#trauma posting

[the-wanderer]

Credit to @inanotherunivrse (for breaking me)

[stargazers-satellite]

I'll wait for you like a dog.

[moderncassandra]

I trusted him I trusted him I trusted him I trusted him I trusted him I trusted him I trusted him I FUCKING TRUSTED HIM

[learningfromlosing]

I really just want to be able to recover without feeling like theres a time limit

[cry-baby6]

[smolykyikes]

One of the many problems with being traumatized is that it makes you behave like you’re going to be a lame horse.

As soon as I do a single thing wrong, as soon as I can’t perform my function, I’m going to be taken out back and shot like a lame horse that’s broken its ankle.

So I have to become the best racing horse ever while also being hypervigilant to not do anything wrong ever that could lead me to breaking my ankle and thus getting shot. I’m so aware of any possible danger. I’m so alert. I’m the world’s most careful and terrified horse.

But despite all that I’m still taken back and shot anyway because instead of being a lame horse that broke its ankle I’m a horse that became so nervous it won’t stop panicking at its own shadow and throwing off its rider so it’s put down. I was so scared of becoming the lame horse that I nevertheless took on its fate. The analogy kind of got away from me but you get my point

[takemetodragonstone]

I think the worst thing about having very vague/spotty memories because I was so young when it happened is feeling like I can’t ever fully accept that it DID happen. I will always second guess myself—even though the evidence is always with me (the body keeps the score, as they say). I will probably never tell anyone who knows him about it because what if I’m wrong?? What if I’m making up these flashes of “memory”, and seeing “signs” in my present self where there are none just because I want an easy answer that would explain the way that I am???

It would be such a horrible thing to accuse someone of if it wasn’t true. Especially family. Even just thinking it feels cruel and unfair to him sometimes. And there’s no way for me to get the truth unless he were to confess it to me himself.

I fantasize about that sometimes—I like to picture him apologizing to me at some kind of reunion, scared out of his mind that I’ll tell someone about it and ruin his life. Or even unapologetic, making jokes about it. At least then I would have confirmation. At least then I would have validation for the last twenty years of my life.

Anyway if anyone else feels like this, you’re not alone.