Tw Implied Abuse - Blog Posts
vent post bc im tired and feel alone in this
TW; dysfunctional families, implied abuse kinda I'm not really being abused
I fucking hate being "perfect." Stupid, I know, I feel like I should be grateful.
Have you heard about golden child and scapegoat dynamics in dysfunctional households? Because me and my brother are living examples of that. I'm the golden child and I loathe it.
I have it so much better then my brother, I know. But being the golden child, I am my mother's trophy, and it's exhausting. I am a doll, not a person. A bragging right. An award. I have to always do what I'm told, be smart, achieve high things, always have to look pretty, have perfect manners, tons of impossible expectations, be the perfect little girl. Or she starts yelling. I hate it so much. I'm tired, I'm really tired. I stress myself out to be enough for her. I'm the definition of a burnt out gifted kid. Yet i feel like i'm supposed to be grateful because the one above made me smart and pretty. I can only be who I really am online, with my s/o, or with my friends. And I loathe it.
And I just feel alone. I see posts about how golden children will become the abuser and it scares me. I don't feel like anyone understands that both the golden child and the scapegoat suffer. I don't want to be my mother, I swore I'd be better. I don't want to be her. I don't know how to break this cycle.
Fuck.
“Aber liebst du mich nicht?”
the little Triple Changer asked, looking up to the bearer of the death mask, only watching down to him with apathy in the moment. He didn’t hate him, he didn’t love him, he only used him. How pitiful.
cw : blood, robot gore (badly), implied abuse.
"Hey there vod'ika, it's Bite, you are with your brothers, you are safe."
Bite had spotted the glinting metal the second he'd gotten close enough to be able to clearly see his vod. The only thing keeping him upright being the anger now renewed in his veins.
"What do you need from me, vod? Because if I'm being truthful, I don't want to let you out of my sight right now."
The painkillers he'd been given were fogging up his brain, he knew he should probably get Tumbler settled before he collapsed, but if he couldn't figure out a way to ground him before then, Bite would just have to keep trying from the floor.
[DECEIVE] The sender tells a lie in order to protect the receiver || Bite was hoping for a quiet shift, though a shift as the on call medic for the senate is never quiet. As soon as Bite saw a senator getting a bit too close to his vod, he sped up to intervene. "Sir, I see that you seem to be asking this trooper for some assistance. I regret to inform you that it is unable to complete any alternative taskings at this time. I can assist you with anything you need to the best of my ability."
"Oooh? CT-3996, why didn't you tell me you were occupied? Were you hoping someone would tattle on lil ol' me?"
Tumbler would appear unaffected at first glance, settled in perfect parade rest but Bite would see how Tumbler is digging his fingers hard into his forearms, hidden behind and out of sight of the Senator, hiding his building fear and discomfort as the Senator trails her hand under where his chin would be, safe beneath his bucket.
"I was unaware, Senator Vyrim. Forgive this Trooper, it's holocomm may be inoperable and missed a situation that requires their attention."
He hopes, prays even, to whatever damned deity or greater being or even the sith-damned Force that the Senator drops the matter. Senator Vyrim was too alike Sly Moore for Tumbler to truly dismiss and disassociate from, the Rattataki Senator sharing the same pale tone and eye colour, with her tattoos and bejeweled skin the only difference from the Umbaran female.
Doodles for an au, and a wip of a potential standee
Forgive how Norman looks, this is the first time designing my version of him.
This is based off my last post.
I seriously need endos to fuck the hell off, what i go through daily isn't fun quirky little game you can decide to play, it is a fucking trauma response and i actually have to waste tons of my energy not to cause any more unreversible damage to the other alters. Having other people in your head isn't fucking funny, they're not just "friends you can have inside jokes with". It's tiring. It's debilitating. It's not knowing what will happen when you're not in front. Is having the others getting potentially exposed to danger and being unable to do anything to protect yourself and/or the body. It's others hating you for doing exactly what you were formed to do. The shame, the guilt, the self hate you constantly have to carry around that came after years and years of terrible trauma. It can sometimes be fun but the main point is it's a fucking disorder. I can't stand you guys fucking de-medicalising it so that you can enjoy a fake ass romanticised version of it. I hope my traumas hit you all at once. I hope you split a pre self-consciousness me. I wish all the worst to y'all
TW: PINK BLOOD, CUTS AND BRUISES, IMPLIED ABUSE, NUDITY, EXISTENTIAL THOUGHTS
“Why do I even exist?”
There was no clear time to be told. No exact date, exact time, exact moment that would be able to tell people. It was this...
Poison.
This slow killing poison that settles in the gaps of your jonts, the spaces in your muscles. It flows with your blood, following the set trail set by the veins. Until it reaches your brain.
If you asked, you would not be given a clear answer as to when everything cleared up and the thought came.
It was something that was planted long before the time came. It slowly blossomed, the poison as its water that tarnishes the soil it growing on.
It seeps into your being, poisonous, inky black blob of venom that crawled into the crevices of your body, your orfices and settled into you. Blending in with the crowd in your system until it leaked into your soul, painted your heart, manipulated your mind.
It was the blueish, the purplish, the disgusting array of colors that appeared on your skin as the bruised formed from another hit from an unloving and unlovable and disgusting and cruel and demonic hand. It was the bright and angry red that shaped itself as a hand that cupped the entirety of one half of your face.
It was the leakage of dark red blood that tasted like iron and smelled like it from your nose or your split lip or a cut from a bottle shard. Or the torn walls from where it slipped outside and slipped back once more.
This poison.
It takes several forms. It could be that droplet of blood that fell on your desk with a "plink". It could be the next person you talk to. The next hand that slots itself in your hand and it feels so so so wrong. It could be that stripe of saliva somewhere on your skin. It could be that look of a parent so unlike a parent's.
It could be the glinting of a silver blade that blinds you and cuts you with it's sharpness, and that blood that drips from your hand to the matress. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another. And another.
Until.
Until it forms that big wet puddle of red. Like wet paint leaking across the surface of the canvas and spreading. Or blood on a tissue that spreads and leaks onto the bottom.
It could be that void in your chest as you stare at the opened and lifeless eyes of an abuser. Eyes that opened a minute before the final breath was taken. Fear etched onto them. That same fear you saw in your reflection. That same fear you saw reflected into those cruel, cruel orbs.
It could be the steps you took as you walked out.
Or it could be the tiny splash of water from when you dropped the bloody knife.
Or it could be that feeling in your chest you can't identify as you watch the crime, your crime, your sin, reported in the news and printed in the papers and talked around.
Or it could be that sickeningly sweet feeling you felt as you moved forward. Or the faint regret as you looked back.
Or that happy, giddy feeling as you left and started new.
Or that ghostly, cool touch of a hand that explores your every part with a burning, seering, hot pain.
Or that feeling of fear and relief when you woke up and your heartbeat's loud beating of thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thumo, thump...