they probably went in her room they probably thought she’s asleep

“she aint half your height, pick on someone else tonight”

i feel like people see nccsa as “lesser” than contact csa and i am here to tell y'all as someone who was preyed upon entirely online by a dude and as someone who was also physically touched,, they both fucking suck very hard and we shouldnt act like one is like… less damaging

the fact that there are ddlg blogs that will follow like csa trauma vent blogs is fucking disgusting but somehow im not surprised that people who like to pretend to sexually abuse children would be interested in the blogs of people who were sexually abused as children

does anyone else got really really attached to characters who have been abused, or who like… you could theorize had been abused, i just find immense comfort in characters who have gone through these types of things, is it just me?

if i bring it up once or twice then i guess thats fine, but ive brought it up at least 6 or 7 times

anyone wish your abuse happened to you at a younger age because you feel like you dont really count as having been a child when it happened because you were like a tween or a teenager and thus you feel you aren’t Valid in being traumatized by it

Has anyone ever been to Rodgers residential treatment in wisconsin

Things that make me feel loved 

( ) Friends 

( ) Family 

( ) Significant other 

(xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx) Ola Gjeilo’s music

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

There are things I can’t bring myself to say out loud, because I know my abusers wouldn’t like it. I can’t say I’m proud of myself, or that they abused me, for example. Even if they are miles away, in a whole other city, and there is absolutely no chance they’ll find out about it, that fear still follows me and I can’t say it. And I think that’s really fucking unfair.

Parents when their children are dealing with mental health illnesses: “Get over it and stop using your mental health as an excuse!”

Parents when they are dealing with a mental illness: “I’m GoiNG ThroUgH A LoT YoU shOuLd Be MorE UNdeRsTanDiNg oF MEE!”

being afraid that someone’s only talking to you to use you, make fun of you behind your back, or blackmail you

always feeling usless and unwanted or needed

praying someone sees your bruises and marks and notices how you go to the nurse every day for icepacks and helps you. please take me away.

always feeling like you’re in danger

paralyzing anxiety through your entire body when anything bad happens. you seize. you can’t move. am i too scared or just unable?

anxiety making your body heavy and slow. fear making you speak slowly, quietly, and carefully.

talking quickly out of fear of being cut off before you can finish your sentence, even if who you’re talking to has never cut you off before

flinching. all the time.

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.