#Domestic Abuse survival

[carriedreamerxx]

"Smile"

A brief reflective essay by Carriedreamer

******

There is something... Extraordinary about reclaiming something that was stolen from you as a child.

Something you didn't have any control over.

Something you tried so desperately every day to fix, trick after trick, remedy after remedy. Online or from books.

Something you begged on your knees for. Hands clasped, desperation in your voice as you saw the judging nonchalant cruelty only adolescence ... Puberty and finally teen years was capable of.

You begged. You pleaded. You bargained.

To no avail and then you were out.

You were out on a cold February morning lost and terrified.

You were out with a bag of necessities and a little else.

You were out with a mask and the fear of the unknown as you caught your family's gaze in the silence that was Quarantine.

You were staring in a mirror, wishing with all your might this last trick would do the task you were so desperate for it to do as you began a life that was new.

Again.

You closed your eyes and took the needles, the drills, you squeezed the arm rests and told those around you to do one thing.

Save your smile.

It took a year.

A long...long year of appointments, of tears, of curses, of broken hearts and equally broken voices. It took competing against an invisible clock that's chime still emanated through the air.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Every visit found something new. A memory you'd long shelved, of pain that had abruptly vanished one night, another day at the breakfast table whispering your mouth really really hurt...

Momma... Can't we go?

No they're evil and take all our money. It's a scam. I'm a nurse I know better than you.

Each memory. Each wisp. One by one. Week after week. Month after month. Bill after Bill.

But you can't stop.

She cost you everything.

But she's not taking away the one thing she never stole.

Drills. Water. Lasers. Putty.

Tears. Hand squeezes. The rancid taste of a mint long past it's prime.

You're fine. You're doing so good.

Raise your hand if you feel anything.

We can get through this.

One week. Two weeks.

Three weeks... 4 months.

Six months.

.... A year.

You're in the chair again. Your cheeks are stained with silent trails of tears that you don't even murmur.

Your tears are... Trained like that.

You close your eyes and open your mouth.

One more.

Just one more.

It's another two hours.

Your jaw is numb. Your face frozen. Your hands folded neatly in your lap as you close your eyes and it begins again.

But for the first time when all is said and done.

When you are given the okay to leave. Same old, same old they know you here after all. You're on first name basis with them all.

But for the first time.

You ask for a mirror.

A mirror that your hands shakily turns around and you remove the dental glasses, your eyes are still squeezed shut.

You wept. You pleaded. You begged on your knees.

You tried. You failed. You kept going.

She failed you.

Those memories churn through your mind like a storm as you keep your eyes closed. The kind assistant puts her hand on your shoulder and tells you it's okay.

Count with her. Okay?

One.

Two...

Three.

They're not perfect. Oh no, pearly whites are hard with your coffee habit, that's not something you're willing to give up thanks but...

They're...white all the same.

The tears come again. You didn't even realize you were crying until a tissue is pressed in your hands. You stare and stare, the reflection moves with you, blinks with you...

Dear God it...

It is you.

She took everything from you. Home. Career. Family. Safety.

Humanity.

But through it all you smiled. You made yourself smile through the pain as the only comfort you had left. To spend energy smiling versus wallowing in the hell your life was.

She took everything but...

She didn't take that smile.

No...

You took it with you.

And now... Looking at those... Mute whites that to you sparkled like the sheerest, finest and most immaculate diamonds you had ever seen...

You realize your nightmare is over.

She...is gone.

You realize that that reflection. That new woman staring at you in the mirror practicing her smile.

Is... You.

She is gone. She can never hurt you again.

You are free.

I'm....

free.

Fin

*****

"smile"

[bookdragon6660religoussideblog]

Dynnes Cerridwen honestly got the short end of the stick. I mean, not being able to abort the fetus after having literally goddess like power because a gross human man decided so...(greyhound,falcon,otter,hen)

🏊🏽Yea, I'd be pissed and try to chuck taliesin in a river, too. Like he lived in the end and got raidient brow powers. But you are a FOOL if you think having that child was her idea.👩‍👦

🧚🏽Fair folk naturally considered human like children to be grotesque. It's probably just all the daterape. 🤷🏽

-----

It's not feminism/polytheism without the divine rage aspect of the goddess and finding magical reasons that domestic violence in the home shouldn't be tolerated.

BEGIN 88788 (text line for domestic violence)

[neuroticboyfriend]

Abuse has a goal behind it, and a lot of the time, it's about changing the victims behavior. If someone screams at you for not doing X activity, eventually you learn to do X activity. If someone hits you when you defy them, eventually you learn not to defy them. If someone abuses you frequently enough, and you begin to break down to their will... It is possible to reach a point where it may seem like you're not being abused anymore.

They don't yell anymore because you stay quiet and do what you're told. They don't threaten you anymore because you don't voice even the slightest disagreement or need. What used to be screaming fighting arguments have become lectures at your expense. They may even praise you for doing what they want you to. And all those mundane moments - breakfast, the rare kind act - stand out more. Your perception of the relationship skews even more. It's all normal now.

And it's still abuse. It's just reached its end goal - wearing you down so badly that they don't need to overtly abuse you anymore to get what they want. All they need to do is make a joke, or complain to guilt you, or tell you want to do/not to do, etc. etc. The fact that's all it takes now doesn't make what's happening to you less severe - if anything, it means you're in much, much more danger than you could realize.

It's abuse. It's horrific. It's just not obvious anymore... and that's terrifying. You deserve so, so much better. You deserve to truly be safe - not to have your wellbeing held behind fearful compliance. That's not safety. That's not love. That's abuse. It being psychological doesn't make it less dangerous.

[axolotlclown]

We need to remember that Shubble stated that Wilbur would manipulate and gaslight friends and family. With this, we must be patient with streamers that were close to Wilbur. This was likely surprising and shocking for them. They may need time to come to terms with what has happened.

I have been vocal about how important it is for men to be critical about abusive behaviors. However, Wilbur had many close friends—some would even consider him family—and now they may feel they hardly knew him at all.

There is a deep stress felt by viewers. It is difficult to think we have given any amount of time or money to an abuser. Could you imagine a close friend right now? The pain and betrayal must sear. They need time to understand what has happened and come to terms with it. Many of them may not be live in the coming days (weeks even).

That being said, as time passes, criticism may be necessary. Complacency is not an option. Men that are willing to ignore abuse to protect an abuser are just as pathetic as the abusers themselves.

Let's give this situation time to breathe. I ask that we give patience and courtesy to those close to Wilbur at this time. But please do not forget that this happened. There may be a few streamers hoping to lay low and then drop a collab in a few months. Do not let them. This is too important.

[furiousgoldfish]

abusive fathers will go 'what makes you think you can live in my house rent free, you are kicked out if you don't deserve your stay' and abusive mothers will go 'you are the worst trash on the world if you leave, I will never let you go, there's no place for you anywhere else in the world, you owe me to fix my entire life and live right where I can use you the most'

[eggwishing]

dave but mlp

[lightofraye]

(Note: This is not my statement, but someone else's.)

I made the mistake of thinking that I was loving him by putting up with his abuse.

I knew that no one was perfect, and I thought the good times were worth being called names and being injured.

I knew other married couples that griped about each other's habits but loved each other, and stayed with each other anyway.

I wanted to believe so badly that I was doing the right thing, while slowly dying inside.

[thealogie]

Always thinking of the 1992 movie not getting made which means we missed out on beautiful gay robin williams aziraphale (he would have slayed so hard rip king) but also means we dodged dark fuck prince crowley (literally wretched evil demon unrecognizable from the books) played by Johnny Depp at the height of his heartthrob status.

[confessions-into-the-void]

New Skin

Seven years is all it takes

For your skin to die and it to flake

As it dies, it also grows

Becoming flesh, they do not know

Even though my skin is new

My soul is damaged, it's black and blue

The years of heartache

I can't erase, I can't undo

How can I patch myself up

when everything I touch fucks up?

How can I repair myself

when my growth is not enough

I'm decaying faster than I can sew

Another day, another hole

My trauma burns inside of me

It's who I am, it's meant to be

Better me than someone else

At least that's what I tell myself

The little child, a troubled teen

A young adult, only nineteen

As he held me by my throat

The will to live was all I hoped

Yet here I am, drowning again

And I can't make myself swim

The monsters are inside of me

In everything I'll ever be

The person that I am today

Was abused and used, and made this way

I'll try again, I'll carry on

I'll sing another pathetic song

I'll tell the world that I am fine

While I rot away inside

And every day that comes my way

I'll close my eyes and I will pray

That my brain heals and my pain ends

And I can finally be whole again

Seven years, and seven more

I'll heal my flesh, I'll heal my core

My soul intact or in a morgue

I'll find my peace, forevermore

[dreamy-conceit]

If they treated you differently at home than they did in public, they knew.

— Purrie (@eyesore1994)

[noraheals]

“Let's talk about those of us who learned to heal before we learned to live—the ones who grew up playing life on hard mode. The ones who had to become their own safety net, their own comfort, their own home. You look at others sometimes, don't you? The ones who got to be carefree, who didn't have to grow up too fast, who never had to learn how to survive before they learned how to live.

It feels like you've spent so much time putting yourself back together that you forgot what it feels like to just... be. Like you're always catching up on a childhood you never really had, healing from storms you never asked for. Sometimes you wonder what version of you would exist if you hadn't spent so many years untangling knots in your heart that someone else tied. If you could have spent that energy dreaming instead of healing, creating instead of recovering.

But here's the truth about hearts like yours—you're not just healing, you're rising. Every piece you put back together makes you stronger, wiser, deeper. Yes, you had to learn survival when others were learning to live, but look how far you've come. Your heart still knows how to be soft in a world that made it grow up too fast.

That's not just healing—that's magic.”

—Author Unknown

[anthroxlove]

[neuroticboyfriend]

today, my therapist called the abuse by my father "domestic violence." it affirmed me, but i couldn't tell why. i've been calling it child abuse myself for years, afterall. why does domestic violence feel different? well. it gives me a fuller picture.

i have been abused as a child by people who weren't family. and it's never just been that my dad is abusing me, his child. he's abusing his family. his abuse of my mother impacts the way she parents me. him abusing both my sister and i impacts our relationship. by calling it domestic violence, you make what's happening clear. you give all the harm a name, which doesn't just give me a voice, but puts blame where it belongs - on him.

i share this because i doubt im the only one who's gone through a lifetime of domestic abuse without calling it that. domestic abuse doesn't only affect an intimate partner, and domestic violence isn't only physical. your trauma matters. the collective trauma of your household/family matters. all of it matters. you can call it what it is.

[furiousgoldfish]

When you're a kid going trough a scary, non-understandable traumatic experience, your child mind contextualizes it in a way that doesn't seem that scary. Like we don't tell small children when their relatives are dead, they're just traveling; it's easier for a child's mind to comprehend that someone is just gone for a while, and will be back.

When you're a small child living in abuse, not only does it seem normal to you, but your brain will find a way to put it into context that you can understand and live with. Your worst experiences of abuse might be foggy, forgotten, blocked off, or seem like it was a dream; not something you need to worry about or be wary of. Your parent, who violently attacks you, calls you names, turns on you and at times feels very dangerous and hateful, that's not their real self! They just 'turn' into this other person, and the times when they do that just need to be not taken seriously, you firmly believe that their true self is safe, okay to be around, necessary to love and understand at all costs, and not someone to be afraid of. You might want to keep all the bad memories away whenever things are good, so you'd be able to enjoy the moment when it feels normal, non-scary, so whenever they're not aggressive and scary, it feels like they never were in the first place. You feel like those times are made up, unreal, something your mind refuses to linger on.

Sometimes this defense turns against you. It can turn an experience out of your control, into something you could have potentially controlled if only you did things differently. If you never made a mistake, never broke anything, never said or did that one thing that set the abuse off - it wouldn't have happened. And so you have to focus on what you're doing wrong in order to 'prevent' future events of abuse. It ultimately plays into the idea that the abuse is 'your fault', and invokes deep feelings of guilt and shame; you end up feeling like you're the one causing yourself all that damage.

Abusers know this child mind defense, and fully expect to get away with anything they've done, by insisting the child imagined or dreamed it, and it didn't really happen. They know the event was traumatic for the child and makes them look bad, so their best luck is to convince the child it really was just made up, and to never recall it or show any consequence of it. They even go as far as trying to convince, now adult child, that the parent's own actions of abuse, were the child's fault. Something an adult can tell right away is not true, because you can now connect a cause and consequence, and you know a child is incapable of controlling adults in any way. But being told something as despicable as that will cast doubt and deep emotional damage.

Every time such experience is suspended and blocked off, the child loses a bit of their vitality, energy, health, trust, feeling of safety, feeling of connection. When these experiences accumulate, eventually the child might experience dissociation, or a full amnesia, not even being aware that anything more is happening, because they cannot handle even one more event of abuse. And these experiences won't stay suspended forever; soon they'll cause the development of anxiety, depression, ptsd, cptsd, and other related disorders. And eventually the truths can no longer stay hidden, the child will remember and struggle to add new context, to realize what exactly happen, because now they have a chance of knowing the truth and surviving it.

If someone attempts to make you feel like something they did to you as a child, was your fault, this is what they're trying to push you into. They'd prefer you never being able to put your life and experiences into context, never be able to recover from keeping trauma inside, just so they wouldn't have to look at what they've done to you and take accountability. If someone is telling you that the events you remember are made up, imagined, a dream, something you shouldn't think and talk about - but it's only like that when you're remembering abuse, they're trying to use your own defenses you had as a child against you. You needed to believe it back then in order to survive it, but you need to correctly contextualize it now, if you ever hope to feel okay again.

You can trust in your own mind, and your own defenses to get you trough this. You are not wrong in looking back and seeing things a different way. You are right say 'that was fucked up'. They shouldn't have done that to me and they know that.

[mycolancer]

I know the people involved. Please share as your act of mutual aide today! They have gottten almost a quarter way to their goal in just 24 hours!

https://gofund.me/149de804

[heulwenflower]

Lucky

Tw:abuse

I thought I was lucky yknow?

That out of all the pepole at that table

Their eyes were on me

That out of all those pepole I was the one they focused on

That they made me feel seen and like I was worth being treated right

In a world that thought my strength and grit meant I didn't need it

In a world that saw me as an object

They saw me as a beautiful creature

It turned out they wernt really into animal rights

They promised me freedom then locked me in a cage

There depressed little pet

Rare and exotic

Now extinct from the world

The life of the party now lying in bed all day

Roaming the streets at night

Looking for an answer as to what went wrong

But never linking it back to them

They didn't like that my feathers dulled

It didn't matter that the captivity did that

Obviously it had to be my fault

I was once beautiful and kind

Now bitter and mean

I yell now instead of my old beautiful birdsong

That wasn't good enough

There was better now

So I got kicked back into the wild

But I wasn't made for it anymore

No matter how hard I try my song is now a wail

I'm no longer docile

I bite

Unsuitable for rehoming