#abuser ex

[zigcarnivorous]

ethan really attempted to astroturf hasan's wikifeet

[lizardho]

I think the worst day I had as a missionary is hard to pin down – for comedy bad day stories, I like to talk about my cute companion who ripped three pairs of pants in one day because his ass was so fat. Literally, two in the morning, we missed 3 appointments in the afternoon because people kept cancelling on us, and we ended up far away from home visiting “Less Actives” in the downtown area. We find a family who says we can come in once their dad get home, and we sit down to wait for the dad to get in and RIIIPPP goes the third pair of slacks this man wore that day. I hand him my suit jacket and he wraps it around his waist like a bashful adolescent who just started his period at an inconvenient time. We catch a ride home on a bus and ended up home an hour early. He cried for like 30 minutes while stitching up his pants, and I got to rest a lot more than expected that day. We ordered a 4-cheese pizza and went to bed early that night, having walked probably 5-6 miles that day knocking doors and getting turned away.

Another bad day was the day the Mexico City Temple was re-opening. It was a funny experience for me because the evening before I was contacted by the Mission President and told that an elder in our district had confessed some serious sins to him and that those sins precluded him from going to the temple. The MP told me that nobody in this elder’s ward could get time off to babysit him so he was begging one of us – I didn’t want to go to the temple, it was a crappy way to spend a P-Day in my opinion, so I told the MP I’d do it. I spent the day eating popsicles and napping with an elder who, in between Bolis and naps, would shakily and tearfully confess that no fewer than half of his companions had secret phones they used to watch porn, hire prostitutes, and buy drugs. This was bewildering to me since I had been Trying So Hard my whole mission and had always felt inadequate, and these elders who were doing better than me and more respected than me were somehow out here fucking, doing drugs, and jorkin’ it.

I was actually in a “Punishment Area” at the time because in my last area one of my life-threateningly attractive companions had gone into the homes of widows to repair their electrical wirings (he was a trained electrician prior to going on a mission.) Being alone in the home of an 80-year-old widow with failing lights was “against the rules” to the extent that me mandaron a la goma, and some handful of guys I’d been told to view as role models were out here breaking actual laws and shit. Of course, I knew in my heart of hearts that I was in this area because of the Deep Evil that Lay Within My Heart (wanting to kiss Elder Electrician on his stupid himbo lips) but my MP could not have known that, just like he didn’t know that the guys he was making Zone Leaders were getting their dicks sucked and snorting cocaine. That honestly felt outrageous to me.

I feel like the stereotypical “worst day” of a mission is the last day – they take you to the airport in a big van, all melancholy and nostalgic. We sang on our drive to the airport – elders and sisters tearfully sang or hummed hymns together. I was deadpan the whole time, it was such a relief to be going home. For me the worst part of the day was the relief – the release of pressure. The pressure to perform, to be “on,” to be at your best, is omnipresent for elders. I was the only person flying to Phoenix, so for the first time in two years I felt a release from that pressure. Nobody was scrutinizing me, I no longer felt that every thought, action, and feeling was being evaluated and judged as a sign of my true character. It was hard to realize, a the pressure let up, that I had been holding all that weight for two years without knowing when it had started. I remember getting confused in Customs and needing someone who spoke Spanish to talk to me because I kept forgetting words in English. I remember getting home and my family waiting for me and feeling like it was all finally done, finally over, I could finally breath. It didn’t feel bad, but it did feel heavy. And it definitely was not the worst day of my mission.

The actual worst day of my mission, though, was about 5 months in. At the 6-month mark I was expected to make a long trip down to an area of town near La Basilica de Guadalupe to submit my visa paperwork, and the mission office had sent me an extra $500 MX to use for transportation costs. When I withdrew the money they had sent for the month, I noticed it was higher than expected. My companion, a senior companion and district leader, had the cell phone. He was talking to another elder while he waited for me to withdraw my monthly deposit. I approached and asked if I could use the cell phone to call the mission office, as I had questions. He said “no,” and ignored me. I waited until the conversation ended and asked again, and again, angrily, he said, “No.” I said “Elder, relax, I just need to call the mission office to see why they sent me more this month than usual.” His face turned red as he realized other elders were watching the exchange occur. He handed me the phone, I called and was told the money was for transportation costs, and laughingly returned the phone to my companion. He took it, told the other elders he needed to tie his shoe but they could head on over to the District Meeting, and waited until they were out of eyesight. Once that was done, he grabbed me hard by the wrist, dragged me into a hidden corner out of earshot from others, and said, “If you ever disrespect me or my authority again I swear to God I will kill you.”

I was actually shocked. This guy had spent the last month and a half being SUPER nice to me, so I thought he was kidding and I was just confused. I laughed and said “Haha, yeah, your authority over the cell phone is sacred,” and tried to walk away but he didn’t let go of my wrist. He pulled me back and said “I will literally slit your throat if you ever talk to me like that again. As senior companion my authority over YOU is sacred, and I will not let God be mocked by you.”

I realized that he was serious. Like, actually threatening-my-life serious. I could see it in his eyes, I could feel it in the way he squeezed tighter on my wrist. In actuality, the idea seems laughable now. The guy was absolutely chickenshit. He cried if his shits were too hard, he couldn’t end a human life, but I still didn’t let myself fall asleep first for the rest of our time together. And I still hid the two knives we had in a different area while he was showering the next morning.

If I’m being honest though, even that wasn’t the worst day of my mission. That was bad, and each subsequent time he told me he was going to cut my throat for minor infractions against his God-Given Authority Over Me (like not wearing a belt for morning scripture study, or not taking the path he thought was best to get to a lesson) was a bad day. Every P-Day where he read my emails over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t telling my parents about how he was treating me, every day he told me that the ward members would never believe me over him, every day he put me down in front of other elders and they laughed in agreement, every day he was in a bad mood and took it out on me was a bad day. But the worst day was the day I told the mission president about it. I told him about the threats to my life, his temper, his physical abuse, hiss manipulation and rule-breaking, and the mission president told me “The time to tell me this was 6 months ago. The time to forgive him and focus on your own failings is now.”

I don’t think I’ve ever felt as confused or betrayed as I did then. Like, man oh man, that was a rough thing to hear, but as the day went on I kept feeling more and more confused and scared – had I misinterpreted everything? Had I miscommunicated something in telling the story? Had I not been objective enough in recounting the threats against my life? Was it true that a senior companion actually had the authority to hurt me if I went against his authority? Was I wrong the whole time? I had no idea, to be honest, but it was bewildering.

Knowing now what I wish I had known then, I would have done things differently. But in the moment, on a mission, knowing that my biggest reason for going on a mission was the hope that the Spirit of God, which hymns told me burns like fire, would burn the faggot out of my heart. I think I felt like I deserved it. Like somehow that elder knew the evil I was hiding and felt compelled by God’s power to hurt me. I think that’s what made it so hard to defend myself in the moment – I did not have that problem with other elders. The companion who told me we were gonna wrestle to settle an argument lost three consecutive matches and pouted about it for like a week. The elder who threatened to punch me for making a joke at his expense got knocked on his ass just for raising his fist. But this elder got into my head first, and that made it hard to fight against it. Instead of fighting against it, I just silently lived with actual, verifiable, diagnosed, by-the-book, DSM-5-TR Posttraumatic Stress Disorder because I thought I deserved it. It took consistent supervision of my clinical work revealing countertransference with Male LDS clients (I consistently discussed addressing shame in a client’s presentation where no shame or discomfort had been reported), an awkward conversation with @inbabylontheywept after an even more awkward dinner with a cousin who vaguely reminds me of that companion, and a bad acid trip where I had visceral flashbacks to my mission, before I was able to realize that I was living with a pain that was as abnormal as it was unnecessary.

Even once I realized it, even once I got help, it was hard. I remember telling jokes about what happened to my therapist and seeing her jaw just…drop. She said she didn’t know it had been that dangerous for me. The session ended and he sent me the PCL-5 (a good, evidence-based, highly face-valid measure for PTSD) and some other measure for dissociative symptoms and I was like “Girl, I just took this class, I know what you’re trying to measure and this ain’t it.” I reported my symptoms accurately and was fully prepped to confront her the next session. She showed me my scores and the norms used, and I was like “Oh fuck, this looks really bad on paper,” and she was like “Yeah, I can’t imagine living like this” and I just sobbed for most of that session. We ended up doing 9 months of TF-CBT and ACT (largely because I am a terrible and uncooperative patient, realistically I think I could have been done in like 5-6 months if I wasn’t so stubborn) before I was discharged from treatment successfully.

The thing that was so weird about starting therapy for PTSD was that it made things feel worse for a while. I started taking edibles a lot more. I started behaving differently around family members and Mormons. I started being outright hostile to elders I could see. It took about 3 months before I could see the missionaries and not have an actual fight-or-flight response to their presence. I think the way I had made it a far as I did without getting treatment was by repressing the thoughts, feelings, and memories that made it all hurt, and a soon as I let them just be there it was like all the confusing aching hurt came back. The first few months of therapy were just spent expanding the amount of time I could feel that hurt before turning to other means (like dissociation, cannabis, repression, etc.) so I could actually address the experiences without crashing the rest of the day. It was hard. I know I ended several sessions sweating a LOT from the exertion it took to just let the feelings happen. By 6 months, however, I could go into a church building without blacking out from panic. By 9 months I could sit in the same room as elders without sweating and shaking like a chihuahua on Adderall. 3 months after therapy and me and my supervisors noticed that my work with Mormon men had improved substantially. 6 months after therapy and I was able to begin writing anonymous stories online. Now, about two years after completing therapy, I feel like I can talk about it without needing the cloak of anonymity, and that is empowering.

Again, I am not sure why I’m typing these stories out – they’re not fun to write, I don’t love that my family can find these posts, but I guess I just like to remind myself and others that it can always get better. That mind numbing platitude, the old thought-terminating cliché that “it gets better, just power through it” doesn’t give enough credit to how much it hurts to get through it, but it does get better. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. The triggers can go away with time, great effort, significant expense, and a lot of discomfort. The world can feel safe again, the hurt can feel bearable, that nagging worry that I might have deserved this, or that I did something wrong, can eventually go away too. It’s not easy to do it, and I have an incredible respect for the patients of mine who can pull it off, but it is undeniably as doable a it is difficult. If this story resonates with anyone, if it feels close-to-home, if these experiences feel shared, just know that the relief I talked about can feel shared too. Know that it’s worth it to get the help, that you deserve the help, that you deserve to live a life that doesn’t hurt you, that you deserve to be a full person and not a living prison for the pain and memories. Know that healing yourself does not involve extending forgiveness to Them, whoever They are. That the pain you felt will not be made less important by making the pain less potent. Know that taking care of yourself now is, in a way, taking care of yourself then. And Please, with a capital P, take care of yourselves.

Thank you to my family, especially my immediate family (special shout outs to @flowerologists and @inbabylontheywept) for the support and patience with me as I dealt with this.

Thank you to my therapist, Jordin Borques, who I recommend highly to anyone seeking trauma therapy in Arizona.

Thank you to my wife, @cintailed, for being the push that got me into therapy, and for taking care of me at my worst and still being here with me.

Thanks to my mission president for being such a colossal disappointment to Christianity that my departure from the church was inevitable.

And a general thanks to the queers for being so cute and making life worth living, even on bad days.

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

here’s a friendly reminder for survivors of any sort of abuse that

It wasnt your fault

You are strong

You didnt ask for it

No one gets to invalidate your experience

If someone invalidates your experience, you get to dump their ass

[deservedgrace]

something that's really been bothering me lately is how the church i was a part of would like... repackage doctrine to make it sound nicer and more acceptable. like, the belief that all humans are evil by nature and deserve eternal torture for the crime of existing is inherently violent and cruel. but my church didn't frame it like that. they framed it as "yes we're ALL evil and wicked and we ALL deserve hell to atone for our sin (being human) BUT god loves you despite you not deserving love or happiness or anything good at all and all you have to do to avoid the pits of hell is accept jesus as your savior isn't that so amazing????" and they framed the crucifixion as this beautiful, selfless act of god by taking our place on the cross instead of "this all-powerful being who created all the rules decided that he required torture, death, and human sacrifice to be able to tolerate us". and it's not "women will be viewed as lesser than men" it's "women must submit to their husbands the same way we all must submit to god it's not dehumanizing it's holy and yes women have different roles but that doesn't make them lesser than and sure we don't have any women in leadership positions in the church and we would never even consider it, come on now that's ridiculous, but that's just because men are supposed to lead because men and women are different and created for different purposes it's just biology". and there are plenty others! i know that the reframing of everything is part of how they can even get people to accept the doctrine in the first place, but being on the outside of it is kind of horrifying. when you get down to the actual beliefs that are held without the distortions and manipulation, so many are violent, cruel, dehumanizing, abusive. but they distort and manipulate these beliefs to make them seem acceptable, morally correct, and redefine what love is and should look like.

[zivazivc]

the morning (afternoon?) after this messy stunt. Floyd got off too easy in my opinion, but it's hard for Les to stay mad at him when he makes those sad pouting faces... 🤦

If you think Floyd's being really dumb at the start of this comic before getting a reality check, you have to take into account that he's madly lovesick and was feeling very smug atm; he's also a 15yo pop troll who thinks making out with someone means they're together now; and he assumed Les's sour mood was entirely the result of a nasty hangover...

P.S. They forgot about Hed lol (I almost forgot about him too, drew him just before posting lmao)

[softytothecore]

[cultsurvivorsafe]

Cult survivors, you don't lack intelligence. You don't lack morality. Your abuse was and never will be your fault.

[monsterqueers]

Im just really annoyed about how people just fucking hate it when the kids they were jealous of and hated in school for not also getting bad grades also report being fucking traumatized by the school system.

Yeah sorry school traumatizes everyone, even the 'ex-gifted kids' you fucking hate because god forbid someone wasnt exploited and overworked the same way you were.

Sorry a group of predominately neurodiverse people experiencing burnout and how their upbringing of being only valued for their academic performance totally fucked their ability to function in the real world dare talk about this pain where you can see.

Its not being privileged and ~humblebragging~ to report emotional neglect from your parents centered around you having to get perfect grades to receive any scrap of love.

Wishing violence on them for talking about it and finding each other isn't cute either.

And because these people need it stated extra clear

This post is NOT saying other groups of people 'had it less bad'. This is about a specific phenomenon of vitriol towards a oft neurodiverse group of people commiserating about how they were screwed over by the system under the label 'gifted kid' NOT whatever else you are imagining im saying. <3

[sangthael]

don’t fuck with scott pilgrim tiktok we didn’t read the comics or watch the series

[pynkhues]

There's something to the picture that all this season and the release of the first three seasons' scripts have painted of Logan and Caroline's divorce not as one of maternal abandonment, but one of maternal dislocation and suffocating abuse that's ruining me right now.

The way Caroline tried to take her children and flee in the dead of the night to Morocco, the way Logan took meetings with every worth-its-salt law firm in the city to cut off Caroline's access to them, wielding the legal system like an axe to an umbilical cord, the way Caroline's one recourse was to try and keep their position in the company, to keep them with something even if she gave it away later as they rejected her in adulthood. The way she stayed for their adolescence in New York even as Logan froze her out, the way she had to bargain for Christmas even in their adulthood, the way she sat in the pews with the rest of the women Logan loved and hurt and discarded while her children cried, with no tools or ability to comfort them, the way she sat as her son wrote her out of her own motherhood as he gave their father sole credit in creating them, stood opposite her daughter as she told her she wouldn't see it, i'm just gonna do it the family way like it was on Caroline and not their father, that she never got to see them.

Something about the way it feels like Logan trained them how to bark at her scent, to make sure she stayed away from the door.

[shepscapades]

You made me start watching Xisuma's s8. What have you done to me

IM SO SORRY.IM SORRY IM OSRYR KLJGSDF

[curiouscatastrophe]

Alex Hirsch has a drawing of Ford sucking Bill's face in his house right now... just think about that...

[skepticalkoi-catastrophe]

𝙏𝙧𝙮𝙣𝙖 𝙁𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙑𝙤𝙞𝙙

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends to Lovers, Exes to Best Friends, Hinted Exes to Lovers

Warnings: Mentions of physical harm to y/n (bruises).

Word count: 577

PART 2 HERE

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 「11:37pm」 - 30 days or more was the minimum. That was the agreement made to ensure there were no hard feelings. Once the distance grew, you knew there was no going back. But you never really forget how someone makes you feel.

He had driven to your location to pick you up from an event being held by major Guild Masters. Wrong number. Right time, you figured as you could've swore it was a cab service you called and not his personal phone number.

Mentally cursing yourself as you stood beside him in the rising elevator, that bottle of gwasilju nears its end in your system.

"I already told you I called you by accident." You insist as he walks you to his familiar apartment front door.

Jinwoo's lips go flat while unlocking it, leading you inside. "Accident or not, I wasn't going to leave you there alone. You called, I came."

It was obvious he was worried about you. He managed to bring a jacket to wrap around you and some slides for your feet as he predicted they'd hurt by the end of the night. Habits like these were hard to break.

Much like him getting you a glass of water, fresh washcloths and towels, and one of his shirts to sleep in.

"Jinwoo, I'm serious. You don't need to do all this. I'm fine." You glance up to the ceiling. "It's not their fault I wondered off."

"Regardless, you're here now, so just ease up a bit."

He's always been so stubborn when it came down to you. You nod, stumbling somewhat to the bathroom, him not far behind you. Gently, he took your hand, sitting you down on the rim of the bath tub, massaging cleansing oil onto your face.

Jinwoo knew better, but he couldn't shake you. Your presence reminds him of a simpler time.

He continued your nightly routine, him leading you to his bedroom where your clothes were. "If you want, I'll sleep on the couch."

"It's okay, Jin, I just...this is hard on us both."

Right. Just months ago, you and him did this same song and dance. It wasn't fair how both your duties as hunters found precedence over what was once shared. He's snapped out of his thoughts as you began changing, not bothering to tell him to look away.

"It doesn't have to continue like this - what is that?" His question plummeted swiftly like a guillotine's blade.

You didn't budge, pulling his shirt over your head. "It's nothing. You know I'm careless."

"I won't ask again. Who did that to you?" He approaches you from behind, fingertips barley making contact as you wince. Purplish blue watercolor lined your ribs, tender to the touch, causing you to flinch.

"Let's just say it was a physical disagreement between guild members." You let out a harsh breath. "If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy."

"That's not funny y/n....you've probably had this for weeks, and you weren't going to tell me?"

"And tell you what, Jinwoo? The last thing on my mind was to go crying to you about my problems. You're not my boyfriend anymore." You choke back a lump in your throat upon exit of your sentence. His shirt now draped over your body. "No contact. That was the deal."

"Fuck the deal!" A line appears between Jinwoo's brows. "I never stopped caring."

That was it. The linchpin.

"...What?"

Please comment, like, and reblog if you enjoyed it

[cultsurvivorsafe]

Survivors of sensationalized and stigmatized abuse deserve healing, too. Those with trauma considered scary, taboo, or even interesting are your fellow survivors.

[it-wasnt-your-fault]

It wasn’t your fault

It wasn’t your fault they treated you that way, it wasn’t your fault you accepted that treatment for so long, it wasn’t your fault you were taught abuse and neglect were what love is all about, it wasn’t your fault you thought it was all you deserved, it wasn’t your fault you fell for their fake charming character, it wasn’t your fault that you just wanted to be loved.

it wasn’t your fault

[batsinnappies]

I have a hc that Buddy gets along really well with kids