#trauma processing

[scumashling]

I'm late to the nsfwhump/noncon kink discussion but as someone who both enjoys Nsfwhump as a form of trauma processing and for Certifiable Sexy Reasons due to having a lot of wires crossed between the two, I feel very strongly if you are someone with a noncon kink and you engage with it through other people's fiction about sexual violence, you should be taking care to read the room/contextual cues before you start commenting overtly sexual things on their work, especially in the whump community. Speaking as a survivor with a hardcore nonconsent kink, it's really not that difficult imo to ascertain the difference between someone who's writing about sexual violence to be titillating vs trying to invoke horror even if you, the reader, technically find the depicted acts to be arousing. Exercising care around this is good practice, especially because for a lot of whump writers, depicting acts of sexual violence in an accurate way is an important practice of truth telling and trauma processing that often gets mistaken for porn/smut.

Personally my favorite brand of whump is the type that strikes a balance between "survivor fiction" nsfwhump and "smut" nsfwhump because my own sexual desires and trauma are very deeply intertwined and I don't necessarily perceive these two types of whump as being two seperate categories but that's just me

[cdd-safe-haven]

[cry-baby6]

[my-slideshow-wmv]

never uploaded this anywhere but i made it 2 years ago for myself trying to channel how completely irony poison unhinged i was in 2013

[theweightofdivinity]

Some of us learned the hard way that pain doesn’t disappear just because you stop talking about it.

I didn’t learn this in theory. I learned it by living inside my body when it wasn’t safe to look away. So I learned to stay. To feel. To name what was happening so it wouldn’t rot inside me. Over time, pain became something I learned how to listen to, not because I wanted to, but because avoidance can destroy you from deep within. So when something hurts now, I don’t know how to pretend it didn’t happen. I need to understand it. I need to speak it out loud so it can settle… it’s awareness. When I’m asked to “just move on,” my body doesn’t feel peace. It feels abandoned. When I name what happened, I’m not trying to fight, I’m trying to stay connected to myself. Avoidance may calm the surface, but it doesn’t repair the rupture underneath, and when something isn’t repaired, it doesn’t disappear. It comes back later to visit as distance, resentment, fear, or withdrawal. I need to be allowed to exist without being minimized or rushed, because I’ve already lived what happens when pain is swallowed instead of integrated.

I know the cost of that.

[margins-of-me]

What No One Tells You About Getting Better

Everyone talks about the fall — the crash, the chaos, the rock bottom. There’s language for the spiral. There are movies about the wreckage. But no one really talks about what happens after.

No one tells you that getting better is boring. That it’s lonely. That it doesn’t feel like a victory most days — more like losing the only parts of you that made anything feel bearable. That it’s not some glittery phoenix moment. It’s brushing your teeth when you don’t give a shit. It’s showing up when you’d rather disappear. It’s learning how to fill hours that used to be soaked in vodka or distractions or whatever else kept the silence away.

Getting better looks like:

deleting someone’s number and still checking if they texted

buying groceries you’ll probably let rot because trying counts

standing in a room full of people and still feeling like you showed up to the wrong life

cravings that feel like grief

cravings that feel like nothing — which is somehow worse

realizing you don’t miss the substance, you miss the permission to not care

post-acute withdrawal fog so thick it feels like pregnancy brain but without the baby to blame

faking joy when someone says they’re proud of you and you’re mid-relapse

white-knuckling your way through 7pm like it’s a haunted hour

brushing your teeth like it’s a goddamn Everest expedition

taking a bath without a bottle of merlot and wondering how comfort got so clinical

having everything — your own apartment, a new job — and feeling lonelier than ever

moving back in with your family and realizing you’ve changed too much to fit the space you left

missing the person you were when you were drunk: fun, loud, untouchable

staying sober not because you feel strong, but because you’re scared of what happens if you don’t

wanting to scream “I’m a mess” at every person who says, “You look so good now”

Getting better is supposed to feel like coming back to life. But sometimes it feels like watching it happen from behind glass.

[the-whine-factory]

morons who whine abt "fujoshi ftm yaoi addicts" who "fetishize gay men" when I tell them I identify as straight now (I discovered myself through yaoi because my hyperchristian environment taught me that as a "girl" I had to be attracted to men so i misinterpreted my admiration/jealousy of the male form as sexual attraction) (the boys I had "crushes" on in school was me being so jealous I wanted to become them but I didn't have the words for it) (I used to look up female alpha/male omega stories because the omega sometimes had a pussy and that was the only place I felt seen in some way) (I was always very uncomfortable changing in the girls locker room because I thought the other girls were very pretty in a distinctly non “comparing myself to them” way and seeing them in their underwear made me feel something odd but it felt invasive so I just changed as fast as humanly possible) (I had a lot of friends who were girls who treated me very badly but I kept hanging out with them because I desperately wanted them to like me “for some reason”) (somehow I'm still a confused lesbian despite this because thats what all trans men are somehow)

[the-wanderer]