tomorrow I am 18.
why this makes me so incredibly suicidal, I am unsure.
I’m mourning when I should be excited,
tomorrow I am 18.
a public journal, of sorts. day by day, maybe i'll feel a little less alone. | they/them
OH, MY DEAREST ******,
i hate you beyond comprehension. i miss you so much. why do i miss you??? why why why why why, ******?? do you know why??
ever since the abuse i have felt that there is something intrinsically wrong with me.
****** your hands are so cold!!!! pl e ase let go i can’t breathe
****** DID YOU KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU DESPITE IT ALL
DESPITE THE THINGS YOU FORCED ME TO DO???
DID YOU KNOW THAT, ******????
I’M SO SORRY IMSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY IMSORRY, ******
DESPITE IT ALL I LO VE YOU SO MUC H
im nearly eighteen. i have less than a month
how. how and why?
why do i have to become an adult when i didn’t get to be a child?
i want those 9 years back. give them back.
give it back. i want my innocence back. why did they steal it?
why did they take so much from me?
i don’t want this. i don’t.
where did the time go
******!!!! ******, ******, ******!!! it’s summer once again, ******!!!!
do you remember last august, ******???? last september??? nOVembEr????? hoOW ABOUT OCTOBER, ******???
DO YOU REMEMBER, ******?
DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID LAST AUGUST???? LAST SEPTEMBER??? NOVEMBER? HOW ABOUT OCTOBER, ******????
ARE YOU GOING TO FIND ME AGAIN, ****** ??
ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE ME BLEED AGAIN???? ARE YOU?
ARE YOU GOING TO TRAP ME AGAIN?? CUT ME OPEN?? ARE YOU GOING TO, ******???
YOUR HANdS Are SO CoLD, ******.
iLOVEYOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU
my paranoia is getting worse. i have work to do and i don’t want to take my Seroquel because it knocks me out. my mom made me take it. i don’t want to sleep. the minute i go to bed i
holy shit. it’s really gotten this bad. i can’t finish my fucking sentence because i’m convinced that if i think about it or say it or write it, it will happen. i’ve been obsessively knocking on wood. i need to. why? because if i don’t do it the the *IEU*(E8uy9e89ye89uy i can’t write it i can’t write it I can’t write it FUCK
i’ve been making my parents knock on wood too and i lash out if they don’t. because if they don’t if they don’t if they don’t if the hsKJKJHBJKDBJHKHJKUIY#eewu8e3ep3ei####I#IO#U#U3oii3u
holy shit i can’t. don’t say it don’t write it don’t think it don’t don’t don’t don’t
every time i try i freak out and smash my hands on the keyboard
fuckfuck fuck fuck fuck
16 MAY 2021 // 22:19 PST
i haven’t eaten in nine hours. i can’t. it makes me feel sick.
my nightmares have gotten worse. my fear of being asleep is debilitating. it’s getting harder and harder to remind myself that i’m being excessively paranoid about things that are “unlikely” or some shit. i’m convinced that i’m constantly in danger. i don’t like being asleep because it means i can’t defend myself or my family. i don’t like not being in control of my surroundings. i want barbed wire on the fence. i want a taser. i want a full, realtime security system where there’s a security agent constantly watching the cameras and who will call 911 when something is happening. i want to be so intimidating that nobody would even fantasize about hurting me or my loved ones. i feel like i’m losing my fucking mind. i’m so tired of screaming in my sleep. i’m so tired of quadruple checking the locks on every fucking door. i’m tired of closing my curtains as much as possible so that nobody could possibly locate where i am in my room because im convinced that someone would peer through my window and shoot me in the head. i’ve been constantly knocking on wood because i don’t wanna know if it’s real or not. if it works then i wanna do it. im not even a superstitious person but here i am knocking on wood every time i even THINK about these horrible situations that play out in my head.
what if he finds me? what if he hunts me down again? what if he’s still watching me?
i can’t shake the feeling. i haven’t been able to ever since the abuse started.
i can still feel it. on the back of my neck. i never feel safe. he continues to have a suffocating grip on me even after i mustered up the courage to get as far away from him as possible. listen to the fbi. lock everything down. deactivate all my social media accounts, lock my phone number, get my school e-mail changed.
but he’s still here. he’s left an impression of himself, it’s seared into my mind. he left marks. holy fuck, he left marks. i still have the burns. i still have his name permanently scarred into my flesh. thank god most of the facial scars from the razors are gone, because i stayed inside until they fully healed (not that i had any interest in going fucking anywhere. ever), religiously applied mederma and wore gauze on my face for a fucking week and a half. i wasn’t as lucky with his name because he made me RE-OPEN THE WOUND EVERY FUCKING NIGHT.
there was so much blood. there was so much fucking blood.
why did you do this to me, ******?
you convinced me that this was love.
why the fuck do i feel so empty without you even though you tore apart what was left of me?
i have a friend overseas who i’ve known for around 4 years now.
he’s really important to me. but i’m scared.
i’m scared because he hasn’t betrayed me.
i’m scared because he hasn’t gotten rid of me.
i’m scared because he hasn’t dropped me.
i’m scared because he insists that he cares about me.
i’m terrified of all of it, it’s so foreign to me. to have someone who doesn’t want to break me down until i’m nothing.
whenever he says he cares about me
the only thing i can think of is “i don’t believe you.”
ican hear him again. i can feel his hands. they’re cold. they’recoldthey’recold they’re so cold
i long for the euphoria of being loved by the person he pretended to be
being loved by the mask that he wore
but it was all fake
itwasalie itwasalie itwasalie
thecuts there were so many cuts there was so much blood
on my lips
on my face
on my thighs
i couldn’t stop bleeding it just kept flowing andflowingandflowing
andicried for him to make it stop
make it stop make it stop make it stop
but he just told me to smile
and i did.
he said i wasn’t bleeding enough so i dug deeper
itwasn’tenou gh it will never be enough
****** why why why why did you do this to me
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou so much and i fucking hate your guts, ******
get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head
GET OUT OF MY HEADGET OUT GET OUT GET OUTGETOUT
never in my life have I found a community like this one, a community so unapologetically open about their pain. it’s such a breath of fresh air. i feel.. so much less alone when i read & write here. the ability to share my story, my struggles, my feelings, and my trauma here has saved me. the thing about trauma is that it’s so taboo, i can never talk about it. i have to keep it shoved away in a lock box- but not here. here i can scream, and cry, and experience my unrelenting rage with no shame. here, i get to struggle.
i get to struggle and i’m not alone.
trigger warning for mentions of stalking/blackmail/abuse + victim blaming + abuse romanticization + mentions of forced self mutilation… and excessive sarcasm on my part (under the screenshots).
thread 1: on my post “liar [internal dialogue]”
thanks for the insincere apology. how do I know it was insincere? oh, well, I dunno… maybe because you continued to act like this even after I made it clear that you had crossed boundaries.
thread 2: on my post titled “temptation”
thread 3: on my post titled “i love the person you pretended to be”
context for my reply below VVVV: it took me a bit to type out and I hadn’t seen the above response until I had posted my reply.
right. a r*pe victim who has c-ptsd and 9 years worth of trauma is miserable! so surprising!! wow!!! i had no idea!!!! thank you for enlightening me!!! what a genius you are! /s
don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me DON’T TOUCH ME
my skin is fucking crawling. he’s here again. he’s in my blood, in my bones. he’s in my room, but he’s not. his hands are cold. ****** please leave me alone. pleasep lease please pleaseplease leave me al one,,..
i can hear him again. i can hear him. a broken record, repeating over and over all the things he said
i can feel the razors. it burns it burns it burns it burns makeit stop please, ******
my body is a trauma graveyard and these scars are the gravestones
please stop ican’t breathe you’re hurting me, ******. you’re hurting me. you’re hurting me again.
i might be called selfish or vain for what i’m going to say but quite frankly i don’t give a shit because i know neither of those things are true. i hate my body. not because i’m ugly but because i’m “conventionally attractive” or some shit. contrary to what it sounds like, my head isn’t up my own ass and I’m basing this off of what i’ve been told about how i look (for most of my conscious life). i’m really tiny, i have an hourglass body shape, i’m “fit”, my skin is clear, and i have good facial features (god it’s so hard to write this without sounding like a self absorbed piece of shit). and you know what? i fucking hate it. HATE it. i wish i was invisible. i wish i could wear what i wanted without being sexualized and without terrifying old men looking at me. my size makes me vulnerable. i’m under 5ft by a reasonable amount. i’m an easy target. i want to be ambiguous. i want nobody to know that i’m there. people ONLY CARE ABOUT MY BODY. it’s almost as if i’ve been stripped of my right to be called human and i’m nothing more than an object. a puppet. a toy. i’m so tired of being dragged around and toyed with. i’m so tired of being used.
will i ever be human again
“please don’t confuse me wanting your body as the only reason I talk to you” – ******, my abuser.
the person who said that to me is the same person who forced me to dig a razor into my face. the same person who made me carve his name into my thigh.
i am nothing but my body and i have come to accept that.
i am good for nothing.
“i love you for more than just your body”
bullshit. BULLSHIT. ****** wasn’t the first to say that. he was one of many, i say many because ~8 years (excluding ******) worth of abusers isn’t something i can translate into a number. because i’ve lost count.
the ONLY reason anyone is EVER “interested” (romantically) in me is because of my fucking body.
they use me. they get bored. they discard me.
this is why i hide.
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