Sometimes I Have An Impulse To Just Cry And Yell And Scream, Over And Over, Until Every Mother Fucker

Sometimes I have an impulse to just cry and yell and scream, over and over, until every mother fucker hears me when I say how fucking terrible she was to me

She sold me. She sold me. She sold me. She sold me. She sold me. She sold me. Shesoldmeshesoldmeshesoldmeshesoldme.

Sincerely, with emphasis: fuck.

Just thinking about how, as an under-medicated, severely mentally ill 18 year old, living 800 miles from the only home I knew with no support system other than the fundamentalist cult I was wrapped up in-

I was supposed to sit in a court room and point a finger at the man who hurt me for over a decade, and know how to explain what he did to me, and remember events I was completely dissociated during, and understand that I wasn't lying, I just didn't have access to all of the parts of me that experienced all of the things that happened.

With an undiagnosed dissociative disorder, I was supposed to explain to a jury why my three witnesses knew different details of different events and why I'd only reported one instance.

As a minor, I was supposed to understand that if I told my mandated reporter therapist about one specific situation, I'd be expected to then disclose every instance of abuse, or pretend that it all only happened once.

As a child, I was expected to behave in a way that "makes sense" to the middle aged, rural, conservative jury of my abuser's peers.

Fuck. That.

Crazyheadcomics

here we go, i guess

my therapist suggested i make an anonymous blog to write about my experiences growing up in an abusive household, because i'm still trying to sort some shit out, and i keep feeling compelled to tell my story. but i can't publicly, because it wouldn't be safe for me. so here we are.

i feel old, the last time I had an active tumblr account was like 2012, lmao. this is weird.