IF YOU SEE A TYPO... NO YOU DON'T....

hi, I'm Jade, she/they, 20, Demisexual/romantic. dyslexic, biracial and decently traumatised. oh. and the Aphantasia thing.

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

I have absolutely no idea if anyone will see this page, or if they'll read anything I post.

But I guess this will just be... a place for my trauma to be laid bare?

Where I'll put my life into posts on a tumblr page that no one I know will ever hear about from me.

But like, CW for my page, it's gonna be like 85% venting about my childhood trauma and 14% reposting about trauma and 1% other things.

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

I once ate a whole 5lbs bag of navel oranges because my father refused to buy us food we could eat without needing the stove since we weren't allowed to cook.

I used to steal quarters from the laundry money he set aside so I could buy food to eat during the summer.

I stole money from his wallet once because my brother and I were alone for 10 hours at a time on his custody days, often without anything we could heat up in the microwave or just eat from a bag.

It took screaming matches in middle school to be allowed to cook. To be allowed to pick things when grocery shopping. And to even have food in the apartment that could get cooked. To get him to acknowledge my allergies and food sensitivities.

It took until I was in high school before I was 'allowed' to cook alone or have an allowance- I often spent it going out to eat dinner with friends on his custody days, or buying a loaf of bread and some fruit from the grocery store.

The money from my summer job I had before my senior year of high-school mostly got spend on making sure I got to eat when I lived with him.

I learned to cook so I could eat food that wasn't going to make me ill.

Nowadays I'd say food is my love language.

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

Despite making this to vent, I find it hard to type or post here. I've spent so long having everything I say treated as a lie or as an exaggeration that being honest, even to myself, is frustratingly difficult.

I've had therapist after therapist treat me like a liar or an rebellious teen. Teachers and school officials refuse to listen when I tried to explain my home life.

One of my cousins told me that it couldn't possibly as bad as I said, that I was merely at the age where everyone had issues with their parents.

My grandparents don't like that my sibling and I aren't 'normal' enough, between being mixed, neuro-divergent and well, they'd definitely have issues with our gender identities and sexualities if we could say them without getting kicked out.

I've spent a very long time being dismissed and spurned foe telling the truth, for being honest and vulnerable with people that the idea of doing so now is unbearable.

In part doing this behind a username and a translation of my name makes it easier, but at the same time it makes it harder. Because the people I want to listen never will and anything I say can never be placed with a face, and naming names will do nothing for me. Which. Is frustrating. And something I've had to live with for 12 years already, so I'll continue to manage on that front.

But a part of me still wants for there to be a day where I get to be honest, to tell my story without being shut down afterwards. That someday, one day maybe, the people who live hurt me, and my family, won't be able able to walk away scot-free the way they have.

But that's a long time in the future, if ever.

Life... sucks and it's unfair and brutal in its teachings. And more often then not the people who maliciously cut corners and set out without regard for others tend to make it to the top.

But I survived. And so have many others, and we'll keep living, we'll keep surviving and eventually, eventually, we make it out. We get that taste of freedom and everything that's weighed us down for so long loses its grip, and we make it out. Maybe not alright at first, that takes time and patience and support, but eventually we're okay, eventually we get to live our lives for ourselves again.

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

Jumping forwards a number of years, in honour of it being June, is the only story about me coming out to a supportive parent.

And apparently how I went from describing myself as Bisexual to Demiromantic/demisexual.

(I ramble. A lot. I'm sorry????)

(Just me having a queer panic for like over 8 years, dw abt it)

(I legit procrastinated my sexuality from when I was like 10 (holy fuck))

---

The first one goes back... I think I must've been 14, November of my freshman year in high-school, so somewhere around 6 years now. I was in the car with my mother after an doctors appointment (several months prior I'd had a very nasty incident where my father gave me several severe injuries) and we were just sitting in our car.

The conversation was light, just chatting about how school had been so far and how my friends and I were adjusting to high-school; I was talking about how this one friend of mine rather openly talked about wanting to date me and how I'd gently turned her down on a number of occasions (I wish I had been firmer about that, I wish I hadn't been so goddamn willing to please) and my mother says to me something like, "well, you know you aren't allowed to date right now and it doesn't really matter since you don't swing that way." She'd said it normally, a little amused by the conversation and a little stern, reminding me of the 'no dating until your 16' rule (which I later ignored, the fool I was).

And. I just. I stopped.

It felt like my entire world had screeches to a stop. Because, no, actually I do like girls. I have liked girls. In fact, at that point I really liked that girl.

And I turn to her, face pinched into a frown and replied, "no. No, actually I do like girls. And boys." And she looks back at me, surprise colouring her features before she nods.

And she's just like, cool, but you're still not allowed to date until you're sixteen.

From there I went to tell her about something that had happened two years prior-

---

The second story isn't... as nice, relatively, but it's far from the worst thing that could've happened.

See one time when I was between 12 and 13, my older cousin came over, now, they're an ENTIRE decade older than me, and about 8 years older than my own older sibling. I'd always idolized them growing up, they were cool and older and the only cousin I was actually close to.

And I'd known for a while at that point that they weren't straight. But I hadn't said anything, because that wasn't my place and I was content to simmer in my own sexuality crisis for a whiles yet.

My cousin had other ideas.

They pulled me aside at a family gathering, it was sometime between Easter and my birthday, or maybe Easter and the end of my school year, but I'd just finally realized that I thought that both boys AND girls (this was a bit before I really knew or learned about anything outside of gay, bi, boy and girl). Anyway, they pulled me aside and spoke to me in hushed tones and completely shifted all of my views on, well, everything.

"You aren't straight, are you?"

"What?"

"You don't just like boys, do you? I can tell, seeing as I'm not straight either."

"Wha- oh. Uhm, I guess? I-"

"You can't talk about it with anyone else, none of them (our relatives) will understand, and they might hurt you. You can always talk to me, of course, but no one else. Don't tell your mom I said anything, especially that last part."

"Oh, okay...."

And with that, they whisked me back to the main room without a chance to say anything else.

I was, frankly terrified. I'd already procrastinated about my sexuality in elementary school, deciding my crush of my best friend was something better left till I was a teenager, but now I'd just been told that I couldn't even talk with my mom.

It was scary. And for a couple years I kept my mouth shut. I barely said anything to my friends at school, I was terrified of the GSA club and acknowledging that I found girls pretty became a crime in my head.

Which, granted, was a bit much for a reaction to a 90 second discussion in an unlit hallway.

But I did, eventually, tell my mom I wasn't straight (awkwardly in our tiny car, hand on the door handle, just in case) and I even quietly professed what my cousin had told me to do (said cousin had ignored me after our little chat and completely and entirely refused to speak to me after my mother said that she knew about the advice I'd been given).

All in all, none of it was terrible. Though I've never been particularly fond of talking to any of my family (who can know, because I do unfortunately have bigoted, prejudiced asshole relatives (its bad enough, to them, that I'm not entirely white)

--

When I first started actually exploring my sexuality, I rather thought I was Bisexual, granted it'd been the first word I'd come across that sounded anything like and I latched onto it like a leech, had I known what Pansexual was, I'd likely have started from that.

But as I got older, I realized it didn't really fit, and by my junior year, I was entirely uncomfortable with using the term for myself.

Thus I started researching.

I learned a LOT about consent, sexuality, gender-identity, SSC (safe, sane and consensual), and the difference between a kink and a fetish. And... that covers a lot of different things, I'd started just wanting to figure out my own sexuality and learned a lot about sex in general, which I hadn't really planned on.

But it felt really good to know. And all of those side things made sure I was informed and safe, in a number of things I did, and made it easier to figure out what I was comfortable with.

Eventually all of that research led me to the term M-spec and under that category, the term Omnisexual.

I spent over a year with that label, finding myself a little bit more with each day, and eventually, I realized it didn't really fit me.

Now, I've considered myself Demiromantic for most of my journey of exploring my sexuality. It's something I've always been comfortable with, something that always just clicked for me.

So I started looking into Demisexual.

And for the past two years I've been in a limbo of sorts.

Am I actually into girls? Am I interested in sex at all? I know that I don't like [blank], but what about everything else? I havnt had much of any experience, do I really know? My first romantic experience with a girl ended really, really badly, and now im terrfied of them.

I had a lot of fears and doubts, but somehow, I figured it out. Very oddly, but I did.

And I recently realized that a lot of my experiences and romantic interest (I honestly havnt had many) let alone sexual interests (even less of those) were basically just the definition of Demisexual/romantic.

And suddenly I felt a lot happier, and free in a way I havnt before. And I'm happy with the term, I feel confident and comfortable for once in the entirety of the word.

So... I guess, to everyone one celebrating pride this month, quietly, loudly, discreetly or boldly, happy June; happy Pride month. And remember, sexuality is fluid, just like gender. There's a bajillion ways to identify and you're valid.

And if you're struggling with labels, identities, defining the differences between romantic and sexual interest, you're not alone. And it's perfectly fine to not use a label. Be yourself, love yourself, and be safe, do your research.

💟❤🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🖤🤍💟

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

Here and there throughout my posts, I figure I may as well post about the happiest parts of my childhood.

A nod to the fact that there are parts I can look back on fondly, that I didn't have nothing when I was at my worst.

So, in honour of the last day of my birthmonth, I'll share my favourite part of my birthday.

See, for as long as I can remember, my birthday meant two things: getting older and getting at least ONE watermelon I wasn't obligated to share.

Of course, this led to people bringing them as gifts and up through my 7th birthday and I often (gleefully) received 3 or 4 watermelons to cut up at my party or being home afterwards.

This is one of the few little treasured traditions I've continued throughout everything and remains my favourite part of my birthday.

And despite the odds, despite the times where I wanted to give up and give in, through the bad weather and shit luck, I'm still here to eat that damn watermelon, acknowledging that I've made it another circle around the sun.

So when I eat a watermelon, when I eat my yearly xī guā, I'm reminding myself that I'm still alive, that I'm still going.

And though it may not be my birthday anymore, I'm happily enjoying my first watermelon of the warm months.

[supersurvivorchococookie-deacti]

Daily Reminders about trauma.

Trauma is not linear, nor is it usually a one-time experience, you can be traumatized ever since birth.

"Other people had it worse, my stuff isn't that bad-" is by itself a major sign of trauma and anyone worth their salt as a therapist will agree.

Not remembering your early childhood is also a sign that your brain is trying to protect you, it doesn't mean that your trauma didn't happen and does not invalidate how you're experiencing it.

Traumatized people will usually stick to abusive and toxic relationships of any kind, this is called trauma-reenactment, it often stems from misplaced guilt and believing one deserves to be treated that way, other times we just expect a different outcome.

Self-sabotage can also be linked to trauma, being happy may entail a sense of wrongness and danger after a lifetime of mistreatment to the point where going back to feeling miserable feels safer.

There are many varieties of trauma and everybody processes theirs differently

Trauma is a very serious topic, one that is often disregarded by both parents and teachers. "Oh you're just stressed-" " everyone's got trauma!-" a similar take occurs on social medial in which your pain may be used in favor of performative outrage. For instance: " ya'll might be traumatized and shit but that's no excuse to be problematic lol" this is called trauma-weaponizing and is done by trolls in order to get a reaction.

Healthy ways to cope with trauma, especialy CSA related trauma are learned through trial and error, don't feel guilty for something you've had no way to properly process and that has never been your fault to begin with.

You do not have to abide by any societal standard to deserve understanding and healing, no trait about yourself that you're not proud of equates to you deserving abuse, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

You are more than your trauma, no matter how deeply-rooted it is within you and how much you've been shaped by it, your entire personality can be forged by and through your trauma, it does not, however, negate yoyr right to view yourself as an individual with thoughts and feelings who is worthy of being happy.

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

I suppose while writing these memories down, I'll be jumping around a bunch, no linear timeline here.

TW here ig, includes child being locked in a hot car, gaslighting and a panic attack.

Today's memory is of the 4th of July I'd mentioned before, it's longer than the first memory.

Going back a bit, my parents got divorced between 2010-2011, and from then on there was a series of rather nasty court hearings all the way up until I turned 18.

Like most kids with divorced parents, my sibling and I were had the 50/50 custody agreement pushed onto us, the especially wonderful 5/2/2/5 schedule.

This of course, also included holidays switching between parents each year.

Thinking on it now, it had to have been when I was 9 (that would've been 2011, the first 4th of July since my parents had officially been divorced).

Back then, my dad had this beat to hell white and grey Subaru Outback, I still feel panicky when I see one of them on the road or in a parking lot. We'd gotten picked up from where we lived with our mom and had gone to some event or another before getting slushies at our local SA gas station, the promise of going swimming after just one more stop, I was not terribly pleased.

Especially when I found out just where we would be going. A former friend of the family, who had stabbed everyone but my wonderful father in the back, was apparently going to be hosting us for an hour or two before we'd finally get our dad's apartment and go swimming.

I told him as much seeing as at 9yo I hadn't quite retreated into my shell enough to not be vocal about what I didn't agree with.

I was given two options as a result, either stop arguing and go inside with him and my sibling, or stay in the car until he was done chatting with his friend (both options had the addition of being grounded from the pool, going outside and playing video games). Logically, I asked how long he would take. He said he would be less than 30 minutes and that my sibling didn't get a choice, they'd be going inside with our father.

I ended up choosing to stay in the car. Which was, admittedly, incredibly stupid. It was in the upper 80s outside, he refused to rolled the windows down, told me not to open the door unless I was joining them inside, and to stay out of sight in case anyone saw me and tried to break in.

(I had less than half of my slushue left and it'd long since melted and gone warm)

Thinking back on it now, I realize I'd had a panic attack. I couldn't breath and within five minutes of being locked in it became unbearably stuffy and the cool from the AC had been swept out the doors when I'd been left in the car. Anytime I saw anyone outside I panicked more, the idea that someone would try and kidnap me had been planted and my little 9yo brain couldn't rationalize anything by then.

I spent over 45 minutes alone, in a sweltering car in almost 90 degree weather with only a tiny bit of syrupy water to drink (it didn't make past the first 10 minutes).

It's one of the most terrifying things - and I've been in a handful of nasty situations both before and since then - I've ever experienced.

By the time they came back, my sibling was stressed and teary by then, I was extreamly flushed and sobbing in the backseat, I've never done well with heat, and shaking from the panic attack I'd unknowingly had.

My father proceeded to chew me out for "not just doing what he told me to begin with," called "foolish and stubborn" for not just opening the door (despite the fact that it'd been made very clear, with anger and a raised hand, that unless I wanted to go inside his friends house I wasn't allowed to open it) and dragged around for another hour or two after in the heat without enough to eat or drink.

From there on out I got grounded almost every weekend he had us, trying to refuse going to the various houses his friends occupied, with the bonus of him provideding less and less food and drink outside of meals for years.

Nowadays I tend to get heat exhaustion rather easily and had a burning hatred for just about every holiday my family celebrates. It took years to be able to wait in the car with or for anyone and have the engine off without feeling panicky; I also feel intense anger towards anyone who can leave their kid/s or pet/s in a hot car, regardless of whether or not they crack the window and leave water with them.

[gingeraleforthetrauma]

Trauma sucks. The things that cause trauma suck worse, imo.

When I was a little kid - like, under 8 - I lived in a small house, on a relatively quiet street with my folks and older sibling.

It was an average house. Cramped kitchen, tiny dining room, three meh-sized bedrooms, you get the idea. We had this stupidly long driveway that was great for two kids and their bikes, relatively even, no major slope or anything.

When I was maybe six- I think I was six- my sibling was an idiot and ignored my warning about biking towards the family car (a large, beat up white minivan, rust on the edges and interesting rocks in doors and inside pockets, with three rows of seating).

There was a lot of blood and a lot of crying. If i was 6 than this was when they were like 7, a few months before they would turn 8.

I'm pretty sure both my parents came out to see what happened, but my mom went inside with my sibling first to get all the first aid stuff and call her folks in case they needed to take the sibling to the ER.

My dad was supposed to bring me inside- make sure the younger child wasn't injured or too terrified or anything and everything.

Long story short my dad locked me outside for a while, slammed the door in my face and all that jazz. I could hear the crying and lots of panicked talking through the living room window right next to our door. But I guess they couldn't hear my knocking.

My dad sure as hell didn't tell my mom he'd left me out there.

I gave up pretty quickly. I'd had my dad do things like that to me before, so I wasn't terribly surprised (he would continue the trend of locking me in or out of places as I got older, the 4th of July when I was 9 or 10 is especially memorable).

I sat outside for around an hour before the he came out to get me, chastising me for not being inside, "like I was supposed to be."

I didn't bothering arguing. They were too busy bustling out the door.

He knew what he'd done, he locked the door in my face, I'm not sure if I imagined him meeting my eyes through the window as I watched them clean the blood off my siblings face in the living room.

I don't really remember if they dropped me off or if I got picked up to go to my grandparents, that day got a little hazy after the door was finally unlocked. But I was at their house until late into the night, a bit past midnight.

Probably one of the mildest childhood memories I'll share, but I was terrified of blood for years after that, and I always hurried to be the first person inside until we had to move a couple years later (a story for another day).

Overall, I think my sibling was a helluva lot more traumatised after that day, would hardly touch their bike for weeks afterwards. Self conscious as hell about the scar it left as well - little me was jealous that they had a cool scar, I don't think that helped with their anxiety.