#TW Psychological Trauma

[inevitablemoment]

June of Doom 2023: Day 30

Word Count: 584

Warnings: Post-traumatic stress disorder, past buried alive, captivity, claustrophobia, panic attacks, brief mention of post-partum depression

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Pairings: William Murdoch x Julia Ogden

I know that I dropped the ball with all of the other prompts, but when I saw what Day 30 it, it fit so perfectly with what I had in mind for this little snippet that I came up with after watching the Season 16 finale of Murdoch Mysteries.

Enjoy!

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The last thing that Julia Ogden remembered as she awoke with a gasp was this shock going through her very core, like she had been struck with a bolt of lightning.

No... she could still remembering the voice of Mathilda Crisp threatening her and William... and possibly Susannah.

An entire crime orchestrated-- a man's death fabricated.

And... Mathilda and her father needed her and William for... for something.

Julia's head whipped towards William-- he seemed to have been awake for quite some time before her.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I don't know," William answered in a shaky voice-- something that she hadn't heard since Frank Rhodes had poisoned him.

The first thing that Julia noticed about where they were was that it was small. Wooden.

Like a coffin.

She thought that she could feel it jerk the both of them around.

"Are we moving?"

Julia moved to her feet on her trembling legs.

Memories of darkness and burning lungs hit her like she was kicked in the chest.

 No... no, this can't be happening again! Please, God, don't let this happen again!

Julia couldn't stop herself from beginning to scream and pounding at the walls enclosing her and her husband. "HELP! HELP!"

Strong, callused hands carefully grasped her forearm. Her chest, already tight as a drum, clenched further into her heart with fear before she heard a familiar voice.

"Julia."

The voice of someone that, in the span of a few seconds, she had forgotten was there.

"Julia," William gently urged as she turned to face him. "Save your strength. My guess is whoever put us in here doesn't care much to help us."

 "HELP! WILLIAM, HELP! HELP!"

Her lungs were burning and her heart was racing against her chest even as it pressed against it like a mechanical vise. Her stomach was churning violently, like choppy sea waters during a violent storm.

Her eyes began to burn as well, as she thought of Susannah...

She wasn't even a year old yet...

"Will-- William..." she choked out. "I-- I can't breathe..."

She knew what this was.

It had happened to her before, all throughout her life. But it hadn't been until she was treating a patient for postpartum depression that she realized that she wasn't the only one.

It didn't help her feel like any less of a burden for it.

"Julia... Julia, I need you to look at me..."

William.

She looked back up into his face.

It was amazing how much time had passed, she thought in an attempt to try to distract herself.

Sixteen years, eight of them married.

She looked into his soft, amber brown eyes, noticing the slight wrinkles around them that again reminded her of the passage of time.

"Just take a breath?" he instructed. "Just breathe..."

Julia took a deep inhale through her nose, exhaling through her mouth.

"Good... again..."

She repeated William's instructions, beginning to feel her heartbeat slowing back down. Her chest still felt tight and her stomach was still churning. As the tears that formed in her eyes finally escaped down her face, she thought that she could feel the circles forming under her eyes as she leaned against William.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist, rubbing her back soothingly with one hand and the other reaching up to stroke her hair.

"We'll figure out how to escape," he promised. "And we'll get back to Susannah."

Julia took another deep breath. "I... I hope."

No, she amended in her mind. We will.

[emoguyventsaboutnothing]

I still sometimes wish to reach out to the actual musician that my cult leader pretended be and...just talk. I dont know if I could ever tell him about my trauma. I dont want to put that burden on him. I dont want him to think I am insane. But...just a brief exchange makes me feel like I can achieve some closure over it. I honestly dont need much. I just want to speak to the real him so my brain can create the separation between the real him, and this character the cult leader played. It would quell the questioning for good.

Context: The cult leader claimed he had a supernatural gift of being able to switch bodies with people. So that was my primary mode of "communication" with these people he pretended to be. As you can see, this sets up literally so many ways he used this to manipulate me and several other people. The cult would only have about 4 dedicated members who believed the leader in earnest. There was no name for the cult. We definitely did "psychic rituals" that would "save the world". It was extremely similar to the cult of DAYD. There was no dress code or anything. We had SOME individuality when it came to self expression, however, we could not think differently from the cult leader. We took care of our leader, almost stepping into this...parenting role. We were homeless together many times while I was still in the cult. The amount of times I have woken up to him with his hands around my throat, a knife over me, or his foot on my ribcage pressing down with all of his weight...I don't want to be in that position ever again...

[4spooniesupport]

[whereserpentswalk]

You were born to be a sacrifice. When you first exited your mothers womb the oracles decided that would be your fate. They tattooed your hands and forehead so everyone would know.

When you turn twenty, they'll take you to the church, and they'll set you on fire. And then when your body is burned they'll give your ashes for the angels, and the angels and saints will be proud, and bless your community and family with great riches. Or at least that's what they say.

When you were young it didn't seem to mean anything that you were born to die young. Nobody cared, they just saw you as another kid. But it was always there. Adults would ask other kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, but they'd ask you what you would do once you were a ruler in the court of heaven. They'd tell other kids about marriage and sex and having children, but for you that would just be for other people, you'd die a virgin.

And at a certain age, you were removed from school. Because they said you wouldn't need it. That you shouldn't be wasting your time on such things. And you didn't understand, but you understood that all your freinds were upset that they wouldn't see you anymore. Not as much at least. And people talked about you so much differently from then on. You weren't complimented as strong, or as smart, or as ambitious, you were pretty, and pure, and brave, and dutiful. And everyone talked about how proud they were of you, how wonderful it was that you were going to die for them.

They were so nice to you. They gave you so many gifts and jewelry. You got to spend all day inside playing video games, and you got the best toys and got to go to movies and plays when you wanted to. Soldiers in power armor would bow when they saw you, and robots and cyborgs would turn off their lights. And you sat at a special place in church, and the clothing you wore was diffrent then everyone else's. And people talked about how wonderful you were, and how pretty you were, and how much they loved having you when they knew you wouldn't be on this world for long. And they were so proud of you when they showed you the platinum clothing you would wear on the day of your sacrifice. And you didn't understand why but all of the compliments sounded sad.

As you grew older things changed. The other children went through puberty, but you didn't, they gave you surgery to prevent it, ans told you how pure you were for not producing blood or seed. And you were old enough to understand that you would die, that you would burn, and it would hurt, and that nobody really knew for sure what happened after peopled died. And you saw a sacrifice, and saw the pain they were in, and there weren't any angels, there were only priests watching and chanting, and the smell of burning skin.

Your parents and family started to care much more how you behave. To make sure you're polite. To make sure you're a good sacrifice, who the angels will like. And meanwhile while all your other freinds are going to college, and talking about becoming artists, or starship pilots, or scientists, you know you'll only ever have one ending. But still, everyone loves you, and you don't have responsibilities, but still sometimes you think about how much diffrent life would be if you were born differently.

You've started meeting people who've left the faith, or people who didn't grow up in it, people who believe in diffrent religions or in no religion at all. And your heaven seems less and less certain every day. According to imperial law you're allowed to be sacrificed, but if you choose not to they can't force you. But if you choose not to you can never be a part of your faith again, and your family will be disappointed in you forever. All your family and community, everyone who you ever knew, will consider you a failure, a coward doomed to hell for not going through with what the cosmos planned for you. And all that pride and joy they felt about your fate would be replaced with anger that you never became what they were so happy and proud about you being. You don't think you believe in heaven anymore, but you still might choose to die, if it means they're proud... it's what you're raised to do, you don't know who you'll be if you choose to leave.

Better choose fast darling, it's only a few months away now. You don't want them to be upset.

[artisticdysfunction]

Intentional Trauma Based Psychological Conditioning (ITBPC)

yes, this is a post of us proposing a term we use personally be a community term.

so, what is this anyways?

psychology conditioning is a common thing to occur as a result of abuse, or other chronic traumas. pavlov introduced the concept of psychological conditioning with his testing on dogs. what most people know it as, is in relation to dog training. in terms of chronic trauma, it is a natural response to what happens to a person. it's why triggers exist, after all. and in terms of chronic trauma survivors, our system would personally call it trauma based psychological conditioning.

what would make it intentional, though?

for us, we define intentionality when a person is put through a series of related psychological conditionings, through traumatic means, for the purpose of making that person fit a particular goal.

one example that most people may be familiar with, is with cults. trauma inflicted onto people, on purpose by the cult, to make them good and willing cult members.

however, ITBPC can and does apply to more situations than that. it's more commonly seen in survivors of organized abuse, abuse done by an organized group. it can cause trauma disorders as any kind of abuse and trauma does.

why did we coin this for ourselves? and why are we making this post?

we have our issues with the term Mind Control. other than the fact that it is commonly thought of in terms of science fiction and hypnosis, we also don't believe it to be the most direct in what it is. mind control does refer to psychological conditioning, so we believe that referring to it as such would be more direct and lead to less confusion.

no one has to use this term if they don't want to, though. this is a term we made for us, and wanted to share in case anyone else felt right for them to use as well. anyone can interact with this post, just be civil.

[lilacxquartz]

i hope karma comes bite you back with what you write ^_^

been there, done that sorry anon 💔

but let’s talk about how ironic it is that you supposedly disagree with the act, yet you’re wishing it upon someone else.

i keep seeing this on my feed as well, like, how can anyone sending these claim to be against rape culture if they’re wishing for someone to get that done to them?

“oh i disagree with what you write about, i hope the same happens to you!” — see how silly that sounds?

make it make sense

[darkgodcomplex]

The Lord’s Child

Wally X Reader

CW: ABUSE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, YANDERE, RELIGIOUS GUILT, NON CONSENSUAL TOUCHING

AO3 Link

Here’s the story:

Your hands clasp in prayer as the congregation around you mutters a collective "amen" and starts to shuffle out. Despite the service ending, you don't budge from your pew, continuing to kneel as people pass by until the church is empty.

Well, almost empty.

Still dressed in his priest attire, Wally watches you silently for a moment, wondering what on earth you would want to pray for when you’re already perfect.

He approaches and you’re startled by his voice as he speaks, “Why are you kneeling, child?”

You turn your head, looking up at him. Your sweet, innocent eyes look up at him.

You blink at him, “I-I was just praying, Father.”

He smiles, “You’re the picture of godliness, my child.” He reaches down, index finger hooking under your chin and tugging it up higher as his thumb ghosts over your soft cheek, gently petting you. “I can tell your heart is pure.”

“How can you tell?” You almost demand, voice desperate for his praise. He nearly trembles from the tone. There’s nothing he loves more than the world breaking you down and him picking up all the pieces.

Wally kneels down next to you, clasping your hands in his own. “I can feel you.” He leans in to whisper in your ear. The two of you are so close now that he can feel your hot breath on his neck and hear your heart beat in your chest.

He leans even closer, lips close to brushing your ear, and you flinch away. Wally smiles.

That. That is what made you pure. The way you’re so desperately wanting his affection yet also so afraid of it.

Wally pulls back, keeping his cool. “What did you come to pray for today, my child?”

Your cheeks turn a beautiful shade of red as you look away. “It’s nothing.

“My dear, don’t go lying to a priest.” Wally pushes.

Your cheeks turn even redder as you shrink into yourself. You very clearly don’t want to tell him, which makes him want to know even more.

“Father, it’s just stupid troubles-“

“I want to know.” He puts the pressure on you by waiting in silence.

“It’s just…”

Wally watches you intensely, head tilted to the side as he waits for you to explain.

“I just…” You fidget nervously. “I don’t fit in anywhere.”

Wally can’t help but grin. “Of course you don’t fit in anywhere.” His tone is sweet but his words are cruel. “You’re too pure. The world outside will never accept you.”

Your lower lip begins to tremble and the sweet, guiltless eyes he loves begin to tear up.

“But that’s okay.” Just as he’s cruel, he’s sweet. “You belong with the church. You belong with me.”

Wally runs his hand over your cheek. As tears fall, he doesn’t wipe them away. Instead, he presses his thumb against them, dragging the wetness down your cheek.

“You don’t have to cry.” Wally whispers. “I know you need me. I know you want me. This is all god’s plan.”

This doesn’t stop the gentle flow of tears down your cheeks. That’s okay though. He’ll take you broken.

As he comforts you, Wally slowly gets closer and closer, hand sliding up your thigh to massage circles into the muscle and hot breath trickling over your neck.

You freeze, slowly beginning to realize what’s happening. Took you long enough.

His mouth attaches to your neck, at first sucking and then biting. He can feel you start to tremble beneath him and he pulls away, pressing gentle kisses to where he drew blood and touching you with soft hands.

“Do not be afraid.” He presses another kiss to your wound. “This is what faith is, loving other people. God blessed us with the ability to give and receive love.”

Wally brings his lips up to your ear, wiping blood on it as he kisses it. “I love you, my child.”

“I-I-“ Your terrified voice speaks up, a surprise to him. Your timidness had always been to his advantage.

“I don’t want this!” You shove Wally off of you, scrambling back.

Wally lands back on the pew, nearly hitting his head in your sudden struggle. He blinks at you.

“By rejecting my love you’re rejecting the lord.” Wally spits. “Nobody loves you except me. Nobody could ever love you except me. You’ll go right back to not belonging.” Wally’s breathing is heavy as he finishes.

You start to cry again, “No, I don’t reject the lord.” The years of religious guilt he’s built up in you is paying off.

Wally sighs, “Then let me love you. Stop this nonsense and come here.” He points in front of him.

Slowly, you crawl over to him and he heaves you into his lap. You bury your face in his neck, still sobbing as he rubs your back.

“You belong to god and so you belong to me.” Wally says sternly. “Listen to the lord and you will set yourself free, my dear.”

You nod into his neck and he grasps you tighter.

God is not in this church.

[hisenemy]

Spiritualism is the death of the ego, not the projection of it.

Ego is a deep dark void that’s lonely and cold.

Narcs are a great example of ego dependent blackholes of people.

Acceptance and stability.

[goldenbituin]

Taking the gaming world by storm

(They were both introduced in 2024!)

[sophieinwonderland]

People trying to deny RAMCOA make me very confused because even if you scratch the surface level of a couple these organized groups, it's horrific, do they think that even WORSE doesn't happen???

It's the same logic that's being used to deny trauma survivors since forever!

People who haven't experienced that type of abuse first hand can't imagine it happening, it makes them uncomfortable, and it's easier to say that it's all made up and fake. Just a huge conspiracy theory.

This is what Freud did back when he decided that accusations of sexual abuse were actually the victims fantasizing about being abused.

This is what the false memory syndrome foundation, a group founded by accused child molesters, argued when they claimed that the memories of this abuse was implanted by therapists.

It's sad that we have to keep going back to this and the people who have experienced horrific trauma end up having that trauma denied over and over and over again.

[emoguyventsaboutnothing]

You know your mental health is on a decline again when you think back to a time you were in a cult and was brainwashed by someone into believing a famous musician was your parent and you see a screenshot of a picture from inside said musician's childhood home and think...what if...? I swear I have been there before!

No you haven't. I haven't. I am just making up fake memories again. This only happens when things feel hopeless in the world. I mean...the cult leader promised we were saving the world. In esoteric ways that I prefer not to go into detail about...

Like my wife said earlier today, "Life is a big bag of dicks". But compassion fatigue is setting in.

The escapist fantasy of your parent being a world famous rockstar seemed like fun at first, until it came to all the times the cult leader had to make the parent out to be abusive and neglectful to keep cover up and make excuses as to why said parent could never come visit or make at least a phone call or video call. At least my ACTUAL dad is coming to visit me for my birthday next month. Maybe I just need that time with my dad again. Why the actual fuck am I making vent posts about this when I am pushing 30?

Maybe because my wife is going through a phase where she is dressing exactly like this said musician, listening to the same bands said musician loves, reading all the comics said musician loves and even wrote, wearing the same makeup as said musician...even got the same belt buckle. It brings me back to those five years I spent wasting time in a delusional state...in a cult...where I was physically, verbally and emotionally abused...nearly killed...many times...

I want to love that band again so bad.

The Ben Nye and Gash, the daggers and bats...

I wish I could have my late teens/early 20s back.

[4spooniesupport]

I assure you the trauma is not all in your head. it's also in your heart, your nerves, and your stomach. It is in your trembling hands, your uneven breathing, your vision is suddenly gets blurry. It's not just your head that went through the thing. every cell in your body was there

[angeldustanalog]

npd dom x bpd sub

[compassionatereminders]

The other day was "narc abuse awareness day" and I had to see so much BS and ableism against us (those w NPD) and shit about how we "can't be hurt" (perpetuates abuse against us) calling us "inhuman" and literally giving advice on how to abuse us and it's just ?? Disgusting to see people talk about how it's fine to abuse us cos we can't get hurt and are just so evil :/ this is literally a disorder caused by trauma in the vast majority of cases!!! I've been personally accused of lying about my abuse because of my NPD and in fact had my abuse justified BECAUSE of my NPD by my abuser so it's just :/ fucked up

No like I HATE the "narcissistic abuse" awareness because there are zero abusive behaviors which are actually exclusive to people with clinical NPD. Like you can SO EASILY talk about emotional abuse and psychological abuse and guilt tripping and love bombing and gaslighting without acting like only people with a certain mental illness are ever guilty of such behaviors.

[nothing0fnothing]

Did anyone else with abusive parents believe that the abuse was actually super good for them?

Like I can't have been the only smug ten year old thinking "oh yeah I'm actually gonna be the most well adjusted grown up because my parents are teaching me about the real world ™ early"

Then I got to adulthood and realised that silent walking and never speaking up for myself aren't really valuable skills outside of the home I grew up in, and actually I have a lot of trauma that's like, impeding my ability to function in regular life.

That realisation that oh no, actually having a harder life when I was twelve because my parents were abusive and controlling literally did diddly jack to prepare me for the rest of my life as a taxpaying adult, hit like a truck.

[pixiedoll2]

I'm a little lamb

A sacrificial lamb to their happiness

They keep dragging me to the alter

Im destined to get hurt over and over again

So they can wear the "perfect family " title

While the little lamb bleeds out in the background