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Mental Abuse - Blog Posts
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 5 6:32pm
Now here we are, in the present, where I’m back after 3 years at 20 years old. Where I’ve learned and grew so much outside of this cage, where I was free from the dark chasm in my life and heart that is home. Where every second around you makes me feel 8 and 10 and 12 and 15 and 17, all simultaneously and all over again. Of course, the abuse has stopped, it stopped a long time ago, but when you have PTSD, things get really muddled. And, yes, I’m an adult now, teaching at an elementary school, and taking care myself for the most part. So, what’s so bad? Well, I’ll tell you.
When I’m back in my childhood bedroom, sleeping on an air mattress, with ALL of my younger siblings, as an adult. When there’s another bedroom that could have been used, but why would it be, when my stepdad uses it to get ready for work, to house the hundreds of products he purchased from Amazon, and in case you forgot from earlier, the thousands of dollars worth of workout equipment that he uses once every 2 months. OH! And get this! His mother is living with us right now, and she now gets that bedroom. Wild, right?
When I’m back to being the in-house, unpaid nanny for the kids. To feed them, watch them, help them with homework, and yes, to correct any misbehaving and report only the extremes. When my stepdad decides he’s bestowing me the responsibility of “supervising the kids cleaning the room”. When he comments on how responsible I’ve always been, and offers me to be back on their car insurance, even though I was never removed from it.
When he comes in the door, and immediately starts yelling and blaming everyone for how “messy” the house is, and to “get this crap off my stuff”, and “who touched my shelf?”. OH, THE SHELF! When he has a whole shelf in the refrigerator that is dedicated to separate all of his groceries for his vegetarian diet and his on-brand food items that cannot be disturbed by anyone else. When he subjects my mom to buying the cheapest version of all food products, but specifically asks for her to only buy specific brands for him. When he has 2 tables in the kitchen for juicing that cannot be used as counter space by anyone but him. When he’s telling me about the health benefits of one of his juices (or as he calls it every time, “a concoction”), and adds, “Bet you didn’t know that when you were vegan, huh?”. When he continues to not allow anyone to use the washer in the evenings when he gets home because he needs to wash his uniform daily. Also! When no one is allowed to use the only bathroom in the house for at least 3 hours, because he needs it reserved.
When he consistently forgets our birthdays or details of what’s going on in our lives because he doesn’t ask, until my mom tells him of an achievement we’ve made and forces him to congratulate us. When he’s rushing to get to where he’s going and he’s bounding and pushing throughout the house telling everyone to get out of his way because he has poor time management and forgets that there’s 8 people in this tiny house right now. When he asks us a question and we answer, but he doesn’t care because his focus is always elsewhere, so he yells at us that we’re ignoring him. When he impulsively decides to buy the kids something or take them out to eat, and he constantly complains about he could be watching Tv instead or badgering the kids about how much it costs.
When you misinform your kids by telling them inaccurate retellings of American and Black history. When you feign authority over whether they can go out with a friend, just to forget about it until the time arrives. When you preach about respect and manners, but continue to disrespect and treat me as a child and allow your kids to do the same. When you brag about accolades and compliments from your job because of said respect and manners, even posting a letter on the fridge, but never celebrating any of us for our accolades and compliments.
When you force me to pay you and mom at least $100 a week ($500 a month) as a rent-adjacent payment to help my mom with groceries and bills, just like you used to. When you constantly lecture me about getting a car, but don’t allow the full autonomy of my finances by threatening my ability to stay in my childhood home with the payments. When you try to tell me how to do my job teaching, when you have zero experience of the sort, and try to speak in a proper manner to match my manner of speaking. When you project your superiority/inferiority complex onto me when you ask me about college, by trying to act that you’re more intelligent than me and more knowledgeable about the subject I’m literally having to explain to you.
When you constantly forget about my mental disorders and my therapy and my medication, then you ask me about them as if it’s your time hearing it, even though you know that my mental health is the whole reason I moved back home. When you weaponize your willful ignorance against everyone in the house, especially my mom, to excuse your participation and involvement in our lives. When you bought walkie-talkies as an updated way of summoning everyone to your room to heed your request, like a bell system that you ring when you need an attendant, saying, “[insert name], report to the bedroom.”, because you can’t be bothered to function independently at home or talk to your family normally.
How you require that whenever we enter your room to listen to you, that we stand on the side, “where you can see us”. How you make my mother wash all of your clothes or prepare your shower. How my mother goes out of her to make your choice of dinner every night, but you consistently change your mind and inconvenience her, or how my mother is currently in school to get her degree and has HOMEWORK, just to get frustrated when your wife isn’t able to spend time with you. How you selectively recognize that my mom is overworked, just to blame it on us, rather than stepping up and being the parent that you should be.
How you ask me to complete your online training and learning modules for your job, despite me not knowing anything about truck driving or transporting oil and that you don’t pay me to complete what you should be completing on your own, again, for your job! How you are teaching your kids to stereotype other marginalized communities by saying, “All Mexicans eat guacamole”, or “Those Asian people look like they squint because they’re eyes are too small”.
How you literally decide to manspread every chance you get and take up so much unnecessary space, and force everyone to move around you and yell when someone can’t get around you, when I’m literally taller than you. How you insult your kids daily by calling them stupid, dumb, clumsy, blind, deaf, etc., when it’s because of your own failings as a parent that they don’t meet your expectations of them. How you lie to everyone not in the household in front of all of us about how you act as a parent. How you lie to your kids saying that a box of doughnuts has been sitting on your table for 3 days and needs to be thrown out, when I just bought it that same afternoon. How you don’t know how to react if the kids have a medical emergency because you don’t know their conditions, medications, and what they’re for.
How you manipulate your kids into serving you (“helping you”) by painting it as spending time together, which is the only time you spend together.
How you constantly speak in very vague and general terms, saying “that thing”, “your stuff”, “over there”, then get frustrated and insult everyone’s intelligence because you can’t think of ways to speak in a more clear and intelligent manner, and expect us to be able to always know what you’re speaking of.
How you asked me why I never come home, and I told you a half-truth. How you’re so observational, yet not perceptive. Because if you were, you would at least have the self-reflection to be able to understand that you’re a despicable, horrible piece of shit excuse for a human being, not even a man. How you can’t even look at yourself in the mirror and realize how you scare everyone with your tantrums and violence. How you can’t even recognize that it’s your fault that things are the way they are, and you can’t expect children to have that level of understanding. How you think you’re so exceptional as a person and as a “parent”, but it’s all a delusion that you make yourself believe because you were raised in the same exact way. How you can’t realize that you were traumatized as a child and as much as I know you hated it yourself, you didn’t strive to be different than your father, you strove to get your chance to do the same.
How you willingly and knowingly married a woman with two sons, and looked at them, and decided to treat them with violence and vitriol, instead of realizing that they don’t have positive father-figures and that you should be different. I hate you for who you made me become. And you’ll never be a parent to me.
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 4 6:32pm
When I was 15, I was forced to get a job to pay for all of my school fees. I had to convince my future manager to give me the position illegally because I would eventually turn 16 in 3 months, which was the legal age to work at the time. After I got the job, you told my mom to force me to give her all of my paychecks to help her with the bills and groceries, and confiscated my money to use as an allowance for me. So, when I continued to be your perfect little pawn, then, I would slowly get the money I needed for my school activities. You used that opportunity to stop helping my mother with the bills, even though she made half as much as you, and a little after I was 16, you had 2 new cars and started your impulsive Amazon shopping habit that turned the extra bedroom into the “workout room” that it is today. I wasn’t even allowed to save for a car because I didn’t have my permit, which is because you and mom decided not to teach me until a year later because I wasn’t “making enough to get a car in the first place”. How does that make sense?
I decided to take inspiration from my father and turn vegan during my sophomore year. I had to learn how to grocery shop on my own for my diet, and cook for myself because he didn’t need “his wife” taking extra time to focus on my “unnecessary needs”, which was fine, I learned so much from that time. But, he also asked me questions everyday about the benefits of veganism and the recipes I was making and how much things costs because he wanted to “cut down from 330lbs to 260lbs”. He tried to make me feel antagonized for being vegan and that I was a burden on my mother for it, but also showed interest in it, then all these years later, he’s vegetarian now because he was inspired by me.
When I was 17 and a senior in high school, I didn’t have the motivation to truly apply for scholarships and to college due to my severe depression. No one ever asked or checked in on how that process was going, because it was assumed that I was doing great in school and would go to college, true, but still. I received no assistance searching for schools and scholarships, and it was because of my teachers that I received my full-ride scholarship to an almost Ivy League-level school. I wasn’t even excited when I received it because I was anxious to tell you all. And, I was right to, because you both weren’t even excited when I told you, the interaction lasted 2 seconds. Yet, you both turned around and gushed to everyone who would listen and on social media of how proud you were of me and how hard I worked. You wouldn’t even tell me that yourself.
I told my counselor about some of the trauma that you put us through because I wrote about it in my essays. I also wrote about how I found out that you were beating my mom, after she told me that she wanted to divorce you. I made the counselor promise me that she wouldn’t report it because the abuse stopped years ago, but while I was house-sitting for my mom’s boss, CPS came to the house. I admitted that I talked to the counselor about some things that happened at home, and my mom told me that she was glad that I was staying at that house because you were threatening to kill me.
I was part of the ever-controversial class of 2020. So, before the COVID lockdowns started, I was already planning for prom and graduation. I asked my “parents” for assistance paying for some of the costs needed to have the prom and graduation that I deserved, I guess I should have expected that you would say no. And, it was a slap in the face when you both told me to research how to make my graduation invitations and find a photographer, to not only pay for by myself, but to send to all of my and my mom’s family and to yours. And after the lockdown, and all those plans were canceled, you only threw me a party after my Nana told me she was making me a cake.
James decided to “gift” me his second pickup truck for graduating. Not mentioning all of the functional issues the truck had, and directing me to pay the $3,000 dollars worth of work that needed to be done to it. Then, after asking him if the truck would survive the 3-hour trip to Atlanta, he told me that he didn’t know and that I should continue fixing it. 2 weeks of me starting college, the truck was out of commission and he refused to help me figure out what to do. And a year later, after paying $1,500 of parking fees for a broken truck, he finally came down and scraped the truck, but kept all the money from it. It’s no surprise though, since through my 2 and a half years of college before this “gap year”, I never received any financial support from my adults.
I spent every break trying to avoid coming home. I took advantage of the fact that my college offered to house students who have abusive households over the break. Especially after my first Christmas break, where mom and I had our fight about literally all the trauma that I have endured from my supposed “father-figures”, that she continues to ignore, excuse, defend, and support. When my school denied me the opportunity to stay on campus the summer after my sophomore year, I thought I was going to be homeless. I wasn’t allowed back home after the fight, and I had no where else to go. But, after talking to my dad’s side of the family, I went back to where I grew up to stay with them. Of course, only to endure more abuse and more “conversations” of them defending my dad, because apparently, my whole family is fucked all the way up!
After I returned for my junior year, I thought things were going to be great. I was finally moving on from all the shit that you and everyone else did to me. But of course, scary men still exist, and after experiencing yet another triggering, traumatic event, I was done with this life that I’ve been dealt. Hence, the medical leave, or as most people refer to it, “a gap year”, and moving to New York with my sister, and then, having no choice but to move back home when everything fell apart.
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 Part 5
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 3 6:32pm
When I went to the high school 5 minutes away from our house, I was in the Honors Academy and still in the Band program. I was busy, with afterschool rehearsals and homework that I couldn’t easily breeze through. It threw a wrench in how the household functioned because you relied on me to pick up your slack as a parent and to take the pressure off my mother. You asked my mother to make me quit the Band program, and when I refused, you made me pay for everything myself and forced me to find a ride home every practice or show. 2 months later, you asked my mom to take me out of the Honors Academy because you thought it was “too difficult because it took so much time”, to which we both refused. But, if it was a sport, would you have reacted the same? I doubt it, considering that you jumped at the fact that Anthony started playing basketball. You blatantly tried to sabotage my high school career and life to take advantage of me. Not to mention, you didn’t graduate high school and you don’t have a GED because you went to jail instead, so why would you try to disturb how well I was doing; the top 5 of my class and the first chair of my section, when you should know what you missed and sacrificed?
By that time, the girls were in elementary school, the same one my mom works at, and now I do too. You made it a personal responsibility to show up for every parent event that they asked you to, and you bragged about how you were making time for it, or how much money you spent taking them out to eat before going. Way to go! I hope you are so proud that you make your kids feel like a burden with how much you speak like that. ALSO, how you rubbed it in my and Anthony’s faces because every time we invited you to “Doughnuts with Dad”, you refused and said it was a waste of time.
I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my friends because it took me away from my responsibilities at home and because my friends were girls. I was bullied because my closet was made of glass, I didn’t know how to connect with my male peers, and I was one of 3 black kids in my grade in the Honors Academy. Neither you or my mom were checking in on me or my grades or how I was doing in high school. You never taught me how to make friends, didn’t warn me of discrimination in a conservative, racist area, and didn’t teach me that there was nothing wrong with me for being me. But, that’s because you didn’t make me feel safe at home and made me feel like I was crazy for thinking that our home wasn’t right. You took and manipulated my mother right in front of me for years, until I realized there was no point in hoping or wishing for a support system. Yet, when we’re out in public, we’re one large, happy family with an amazing life, but behind closed doors, we all shiver with anxiety under the wrath of the king with no visible throne. Things couldn’t be more twisted.
Every day, you walk in the door and immediately call out everything that was wrong. This shoe is out of place, the washer is being used, there’s a tissue box on “your” counter, when everyone, except you, has allergies. Or, did you forget after all this time of your wife needing weekly shots, and all of us kids needing to take medicine every morning and night?
You consistently pride yourself on being an “observational” person. You’re not “confrontational”, so you “sit back and take note of what’s going on around you”. I think you mean to say that you look for all the problems that bother you, and when you explode about this thing or that we need to clean up “this mess”, you excuse yourself from having to get involved and parent your kids by saying you’re not “confrontational”.
We are a 7-person household, where all of us kids sleep in what is supposed to be the living room, and you have one of the bedrooms monopolized as your “workout room” that you don’t even use. We don’t have the space to have a properly organized and clean look. You disregard functionality for presentation, and as soon as you hear the context of the situation after we repeat it for 8th time, you deflect and say to just throw it away. But, you’ve been promising that we would get a new house since I was 10. I’m 20 now, and look, same house AND same behavior!
Daily, you find something that frustrates you and instill fear in everyone. You have such a superiority/inferiority complex with your family and the public that it leaves you with such a scary pattern of irrational violence. You never take the time to teach your kids the same standards or lessons that Anthony and I were expected to meet, and then, you throw a tantrum when they don’t do things the way you want them to. You’re an adult and a parent, we’re kids. We don’t understand how to establish a routine of cleanliness and organization isn’t a talent, it’s a skill. But, you’re so observational, yet you haven’t realized or noticed that the problem isn’t us, it’s you. Because you have such high expectations and such extreme outbursts, but you don’t raise your children to understand and teach them how to meet them and avoid what you call a “consequence”.
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 4 Part 5
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 2 6:32pm
Now, I introduce you to our new roles. I became the “golden child”; conditioned to get the perfect grades and carry out all orders timely and perfectly. I was the “nanny and pseudo-parent”; directed to take care of my siblings, provide food for them, get them ready for school, help with homework, and handle any misbehaving and report only the extremes. I was the “maid”; the only child in the house with chores, which meant I had all of them, even cleaning up after my “parents”. And, I was the “butler”; I had to deliver everyone their plates, eating last, and take James’ dishes after every meal and bring him a hot cloth to clean his hands. I became depressed, anxious, and extremely hyper-independent, curling in on myself and realizing this is not what “home” should feel like. I was “maturing” fast, and my adults took advantage of it.
Anthony was the “rebellious child”. He was more outwardly angry, picked fights at school, and sought comfort in his friends. He wasn’t trusted with responsibility, so he didn’t receive any. And, eventually, the rules and standards that were established with me, as the oldest, didn’t work with him. He gradually grew more and more distant with the family, as I was becoming the crutch for them.
My two little sisters, and soon-to-be youngest brother, were raised more graciously, still servants to the king and with the same emotional detachment. Thankfully, they never had to experience the abuse that Anthony and I had to endure. So, while they love their father, because that’s all they know, they don’t know the true terrors of that man, and I’m truly grateful that they won’t ever go through that.
My mother suffered as you put all of the parenting responsibilities onto her, as you forced her to attend to every need and want you spoke of, as you made her shoulder the finances to keep the house fed and taken care of. You, however, would go to your job (I can’t even remember which one because you job-hopped so much), come home, claim and monopolize the washer and the bathroom for hours, shut yourself in your room to watch “your” TV, beg and call for “your wife” to come spend time with you while asking her to do everything for you, ignore your kids and yell at them to stay quiet, and go to sleep. This is your daily routine, even now in the present.
I left my home because of you. I was 10, and my father had reappeared back in my life for the past 2 years. After visiting him twice, he offered me to come live with him, and I took it because anything’s better than here, right? WRONG. My dad is a whole other story, but I came back after a year. You would think that would be enough time for change to take hold, but it didn’t, and how could there when the space is constantly suffocated and stifled with immaturity, unintelligence, and vitriol.
The standard was to get all the chores done before you got home and without being told, which is normal, if you disregard the fact that you threatened to beat us within an inch of our lives if we didn’t do so. You did plenty of times before. Having to hide bruises with long-sleeved shirts, oversized hoodies, and pants in the summer, and excusing ones on my face with stories of rough-housing or accidental falling against a cabinet.
The standard was to watch the kids at all times, and make sure that they don’t get into trouble. Once, when Malia was learning to stand up on her own, she fell and hit her forehead on a vent, while I was changing a movie for Anthony and I. I was beat and blamed for that accident, and wasn’t allowed to watch anything because my focus should be on them. Once, Anthony locked both Malia and Jasmyn in the car with the keys as they were still infants, and I was inside putting on my shoes, my “parents” still taking their time to leave for church. After I tried calming Anthony down from a panic attack and telling James, Anthony was stomped in the chest against a fence, my mom barely getting him off, and I was punched in shoulder and shoved against concrete while you spat that I should have never let it happen. We were left at home that day.
Once, I was riding in the trunk with the top open, as we got home late, and a shooting happened right in front of me in the street, us kids still in the car in the driveway. You and Mom were in the house because we weren’t allowed out of the car until you said so. You were angry that I didn’t do more to protect my siblings, that I confided in my teacher what happened, and that I woke you up when police came banging on the door at 2am. I was 11. And I had nightmares for months.
Once, you threw Anthony against the washer and beat him in front of your two extended family members at Christmas because he took too long to take out the garbage. Then, your family decided to praise you for it and talk about it, as if it wasn’t brutal and my mom didn’t have to pull you off of him.
Things got better in their own way after my youngest brother was born. I was 12, almost 13, at the time. You magically stopped. I still don’t know what changed to make you stop.
But I still wasn’t your kid.
You started to refer to me and Anthony as “boy”, and nothing else. You made sure to tell us and show us that we were separated from our siblings. You would probably say that we had to earn our keep or that we learned some lesson, but that’s not the truth. You have other kids that are much older than us, and you never contact them or tried to do right by them. I think when my mom told me that years ago, I should have realized sooner the type of man you are.
Part 1 -- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 6:32pm
Today, we’ll be diving into the wonderfully enraging topic that is my stepfather.
It is truly baffling yet underwhelming that a man such as he, exists. And till the day I die, I will continue to wish the most ruthless hell for that man. So, let’s start from the beginning…
The thing about James is that he’s a deceiver. Someone with many masks, with two sides like a coin, a shapeshifter, if you will. I will never forget the first night I met James, I was only 7 at the time. You could feel the dishonesty in every breath he breathed, with words that hid his true identity. I remember telling my mom I didn’t like him when she asked, after he left. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, she remembers too.
I learned the context for his odd behaviors long after the time, but he always hated the house we lived in at the time. He would always come home irritated for some unknown reason, acting in very brash ways. My mother would inform me years later that he hated living in the same house, sleeping in the same bed, eating at the same table, as the boyfriend that came before him. So, I guess the only logical solution would be to move, right? At least partially, no?
We had a wonderful 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom house, around the corner from my Nana. My younger brother and I had friends in the neighborhood, and would scooter around the corner to see our Nana, Grandpa, and Uncle. We went to a science academy, and my mom was doing absolutely marvelous as a single parent. But we moved. To a 2-bedroom, 1-bathroom house, 20 minutes to the next state, infested with roaches and mice, all for a little over $500 a month because dear old stepdad had a friend! And as a bonus (which was really the whole point), he got to call everything his! And did!
Anthony and I are almost 4 years apart, so I was almost 8 and he was 4. We moved churches, and it was like you were a completely different person. You would smile and laugh and joke and would be affectionate. But then again, there were people saying, “Oh, look at well behaved your boys are, James!”, “Your boys are so handsome, James!”, “I know they’re going to grow up just like their daddy!”. Umm… excuse me miss, sir, I’m standing right here and THAT is not my dad.
We would go to our local BlockBuster and would be so excited to see the amazing place that brightened our eyes every time we went. You know, because every kid loves an outing. But, of course, it wasn’t for us. Ever. We weren’t allowed to look at the kids movies, weren’t allowed to ask to see the games they had, just wait for James to pick out the 4 or 5 movies or tv shows that he and his fiance (our mom) get to watch. Thank the universe for Nana for getting us a Wii, because all there was before that was trying to find ways to play with each other or watching wildly inappropriate TV with our “two parents”. Because seeing nudity and sex scenes are important for 8 and 5 year-olds to become men, right James?
Remember that time when me and Anthony were giving each other wedgies because we thought that shit was hilarious? Then, you punched me in the face so hard I flew into and broke our bookcase? Remember that time I stayed up all night playing video games, and you held and choked me against the wall? Remember that time when we lost one of the games we rented from BlockBuster, and after we found it, you threw every single toy, movie, book, game we had in the dumpster? And if not, oh well, because it didn’t stop there!
After my little sister was born, time sped up real fast. All of a sudden, they’re getting married, while just the five of us are standing in the pastor’s office, and I’m holding Malia and deemed “best man”, the day after my birthday. He said to me, “Well, now when you’re grown, you can tell your girlfriend that we got married right after your birthday!”. Then, we’re changing the house layout to where their bedroom and the living room are switching places because we need more space. I’m, now, given the esteemed responsibility as “baby-sitter” at age 8. My mom was pregnant again, and my sisters were going to be 10 months apart. Oh! And the most important bit, Anthony and I were now, “not his kids” (trademark it), and the violence got so much worse.
So, as he built himself a kingdom amongst rags instead of riches, where he is the sole king (without a queen), everyone else became his servants. Everything in the house now had the possessive “my”, every single thing done in the house needed to meet your standards, everyone had to heed your requests and desires, no matter how untimely, and everyone had to be your audience as you spoke of promises for better that never came.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
*Trigger Warnings: Details and Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, drug use, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms, eating disorder, passive aggressive humor.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 7
12:06pm
So yeah, I tried to kill myself. Emphasis on “tried”. I packed up all my shit, so that you and Gem wouldn’t have to touch it or look at it. I took those pills, all of those pills, because I couldn’t and still can’t cut myself. And, I waited in an alley 2 blocks from your apartment in the biting cold for 3 hours, so I wouldn’t die in the apartment, your home.
That slap must hurt, doesn’t it?
Then… nothing.
Nothing happened happened that is. I waited 3 hours, watching Steven Universe to leave with my last chance at happiness and nothing fucking happened. “Oh well”, I thought.
So, I got up, walked back to the apartment, called an ambulance because I took a shit ton of medication that was going to do something other than k*ll me. Went to the hospital, told them not to call you for a few hours because I didn’t care to. The drugs kicked in and I was high out of my mind, couldn’t even walk by myself (HA! LOL), and then… there you were.
I only remember two bits from that conversation. 1.) That you got me food because I realized I hadn’t eaten in however long I was there. And 2.), That you were kicking me out, said I couldn’t come back, that first you felt guilt that switched to anger, that you're "shipping me back to my mom", that what would I think if Gem found me dead in my room, and what would it be like for you both to have to find a new place. And I said, “I’m sorry”.
And I still have more sorry's to give. I know that what I just said was hurtful and unfair and completely victimizing myself, even if it is my side of the story. I’m so sorry for that. Genuinely, I’m so sorry.
I’m sorry that me arriving came at a time, where you and Gem were struggling with new jobs and the eventual lawsuit possibility. I’m sorry that I was another person with damaged mental health added to your household, when you felt like you were the only one keeping everyone afloat. I’m sorry that I never just told you the truth, my truth. Of how I was feeling and how much I was struggling.
I’m sorry that things never went the way we expected. I’m sorry for not being there for you and Gem, the way you both were for me. I’m sorry that I “fed off the energy in the space” and “exacerbated what was already in the space”. I’m sorry for not seeing the obvious signs that you both needed space.
I’m so sorry for not being able to leave the house or eat without being told. I’m so sorry for not being able to find an out-patient program or a job fast enough. I’m so sorry for making you be my one and only protector and supporter.
I’m so sorry for becoming your and Gem’s suffering, instead of just my own.
I’m so sorry for putting myself in your hands when you weren’t prepared.
I’m so sorry for making you take responsibility for me.
I’m so sorry for sharing more with Gem than with you.
I’m so sorry for not making my choice to say, “Yes, I’ll come stay with you”, shown and worth it.
I’m… so sorry… for putting you and Gem through the trauma of me attempting su*c*d*, and the strain that must have caused.
I’m.
So.
Sorry…
For Everything.
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 6
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d* attempt, su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 6
12:06pm
I’ve realized that I wasn’t broken or shattered when I came to you. I was cracked. Hundreds of jagged lines waiting to be smoothed over. But from Langone to those next 6 weeks, pieces were starting to fall faster than the cracks were sealed. The first hospitalization at Emory, moving to New York, our fights, my Granny passing, more fights, my birthday, to that last Monday that I saw the apartment, to the last time we were together. Everything in-between was beautiful and warm, and those specific moments were pain and suffering.
I thought I had reached my breaking. But the truth is, my breaking point was 100 times higher than I ever thought. My mask was too thick, right? So thick that as tears rolled down my face onto the floor and as “I’m sorry” rode along my shaky breaths, the splashes and shakes couldn’t be heard.
You know, it was the smallest thing that pitched me off the tallest cliff that is my breaking point. It was another of your fights, another “open conversation”. I bought my tickets to go see our cousin for Christmas, something that you not only suggested, but I informed you that I decided upon the week before. And, as I listened to you say it yet another slap to your face (this should be a new record at this point, what’s the count, 6?), as I felt the quivering of my anxiety claw at my lungs, as you brought up trying to buy my tickets as if it wasn’t the first time I was hearing it, as I felt a good moment fade… I knew I needed to leave.
To rid you of my presence, my two suitcases, of my laptop, of the heels I bought as my birthday present to myself that I returned because you suggested (another irresponsible spend), of the list I made you of all my favorite foods of me washing the dishes and cleaning the bathroom and staying home and watching the cats as you and Gem traveled on a trip that I was invited on first and of the packet that you and Gem promised you would help me with but didn’t and of me with my angstand my sorrowand my guiltand my anxietyand my depressionand me…
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5 -- Part 7
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, anxiety, bipolar depression, insomnia, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 5
12:06pm
I was hiding my anxiety, my depression, my rage, my insomnia under my mask that I guess was too thick. So thick that it shadowed the drips and drops of the truth, my truth, that I hoped would grow into waves large enough to show on your radar. That I was not okay. Not okay at all. But okay enough to manage, right?
My world was changing so fast and everything was too much, yet slow enough and just not enough that I could see my only motivation to even have a world, flickering in and out with every interaction. With every text left unsent. With every phone call unrung.
I thought things were getting better, I thought I was getting better. But how could I with no therapist, no meds, no one to help me sift through that packet, no one to talk to? All I had was that packet, my laptop, and two older sisters that switched from laughter to comfort, to withdrawn to frustration. From me being there, to me wanting anything but anywhere…
The way you spoke, the way you acted, the way you looked, set me on edge. I felt like an intruder in your home, and during some of your “open conversations”, I felt like you thought so too. There were lines drawn in the sand, when you said you would always prioritize Gem over me, when there shouldn’t have been. There were so many contradictions, “We’re not roommates in college” vs. “I’m not your parent”, or better yet, “You’re an adult who can make their own decisions” vs. “You should at least inform me of what’s going on, so I can help you”, that should have been cut and dry. There were assumptions, so many assumptions, “I think you look for drama” vs. “I think you were trying to be insensitive”, that could have been questions.
So many times, we had “open conversations” that were plainly and painfully, just one-sided. In which your claws were out, and I cried and apologized. Even the one time I found the strength to stand up for myself, I ended up saying “I’m sorry”, drowned in tears enough to last a lifetime.
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 6 Part 7
*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, hospitalizations, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, guilt, bipolar depression, anxiety.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 4
12:06pm
My resolve sparked the shift. The shift from watching my pieces scatter from me sporadically to gluing them back together. By the time I landed, I knew there were expectations for me, whether they were from you or my friends, or even myself. Everything was still moving too fast, I really couldn’t keep up, but all I could think about was that I had to and that you two were there to help me.
But only half of that was true.
After I landed and we went to Langone (hospital), I think both of our expectations broke and we didn’t know what to do. I was in an unfamiliar place (New York City) with a deadline of January 1st to move out. I was losing myself throughout that entire time, and instead of finding hope, I found rejection immediately. Langone was the destination in my mind that would turn the tides. I would be able to heal and receive the treatment that I needed to kickstart the right kind of growth. I was ready to let go of my control of myself and release my inhibitions in the hope of something great… for me.
But instead, I was rejected and I walked away with a packet of every out-patient facility in the NYC area.
Everything was too much. I was broken and was fighting myself to not to want to give up, for you and everyone else, and I decided to keep saving face and see it through. Then maybe, it would be for me too.
After Langone, you were upset, it was nowhere near the plan of me staying in the hospital for 2 weeks. I think that’s when I shied away from you and confided in Gem. I was upset too that Langone didn’t work out, but I was so tired, too tired, of trying to lift off the ground and take flight. I needed time to gain more energy, to repair my mask that was so close to completely breaking. Because if I wasn’t okay enough to manage, then all of your efforts and money would have been wasted. So, I did just that. I rested for almost a week, and felt strings lifting me to dance a song I didn’t know.
You guys did your best to pour into me. By telling me to journal again, to eat, drink water, to get outside. Despite all that was on each of your plates, you made sure I knew that you were there for me. But, how you specifically did it took much longer to understand.
I felt like I was an intruder in your home. A parasite taking what you had for a gain I had not identified or knew existed. I was trying to be so careful; not to do something wrong, to upset you, to make you question if bringing me there was a mistake…
You asked me to wash the dishes, I started washing them almost every time, so you wouldn’t have to ask again. You got upset that second week that I didn’t take out the trash and recycling on time, I made sure to take them out by the end of each day. You told me to clean the bathroom on the weekends, I put time aside to clean it on Sundays. You told me y’all like to spot clean throughout the week, as soon as I saw cat litter on the hallway floor, I was sweeping and moping the whole house.
You told me that I was irresponsible with money, that it was a slap to the face, even though it wasn’t with your money. I stopped buying things that was just for me, bought groceries for the household, and occasionally bought a coffee.
You told me that you expected me to go back to school in January, then when I said that I didn’t want to, you only said okay. I started looking at colleges and scholarships and made a list.
You told me that you didn’t have the space for me to regularly let you know the progress I was making, even though I was putting in all this effort for you, for you to keep seeing me alive and well. I stopped talking because there was nothing left of me to pull from and share.
Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 5 Part 6 Part 7
*Trigger Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse and physical abuse. Descriptions of threats, violence, verbal abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse. Mentions of Bipolar Depression, anxiety, PTSD, self-deprecating thoughts, self-esteem issues, people pleasing, rage. Saturday, Jan. 28th, 2023
2:16pm
My dad texted me early in the morning,
-This is my response to very bluntly and directly tell him off
and here’s what I said to him:
To Dad,
“Listen. I did disrespect you and I did curse at you. I’ll admit it, and I’m taking accountability for that. I don’t like being upset and I certainly don’t like yelling and cursing. However, what I did that day was lesser than what you deserved, you deserved worse. Now, I’m taking the time out of my day to respond to take another chance for you to take this opportunity to hear what I am saying and make a change. But, to be honest, my hopes and expectations for you aren’t high.
First, I want you to understand that you will always be my dad and I will always love you. I care about you deeply, but it will have to be at a distance. Your behavior in how you treat Angel and I is deplorable and disgusting. You are selfish and narcissistic. You are controlling and manipulative. And, you don’t have proper self-reflection skills or any empathy for your kids. I’m sick of it, and I don’t have the tolerance for your behavior anymore.
Time after time, you and I have had conversations, where you never ask me what is going on in my life in full. Every single conversation consisted of talking about yourself, or offering advice that had no relevance to anything that was happening for me. You constantly talk about how much you want to be a part of my life and how you wanted a “seat at my advisors’ table”, but you don’t deserve to because you never showed any real care or interest or attention to me and my life. This “highlights” thing you have is the only thing you care about when it comes to Angel and I, but that’s now what being a father is about. Being a good PARENT (not just being a father) is about raising your child to be their own individual, while you as the parent, help them along the way. It’s not just giving me money, “slapping rocks”, working out, and “highlights”. You should be there to listen to your kids, to tend to them, to be there when they fall, and to correct them when they go wrong. You do none of these things. The year that I was starting college, I had to continuously remind you of what my majors were because: you 1) never asked what they were, and 2) never listened and remembered. And that’s the SMALLEST example of how you treat me that I could think of. You have threatened to kill me, called me embarrassing, tried to tell me that I’m not man enough, and god forbid, try to manipulate me to turn into you.
You never want to hear when I’m struggling or in a dark period, yet you think that you should be an “advisor” for me. What do you plan to advise me about then? You have never ever been there for me when I’m going through a hard time, but you think I should lean on you for what? Support? No, for money, right? Because that’s what you talk about all the time.
I want you to sit and think about what you ACTUALLY know about me and my life because I guarantee that it’s not as much as I know about you, and what you SHOULD know about me. I feel like a prop for you to make yourself feel and look better. Either that, or you’re living through me vicariously with all the “highlights” you receive from me. And you expect me to not be hurt by all of that and much more from you?
Did you know I have Bipolar Disorder? Did you know I took a break from college? Did you know I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from you and every other excuse for a father figure in my life? I bet you didn’t.
I CAN”T HANDLE YOU BEING IN MY LIFE BECAUSE YOU. ARE. TOXIC. When I’m not feeling like you’re “molding me into your image” (which is something you have said out your mouth to me, by the way), you’re sucking all of my energy by me just trying to have a relationship with you. All these years, I’ve tried to adapt and change myself and “just deal” with you because anything with you is better than nothing. But, I realized after EVERY falling out we’ve had, you never sat down and thought about what YOU DID to ME. I was the only one trying to change and make things work, while you just waited for me to come crawling back to Daddy. I DESERVE BETTER THAN THIS. AND, I don’t owe you for anything that you have done for me, you’re a parent. You signed up for this. So, going forward, I think you should go to therapy. I think you need professional guidance to realize how you treat people, especially your family. And, until that happens and you experience change, you and I will continue to not have a relationship. I love you to the moon and back, always will, but I will no longer tolerate your vile treatment of me. I am not just “your offspring”, I’m my own individual. Please, do me the favor of not contacting me again until you’ve grown.”
Friendships are such an interesting component of humanity. They truly serve us in a valuable way in terms of finding connection, interaction, community, and belonging. It’s fascinating and colorful to also see how different people think and value friendship and companionship. I had a rough conversation with my mother about some problems that I have been having about my own friendships at the moment. She brought up the fact that she doesn’t rely on friendships that much because she had a strong relationship to her family that she knew would never waver. She saw reoccurring patterns in the people that she attempted to be friends with, was continuously hurt by people that were a risk to trust, so she realized that friendship wasn’t that important to her.
There is always a risk when you meet someone, or are trying to make friends, or start a new relationship. Deciding what, when, how, and why you want to share with people is always risky, and exposing and opening yourself to people is always a hard thing to do. But why is it so easy for me? I actually find a lot of comfort and release when I open up to people and share who I am with people. I feel like I am getting closer to knowing my authentic self when I let go of expectations and hesitations about who people think I am when I just honestly tell people about myself. However, as a sophomore in college, I have learned to fear that side of myself. I have learned the patterns of hurt and betrayal that surround me with friendships, and even the problems that I am experiencing right now with my friends follow the same trend. I value and think of friendships to be a deeper connection than what most people think for themselves. My family never served to treat me in a loving, caring, affectionate, stable way, and didn’t teach and show me how relationships work and function. Through the abuse and trauma that they inflicted on me, I don’t have a safe space that my mother had when she was growing up. She had a bright, caring family to come back to, I have a dark chasm of self hatred and longing. A chasm that is reserved and meant to be filled by the love, affirmation, and belonging by my family.
So I look to friendships instead to fill that chasm. I pour my all into trying to build a support system through friendships that grow. Being seen, recognized, accepted, and loved put the pieces back together that have always been broken inside me. But the pieces only held together by aging glue. Until they fall apart again because those seemingly supportive friendships weren’t as supportive as I was led to believe. I have a twisted view on friendships, believing that the way that I see and value my friends are, by default, the same way that my friends see and value me, but that is a lie that I keep telling myself. I don’t mean the same thing to them, the same way they mean to me. Why is that so hard for me to understand and live with? Maybe it’s because they will never be the family that I should have received growing up. Maybe it’s because I have too much baggage to be supported by the unstable connections between us that I am desperately relying on. Maybe I am looking in all the wrong places for something that will never be found because the time for that has long passed. Or maybe the problem is just me?
My friends do not owe me anything. My friends are not obligated to constantly support me and fill/fix the everlasting holes within me. Do I address my issues with them? Even when I know that they probably will be offended by what I have to say? I am putting them in an impossibly difficult place. But is it so wrong of me to not to want to be alone? Is it wrong of me to want to feel like I am not broken or damaged, and want to feel like I have people I can come back to no matter what? But maybe that opportunity is not meant for me anymore. Maybe this is all I am meant to get from relationships at this point. I should be more grateful for what I have, for my friends, and for everything that they have done for me, but I can’t help but want for more. But alas, friendships aren’t meant to be used for self-gratification, for me to feel liked, loved, accepted. For me to feel like me, just once, in my fucked up life. please… But maybe this is a sign that instead of trying so hard to get something that is impossible to get, I should learn to live and adapt to what people’s emotional capacities are. I should be willing to sacrifice my wants, needs and desires, and be real with the rest of the world. Because in reality, the time has passed for the world to be able to meet my wants, needs, and desires. Now the world will never be enough.
hi my name is duchesstopaz and i’m a trauma survivor. there are so many things that i want to say, need to say… but no one who can understand if they don’t listen. i want to use my blog to just vent and get out all of this that needs an escape because it’s eating away at me. i am constantly evolving and changing and have grown so much over all of these years. i have a story to tell and this is one of the ways that i can share. so please watch as a 20 y/o shares way too much on the internet lol :). feel free to interact if you would like, feel free to give advice if you would like, but this is truly something purely for me that i would like to share.
So do I, Sweetheart. <3 😈 🔄
Constantly being surrounded by people who have it worse than you so you don’t realize how bad it is until you mention something offhandedly that you thought was funny and someone looks at you and tells you that the thing you thought was good was actually bad and then you start thinking and remembering how everything wasn’t good at all and was actually very bad
His little Mate
Summary: An odd girl, Silver's somehow different than anyone else in Derry, and her life's about to get much more complicated. With children going missing, bullies in every corner and new friends, she'll have to gather enough courage to survive the summer that's coming, and the choice that must be made, if not by her then by another. Rating may change later. Also struggled to pick the genre.
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Chapter 1
Footsteps and laughter echoed in the Denbrough home as seven year old George Denbrough ran into his older brother's room. It was absolutely pouring down and Bill was sick with the flu, but he'd promised to make Georgie a boat he could take outside and play with. Georgie's face had lit up and he nodded with a large grin, staring out of the window and into the distance as Bill made the boat with some paper from his notebook, old newspaper and some tape. He could hear the crinkling of the paper as it was folded again and again until at last, there it was. Bill grabbed a thick black pen and wrote S S Georgie on the side. "Now, g-go t-t-to t-the cellar a-a-and get m-me the p-p-paraffin w-wax."
"What's that?"
"I-it will a-a-allow t-the boat t-to f-float."
"Okay." He rushed obediently to get the wax, eager to get going. He passed his mother in the lounge. She was playing the piano. Georgie was careful not to disturb her, creeping past the doorway and down the cellar. The wax was on the shelf just as Billy said it was, but something was...off. Georgie hated the cellar. It was large and dark - the perfect place for monsters to hide in, which was ridiculous because both his parents and more importantly, Bill and Silver, said there were no such things as monsters. No such thing as monsters. It was something he kept reminding himself of. Yet, as he picked up the wax, there was a noise that made him almost jump out of his skin, his heart racing in his chest. He spun around, his torch shaking in his hand as he tried to find the source - a pair of glowing lights staring at him in the dark. His eyes widened in fear, but he stayed where he was, his free hand going for the light switch. The light turned on, his shoulders slumped in relief at the sight of the "glowing lights", which were nothing but two torches lying side by side on the shelf.
He giggled and ran up the stairs, walkie talkie in one hand and the wax in the other. He had to put one down in order to turn off the light and shut the door, picking it back up after and running back to Bill. It never occurred to Georgie that the two torches couldn't have possibly been responsible for the glowing lights in the Cellar, as they were both off at the time. If it had, his fear would have returned and he probably would have questioned it further. It only took about five more minutes to finish the boat, grab his bright yellow raincoat and green wellies and rush out of the door. Rain pelted down on him as he stopped at the end of the driveway and turned to wave to his brother in the top window. "Bye, Billy!" He didn't bother to respond when he heard Bill's voice on the walkie talkie, warning him to be careful. It was slowly getting dark, it was pouring down and there was not another soul in sight, but Georgie didn't mind as he placed his boat down in the water next to the curb and began chasing after it in glee. If Bill Denbrough knew that was the last thing Georgie would ever say to him, and the last time he ever saw his brother, he would have done something, anything.
But he didn't. And Bill Denbrough never saw his brother again.
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For being October, the weather wasn't as cold as you would have expected. It was just raining. Georgie laughed loudly, jumping in puddles as he ran down his street onto Witcham Street. The boat was yards in front of him. Georgie was so busy keeping an eye on it that he forgot to keep an eye on where he was going. He slammed into one of the road signs with a loud "Oof!", landing on his back. Unfortunately, this allowed the boat to pull even more ahead, something he noticed. He shot to his feet, running faster than before. But the water was running too fast, and his boat ended up going down one of the storm drains. "NO!" He lunged at the boat but missed by a few seconds. "No." He crouched down, uncaring whether he got his clothes soaking wet or not, and peered in despite knowing it was a lost cause. "Bill's gonna kill me."
Georgie switched positions so he was on his hands and knees and ducked his head a little more. But it was dark; too dark too see anything. It didn't help that the water going into the drain sounded almost like a hollow waterfall. He was about to leave when a pair of amber eyes opened suddenly and stared straight at him. He screamed, jerking back.
"Hiya, Georgie."
The voice was sweet, soft and somewhat high pitched, yet he had a feeling it came from a male rather than a female. The voice moved closer to him until he was able to see who - or rather, what, it was. It was a man dressed as a clown. He couldn't make out all of the clown's features but he noticed it was chalk white with rather plump cherry lips and a painted red nose instead of one of those stupid red noses clowns usually used and a ruffled costume.
Hold on, I thought they were amber. I'm sure they were amber a moment ago.
But who the hell has amber eyes? And yet, the eyes Georgie swore were amber moments ago, were a bright sky blue - the same colour as his mother's. In his white gloved hand, he held up Georgie's paper boat. What was a clown doing in the sewers?
"What a nice boat. Do you want it back?"
"Um, yes please."
"You look like a nice boy," he whispered. "I bet you have a lot of friends."
"Three, but my brother's my best, best."
"Where is he?"
The question revealed the clowns two rabbit like teeth that Georgie thought was kind of adorable.
"In bed, sick."
Good. That makes things easier.
"And I have a sister. She's older than us."
Well, she's not really my sister, but close enough.
"Her name's Silver because of her silver hair. But some call her the silver dragon because she can be fierce and terrifying sometimes. She says dragons are territorial. They're supposed to be possessive and protective over their things - things they claim as their treasure. That's why my brother and his friends call her the silver dragon. She also said you don't have to be blood family to be family. You may not be able to choose your blood family, but you can damn well pick the family you choose to have around you."
"That's very wise of her. Very wise indeed."
"I know. She very smart."
"And where is she?"
"Um, I don't know. She's probably at home if she hasn't had a craving and gone to the store to fix it. She get's craving all the time. I remember she once said something about them being bad, but if she were pregnant, they'd be a lot worse."
"And is she?"
"Is she what?"
"Pregnant? I could give her a present to welcome the new baby. I could give her a balloon. Do you want a balloon too, Georgie?"
"She's not pregnant. She's only a teenager. She's too young for that stuff. Everyone else says so. And I'm not supposed to take stuff from strangers."
"Oh, well, I'm Pennywise the dancing clown," bells jingled as he jerked his head abruptly at the word 'dancing'. "Pennywise, yes, meet Georgie. Georgie meet Pennywise." His hand pointed between the two of them upon introductions. Georgie let out a soft laugh. "Now we aren't strangers, are we?"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Georgie knew something was wrong. But he let it go because this clown was funny and friendly, and there was no danger as far as he could see. He barely heard the door of the house in front of him, open. He didn't see the old woman come out, pulling the blinds up. But she noticed him. She pulled her coat tighter around her and ran back inside. "What are you doing in the sewer?"
"The storm blew me away. Blew the whole circus away," he chuckled with a grin. His grin faded as he regarded him with a slightly more series expression. Even more of the clowns face was revealed enough for Georgie to see the two red painted lines going from either side of the end of his top lip to underneath his eyes. His teeth were too large because he was drooling badly. "Can you smell the Circus, Georgie?" Now that he thought about it, he could smell something. And he swore he heard voices of children softly singing. "There's peanuts...cotton candy...hot dogs aaaaand...?"
"Popcorn?"
"Popcorn! Is that your favourite?"
"Uh huh."
"Mine too," Pennywise laughed, his grin returning, "because they pop. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!"
Georgie laughed joining in until he suddenly stopped. Georgie did too. Pennywise stared at him with such intensity, it made Georgie uncomfortable. He needed to get home anyway; the rain wasn't letting up anytime soon and his family would no doubt be worried about him by now, and he didn't want to get sick like Bill. They'd want him home, and truthfully, Georgie had enough with playing outside. He was cold, tired and soaking wet. All he wanted to do now was go home, get dry and changed and maybe have something to eat. It must be close to dinner time by now anyway. It was the perfect excuse to leave. "I should get going now."
"Oh, without your boat?"
He once again held up Bill's boat. But this time, Georgie was hesitant. The bad feeling from earlier was back and it was growing stronger every second. Then he remembered what Silver once told him.
Always trust your instincts. They'll never steer you wrong. If you have a bad feeling, it's because something's wrong and your instincts are trying to warn you. Don't ever ignore it.
The clown obviously noticed his uncertainty, because his next words were the reason Georgie made the biggest mistake of his life. A mistake in which he dearly regretted making, having wished in the next few minutes that he had listened to Silver's warning instead. But he didn't.
"You don't wanna lose it, Georgie. Bill's gonna kill you."
He has a point. I don't want Billy to kill me or get angry for losing it.
Pennywise's mouth twitched upwards- something Georgie failed to notice and he stared thoughtfully at his boat. "Here. Take it," Pennywise offered, emphasizing the word 'it'. "When Georgie didn't immediately go for it, he tilted his head and said, "Take it, Georgie." His hand rose a little, and Georgie found himself getting closer. The boat was just inside the drain - close enough to reach out and quickly pluck. But Georgie didn't want to be rude, so he reached in instead. He had almost got it when Pennywise pulled his hand back, forcing him to shuffle forward more so his hand could reach even further.
If Georgie had listened to Silver or if he had been focusing on the clown's face, he would have realised the wrong feeling was because of It. Unfortunately, he was so focused on getting his boat back, he never noticed the clowns eyes turning from blue to amber, indicating his earlier thoughts about It were in fact, correct. Once he was close enough, he grabbed Georgie by the wrist, his buck teeth transforming from something cute and adorable to anyone's worst nightmare. Rows or incredible sharp teeth that reminded Georgie of a Dinosaur or a Dragon, grew, and he opened his mouth wide - wider than possible- and bit down on his arm. Georgie let out a loud scream as he instinctively fought against his attacker. Whether it let him go or not, didn't matter. White hot pain shot through his arm and through the rest of his body. Georgie found himself on his stomach not far from the storm drain. At first, he was relieved, but when he looked down at his arm, it was gone. Blood poured out of the wound, mixing with the rain as he tried crawling away. Shock hadn't yet settle in, his wound and the agony crippled him enough that he couldn't just get up and run, giving that thing the advantage.
Unseen by him, a gloved hand crept out of the drain, stretching to an impossible length and grabbed him by the ankle. Georgie felt himself being pulled and knew it was that thing. Terror gripped him tight as he tried and failed to find anything to hold onto. He gave one final cry of, "SILVER!" before he was pulled down the drain. He missed the woman from before, rushing out after hearing his screams, only to see blood and water but no child. The only thing he knew upon being dragged down was yet more agony then nothing.
Georgie Denbrough's last thought, besides wishing either Silver or Bill were there to save him, was that Silver was wrong; monsters were in fact, real.
the saddest part is my mom suffered a toxic, lonely, and dehumanizing upbringing... but she doesn't understand that her trauma doesn't invalidate my trauma, it doesn't make the emotional and physical abuse she puts us through valid or okay.
i confronted her about all the arguments we've had over the years... she excused it by her injuries, and when i pointed out that this was happening prior to her injuries she said stress... it was stress, she was stressed out and that it was okay since she was stressed. she always calls it a breaking point.
i love her so much, but she scares me, and hurts me and herself.
i am afraid that ill turn into her when im older... i never want to reach a "breaking point". i never want to be like her... i understand she is a single mother, but still.
it’s the part where i have to let my older brother leave this house... like ive never been away from him in an environment like this... it becomes scary ya know... knowing that ill become the center of attention that she can nitpick on... in the end i know it’s for the best, so that he can start a life away from her, i just have to hold on three more years...
As if these past few years couldn't get more disturbing...
While they are shoving celebrity slaps and reality tv in our face, across the globe, people are screaming for a shred of freedom, and having their children snatched away from them. Is this really about "safety" at this point? What is happening to them could happen to the rest of us if we remain silent. They will create a problem, then snatch away every shred of freedom we could possibly own just to "fix" that problem. People will eventually have to create their own solutions. We know what we want. It is up to us to take it. There is strength in numbers, but a few individuals in their little high chairs have convinced us that we are lesser than. How have they done that for so long? It will come to a point where we can no longer rely on figures that would have us b*mbed in a second if it meant they could spit right back at their opponent.
These people don't want to lead. They want to destroy. The world is their playground, after all.
I hoped to never go on to social media to call out someone for abusing me in some way... but here I fucking am.
TW// grooming, toxic relationship
At the age of 10, I met someone online who I shared a common interest with. They introduced me to their friends, and one of them would become my abuser. After our little group fell apart, her and I stayed friends. Eventually, we figured out we liked each other, and we started dating by the time I was 12.
Things were fine for awhile, but during an arguement one time, I remember her calling me toxic. I didn't even know what that word meant, yet it stuck to me for years. I didn't get over that until I finally stepped into the light, left her behind, and finally started to get better.
We'd keep arguing, we'd take "breaks", but with each break we'd end up still be like "ily" and realize that we weren't truly having a break, ever.
Once we broke up, it only took me a day to decide that we couldn't even stay friends. It didn't feel right. I ghosted her, and I don't even remotely regret it. I was only 13. Things were quiet, and with my therapist, I had come to realize how much she really abused me.
6 months later, my abuser reached out to me. She snuck into my discord server, once she revealed herself, I was willing to make small talk. I was willing to forgive. I was naive.
I mentioned that I told my friends in my server about what she did. So she snooped and got upset when I called her a groomer. So, I deleted that message... but I really shouldn't have.
I'm 16 now, and I only just now realized that she abused me so much worse than I think. Everytime I realize that she did something wrong, I think "it can't get worse than this.", but it has. Most of my memories of the time I had with her is blotted out, but one thing I do remember is a BDSM list.
I was 13, maybe even 12, when she sent me the blank list, and one filled out. She told me, "You should do this and send it to me. Here's mine." I don't remember looking at hers, but I remember genuinely trying to fill it out, because I was young. I was naive. I didn't know any better.
I didn't know most of the things listed on it. I had to look half of it up, and I was so uncomfortable doing it the whole time. Not like anything could have had any truth to it because I was fucking 12/13. I had absolutely 0 experience in anything sexual. I was so uncomfortable doing it, it wasn't fair to me to do something like this and not understand any of it.
I didn't realize how damn weird it was back then. I only just realized it and it's been nearly half a decade. There are certain people out there that have used that list to groom their victims, I found it out just now, and it hit me like a fucking train to realize that I was victim to it.
Tabby, I don't fucking give a shit if I ruin your chances of college, or a job. You don't deserve a good life because you ruined mine. And even though I've learned to grow around my trauma, I cannot move on from the fact that you are the reason I struggle so much today. I don't fucking trust people, because of you and the way you treated me. But I have learned to realize that I will not tolerate people stepping all over me and I will not be treated unfairly because I have fucking worth and you don't get to act all innocent anymore.
My abuser is Tabbybat6. Bluebat, Tabbitha, whatever the fuck she goes by now. I first met her on Steam, we moved to hangouts, then Discord. She has Wattpad, Instagram, Tumblr, and on everything I could think of, I have her blocked and restricted.
Tabbitha, if somehow, you're reading this, I hope you understand the way you made me feel, someday. I hope you feel all the pain you made me feel from your abuse. And I'm praying to the god I don't believe in that justice gets fucked served.