing but it felt so dirty that my tears turned into wails of frustration.

I said; I hate you and my voice carried the unconscious knowledge of everything I knew he had done but refused to admit. My voice shook with the power behind those words, defiant in spite my tears.

I hate you.

He got up and looked at me in disappointment, and he asked me how I could say such a thing. I felt bad. I felt I was being unfair. I remembered the innocent words of my mother, her usual intonation of forgive and forget, and I said I was sorry.

I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry.

I’m was sorry, then. I am sorry I apologized. I’m sorry I never understood that forgiveness is granted to mistakes and human error, not to the evil that was your presence.

I am sorry.

(I will never be sorry again)

He said we used to have so much fun playing together. He let his hand casually wander towards my chest, looked me in the eyes, said; what happened to our little secret?

I should have said I had grown up enough to recognize my own face in the dozens of anonymous videotaped children who had suffered (who still suffered) under the hands of people like him.

I wish I had told him that the monsters under my bed were my friends now, that I knew fearing the unknown was childish. I wish I had pushed his hand away, locked my eyes into his, and said: all children fear monsters and growing up is recognizing that monsters never existed in the first place. The monsters were an invention to make us look away from the real monsters that walk unpunished, who think their actions are justified. You are the only monster under my bed and I am not scared of you.

But I was thirteen, then, young and scared and angry and hurt. I was all of thirteen when I took a step back and asked him to stop in a quivering, terrified little voice. I was thirteen as my heart pumped in my chest in fear and adrenaline. I was thirteen when he put his hand in my vagina, not for the first time, as he smiled down at me with a wolfish grin.

I was all of thirteen when I started crying, startling him enough to stop. I didn’t run out of the room. I didn’t move from the spot. We stared at each other with ragged breath from completely different reasons and then he turned around to his computer and ignored me.

I refused to go back to that house after a few more times there. I refused to acknowledge them as family. I refused to listen to the broken pieces of memories that I wanted to pretend weren’t real.

I started letting tiny pieces of information out. I told my forum friends that my cousin used to watch porn with me in the room. What I never said was that I had been five years old and the porn was child pornography. What I never said was that porn made me want to puke, to cry, that the images of those videos will forever be blemishes in my soul.

I wanted them to know. I wanted them to know but I couldn’t get the words out. Like a well that is about to explode but has been covered in a thick layer of cement. I wanted them to know without having to say the real words.

I was nineteen the first time I said I was a victim of childhood sexual abuse. I was nineteen the first time I cried about it. I was drunk and everything became too much, too fast. I told my best friends that my cousin had abused me. I told them about my terror. I remembered fragments of my weeping in the morning as a cold feeling settled in my stomach.

My mum said we had to talk and I wanted to run away, to hide and never let myself out again. Why? Why? Why did I have to feel like a criminal when the crimes were committed against me? Why?

I downplayed it. When my mum asked, I said he’d touched me a few times and that he’d watched porn with me in the room. I didn’t say what kind of porn or at what age it had started. I didn’t say that my first memory was of him and that I felt broken for it.

I didn’t say; how could you not see the signs? I played with myself in the bathroom of preschool and no one ever questioned it. I had sexual behaviors that my teachers complained about, and grandma said I was dirty when she was told instead of asking me why. You found me crying under a table afterwards and you held me tight but didn’t question my tears, my terror, my profound feeling of wrongness and impurity. Did you see the signs and ignore them? Was it too hard to admit you couldn’t keep me safe? Why did you not see it, mum?

But mum also said, let’s keep this quiet. Let’s not ruin your aunt’s life for the actions of his son. You know how much it would break her heart to know this of him? Let’s not tell.

(I laughed.

Keep it a secret, mom? This has been my personal hell since the moment I was born. I stopped believing in God because I could never reconcile Him with my experiences. I lost two years of my life to depression and the knowledge that I would never outgrow this.

Childhood trauma is a funny thing, did you know, mum? Childhood trauma shapes who you are so integrally that you become nothing without it.)

Keep it a secret so as not to break my aunt’s heart but mine was already broken. I wanted her to force to go to the police and I wanted her to care only about me. I wanted her to decide I was more important than anyone else on this planet.

My mum would apologize for this, later. I forgive her for it, not because I think I have to, but because there are tear-marks on her face and I know she understands. I’ll forgive if you deserve it. I will never forgive and forget those who are not worthy.

I was three and my first memory is of a dick in my lips and my hands. I was four and I couldn’t see myself in the videos of children whose innocence had been taken away. I was five when I was shamed for innapropiate sexual behavior. I was eight and I puked when I tried to drink milk because it was too similar, too much of a trigger, for me not to associate it with my trauma. I was ten when a kiss to the cheek gave me anxiety but no one listened to me. I was thirteen when it stopped.

I was fourteen when my friends said I was the most innocent person in the world and I laughed and laughed and laughed. I was sixteen when I stopped dropping hints because silence was better than being ignored. I was nineteen when I got drunk and told.

I’m 22 and it stopped years ago but it also never has. I live with the bleeding wounds that time could not heal and I live with the scars that no one thinks about. I’m twenty-two but I am also three, four, five, eight, ten, thirteen, sixteen, nineteen.

The memories of what he did to me will forever haunt my dreams. The somatic memory of a touch, of a flicker, of a voice, will always haunt my mind.

I can’t escape the truth of what you did to me, but I can live with it. I live with it. This is my truth, cousin:

I hate you.

I will never be scared of you again.

I will never forgive nor forget.

You never deserved my mercy.

[traumaticexperiences]

i feel the need to rant about my abusive mom. oh god where do i start? for as long as i can remember she has always treated my youngest sister and brother way better than she’s treated me and my other sisters. she bullied my oldest sister into moving out, but she nearly made it impossible for her to move out because she’d take all of her money until my sister got smart and opened an account where she stashed money. She never forgets to remind me how useless i am and how i won’t amount to anything. I’m not even sure if i’m going to be able to afford to go to university next year because she literally takes all of my money. I often mention how unhappy i am and how everything would be easier if I were to die and she never fails to respond “good, that’s one less child i have to worry about”. I have to sleep on the couch because she refuses to buy me a bed although i know this is her way of subtly saying i am no longer welcome. Today she mentioned how i need to find a job so that i can move out because she’s tired of me being here. It’s hard to do that because she always guilts me into giving her my money. She also makes me feel guilty about buying me necessities like food and water etc. There are days where I can’t even bring myself to leave off of the couch. When i was younger i remember she had this hard leather belt and this belt that had these spike type things on there and as soon as we did something she didn’t like she’d beat us with it. i remember always having scars on my legs and arms from those belts and never wearing shorts or skirts and always wearing long sleeves or always wearing a jacket to prevent anyone from asking questions. She also throws whatever is in her reach, once she threw a screwdriver at me but missed and it shattered our glass screen door and shards of glass fell on me and cut my back and arms. She also slapped me in the face with a flip flop and it left a mark. She also used to yank my ears and bend my hands all the way back to touch my wrists. She also used to threaten to beat (us) if we asked if a friend or cousin could stay the night or asked for anything while we were in the store. She often calls me derogatory names whenever i do not agree with something she says and calls me disrespectful if i mention how she does not treat me correctly. She’s also tried to physically fight me (i don’t remember why because i was 11 or 12). Whenever we go around family members she never fails to degrade or humiliate me in front of them, making me not want to ever attend family gatherings again, and she finds it funny. She often makes offensive “jokes” and when i get offended she gets mad and yells at me telling me that i need to learn how to take a joke. Whenever any of us picks up a little weight she ALWAYS has to point it out and tries to make us feel bad about ourselves. Whenever she’s dating a guy she always makes them her number 1 priority as if she doesn’t have kids. She is always comparing me to my cousins, she says things like “why can’t you buy me things like *blank* does for her mom” “why can’t you get a job and a car like *blank” just constantly comparing. Whenever we have a disagreement she always says “well get a job and move out” “you better shut up before i kick you out” “you need to get off of the couch and move out”. She also places the responsibility of taking care of my younger siblings when i’m only 19 and still trying to figure things out. Whenever she does anything for me she never lets me forget about it and if i make a mistake (for example the breaks went out on the car i was driving and i crashed) she always brings it up especially when we’re around other people as a way to let people know I’m not the “perfect” kid that everyone seems to think. I also hear her bad mouthing me to her friends/ family anytime she’s on the phone which sucks because i feel like they all hate me just because she paints me as this villain and she treats me like shit and i’m slowly starting to speak up for myself. She’ll say one thing one day and when i bring it up (for example me asking to use the car) she’ll say she never said that and will get mad at me for “putting words in her mouth” then proceed to list off reasons why I dont deserve to use the car. Always brings up the things she spent money on for me, she MADE me go to prom then complained and got mad at me because she had to spend money, same with senior pictures, and senior shirts etc. Her constant complaint about money got me to the point (from an early age) that i was afraid to ask for just little things like school supplies or bigger bras. She makes me feel like im such a burden and uses money as a way to blackmail me. I often only eat once a day and she hasn’t noticed, only points out how i look a little smaller. I have been depressed for some years now yet she has never noticed or acknowledged it, she only calls me lazy. Sorry that i made this so long i just have no one irl to talk to about this because society paints mothers as these saints that can do no wrong and everything is somehow the child’s fault.

////

it sounds really devastating, having your mother sabotage you by taking all your money and having the nerve to imply that you're useless or never going to amount to anything, those things are never related to truth and only a part of manipulation and brainwashing. and i can't believe she would say "that's one less child i have to worry about" when you talk about your death, that is too fucking cruel. She doesn't sound like a parent at all, more like a really hateful enemy. Her violence sounds really destructive and terrifying, how could she hurt a child that much and still live with herself, that is fuckng sick. I can't imagine how hard it is to survive after going thru so much abuse and danger, it souns like she didn't care about putting you at rist or danger at all if she got to take her anger out on you.

She inflicted so many types of abuse on you, physical, psychological, social, it must be really hard for you to live with having trauma in so many areas of life. I'm glad you were able to rant at least a little, complaining about things like this is good.

[katmac95]

Why the fuck do I have PTSD?

Some first blog post, eh?

I’ll be using this blog to say things that are a bit too long for Twitter, but things I still feel the need to say.

First, I want to talk about my PTSD and why I have it. 

Some people don’t like talking about their trauma. I need to. I don’t enjoy talking about it, but it does make me feel freer when I do. It gets it out of my head and off my chest, so to speak. And that helps me.

This post may not be pretty but it’s not supposed to be. The stuff I’m going to share is all very raw and rough, so its delivery will reflect that.

*deep breath* 

I’ll start from the beginning, I guess.

From the time I was small, my father beat my mother. Often, he did this in front of me. My mom left my father with me in tow after sixteen months of marriage, and they were divorced shortly after. I still remember him coming after us with a knife when I was a baby. I remember times when I’d hide behind the toilet and refuse to let anyone touch me. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs because I was scared to death and that terrified energy had nowhere else to go.

When they divorced, my father was awarded partial custody of me by the state. God knows how a man with multiple convictions of DV and drug possession could get partial custody, but whatever. He did.

During his visitation weekends, he would often: hit me, swear at me, call me names, hit me with a belt or other objects, hit my dogs, break my things, withhold medical care (I once broke my foot under his care, and he refused to take me to a hospital), didn’t feed me (I taught myself to cook at 5 years old because of this, though he’d get angry if I tried to feed myself on the days when he wouldn’t).

And when he’d get new girlfriends, he’d beat them, too (again, in front of me). I remember one night, my dad was mad at his long-time girlfriend (they were off and on for most of my childhood) for one thing or another, and he slammed her hand in a door and broke it. I was in the next room, and I still remember her screams and the mangled mess he’d made of her hand. She filed a police report against him, and he went to jail for that.

I believe he’d been to jail quite a few times by the time I came into the world. When I was a kid, I remember him being incarcerated three separate occasions. I’m pretty sure two of those three were for domestic violence, the other for drugs. Or perhaps vice versa. I’m not sure, but his buddy would always bail his sorry, stupid ass out. Even as a kid, I remember hating that buddy, and wishing my father would stay incarcerated until I turned eighteen. At least then, I wouldn’t have had to see him.

Yeah, so, about the drugs... My dad’s drug of choice was meth. Or, well, his buddies referred to it by its street name, aka “crank”. He smoked it, sometimes around me. It smelled like sweat, cat piss, and cookies, in case you wondered. Now, meth has a rep for being one of the worst drugs on the market, with good reason.

First, there’s the rush. The person will wig the fuck out, but at least they’re “happy”-ish… It’s mania to the extreme. If depression is a low, then meth is high, HIGH, H I G H. Some people gouge their eyes out, others talk seven miles a minute and make you watch Alex Jones and read Andrew Anglin (yeah, my father was a keeper). He was never quite “gouge out his eyeballs” bad, but I do remember some weird manic shit (he once hooked a package of hamburger meat to some jumper cables from his car because the government had supposedly installed nanotechnology in this particular package of meat to spy on him).

Then would come the downward spiral when the rush began to fade. His mania would very quickly shift to irritability, anger, paranoia, and he would threaten to (or actually) beat the shit out of me for “looking at him wrong”. Or he’d threaten to kill himself if I did something he didn’t like. Or he’d threaten to drive us off a cliff, to kidnap me, or to [insert suggestion here]. Being with someone coming down from a rush is fucking terrifying, to say the least.

Finally, there’s the crash. The user will become so tired, they’ll spend entire days in bed. They don’t eat, they don’t acknowledge their responsibilities, they just kind of lie there like they’re dead for the whole weekend and get upset with you if you ask them to make you food (even though you’re a child and afraid of burning yourself on the stove because you’re not tall enough to actually reach it yet).

Through all this, my mom did pretty much nothing, despite the fact that I told her literally every single weekend that I was scared my father was going to kill me. I implored her to ask for sole custody (the fact that I knew that term at six should’ve been a clue that I knew what I was talking about), but she refused because she was scared of him. I was, too, only I couldn’t do anything about it without her help. CPS was called twice on him, but I wasn’t bruised “enough”. And my mother was too afraid to act, so nothing was done. Though I estranged myself from my father at fifteen, he had partial custody in the state’s eyes until I was eighteen.

Next up, my childhood babysitter, who was a right piece of work. Her children would steal my belongings and then claim they were theirs (I remember this little foam souvenir I got from Seattle that her kids took, and when I went to retrieve it, I was punished). This daycare provider’s methods of punishment were archaic. She and my father would’ve been great friends, I think. This woman would punish us by literally locking us in a 2x2 coat closet for hours at a time. We couldn’t sit, we had to stand. We couldn’t make noise, we had to “think about our actions”. And it was completely dark; even the gap under the door was covered. Now, I was kid who–with my trauma history–acted out a LOT (I mean, daily), so I dare say I likely spent more hours inside that closet than out of it when I was 3 and 4.

Oh, and when she was extra angry, she’d step on our hands or backs.

Yes, that sounds unbelievably barbaric. Her daycare facility was closed down in 1999 or 2000, I think, because a parent threatened to sue (or did sue, I’m not sure).

When I was young, my dad used to leave me with people I didn’t know in our neighborhood, while he… well, I don’t know what he was doing, but I’m guessing it involved something illicit. Anyway, this one time, when I was six, he left me with a teenage boy who lived across the way (my dad gave him a few dollars to babysit or whatever). And this kid had seemed nice enough. But, part of the way through the day, we rode our bikes down to the local creek to skip rocks. The boy threatened to drown me if I didn’t let him grope me. I’m not proud of this, but I acquiesced. He got mad at me for resisting, and threw me and my bike into the creek. My dad got mad at me for it.

And onto the next trauma, which is definitely in the same vein as the last. I mentally and emotionally cannot handle going into specifics here, but when I was ten, I was raped by a doctor. I was then groped by another doctor when I was eighteen. This is the only chunk of trauma I will keep relatively private, because it remains the most traumatic experience of my life and I just can’t talk about, it other than to acknowledge that it happened and that I’m terrified of doctors as a result.

Last one about my dad, I promise.

My dad would sometimes show up at places where I was (school, out to meals, etc.). These were places he was not supposed to be, mind you, as he wasn’t supposed to see me outside of visitation weekends. Sometimes, he used to threaten to kill himself/ me/ others/ pets with his rifle (the only reason I knew he had a rifle was because he kept threatening to use it). He would physically block my exits, always had to control where I was or who I was with, and liked to grab my wrists to physically restrain me. I mean, he was the epitome of abusive white male. My father is the most vile excuse for a human being that I have ever had the misfortune of knowing.

While we’re talking physical abuse, when I was a kid, I had a scout leader. This one time, when I was fifteen, she was mad at me for “mouthing off” when I refused to do something (a chore, because I’d been doing all the chores and I didn’t think it was fair that I was always working while my peers had all the fun–that was a valid complaint, btw). She got mad, came up on deck of the scout boat, grabbed me hard enough to leave bruises, dragged me down a ladder by the arm, and physically prevented me from going back above deck until I had done the stupid chore.

Because I felt unsafe, I left the program and tried to join another unit. But they turned a blind eye (because that’s scouting in America). I left the program altogether and forfeited all the awards I’d spent multiple years to earn. I failed my junior year of high school because of the resulting period of depression (I also dissociated the entire year of 2012, and don’t remember 99% of that school year).

Throughout all of this, my mother was... I mean, she tried in her way. I believe that. But when I sought comfort or told her I was suicidal, she’d say things like I was annoying or she should’ve aborted me. So, while I’m sure she cared in her way, she didn’t (or couldn’t) be what I needed in a mother. She was often just as angry and unpredictable as my father, though far less violent.

My mom also tends to shut down or change the topic if the current one makes her uncomfortable. She’d often give me the silent treatment as a kid, until I dropped whatever it was we were talking about. Or she’d yell at me/ call me names/ whatever. Unfortunately, many of these conversations had to do with my abuse, so these hurtful things often came during times when she knew I was already vulnerable. While I believe my mother cares and has always cared, she was not able to protect me as a child, and I don’t know if I can make my peace with that. She wasn’t able to be what I needed, and that has weighed on me for most of my life now.

I’ve never really had a safe adult in my life to turn to. I don’t know if anyone can be what I need, but I know I still need it. And that’s a tricky place to be. My therapist has said I should’ve been placed in foster care, and I’ve often thought maybe my life would’ve turned out different—better, even—if I had been. Though, I suppose there’s little point dwelling on this; I will never know, and I’ll have to be okay not knowing. I just wish I had a safe “chosen family” to kind of balance out all the chaos. Like an anchor, I suppose.

I have tried to kill myself three times, the most recent of these attempts in September 2017. I regularly struggle with nightmares, suicidal thoughts, shame, guilt, anger, lying (I tell people I’m fine when I’m not, or that I’m taking better care of myself than I am), trouble focusing, and the list goes on and on. I also curse like a fucking sailor, in case you hadn’t noticed (it’s angry energy that needs a place to go... I’m not punching anybody).

So, that’s why the fuck I have PTSD.

[smokeybrand]

Rescue

I don’t really like people. They ted to be actively terrible ad self-serving. On very rare occasions,i am surprised by their compassion but, for the most part, people are the worst. I grew up in a house where i was terrorized by my father. For about a third of my life, i lived in raw fear. With the exception of being able to take refuge a my grandmother’s house, i was under constant, aggressive, stress. The stress was almost cartoonish and it only got worse after my grandma passed. When she dies, there was no reprieve, just awful all of the time. My body stayed awash in stress proteins and it’s wrecked my heart crazy. I’m 33 years old and i have the heart of a 70 year old man because of it. At 16, my ma finally sent my dad away but the damage was already done. There are legit lingering traumas that afflict me everyday of my life.I can’t leave my house without my keys or i have mild panic attacks. I can’t sleep more than three to four hours at a time because i have vivid nightmares. I can’t do intimacy and i don’t understand basic social standards. My lack of empathy kind of alienates me from regular people and my rampant apathy kind of makes me to care. And this is me “better”

When i was a kid, in the middle of all of that abuse, i could barely function as a person. Talking to people other than my grandma was terrifying. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye. I couldn’t interact with my peers so they kind of bullied me for it. I don’t blame them at all though because that’s what kids do. They didn’t know my circumstances. They just saw a weird, stinky, kid. How could they know i had to forgo basic hygiene so i can be out of my house before my dad wakes up to avoid getting beat? I couldn’t tell anyone what was going on because it only made the abuse worse when my father was confronted. My mom never did anything about because she flat out didn’t believe me. As an adult, i asked her why she never stopped my father from being so cruel to me and she said “she couldn’t fathom someone being that terrible to their kid.” She refused to acknowledge my very blatant cries for help because she refused to accept my father was a tyrant.

I suffered humiliation, cruelty, and malice for 14 years of my life and it’s taken it’s toll. When i look back on my childhood, i fell like those animals that are abandoned or neglect or abused on those adoption PSAs only i didn’t get that happy ending. No one rescued me. Eve now, as an adult on my own, i struggle to maintain some semblance of humanity. I’ve crafted a pretty meticulous person suit that i wear out in public everyday but, to be honest, deep down, i’m still that terrified kid that just doesn’t want to get hit anymore. I’m still that broken little kid who just wants someone to love him, to see that i’m hurting everyday of my life.

I was fortunate enough to find someone who does love me. Who does care.We’ve been together for 13 years and i adore her for accepting me as  i am. I’ve gotten better because of her. I want to be better because of her. And i think she feels the same. She’s experienced a lot of awful in her world, too. We’re just two broken ass people, muddling through life, trying our best and i think that’s beautiful. I say all of this to drive home the point of how important it is to adopt from your local shelters. These animals that appear terrified or lash out just need love. They just need someone to care. You’d be surprised what a little love and support can do for someone who’s given into despair. I should know. once upon a time, that was me.