#actuallyabused

This issue of Ms. Marvel fuck me up so much. It’s not just about me not being straight and having been afraid of being outed. It’s so much deeper than that. So much deeper than I could ever express. So much deeper that I only feel free to talk about it on a side-blog mental illness blog instead of on my main/fandom one.

This kind of support would’ve mattered so much to me when I was in the hellhole called middle school. If I hadn’t been so utterly alone in school as secrets of mine were outed and openly mocked by people I swear I could maybe not have ended up like I did. I swear I could maybe not having started cutting and burning myself. I swear I could maybe not have attempted suicide twice. I swear I could maybe have not developed a mood and personality disorder. Of course, everything was multi-determined, there were countless factors, but that doesn’t change the fact that I went through in school may have been by far the start of my downfall. Or maybe a major early accelerator of a slower downfall that was already happening, but not as completely vertical instead of diagonal as it then became. Whatever, it was a watershed in my life if a bad, bad, BAD way.

I wish so much I had had a Nakia in middle school. Or a Kamala Khan in middle school. Not because Kamala Khan is a badass superhero with powers, but because she could’ve given me a support I so surely and direly needed back then.

I wish compassion were normal.

Not to be whiny but the fact that I’m 23 years old and a virgin and the only one in my group of friends who have never had a romantic relationship fucks and no amount of “single power!!!!!!!!” is going to reduce that

literally i hate my fucking dad and i made my sister mad but its not her fault this time its mine. my dad started an arguement with my sisters and oldest sister (we’ll just say W bc i feel like its annoying to keep repeating the same words over and over again) (almost) always falls into his trap bc he wants arguments so i told him to leave my sisters alone so W got mad at me bc she wanted to speak up for herself/she was mad at him so i left and closed my door. i’ll just apologize later but i feel like she probably won’t accept it (thats fine its her choice on what to do with it)

Murder is sexy!! ^^

TW: v3nt, m3nti0ns 0f $uicid3, s3lf-h4t3r3d, m3nti0ns 0f S3*u4l 4bu$3

It’s getting worse day by day.

I’m staring to feel the need of cuts, craving the sight of my own blood as a punishment. The things that helped me before, are not working anymore.

I often catch myself degrading my whole being, like as I am an outsider. The memories he made me suffer through are not fading at all, as the doctor has said they will.

Everything is useless. I’m staring to think If It’s worth staying alive or not at all. This is not the usual kind of post, this is much longer and deeper this time.

I’m counting the days I should stay alive but my pen is getting useless day by day. My body feels like It’s rotting with every breath I take and every movement gets me closer to the edge.

His hands made wounds that will never heal, but get nastier and nastier everytime I see them. I wish I never wore a skirt. Especially not that day.

I’m begging for the world to end me in any way. Give me the sweet release of this lie, this false reality. I don’t want to live like this no more.

I’m waiting for the lovely day of my death, the freedom from this suffering. Heaven or Hell doesn’t exist. Hell surely don’t. There’s no worse place than Earth itself.

The sour taste the pills, lefr on my tounge never faided since that day.

I wish I never decided to look that way.

I wish I never decided to go out that day.

I wish He didn’t call me sweetheart.

I wish He died.

Im just a fucking kid why would you ask me for pictures of my body!! ^^

You sick fuck. You like little girls, don’t you? I hope you die.

How could you use me?

To everyone asking if what they went through was ‘really’ trauma: it was. If you feel you were traumatised by it, then it was trauma. There’s nothing more to it than that.

im so lonely but if i get too close they will hurt me i can’t get close they’ll hurt me they will hurt me

everyone’s out to get me

how do i explain to my therapist my trauma was almost entirely inflicted to me online because of the fact i do not make irl friends easily

i cant quite understand why you hurt me like this

me and the girls venting in the group chat

idk who needs to hear this but being disabled does not mean you are immune to being ableist