haunted by the bodies of old men

DID System of 86 alters trying to live as one Trauma/CSA Survivors TRIGGER WARNING • MINORS DO NOT INTERACT • We openly talk about trauma, abuse and mental illness as a way to raise awareness and share our experiences. We are in a safe environment and taken good care of. The Truth Without the Ribbon. ♡ | no endogenic systems, ddlg or nsfw. | fighting for a future after a lifelong struggle with severe childhood trauma and a year spent in complete darkness | all original posts are tagged with #threebabies ♡ "There is nothing sadder than a child who has barely seen the world, yet has seen enough to know that she does not want to be a part of it." Q&A • Our Posts

[inversedlines]

[morbidcute666]

[kitschday]

[angel-tearsx]

[gblqhdjh7dvc3nlmebe6bvkafvz5j4]

[thingsfromthedirt]

[joeyandy]

Prey.

For another stolen hour From my schoolwork and Worried or worrisome parent, I would sit with my legs spread, No clothes on my back, Twelve and hairless and sexy- Apparently.

In conversation with a man Forty years my elder, He would ask me to call him Daddy, Like I was his child and something to protect, Which I did because he was Old enough to be my dad And I- I felt protected and loved and Attractive and pleasured  And I thought he’d be a Protector or father figure, But then he’d block me once His underwear were soiled  With the product of my youth, A product I was so young I hadn’t yet made.

He stole those hours from me: Those I spent on the phone, Naked and affectionate. I can forgive him for those hours, But for years I have laid in panic  Knowing that I was not his sole prey; He is a predator and I cannot Forgive myself for every hour  That he has spent since with prey Even younger and more vulnerable than I.

And while in the hours since I  May have grown into a carnivore and activist to  Protest for the prey like me, And I write and talk, My new fangs will for hours and days and months  And long harrowing years be Covered in the blood of his prey.

[thoughtkick]

“If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.”

— Mik Everett

[anthony-samaniego]

vlady's closet

[doloresparts]

[segamascott]

[traumasurvivors]

You did not imagine it. You downplayed it so you could survive it.

[allhailthe70shousewife]

[wordsbymsb]

One day you sit in the sun and you are in awe of how far you have come. All you ever wanted is yours. All the things you dreamed of are reality. All the people you read about are in your life. You are living the life that you only knew from books, from movies and from art. You are drinking wine with people under the stars. People who understand you, without saying a word. People who make you feel so alive that you forget that you ever wanted to die. And one day, you are at peace with yourself. With your mistakes, with your regrets, with your bad habits. And you are the best version of yourself, happy, glowing, learning. Dancing through all the chaos. You are not affected by other peoples perception of you. You are not defined by others peoples opinions. You are yourself. Without any apologies. You are visiting flowermarkets, coffee shops and bookshops in beautiful cities. You meet strangers who tell you stories about life, love and loss. The books whisper that there are stories waiting for you everywhere. You taste happiness on your lips and you see the stars in other peoples eyes. They remind you what it feels like to be alive. That your heart is beating. They kiss your troubles away, even if just for a moment. They show you books and art and music and they wrap their arms around you and make you feel at home. The home you have been looking for all your life. And suddenly, the future is full of possibilities. Full of promises. And the present is dreamy and it is beautiful and it is real. The sadness still lingers in the corners of your mind. But it does not hurt anymore, not as much. It is a fleeting feeling, a bittersweet one. Always reminding you of your past. But now, in this very moment you are at ease and there is nothing more beautiful than that.

[wordsbymsb]

I like bares faces and imperfections. I like genuine laughter and gentle smiles. I like morning voices and messy hair. I like honesty and deep conversations. I like the way people look when they are lost in thought. Or reading, completely lost in another world. I like people who are trying. Who are not afraid to admit that they are not perfect.

[mournfulroses]

Ch'ang Ch'u Ling, translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from a poem titled "Since You Left,"

[oceantoyz]

Apricot Lamb Dragon Rattles