I've Been Co-authored Without My Consent.

I've been co-authored without my consent.

Two of the symptoms of ptsd and cptsd that have been the hardest to swallow are the lack of focus and the inability to "get into" or enjoy anything.

I was once an avid reader; I'd polish off a book a day if I could. Now it's a struggle to get through a chapter or two.

He has changed the very fabric of who I am.

You have a beautiful soul!

I think we are trained to see the worst in ourselves, so I can only hope that is true.  Thank you for being so generous and taking the time to message me.  Some days are worse than others and today was difficult.  Seeing your message made it a little brighter. Kindness never ceases to overwhelm me :)   Keep being wonderful.

You are so strong❤️

There are many days where I do not feel strong at all.  But I try to remember that I got up every time he knocked me down, and that I am still alive.  That counts for something.

Thank you for reaching out.  You are strong too.

Alternative Ending #1

To this encounter.

Man: Do you want me to cut it off?

Me:  *maintains intense eye contact while reaching in bag and pulling out a switchblade.**  Slides switchblade across the table, tilts head*   

Man:  ...

Me:  *raises eyebrow* Yes.  Do it.

** An AU where I am a bad ass bitch and carry a switchblade.

This hurt.

Trigger warning: Breakfast

Speaking of cutting it off...

The man I was referring to in my second to last post was insufferable in general.  However the last part was particularly triggering with the “cutting it off” thing

One time, he went into the bathroom with two knives after threatening to cut his penis off.  

You see, in the correspondence he read between me and the men I cheated with, I "got back” at him by saying rude things about him.  I was angry, hurt, feeling helpless, and I got some juvenile satisfaction out of trashing his “manhood”.  I said he was small and that he didn’t satisfy me.  In reality, he was quite average and he didn’t satisfy me, but that had nothing to do with his hardware.

I felt I was the cause of all this distress (and he, of course, reinforced this later).  He’d also threatened to kill himself.  What I didn’t seem to qualify is that he’d also threatened to maim and kill me that day.

Even knowing he could turn those knives on me, and that I would be in close quarters with someone who was in the mindset of cutting off a part of his body, I ran into that room screaming.  I think I slipped and fell on the way in, but I managed to get in before he could block me out.

I talked him into handing the knives over to me, but only after being berated for screaming (didn’t I know the neighbours might hear?), and threatened to be gutted a few times -  verbally and with violent, threatening gestures.

Remembering this has made my whole body shudder and quake.  I wonder at my luck, sometimes; how on earth did I survive this man?

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