#victims
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I’m posting this as a video, because I feel like adding this as GIFs or pictures will take away the sheer pain and beauty and meaning of this scene. I applaud the mangaka Kafka Asagiri for this absolutely brilliant way to address Atsushi’s abuse rather than throwing it aside or not giving as much importance as it deserved, and Studio Bones for the breathtaking animation where you could just feel what emotions of the character.
(The video quality may be bad so please bear with it.)
TW: child abuse
I’m dmn TIRED of child abuse victims and just abuse victims in general who have the privilege of getting therapy and meds WHO THINK IT’S OKAY TO SHAME OTHER VICTIMS WHO DON’T HAVE THAT PRIVILEGE!!
I’m tired of seeing the
“ I didn’t stay in my victomhood, I became a survivor! not a victim!”
“ I didn’t stay stuck in my victimhood! ”
“ ptsd is for victims not survivors!”
Like no no no no
You are a person who can afford therapy that’s it!
You are a person who was helped by therapy and isn’t harmed by your ptsd as much because a therapist taught you ways to cope and you probs got some meds to help like which is cool for you
BUT
People who are still living and struggling with their PTSD are just as strong and survivors.
I’m glad that you got all this help but don’t you dare shame people who are handling this sht all by themselves.
They are handling it all without the privileges that you have and they are beyond any words of strong.
Also shut your traps about
“ PTSD is for victims not survivors!! ”
PTSD is for people who are surviving through trauma..
People living with PTSD are survivors.
You’re just promoting rpe culture by shaming victims for living with PTSD.
Not everyone can afford therapy and meds..
My brother still bites his nails to the quick,
but lately he’s been allowing them to grow.
So much hurt is forgotten with the horizon
as backdrop. It comes down to simple math.
The beach belongs to none of us, regardless
of color, or money. We all come to sit
at the feet of the surf, watch waves
drag the sand and crush shells for hours.
My brother’s feet are coated in sparkly powder
that leaves a sticky residue when dry.
He’s twenty-three, still unaware of his value.
It is too easy, reader, for me to call him
beautiful, standing against the sky
in cherrywood skin and almond
eyes in the sun, so instead I tell him
he is handsome. I remind him
of a day when I brought him to the beach
as a boy. He’d wandered, trailing a tourist,
a white man pointing toward his hotel—
all for a promised shark tooth.
I yelled for him, pulled him to me,
drove us home. Folly Beach. He was six.
He almost went.
- Kwoya Fagin Maples “Here’s an Ocean Tale”