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covington-shenanigans · 26 days

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so I'm on this app, Marco Polo, where you stay in touch with people by means of sending video messages. (there are probably other features, but I'm a free user, so I remain blissfully ignorant of them.) mostly I use it to annoy my sister. ("BITCH WHAT IF I GOT A PHALLOPLASTY AND HAD A BABY SHOWER FOR MY DICK. WE COULD HAVE ZUCCHINI FRITTERS. DICK-SHAPED PASTA. BANANAS FOSTER. DO U SEE MY VISION")

anyway, during the Hell Year of 2020, I saw my childhood best friend (let's call her Lee) was on this app. and like.

when I say "my childhood best friend", I mean the Weird Girl next door, who saw the Weird Girl that I was. I mean the girl I played with from age five until just shy of eleven, when my family moved away. I mean the girl I played with every day, for hours and hours, making up all kinds of elaborate scenarios involving our menagerie of stuffed animals. there were multiple overlapping, soap opera-style plotlines that lasted for years. there was drama. heartbreak. glory. she was the first friend I remember having. she was the first girl I ever loved, in my five-year-old way.

well, I hadn't seen Lee in at least 20 years and I was like, "holy shit! Lee!!!" so I sent her a "hey, nice to see you here, how you been" message.

again, this was late 2020.

now, I had been on T for a scant three months when I sent the first message, so I was a mere baby child, relative to the gruff manly man I am now. no beard, my voice had only started to wobble, still had tits... you get it. keep this in mind, it'll be important later.

I never heard back from her, but we're both Old, so I was like "eh, she probably forgot she installed the app" and forgot about it. we'd exchanged text messages at some point during the Hell Year, but like many people my age she doesn't really text, and I'm not calling anyone if I don't have to, so our communication had been sporadic, at best.

well. today I got a notification that she sent me a reply on Marco Polo.

I figured, well, she's replying to me 3.5 years late, but better late than never. I have ADHD and no friendship degradation mechanic, so I'm excited! yay! friend! :D

and then I remember. "...oh shit. she doesn't know I'm trans."

so. the thing is. I'm from Mississippi, which is. very very fucking conservative. I know Lee grew up Southern Baptist. I also know she's still living in the same town where we grew up and where she eventually graduated from high school and college. last I checked she was still attending the same Southern Baptist church where she grew up and her remaining living parent is still living in Lee's childhood home.

so this is either going to be Fine or it's going to be a disaster. lol.

in thinking it through, I figure either she's seen my updated profile pic, where I have the beard etc., or she hasn't. so either she's going to acknowledge this change or she isn't. okay. these are the possibilities. so I watch the message.

...the secret third option is... she seems to not realize when I sent the message? "sorry, I missed this when I was at work!" girl. what? I mean, you probably did miss it while you were at work... three and a half years ago. possibly she meant to reply to someone else and got me instead?

whatever. who knows. doesn't matter.

because I have the opportunity to do the funniest fucking thing in the world now

#covington-shenanigans gets personal #story time #marco polo #trans stuff #childhood friends #trans man #transmasc #trans men

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kmclaude · 1 month

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Ive been listening to Jesus He Knows Me lately (Ghost just released the music video for their cover and its great) and its got me thinking of an AU were Tiefer goes on to become like a superstar priest/televangelist. Puts on an act about how Jesus saved him from his terrible childhood abuse, Jehan is his protege who he treats as his own son after his father died, maybe he's even got a wife he pretends to love (only in front of others) Absolute debauchery and abuse out of the public eye of course

not me like 'he could marry his sister' no but he sure could marry a wife that looks like her (honestly she fits the blonde t r a d wife look)

i am devouring this, brilliant, debauched, lovely

(honestly I was thinking about a question @idalwaves asked or reblogged about if being a different flavor of christian would like...how it would change tiefer or jehan's relationship to their sexuality or something -- like would bein southern baptist or fundie work -- and anyway it had me thinking about basically how catholicism is perfect for someone like tiefer who is gay and loathes women, whereas something like fundie or southern baptist that expects a patriarchical figure with a wife and kid, the family man archetype, would be painful for him. like torture to have to fake a loving marriage to a woman.)

BUT IT WOULD BE DECADENT god cuz he can be charming, put on a southern drawl (his accent is southern but different southern, cajun southern, and massaged away by a more new orleanian accent flattened out), lie and lie and lie -- has a wife he fucked (timed it all right and everything, natural family planning and all) until she got pregnant (thankfully quickly) because that's what she wanted, that's what was expected -- and if he works extra hard and after hours and away from her and the home its for god, it's the right thing, it's what she signed up for, of couuuuurse he loves her, ignore that he won't touch her except for briefly in public or when she needles wanting another child (and if he knocks her up enough and then crushes some pills in her food or drink to get rid of it because three's e-fucking-nough, well, hey, what she doesn't know won't hurt her...)

AND JEHAN WELL......things could be the same: dead exlover friend's son is left without a father and, well....wouldn't be too odd for him to offer to a new widow and new mother to take her eldest (his godson) under his wing, later even let him live with them (because he only has daughters so far and one day he won't be around -- makes sense to have someone ready to take over after he's gone -- jehan would be perfect for that -- in fact, it's not his idea's, it's God's even, God put it in his heart that jehan would take up after him -- so why not let him spend a summer with them...and winter...and spring...)

and you KNOW he is fucking jehan -- maybe he waits a bit longer than canonically, properly has him under his thumb until he's fifteen or sixteen (very much the adolescens that he finds attractive) or maybe it starts right after nathan died (he's not even attracted to a 10 year old's body -- not that canonically he's into a 12 year old's body either but at least puberty is hitting and it reminds him of him and nathan in their youth and he's not coping well -- but it's a heady thing, power, and he's been able to get wealth and opened doors and it's a far cry from being a beaten faggot whore on his sister's leash being whored out so why not, why not, it's not like jehan's upset about it, he always gets to cum, and it's not like his wife knows, it's not like anyone knows, why not? who's gonna stop him? God?)

basically tiefer would be soooooo much worse. not that he's great canonically but add wealth and power without rules?! (Catholicism at least has rules.) C H R I S T.

(honestly if you wanted to get real fucked up -- televangelism would probably make this also a modern or modernish AU -- say 80s or 90s at earliest making Tiefer being born....instead of 1930s, probably 1950s or 60s...and well....the implications of being able to take photo or video....well.....well....)

#character stuff #kmclaudereplies #kmclaudereplies to ask

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weabooweedwitch · 1 year

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I definitely do not properly understand your whole situation but I’ve been seeing your posts about your mom for a while and they sort of make me wonder if your mom struggles with some psychological issues such as narcissism. However, I am not a psychologist so do not trust me there but I get the feeling you’ve also considered the condition for her. I I know you’re already thinking of this yourself, but I think people tend to need reassurance in these decisions so I just really want you to know that your idea of moving out and creating your own path seems like a great idea. You seem like someone who is capable of supporting themselves and leading a productive life but your mother is holding you back. It’s insane to me that she has her daughter working a night job while she stays at home doing nothing. Does she have a disability of some sort that prevents her from getting a job? Also srry if this message comes off as rude or annoying. I’ve just had a friend who’s been through similar circumstances and remember how mentally/emotionally draining dealing with toxic parents can be. I rlly hope things start looking up for you!

Oh she definitely has mental health issues and I don't even mean that in a malicious way, she has told me stories over the years of some really bad stuff thst happened to her at different ages with different people and even such childhood trauma as "she has no fucking idea who her father is but he was a married man my grandma was in love with and the entire Southern Baptist family basically shunned my grandma (my grandma even broke down in tears to me once and said they would call her a slut) and my mom became a black sheep and she was bullied her childhood" but also like I spoke to one of said bullies, a cousin, after my grandma funeral and she mentioned some behaviors of my mom that, I've always seen, so sometimes, I dunno, I wonder if my mom developed some trauma in childhood, or was born a certain way, and unfortunately she has sometimes found bits and pieces of repressed memories of being a CSA survivor but the uncertainty of it kind of, I guess to psychoanalyze her she had developed a permanant suspicion and paranoia and distrust of other people and sometimes I wonder if she has some sort of personality disorder or it's just trauma or it's empathy issues or what, idk. And the continuing lack of stability in our lives is feeding into such festering mental health issues that she also does not have the time to have treated because she has, for most of her life, been working constantly as a single mom, and just literally can't afford it because isn't American healthcare nice.

But anyways. It really is becoming an extremely stressful relationship for rhe both of us and I have occasional concerns over my own behabior, my temper, how I struggle to get through to her and she just tries to shut you down and the anger and frustration at trying to get her to LISTEN, like. We've had some incidents where I kind of lost it a little and I really don't want those to escalate. So it's also sort of becoming like "hey Miranda maybe not only is this the right thing to do but this is literally starting to become a safety issue"

But I'm also occasionally like basically feeling like I'm falling apart, but its also like, hm. When I sit and think about it, I didn't really get my first job until it was basically forced by necessity, and now I'm able to work 40 hour weeks albeit being pretty stressed. So. Would I just be initially terrified of being out on my own and just adjust to that too? But also I would HATE to, like, not to catastrophize but, what if I get a roommate and I totally fall apart, then I ruin my situation AND theirs, and what if lost my job? But also what if I lose my job NOW because I'm getting so bent out of shape on and off the clock? But if I can, you know, barely afford $1350 rent with some occasional purchases, then, a cheaper place could maybe be, the best thing. I'm just scared because I have such horrible trust issues now and I don't want people touching my stuff or my animals, and also I can drive so I guess transportation is also a concern when looking at locations.... decisions decisions but also I'm just, terrified of the unknown and of failing and being worse off than I was before

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lucidcrow · 1 year

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My life story in summary pt 1: Childhood and teenage years.

I was raised in a Southern Baptist church. I had loving parents, and generally trusted all the adults in my life.

A fire and brimstone pastor convinced me I was bound for hell unless I accepted Jesus as my savior. I was struggling to understand what that meant as a child so young, but one night I after church I came to my youth minister and prayed the sinner's prayer. I did genuinely feel something, a euphoria. I took that as a sign that I was truly saved and had the holy spirit.

I was a dreamer and a creator even as a child. I would rather play pretend out in the woods than most anything else. I pretended to be beloved heroes and outcast monsters. I made my own worlds and lived in that fantasy. When I was first introduced to video games (Pokemon being the first) they were a natural fit, and they gave me a language for my creative spirit. In time I realized I wanted to be a game designer. I didn't care for sports, and I couldn't connect with others very well unless I could take them into my fantasy world with me. Very few people could come along with me there. I played pretend in that fantasy world until one day my friends told me that we were too old to keep doing that. I didn't understand, and they moved on and grew up without me. I still "worked on my game"- by which I meant that I was writing, drawing, and imagining worlds - but the fantasy space in that world where my heart actually lived was abandoned.

In addition to being expected to grow up, I was a judgmental asshole to my friends. I didn't like that they started cussing and doing things I deemed to be ungodly. I did eventually learn to chill out, but I felt - as I was taught in church constantly - "I had to be in the world but not of it." In other words of my friends strayed into what I thought was sin, I couldn't follow them there.

I became much more lonely and isolated as a teenager. I never lost my friends, but we effectively didn't hang out anymore. As they got girlfriends I felt abandoned and unwanted. I was also bullied for being the quiet, "fat" kid. The bullying and loneliness took me to a very dark place. I won't tell you exactly how bad it got, but I started to hate people. Good people were the exception I figured. Bullies were the rule, and I started to become afraid of everyone. I resented everyone for even just existing near me.

Church youth group became my oasis in this darkness. They made my feel welcomed and helped me come out of my shell. They invited me to church camp, and I was reluctant to go. By this point I had well and truly developed extreme social anxiety. Somehow they convinced me to go anyway.

Being isolated from the world for a week, and attending worship services constantly is a good recipe for emotional manipulation... er... I mean spiritual experiences. I felt that sense of euphoria again that I had felt as a child, and I was convinced I had encountered God again in that worship service. I felt so convicted and guilty. I was living my life ignoring the real power of God. Nothing else mattered. Surely this bliss was what heaven felt like all the time! It was the love of God.

I went back to church camp every year to feel that high again. Try as I might, the zeal enkindled into me would not last when I came back home, and I felt guilty for it. I was too much of a sinner to keep my focus on God instead of video games I told myself. Every year I went back hoping the zeal would stick this time. Those experiences at church camp convinced me for many years that God was real and my beliefs were unquestionably correct.

In spite of growing closer to my church friends, I still felt like most people just tolerated me rather than actually liking my presence. In any group, I always felt like the least interesting person. I remember one day someone admitted to me that he thought I was annoying. All I knew how to talk about was video games. With the exception of a couple of people, most friendships felt superficial. In retrospect I can't help but wonder if video games were my autistic obsession, but idk if I'm autistic or not.

Junior year, most of my friends at school had either moved schools or dropped out of school. I was lonely before, but at least those people were still around. Now I felt completely alone. Those years were truly the darkest. I was just going thru the motions every day, trying not to be seen or heard by anyone.

I did have a brief period where I befriended a girl, and despite all the hints that she wanted to go out with me I couldn't believe anyone would want me. All of the bullying had convinced me I was ugly. I also didn't know what I wanted out of life, and wanted to stay away from "lust". So I waited too long to figure my shit out, and she moved on without me. Eventually she moved schools too. I was so clueless about my own feelings. I am not aroace, but I could have been mistaken for it back then. I just didn't have the language to process such things. I never talked about sex, and purity culture had me afraid to even think about sex. And I had never been in a romantic relationship before nor had I any clue how they worked.

After she left I was absolutely alone again. Lucky I finally befriended someone senior year, and he and I are still friends to this day.

I needed a friend that year, because the bullying was really bad. A person that went to my church became my bully and would throw rocks at me. It felt like an extra betrayal since he was supposed to be my "brother in Christ". I asked him one day why he did it, and he told me I was an easy target because I was always quiet and alone.

Quiet and alone. All the time I had been in high school, I had obsessed over what I wore and tried to be as invisible and inoffensive as possible, and I was still targeted. Ultimately in trying to isolate myself, I just made myself an easy target. I could have lived my life loudly and been the goth kid I wanted to be if I had known I would have to endure people's scorn anyway.

I would realize later that the fear I had of other people had seeped into the deepest parts of my mind, and now I live with crippling social anxiety and agoraphobia.

I'll continue my story from here another time.

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mtnkat3 · 2 years

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10.08am

Good late morning!

Oh what a beautiful morning!

Grinning.

Especially when first opened my eyes & look right into my huge stuff tiggers face! Lmao! It gave me giggles! What a good wake up! Then the dappled sunlight, birds a twittering, & cool crisp fall air.. love it! And yes, 30°s are cold in Georgia! Lol!

Now me.. I'd rather be waking up looking into my loves eyes.. give a kiss on the nose.. or wherever.. & have a beautiful start to the day!

But gotta really work on falling asleep in recliner & then bed & unable to sleep for an hour or so so fall asleep at 2am. And then alarms start yammering at 7-10am. It kinda sucks. Btw, do I count the sleep in my chair?..🤔 doing a number on my neck, shoulders & spine. Grimace.

But I've been on the phone since 9.30a & now gotta get back to it. See if ins/cobra is situated yet. Sigh. I'm gonna stick a flaming hot poker up somebody's ass here! Gr!

My life seems to be full of shenanigans & craziness these days! But I'm still gonna be me! Sunshine & silliness. I'm God's stormy warrior queen! And I'll keep on fighting off the long black train until I get onto the beautiful scenic ride! Well.. I'll enjoy those interludes. But once I free myself here freaking soon! I will probably become a bit more... Energizer bunny than lazy kitty? At least.. I hope to have the crazy energy my dad had! Geeish louise! How that man ran a large business on 2~4 hrs sleep a night I've always been mind boggled by!

Anyways.. back to work!

My loves .. whomever.. wherever.. you may be.. I miss you so much! & I love you.. without end.

I work. I await. I believe.

These will never cease.

I will never stop.

~True love never dies & true love always waits.~

I await on my cliffside.. Forever.

Your complex warrior queen daughter.

~Tijgeress kat Phoenix. 🌺

🤓🤔☔⚓🙏🙇‍♀️🌂🔗💡⛓🧰⚙⚒🛠⚔⚖🗽🦅🥧🥤🍁🧣🥾🥮🥤🍋🍯🍼☕🍫🍎🍑🍒 🐯🐾🐐🦉🐢🐛🦋🌱🌺🌹🌻🌷🌳🧶🧵 ⌚⚡🌠🚀🗝🔱⚜💝🐻🦌🧩♠️♾🎯🧭🕯🎶💋

~~~~~

This is so cute! I've had black & bicolored cats for years! Just had to share the lil rascals!

Oh & yeah I think Halloween can be fun. I just never have experienced it. My childhood home was well off the road. And me & sibs were only kids around so.. didn't really do anything for it. That & strict Southern Baptist before the whole trunk or treat thing came along. When first here kids here didn't like me because I gave raisin boxes! Lmao! Now.. they got other places for "free" candy.🙄🍬🎃

Th.10.20.2022 10.48am est.

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queenlua · 3 years

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holy shit, raptureready.com still exists

#this site fuckin TERRIFIED me as a kid #like i didn't quiiiite believe the tribulation shit but #i didn't NOT believe it?#so mostly i just anxiously read all their prepper articles #for how 2 survive the end times #anyway. as an Adult Technology Professional #i'm side-eying their use of a shared hosting provider #look if you're REALLY scared that the antichrist is gonna shut down your website #as soon as the tribulation starts #mirror that shit!#self host it!#etc and so on #anyway. just southern baptist childhood things

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infinitew0nders · 2 years

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This is going to be very specific, but I desperately need advice.

Forewarning: This is going to relate to Christianity, Catholicism, and Paganism/Witchcraft. The only thing that messages of "you will be saved in Christ," "God is the Almighty," "God forgives all," will do is make me more and more hesitant to dive into it.

This is a long, long story. So please, try to understand where I'm at.

When I was a baby, my parents took my older sibling and I to church every Sunday. That was, until Pastor Jim, during a sermon, said that women were to be subservient to men. My mother didn't want me to be raised with anyone telling me that I couldn't do the same thing as my older sibling solely because I was born a female. So we stopped going, and my mother accepted that she was an atheist and began to introduce me to any religion she could throughout my childhood. Despite this, growing up I was a Baptist. I never went to church every Sunday, but every now and then I went with my grandparents and aunt to church, mainly because my aunt Madelyn is two months older than me and was/is my best friend. My twice great aunt Gracie took me to Bible School for 5-6 years growing up. This happened because I allowed it to. I was not forced, I was given the option to go and I wanted to. So I went. I also went to a Buddhist temple twice a month for about a year. I learned about Judaism and Islam, and I also researched the old Gods. After my parents divorced, my great aunt Sandy took me and my siblings to church camp every Wednesday in Summer for about two years. Once again, only because I wanted to go. When I was 11, I found Wicca and Paganism. And I began to practice Wicca. When I was 15, I found Norse Paganism and began to follow that.

ALL OF THIS IS IMPORTANT.

My personal religious belief is that any and every God that is worshipped exists. One is not more than another. It's just a matter of which calls to you.

This is where my issue arises:

I'm very media-immersed. I take in media very quickly. I firmly believe that the way my deities reach me is through media. When I was 15, I became obsessed with the MCU. Thor and Loki were my favorite characters. I felt pulled to them. So I researched Norse religion, and after a while, devoted my practice to Loki.

In a recent book I've been reading, I found myself pulled to the demon King Paimon, and in doing research on demonology and demonolatry, I realize that in my acceptance of the existence of demons, I must also accept the existence of angels, and in turn, God. I cannot practice entirely without that acceptance. I have no problem accepting the existence of God and angels and all of that because I've never doubted Their existence. However, as of late, in doing the research on demonolatry, I find myself pulled to the Archangel, Michael. Even more so because on my third binging of the show Supernatural, I feel incredibly pulled towards Michael's character in the show. One of which I never felt to his character before. These past three days, I've felt an energy around me. Normally, I'm very, very weary of new energies. It took me months to become comfortable with Loki. But immediately, I was very comfortable with this presence. As though I'd felt it before.

Anyways, I was on the phone with Madelyn (the aunt/best friend I went to church with as a kid), who is a Baptist but also incredibly spiritual, and was asking her advice on this situation. She told me that the Archangel Michael is the protector of the children of Israel, and reminded me of our family heritage. I'm 50% Native American, but aside from that, my ancestors were English, Scottish, Italian, Portuguese, and Israeli. Before my ancestors immigrated to the southern US and converted to Southern Baptism, they were Jewish. Tracing all the way back to the days of Abraham. I know this, because my family descends from the tribe of Benjamin. One of the 12 tribes of Israel. So it makes sense that Michael is here now. I asked why he would wait until now. And then realized that the energy around is a familiar one. He didn't wait until now. He was with me until I stepped off and decided to explore other paths. Michael waited for me to find him again.

My issue is that I am having an incredibly difficult time accepting the fact that my beliefs are now being pulled into Abrahamic religions. I don't know why, because I've always been so willing to accept other beliefs when I'm pulled to them. But this time around, I'm very hesitant to dive in.

I'm not a white cishet person. I'm the complete opposite. A mixed race gay person who refuses to think about their gender too long. And while I wasn't traumatized in the same way, I do firmly believe that having Christians demean my entire existence due to a quote from a page of the Bible has traumatized me in some way. That and the fact that Southern Baptist Churches are basically cults (no offense, Southern Baptists, but also full offense Southern Baptist Churches).

The truth is, I don't know what I'm doing or how to navigate my research. And I have no idea why I'm so hesitant to dive into Christian beliefs. I need help. I need someone who can at least semi understand my situation to help give me advice, and please. For the love of fuck, none of that, "God is the one true God. He saves all. He forgives all." That does not help me. My friends can't help me. I asked one of them and she just told me that my being gay is a sin. Which I'm sure you can see provided me no support whatsoever. Please. Help me.

#catholicism #christianity #christian witch #christian witchcraft #archangel michael #paganism #wicca #witchcraft #occultism

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beautifulweird0 · 4 years

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Forgiving Your Parents

My disclaimer is this: The child isn’t responsible for mending the relationship...solely. I’mma tell you like this, if your parent doesn’t want anything to do with you...skip em’.

Because that’s backwards as hell and that takes away from loving yourself. Anyway you chop it, if you find yourself forcing yourself on a “parent”, the relationship isn’t going to go anywhere-AND THAT’S NOT YOUR FAULT OR CONCERN. YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL! YOU ARE EXTREMELY WORTHY. I’m so sorry your people ain’t solid; it’s a reflection of them-not you.

It’s my belief that something is wrong with a person if they want no parts of having a relationship with their child. Literally so messed up from their own unhealed traumas that they can’t find it within themselves to love someone they created…

Ain’t no fixing on that unless you take they ass to a therapist.

Moving on.

I’m usually a private person. But its always been that ‘pull’ on me-telling me… “It’s another little girl that is going through the same stuff you went through. Say that shit anyway. And with your chest.” .

Think about it...

Can’t a soul embarrass you about some stuff you open about. That takes all the fun out of their miserable lives if folks know wassup already.

I was listening to Mad Bitches the other day and Mikhala Jene said something along the lines of, “Nobody living is perfect”.

That hit me a little different. Like damn...nobody walks this earth perfect so...why do we expect perfection (again, subconsciously).

THIS.

This is why I say if your parent is trying, then work with them. If they sit down with you and tell you how life was for them coming up. The good parts, the ugly parts, and everything in-between. Trying their best to be authentic and build a bond, then meet em’ halfway (if they haven’t been on some stuff that’s just unforgivable).

I didn’t find out who my biological father was until I was about 16 years old. Up until that point I believed another man was my father (which he is still and will always be!).

Sooo...I already had abandonment issues from my parents and my dad lived in a way at that time, that all parties involved thought it was best my grandparents took us in. That’s all I know is Granny’s (& Grandpa’s) house since I was a baby.

It helped that when my mom told me who my biological dad was, she was in a much better state of mind and stable-but man...I didn’t know what to feel. My sister was more upset than me (cause we have the same dad hypothetically).

So many questions ran through my head that I couldn’t even cry or be mad. I was shocked. Everyone played their role so well…

There was a long road ahead of me. Not only did I have to forgive my mom and dad for lying to me for so long, but there was a father in the same city I had yet to know.

Give your parent the same energy if you were in their shoes. Cause baby...ain’t nothing worse than admitting your wrongs and still getting beat down. I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at my mom in that moment where she was vulnerable and upset cause she knew she played a part in hurting me. What was it gone do but make me feel bad and her feel worse?

Blowing up wasn’t going to change what happened now 22 years ago.

Yeah, there’s hella’ books on parenting but I’mma tell y’all like my Granny told me, “There’s no such thing as a book on how to be a parent.”.

I was through hell and back with my mother and now we’re in an extremely better place because we both made the effort (more-so on her part 🌚).

But it was my responsibility to go into it with pure intentions and my guard down a bit after she made the effort; disappointment is what I expected sometimes cause I went into it knowing it was going to be a process.

Don’t get it confused, my mom always knew how I was-that wasn’t the issue. The new end goal was getting to know each other again so I could understand her better so I could forgive her. That’s no sucka’ shit. Its real. Everybody in this life is going to disappoint you, one way or another. Better to know what you’re dealing with so you can assess the situation in order to better assess the person. Free game.

Another step to keep in mind is, boundaries. I just feel like it will make the whole exchange smoother-not easier- but smoother. The point of forgiving your parents and (if you chose) trying to build a relationship, is to have them know you for who you are NOW. Not when you were 5, not when you was 12...have them meet you at your level. They dropped the ball, not you. Sure...nobody asked to be here but that becomes invalid when you start having babies of your own. It’s a different ball game when you bring a life into this world. Your joys become the joy of your children but way too often we forget that our pain becomes theirs as well.

The weekends at pops house was always interesting. I could watch all the music videos I wanted and watch the movies that didn't have too much goin on in them.

My dad would do different stuff with us like go to the library; he always knew I loved reading. Sometimes my dad would take us to the park or a friends house who had kids (how I met my husband), water parks, or even cooking dinner with me and my sister; plenty of quality time where I could talk to him about anything.

However, at the time, pops lived a certain lifestyle and no matter how hard he tried to shield it from us younger kids, I still seen things and experienced things a child shouldn't have. Again, comes with the lifestyle I guess.

My dad drunk...ALOT. And it was interesting to see the 'upsides' of alchoholism and the very big downsides. I'd never forget, I was maybe 8? Another weekend at my dads, just me and my sister (I have multiple brothers on that side too plus another sister), and I woke up one morning on the couch. My dad was goin through some things- all he had was a couch that he let me and my little sister sleep on. My 1st thought when I woke up was where was my dad sleeping? My sister was sleep, and it was still fairly early in the morning. I go back to the empty bedroom to find him sleep on the floor. No pillow. No cover. Just a beer in hand, laid out. That broke my heart.

Just remember feeling sad all over. I took the beer, threw it away then grabbed the pillow I had and laid it under his head. While doing so, my dad woke up, halfway and kissed my hand.

He told me straight up he loves me and he apologized. Didn't go into detail but he didn't have to. My dad never had his pops in his life, nor his mama until he was grown and was taking care of her though her illness.

I knew even at 8 years old that, that gotta hurt. I'm not gone sit here and act like I always understood the motives of my father but I tried because he always tried to understand me and til' this day, he is one of the top 3 people that KNOWS me like the back of his hand.

I don’t want to pass down my pain to my son, he don’t need that- the world will give its fair share. But everyday I pray that the world won’t hurt him bad. I want my son to be nothing less than strong mentally, emotionally, but most of all spiritually. He won’t have that unless I’m solid. So I ask myself… ‘hm, what’s still hurting me?’.

We all got a story to tell.

Love. Peace. Manifest.

#black #love #hate #generationalcurses #generations #hurt #healing #blackfamilies #blog #monetsway #alcoholism #mother #father

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cullxtheherd · 4 years

Note

Dirty headcannon game: J, A, C, O, B for Jacob

thank u for this ask anon - it gets a little rambly but in my defense i haven’t had coffee or sleep so ksjndksf we maaake doooo with what we haaave hebjhdfrdesfkjn

Dirty A-Z headcanon game!

J - Jelly (what kind of lube are they using? is it flavored? have they tasted it? do they prefer to use something other than real lube during sex?)

anon i think, personally, that if Jacob Seed has access to any kind of personal lubricant it’ll come in a sour flavor- green/apple, lemon, etc. i just don’t see him as a sweets type of person? maybe you feel differently idk. but to be honest with you i doubt lube is in massive stock or quantity at saint francis. and without being... Too Dark™: i’m pretty sure if Jacob Seed is making use of any form of lubricant (even spit) he likely has some type of feeling for his partner- other than convenience, that is.

A - Alone time (how do they get off when they’re all by themselves? do they watch porn, is it all in their imagination, do they jerk off, do they use toys?)

hoo babey i think Jake is definitely a guy that masturbates, but i think he is the type of guy that has that?? ingrained Religious Guilt™ about it. which lanskjndjkfns it’s funny to me because he has zero to little guilt at all about anything else he does i just think that?? based on my own interpretation of his childhood: he likely spent whatever years that weren’t clouded by abuse and addiction on his parents part, under the thumb of the Bible. i have theorized in his timeline [x] that the Seeds were likely Baptists due to the majority Religion in Rome, Georgia at the time of Jacob’s birth. i personally headcanon that his father was likely a Preacher before being overcome with alcoholism and after i believe he was likely a bible salesman who dragged his eldest son along. i believe that being ruled by a heavily religious iron fist, especially with strict doctrines about repentance and sinning??? y e a h. i think if he is rubbing one out it’s probably a quick, base needs experience: no toys, etc and probably followed by feeling Super Wrong About It Because God (even though he doubts the fuckers existence at all®). anyone who is catholic can confirm ksjndkjnfdjdnf

C - Crying (is it a turn on? a turn off? do they cry during sex? have they cried during sex? what was the reason?)

oof that is a grim thought to be honest and?? i doubt Jacob Seed cries during or has in the past cried during sex. now i’m not sure on the turn on/turn off situation because honestly i think it depends on the circumstances. i could certainly see during an unhinged and violent episode it being a turn on (in the sense that it is something incensing to an attacker, generally), but!! i just don’t write him as meanly in the bedroom as most people do, so: in a sane mind state no i really do not think it is a turn on for him. i think although he was raised roughly and rudely that ultimately he was/is a Southern Boy; as in: he loves his Mama despite her massive faults, he holds doors open for women (these days mostly in the PEG unless out of town), he is sweet on his sweetheart, he knows the lyrics to every Elvis song and Southern Nights by Glenn Campbell, he eats peaches (no not Staci, yes sExUaLlY), he likes his grits tacky not RUNNY, he haS A STNRNFSDJ SOUTHERN ACCENT???!?!?!?! UBISOFT HELLOOO??

you know what im done with this question my friend :)

O - Outdoor sex (have they ever done it in public? would they? where?)

yes very much yes. i think any sex that jacob seed is having these days is likely a spur of the moment act of convenience and is probably subject to back alley bangin’ more than he would ever admit. the game and the devs have told us a lot that the boys don’t really follow their own core doctrines and since Jake tells us plainly that he’s not so sure about God?? i’m certain he abuses his power as Herald to bend the rules for himself and often. but same applies here i think he likely suffers a big heap of Religious Guilt afterwards, even despite his doubt in religion and faith.

B - Bondage (do they like it? do they not? do they prefer to be the one being tied or the one doing the tying?)

ebhjgdfdfjdgk okay so if you go to the several places (grandview, surrounding cabins, etc) where Jacob “trains” people you will find that most, if not all, of the beds/couches/etc have leg and/or ankle cuffs affixed to them and some even have a chain and leash bolted into the floor. i think Jake is big time into control in all aspects of his life, especially the bedroom. i do think that the confinements in the training rooms are more used as a system of degradation, though and not solely nsfw purposes. i have said in the past that in my interpretation this man absolutely hates being nude in any form in front of others due to his extensive scarring/rashes and i just don’t think his object is to absolutely rail the shit out of the poor souls coming through his doors- although, don’t get me wrong i’m sure on occasion it happens, but also skjkdfj let’s not forget that when Jake has left his men/soldiers to do things in the past (THE COOK IM LOOKING AT YOU) they often go? over the edge and get way out of control aND honestly if you haven’t read the notes where the cook is: they say jake needs more bodies/soldiers but that the cook decides to burn these sinners anyways; it’s a direct avoidance of orders- this likely happens all over the whitetails and it is likely something Jacob doesn’t take kindly to. why? well when you’ve trained your flock on a cocktail of abuse and torture you don’t exactly instill absolute trust in your soldiers- some will, eventually, disobey and i’m sure with a bunch of half crazed, militarized guards around....sexual assault is going to happen, unfortunately. i do think that if there is some kind of? consensual/sexual relationship going on that restraints can and likely will be a part of the bedroom - maybe not always because Jacob strikes me as the kind of guy that prefers to? work with his hands. annnddd now for the part we aren’t ready for: i think if Jake really trusts his partner that he will allow himself to be bound in certain ways (he’s going to need a quick way out of any PTSD inducing scenes for everyone’s safety). just imagine this man has his partner in the cowgirl position and he says:

“𝑷𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒌 .”

bye im leaving

#hbasdhjfdg goTTA GOOOO #&: character alphabet (J is for Jacob)

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forgedwild-arch · 4 years

Text

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. August Wesley Wilder NICKNAME. Gus. Gus the Grizzly. GENDER. Cis-Male (He/Him) HEIGHT. 6′9 AGE. unknown, physically appears around 55-60 years old. ZODIAC. taurus sun / libra moon / virgo rising. earth sign dominant chart babey!! SPOKEN LANGUAGES. fluent English, Spanish, and French. has picked up a little Dakota-Siouan from frequent run-ins with the Ghost Nation over the years. he’s not really fluent in it, just knows enough to talk himself out of trouble lmao.

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. salt and pepper grey, with natural black undertones. EYE COLOR. light hazel that fade to a deep forest green around the edge of the iris (central heterochromia) in both eyes. SKIN TONE. he’s white but he’s very sun-weathered and darkly tanned, with lots of sun spots and freckles all over his body. BODY TYPE. broad, big, bold and bear-ish. just the dictionary definition of a Gentle Giant. well, mostly gentle unless pushed. ACCENT. southern appalachian drawl. VOICE. deep, husky, and gravelly yet nothing short of soothing. his voice claim is Colter Wall. DOMINANT HAND. he’s ambidextrous! POSTURE. Gus is always generally seen standing tall and proud. he’s definitely a man who’s comfortable in his body, and the stark juxtaposition of his formidable physique and utterly gentle nature often catches the townsfolk and westworld guests by surprise. SCARS. deep, jagged scars that run diagonally across his back and over his biceps. supposedly a bear gave him the scars when he fought one off a young boy. in reality, he fought a guest off one of the teenage hosts in one of his first loops, and said guest struck August down with a searing hot fire poker from his forge while the young android ran for safety. that was the first and last time Gus was ever killed during his loop, and he has rarely been updated since. TATTOOS. he has some beautifully intricate tattoo sleeves on both arms, each image representing one of his favorite western tall tales that he often retells to his forge guests (especially crowds of kids). Gus actually gave himself the tattoos to hide the scars on his arms (the ones he could reach anyway), and the westworld writers never corrected the feature since they found them aesthetically pleasing and appropriate for his host role as both a blacksmith and self-proclaimed cultural mythologist / historian of the town. MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). we stan a sweet old android with dimples and laugh lines. and those bright eyes of his visibly twinkle when he smiles!

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. Technically? The Westworld Mesa Hub. But for his written backstory, his birthplace is unknown. HOMETOWN. Hinton, West Virginia. a small railroad and coal town that sits at the edge of the New River in the Appalachian Mountains. when Gus was a boy, the town was essentially split between “trash” and “old money”. Gus came from the run-down side of the tracks, raised as a laboring blacksmith’s son, but he had a happy childhood. FIRST WORDS. “god dammit” after hearing his father shout it when he struck his thumb with a hammer. Almanzo found it hilarious, but also spent days trying to get the baby to say something else, ANYTHING else because the town population at the time was made of a few hundred southern baptists. suffice to say, Almanzo’s efforts were fruitless, and little baby August shouted it to the world in the middle of that sunday’s church service. his hometown community loved him dearly, but he’d always been labeled a little troublemaker ever since. and he was quite the prankster in his youth. all harmless of course. Gus hardly has a cruel bone in his body, but won his peer’s attentions and affections by being a bit of a class clown. SIBLINGS. none that he knows of. PARENTS. Almanzo “Manny” Wilder. should be noted that Almanzo is not August’s biological father. Gus was dropped at the door of his forge as a baby, and the identity of August’s biological family remains a complete mystery to both him and his caretaker. Almanzo played himself off as his biological dad for some time, but once Gus shot up to be about twice his old man’s size at age fifteen, well. he kind of figured it out on his own. he never resented Manny for it, though. in his mind, he is his real father. his only father. since he was the only one who was ever there for him. PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT. Almanzo was a very attentive surrogate father and loved Gus with everything he had. Gus always had a sharp mind and vivid imagination as a kid, and Manny told him time and time again that his brain was far too big for a place like Hinton, always urging him to apply to those fancy universities along the coast or over in England and become a novelist or engineer. August looked up to his father however, and wanted to grow up to be just like him, and therefore was not only Almanzo’s child, but also his apprentice. He stayed in Hinton until Manny died from lung cancer, and by which August was about 25 years old or so and a freshly professional smith. He took over the family business, sought to pave his own way out west, and has been tending to the needs of the people in Sweetwater ever since.

adult life !

OCCUPATION. a blacksmith and self-proclaimed “cultural mythologist”. fancy way of saying he really loves to wow kids with the tall tales of the west. CURRENT RESIDENCE. his forge that sits on the edge of town. CLOSE FRIENDS. well he spends a lot of time with his two pets, Teddy Bear and Sundance Kid. they’re about the closest friends he has. oh he cares about the other hosts of Sweetwater, dearly! and he craves human connection something fierce. but his work (and his emotional walls) keeps him a bit too busy to really... dive deep in any of those friendships. sadly. RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single, although was married to @forgedwest in a past loop. FINANCIAL STATUS. he’s definitely not filthy rich, but growing up poor taught him to be good with his money and while he doesn’t have a luxurious life by any means, he has all he needs. lower class but not at all bothered by it. DRIVER’S LICENSE. N/A. CRIMINAL RECORD. a few bar fights, but he was never guilty of starting them. just ending them. VICES. if you ask August, he’ll say he sleeps in just a little too long on Sunday mornings, rolling and smoking hashish to unwind. if you ask me, i say don’t buy him more than three amaretto sours if you wanna have a drink with him. he can generally control himself and hold his liquor, but he can get to a point where he won’t stop lmao. luckily, he’s a happy drunk. also enjoys cigars, but smokes them more for celebration of special occasions.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. biromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive | dominant | switch PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. Submissive | dominant | switch ( he’s primarily a service top ) LIBIDO. average, i guess? i wouldn’t say his libido is anything insane, otherwise he’d REALLY be suffering being the lonely bachelor he is lmao. but he likes sex! TURN ONS. he loves a good sense of humor and has a weak spot for well-meaning troublemakers TURN OFFS. people who take advantage of others. that’s a broad category, but it’s a personal thing. LOVE LANGUAGE. gift-giving, physical intimacy, protection and quality time! he’s not so good at expressing his feelings with words, but you will absolutely know if he fancies you because his actions will show it. you will NEVER wonder about his intentions. the old boy wears his heart on his sleeve. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. despite how obviously loving he is, August has a tendency to assume people don’t want to be with him. one could argue it’s likely rooted in an abandonment issue of some kind. Almanzo was a plenty attentive and very caring dad, but the knowledge that one was orphaned and dropped off on someone’s front step is would be a little jarring when just about anyone hears it. though it’s likely less so much that, and more so how his peers in school were downright TERRIFIED him just because of his intimidating physique alone (despite his kind nature). he was taken advantage of a lot in his youth due to just how naturally people pleasing he can be to compensate for his scary appearance, and his kindness was therefore mistaken often for stupidity. its a compulsion that he’s gotten better about controlling as he grew older, and is now much more discerning re: who deserves the clothes off his back. but little insecurities regarding it remains, and as such his assumption that no one harbors affections for him has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. August is very sweet and outgoing, plenty handsome, great with kids and would make a very loving husband and lifetime best friend! but he doesn’t exactly make himself romantically available.

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. “ take me home, country roads ” by john denver. shocker, i know. HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. he’s a blacksmith by occupation, but August can make just about anything with any material you can think of. he’s a jack of all trades type, and spends a lot of his rare spare time gardening, sketching while he’s people-watching, writing stories, blowing glass, and creating little animals and character figurines from his stories out of hide / wood/ metal. the latter are gifts that he gives to any young park guests who come to the forge. he also likes playing his guitar or banjo and singing to himself on warm summer nights. MENTAL ILLNESSES. i mean. everything truly traumatic that ever happened to him was basically wiped clean from his slate so u kno. none. for now lmfao. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. N/A. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right-brained, i guess. he can be plenty logical, but he’s definitely a creative type! FEARS. there is a Vague Fear that he will die alone but it’s not pertinent enough to cause him a lot of anxiety. because he’s generally pretty independent. more so, it’s just a source of intense longing when he’s got a crush, but then he never actually acts on it. also, he’s got a bit of a fear of vulnerability. mostly because his kindness has been used against him plenty and no, it has not made him any less kind, but he doesn’t want that kindness tied into real emotional potency and then turned against him. vulnerability and intimacy also come with the pre-conceived knowledge of loss, because relationships ( be they romantic, friendships, family etc ) either end in break ups or death. and yes, it’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all, but that doesn’t make August’s unease re: loss any less real. SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL. hmmm. i’ll say about an 6 or 7 out of 10? he’s plenty sure of himself and his abilities, he just keeps himself humble like the well-mannered mountain boy he is. VULNERABILITIES. best way to hurt him is to strike anyone close to him. cares WAY MORE about others. though on a kind of....emotional note? personal note? idk. he’s quite aware of how he’s perceived to be a bit “simple-minded” all due to his accent. it’s something that Gus will get defensive about if you poke at him for it. not out of pride, but out of love for the people and culture from where he hails. he LOVES Appalachia deeply, and while he admires the west for all of its available adventure and promise, the people of the Blue Ridge Mountains remain the kindest he’s ever known. don’t talk bad about them, he’ll be quick to knock you into next tuesday.

tagged by: @noiseofthunder thank u grunk u always tag me in the Quality Shit (n this really helped me finally flesh some character basics out) tagging: @forgedwest bc i’m the worst friend n force erin to do every dash game ever. also @copiesofme @defactomatriarch @bountyman & thieves are valid.

#( character study. )#( dash games. )#those of u who have been writing with me for some time #kno that i use these memes to talk abt my characters for ages #one word answers whom bitch??? WHOM????

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x---an--othered--another---x · 3 years

Text

this is about the first woman that broke me.

CW // parental abuse, neglect, family trauma, conversion therapy, body dysmorphia, christianity

Dear "Mom".....

This is everything I want to tell you, and too terrified to speak.

I know you will never understand.

You and Dad always used to speak about how my arrival to the world was with purpose. Unlike my older brother, I was the baby that was planned, because he always wanted a little girl. Unfortunately, now, we understand why. But we aren't here to speak about him -- not yet, anyway.

In childhood, I remember my anxious attachment with you. When out of my sight, it was not unusual for me to cry or scream for you. I found life without you to be vile and fearful. I was also terrified that you would never come back to me.

I loved you so deeply. I needed you even more. I always wanted my mom. I felt emotionally empty and confused without her... perhaps, to a point that could be considered "abnormal". I don't know how it started. I just felt it, and too such an overwhelming capacity, even for a small child. Mama's boy in the making.

Sometimes -- many times, actually -- you did leave me quite perplexed, to say the absolute least. When in good spirits, you were perfect; a loving, nurturing, kind, and thoughtful existence, capable of soothing and comforting my deepest woe or worry. It was not unlike you to occasionally spoil me, be it with gifts, snacks, quality time, or simply your positive attention. Your laughter could put a soft smile on my face, and, beside of you, I felt not only loved and cared for, but also, whole. It was a fullness I could never achieve through anything or anyone else. I understood this early in life.

In retrospection, it is phases like this that make me ashamed of my burning resentment for you.

Because, what the rest never knew, is that this was never you, all the time. I firmly believe it is who you wanted to be, and even who you still hope to be -- maybe even believe that you already are. Perhaps, you tried your best.

But, I cannot forget this.

There is a special kind of self-blame that comes with looking into the same eyes that once bore an adoring gaze for you, and, suddenly, watching them fill with what could only be described as unbridled hatred and loathing in your anxious direction. To be sharing a warm embrace for one moment, to finding it impossible to look up at that twisted, angry expression so soon after. Regardless of what you intended, I need you to know that I was legitimately scared of you, in such moments. If looks could kill, I would have been dead by age 10.

Of course, this is much more than just an uncomfortable stare that I am so disturbed by when I reflect upon the past we shared. Whether you will ever accept this or not is irrelevant, because, in the end, this is the truth: You physically assaulted me, and more than once. When you caught me telling my friends about this, you gaslighted me into believing that it was 110% my fault, that I triggered your explosive rage and therefore deserved this. If not this specific approach, you would only convince me that I was grossly exaggerating, or that it never even happened to begin with. If you happened to ever be reading this, I am positive you would do it, again.

Let's get specific, lest you then make the bold claim that I am engaging in an infamous "fake accusation" -- the abuser's favorite go-to line. I first remember an instance when I was 12: I got into the car after school with sharpie markings on my arms, because my friends wanted to playfully draw on me, and I told them they could do so. I had no reason to suspect that this would be some horribly upsetting event in your eyes; you had never even mentioned to me that this kind of thing was a problem, at all.

Your response? You took me to the nearest grocery store parking lot, parked as far away from the doors and other cars as possible, and proceeded to punch me. Granted, it was my thigh, sometimes my arm, but it was with as much force as you could muster in that moment, and you did it repeatedly. I was in legitimate shock, and, for one of the first times in regards to you, I flinched. I cowered. I cried, and I asked you to stop. You did, only to continue to verbally tear into me. By this point, I was too stressed out being in a car with you to even hear what you were saying to me.

You never apologized for this.

While this was not the first time you had taken out your tantrum on me -- physically or emotionally -- I can confidently say that this was the day I knew I could never trust you. From this day forward, my every move and word would be calculated. I would learn to hide everything from you, which, eventually, led to hiding everything from everyone I ever knew.

You laugh when you tell us the story of how I would "vomit on command" when you would spank me as a toddler. I obviously do not remember this, as I was between two and four years old, at the time. I thank whatever deity helped me forget this, because I have since digested how actually fucked up what you always described really is.

"You would get into trouble, and I would spank you, and you started puking to make me stop," you would say with a giggle and a smile. "So I got to where I would just hold you over the porch when I did, so you would puke over the ledge instead of the floor."

Mom, do you understand that what you were punishing with such callous ferocity was my trauma response to your husband grooming and molesting me?

Nevermind the "where were you when it happened" speech -- why were you beating the shit out of me when I showed that behavior (which, by the way, is concerning as shit)? Why were you beating the shit out of me AT ALL?

And why, even now, do you tell the story with such a sadistic giddiness about you?

Moving on. I can harp forever on the chronic, neverending shame, despair, and animalistic fear that came with the fanatic Southern Baptist family dynamic -- or, those jarring, unexpected alternations in your ability to provide me with healthy love and emotional substance. However, the abuse really kicked up a notch once I reached puberty, which, I was unfortunately old enough to internalize, and therefore remember later into my adult life.

I couldn't count how many times you body-shamed me. Called me ugly, made "jokes" about my chest and ass, jumped on me the second my leg hair became visible to you. I remember those acne pills you insisted I start taking, because you were so worried that I would get scars all over my face from the intense breakouts. You loved the idea of me wearing make-up, but if I wore it my way over yours, then I just looked "evil" and "scary". You always hated how much I hated skirts and dresses.

It was as if my own body did not belong to me. Nothing I wanted to do with it was ever good enough for you. I was not allowed the control over my self-expression, my appearance, my whole vessel. You only wanted it to be yours to control and manipulate. Why?

And let's not forget your obsession with my hair. Good fucking god, Mom, your preoccupation with my beauty (of lack thereof) was so not fucking normal. I remember all the times you forced me to have my long hair cut into a dumb bob, because "it's not like you're gonna style it, anyway, what does it matter?" I remember sobbing the first time, and you did not emote in response, whatsoever. Or when I did not take a shower on Christmas Eve night, and you got mad at me because my hair was "too greasy". What was the response to that one? Oh, right. You "accidentally" caught my ear in the flat iron, after sloppily and angrily clamping the hair you were attempting to straighten for me.

On Christmas morning. I was seriously mortified. Inconsolable.

I became desensitized to my looks quite quickly, as I had internalized and accepted the fact that you so kindly graced me with. It became a finalized concept to me that I was irredeemably disgusting to look at and would never be called beautiful by anyone in my life. As true to myself as the grass was green. You made sure I knew this. My friends were always a threat to both of you for a reason. God help you should I tell them. God help you should I experience genuine love from another person.

As if this weren't enough, fast forward to the days I began to realize my queerness. I came out to the first person, and I felt nothing but freedom and euphoria. I became addicted and kept on telling others. I wanted to be known, to be seen, as me.

Living in a small town, it, of course, did not take long for the pastor and his wife to receive notice that their child was openly coming out of the closet to everyone but them.

Cue the fuckin' war drums, here, because I fear that words will simply never do.

When you stole my phone to rummage through my texts, you saw that I had also come out to my aunt -- the only family member I could count on to be supportive, at that time. You responded to her with a short text:

"Never talk to [000] again."

And she never did.

She died, two years later.

She, too, never got to know me. It was out of my control. I will never forgive you for this, and I mean that, genuinely.

In those two years, I covertly dated behind your back. Despite that you had taken my only source of external contact -- just in time for summer break -- and made extreme attempts to isolate me so that only direct family could access me... we stayed together. It was so very strained, but all I wanted was love. In the midst of "voluntary" conversion therapy, I needed it more than anything. I could quite literally have died without it.

My grades naturally dropped through these months of pretending I could be cured of my diseased attraction, which was met with force, as usual. Anything but an A, or a high B on the report card, and I may as well have shot someone in the streets. By now, it did not matter, to me. I was so fucking dead inside, by now. You broke me. At this point, you could have gutted me with a knife, and I would have barely reacted. I felt like nothing, so much so that I became no one, at all.

But hey. At least ya'll felt better.

Only, you didn't. The divorce came mere months following these events. I had never been so happy to see a relationship fail in my life. I should have been sad, but I knew this would be my ticket back into a normal life. You would finally fuck off, and I could just be a human being with no judge or critic looming over me every waking moment of my life. Maybe now, finally, I could live a life that wasn't graded. I didn't have to be godly -- perfect -- anymore.

You never knew this, but I will say, the way I became aware of this news was a lot less exciting. Through another restless night, I snuck to the kitchen for a snack. Your bedroom door was closed. The light remained beneath the doorway. You were fighting. Unfortunately, it was not that uncommon for you two to bicker, so I, for the most part, tuned it all out.

That's when the punching started. Your voices went momentarily silent, as if confused or stolen. Only the muffled, gutteral growls on occasion emitted from behind that closed door, between was sounded like the intentional, rage-induced smacking of skin.

I could only use my imagination.

In my mind, I immediately jumped to the conclusion that our father was beating the shit out of you. Cue dissociation. The only emotion left inside of me was anger, similarly.

I grabbed a knife. I had no idea what I wanted to do about this, but I wanted to be ready, just in case. And I sat outside that door, and listened to this physical exchange intently, clutching my kitchen knife by the handle, ready to do... whatever.

It was after I heard his annoyed pleading of "stop, stop it" and your hissing "who is she" that I finally had an accurate picture in my mind of what was happening just a few feet behind me.

I went to my room. I tried to call my brother, but he was asleep, as this was all going on at around 3AM. I called my best friend, who had to also go shortly into the call. I laid in my bed, alone and afraid to a point of triggered regression. I slept with the knife under my pillow, just in case.

I pretended not to hear it, the next morning. I never told you. I had no idea what to think or feel, and I did not want you to influence those things for me. Long story short, you both were over, and, honestly, I was celebrating that shit. Even as you mourned it for months on end. I was burnt out of sympathy. I only wanted to be free.

Things slowly improved once dad was removed from the household, but, by then, it was far too late. I could sense you attempting to connect with me, to withhold your emotional reactions toward me, to engage with me and approach me with adult kindness. I entertained your efforts for a while under the guise that I may finally experience a loving, motherly relationship. I have since discovered that there are still so many things etched in this old stone that no act of kindness will ever undo, that I cannot move on from, because you still never apologized, or even acknowledged that you were anything below a great mother whatsoever. In all fairness, would it even matter to me if you did, anymore?

This does not even cover all of those miseries passed down from you to me. Between trashing my drawings because they weren't holy enough for you, assuming me stupid when I couldn't pass math with flying colors, always reassuring me that my friends would never fully love me, and ESPECIALLY not like you did, and so much more..... this relationship was doomed from the start.

And I am tired of blaming myself for not wanting to see you, anymore.

Every time I speak with you, I feel gutted and anxious. The persistent sense of powerlessness and insignificance comes back full force, as if no amount of years has separated me from your dysregulated emotions, whatsoever. When I know we have to engage, I am assaulted with cluster migraines, and my mouth is sewn shut. I take on another person around you, even now, because I have no reason not to assume that you are no longer capable of that kind of mistreatment.

Afterall, it still does not exist to you, does it?

Nobody saw it. I was too small to be my own advocate. No family or church members would ever believe me. Even if they did, they would tell you. You even successfully convinced me, for so many years, that I am the one being to hard on YOU for these things.

Mom. You were the god damn adult.

It is not up to a child to control you emotions for you.

The saddest part of all of this, is that... I am still anxiously attached.

Your favorite way to punish me as a kid was the silent treatment. Sometimes, it would go on for days. In those periods of time, I really thought you would never love me or speak to me, again. I blame this for my inability to cope with separation from those I love even still.

As fucked as you may be, that space is still a vacancy. The absence still hurts. The abandonment feels so unbelievably eternal.

I am sure you sense my distance. I am absolutely breadcrumbing you; I admit it. I will respond to your daily texts maybe once or twice a week, because it is all that I can handle, anymore. It is arguable whether or not even that is not setting me back. In all honesty, I want to be rid of you, entirely.

But... that's retaliation, isn't it?

I guess I never learned how to do that.

Or, maybe, I am still so fucking scared of you.

Whatever it may be, I know in my core that I am better off without you. But, how do I communicate this to you? How do I shamelessly become the thing I hated so much? How do I do that to someone? How do I abandon another person knowing just how much it hurts to be on that other side?

And why am I the only one who seems to ask themselves this question, here?

I cannot keep dismissing these pains. They not only haunt me in a way that feels so self-conjured, but they pave the path for me to enable similar behaviors within myself, to fall in love with that same violent smile in another person.

To normalize the abuse.

I simply will not do this.

Dear "Mom".....

While unquestionably the better parent, you are not a good one, yourself. I long for a day where I can comfortably address this with you. I fear that this is only a product of my waking dream.

I need to wake up.

Whether or not I ever say goodbye in the flesh, I have far beyond said it in my heart and mind.

Please. Give a shit.

Beyond surface level.

For once.

Sincerely,

000

P.S. You never wanted a little girl. You only wanted a pet. Accept that.

#letters i never sent #letters i’ll never send #dear you #dear mom #complex ptsd #surviving narcissism #family troubles #i hate you #i love you #i need space #i miss you #let me grow #this was your fault

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stretchjournalemerson · 3 years

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Shamaw and the Dead Girl

By Camryn Ciancia

When I was around eight years old, I met a woman who told me to call her “Shamaw''. I was told that her daughter had just died and she was once my father’s step mom, despite her being only seven years older than him. But I didn’t know why I needed to call her “Shamaw'' because I had just met her and I already had three grandmas and didn’t need another. Her daughter who had died had a son around my age, who was apparently my cousin. And I saw my grandfather distraught but I didn’t know why, because it was Shamaw’s daughter who died. I didn’t know that the dead girl was my aunt.

I took my seat in an old church in Canton, Texas, a small town east of Dallas, with a population of 3,000 people and nothing to do. My sister and I were wedged in between my parents, who sat on either side of us. In the other rows of the church sat my father’s broken childhood, all dressed in black. But I still wasn’t too sure of why I sat in Canton in a Baptist church that had old carpet and smelt like the cigarettes my first grandma liked to smoke. This was my first time at a church outside of my preschool education and there were pictures of Jesus and the dead girl everywhere.

The dead girl was in the open casket and my parents made me go look at her, “Cam, come look at her. She looks really pretty and it’s not scary.” There laid a very pale girl with chubby flushed cheeks and a slight smile, with blue eyeshadow on, in a sequined black dress and curled dark hair that looked like my sister’s. I knew in that moment that I would never forget what she looked like. I wasn’t sure who she was or what happened, but I was observing a real life dead person. But was it real life if she was dead? Why did she look so alive if she was dead in heaven or hell or just in the universe? Could she see me looking at her?

After watching the dead girl lay static in her casket, I could feel cold air swirling around me, that I thought was probably the ghost of Jesus and the dead girl and a lot of family members that I had never met. But I sat in this church, eight years old, excited to have gotten out of my second grade class wearing a dark grey ruffley Gap Kids dress that matched with my four year old sister. I was in a very country east Texas town that was foreign to me. People were getting up and speaking about the dead girl and how she was “so young” and “so full of light” and would be “deeply missed”. I didn’t know anything about Shamaw’s daughter and didn’t care so much.

The funeral for the twenty-eight year old dead girl ended. People were weeping and talking about Tinker Bell because the dead girl loved that character. I was told that day that when I was two years old, I went to the dead girl’s house for my cousin’s first birthday party. Someone showed me a picture of me with the dead girl and she looks happy but she looks sad, despite the Shrek ears on her head (the birthday party was Shrek themed. It was 2004).

In the church lobby, my grandpa gave me a very tight hug, and so did my first grandma (the one who smokes cigarettes). But why was my first grandma sad and why was she even there? From what I was gathering this was my grandpa’s family and my grandma divorced him in 1981 and now it was 2010.

The church held a potluck reception for the dead girl. Everyone had deep southern accents and it was hot and muggy outside and they were eating southern recipes that I (a North Texas girl) wouldn’t bother touching. I think I did eat a slice of pie, though. I was getting mosquito bites everywhere but that is just how Texas is when it is hot and muggy outside.

My family was approached by Shamaw, a very large woman, who looked and acted much older than she actually was. But then again, her daughter had apparently just died and she was probably very sad. Shamaw told me she was delighted to see me and Mackenzie and she hoped to get to know us better. I could tell this made my mom annoyed because who even is this Shamaw character anyways? Shamaw pulled my father aside. I now know that she was asking him to keep his eye out because the dead girl’s ex-boyfriend might be coming to visit his son who was my cousin. The dead girl’s ex-boyfriend had just been released from prison.

My dad stepped into his best role which was entertaining kids. He loved kids and he loved to be the fun dad that everyone called Mr. Micah (even adults). He wore the role of entertainer well and the parents loved that they could relax while he would play babysitter for a while. Mr. Micah brought me, my sister, and my cousin (who was grieving the loss of his mother) to the church recreational center and started to play basketball with us. My dad was the entertainer who was protecting his nephew from the scary inmate father. He was also hoping to protect him from what killed the dead girl.

Once it was time to leave the church and quit playing basketball and worrying about my cousin getting kidnapped, I was told we were going to a cemetery, then back to Shamaw’s house. I had never been to a cemetery before but it was around Halloween time so I was excited because it seemed like a very festive thing to do. Was the dead girl about to be buried? Is that what happens to someone who is going to hell? If heaven is supposed to be in the sky, why do we get buried?

We parked our Audi along the fence of the overgrown landscape of the cemetery in the country. Shamaw stood bawling next to the gravestone where the big coffin was going to be buried. I knew the dead girl was in there, which made me feel a little sick. There were so many flowers and flies and mosquitos swirling around us. My sister and I were keeping each other company so the rest of the details are foggy. We didn’t know how to behave.

Shamaw was married to a man everyone called Cooley who assured me and Mackenzie that we would get a cold Dr. Pepper once we got back to their house. I was excited for the dead girl to get put in the ground so I could taste the twenty-three flavors of the soda that my mom usually didn’t let me indulge in. I still didn’t know who these people were.

We left the cemetery and drove down a one-way, one-lane road in Canton, Texas, until we arrived at this little house on a lake. It was dusk and mosquitos were everywhere and everyone was out on the porch and drinking out of Red Solo Cups. Inside the house, there were signs that hung all over with ironic phrases on them, accompanied by what I thought were very realistic looking stuffed animal heads. The house looked like the decorations all came from a flea market and it smelt like weird casseroles baking in the oven over the smell of lighted cinnamon candles and lots of flowers that people had sent to Shamaw’s house. Everyone was talking loudly in their deep accents and acting happy, and I didn’t understand any of it, because two hours ago everyone was quiet and crying.

My sister and I sat in the corner and talked to each other, because my parents were with the adults that they knew. No one knew Mackenzie and me. Shamaw approached my mom. The room fell silent. Shamaw had just lost her 28-year-old daughter and was now the legal guardian of a seven year old. Shamaw approached Mom and began yelling “Why didn’t you let me meet Mackenzie when she was born? You are an awful person. I can’t believe my son would marry such a bitch.” Mom set her cup down and just walked away. That was the only time I haven’t watched Mom put up a fight but I knew it was because Shamaw’s daughter just died.

After that, it was time to drive back to McKinney from Shamaw’s house. I said goodbye to two of my grandmas, my grandpa, Cooley, Shamaw, and some lady who told me to call her Apple. Some other people waved at us as Mr. Micah, Mom, Mackenzie, and I made it to our now dusty Audi Q7. My sister was asleep next to me, and the roads were pitch black, but the stars were so bright because we were deep in the country. I sat in the backseat and started crying to radio music. It had been a long day. Instead of practicing my times tables at school, I had to look at a dead girl in her casket. My parents took this time to explain to me that the dead girl was technically my father’s half-sister, making her my aunt, and she died from making a very bad decision to do heroin.

“What is heroin?” I asked.

“Heroin is a drug that kills people and that killed your aunt.”

Acknowledgments

Firstly, thank you my writing class for always listening to me talk about my familial issues and Texas and for their guidance and support throughout my writing process. To my professor, Mary Kovaleski-Byrnes, thank you for always encouraging us and being so understanding. And of course, this piece couldn’t have been possible without my weird and confusing extended family. And to my mom and sister, look at how far we have come.

#stretch2021 #memoir

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automatismoateo · 3 years

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Reflections upon what it was like to grow up in the southern US as a girl surrounded by religion. Hint: very toxic and damaging. via /r/atheism

Submitted June 07, 2021 at 05:54PM by ThrowAwayIdk6 (Via reddit https://ift.tt/3x81Cfd) Reflections upon what it was like to grow up in the southern US as a girl surrounded by religion. Hint: very toxic and damaging.

My history with atheism:

Circa age 13, I “abused” my newfound ability to use my brain cells to think for myself. I came to the realization that religion makes zero sense and that it’s just a modern continuation of mythology. People will readily accept that ancient mythology was born as a way to explain things people couldn’t understand, so that’s exactly how I view Christianity (and all other religions as well). I don’t understand how anyone with a brain between their ears could continue to believe it but, whatever. That’s not even touching upon the infinitely more complex subjects of ethics, morals, and morality.

ANYWAY-

I’m grateful for coming to my senses at a young age because it’s given me a lot of time (a decade now) to reflect, think, and conclude that Christianity, the prominent religion in the southern US, is super toxic. (No shit, right?) That’s not a surprise to anyone, but I’m just here to share my personal experiences about that.

For starters, my parents would slip in and out of denominations depending on what they wanted to hear that month or even week. I was randomly dragged around from church to church involving Catholicism, Lutheran, and Methodist. I thought church was boring as hell and would rather do literally anything else with my weekend but I didn’t have a choice so I had to go. I befriended somebody in my daycare around age 4 and started hanging out with her and her family at their house on weekends. Her family were Super Baptist. If you’ve never met a true southern Baptist, I’m not even sure how to begin to describe it. They were no ordinary baptists. And in that household, even though they played the role of the “perfect family“, I can see now there were a lot of hoops to jump through to be accepted and “loved” by them. First of all, they hate gays and homosexuality. Openly, blatantly, unwaveringly. Even though I was just their child’s friend, they would preach and lecture to me about all of these rules and ideologies that I was expected to follow. I remember being about four or five still and I was wearing a spaghetti strap shirt at her house. Her father stormed over to me and began lecturing me about how I needed to be aware that they were men in the house and I need to be more modest. Modest… a four or five year old kid’s fucking shoulders were sexy!? He seriously told a little kid to be modest when men were home. Wasn’t even his kid, either. I would say that’s where the cultural and societal grooming began. Where I was obviously lesser than, and responsible for the actions and thoughts of men. Just by existing I always needed to be vigilant. As a 5 year old. And I became obsessed with being a “good girl” as that was clearly the best way to be accepted by the world.

Despite that, I had a dysfunctional and bad home life. You know how they say that for kids who don’t get any attention, any attention counts as good attention? Very true in my case. I became sexually active and promiscuous around age 10 or 11. I would act provocatively and pretty desperate for any form of male attention. Obviously this caused absolutely no man to respect me and it was an extremely failed attempt to get validation, security, attachment and love that I wasn’t getting at home. But since I had already internalized that sexuality was shameful, but sexuality also seems to be the only way for me to receive any love (or so I thought), I was a very conflicted, torn, and moody kid. I had no idea what my identity was and I had no idea where my place was in this world. Feeling lost, I felt vulnerable to any type of message that I was a horrible and incompetent person who needed forgiveness. I just wanted to belong somewhere. I wanted a family and a community.

Cue my parents deciding they didn’t want to take care of us during the summer (my mom was a housewife who had house keepers but apparently it was still too fucking hard to hang out with your own kids), so they sent me to a very expensive, elitist Christian summer camp for several weeks during the summer. I admit, It was really nice to be around so many peers and to have that sense of community and belonging. Since I felt safe here, I decided to open up to one of my camp counselors about how I was acting and that I was basically soliciting sex for love. As an adult… If a child who is barely pubescent told me she was already sexually active and had been for some time … I would be waving all of the the red Flags I could hold and insist on a deep investigation of that kids home life and family to find out who exactly was not taking care of this child properly. That whole conversation, to a normal person, would’ve been very disturbing and concerning. But this was the land of “good Christians” and they demanded I called my parents and tell them everything about my sexual history. Considering that me and my parents were not close and barely even spoke to each other, this was an awkward conversation to have, and they literally did not care. Literally, I was gasping through tears trying to explain the whole story as the counselor smirked over my shoulders as I called my parents and my mom literally was like “OK we’ll talk about this”, and of course it was never addressed.

Shortly thereafter is when I began to think for myself and became an atheist. But it wasn’t just me. I befriended another girl later on who was one of 11 children. She was absolutely miserable and confessed to me that she was secretly suicidal and had made suicide attempts because her parents decided that she could just be the second mom and take care of all the kids when they didn’t feel like it. Of course, her mom didn’t work either, since they were all a bunch of good Catholics, their church donated them a McMansion of a home and gave them a lot of handouts. Why budget only to have kids that you can actually afford when you can just keep popping them out knowing that the church will congratulate you for bringing more believers into the world? Of course, the church didn’t actually care about those children or else my friend would not have been forced to be secretly suicidal and conceal her misery. Because again, if she had spoken up and expressed that her parents had done a stupid thing and that she was tired of picking up the slack for their actions, who knows what kind of consequence she could’ve actually faced for that. That wouldn’t be “good Catholic” of her.

I had my own daughter a few years ago and the first question out of many people’s mouth’s was demanding to know if I was going to get her baptized, if I was going to allow her to have premarital sex, and if I was going to raise her up with Jesus in her heart. Those questions are very irritating and disturbing. Why the fuck do people feel entitled to know the future details of an actual infants potential sex life? Shit is so fucking weird. I put a stop to that and we are an atheist/secular home. If my kids want to question or pursue religion, they are more than welcome to. I won’t stand in their way. But they’re not going to pick up those toxic messages in their childhood. I have to go out of my way to defend them from things like that. But I won’t allow it. The rug sweeping, the forced happiness, the cultism. No thank you.

#reddit

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never-to-be-homeless · 7 years

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Asa here. Sorry for the radio silence. I've been having a massive bout of brain fog lately. Sleep deprivation this week (insomnia's beating my meds) isn't helping, especially with ppl replacing the window frames outside my apt. Very little sleep makes me cry easily which I was already doing when I learned that Fiona, the woman gishwhes helped this year (do you know what that is?), passed away. We knew it was coming, but it was a major blow. (1/?)

I have some good news! I’ve been maintaining my weight at 110 & have gained more 2lbs in a week! EDs suck, mine’s ARFID (Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder) which, even if I could afford ED counseling, is rarely known yet let alone diagnosed. I’ve totally accepted & embraced that I’m autistic but my family isn’t keen on it & keep suggesting more mental illnesses like they’d rather I be curable than have my “weirdness” & “uniqueness” they’re so proud of be something with a name. Gabriel, if you get this, I’ve been in an odd place. My first 13 years I was raised in a southern baptist evangelical cult. I have beliefs but they’re bits & pieces from many belief systems & religions. I know the “hellfire & brimstone” I was trained to fear isn’t anything to worry about, but I still get sudden, random moments of terror that it is & I’m damned because the brainwashing got so deep & consumed my childhood which was absolutely a “hell on earth.” I feel like honoring and believing in the energies in stones, trees, plants in general, the elements, etc. are real & different from each other, I’m nb, pan-demiromantic, asexual spectrum, & other things I was trained to believe we’re wrong & damning. I have moments of panic. I know it’s completely irrational, but brainwashing is so powerful.. I can’t even begin to describe it other than overwhelming. I want it to stop but I get so scared. My MIs are making it tons worse lately. What do you think? Honestly?I’m sorry this is so long. I’m exhausted right now so I’m a bit rambly. I’ve been reading a lot on my tablet while completely covered by my sheets. If I could tell my flashlight hiding 7yo self that in about 15 yrs I wouldn’t even need the flashlight to read thousands and thousands of stories, novels on a thin but book height object that I could also watch shows & movies, play games, & listen to music all from the entire world my mind would have been blown. I probably would’ve been a bit more optimistic about my future too. Anyway.. I should wrap this up. I’m sorry for my absence & my last message being cut off. I hope I didn’t upset you in any way. With sincere love and gratitude, until we speak again. 💙Asa,

Hey sweetie. I’m glad you’re doing well with your weight. That’s definitely something to be proud of.

As far as the “brainwashing” goes, just try and remind yourself that it’s okay for people to have different beliefs, and that is part of what makes us unique. Try to find a mixture of your beliefs. Find your own “higher power”. It doesn’t have to be a god, it can be something as simple as mother earth. Figure out what you believe as far as an afterlife goes. While figuring this stuff out won’t be easy, it’ll bring you some peace. It can also make you more confident within yourself. Many people turn to their “religion”, and I use that term loosely to mean set of spiritual beliefs, for comfort.

Your angel,

Gabriel

#Answered by Gabriel #Admin Brianna #Asa #eating disorders #tw: eating disorders #religion

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askcherryberry · 7 years

Photo

Let us that you home.

NOT A FAN FIC JUST A STORY TO GO WITH THE PICTURE.

Goth and Reaper take a recently reaped soul to the “Gate”. (A place I think in my head exists in Reapertale where reaped souls go to live happy and healthy as spirits till a soul is reincarnated.) This soul is the color of perseverance, because against over whelming odds, that should have ended there life when they were younger. They survived! They then struggled every step of the way in life after that, but never complained. Reaper saw this in the soul. The soul at around the age of fifty had learned they were sick, and that there was nothing they could do to get better, but the fought anyways. After a long time it became harder and harder to breath. And still Reaper watched close by as the soul held onto his life force. There was times when Reaper approached the soul asking if they were ready. They would say that they were not. They wanted there leaving their family not to be so grievous. They wanted their fight to end on their battlefield. AND NO WHERE ELSE! One night the soul laid in their bed beside a soul they had spent many years with and had children with. It was this night that for the first time a young Reaper adore in white and not black appeared in the souls dream. “Hello! My name is Goth! I am the bringer of mercy.” He smiled at the soul. The soul watched in awe of this ‘Child?’ “I’m here to take you home. My dad is waiting for you to be ready.” Goth spoke calmly. “Are you?” The soul looked over in his dream state and saw their mate sleeping so quietly. They knew how hard this had all been on them. They were aware of how much harder this would be if this event happened in the waking world. They turned to Goth. “May I say goodbye?” Goth stepped back gesturing for the soul to do as they wished. The soul moved to their mates side of the bed and touched their cheek with a hand that wouldn’t be felt. “Thank you for loving me.” They said as they took a long look at their mate. in the waking world their eyes never saw their mates beauty. They never worked since childhood, but they had been okay with that. Now though, as tear poured down their face they cursed all that time missing this face that had been right there the whole time. They leaned down and kissed them one last time. Their mates body eased and relaxed into a deep sleep. “For you my love.” They looked back only once as they walked beside Goth. As the two met up with Reaper tears were still staining their face. “Thank you!” He said to the two travel companions. “This is all I wanted for them.” There soul glowed a bright purple and the three stepped through a blinding white light.

Their battle was now over.

Story over! Skip to credits if you don’t want to read rant.

This was what I felt like I needed to do. Please before going on and reading any more think before you judge me. It simply how I feel and my beliefs that help me to cope with matters such as this one.

First, I choose the color scheme based on my feelings not on if the characters wear them or not.

Second, This was drawn shortly after I learned my uncle had passed away. He has been blind since he was four years old when he was in a car accident and his eyes sorta came out. Because back then this stuff was rare thing they accidentally put his eyes back in sorta twisted and the nerves dyed and so he went fully blind. He was strong through it though. He went to Perkins school for the blind in Massachusetts and got a great education. When he was old enough he taught himself how to use his hands and learned how to use power tools. He began to make furniture. Tables, chairs, hope chests... He was careful and never let a tool bite him once. When he married my aunt (my moms sister) he found a great happiness he would tell me. their first child was the halt on that happiness. She dyed ten days after being born due to a heart defect. When their first son was born he too had a problem, but he still kicks today. then their second son. He has some sight issues but nothing he couldn’t live with. My uncle became a driving force for me as a kid. I being mostly blind and him fully I recall asking to be his daughter at the age of six. (Two things! Yes, then I wasn’t aware of what transgender was. I just know I would be asked what I wanted to be growing up and no matter the job I said I said man after it. Next! My biological father was missing in my life then I didn’t get adopted till i was twelve.) My uncle gave me support my sighted mother and sister couldn’t give me. My other sister who was like me never shared my worries in life. So I learned basic braille. I watched him closely every time I went to his house I was shocked and after some time he plus my now father (may he rest in piece as well) pushed me into art and sticking with what I could do. My father died in 2012 a few day before Christmas. My uncle passed away this morning (8/7/17) in his sleep beside my aunt. He and my father both had COPD or chronic obstructive pulmonary disease

I will miss them both!

Lastly! I choose to represent this day with Goth and Reaper for a big reason.

Goth, has always been seen by me to take of a Mercy type reaper. I quite literally call him the Angel of Mercy to those who don’t understand Undertale. He only reaps Children, the sick, and those elderly that have lived a good life. Or so I think in my head.

Reaper is well Reaper being Gothy’s dad is just a bonus to why he is even in the picture. The story explains his being there really.

On a religious stand point If you so want to harass me on the subject. I'm southern baptist and wiccan. I think all religion is both wrong and right and so I celebrate a ton of holidays and don’t stand behind any one Ideal. I practice Wicca in healing and good faith only and observe southern baptist merely cause the whole of my family does and i respect that. Enough said!

Undertale/ @tobyfoxofficial

Reaper and Reapertale/ @renrink

Goth/ @nekophy

Wolf Anon is my vision of my Uncle

#undertale #undertale au #reaper!sans #Reaper renrink #reaper #reapertale #goth!sans #goth the angle of mercy #goth #renrink #nekophy #ryudrawingblind #proxypuff #Getting by without your guildence will be hard but you helped me get this far i think now i need to stand on my own two feet i love you uncl

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beautifulweird0 · 4 years

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Forgiving Your Parents

I know too many people who’ve experienced some form of trauma from their parents. This isn’t a blog about bashing your folks- this is hopefully a post that will help salvage some strained parent and child relationships. Cause I been there, done that-and understanding your parent is only feasible if your parent is interested in understanding you. My disclaimer is this: The child isn’t responsible for mending the relationship...solely. I’mma tell you like this, if your parent doesn’t want anything to do with you...skip em’. Because that’s backwards as hell and that takes away from loving yourself. Anyway you chop it, if you find yourself forcing yourself on a “parent”, the relationship isn’t going to go anywhere-AND THAT’S NOT YOUR FAULT OR CONCERN. YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL! YOU ARE EXTREMELY WORTHY. I’m so sorry your people ain’t solid; it’s a reflection of them-not you.

Moving on.

I’ve always had such a strong feeling in my gut when I come across new people. It’s like they look at me and think I got it all. Truly looking at me and seeing a woman who doesn’t have insecurities or childhood traumas spotted along her path cause I’m kind and always make it a point to smile like Granny told me. I’m usually a private person. But its always been that ‘pull’ on me-telling me… “It’s another little girl that is going through the same stuff you went through. Say that shit anyway. And with your chest.” . Think about it... Can’t a soul embarrass you about some stuff you open about. That takes all the fun out of their miserable lives if folks know wassup already.

So as a 22 year old woman that been through some mess with her people, let me share pieces of me. Cause the last thing you want on your conscience is one of your parents passing and ya’ll not being on the best of terms. I was listening to Mad Bitches the other day and Mikhala Jene said something along the lines of, “Nobody living is perfect”.

That hit me a little different. Like damn...nobody walks this earth perfect so...why do we expect perfection (again, subconsciously).

THIS.

And shit, our people ain’t have everything at their fingertips as we do. The apps that spread information quicker than you could sneeze, weren't available. They couldn’t go on a ‘self-care’ page to calm themselves down if triggered or go on YouTube and watch motivational videos. Not making excuses, just using a little perspective that helps me! Yet and still, let your parent(s) know if they did something to wrong you; you gotta’ have respect for yourself as a human. Period. I didn’t find out who my biological father was until I was about 16 years old. Up until that point I believed another man was my father (which he is still and will always be!). Sooo...I already had abandonment issues from my parents and my dad lived in a way at that time, that all parties involved thought it was best my grandparents took us in. That’s all I know is Granny’s (& Grandpa’s) house since I was a baby. It helped that when my mom told me who my biological dad was, she was in a much better state of mind and stable-but man...I didn’t know what to feel. My sister was more upset than me (cause we have the same dad hypothetically). So many questions ran through my head that I couldn’t even cry or be mad. I was shocked. Everyone played their role so well…

There was a long road ahead of me. Not only did I have to forgive my mom and dad for lying to me for so long, but there was a father in the same city I had yet to know.

My first point is patience. If you aren’t going to be patient with an end goal for you and your parent, you’re wasting your time. Being prepared for them to fumble sometimes is mandatory if y’all going to get to a better place. You mess up on certain projects or what have you’s a few times before you get it right...right? Give your parent the same energy if you were in their shoes. Cause baby...ain’t nothing worse than admitting your wrongs and still getting beat down. I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at my mom in that moment where she was vulnerable and upset cause she knew she played a part in hurting me. What was it gone do but make me feel bad and her feel worse? Blowing up wasn’t going to change what happened now 22 years ago.Yeah, there’s hella’ books on parenting but I’mma tell y’all like my Granny told me, “There’s no such thing as a book on how to be a parent.”.

Having a child of my own- I’ve been witness to this. Folks can be shown and folks can be told on how to do certain things but with each child being different in this world, you have to be intune with them specifically- no book on that.I was through hell and back with my mother and now we’re in an extremely better place because we both made the effort (more-so on her part 🌚). But it was my responsibility to go into it with pure intentions and my guard down a bit after she made the effort; disappointment is what I expected sometimes cause I went into it knowing it was going to be a process.Don’t get it confused, my mom always knew how I was-that wasn’t the issue. The new end goal was getting to know each other again so I could understand her better so I could forgive her. That’s no sucka’ shit. Its real. Everybody in this life is going to disappoint you, one way or another. Better to know what you’re dealing with so you can assess the situation in order to better assess the person. Free game.

My father always tried too-the dad that I always knew as my dad. On weekends me and my sister would go to his house before he moved to Michigan. Man I was a daddies girl-still am. My grandparents had the house on lock, couldn't watch programs with cussing in it or too much violence. Life of having Southern Baptist grandparents I guess. The weekends at pops house was always interesting. I could watch all the music videos I wanted and watch the movies that didn't have too much goin on in them. My dad would do different stuff with us like go to the library; he always knew I loved reading. Sometimes my dad would take us to the park or a friends house who had kids (how I met my husband), water parks, or even cooking dinner with me and my sister; plenty of quality time where I could talk to him about anything. However, at the time, pops lived a certain lifestyle and no matter how hard he tried to shield it from us younger kids, I still seen things and experienced things a child shouldn't have. Again, comes with the lifestyle I guess. My dad drunk...ALOT. And it was interesting to see the 'upsides' of alchoholism and the very big downsides. I'd never forget, I was maybe 8? Another weekend at my dads, just me and my sister (I have multiple brothers on that side too plus another sister), and I woke up one morning on the couch. My dad was goin through some things- all he had was a couch that he let me and my little sister sleep on. My 1st thought when I woke up was where was my dad sleeping? My sister was sleep, and it was still fairly early in the morning. I go back to the empty bedroom to find him sleep on the floor. No pillow. No cover. Just a beer in hand, laid out. That broke my heart. Just remember feeling sad all over. I took the beer, threw it away then grabbed the pillow I had and laid it under his head. While doing so, my dad woke up, halfway and kissed my hand. He told me straight up he loves me and he apologized. Didn't go into detail but he didn't have to. My dad never had his pops in his life, nor his mama until he was grown and was taking care of her though her illness. I knew even at 8 years old that, that gotta hurt. I'm not gone sit here and act like I always understood the motives of my father but I tried because he always tried to understand me and til' this day, he is one of the top 3 people that KNOWS me like the back of his hand.

I had to forgive my parents because they’ve come a long way. Holding all that anger and resentment wasn’t gone help me in the long run. And in a way I can say I've helped to heal them by loving them through their screw ups. We always talk about a parents love but what about a child's love? I don’t want to pass down my pain to my son, he don’t need that- the world will give its fair share. But everyday I pray that the world won’t hurt him bad. I want my son to be nothing less than strong mentally, emotionally, but most of all spiritually. He won’t have that unless I’m solid. So I ask myself… ‘hm, what’s still hurting me?’.

We all got a story to tell.

Love. Peace. Manifest.

~Monet’

#parent #forgiveness #blackwomen #blackmen #trauma #love #hate #lessons #blackfamily #alcohol #blog #generationalcurses

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