#burning dolly

[burned-doll-weeping]

I came to a realization. About myself, and the people around me.

I am not an abuser. I know that for a fact. Yes, I did things I shouldn't have, and I was not healthy. Yes, there were moments that, if context was ignored, they would seem far worse than they actually were. But I never abused anyone, nor had any intent to.

I'm sure most people have seen all the shit that happens in the TADC fandom. All the unnecessary, petty, childish drama. He is the exact kind of person who would participate in that sort of thing.

There was no abuse. He's just delusional.

And I can say this with full certainty. Because no sane human being GENUINELY believes they are a fictional character. No sane human being ghosts people for two months because they think everyone around them was replaced by spies trying to get information on them or hurt them.

Not only is he delusional, but he's also mentally impaired, because no intelligent (not booksmart, or academically smart, I mean intelligent about the world and the people around them) and rational human being would take advice from a 14 year old when they themselves are 18 and ought to know how stupid they themselves were at 14, especially when it came to people. No smart or rational human being would want to be friends with someone who has delusions of grandeur and of being a literal god that consistently harm them and their mental state.

Maybe he was influenced into thinking I'm an abuser. Maybe he just wanted to be the victim. Maybe it was something else entirely. But it's certainly not my fault, nor my responsibility, to defend myself in any way against an irrational idiot. Because no irrational idiot actually cares about the defense, only their own opinion of you.

Gooseworx was recently attacked for simply saying "who cares" when the last episode was leaked, which was not her fault, nor something she could control. Not to mention that, for like a year now, she has been the constant target of fandom drama for no real reason. I would have done the same, and he probably would have had the exact same reaction as the part of the fandom that got mad at her.

Why? Because he's entitled. He thinks that everything revolves around him.

He claims I was self-deprecating to make him feel bad and stay with me.

I have been self-deprecating since I was like 12. I never did that to manipulate him. I was attempting (and clearly failing to do so in a healthy way) to be vulnerable with him.

He claims I held my life over his head to manipulate him.

The first time I tried to kill myself was when I was four years old. I've always been suicidal. Again, I was trying to be vulnerable with him and seek help. He was the only person I felt safe enough to discuss it with.

He claims I sexually abused him.

Everything sexual we did was with his consent. The one and only time he did not give me his consent verbally was closer to dub-con, as he not only very much seemed to be enjoying it in the moment, but he also told me directly afterwards that he loved it, and then we had an ERP session based off of it at his request.

He claims I emotional abused him.

He has given zero proof or documentation of how. Not even a story that I can rebut. Never once did I intentionally harm or alter his mental or emotional state. So far, the only things he seems to have claimed as emotional abuse leads back to me supposedly manipulating him, which, again, never happened, and what he keeps calling manipulation was my attempts to be vulnerable with him.

All this is simply to say that I know I may have fucked up in the relationship, but I NEVER, not even ONCE, abused him, manipulated him, or hurt him intentionally.

And, honestly, I think this is the final straw I needed to actually get over him. Because no one worth keeping will call your attempts to be vulnerable "abuse and manipulation."

[burned-doll-weeping]

Biggest pet peeve?

Liars and hypocrites.

That is very much directed, but not at you. My ex was every bit a liar and a hypocrite. And he knew I hated those kinds of people from the get-go. "Oh, you feel uncomfortable texting me back after I broke up with you and continue to say that I love you? And you still want me to tell you about my day because even if you can't reply, you still care about how I'm doing? You're USING ME and OBJECTIFYING ME like I'm just an ACCESSORY to you!!!! How could you!!!!!!!!"

But then when he ghosts me for two months and I only contact him when I'm in dire mental straits and need just enough grounding so I don't kill myself because he specifically told me to give him space, it's "Oh you only ever care about me when you need me to comfort you, I wanna hear about the good parts of your day, too, and you're USING ME, and you HAVE to text me ALL THE TIME and ONLY GOOD THINGS and if you don't then you DON'T CARE and you're ABUSING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Like. This mf literally told me that he wasn't going to do that just a few months before because it made him feel like an accessory or a prop, but now he wants ME to do it? Nah, fuck you./nay

Other than that, though, just general hypocrisy and intentional ignorance are ny biggest pet peeves. Being stupid is not a crime, but refusing to learn absolutely is. And any habitual hypocrite is also a habitual liar, and those are never to be trusted.

[burned-doll-weeping]

Tell me not to do it, bro, I need to be told not to do it. The urge is so so so very strong.

[burned-doll-weeping]

Made my blog a ton harder to find lowk because I genuinely think I might start fucking with my ex for the simple purpose of seeing what he might do. He wants to be manipulative and controlling? Two can play at that game, darling~

[burned-doll-weeping]

Lowk just remembered that my ex is also spreading misinformation about plurality. I tend to be endo neutral because I genuinely think that anything is possible and there's not enough medical study to say that it's 100% impossible, but you CANNOT call yourself traumagenic and say "oh yeah it's because of my ex who abused me" when that shit happened when we were SEVENTEEN LMAOOOOOOOOOO.

Traumagenic systems have CHILDHOOD trauma, during their FORMATIVE years. Not SEVENTEEN YESRS OLD.

But I'm the bad person who allegedly abused him and caused him to have it, and I actually AM plural, what the hell do I know.

[burned-doll-weeping]

One more post for the night.

Untitled — Finished at 4:25 AM on August 24, 2025

TWs: Grief, Depression, Loneliness, Dissociation, Derealization, and Depersonalization, all described very explicitly

CWs: Unrequited yearning/longing, also described explicitly

Please do not proceed if any of these topics might be triggering to you, or make you uncomfortable/upset./srs

(Original vent writing piece. I no longer use he/him pronouns.)

He doesn't know what he expects by now. It's been a year, but it's still as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. The time has...helped. It's not healed, and he thinks it maybe never will be, but he doesn't feel the sting as much anymore. He's used to it, the aching absence. He only notices it's presence in the silence, in the cold, in the fall.

Dry, cracked fingers drag against the wooden walls, tracing patterns of memories and innocence. Blue eyes occasionally pass from staring at the floor to staring into space and back again. Memories flash before his eyes, things he knows, but doesn't understand. He breathes in, and the air smells clean and fresh, like rain and cold, and his lungs burn.

How long has he been moving? He doesn't remember. What is he running from? He can't recall. Everything is a blur of names and faces, moments that were meant to be happy, things he wants to live with, things he should remember clearly. But the only clarity he gets is when he hurts. He remembers pain, stinging clear and sharp, ringing through his chest like a gunshot, filling his mind and wrapping around his throat, choking him, cutting through his skin like a hot knife through butter, hurting him.

And the names and faces simply observe his misery. Some laugh. Some give pity. Some are angry. And some simply turn around and walk away.

But he gets none of that now. Just the memories, how it felt, why it happened, what happened after. And a cold hollowness, empty and numb to even himself, and yet feeling so full of it.

Blue eyes flash in his vision, and while nothing truly comes from it and he still feels overall hollow, his heart does jump and beat faster for a few moments. He knows those eyes. They were so tender back then. So calm and caring, and feeling so very much. So shy. So beautiful.

He wants to reach out. To touch his aching, raw fingers against the skin below those eyes, wants to feel his arms wrap around the body they come from, feel his lips meet the tender throat of their bearer as they gaze down at him. But he knows better. It is only an illusion. There will be no warmth to meet his hands, and no force to stop them moving. There will be no crooked, nervous smile with a little laugh and an inquiry about his actions. There will be no stars reflected in those eyes. And there will be no scent of fresh skies. No softness to his clothes. No realness.

So he doesn't move. He stops in his tracks, and he stands there, staring out at the space those eyes would occupy if they were true. Even if it was only a memory, it touches his soul, brushing against a growing crack, and though it aches, the touch is familiar, so he doesn't pull away.

The emptiness grows, becoming more familiar as it takes up more space in his chest, as if there was any left at all. Loneliness pushes out from his ribs, trying to claw through skin and bone to escape into the world as cruelty and unkindness. And he knows the feeling. So he embraces it. His soul wraps around the feeling, covering it entirely. He can't recall if this was originally a plan to contain the loneliness so he was more palatable or an attempt to accept that it was a part of him, but it never worked to do anything regardless. The loneliness never escaped him even when he fought it tooth and nail. He always remained kind, if not a little quiet. And accepting it never seemed to really work, and he still never found a good way to cope and feel better. At least, not without those blue eyes he had seen.

The longer he stands and stares, the more the hollowness grows, snuffing out buds of emotion before they can even appear. And only when he is left a shell does the buzzing in his ears stop.

His finger twitches, and he moves, slowly, as if in caution. As if moving too fast would break the spell he was under, as if something would break. His hand goes to his face, covering his eyes, and he hunches over, his other arm holding his stomach. He doesn't feel real. He doesn't feel like himself. Something is wrong, he's sure. But he feels too distant to even worry. All he can think to do is try to soothe the itching in his skin, buzzing like an electric flyswatter.

Moments pass. He counts his breaths, the beating of his heart. He reminds himself that he's alive, he's real. No simulation can come up with a feeling like this. No dream can replicate the intensity. And slowly, so slowly, he straightens. He still seems entranced, not himself, too distant. But he knows he's okay. He may not be very present, but he knows he is alive. And that's all that can matter right now. He knows that.

He doesn't think of the blue eyes. He doesn't let himself. But he does think about the empty spaces around him. The kitchen is silent, only a light above the stove on. The living room is dim and quiet, only the sounds of his own breathing. His bedroom is always empty. The house is empty.

He would almost say it was like a black hole had sucked everything out of the rooms, leaving them shells as well. There's no life. No goodness. No smiles or laughs or happy memories. No friends. No family. Just empty walls and dirty tables and a buzzing feeling between his lungs.

Someone should be here, he thinks. Someone should be filling his walls with laughter and light so he is never in the dark and silence. Someone should be wearing hugs and heat into his blankets and hoodies and pillows so that he is never cold or wanting for touch. Someone should be etching smiles into his windows so that he is never lacking in beautiful sights. Someone should be here. Someone should be holding him.

But there is no one. He is alone, as he has always been.

His bones creak as he stumbles towards the couch, falling into it as if the effort of even holding his body upright was enough to exhaust him. The cushions are too fluffy, too springy, as if trying to push him off of them. The fabric is rough, and not at all inviting. But he is tired, and the only arms that will catch him are the ones on this couch. So he deflates, melting into the cushions as if they're hugging him the way he wishes someone would. He still feels too empty, but still, as he sighs and leans his head back, the tightness in his chest lessens. He can breathe a little easier. This is the best he's been able to breathe in weeks, too.

The loneliness never leaves. But it lessens further with his comfort. The more he forgets he is real, the better he feels. And by the time he's remembering who he is again, the numbness has become comforting.

[burned-doll-weeping]

Logging off for the night. But I wanted to share an anecdote I just recalled about my ex, too, before I do.

He told me, very quickly after we began dating, that he thought our song was Understand by Hippo Campus.

The chorus of the song is as follows:

"I don't care what we are,

It just has to work.

Where we end is something far;

Something hard to understand."

Repeatedly.

But I manipulated him.

Yeah, okay. So telling me that, no matter what, we HAVE to work, we will ALWAYS work, is just okay behavior now to say to someone with BPD/abandonment and attachment issues. Pairing this song with the whole "I chose and I will keep choosing you no matter what" and then leaving me not once, not twice, but THRICE is okay to do to a borderline now.

But I was the manipulative one.

Still one if my favorite songs of all time, of course. But I really do hope he realizes what the fuck HE did wrong, too, instead of projecting all the blame onto me because I was an imperfect human being.

[burned-doll-weeping]

Maybe that's enough Tumblr today. I keep seeing puzzleshipping posts, and, while I am an avid puzzleshipper, a very big part of my relationship with my ex was the delusion that he was Yuugi, and I was Atem. Seeing puzzleshipping content has almost become a trigger, atp. I see it, and while I feel okay the first couple times, it tends to get very overwhelming very quickly and make me feel more disconnected from reality than I already am.

I think maybe that's a sign that he hurt me more than I realized.