Questioning programed system culture is trying to figure out if we count as one but not finding anything we can comprehend
Like we formed because of other kinds of abuse BUUT we came across some info about programming and it's pretty much what our current abuser is doing and it's effecting forming alters + brainwashing (idk if that term is offensive) already formed alters (worst one yet is a 3-5 yo little who became beta programmed ((? Idk if I'm using correct terms aaaa)))
Anyways, fun times
-🪽
brainwashing isn't an offensive term, don't sweat it.
I'm gonna put our response below a cut, so you can choose whether or not you want to see/know our opinion on it. we also added some explanation of beta programming.
please be careful and take care of yourself if you do choose to read, these topics can be really dangerous if you're unprepared.
if you have more questions feel free to send asks, we'll do our best to answer.
that absolutely counts.
in our opinion, the only requirement of using the HC-DID label is that you have at least one alter who was forcibly formed by an external party.
so if you have an alter whose formation was intentionally started or influenced by your abuser, then we say using HC-DID/programmed system is completely accurate and valid.
and just so we're all on the same page here, your abuser doesn't need to know about systems/alters/dissociation to do this.
if they knew that abusing you in X way puts you into a state where they can easily manipulate/control your actions and implant instructions + cues into you, then that's tbmc.
beta programming is sex and sex-related programs. it's an umbrella term, and can look super different depending on the specific type present. it can be anything from alters having strong gender roles, to alters believing sex is evil/sinful, to alters having programmed kinks.
beta programmed littles are unfortunately common, especially since traits such as innocence/naivety are often seen as attractive and therefore more likely to be programmed into someone.
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I've been trying to figure out the best way to word this and I think I have so bear with me
Aziraphale loves Crowley. That's plain as day, he loves seeing Crowley happy, he loves receiving affection from Crowley. But I don't think he particularly likes making sacrifices or pushing himself out of his comfort zone, when Crowley has shown time and time again that he's willing to do the same for him.
I hope I'm not alone in thinking that this season has been showing us all the ways that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is sort of... inequal--Aziraphale doesn't respect Crowley's wishes about making changes to the Bentley and only stops once Crowley threatens to treat his belongings the same way, he's dismissive of his concerns about Gabriel, he's too distracted with his ball to listen to Crowley's warning about the actual small army of demons outside their door--all the while Crowley's TOP priority has been Aziraphale and making sure that he won't be harmed, by Gabriel, Heaven, or otherwise.
I mean this in the nicest way possible, because it makes perfect sense for his character, but I think that Aziraphale has always been portrayed as kind of selfish and hypocritical, and I think that's on purpose and it's something that he needs to work through before he'd ever be ready to take his relationship with Crowley to another level. I think he's started to take for granted that Crowley will always be there for him, and that what makes him happy will always make Crowley happy, when that's not the case. He said it himself: Crowley goes too fast for him. Despite all the progress he's made, he's still stuck in his desire to go back to a fantasy of "the good old days" that never existed.
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Actually, no, I haven't really changed at all since middle school. I'm still the same deeply creative weirdo with ever-growing eclectic interests. A happily blooming nerd. If I learned about something in school, I wanted to explore it at home, on my own. That's really how the electronics disaster happened. I'm actually incredibly grateful Mom and Dad monitored my Internet use. I am way too curious sometimes. And I have to see shit for myself extremely often.
I wasn't let back out properly as a specific part until sometime in the sixth grade. It was partially the cats, but also realizing Nanny probably wouldn't be around much longer. So when she did die, I was more relieved than anything else. I used to feel bad that I hadn't cried for her.
But she was stifling me and trying to tell me what to be. She didn't like me being curious about makeup? I was low-key kinda thrilled when I got makeup for Christmas in my senior year of high school. I like color. A lot. I used to constantly change my favorite color. Now I just say I love the entire rainbow.
And I had to hide that I absolutely loved Pokémon. I think she thought it was glorifying violence, but it's more like competitive high-contact sports. Either that, or it was the racism. Frankly, probably both. It's probably the one thing she might have been worse than foster care about. But honestly, watching all the stuff that had to do with entirely different cultures was so good for me. It still exposed me to to new ideas and lessons when I actually needed it. Among them, I started passively absorbing any little bit when Taoism or Buddhism were significant themes. Paired with Bible study on Saturday morning, I guess I managed better than I thought.
She was surprisingly ok with when I was really into western fantasy like Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I think she was also ok with Power Rangers and ThunderCats (the original). At least she validated my love of learning new things and legit gave me old text books (that I don't know where she even got) to look at science subjects at home.
I think that really started in the seventh grade when I got so obsessed with astronomy and in particular, black holes. It just amazed me how unfathomably massive the universe is. How far it goes, how long even light takes to travel through it. I couldn't help but find the divine in the actual, physical cosmos. And it was there with every part of it. I would think, ‘How can everything in this physical reality be bad if God had said it was good in the beginning? Surely we haven't corrupted everything. Cats and dogs know about compassion, in a sense. That's good and beautiful.’
It wasn't hard at all to be better than foster care, but she actually was. She did encourage me to ask questions if I was confused. She clarified a lot of the literalist theology so I could start to understand it. I think I asked to study the bible with her, with that very hope. According to Dad, she could keep up with devout Catholics. I had two different children's bibles at her trailer, plus she bought me my own standard bible when I was ten, for my birthday. She and Mom took me to the book store at the mall, and had them print my casual first name with my last name at the bottom right corner of the front in silver letters.
Fun fact, someone actually jokingly asked if I'd grown up Catholic because of my apparently deep knowledge of Christianity. That was during the summer last year. The irony of my current proximity to the nearest Catholic church is not lost on me.
What fucked me back up was how I was treated during high school a lot by peers and family, and largely I just got angrier more than anything else. I was trying my best to do better when it all started going downhill fast again. But apparently I was still not good enough. My cousins suddenly became spoiled brats because of my needs frequently not being met entirely, but they seemed so much better adjusted. They didn't understand, and I didn't know how to break my silence. So I started lashing out because i really didn't have the social skills I needed. So yeah, I was definitely an asshole at times. The bullshit from foster care got a refresh, and I was forced to submit to their training again.
Never had any serious issues with Grandma, though in typical moody teenager fashion, I was sometimes a brat.
There's a reason I didn't really come out of my shell again until my junior year of high school. I decided to try to be more brave the year before, since I knew I'd graduate in Ohio. I got better at my art and creative writing, and it seemed to give me a way to connect with others. I decided to go for the culinary class at the career center because hey--good food--and the only thing that was in question was my literal birth date and legal age restrictions with the student restaurant. I got in. Mom and Dad made absolutely sure it was paid for. So I decided to do another nuts thing and go try out for the spring musical. I met one of my closest friends that way. Truly a charismatic character (gonna tag you, @themerrymutants I miss you). I felt accepted and encouraged, like family is supposed to make you feel.
Memories are really just flooding in now, it's a just lot to process. Maybe it's because while answering the person on anon, I opened up a lot of my own psychological cupboards. I never really said a lot of that at once, let alone even explained my logic behind it all. It put a lot of things into perspective for me.
And I just can't help but think, oh, shit, I actually am competent. But I was constantly second-guessing myself because so many of the people around me were hellbent on judging everything I did. Now I understand that in those cases, they most likely feared how authentic I am. Some people, more or less depending on where I was at any given time, thought I was pretty cool because I was so authentic.
I stopped fronting almost entirely when Mom died. I still hadn't recovered at all from literally anything, and didn't know how to handle that. It took cycling through different roles to find something productive for me. I shattered, and ended up pushing most of my remaining idealism into the then-evolving Lilitu.
But I was always at my best when I was true to myself. There were still plenty of people who loved me for who I really was. And that was just enough to keep going. That is precisely what fueled my spite against others who didn't like me. And Mom sure as fuck never quit going.
-Era 🍎😺
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