That Trauma Survivor Feeling When You Wake Up From A Nightmare That Was A Memory And It Fucking Clings

That trauma survivor feeling when you wake up from a nightmare that was a memory and it fucking clings to your bones like a maladaptive koala

Obviously there are many things to dislike about adulthood but as someone who grew up in an abusive household for whom adulthood offered the only chance at an escape, it's incredibly important to me that i romanticize adulthood whenever possible because i know there are kids and teenagers like me out there who are seeing nothing but complaints about rent and taxes and the loneliness of living on your own and i know they're going to internalize all of that and assume it means that adulthood won't offer them the freedom and safety they've been dreaming of. So while i never want to minimize the difficulties of being an adult, i also want to highlight how incredibly nice it can be to finally have ownership of your life and your body and your time and money and food and everything else in a way that you never had before. You can choose when you wake up! You can choose what you have for breakfast! You can choose when to go to sleep or if you want to (inadvisably) stay up all night watching tv in the living room! In the living room! You can choose what to watch! These are little things, but they are worth taking pleasure in, and they are worth looking forward to.

Just. For the record, for anyone worried after seeing that post; Traumadumping on the first day of therapy is like. A good therapist’s dream. Like they WANT you to spill out your problems so they can help you work through them. When you only have an hour with someone once a month it is a Godsend for them to be able to just. Say whats hurting them right off the bat. The biggest problem I had at therapy was I became so conditioned to not talk about my issues that nothing was able to get done. So please, ‘traumadump’ to your therapist. Its what they’re paid for. They are trained to decompress, you don’t have to worry about them.

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.

listen, bad poetry is self care, this is the hill i die on