What We Do In Silence

This is a vent space. I will be discussing my trauma, more specifically recovering from an eating disorder, being an abuse survivor and depression. ◇ don't forget to drink water! ◇

[whatwedoinsilence]

Today my mother arrived home angry.

My grandmother belittled her for not allowing my cousin to come to our apartment, since the little girl wanted to see me, but I was sleeping. What she told my grandmother was simple: she's sleeping, but she can see her cousin tomorrow.

My mother then proceeded to spend 30min complaining about grandmother to me. I listened and gave no opinions, as was requested of me.

About an hour later, my grandmother started text-bombing me. Saying my mother didn't tell her anything about my trip and she needed to know more details. I was busy and didn't reply immediately.

Then the texts kept coming. "You don't care about me", "It's okay, go with God on your little trip, don't bother talking to me", "You won't even bother with one reply?", "I'm getting impatient".

I couldn't reply as I'm finishing my luggage, so I asked my mother to text her and explain before I said something I shouldn't.

I literally opened my door about 5min to speak to my mother, and about 10min later, received a slew of insults on the fact that I was "in my pajamas in front of strange men", since there was a man fixing our window that I didn't hear coming in.

Now I'm suddenly the inappropriate whore who wears pajamas in my own home.

This is the same woman who said she wished I was raped when I was 16 and wearing a skirt to a pride parade, and unfortunately, because things had been calm lately, I tricked myself into believing she had actually become a better person.

I will break the cycle. I will leave. I won't look back. And if God ever blesses me with children, I will be better.

[whatwedoinsilence]

just realised I'll never truly be able to make any of my dreams come true. I'll never be able to save money, I'll never go to school, I'll never work in my dream field. every time I make a bit of money, even a small amount of savings, I'll always have to give money to my mother. she can't survive without me. I'll never save enough money to move out or educate myself enough to make more. I'll be stuck in this cycle forever.

[whatwedoinsilence]

fear.

this is a testament to my fear. let it be known that I was afraid, if something happens to me.

two weeks ago, i broke up with a man. after days of debating whether I should or not, I finally chose to do it.

I felt horrible about it, breaking up with someone over the phone. but if i were to wait the three weeks it would take to see him, I would've changed my mind and let him back into my life. I Know this would've been better for him, he'd be able to convince me.

about two months ago, he bought tickets to visit me in my country while I'm on vacation. he didn't tell me, didn't even consult me, up until that point that was something we had only discussed vaguely and I asked him to wait until I was home to make these decisions.

my vacation will last three months, he bought the tickets to stay at my grandma's home for one of those months. things are expensive here, I explained that, and he made all these plans (conditions, I guess) as to his visitation:

1. he'd choose the itinerary. he wanted to go visit waterfalls two states away, and go to the main touristic city in the country, three states away. he wanted to go shooting, clubbing; all things i never enjoyed. my country is expensive, i told him that so many times, but still he insisted. I help my family when I can, thats where all my money goes, and in three years of working overseas I haven't been able to save basically nothing. I couldn't afford to share expenses on this trip, but he didn't understand, he didn't want to understand.

2. I'd cook and clean. he was an only child, couldn't even fry an egg much less cook a meal or clean the house. in the beginning of our relationship he asked me if I could cook, and if I was "the type to pick fights". I enthusiastically said yes to the first, and no to the second, thinking he was only interested in getting to know me. once the tickets were bought, I was bombarded with requests of meals I was supposed to cook.

I need to save some money to go back to work this year, working on a contract basis i need to get medical tests done every year and get a visa to go overseas. we met at work, he knew this, but things cost so much less where he's from, it was hard for him to understand the value of money for me.

after i told him i didnt want him to come over anymore, he got upset. he didn't check the reviews of the travel agency he bought the tickets through, and turns out they aren't the best with customer service and won't issue him a refund. he promptly asked me to repay him half of what he spent (about €500, which x6,1 would be the amount in my country currency). I explained to him I would, but it would take time and I'd need to find a new job on vacation to help me pay him back. I broke up with him after that, still promising him the money back.

a couple days go by, and he tells me I don't need to pay him back anymore. he's coming to my country either way, it's always been his dream to witness one of our festivals (he never told me about this dream until then), and I panicked.

he doesn't know my address, at least I don't think he does, but I don't know how easy it would be to find it. I explained the situation to my mother, who calmed me down, but i couldn't help a gut feeling something was wrong.

I kept replaying things in my head, all the times I ignored the massive red flags he presented me with. the screaming, throwing things, hitting himself, telling me I to talk like a person every time my voice would go small when I apologised and asked him not to yell. all the times he'd ask me if I was angry simply because my tone changed or I wasn't smiling, all the times he yelled at me in front of others then told me I embarrassed or humiliated me, all the times I was told I was too loud or not participative enough in public, that I was rude and needed to talk more to his friends.

all these moments went through my head. I kept telling myself he'd never hurt me, he said he'd never hurt me multiple times. so why was i so afraid? he would be three states away enjoying the festivities.

then the calls started.

7 calls in the last hour. messages telling me he's hurting, he's upset, he doesn't understand how i could leave him without another word, all he wants is one last call.

I dont know if he's in the country yet. his flight was scheduled for the 7th, but the festivities won't start until next month. I don't know if i should respond, I don't want to. but I'm afraid he will do something to hurt himself. he has issues, so many, and I've told him time and time again the only person who can help him is a therapist, he needs medication, he needs professional help. I will blame myself for the rest of my life if something happens to him, but i can't bring myself to take his calls. I just can't. I'm so scared. I just want this to be over. I feel horrible for hurting him so much, i wish I didn't have to break up with him but we could never work. and I keep hearing all the little comments he'd make in the back of my head, the little digs about how "his parents are used to meeting all his girlfriends", his cousin saying "but how many do you have?" when he introduced me as his girlfriend, calling me "his bitch" even when I said i don't like it, talking about a distant future where he's married with a wife and kids telling stories about this period of his life (I was never included in his future).

I feel so guilty and so scared. two other calls came in while writing this post. it's 8h30pm here, must be like midnight where he is. why does he keep calling me.

[winedark-whump]

One episode into North of North and I love Siaja so much. Sick of these fake failgirls! If you're not getting drunk and cheating on your husband who almost killed you after his selfie session by kissing a guy who turns out to be your long lost father than what are you even doing. And also you might have seen a goddess but she also thinks you're a loser.

[whatwedoinsilence]

how long can you go hungry, a game.

let's play a game. the setting is a small kitchen in a cramped apartment, and one of the player is an older woman who won't allow anyone in the kitchen while she's there, due to the fact that it is so small and multiple people being in would mean someone constantly touching her.

the other player, is a woman half her age, who has been fasting for the past 12hrs due to having to undergo medical exams, and whom, according to player 1, "must be starving".

player 2, out of consideration, never stays more than 10min in the kitchen unless she's cooking (which she only does when player 1 is busy or out of the house) in order to leave the kitchen open to player 1. player 1 couldn't give less of a fuck.

player 1 will proceed to waste time in the kitchen, doing nothing but smoking and conversing with the dog, stopping player two from entering the kitchen, while going on and on about how she doesn't understand how player 2 can "go so long without food".

player 2 isn't able to get in the kitchen and feed herself while player 1 is inside.

player 1 also has a history of pointing out how player 2 is "losing her figure" and with time will look "just like (player 1)". this is meant as a reminder that player 2 is no longer as thin as she used to be while in the height of her anorexia, and that player 2, and I quote, "ruined" player 1s body at birth.

how long can she go hungry for?

[transboysgetknives]

ra ra rasputin something something sour cream

[transboysgetknives]

no, no, i have faith in the hellsite. this will reach its targeted audience when it’s ready

[angrytraumavoid]

Me as a teenager: I really relate to victims of child abuse. Weird, given my parents are amazing.

Me now: oh.

[whatwedoinsilence]

it's been a while since I've written, been a while since I've had the strength and time to write.

I've spend the last year at sea. Got a new job, packed my suitcases and left to what would be the most turbulent year of my life. it was hard, painful and traumatic at times, but every day I would remind myself that it was better than being at home.

the time is coming for me to go back to work soon, and after being at home for nearly two months all I can think of is how hard it'll be to go back and get used to the routine, the people, the places.

but there are little things that remind me why I chose that job. I'm so far from home, far from the screaming, the condescension, the mistakes I didn't even know I made but that are pointed out constantly.

this morning I woke up to the sound of my mother screaming I ate too many eggs. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to have to plug in my headphones early in the morning, scared of coming out of my room, but listening close to what mistake I've made, what issue she's gonna find with something I did, how can I make sure tomorrow will be different, things will be clean and orderly enough that the literal first sound she makes in the morning won't be a word of depreciation for my existence.

maybe my next contract will be even harder than this one, but it sure as hell beats being home.

[whatwedoinsilence]

When I was younger, I used to have really bad meltdowns. I would cry and scream and hit myself, throw myself to the floor and shake. I would beg my mother not to touch me, because the sensory overload was already too much. She would grab me by my arms and shake me harder, scream that "she was my mother and I belonged to her, she could do whatever she wanted with me", then she would beat me while yelling at me to stop crying.

Now, she's in the process of getting diagnosed with ADHD, and her doctors think I might have it, as well as autism. We were watching a news segment on a famous actresses' child who has a sensory disorder, and they brought up skin sensitivity, which reminded me of my meltdowns.

I brought up my childhood meltdowns, how I used to ask her to not touch me and she would grab me even harder. She said, "well, it's not like anyone even knew what autism was back then. you were always such a sensitive kid how would I know I was hurting you?", I don't know, because I told you?

The word I was looking for was "I'm sorry", although I should've known to stop hoping for it a long time ago. My mother would rather shoot herself point blank than ever apologise to me about anything.

[whatwedoinsilence]

My mother got home at 2am yesterday.

Didn't call, didn't text, didn't let me know where she was. I was worried. I tossed and turned in bed until she got home.

Finally, this morning, as I woke up, about half an hour after her, I asked her "what happened last night? you're usually no out that late without letting me know". She said she was talking to my grandfather. I said, oh okay, and moved on.

Not even a full minute goes by, she's now in the kitchen, and I hear her scream "what the fuck happened last night? what the fuck happened in this kitchen? I leave for one night and you ruin everything."

Just like that. Out of nowhere. No warning, nothing. Just asked where she went, and she found a way to make me feel bad about it.

[whatwedoinsilence]

One of my earliest memories is being beaten. Laying in bed in a fetal position, protecting my face with my eyes shut as my brain tries to muffle out the sound of screaming, while my lips beg and plead for her to stop. Stop hitting me. I'm sorry. It hurts.

When she decides my punishment has been completed, she leaves me there, and I finally cry. Cry because I'm alone, cry because I can no longer be punished for crying. And I hug my little knees so tight and rock back and forth, whispering to myself "one day we will leave. one day we will be free." I was talking to myself, talking to my body, talking to my bruises, but talking as if I was a spectator and that wasn't really happening to me. Not me. Not me. Someone else.

Eventually I would get up, walk out, standing high. If she was still home, she wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't look at me. I must be the one to cave first, I must be the one to break, because I'm the one in the wrong.

I don't ask what my crimes are, I don't know them to this day. I approach her, very carefully, as she takes a long drag off her cigarette and ask her for something to eat, or maybe a glass of water.

And it's done. The anger that once was there is no more. We can go back to loving each other, until once again I disturb her peace, as I've done for all of 23 years now, and the cycle starts over.

I know what my issues are, I've always been a very introspective person. I crave love, I need it, I long for it, but I will choke on my own tears before I ask out loud. I just stand there and hope that one day I will ask for the right glass of water, the right food, and someone will finally love me.

But what if I can't be loved? What if I am the only person in the world who is unworthy of it? What if I'm the unlucky child who has to live forever without it?

I hear the things she says. To herself, in the morning when she knows I'm listening. To her friends, whenever I'm near. To our neighbours, when we're walking by. She says it with a smile on her face and laughter leaves her lips but I know she means it. I am difficult. I am snobbish, brute and hard-headed. I am loud, angry and freakish. I am lucky to have a mother like her, other mothers would've burned me with cigarettes or left me in a trash bin. I am a lot to handle, a lot to deal with.

When I get angry, I see myself as a spectator once again. I scream and I hear her voice, I shout and I hear her words. I feel her rage. And it frightens me so much I can barely breathe, but I cannot stop. It's a scary sight for sure, and one I wouldn't wish anyone to have to behold.

I am broken. I am not complete. But maybe someday I will be. Maybe someday far away from this madness the Prince that was promised to me, by every kind kindergarten teacher and Disney movie, will appear. Maybe it will be a Princess, even. And they will rescue me. They will rescue me, because I'm growing more unsure by the day that I can rescue myself.

[whatwedoinsilence]

the narcissist trap

the narcissist trap is what I like to call situations that your narc parent, significant other or family member put you in solely so they can use said situations to humiliate you.

my mother has the habit of setting narcissist traps and using them in front of others.

for example, when she sent me to the grocery store to get snacks for me and my friend and some groceries only to demand 90% of the money back while calling me an idiot, say she never asked for any groceries and eat the pastry my friend picked for herself (even though i brought her a snack as well, the only one I knew she’d like, but she said she hates it and demanded the sweet pastry, only to take two bites and spit it out as she doesnt enjoy sweets, then throwing the pastry in the trash and eating the other snack), leaving my friend with nothing and forcing me to give her my pastry so she’d have something to eat.

set. catch. release.

another time, she gifted me a blouse for christmas that had a small slit on both sides. the first and only time I wore it was to the theatre with a friend, my mother accompanying us as she didn’t allow me to get out of the house unaccompanied. as I step out of the room, she turns to my friend and says “look how she’s basically naked. probably wants some attention because she knows she can’t compete with you without dressing like a slut.”

I’m curious now, does your abusive parent or significant other set traps? how do you deal with them?

[m0oooon-presence]

I used to play the keyboard piano. Not great or anything like that, I couldn’t even read sheet music, but I used to play by ear for fun.

I’ve had to stop playing because I developed severe rheumatoid arthritis that left my hands deformed and my fingers frozen in strange positions. It’s physically impossible for me to do so, and this is obvious to anyone who sees my hands.

Every Christmas, I always say that I don’t want anything. I say this everytime. I don’t like gifts from my mom or family because they’ve always acted like I was spoiled for even getting them. A few Christmases ago she told me ‘’I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I got you something.’’ You can probably guess where this is going. I kept insisting she give it to someone else, but after days of the same conversation I finally opened it to shut her up. Of course, it was a keyboard piano. She smirked in a mocking way and said ‘’thought you’d like it.’’

I’m not really dealing with it. I’ve been fighting back my entire life, it just gets you more abuse and people telling you you deserve it. This world seems as though it benefits evil people and only exists to use decent people as an energy source. If you somehow retain your humanity through everything there’s not really a reward other than still being a human.

[m0oooon-presence]

an update on this

I still have to deal with them but I no longer live with them :)

[whatwedoinsilence]

omg, dear, I'm so happy for you ! that's the greatest step forward, I'm sure it's only bound to get better. I'm very proud of you ❤️❤️❤️

[whatwedoinsilence]

When I leave, will you miss me, or miss screaming?

Will you miss me, or miss having someone to blame?

When I leave, will I have the guts to come back? Or will I be so different that home will finally become somewhere, someone, else?

Will you miss hugging me more than hurting me? Miss my smile or my tears?

When I leave, will you see reason, and beg me to come back? And will I? Will I abandon all my senses, all the time I've spent bettering myself, all the tears I cried and the nights I spent praying and begging God that you'd change?

Will I grow once more blind to the demons that live in your shadow and just jump into your open arms? Will I think you've truly changed, as I did so many times before? And will my heart skip a beat and ache once I realise that once again you have not changed anything but your lies?

When I leave, don't forget you're the one who shut that door, all I did was lock it.

[whatwedoinsilence]

In the middle of the night in September, my mother and I, and about 3/4 of our apartment complex, were awakened around 2am by the sounds of a new neighbour yelling incessantly and what seemed like someone being beaten. There was no other voice, but the sounds of things breaking and the loud, angry yelling were immediately startling enough for several neighbours to call the police.

I panicked. In hearing the screaming and the sounds of what seemed like someone getting beaten over and over again, I had flashbacks to my childhood. I hyperventilated, begged my mother to get off the window, as the man could be armed, before hiding in my room and crying.

The screaming went on for 3 hours. Nobody slept that night. I remember hearing my mother crying and praying by the window, muttering "she must already be dead. why is he still going? why hasn't he stopped?", while begging God to protect whatever poor woman was at the mercy of this man. I never saw her so distressed. My mother, who mocked rape survivors and was quick to discredit any woman who came forward reporting rape or domestic abuse, was now showing concern for an unknown woman.

We soon found out we got it all wrong. The man lived alone, and he was in fact yelling at and threatening a next door neighbour whose dog kept incessantly barking and wouldn't let him sleep. He was drunk. My mother's mood soon changed and she found the situation hilarious. Her tears dried and she went back into her room to try and get some sleep. The next morning, she retold the story to neighbours and family members, laughing at how distraught I had gotten.

This whole time, all I can think of: why did she never cry for me? Why did she never feel bad for me? Why did that unknown woman, whose voice we never heard and who never truly existed, awakened a stronger feeling of empathy and concern in her than her 3 year old daughter, her 5 year old daughter, her 11 year old daughter? Who throughout years and years cried and begged and pleaded for her mother to stop beating her, only to be faced with nothing but calm and "I told you so", "this is for your own good", "you need to learn manners"? While I covered my face wrecked with tears and snot, while I cried and begged at the top of my lungs, promising to change, promising to be better, where was the empathy for me? Where were the tears for me? Where was the concern for that little girl? Why didn't I deserve it?

What did I do so wrong that was worth the punishment, why was my pain never important enough to be concerned for?

[holl-horse]

Goncharov (1973) dir. Martin Scorsese

Clips from rare 1991 Spanish TV cut of Goncharov. Sourced from limited 2001 PAL DVD release.

[whatwedoinsilence]

reasons I have been beaten in the past:

- the ceiling fan broke

- I cried at a book

- I used all the shampoo

- my mother hurt herself doing the dishes

- I talked back

- I asked to many questions

- I didn't eat enough

- I ate too much

- I was crying

- I asked not to be touched

- I shut my bedroom door

- I yelled

- mother had a bad day

- grandmother had a bad day

- I asked someone to stop laughing at me

- I asked someone to stop yelling at me

- I said a swear word

- I didn't know how lucky I was to have a family that doesn't burn me with cigarettes

- I begged to not be beaten

- I didn't bring mother any snacks

[whatwedoinsilence]

Punishment comes in many ways with my mother. After years of beating me to a pulp, grabbing me by my hair, emotionally manipulating me, berating and humiliating me in private and public, she knows the mere sound of her voice is enough to scare me. Enough to make me go quiet and anxious, waiting for her next sentence, her next move, to find out if I'm in trouble or not.

So she just says whatever she wants out loud. Back in the day, before we had a dog, if I ever so much as attempted to defend myself from the names she calls me out loud, loud enough so I can hear behind closed doors and with headphones in, she would start yelling. Telling me I must be stupid because she wasn't talking to me she was talking to herself, she's allowed that. Now that we have a dog, the excuse has mutated. She talks to the dog. She's conversing with them. I shouldn't assume it was me she was talking to when she calls me stupid and clueless, tells me I don't know how to do anything well, that I can't be trusted with anything.

I bought some fruit today. It's getting warmer where we live and fruit can be a refreshing treat. I placed them in the fridge so they wouldn't go bad. Not even an hour goes by, she yanks the fridge door open and starts yelling at the dog: "Fruit doesn't go here. Fruit goes in the fridge drawer. Fruit has always gone in the fridge door. Is she stupid? Is she fucking dumb? How does she not know this?"

Mind you, I know how the fridge is organised. I put the fruit in what I thought was the right place, but if I even attempted to apologise (which I wouldn't, because its best not to bother her while she's in that mood), I would hear long tangents about how I'm eavesdropping and she "wasn't fucking talking to me".

Sometimes even the mere sound of her voice makes my heart freeze, whatever she's talking to herself about, every time she opens her mouth I wince and instinctively protect myself. I am highly sensitive to sound as well, have always been, not that it matters to my family, who will take any opportunity to shout. I absolutely despise the sound of her voice. I hate how scared it makes me.

So I just wait behind the closed door of my room, hoping this screaming match with no one will end soon and I won't need to be afraid to leave my room.