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I’m not doing good mentally this morning, my bad dreams included past trauma and its send me into a reclusive mood. Doesn’t help that my roomate keeps mentioning that she never sees me, excuse me if I need a couple of days to myself so I calm down and don’t break down crying and screaming to be left alone. People handle trauma differently, I choose not to talk about it or let people know its the reason for my shitty mood.

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Originally posted by softlysaygoodbye

I wonder if he planned it.. I never think about it much anymore.. But he was my basically my brother with how close we were it didn’t help we lived together..

We’d do everything together,

I looked up to him,

I trusted him,

I respected him,

I was so sure he just..

cared about my well-being..

Was he grooming me the whole time, gaining my trust and silence..

But– Something changed..

he wanted to play a game while putting me to bed..

He touched me,

and made me touch him with my hands.. my mouth..

I.. was only 7 years old..

He were 16..He told me it was just a game, I wouldn’t get in trouble…

It was only brief and I didn’t know any better.. But when I did– When I was His age at 16 and In a relationship..

I couldn’t love my boyfriend because of him.. I couldn’t love myself, He only had to touch me once to do all the damage he ever needed too..

I was disgusted it happened.. I was disgusted I let it happen but I was only a child..

He was Supposed

to help care

and protect me..

I trusted him.. and—

He broke me..

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When i walk through the streets I leave a slimy trail of stench and disgust. My presence causes an unbearable atmosphere of dirtiness, aversion, shame and guilt. I just want to disappear and dispose myself.

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Ever had one of those cries that felt, oh so familiar?

It’s as if I’m six years old all over again. Laying in my twin bunk bed that was broken down into separate beds, crying and staring at the wall. Wondering…why me? Why my life? Why did I have to be born within a circumstance of never feeling understood, and being hurt constantly by the ones who are supposed to love you?

That cry where you squench and wince…it’s so painful, you can feel it squeezing your chest and a lump in your throat. That feeling of feeling…


Like you’re backed into a corner, and there’s no way out of the situation. So to release, you cry. You feel the pain, you let it flow out of you because it’s been building up inside for quite some time.

You don’t know how you’re gonna get out, but you swear…you’ll get out of it. You’ll break free from it. Even when it feels like there’s no way at all…you know you’re gonna win this battle. You know you. Somewhere deep inside…your spirit will constantly reiterate that you are damn strong, and this isn’t this end. There is something far greater. I guess my birth name isn’t Winsome for nothing. In the end…I always win.

…and I can’t wait for the end. Not my life, but the battle(s). They’re almost over though, the worst has already passed. I have so many battle scars I can proudly show and tell you the story of how I got them. I can flaunt them and say, yeah, that shit hurt but…look at me. I’m still here. I’m truly a warrior. They thought they could end me…but I’m still here.

Keep fighting. Show gratitude to yourself, and to god. Without god being the commander-in-chief, I wouldn’t be here today.

Eventually, I will tell my entire story, and will be able to help others who are still fighting too. That’s all I wanna do…help myself to heal and help others too.

(Sorry it’s like, 6AM and I’m rambling, but I had hoped my thoughts could help someone.)

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I want to listen to so many different music, but I can’t remember what I ever wanted to listen and which artists should I listen to have my credibility. In the music community you are deemed to be a poser if you haven’t listened to certain artists, and I haven’t listened to many. I cannot be a legit music fan if I only listen to certain type of music and don’t want to get out of my comfort zone. And listening to new music is very hard for me because of my OCD and depression, but even if I listened to all my playlists, it still wouldn't be enough for music community. It takes very long for me to delve into new artists, the process is very slow because of the aforementioned mental illnesses. And if I haven’t listen to “classic artists” that everybody in the music community should listen to, the same goes for “the greatest new artists you should know”? I will be labeled as the eternal poser, and never be recognized as a legit, credible music fan. Same with movies and shows (but in this case, I don’t watch them at all (the same with mental illnesses) which makes me even more of an outcast in the society)

Maybe, that’s why I always feel like an outcast that will never be accepted anywhere. No matter where I am, I always feel that if those people will see my true colors, they will hate me instantly and drive me out from their community for eternity. Even when I am in the community of those who aren’t accepted in society, I still feel like a loner that eventually will be despised by anyone and everyone in this world.

I doubt that it will ever change, to be honest.

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Lingering Abuse

My first girlfriend told me she thought I had been sexually molested when I was younger because I quickly lost the ability to be able to be turned on at all with anyone and feared being touched. It lasted for years after her.

Something did happen to me. Her. She was seven years older when I was sixteen. She verbally and emotionally abused me, threatening to kill herself if I were to leave, for a year and a half, telling me she did everything she did because she loved me, calling me late at night so I’d have to hear her cutting into the phone, I was grounded, lost all of my friends, but genuinely believed if I left….I’d be responsible for someone’s death. My mother had told me she didn’t love me. I didn’t know what love was. No one in my life has ever loved me. She said she loved me….and that her abuse was love. I believed her. I believed her after I felt so unsafe I couldn’t get turned on, and I believed her as I got stuck over and over, and I believed her when I didn’t even want to leave anymore, because I believed her, that I didn’t deserve anything better, and no one else could ever love me. She told me that daily. For a year and a half. By the end, I didn’t even want to leave, not even after she cheated on me.

Because she said that was love, and no one else could ever love me.

I still believe no one can ever love me.

I wasn’t sexually molested as a child, not that I know of, but I was abused by an adult as a teenager for a very long time. It took me years to function sexually normally in a relationship with a girl through the help of therapy, and even now, I’m twenty fucking six, and I can’t feel a thing in bed unless I truly trust and can open up with someone safe that cares about me. I wonder if she is the reason I’m demisexual….or maybe it’s just a complicated trauma thing.

I find myself bitter at anyone normal, because they didn’t have to be with her. I find myself jealous of anyone normal, because they didn’t have the childhood I did, the brokenness I did, they never felt the valve shut off from abuse to never quite work normally again.

They never felt truly unloveable by anyone, including family, like I did.

I’ll never function normally again. No one I’ve met has been able to understand that, not in bed. Ignoring the repeated traumas of the ghetto and the violence and death and drugs that surrounded me, this has been one of my underlying secrets that I still carry with me. It is not as loud as the other obvious things, but a quiet internal loathing and pain I carry into every hook up or relationship. Really, I just need someone to care about me and make me feel safe, it doesn’t seem like too much to ask, but all these years later I still only date girls that don’t and could never love me.

At least their apathy has become less and less….it seems I’m slowly, slowly, improving.

I have no idea what I deserve.

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He used to love orchestral music.

He’d listen to it for hours while planning heists, break-ins, vandalism, and other various schemes.

He would listen to it while going to the grocery store, headphones in and volume turned up. He would go in disguise of course, he didn’t want to get recognized and have to fight while trying to buy leaks.

Sometimes, and this was something he always got excited about when it happened, his henchpeople would rig speakers and blast his playlists while he and the hero would fight.

His favorite pieces involved deep, thrumming baselines that seemed to have darker intentions but don’t get it wrong, that’s not the only thing he would listen to. There were days when he listened to music with brass instruments or viola solos. It depended on his mood.

And then everything changed.

And the old hero retired (he still sent her flowers occasionally, as a gift of good will) and the new one emerged.

But the new hero didn’t seem to like music. And he didn’t seem to like the villain. And he didn’t seem to like the idea of fighting only for show and not actually hurting each other.

And he didn’t seem to like the idea that boundaries were important and that he couldn’t just kidnap and torture the villain as he pleased.

But he definitely liked the idea of using the villain’s music against him; he would carve treble clefs into the villains body, burn 8th notes onto his skin.

Eventually, the hero engraved an entire page of music onto the villain’s back, wrapping around his hips and coming up onto his chest, all while Mozart and Bach blasted from the hero’s speakers. The villain couldn’t remember anything but the pain, he still couldn’t lay on his back.

He used to love orchestral music.

But not anymore.

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