Category: trauma survival

I survived because there was no other option. Not even the obvious.

cryptic with no apologies

screaming dead star

there is still so much to fucking hate.

i don’t know whether i’m angry or upset or what. i know i’m crying, but i don’t know why. not really. because it was unfair? because it was vile and the only way they could have been more cruel is by calling me ‘it’? …oh wait, shit, that one ticked off the list as well.

i’m so fucking angry at myself that i let them ‘apologise’ to me and have a place in my life, however small. it’s why i put my foot down when i get certain friend requests on bloody facebook.

and like. it never fucking leaves? literal keloid or shattered pieces of a soul. names that were slung at me like fucking grenades: kit, zozie. monster.

screaming that i never had any problems at all, everyone else’s illnesses and tragedies and troubles were all more important than mine, and when i managed to get a word in edgeways to scream that um, yes, even though you think i am subhuman, i also have had a really fucking hard life — oh no, i just made that up for attention.

whose? yours? why the fuck would i want it?

but hey. paint a target on me. go on, kick me harder. i’m seventeen forever. i’m nothing but a bruise. i’m subhuman. i’m a doll. i’m a cult member. liar, bitch, whore. come up with something more original next time, it might actually catch my attention.

2002, 2012. there’s no difference. that’s what stunlocks me hardest. there’s no. fucking. difference.

here’s to survival. ha.

brainsick

perspective

 

“She’s found a family that understands her at a time of experiencing a relentless depression and loneliness, and that, like any illness, could very well have meant the end of [her], had she not found a tribe willing to take her in. Would she even really survive, returning to modern civilisation? Her fate very well may have ended the same as her sister, in that case, taking her own life as a result of this depression. At least with the Hårga, Dani experiences some actual happiness. Even if she’s chosen at random to be sacrificed for some stupid ritual only a week after the movie ends, we could still argue that even the briefest experience of pure happiness is a better fate than returning to where you don’t belong, to further deteriorate in isolation. She may have withered away and died in darkness, without ever having known the light of life.”

— “Why The Midsommar Discourse Misses the Point”, Terror Formed

cryptic with no apologies

all the troublemakers

Brittle little smile, pretty petrol eyes
We keep our shadows locked up here inside
Try not to offend or to disappoint them
Write them letters you will never send

Don’t show that you’re hurt
You won’t be the first to hide the bruises there under your shirt
Oh, and your secret’s safe with me, so admit your complicity
And write them words that they will never read

Oh, they stay in shadows, all the heartbreakers
Oh, they stay in shadows, all the troublemakers —
It’s always the quiet ones.

It’s always the quiet ones.

trauma survival

I’ll let it go when it stops happening to me.

It is just so, so unfair that people who went out of their miserable little way to be deliberately cruel and, let’s be honest, downright fucking evil are all happy and okay and forgiven, and I’m the one sobbing hysterically at 3PM on a Sunday afternoon touching literal scar tissue and remembering every. single. fucking. sensation. and realising that this has been the way of it since I was a child, and those types of fucked-up fuckups know. They’ve got a radar for people who are weak and hurt and they hone in on them like heat-seeking missiles.

But I forgive them. Of course I do. They’re no longer who they were, then.

Unfortunately I am still me, and the keloids tell entire stories in languages nobody in the world can understand.

I’m not strong enough to keep doing this. I can’t keep having my face rubbed in my own vomit. I am not strong enough, stop saying I am and then being annoyed when I fall. Listen to me. Listen to me. I don’t wanna do any of this any more. I’m so tired. Please.

brainsick

“Your words are poison.”

“Anyways, bi-polar is not a ‘mental disorder’, in a sense. Medicine can fix it, all it does is cause a chemical imbalance, and that causes you to have mood swings. That does’nt mean she is more likely to do anything drastic, as long as she is taking medication for it.”

There are still some things I am so, so angry about. There are still some things that make me sick to my stomach, that kick my trauma response into full wakefulness, that make me want to vomit all over my keyboard. There are still scars from where I was trying to let out the fear and pain without making a sound…and was then mocked for it.

There is still so much to fucking hate.

It’s why my hair-trigger response now is instant white-ice silence when I sense some shit’s going on behind the scenes. (Or when I know, nevermind sense.) I am not going back to that place, I am not letting that poison into my life again, and you can try to inject it into it for as long as you like, babes, but I am not here for it and I am not going to put up with it. Nobody gets away with garbage, this time. I am never going to be an online punching bag for a group of cliquey, nasty Mean Girls ever again, and I am not going to interact with anyone who has anything to do with people who continue to indulge in this behaviour, whether that’s on Twitter or the TFL boards or goddamn anywhere.

Because you know that thing that adults tell you? “Don’t worry, after high school all the catty, petty behaviour will stop, you’ll see”? Yeah, that is a fucking lie. It doesn’t. People just become older, that’s literally all.

You are worth so much more than they say you are.

brainsick

Nothing was ever meant to be mine

Oh, every day and every night
Persistin’ pain and the criminal mind
Nights the beating of my heart kept me up
The mournful crescent moon hung beyond the window
I do wish me a lovely night…
Where’s my end finally gonna be?
Everything’s so exhausting, from A to Z
When’s this wretched mask finally gonna come off?
Yeah, me no hero, me no villain
I’m barely anything
Idling repeats, memories turning vicious
Lying in a field, I set my sights on the skies
Now, I can’t remember what I wanted so badly
I trusted I was happy, now a mere memory

brainsick

a murmuration of starlings

I am…I am very, very tired, and very defeated, and I don’t want to fight anything anymore. My mother’s broken, my father’s broken, my brothers are selfish, I’m a disappointment to everyone, and I…am very tired. I just would like my mind to break, to set me free of this. I don’t mind madness; it lets you be fooled that everything can continue as it is and the car you’re in isn’t heading straightforward into a concrete pillar at 200km/h. When impact occurs, if your mind is already broken, you don’t even feel it.

Hope really is a fine killing thing. A slow, fine killing thing.

Literally the only thing that might fix all this is a lotto win. It all comes down to money. Even health can be bought with enough money. It’s vile to the extreme.
Unfortunately, none of us have any.

I’m too tired to be disgusted by that fact. I’m just too tired for anything. Golden hour passed like a dream and the sun has gone.

At least I had the dream, I suppose.