Looking back, I don’t ever remember feeling truly safe. I don’t ever remember feeling truly loved, for that matter.
just thinking about how my mom used to tell me that i could move out/leave all the time as a high schooler when she got pissed at me, a lot of the time when i wasn’t even 17/18 yet, and like, that’s not normal right? that’s kind of fucked up right?
its over. if its not over, then it will be over. you will not die like this. dont tell yourself that.
Listen, if my best friend was siding with the person who abused me my whole childhood and then laughed when they started gaslighting me I would be beyond pissed too. Honestly I’d probably stop being friends with them.
Javan Sierra and Kristian Vantassel are child predators
More On Online Support Groups - Stay Cautious
Like I said in a previous post, I created a new Facebook profile mainly to create a safe space I felt I could truly be myself without fear of my family’s influence. I began to look for pages pertaining to my situation soon after realizing group support in a physical setting was going to be very difficult to find in my area. One of the pages I found seemed like a perfect fit. However, it had a rule: if you attempted to join using a new profile, you needed to privately message an admin of the page to let them know why you were attempting to join using a new profile.
Their rationale was that internet trolls and the like are prone to making fake profiles to join these kinds of groups just to antagonize the members, and this was a preventative measure to weed out the bullies. It made sense to me, so I sent a join request with my new profile and immediately messaged one of the admins to explain my situation.
I didn’t hear from anyone all day. I didn’t think much of it for the first few hours (not everyone uses social media frequently after all). The next day, though, my anxiety kicked in. I decided to check whether the admin had seen my message yet, and got a bit of a surprise: the admin had blocked me.
Confused and a bit upset, I messaged another admin of the group letting them know what happened, and asked whether I had offended the other admin in some way. A day later, the second admin had blocked me too. I could also no longer see the page I had requested to join.
It’s interesting what little can send me into a spiral these days. It seems silly, but my brain immediately told me that I was being rejected. Thankfully, I found another group that has been a lot nicer. I asked the members if anyone else had experienced what I had, and the answers were surprisingly a resounding “yes”. Some said they had been shunned by the same group. Others said their posts were taken advantage of in other spaces that were supposedly deemed “safe”. It was horrifying.
Be careful when you join online support groups. Not all are created equal. I’ve had success with FB groups that have pre-screening questions. In general, be careful with the info you share. Have some kind of system in place. One person I talked to, for example, told me that they would only keep their posts/comments up for a few hours - then they would delete them. If you’re using reddit, you can use throwaway accounts. I’ve also seen people create tumblrs for the sole purpose of engaging with recovery blogs.
a childs first memory shouldn’t be one of fear
the fights and the screaming matches, things thrown against the wall and broken.
The memories fade.
I don’t remember the reasons behind the bruises or the hours of isolation. I don’t remember why I was punished.
I don’t even remember the punishment.
But part of me remembers.
The little roads and highways directing chemicals to their slots, giving, taking, recalling; the directors tell us which experiences open the gates to good feelings or bad.
It’s a system, like a true democracy that’s fed by the will of the people. The neurons want to be safe. They want to avoid the pain and chase the pleasure, we all do.
So it makes sense that when the terrain is rough, when the winds are harsh and everywhere you look are blighted fields and sinkholes, they cut their paths around the holes and put up fences to keep each other safe.
And so it is.
I have fences and roads webbed like a honeycomb through valleys that always were thick with death, with disease and wild beasts.
I didn’t thrive, I barely lived. But that was the life I had and it served me to survive.
I’m free now. I’ve crossed an ocean to a better place where I really belong and now my brain is putting down roots, building roads again.
It’s a honeycomb.
We’re avoiding the dangerous parts and following rules we’ve invented through a lifetime of survival. All we know is a series of “don’t”s and “danger”s
Asking for help is asking to be attacked; build around it. Disagreement is what leads to pain; cordon it off. Kindness is a lure at the end of a pair of jaws; stay far away.
I’m following traffic laws build for pulling slabs of stone from a rope around my neck, while I should be flying. I can’t. Not yet.
Childhood fades, but I somehow still remember and wonder if I’ll ever escape. I can build new roads, I can write new laws and I can change to survive in a new world that isn’t trying to kill me.
They like to say neuroplasticity, a fancy word that means I’m still learning and still alive.
Good things bring pain, then fear, then confusion. 4 years of work and the dams are finally crumbling to let in the transmitters to something like happiness.
There’s green in the valley, and love.
I just need to figure out how to build stairs.
in the mood to destroy my body any way i can
HMMMM 😬😬 HATE THAT. IM TOING TO KILL HIS DAD IM GOING TO FUCKIN DO IT.
me: oh it wasn’t abuse, i’m just irrationally angry because i’m a teenager and my abuser is a little overprotective
also me: *has felt nothing for my abuser since I was 15* *seeks the attention of older authority figures and is also very intimidated by older authority figures* *feels like I need to lie about everything Or Else* *constantly in fawn or freeze mode* *toxic shame up the ass* *avoids interacting with my abuser as much as possible*
Bad parents venting time:
The scene: archosaur-automaton, age 16, sitting at the kitchen table of eir parent’s house. Eir parents are also there.
The context: archosaur-automaton tried to send a letter to eir friend but put the return address on the wrong side of the envelope. Everything else about the envelope is correct.
The dilemma: Eir parents are making fun of em for forgetting, acting and talking to em as if ey are a small child who doesn’t know anything. “We need to give you a big lesson on how to send a letter” the parents say. All that was needed to rectify the situation was to say “actually, the return address goes on the other side”. Archosaur-automaton grows uncomfortable and asks them to stop making fun of them because it feels bad. Mother gets indignant. “How dare you police my speech,” she says. “I get to talk to you however I want,” she says. She implies archosaur-automaton is fragile and stupid. Archosaur-automaton capitulates as ey always do because ey are not a cruel or confrontational person. Ey will wish ey had talked back, though; not just at this belittling, but all of them, and will regret not doing so all of eir life.
Attorney and psychiatrist give an interview on child abuse cover up
My black and white thinking bpd ass: my mom always does bad things so she is bad
My mom: *does one small good thing*