Me: *goes on hour longer rant about past trauma*
Also Me: but that just how it be, gang gang, I’m totally over it now
Me: *goes on hour longer rant about past trauma*
Also Me: but that just how it be, gang gang, I’m totally over it now
Journal Entry 5-16-21
Have you ever known the feeling of just needing to be smaller and smaller and smaller. Not because of diet culture, or the perfect thinspo post, or getting a summer bod. Instead, you just need to be small, to shrink away, to become invisible and untouchable. Because it’s safer. It’s less stressful. It’s just....less. I hate being touched, I hate the feeling of everyone looking at me and judging me (even though I know that’s not the case). I hate the constant, overwhelming, feeling that judging eyes are on you everywhere at all times, so I must be perfect, graceful, funny, calm, composed, happy, mellow, cool, and on and on. I feel like the only time I can relax, can breath, can act myself is when I’m alone. So when I’m in public, there’s a constant weight/pressure/demand for no slip ups. The exhaustion wears me thin. It pushes me to hide. I don’t do what I do for attention. I don’t act the way I act so people will notice me. I want to be smaller and to be less so I can blend into the background, to the corner where I can breath. Where I can curl up and hide away from the eyes. I know it’s impossible. I know it’s unreasonable in reality. But I do not care. I cannot bring myself to because while it’s not a common or true reality, it’s my reality. And the only way to escape it, in my mind, is to retreat into myself and disappear from it all.
So no, I don’t have an ed because I’m obsessed with being skinny or thin or the ideal women or have the bets Jody it because I’m fat phobic. I suffer from an ed because I feel trapped, overwhelmed, and out of control of others perception. I suffer from an ed because of my sadness and anger surrounding an issue I cannot control. I don’t know how to escape this reality. I fear I never will.
Why are ppl so fast to defend female ab/sers??? Anyone can be one.
It isn't just guys. It can be anyone.
Same with p3d0philes.
Also, why do ppl only pay attention to SA and physical ab/se??? I think emotional and mental ab/se should also get awareness.
Journal entry 5-11-21
Having an ED is terrible. No matter what stage, or severity. Regardless of age, gender, or weight status. It’s mental torture that although self imposed, is not controlled by the persons true self. Having an ED is like being possessed by a narcissistic, controlling, ill intentioned, physical & emotional￼ abuser who’s only goal is it’s host’s demise. However, unlike irl abusers, you can’t just pack your bags and leave or call the police or break up or runaway. Because it lives inside of you. I think that’s why recovery is so hard for a lot of us. Recovery from an ed means leaving a part of ourselves behind. It means facing our own actions and their consequences, no matter if what the disorder caused was against our will or not. People say “you are not your disorder” and I 100% agree. I am not a disorder. But I do have a disorder. And to not have one, to recover per say, would mean loosing a part of myself and leaving a gap previously filled. Yes, it was filled with self hate, abuse, distain, regret, and dishonesty. But to someone who has an ED, it can become almost like Stockholm’s Syndrome. You don’t want to dig up the shit that fills the void inside you. Because even though it’s dangerous and hurtful, the disorder has controlled us, filled us, for so long, most of us can’t imagine who we are without it. Who or what will fill the void once we recover? It’s an unknown. And to a traumatized person stuck in an abusive relationship, the unknown is often more feared than the known is fearful.
To be clear, I’ve almost died 7 times in total. Only 5 were my doing.
thinking about how absolutely wild the christianity that’s been taught to me is. like “no amount of good, no amount of sin can pull us away from heaven” is so weirddd. like.. i dunno.... not even murderers?? racists??
of the published anon hate i got
“ you're not a good person. “
“ you're ugly and fat “
“ You're so real about being so fake lol “
“ Leave “
“ You're annoyingly fake. “
“ No one likes you. When are you going to delete? “
“ You're fake. You lie to everyone including yourself. You created a fake online life, you can't face the reality of it. Whatever happiness you think you have is merely an illusion, it's not real, your happiness will never be real. Face it. “
“ You'll end up alone, everyone will leave you. I'm shocked they stuck around so long. “
“ you're terrible everything you do is worthless 😇 “
“ how much do you want to bet that the positive anon was joking “
“ girlie “
“ Hey missy how are you doing lady “
“ But you're really a girl right “
“ u mad girl? “
i shut anon off after that.
had a moment of “what is wrong with me” bc my default reaction to seeing i have smth in my inbox is Genuine Fear
i know what it is tho lmao
Self-acknowledged suicide attempts rise exponentially with ACE scores. From a score of zero to a score of six there is about a 5,000 percent increased likelihood of suicide attempts. The more isolated and unprotected a person feels, the mroe death will feel like the only escape. When the media report an environmental link to a 30 percent increase in the risk of some cancer, it is headline news, yet these far more dramatic figures are overlooked.
- How The Body Keeps Score, Bessel van der Kolk
We got a new to us dressing and it tastes just like a dressing we used to get all the time when I first started dieting at age 8 or 9 so part of me is like ohhh this is nostalgic and another part of me is just kill bill sirens bc it reminds me of being weighed in public by a strange adult woman at weight watchers when I was a literal child, kicking off two decades of disordered eating.
Tasty salad tho so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
When you have to dissect a cow eye for science class but eye trauma is one your biggest triggers, to the point you nearly throw up when watching the eye scene in Osmosis Jones
Wait… do ALL ex Christians have a connection to the concept of a barbed wire noose??? Because i wrote an allegory poem comparing Christianity to that, but also as I’m scrolling down the rts tags I’m seeing other art referencing that???? That’s just a really cool coincidence. A funny one, in a way, but it’s also fascinating that some of us have conceptualized our trauma in that specific niche way
please send good vibes if u have a spare second. my familial and disability related trauma are affecting me really really badly tonight after a Talk with my family. anything helps seriously
Idk just thinking about being young and queer and I need to rant. Like. Since I was a kid I never thought I was doing anything wrong. I never thought anything different about anything. I liked girls and guys and never thought anything about it.
In sixth grade, I didn't know the word transgender yet, but one of my closest friends at the time came out as trans and I remember talking about him at the dinner table. My parents were like, "did you have a boy friend named [name]?" And I was just like, oh yeah he's a boy now. And on god it felt like I chose the wrong dialogue option because my parents just stared at me and were like. No. That doesn't happen. That's a girl, still.
I felt so embarrassed, like. My face was so hot. (I get now too that was RSD) After that, I stopped sharing things with my parents. I dated a girl or two in secret, had a thing with my trans friend who they still wrongfully viewed as a girl, etc etc. One time my dad saw us out, and oh my god he was so mad. He said a lot of hurtful things that I will not repeat and made me feel evil and dirty.
He made me, a 15 year old who was struggling with so much on top of all of that, try so hard and do everything I could to win back his affection and trust. I cried so many nights about it, and I felt like a failure and planned (and attempted once) to end my life. Since my coming out as trans at 16, we had many worse things happen and they tested me so many times, asked me so many uncomfortable questions, my mom also tried to understand, but she was much the same in the sense of that it felt like I was being looked at through a glass window as some thing instead of being genuinely listened to, open-mindedly heard, or believed.
I love my parents. I always have loved my parents, and I think the thing that's different with me and most unaccepting trans people are that my parents have my back 100%. They would do anything for me. Anything at all, fight a bitch, felony, die. I have a place to come back to no matter what. They love me and our relationship is mostly good besides me being trans. We do have issues, every family is toxic in some way, and sometimes I'm exhausted, but we're both better people than we were 5 years ago. And I'm so grateful for all of that.
After that, though, I never had the same connection to my parents. Things are better now. They accept the fact that I have a girlfriend and ask about her frequently, but they don't (and I honestly don't think ever will) call me by my name. And for a while, I've been content with that. Content with where they are. It's a big deal asking them to call me by a name and use pronouns and shit they were never a part of. I didn't want to tear up our otherwise good (for the most part) relationship. I didn't want to acknowledge all the bad because we've come so far, and I should be grateful that I have a home at all. And they love me. I am grateful.
But as I've been reflecting on my experience, I've uncovered and remembered so many things that I've blacked out. So many ways they hurt and damaged me and so many unhealthy habits I've developed still. Every time I go home after the semester, I turn all my social media notifs off. It's been amazing this past year I've been able to keep them on even 4 hours away at college. My freshman year I couldn't do that. I'm proud of how far we both have come.
But anyway the point if this post is that they hurt me, they manipulated me into sharing parts of me I wasn't ready to share (or rather, I knew they weren't ready to hear,) they didn't do research (or they did and just decided to disregard it) and made me feel bad for being trans. Never once have they ever accepted that it was hard for me to muster up the courage to tell them how I feel, never once did they understand how lonely and sad being trans and unaccepted made me, not once did they ever apologize for what they've said that hurt me.
I think that's what I want. I understand they're never going to see me the way I see me, or use my name or pronouns because they don't understand, but. I would like an apology. I would like them to hug me and think for a minute about how lonely and frustrated and just so deeply sad it made me to be young and queer and internalizing everything I am as wrong. I had an accepting community at school. But still, I never felt like I could truly be 100% myself because my family, which is so important to me, were not on the same page. It was isolating and traumatizing.
Parents can't be perfect. I know this. People fuck up and will always fuck up, and we can't go back and fix it.
But we can apologize.
And I guess I just wanna let all the trans people whose parents are in between that it's okay to want more. Be empathetic of course, but it's okay to want more from the people around you, it's okay to want an apology, and you don't really have to feel bad, or settle into that "i should be grateful" headspace.
Yes. It's ok to be grateful. You should be grateful. But it's ok to acknowledge that people have harmed you even though they cared about you. And it's okay to want an apology.
Whatever your triggers are, names, places, objects, phrases, whatever, are valid. Period. No one gets to tell you that you "cant have" a trigger, or that its "weird" or "cringy".
Whatever your triggers induce, physical flashbacks,full flashbacks, if they make you angry or sad or whatever, that is valid. End of story. Triggers and the trauma behind them is incredibly personal and whatever your reaction is its valid.
You cannot police triggers.
Journal Entry 5-1-21
I had become filled to the brim with my eating disorder; so much so that no piece of me fit inside myself. I was full. Full of nothing. It’s hard to explain and it might not make sense, but I was not empty or void or shallow. I was filled to the brim so much so that I was spilling over onto the people closest to me and even to random strangers who sold me bottled water. But what I was filled with has no logic, no conscious, no morals, and no sense of purpose beyond destruction of its host. Full of just that. There is no word to describe the force. So I’ll settle with nothingness, much like how the universe is full of emptiness ever expanding and occupying space.
Me: I need help
Me at me: No, we are NOT posting about our trauma and hardships. Doing so is a crime
Me: Okay, but it's fine for other people to do it
Me at me: Yes.
Me: But it isn't okay for us to ask for help?
Me at me: Yes.
Me: okay, but we need help. I'm asking for help.
Me at me: You wuss, I'm sending you anxiety and depression to punish you for your crimes
Me: B R U H-