#anyway. long day i need to go to bed and stop oversharing on the internet

[theoriginalbread]

Venting

TW: domestic violence/abuse, childhood trauma (abuse, neglect, etc.), abandonment, depression, self harm, suicide, PTSD; a whole bag of issues, clearly

⚠️⚠️⚠️ You have been warned! ⚠️⚠️⚠️

Scroll until the colored text to skip!!!

I got really high last night and suddenly got super sad that my entire childhood was robbed from me. I remembered that I used to take care of my baby brother, since he was in his diaper, and he was the best thing in my life at the time. I got to play with my best friend as he grew up and developed skills until he would get to be as smart as, and maybe even smarter than, my older brother and I. I remember feeling so much love for him. I was so excited and that’s about the last real feeling I remember from my childhood. Since then it’s been a slow and steady incline into “maturing” faster than other kids.

I remember how often my mom wouldn’t come and pick me up from school. I would wait and wait in the hot sun on the corner of the school street she instructed me to stay at until she came to get me. She would be there about 60% of the time. Enough for me to get familiar with the route home in case I needed to walk home. I walked home, alone, as a little child, often. And I don’t think I ever felt scared, more like anxious. What would I find out when I get home? Would there be a home? Would my mom be okay? Would my dad be yelling again? If nobody was home, they couldn’t reach me. Some days, I would get home to find no one was home and since I was small, an elementary school child, they wouldn’t give me a key. I would wait outside the house for hours and then cry to my neighbors and ask them if they’d seen my parents leave or if they could help me find them or if they’d let me in. I was ignored by them a lot too. They didn’t want to deal with a crying kid who wasn’t theirs. I never saw the inside of the house they were in because I only ever saw the front door and the window. My mom never scolded me or even acknowledged my feelings. I received no comfort.

I had to start using my brain much more to ignore things around the house and in the family than before. I had to try and keep the act up to not alert anyone that I knew too much. I remember how heartbroken I used to feel when I would see my mom cry and hear my dad yelling. Or how scared I felt when my mom told me if we ever heard them yelling at each other again to just go into the room and put on music real loud. (Trauma based tinnitus anyone? 🤲🏽 Can’t get that fucking ringing out of my ears)

I was confused. I cocked my head at that statement, like a dog, trying to learn new commands. I don’t think I ever got over that exact moment in time. My heart races, miles and miles per hour, at the sound of my parents raising their voices, in jest. In normal conversation. A laugh, through headphones and muffled, sounding too close to a yell and my head starting to spin, my knees lose their strength.

I used to think that I deserved to feel the way I did, at fucking NINE YEARS OLD. I was depressed. I was so horribly depressed I fantasized about dying at school. And I don’t mean intrusive thoughts, I mean genuine fantasy. I would be so lost in fantasy thinking about how much it would mean to people and how sad they would be at my death and that finally they would see that I’m worth their time and affection. So god damn terrible.

That was elementary. Middle school wasn’t any better. In fact it got worse. Yelling matches with my dad almost every other day. I’d pick a fight over everything that I could. I hated him so much. He would always slap me and try and intimidate me, but as stubborn as he made me, I’d never back down. I would double down and yell louder and call him names and watch him break down and cry because he only wanted to be a good father and he hated the way we had become. But I never bought that angle. I hated him so much.

Immediately I’m transported to the night I was on the computer in the living room, laughing and playing with friends. Mom bursts out of the room screaming at the top of her lungs, followed by my father, face so red you’d think he was about to burst. Scream crying her best attempt at a sentence, “he’s going to hit me” and I did not think and I did not take time to listen and immediately put myself between him and her and tried so hard, my one hundred and twenty pound self, against a man, at least a hundred pounds heavier than I, to halt his approach on my mother. My older brother came rushing over to my aid as my younger brother held my mother and backed further and further away while my older and I tried our best to stop my father from moving forward. He didn’t even see us. Whatever the issue, whatever it was that caused him to turn into these fucking demon, he didn’t even acknowledge his own children trying to prevent bloodshed. He was screaming so loud I felt my ears burn after each sentence. He pushed my brother and I aside like rag dolls and yet we both kept pushing him back and harder and at one point I even considered punching him. I’ve never wanted to hit somebody so bad in my life, and that’s On EVERYTHING. I hate violence and he made me want to punch him until his nose broke because of how blind he was.

That’s probably one of the most traumatic days of my entire life, family wise anyway. For months after, he didn’t step foot into our house. He had to fix his shit. Nobody said anything. We just did our best to pick the pieces up and keep moving and helping my mom relax.

For the longest time after, I had problems with my mom. Oh yeah, she’s not so innocent either. I feel terrible for all she’s been through, but it’s not an excuse for how she treated me too. Scratching me and throwing my head into the wall. Yelling at me that I’m just like my father and throwing my phone onto the floor so damn hard it shattered into pieces and spread everywhere into the room. Pieces of glass hit me and I was afraid I’d been cut and she instead checks on my younger brother, in the top bunk of our bunk bed, and apologizes so much and tells him she loves him so much and not to be afraid. She left the house that night, in the middle of the night, and went driving to god knows where and blamed the whole thing on me. She told my dad that I pissed her off because I didn’t listen to her and called her names and none of that was true, obviously. I told her that night I didn’t want to give her my phone because I can’t wake up on time without the alarms. She felt I was undermining her authority by not immediately giving it up. My father came the next day, mad as hell and he slapped me. Told me to apologize to her for all that and I told him, “no, because I didn’t do anything and she hurt me.” He scoffed and went to go talk to her. My mom ignored me for a week after. She didn’t feed me and she didn’t look in my direction. It took a long time for her to talk to me, and she didn’t let it go for months. Years later, I asked him if he knew why I never apologized, then told him about what she did and he said he had no idea. They fought that day. I left the house screaming and crying and having a panic attack. I went to my girlfriend’s house and I slept it all away, blocking both their numbers and trying so hard to will myself dead.

I have so much more to say but I can’t dump everything on the internet. I just feel like I can’t tell anyone this, and obviously there’s a time and place for even the slightest mention of any sort of childhood experiences, but idk. I don’t feel like anyone else understands me and I’m not sure if that’s internal or not. I can’t tell, cause even when I’m with some of my close friends, I feel all they do is talk abt their stuff and ask after they feel they’ve overshared or that they heard what they wanted to hear. And then by the time I get the nerve to start saying what I want to, something else comes up and the topic is gone.

I know I need a therapist, this isn’t new info and it isn’t shocking but man I just need to say it somewhere, ya know? I just can’t keep it inside forever. That thing that people say, “trauma keeps you at the age you experienced it”….that applies to me so hard lmao.

I just wanted a fucking hug man. And my tears wiped away and my damn emotion acknowledged.

If anyone makes it this far, thank you. I hope this wasn’t too long and that it didn’t set off any alarms. Take care of yourself, please?

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End of post!

#mine #8:11 am #writing #tw #tw vent #ptsd #abuse #trauma