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#ptsd

1/18/21


Tw: drug abuse, physical assault, bullying, child abuse, child neglect, violence, systematic abuse, mental hospitals, gaslighting, suicidal ideation, abortion mentioned


9th grade part 1


Around the beginning of the school year, which I was still spending in a residential facility, there was a riot. I really can’t remember what started it, but I remember that someone had been stabbed a few days prior and the person who had done it was in my house.


A fight broke out in the evening and she ran away, as did another few girls from our house. One girl jumped out of a window and ran down the road, later recounting that someone (the staff claimed a neighboring farmer) shot at her. A staff member got a ceramic planter thrown at her face, busting her cheekbone open. As chaos ensued, the staff ushered the rest of us from my house outside, into the oval.


With pretty much no supervision, and with another girls’ house and two of the boys’ dormitories similarly rioting, we started making our way around the campus wherever we wanted. A friend of mine led me over to the one boy’s house, where a few girls were trying to get in to talk to their boyfriends. The boys were in the windows and on the porch, generally getting worked up.


One of the boys said something to me, and I just casually laughed and flipped them off, saying “I don’t fucking know, dude, I’m just here for the show. ” He laughed back and it was fine.


For some reason, his girlfriend took this offensively, however, and got up in my face. She was screaming that I disrespected her man and she wanted to fight me. I really didn’t want to, but my heart was pumping. She started acting like she was going to hit me, so all 5'8" of me walked up to 5'0", 110 pounds of her and I blacked out as she hit me.


Though I don’t remember it, I locked my hands around her throat, crossed my fingertips, and squeezed. The girl I was with started trying to rip my hands off of her neck, and the girl I was choking desperately hit and scratched at my arms. Soon two male and one female staff members joined in trying to get my hands unlocked, as the other girl turned purple. They said I had no facial expression and that I wasn’t there, until my hands unlocked and I had a seizure as they dragged me away.


For weeks after, I begged to go back to a hospital. The girl I had attacked kept trying to go after me, and I didn’t try to stop her. I felt like I deserved to die, to be beaten up, whatever. I asked the staff to stop restraining her and let her just hit me. When the therapist screamed that she was going to have me arrested for attempted murder and tried as an adult, I told her that I would cooperate with the investigation and plea guilty.


My therapist told me that she thought that this was the sign that I was suffiently “broken” and I was ready for real treatment. I just stopped asking questions and agreed with her.


A few weeks later, another incident happened between myself and another girl and a male staff member, who was about 6'5" and had previously been in the military, decided to restrain me by himself instead of getting assistance. While dragging me out of the kitchen by my hands, he dislocated my right wrist. I panicked and tried to pull away in pain, and he grabbed me by both my wrists and lifted me up until my feet couldn’t touch the floor, slamming me into the wall.


Due to having lost almost 100 pounds by that point and not having access to new clothes, my pants and underwear fell to the floor in front of everyone. I started screaming and sobbing, and he dragged me pantsless into the time out room while calling for back up. When he threw me on the floor, I remembered the rule that all male staff had to leave if a female resident undressed, so I tore off my shirt, screaming “get the fuck out of the room! Female staff only, you rapist bitch!”


When it was just female staff and I was able to cover up with a blanket, I again begged them to send me back to a metal hospital. I told them that this place was making me worse. I was terrified of the staff hurting me and I knew that what was happening was wrong. I was told that it was just that I was too stupid to just obey, and that I was going to be on a 3 day punishment for taking my pants off in front of other kids and another 3 days after for accusing the staff member of being a rapist.


2 weeks later, the same staff member choke slammed a little boy into a brick wall, causing him to go into cardiac arrest and needing to be in the ICU for weeks. The staff sat down the entire house and said that this wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t made him move houses, and that now, they had to spend time retraining on how to do restraints. They actually acted like it was my fault this dude attacked this other kid, and that it was hurting their job to learn how to not hurt children.


Around November, my therapist told me that my insurance company was refusing to pay for me to stay longer than a year, though “she had no idea why”, and that I was going to be discharged exactly one day before that year was up, which I begrudgingly accepted. I was honest with her that, while I certainly didn’t want to stay, I didn’t want to go home. I asked about other step down programs like I was offered in Allentown, and she told me that there was no step down in between.


I kept waiting, biding my time, and getting worse. By the time I finally got a new set of school clothes for when I would go home, my bra size was 34DDD and my jeans were an 8. I was 135 pounds. I was doing heroin daily, and flipping shit on the rare occasions I was out, and Charlie would even occasionally drive past in his little blue Scion, since it was an alternate way between his house and his source in Baltimore, and since the living room window of my residence faced the road, it made me feel like someone cared.


Around Christmas, I had a day pass with my mom. It was a week before my big, 5-day Yule and Christmas break, and that was the last visit before I would go home. We were supposed to go do some more shopping for school clothes and Christmas gifts for family, but she wouldn’t talk to me. She just stared daggers at me and paid for whatever I picked. When we were in the car heading back, she started screaming at me all sorts of horrible shit.


“I don’t fucking know why I still visit you, or why I’m letting you come home. You look just like your father, that racist bastard. I should have aborted you and gone to law school then, you wasted so many years of my fucking life. I should have put you up for adoption, but nobody would have wanted you, even then. You really aren’t worth the child support, you’re just such a worthless fucking thing.”


When I got back to the residence, I just sat in a room with a few other girls and I just cried for hours. I started getting severely suicidal, but I just kept it to myself. The next day, I got a call that my mom was in a mental hospital because she was suicidal and had made a scene in front of her sister while giving my uncle her gun, claiming that she would kill herself if she kept it. She had also apparently relapsed, though she later said that “she smoked a joint and had a panic attack. ”


For about a week, I leaned on Calliope, and two girls from my residence, and I just tried to get comfortable with the idea of not going home. I actually realized that I didn’t want to go, because I was finally used to the way things worked there and home was worse. Calliope offered to sneak me out in a bag when she went home, and we exchanged Facebook and MySpace info to keep in touch.


Eventually, my grandparents agreed to take me over the holidays and I would go home with my mom after she left the hospital. The holiday visit was great and I got my lip repierced and did my upper ear. I visited my mom in the hospital and she apologized for saying so many awful things to me and agreed, finally, to take medications.


When I returned to the facility, I was met with a flu outbreak on campus. About half of the campus was quarantined in the on site chapel with fevers, but plenty of sick people who didn’t have 102° fevers or higher were still in the houses. It was only a few days before I got sick.


Due to my dysatonomy, I don’t get fevers and my normal temperature is around 96°, so while I was going through the hacking cough, vomiting, migraines, shakes, chills, and palor that came with the flu, I was expected to act normally. When my mom got out of the hospital, she visited me and saw how extremely sick I was and demanded that I be treated like everyone else who was sick. They told her to come get me, and discharged me a week before schedule.

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Untold Stories - storyofeden - M, 11 chapters - Witches and wizards set upon repairing Hogwarts after the war. In a step towards rehabilitation, they try to eliminate some of the more…problematic rooms of the castle. Hogwarts, however, fought back. Much like ghosts, the castle will not move on if there is still unfinished business. Tired of her job at the Ministry, Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts when Madam Pince retires. Little does she know that she may be embarking on her own journey of rehabilitation.

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I was thinking about my weird psych shit and I thought it was something along the lines of schizophrenia but I had a real bad flashback and trigger last night for my ptsd and it’s possible that all this is coming from unprocessed trauma that my brain is finally not letting me ignore.

Either way I need therapy to find out and I’m too poor and paranoid for that so I guess we won’t figure it out until 3 breakdowns from now.

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Hey guys I’ve been awall for a while been going through it but wanted to say thanks for all the messages and concern for my well being. You all are so sweet I have too many messages to read and respond to under my current condition but here are some selfies I took I hope you enjoy.

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Nothing like sweet dissociation taking you back to your trauma. AMRIGHT?

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I’ve begun to realize that not all wounds are meant to be healed. Some are simply meant to be learned how to live with.

There are sorrows, there are losses, that are simply too great for the human spirit to endure. The pain will never entirely go away, and nor should it. You’re meant to be sad, to mourn. The testimony of strength is learning how to endure and cope.

Moving on doesn’t always mean forgetting your loss. Sometimes, it means coexisting with it.

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(Tw: trauma, emotional abuse, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationships with sex, touch starved jungkook) One day I will write a fic in which one day jk or one of the others has had a toxic and like- emotionally neglectful and abusive relationship and just like- the first time they wake up at the m/c’s house and they’re all panicking like “oh my god I stayed over it was going so well and I just fucked it up oh my god she’s gonna think I’m crazy”

and he comes out and is ready to apologize and before he gets a chance too she’s just like “I wanted to let you sleep cuz I’m kind of an early bird but I made breakfast! I forget how you take your coffee but theyres a cup by the machine and milk in the fridge) and he’s just like- blinking in the doorway all like “you made me??? Breakfast???” And she sees that he’s got his clothes on and she’s like “yeah unless you’ve got somewhere you need to go?” And he’s like “no I definitly do not”

and anyway they sit really close at her tiny kitchen table and maybe jungkook starts tearing up and she’s a little panicked like “oh no does it tase bad?” And he’s all like sniffly and just keeps eating and yeah anyway afterwords they cuddle and then she showers cuz he feel asleep and when he wakes up he realizes he spent the whole day with her and she never initiated sex or anything and he never felt like he had to justify his presence that way with her.

And yeah anyway after dinner he leaves and she’s not quite sure exactly why he cried at breakfast or seemed to grab onto her every time she shifted away from some cuddles but honestly it’s not a red flag if anything it just makes him more endearing. And she gathers that he’s never really been treated as a priority in relationship so she keeps doing little things for him like dropping off takeout just cuz or stopping by when he’s had a rough day.

Maybe sometimes when he feels unworthy of her affection he falls back into that old mindset of “ill only get cuddles if I have sex with her first” and she realizes that he’s only doing it with her because he feels like he has too and they talk it out and don’t do anything that night or for the next couple of days until “yes I’m sure I want it I am actually going to bust a nut two seconds into you touching me sorry I don’t make the rules”

and many times she inadvertently makes him super emotional because koo is just a lump of sensitive bunny boy and yeah. Eventually he confides in her what his last relationship was like and she almost wants to hunt down his ex to leave her a very stern message but he talks her down.

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Emotions shift but never stop 


Hang the neck and let me drop 


Oh so exhausted my soul has dried 


Perhaps because of all I cried. 


I annoy you, do I not? 


Leave me to decompose & rot 


Suffering that will surely last


from forgotten wounds of our past. 

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the biggest problem with childhood trauma is that it leaves you with a sense in adulthood that you can not trust any one. that is one of the reasons in adulthood we subconsciously choose people to hurt us. we don’t know any better. we don’t realize it was never us that was broken. 

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die zeit danach … wenn du erfährst, dass der arzt, der dein leben ruiniert hat, inzwischen nicht nur in rente, sondern in anderer stadt ein reicher, ach so beliebter mitbürger und hochgepriesener kunstmäzen und organisator von ausstellungen und konzerten ist…

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