I planned on a better, more aesthetic intro. But that’s not really “me.” I don’t… care for my vent account to look pleasing, nothing on here is worth being “pleased” by. Not to me, not to you.
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“Boy” — Blondie — Sergeant Jr. are all “names”that I was once called. Please do not give me a pet name or a nickname, they make me uncomfortable.
Trained Child soldier. A lot of us were trained this way but I suppose, I was one of the more successful puppets.
I perceive myself as Russian. I feel a connection to the Soviet Union, given the organization/grouping of people who trained me were well-known racists. I don’t think I’m racists, though, I admit that I am ignorant. I wish to change.
Ageless Child/Syskid. I am a child insys, but you do not have to treat me as such. I do not hold such sensitivity that I cannot handle or express certain topics.
RAMCOA / HC-DID. We are diagnosed. Fakeclaiming gets you no where. In fact, we’re still in denial, too. I sometimes think this is a dream and my body damage reminds me otherwise.
Trigger warning for this whole account and apologies on the behalf that I may spam post vents. This is really my only means to not drive myself to insanity.
I have various interests, most of them darker.
I enjoy: Taxidermy, Neuropsychiatry, First aid training, Research on wars/Terroristic crimes, Vulture Culture (?), and Russian history/language.
I can’t say I have many boundaries. vv
I will make it clear to not: Talk NSFW/explicit wants with me [in a positive light, venting/relating is fine], Do not give me a name or suggest I “need” one, ask my political stances/Discourse stances [it’s stupid. I have bigger problems.], and do NOT ask highly personal information/questions.*
* = Highly personal as in my programming specifics/cues, Traumatic details/“how it happened.”, Our legal name/Legal age [18+ bodily], Our group/Organization name/location, and insensitive questions like “why didn’t you try harder?” Or “why didn’t you tell anyone?”
I believe anons are on without media, go crazy. I may not post every anon with tags to avoid spamming the algorithm.
I have a Pinterest board and a playlist, if you’re curious, ask. The worst I’ll say is “no, preferably not.”
Disclaimer: I don’t consider myself Radqueer or even Radqueer adjacent. I use harmless transIDs like “TransRussian” as a means for self identification. I try to avoid ones and block those that support and use “TransRAMCOA” or even “Trans[Trauma haver/Trauma giver]”
Do not assume any of my political stances, I will say, I am far-left. That’s all. If you’re curious, make it known and perhaps, one day, I’ll rant about it.
[ask for translations for markdowns if you cannot perceive or read them. I will translate.]
To heal mean to remember. To remember means to experience. To experience… means that I’ll die over and over and over again, in every universe other than this one, I am simply a missing child.
A child who never made it out.
I think i’m fine with that. Perhaps, that is more merciful than making me live a life that’s already been tainted by their hands.
There are certain headmates that I don’t understand. The ones that feel more like predators than prey. The ones that feel as if they’re doing what they do simply because… they enjoy it.
I don’t understand. How you could do you anything but feel shame and guilt over hurting something that was once alive? How you could WANT to do something like that?
Ironic coming from the trained soldier, I suppose.
I’m no better than them. In fact, I might be worse.
But maybe because I’m worse, that’s why I fear them. Because I was once them and going back to a place where I was that is terrifying.
I say I don’t understand, but it’s less of a lack of understanding and more of a “ I don’t want to.”
They scare me. How could we, I, be capable of something so cruel? Taught or not, how is this real?
I promised to remember each and every one of you. Each of our victims. My victims. The ones that I could stand up for or stand behind, because I was weak. Because I didn’t know a damn thing besides obeying a command that never had anything planned for me.
I promised. And even now, i try to blame it on this disorder. On this amnesia.
But there is no excuse, is there?
My brain is starting to forget what you all look like. Sound like. Laughed like. Why we even came together in the first place.
One day, I know I will forget you all together. And for that, I hope you’ll forgive me. I can’t maintain your memory if I can’t even maintain my sanity and will to continue on.
I don’t want to continue on.
I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I’ve done enough. Let this job of mine end already, haven’t I been good? The least you can do is let me rest… even if it’s for a little bit longer.
Perhaps, there is someone who still maintains the makeshift graves I made for you all. Though, I highly doubt it. Those were made in secret, for if they knew I felt, I would end up just like you.
[Trigger warning: Talk of Weapons / murder (not in depth), Morality (?) ]
Once again, I have become quite “close” with a few of “my” headmates. It’s an odd feeling. Knowing how it’s ended in the past and how it’s always ended.
In a way, I wish to stay distant. Perhaps, if I’m distant, I can continue to fulfill my purpose.
But in all honesty, I haven’t fulfilled my purpose in the slightest since “escaping.”
I haven’t held a gun of any kind since then, haven’t trained anyone or been trained, haven’t spent time outside overnight or so, haven’t done any kind of work.
In fact, I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to hold a gun. And that thought makes me sick. How could I forget something so important to my very existence?
And making “friends”, regardless if they are simply a part of my consciousness or not, it will only interfere further.
I need not to gain more attachments to this world.
I must remain dirty. I must remain something that can kill and be killed at any time. I must remain useful.
I’m not one for sappy relationships. I don’t care for them often. Either we like you or we don’t.
In this case, though, I find that my emotions are much stronger. Not towards the person, but the situation as whole.
Thinking about the reasons we willingly stayed under such an abusive “father” even when we had chances to leave, to change, to say something.
In the end, we stayed because we have a sister who we didn’t want to get involved. She was so young and as an older sibling, the least we could do was protect her. Even if it meant we’d lose ourselves and possibly die in the process.
Maybe
And even after all of that.
Until this day, she talks about how much she wishes we would “cut deeper next time” and how “immature and stupid and selfish and—“ we are.
Sure, we’re not perfect or mentally sane, by far. But geez, it’s hard to heal in such an environment. That we’re constantly being picked on for the smallest things.
And then we can’t even say anything because it blows up and she’s quick to get violent and physical and verbal. Even if we tried to defend ourselves, we’re an adult and it would automatically fall on us to de escalate, even if we tried before.
We should’ve tried harder.
That’s what she said that day. Why didn’t we tell anyone anything and why didn’t we try harder?
I think those words will forever haunt us.
Hearing your own family, your own blood, say something so insensitive and ignorant.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this. Everything’s just been so difficult lately.
4th of July was always such a bad time for me. Not only does it remind me of everyone’s unwavering patriotic pride, but the sound of fireworks faintly and sometimes sounds like a gun.
I find myself being on edge, for when the fireworks come all night, I can’t distinguish between an actual gun shot and a firework. I can’t know if there’s a possible threat and need to protect myself.
I still have the lingering fear that they might try to execute me, especially given how much we’ve told everyone.
It’s possible they will attempt to take us down. After all, if it gets out what they’ve done, it’s game over for them…
I see a lot of other survivors/victims(?) who use and draw in journals, whether physical or digital.
I’ve never been one to track or journal or even let out my emotions, as I have been convinced the are relatively useless in a soldier.
That being said, I wonder if a journal would help? Of course, I’d still post here but if I were to draw things too, I wonder if it would help or would it be detrimental?
I remember quite a bit, though it comes in bits and pieces. So I’m curious.
Maybe I’ll start one and track my experiences as I go along.
Daily life and living gives me Deep and intense anxiety, a type of stress that is ingrained in my very soul. I can’t shake the feeling, even with meds or falling asleep.
I’m not yet used to being away and safe, I still think I’m needed, even if I know logically, I’m not.
All the things I did and we did, what did it mean? What did it mean to any of you if you could just break your “attachment” and discharge me, not even honorably.
Did I not deserve the least bit of respect and support from you?
Did I not deserve to live out my purpose, the very one you assigned to me from the day we met?
I feel unstable. Trauma anniversary. I wish everything would disappear and this’ll all be in my mind for a while.
Hi, thank you for telling me you find my art relatable. You made me feel less alone as a former child soldier. ❤️.
Hello, I’m glad I could help you achieve that feeling. I can say the same for your art, as I already have. It helps and while, at the same time, saddens me that so many of us went through this. Even then, I’m glad that those of us who have unfortunately been subjected to this, we have some type of community.
I find communities very helpful in a lot of circumstances.
Sorry for the wall of text, I tend to talk quite a bit when online. A contrast to my actual real life personality.
Soldier programmed alter culture is constantly having to physically shake away the thoughts of killing the only people you care about. Shaking away the constant images of the animals you were forced to kill as practice. Feeling guilt when you want to kill something just to make it stop. Because every life is precious and should end as painlessly as possible, and its so selfish to even think this way. But it hurts so badly.
