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tera-91 · 5 years ago

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Monsters part 1 - rewrite

I'm back! This past year has been rough ... so what better way to start off the spooky season and to put the past 365 days behind me than to do a rewrite of chapter 1, I had to clean up a few things and make a few tweaks it was driving me crazy. Don't worry Part 2 is already written 😈. Just have to make a couple of adjustments and it will be posted, my aim is for October 20th or 23rd depending on my work schedule since I don't have a computer at the moment. That aside I give you Patton and his lovely stalkers .... I mean monsters 💜.

Summary: Patton is afraid of monsters. They might not be so bad after all?

Pairing: not really any (yet)

Warnings: monsters, night, attack ... let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 2374

Please feel free to comment 💙

Patton had always been afraid of monsters for as long as he could remember. Ever since his older cousin Ian had popped out from under his bed with snake skin glued on to half of his face.

A monster currently resided in Patton's closet, this monster was mostly alright. He, at least Patton assumed it was a he, never really came out much anymore after Patton had begun to leave crackers with blueberry crofters on a plate near the closet door at night before he went to bed.

There was a second monster as well, his grandmother had told him about it once during a visit. It never would sneak around his house at night but Patton had a sneaking suspicion it would nap in his bed while he was at work. Wether he made his bed or not it almost always looked different somehow when he returned home. Although he wasn't completely convinced it wasn't just the closet monster. Patton did what his grandmother told him to do anyway. He would place an orange, or if in season a blood orange, on the window not far from his bed twice a week. It would always disappear after his next shift at work.

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Patton woke to the faint glow of sunlight as it filtered through his semi-transparent teal curtains. He snuggled into his warm covers to enjoy the soft fabric briefly before he reluctantly stretched with a groan.

He lazily glanced around the blurry room before his gaze settled on his closet door. Even without his glasses he could tell it was slightly ajar, the closet monster came out last night. As he reached for his glasses he was somewhat thankful it had waited for him to go to sleep. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of the long, sharp tongue and the glowing dark blue eyes. Once he was able to see clearer he was able to tell that the plate by the closet door was empty, just a few crumbs from the crackers remained. Not even a speck of jelly remained.

Patton threw back the the covers a d hopped out of bed. He ignored the shock of the cold wooden floor against his bare feet as he slowly approached the closet. He hesitantly reached for the door, with a deep breath he pulled the door hard. He peered into the closet and released the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Empty.

It always surprised him how he never found the monster in his closet during the day. One day he even had his cousin over to help him look for a present he had misplaced. Neither of them had seen the monster while they searched the many closets of the three bedroom home.

Patton closed the closet with slight hesitation once he grabbed his clothes for the day. A violet polo shirt with the pet daycare logo and khaki pants, which looked somewhat less wrinkled than they had when Patton put them away. However, on a time crunch he just shrugged and headed to the bathroom.

With the morning routine done Patton made his way into the modest kitchen. Toast sounded good. He grabbed the half empty bag of sliced bread, retrieved two slices and popped them into the toaster. Now all he needed was milk and crofters, maybe a cookie afterward if the jam didn't satisfy his terrible sweet tooth. With a small side step away from the sink he reached for the upper cabinet that held his mug collection. He analyzed each mug. Did he want a big one? A small one? What about the Winnie the Pooh mug? He pondered briefly, his finger tapped against the counter. A creature of habit, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out his favorite one, a swirled rainbow mug covered in puppies and kittens with paw prints. He walked over towards the refrigerator and placed the mug on the counter.

The cool air ghosted over his face as he opened the heavy door. The milk was easy to spot, the big red label caught his eye immediately. However, the green lid of the blueberry crofters jar was far more elusive than it should've been. He sighed as he searched, it wouldn't be the first time the closet monster hadn't been satisfied and cleaned out the near empty crofters jar and hid the empty jar within the fridge. Patton found the jar, after nearly a full minute of searching, two shelves lower and on the opposite side of the refrigerator from where it usually sat. He pulled the jar out, a slight pout on his face, and placed it on the counter just as the toast popped up.

"Again?" Patton said in a raised voice, he hoped the closet monster could hear him. At least he had left enough for Patton's toast this time. Patton was happy to share but would it really be too much to ask him to leave a note if he wanted more crackers?

Did the monster even know how to write? Even if he did, the more Patton thought about it while he poured his milk and spread the jam on his toast, a shiver ran up his spine. Just the thought of the closet monster coming close to him while she slept to place a note on his table caused his heart to beat a little faster. He began to look around and tidy up the kitchen to calm down as his finished the last bites of his toast.

The jam might be able to last another few days if the monster didn't come out again for more than what Patton left out. His gaze soon settled on the fruit bowl on the island, a couple of bananas and quite a few apples.

'Maybe I should take some to work. Bonnie would love them, the rabbits too.' Patton thought. At least they wouldn't go to waste if the store macaw and bunnies enjoyed them. He paused as he took a sip of milk, there were no blood oranges in the bowl. He must have used the last one the day before.

"Well I guess I'm going to have to go to the store on my way home." Patton said to himself as he finished cleaning up before he made his way towards the door. He grabbed the durable rainbow fabric of his messenger bag from it's hook and slung it over his shoulder before he made his way back to the kitchen. "Hmm, one for Bonnie and Mable, half for Darrel aannnd one and a half for Jenna and Monty and Mopsy." He said as he figured out how many apples to place in his bag. Once he was satisfied he hadn't forgotten anyone he headed towards the door.

Located by the door was a reasonably sized table, on top of which sat his wallet and keys. First, however, he pulled open the drawer of the table. Despite being full of mostly miscellaneous he pulled out a notepad and pen. Patton quickly jolted down a short grocery list, tore the page off, and placed them back in the drawer. He picked up his wallet and tucked the list in it before storing it in his bag. With practiced ease he plucked the keys from the table and slid it onto one of his fingers as he made his way out the door.

Patton took a deep breath as he took the first step out the door. He loved everything about Fall from the cooler temperatures to the smell. Well, just about everything, he wasn't the biggest fan about Halloween and people dressing up, it made it more difficult to spot possible monsters. As he turned to lock the door he heard a soft bark. "Hey bud, give me a second." He said without skipping a beat.

A smile stretched across his face as he turned and squatted down. In front of him stood, what he assumed was, a red Canadian Eskimo dog. He reached down and began to per the rather large dog, which quickly dropped to the ground to reveal his belly to be rubbed. Patton laughed as he began to tickle the monster of a dog. The pair played for several minutes before Patton's phone began beeping, a warning he needed to head to the bus stop to be able to make it to work on time. Patton's smile fell and the dog whined. "Sorry Roman, I have to get to work now." Patton said as he stood up. Roman rolled and sat up, another whine escaped him. "It's okay buddy, go home." He said gently as he rubbed Roman's ears and checked his collar for what was probably the hundredth time. The name plate remained blank, save for the name Roman elegantly engraved in the golden metal.

Patton wondered where the dog belonged. He would take him in as he saw the fluff ball nearly everyday but he was sure Roman had a home. He looked a healthy weight, if not slightly over. If Patton had to guess he would guess that Roman weighed close to a hundred pounds and his coat was always immaculately brushed, no knits or mats anywhere. Patton was pulled out of his thoughts by another soft bark from Roman. "I know what you want." He said, a slight lilt in his voice. With one swift movement he pulled out a slice of dehydrated sweet potato he had made for Roman a few nights ago. "Potato!" He said in a silly voice as Roman gingerly took the treat. He laughed as he scratched under Roman's chin before he headed for the bus stop.

That day work was typical for Patton, nothing particularly interesting happened. Bonnie had sung in approval of the apple slices and the rabbits left no trace of the apples within an hour. After his shift was over for the day Patton caught the next bus towards the market.

Sue to it being later Patton was greatful that the store was mostly empty. Luckily he was able to find five decent sized blood oranges as well as some fruit for himself. He was slightly disappointed however, when he discovered they were out of blueberry crofters. He hoped the closet monster would behave as he grabbed a jar of berry harvest crofters instead.

After he checked out Patton looked at the bus app, it wouldn't be at the stop near the market for nearly fourty-five minutes. As he closed the bus app he pulled up the phones map to see how close to home he was. He could walk home in half the time, he just had to go down Comet street at the end of the block and go through Sanders park then walk two blocks down Russet boulevard. He hesitated for a moment as it was already dark, but a cool breeze and a shiver made him finally decide with a shrug to walk home.

Halfway down Comet street he couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched as he walked down the semi-dark street. Little light came from the street lamps and even less from the few houses to his right. A rustling noise to his left nearly caused him to jump out of his skin, the woods of Sanders park held no light what so ever. His heart pounded in his chest as he stopped and stared into the inky darkness for a moment. Suddenly a pair of playing fox kits came tumbling out of the bush before they must have realized they were out in the open and ran off. A nervous laugh escaped Patton as he continued on his way.

Suddenly Patton was pulled from the sidewalk and pushed up against the wall of the darkened house. The rough brick bit into his back and caused him to open his eyes, he hadn't realized he closed. He had dropped his bag, he watched as a couple of oranges rolled across the grass towards the sidewalk. However, he could barely even make that out. His vision blurry as his glasses had fallen off at some point.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out in the dark? It's not safe after sundown you know. It's when the monsters come out to play." the man said with a grin as he ran a dirty hand down Patton's cheek. Patton swallowed any response that he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs as he struggled to get out of the strangers strong grip.

A low growl caught both of their attentions. The man froze, his grip remained firm on Patton. At the same time a large dog barreled out of the woods and a large bat dived bombed the man. He released Patton and stumbled back while he attempted to swat the bat away. As the bat drove him further away from Patton the dog didn't hesitate to tackle him to the ground, a deep growl emanated from deep within its chest.

Patton hadn't noticed the bat had disappeared until it reappeared right in front of him. He immediately threw his hands up but when he realized the bat didn't attack him, he peeked between his arms. The bad just hovered there. It took him a moment but he realized the bat had his glasses in its mouth. Unsure of what to do, he hesitantly held out his arm, hand open and fingers splayed out.

Patton held his breath as the bat, with seemingly practiced ease, wrapped it's feet around two of his fingers and slowly maneuvered itself to hang from his hand. Even with everything that was happening, Patton was most surprised at the bat. Cautiously he reached out his other hand to take his glasses. Once he had his glasses back he expertly, stumbled, and put them on one handed.

A shuffling sound caught Patton's attention, he looked over towards where the man and dog were. He barely managed to see the dog snapping towards the man as he ran off. With the man out of sight Patton turned his attention to the large dog and realized that he recognized it.

"Roman?"

@not-so-innocent-bi-sander @princeanxious @teacupfulofstarshine @moltengoldenstardust @sandersfander1820 @coolerthan-a-vintagecassette @j-d-lightful @could-always-be-gayer-2 @altruistic-skittles @sylveon-lover-crazyfangirl1415 @xx-fandom-potato-xx @c4t1l1n4 @dutifullystrangequeerdom @i-read-by-lamp @thatcacidork @i-do-not-dislike-fudge @bigfirecreator @random-name-here @tinkslittlebelle @kindly-falling @punsterterry

#sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #patton sanders #roman sanders #monsters au #human au #monsters #tera-91

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if-u-seek-jamie · 6 years ago

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A cry for help? No... I have the self control and I’m safe. A cry for love and attention? Yeah, that sounds more like me lol I do way too much for attention.

This whole post is a major TW/CW for self-harm, depression, anxiety, BPD (and FPing), PTSD, mental illness, suicide, hospitalization, sex, sexual assault, abuse/intimate partner violence, trauma, substance abuse

I’m pouring my heart out and opening up more than I usually do on Facebook. I’m feeling... desperately alone and misunderstood these days. I basically am gonna spill everything going on in my brain EXCEPT for things that I am still ashamed of and keep secret. LOL yeah, with everything I am comfortable being open talking about, I STILL have secrets. Can you believe that?! Me neither... I’m also going to talk about some specific people in this post, as well, but as per my style of hiding/protecting identities, a lot of them are gonna be named “Bobbert,” “Bobbert 2,” “Bobbert 3,” etc., regardless of gender, because that is what I call everyone when hiding their identities. There will also be names that I don’t protect, like Sara and Ivan, etc.

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I have pretty good self-control lately. I don’t know, I don’t think I will actually hurt myself. But wow, I keep getting the urge to.

Wow, I’ve barely posted anything but selfies on here in ages. wh00ps.

I’m pretty open about the fact that I have mental illnesses on Facebook. I’m an open book, everybody knows. But I think I keep it kind of tame, and sometimes make jokes about it. Like “lol I think I have a makeup addiction hahahaha can’t believe the people at Ulta don’t know who I am by now!”

It’s not a joke, though. I have no idea how to cope with life. I just.... overspend and overspend and overspend on makeup. I go to Ulta just about every day if I don’t have the late shift at work, if I don’t have plans. I’m just like “I need to get out of the house and makeup makes me feel pretty and makes me feel happy so I’m going to use that as an excuse to leave the house and go buy more.” And I can’t stop. And when I’m at home, I spend a good amount of time watching makeup videos on YouTube and reading through threads in Makeup groups on Facebook to come up with other products to buy. I just cannot stop.

And eating. I just keep overeating. “I’ll save leftovers for lunch at work tomorrow. hahahaha jk I’m gonna eat the whole thing now. And then I’m gonna cook more food. Midnight runs to the supermarket for some ice cream? You bet!” The binging is definitely real. I’m glad I haven’t relapsed on the purging, though I get the urge.

I keep getting the urge to cut myself. It has been over a year since I’ve done it and I hope I don’t give in. But, oh my god, I have had the biggest urge to do that lately. And I accidentally cut myself shaving last week while I was having these urges the most and that just made me want to do it more, but I also think it satisfied the urge at the same time? I don’t even know. I’ve also gotten the urge to get high but I refuse to ever let myself fall back down that hole.

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When I began high school, I was bitter. I was very very bitter about the last couple years in my life. These two girls... We’ll call them Bobbert and Bobbert 2... They bullied me relentlessly in middle school for being gay and fat. It got so bad, I had to get the school’s police officer involved. It was when I first felt suicidal.

And then that last summer before high school, I was the chosen target of my bunk at summer camp. I was the chosen target of their bullying. Why? I have no idea.

So when I started high school? I was bitter. I’m not going to protect names this time. I met this girl Audrey. My instinct was to stay away from her because she looked like an angry person and she reeked of cigarette and marijuana smoke. But we were assigned to be “phone buddies” in our literature class because everyone else was partnered up and we were the only two left. And then she was in my gym class. And somehow, we ended up becoming best friends. I thought she was the coolest thing since sliced bread. I really wanted to impress her, I really wanted her to like me and think I was cool. She literally taught me what I should and should not like. And she was... mean. If you did’t agree with her on things, she would be mean to you about it... but it was always played off as a joke, and you had to laugh along with it, all the while seeking her approval. But I thought that was admirable. I thought it was so cool and badass and I wanted to be like that. I became a meaner person when I was best friends with her. And, a couple of my close friends know this, and it’s weird for me to admit on something that I am posting publicly... But I eventually had convinced myself that I was in love with her. She was my first BPD “favorite person.” I was very codependent on her and I convinced myself that I was in love with her and I would do literally anything and everything to try to impress her or make her happy, or get her attention.

So when I went to her house and we met up with all her friends and they all decided to get high? I wanted to try it. And it was fun! But after that? Suddenly, every time I went to hang out with her, all she wanted to do was get high. Every single time. So I went with it. I always just did whatever Audrey wanted to do. And then she started hanging out with Alex (who she only became friends with because Alex and I were friends since like Kindergarten or first grade or something, but whatever). Audrey and Alex had multiple classes together that year, and I had no classes with either of them. So they grew closer with each other. So then all three of us started hanging out together, and instead of just me and Audrey, it became me and Audrey and Alex. And then we started doing harder drugs. It got to the point when we were doing MDMA on a regular basis and my serotonin levels were shot because MDMA kills the serotonin in your brain. I’d also steal medications from people, including morphine, which is a form of heroin. Sometimes, we’d take pills even when we didn’t know what they were. My brain was shot. I was at the lowest I had ever been. To top it off, Audrey and Alex were getting closer and closer and I was slowly but surely feeling shut out and neglected, like I didn’t matter. One morning at school, I met up with Audrey and Alex and Audrey’s other friends in the morning before 1st block like we always did, and everyone stood in a circle and I was literally closed/blocked out of the circle, standing on the outside of the circle. Ignored, unnoticed, neglected. I decided that was the last straw, I lost it. My FP didn’t give a FUCK about me. All she fucking cared about was drugs and getting high and Alex. But I was literally nothing in her eyes. So I got home from school, and both my parents were at work and my brother was staying after school and my sister was away at college, and i was all alone. So I grabbed a bottle of pills and chucked some down and I tried to kill myself because “She will notice me and care about me when I am dead.” I was hospitalized. When I came back home, I found out that nobody even noticed I was missing. The only reason Audrey noticed - after a few days - was because my friend Jessica messaged her, “Do you know what happened to Jamie? Didn’t you see her post on tumblr? She took a bunch of pills and I don’t know what happened.” When I got home, Audrey’s solution to my depression was just to get high.

Anyway, the reason I don’t protect Audrey or Alex’s names comes up now.

That summer was the first time I drank alcohol. Like, yeah, I do all these drugs but I have never drank alcohol LOL go figure, right? Anyway, we got our drug dealer, David... he also had a fake ID so we got him to buy us alcohol. And since he got the alcohol, we let him drink with us. I’m drunk off my ass for the first time in my life. David sees this “opportunity.” He literally asks Audrey for her permission to take me off to a separate room and do whatever he pleases with me. And she “consents” on my behalf. So I’m laying there, 16, drunk, pants off, not really sure what’s going on. And then I feel something rubbing against me. And I guess I wasn’t as drunk as David hoped I would be. Because I realized what he was doing. And I flipped out. I was not about to let him have sex with me. He goes “Shh, shhh! Stop freaking out or your friends are going to think something is happening!” But I don’t really drop it so he gives up and we go back to join my “friends.” Audrey literally gave me up to a rapist, and Alex was complicit in this.

That wasn’t the last time it happened.

A few months later.... It’s my 17th birthday. I go to the zoo with my family, but then instead of going home with them after, they drop me off at Audrey’s house so I can have a “birthday sleepover” with my friends. We smoke. We take some pills that we don’t even know what they are. We meet up with David again so that he can get us alcohol again. This time, he’s got a couple friends with him... Jeff and Ivan. Jeff was like 23 I think, Ivan was his older brother, so mid to late twenties. This is my 17th birthday with these grown ass men. We break into this gas station that either Jeff or Ivan worked at, and we party in there. I’m smoking, I’m on pills, and I’m drinking. 3 substances mixed together in my blood. I’m on cloud 9, I’m barely even mentally there. Next thing you know, the guys decide to play spin the bottle. The oldest one, Ivan... he lands on me at one point. And he just goes at it. Just full on making out with my barely conscious body. I felt myself fading. Next thing I know, he picks me up and carries me to the corner of the room, and next thing you know, my pants are off, and I feel myself fading and fading and I’m not really sure what’s happening. Ivan asks me “Sex?” I can barely speak, but I mutter out a “No!” And he asks me again. And I say “No!” again. “Why?” he asks. “I don’t know!” I can barely speak, I can barely move a muscle. I feel myself leaving my body. I have no control. And he starts going down on me. And next thing I know, I pass out and I’m unconscious. And I wake up laying motionless and drooling, naked on top of this naked grown ass man. I don’t know how I got there. I start shaking. Trying to move. I find out that my dear friend Audrey just stood around drinking beers with David, watching this grown man rape me.

I tried to remain friends with them, but that only lasted another month. Apparently after watching Ivan rape me on my birthday, Audrey and Alex decided to start telling all of their other friends that I was a sloppy slut and I just went and fucked this older guy, and they started saying horrible things about me every chance they got. And I stopped being friends with them... and they played it off like “Good! Now we can go to more parties and do more drugs because we couldn’t go before because nobody likes you!”

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Then there was Sara. The only person I ever “fell in love” with who ever claimed to love me back. My next MAJOR “Favorite Person.” I met her at an event the first semester of my sophomore year of college/her freshman year. We were sat at the same table at this event, and I could tell right away that she was gay. She was so butch and obvious. And DAMN, was she fucking CUTE. It was the very end of the semester when I met her. Then we were on Winter Break. And she found me on Facebook somehow and added me, and started messaging me and flirting with me. I thought she was so adorable. She talked to me about Disney. She asked me about my dog. I found out that my dog was sick and dying in this time, and she asked me about it and was there for me and that really got me right away. I was already head over heals because “this super cute girl thinks that I’m beautiful and cares about if I’m doing okay?!?!?!”

So then Spring semester started and we met up right away. And the very first day we met up, we kissed. And just a couple days later, she started coming to my suite every day and sleeping over. She would bring cookie dough and treats for my suitemates and me. She spoiled me right from the beginning and it felt GREAT. Everything happened VERY QUICKLY.

The first night she slept over was unintentional. We were just hanging out in my room. My roommate had moved out because she got pregnant, so I had my own room. We were cuddling. And then she attempted to get sexual with me, but I was clearly nervous and hesitant, but she was very persistent. And then she just ended up sleeping over and rushing to class in the morning. She messaged me later in the day, apologizing for pressuring me into sexual activity; that she could see I wasn’t ready and she “felt bad” for pressuring me. I said it was fine.

A couple days later, I was in my suite when I got a phone call from her. She had vertigo and had to go to the ER. All she wanted was to talk to me. So I talked to her on the phone. She came back to campus not too long later. We were hanging out in my suite. She said she had a club meeting to go to. So I was like “Oh, okay, I also have a club meeting to go to. I was on e-board for this club but I had to quit, but I was told they were doing something nice for me tonight so I have to go.” And she was like “Okay.” But then later she was mad. “Why are you going to that club meeting? I was in the hospital today. All I wanted to do when I got back was to be with you and feel better. All I could think about, all I wanted was you.” And I said “But you were going to a club meeting, too?” And she says “Well I was going to skip it because I wanted to be with you.” “But I made a commitment.” “Well I should be more important!! I was testing you!!!” “But you told me that it was okay if I go and you said you were going somewhere else anyway!” “FINE! Go! But we’re done!” Keep in mind we’re not even an official couple yet... So anyway, I go to the club meeting anyway... But all I can think about is how Sara is mad at me. I’m having an anxiety attack. I leave early, crying, texting and calling Sara and begging her to forgive me, I’m so so so sorry. She eventually goes “You’re right. You made a commitment and I told you I was going somewhere else anyway so it wasn’t fair for me to get mad at you. I overreacted.” And we were fine. Or not really.... I should have taken this incident as a red flag, but I didn’t, I blamed myself.

Superbowl Sunday/Puppybowl Sunday that year was February 1st. Apparently, at the Puppybowl Party, my friend Erica touched my thigh??? I don’t remember. But according to Sara, it happened. And I was no longer allowed to hang out with Erica without Sara’s permission. “Sara, Erica doesn’t even like women!” It didn’t matter. She touched my thigh. It meant she wanted me. It meant she was a threat to Sara. I wasn’t allowed to be her friend.

Sara wanted to wait until Valentine’s Day to ask me out officially. She thought it would be cute if our anniversary was on Valentine’s Day. I was NOT having it! I didn’t want the holiday ruined forever if we ended up breaking up. So Sara liked to joke around like “I’m breaking up with you!” And I would keep pushing her by saying “You can’t break up with me if we’re not dating!” And I kept pushing her and making it obvious that I was NOT happy with the waiting. So on February 3rd, she caved in and asked me to be her girlfriend, and I was ECSTATIC. I had a club meeting for Disney Club later that night. I was on the e-board, so I was obligated to go. Sara had work. She texted me after her shift ended, she wanted to see me. I was in the club meeting, so she had to come to the meeting. She walks in the room and her face drops. Erica is there. Sara sits next to me angrily. Her face is scaring the fuck out of me. She’s clenching her fists. She’s whispering nasty things to me. She’s being so horrible to me. Nobody notices. I’m holding back tears. After Disney Club meetings, everyone usually goes to Late Night Dining in the dining hall together, but Sara was ANGRY, so I told everyone I was gonna call it a night and Sara and I head back to my room. Once we’re away from everyone else, she starts yelling at me. “I told you not to hang out with her without me!” “I can’t control who goes to the meetings! I can’t tell her she’s not allowed to go, and I’m on e-board, I HAVE to be there!” “Well you could have at least texted me and told me she was there!” The yelling escalates and she’s screaming at me and I’m crying. And then she very quickly stops and turns at me, and that was the first time she ever raised her fist to me. The very first day we were “official.”

It got worse and worse every day after that, but I remember that one more than most of the others because it was the first time. But every day after that... She would find some reason to scream at me and insult me and throw punches towards my head. Sex suddenly became rough sex and rough sex only, and no, she wouldn’t change it up because all of a sudden she “didn’t know how to have sex without being rough.” I knew this was untrue because she wasn’t like that before. But now, suddenly she was. I had no choice. There would be times when I wasn’t in the mood for sex, but to her that became all I was good for. “I’m not in the mood.” “I’ll put you in the mood.” I would literally try to fight her and push her off of me. My own girlfriend raped me. So many times I lost count. One time when she did it, I said “You just assaulted me.” And she said “Fine, then I’ll never touch you again!” And that was not what I wanted at all. So then I just started taking it. She would scream at me and throw punches at me and threaten to leave me at least three times a day. I don’t even know how many times she raped me.

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Then there was Bobbert #3. I loved him so much. I still do. He is still my FP, but we both handle it so much better now, and I’m not as attached as I used to be.

We had a relationship, but it wasn’t a *relationship.* You see, he never loved me the way I loved him, and he never could. He admittedly used me to experiment with his sexuality... and he tried to force himself to want me, but he couldn’t.

And he has opposite mental health issues from me. We handle our mental health very differently. I became exhausting for him to deal with... He began to neglect me. I started feeling worthless and unlovable and like I meant nothing. Feelings were becoming similar to how I felt with Audrey, but nowhere near as bad. But I did end up having meaningless sex with someone else when I felt lonely one night (it wasn’t cheating; we weren’t monogomous or in a *relationship relationship,* ya feel?). Bobbert #4, I guess? And Bobbert #4 disgusted me and violated my boundaries, and I went with it to try to fill this neglected void, but I just fell into another deep depression. But I stayed with Bobbert #3. All I wanted in my life was for Bobbert #3 to love me. I kept feeling neglected. I eventually had a mental breakdown and tied a noose in my closet, and the breakdown got worse when I realized the material wasn’t strong enough and wouldn’t work. Bobbert #3 and my other suitemate found me crying in my closet. They got together with someone else and reported me to counseling services and I was so angry.

And I was just in this great depression from my PTSD from being with Sara and my obsession with Bobbert #3 and I failed all my classes that semester and didn’t graduate school on time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month or two later, I was finally diagnosed with BPD and everything started to make sense and I have been able to learn when I’m being irrational or splitting, I haven’t engaged in self-harm behaviors since then, I have been able to pin-point and control my symptoms and I’m doing so much better with self-control but the thoughts and feelings I have are still real and I don’t know if they will ever be normal, but I haven’t gotten a new FP since the last story so who knows, tbh.... I’d like to think that I will be able to figure out how to love and be loved back, and I’d like to think that I will be treated right one day, and that I will have a non-toxic relationship one day. I don’t know if it is possible, but I’d like to think it is. I mostly blame like everyone else in my life. My therapist blames certain family members of mine and things from my childhood, but I don’t feel comfortable writing about that. BUT, while it feels good to be able to say “Hey, I was never the bad person in these situations!” I still know I can’t deny any responsibility. Right? I mean, maybe?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few friends already know this story and know exactly who I am talking about even though I’m concealing the name for the sake of this post so if any of you actually read this far, for the sake of this post, his name is Bobbert.

Some background info: 1) In my friend group(s), I am the most vocally sex-positive person of the group, and the least innocent friend. 2) In the past when I have had random hookups with people I didn’t love, it ended with me crying and self-harming and ultimately falling into a deep depression.

So back in April, my friend Bobbert randomly hit me up on Facebook messenger to ask me to “hook up” with him.

This was a man who... I had ultimately *convinced* myself I had a crush on him because he liked to give me hugs and cuddles, and although he liked to do that with all of his friends, it seemed more excessive with me. And so I felt special, so I convinced myself that I HAD to like him because he gave me attention because LOL me being me, I don’t know how to differentiate touchy-feely-attention from true feelings.

But I also never thought he would pull such a douchebag move. To just be like “sooo you wanna hook up?” He never seemed like the type of guy to do that. I mean, just a few days before he asked me this, I could have sworn he was dry-humping me while we were cuddling- IN FRONT OF OUR FRIENDS- but I convinced myself that I was imagining that because he certainly wouldn’t do something like that without saying anything first, and CERTAINLY not IN FRONT OF OUR FRIENDS. So I brushed it off. But I still had a feeling that there was some tension between us of some sort, and I figured something would happen between us eventually. But I did not expect it to be done so disrespectfully. I thought whatever was going on would come up naturally, in a respectful manner, in person... Not “do you wanna hook up?” over Facebook messenger.

My initial reaction was that, as the only vocally sex-positive and least innocent friend of the friend group, I was being objectified by my friend. My heart honestly sank as I realized that I didn’t mean anything more than a body to this person who I considered a friend. That I was being treated as an object. After everything all of my friends know I’ve been through, and with all of my friends being fully aware that I have BPD and RAD. I just felt like everything was becoming clear, and I am worthless, disposable... I am an object that does not have feelings. In addition, because I am prone to self-harming after meaningless sex, I wanted to try this thing where I *don’t* hook up with people that I am not in a relationship with.

So anyway, I eventually answered him and said “ummmmm I don’t really hook up with people like that...” And he was like “omg I’m so sorry I made this awkward blah blah blah.”

Anyway, I was like 45 min away from home when this happened, and I was with friends... So at the end of the night, I took the 45 minute drive to think and reflect and when I got home, I messaged him again and I was like “Listen... I was flustered when you messaged me because I was at this club meeting... I have noticed there has been some tension between us, I would be lying if I said otherwise, I think we need to have a discussion.” So then the next morning, Bobbert reads my message, but doesn’t message me back for a few hours and when he does he’s deflecting like “oh sorry I was just sleep deprived and loopy, I don’t want to complicate our friendship in any way....” biiiiitch, you already complicated our fucking friendship. So I’m not taking his bullshit, I’m like “nah but we still need to talk.” Again, he reads my message and waits A COUPLE HOURS to respond and he just says “yeah you’re probably right.” So anyway, this goes back and forth with him leaving me on “read” over and over again and I’m feeling more and more disrespected and angrier and angrier the longer he keeps me waiting. But eventually we agree to meet up for dinner a couple days later so we can talk.

So we meet up... and I’m pretty good at standing my ground at first. He’s kind of derailing, avoiding the subject, and I’m like “Bobbert.” So eventually he’s like “Jamie.... I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to you.... But I’m not wanting to date anyone while I’m in grad school.” And I’m like “Okay....” And I just basically tell him I’m not attracted to him at all. Even though I had just a week earlier been convinced I had a crush? I don’t know, And anyway, he’s like “So I’m sexually attracted to you but not romantically, like, at all.” Like, ok Bobbert, then why did you bring up dating half a minute ago when you said you’re not ready to date while you’re in school? Like if you already decided you didn’t wanna date at all, why did you bring that up in the first place. Are you deflecting or are you just that dumb and heartless or? So I’m basically just like “ok.” & he’s like “So we’re on the same page? Not romantically interested in each other at all?” & I’m like “Not at all.” Whatever. So then it’s my turn to talk I wanted to make him realize why the way he objectified me after all my experiences with sexual violence and dating violence was an issue. I wanted him to realize that trying to build up intimacy with me just for sex, knowing that I have BPD and attachment issues, was extremely disrespectful of my well-being. But then I realized that I didn’t really want to talk about my history of sexual assault and domestic violence and mental illness in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

So we went back to my house to talk somewhere more privately. I set clear boundaries. I explained to him why I was offended and hurt. I explained to him that I have trouble saying no to people because I really really love attention, and he was giving me a lot of attention. I asked “Do you respect me?” and he said “Yes.” I believed him and boundaries were set. But then two seconds later, he cuddles up to me. And then he starts groping me. And I say, “Ummm... what’s going on?” & he’s like “I’m cuddling you... sexually... Is that okay?” And because he had just told me he respected me, and I felt like we just had a respectful discussion, I was like “Yeah I guess.” And one thing led to another, and even though I had set boundaries, we somehow ended up hooking up anyway?????? I was not enjoying any second of it. I even told him “I am not enjoying this. At all. This is never happening ever again.”

And then we didn’t see each other again for almost 2 months??? I really want to remain his friend. I don’t know how possible it is.

We went to Six Flags together a couple weeks ago. And then things got a little too flirty again. And ya know what? A lot of that was my fault. I instigated and initiated a lot of that. There was excessive hand holding and hugs and cuddles and hands on thighs. And a lot of that was MY fault.

I just tell this story to show how vulnerable I am right now, how desperately I desire and crave love and affection and attention. I literally cannot resist it. Even when I know I’m just hurting myself... I will engage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anyway, I kind of just hate myself. I think that I am too much to deal with. I will never be loved and I don’t deserve to be loved and I am meant to be lonely forever. And I try and try and try but I’m only 23 years old and I’ve already dealt with so much abuse and assault, I’ve lost count. These weren’t even all of the stories, either... Just what is the point of life anymore when I’ve gone through all this? I’ve gone through enough personal trauma to last 3 lifetimes, and I’m not even 25 years old yet. This is just SOME of the stuff I have to battle with every day. Just a little glimpse. I just don’t understand why me...

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the-record-columns · 6 years ago

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Jan. 9, 2019: Columns

Me, Mark Goodman and Cowboys Curve…

Mark Goodman - Fourth grade

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Since my boyhood friend, Mark Goodman, retired from the U.S. Marine Corps and moved to Ashe County, we’ve had many opportunities to get together, reminisce and generally relive our misspent youth.

As I think the many lazy, fun days we spent getting into and out of trouble on Hinshaw Street, one of my favorite memories is making and riding homemade wagons.

Now, we’re not talking about your little red wagon here. To my memory, I never had a Radio Flyer, a Western Flyer, or any other flyer for that matter. But I almost always had a wagon; one built from the ground up by my buddy, Mark Goodman and me.

It was really fairly simple.

We would begin with a wide board about five feet long, and nail another board (about two feet) across one end making a “T.” To this board Mark and I would attach an axle by pounding nails into the wood and bending them over the metal rod to hold it in place. We would then drill a hole in the center of the other end of the big board, and attach the front axle with a big stove bolt, nut, and flat washers. Incidentally, our “drill” was a dull wood chisel and a claw hammer. By tying a rope to each end of the front axle, we could steer the wagon with amazing accuracy. The next part of the project was to nail down enough seat boards so two kids could ride at the same time.

At this point, the easy part was finished. Almost all the materials we had needed up until now involved simple scrounging. My next door neighbor, Cecil Pierce, always had some lumber from his roofing business lying around his back yard, and his wife, Mae, would give Mark and me anything we wanted. The axles could be found by robbing old discarded wagons from the Cashions or the Templetons, two other nearby neighbors.

The hard part, of course, was wheels.

Usually, the wagons I just mentioned as being discarded were thrown away because the wheels had worn out. If we were lucky, we could find two matching wheels for the front and maybe two others of a different size for the rear. Once wheels were located, and secured to the axles by bent nails, we were ready to ride.

And ride we did, sometimes almost flying.

Up on Hinshaw Street, the test of any wagon, homemade or store-bought, and the fearlessness of its drivers, was Cowboy Robinson’s Curve, named for the wonderful old man whose home faced the start of the treacherous 90 degree turn. Cowboy had an upholstering business in his basement, and I’ll never forget the first time I realized that he had tacks in his mouth. I watched in awe as he pursed his lips to position a tack on the magnetic end of his hammer. Cowboy Robinson (I never knew any other name for him) was a kind man, who I remember as being patient with the kids who would hang around his shop.

But, back to the wagons.

Trust me, the faint of heart had no business trying to tame Cowboy’s Curve. The road to Cowboy’s Curve began harmlessly enough by simply turning off Hinshaw Street next to the Church of God and beginning your way down a gentle, sloping paved street. However, as you rolled further down the ever-steepening hill in front of Roland Reavis’ house, the breeze got stronger in your hair, and you realized you were past the point of no return.

Remember, the wagon was made for two — the one in front steering with his feet and with the rope, which was tied to the front axle. The other rider worked a crude brake and hopefully was right with the Lord and prayed a bit. The key to survival on the plunge to Cowboy’s Curve was to begin your approach to the sharp turn just as tight to the inside corner of the curve as possible, thereby allowing you some chance of using the entire width of the street to make the turn.

At the bottom of the hill was a constant reminder of what could happen. Little pieces of yellow reflectors dangled here and there, the remains of a barrier that had been practically destroyed. Legend had it that a bunch of guys were trying out a new 1956 Cadillac from B & L Motors and had stopped by a local watering hole to show off the new car to their friends. About 10 shots of shine later, the Cadillac, and all aboard, found out what the kids in the neighborhood already knew Cowboy’s Curve was tough to tame.

As time went by and we became more practiced, Mark and I could make it through Cowboy’s Curve more times than not. Itching for another challenge, we found it.

Iron wheels.

Yes, iron wheels.

Down on Toll Road, at the old Sidden plant just above Cashion Oil Company, we found a big wooden crate full of various sizes of iron wheels. I think they were the kind the Lineberry Foundry used on carts they build years ago when their plant was on Forester Avenue in North Wilkesboro. At any rate, we decided to try out these iron wheels on our wagon, and we loved them. They made a whale of a racket rolling down the pavement and if you were riding at night and slid sideways a bit, the sparks would literally fly.

It was great fun.

For us, iron wheels were the greatest thing since sliced bread.

Then, one hot August night, we got up our nerve and decided to take on Cowboy’s curve. Actually, the Berrong boys and James Walker dared us to try it, and the Code of the Great Unwashed took over from there.

Since we had put iron wheels on our wagon, I had done most of the driving. I know anyone who knows me now will not want to believe it, but I had more success steering the wagon through the slides that the iron wheels tended to cause. We got on the wagon at the top of Cowboy Robinson’s hill. There were several boys watching and suddenly someone gave us a hard shove.

I’m pretty sure it was my brother, Wayne, who pushed us, but now there was no turning back.

As we picked up speed, the iron wheels made so much racket that no one could hear us screaming. I kept the wagon tight to the right so I could drift over when the time came to take the inside of the sharp turn at the bottom of the hill. When finally I pushed my right foot forward to start the turn, everything became a blur. The second I started to turn, the iron wheels lost traction and we began to spin around and around. The boys watching said there were so many sparks it looked like the Fourth of July.

I think we went over the bank at about the same place as the Cadillac.

While I will be forever thankful for a heavy growth of honeysuckles, I never tried Cowboy Robinson’s Curve again.

Ken Welborn is the Publisher of The Record & Thursday Printing. To contact him, please email [email protected]

The Ties That Bind Heartstings

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

As a small child, most of us were told by our elders: “You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.”

And to most of us, that probably meant getting the heck out of our respective Dodge.

For me, it was in a more extreme way, a 17-year-old wanting to be a missionary in Russia, with no knowledge of the world at large, leaning a new language, even though it meant leaving everything I knew and loved behind.

Fast forward 10 years.

After moving away to the “big city” I found myself back in Wilkes, with a small child, a husband and walking across the Watson Stage in an unbearably hot graduation ceremony. Most of my grade school friends had already moved away, or had transferred out.

My college studies in theatre did little for my actual career, as I went in to management in various retails; then into the medical profession, working first with cancer patients in Boone, then with Nephrology patients in Elkin; and now my current stint in journalism. (Not to mention I’m still deciding what I “really” want to be when I grow up.)

However, my college studies did open up a whole new world in my home town being able to meet people from various places and seeing things from different perspectives. I realized that everything I wanted to do out in “the big wide world” was right here, before my very eyes.

For the past two decades, I’ve been involved with several non-profits, doing fundraising for many a good cause, most significantly the local community theatre Wilkes Playmakers where I could apply my course studies, but was given the opportunity to open up the world of theatre magic to a whole new generation, including my own children. And I realized that everything I wanted to do out in “the big wide world” was right here, before my very eyes.

This is the part where I get to say I know the most amazing people ever, and have the pleasure of calling many of them my friends. Several of the people I went to grade school with, did in fact “get the heck out of Dodge” and have become quite successful in pursuing their passions, but stay in close touch with the familial ties to Wilkes.

Fast forward to Nov. 26, 2018. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and my friends had gathered at The Dispensary for live music from hometown guy James Carroll. Jamie, as we still call him, has been a dear friend since fifth grade at Mulberry Elementary. He was one of the ones who moved away, but always had a dream to be a full-time musician. Through hard work, dedication, but most of all through being responsible and doing what it took in the secular world to take care of his kids until they were older, he reached that dream several years ago. And though he travels all over the state, he is still happy to come home and play for his biggest fans.

So, there we were, lifelong friends of Jamie’s, at a table talking and catching up. I was sitting with Jeff Lambert, whom I recently found out was related, and another friend from elementary school, Mark Absher, who had come up with Jamie from Winston.

And then it happened. Mark looked across the table at Jeff and me and said “You know Jamie and I were just talking about the two of you on the way up here, and how proud we were of you for all that you do.” I think I can speak for Jeff when I say we were both befuddled.

Mark went on to explain that while they were proud of their roots that it was people like me and Jeff that kept the town alive and growing. “You stayed here when the rest of us left. You stayed and you accomplished things, and made history with your events and continue help keep this town alive. Everyone knows who y’all are. If you aren’t planning it, you’re volunteering or (looking at me) writing about it so everyone knows what cool stuff is going on.” Jamie had since taken a break and sat down to share a brew, and shook his head in agreement. “It’s easy to leave and come back to visit. It’s hard to stay in one place and fight for change. I’m proud as hell of you both.’

Not quite sure what to say to our new found superstardom even if among friends, looking at Jeff who was just as speechless as I was I muttered a “Thank you” and “It’s just what I do.” I found a new resolve in that conversation, new ground on which to stand, and a partner in shenanigans with Jeff for 2019. (What can I say? It runs in the family.)

I wasn’t born here like the rest of those at the table, but I was raised here. This is my home, these are my people, my family and my tribe, and no matter where my adventures lead me, my heartstrings will always be bound and anchored here.

Changing Times

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

The 116th Congress of the United States is now in place and among the new members is one very anti-Semitic congresswoman.

Her name is Rashida Tlaib, a Democrat from Michigan.

During her swearing in ceremony she placed her hand on the Koran which indicates her beliefs and values are antithetical to the Judeo-Christian values upon which America was founded. Just minutes after taking office she basted our Commander-in-Chief, President Donald Trump, using language that would make even a gutter rat blush.

Like him or not, Donald Trump was elected by the people and the office and position of President of the United States deserves respect.

Congresswoman Tlaib opposes all legislation that makes boycott, divestment and sanctions (BDS) campaigns against Israel illegal and, in fact, denies Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state. She denies Israel’s right to exist at all.

In her office hangs a Palestinian map on which the word Palestine has been papered-over the country of Israel. How can there ever be peace when generations of Palestinians are being taught that Israel has no right at all to exist? Never mind that fact that the land was deeded to the Jewish people by God Himself.

While some Americans are busy electing Palestinians to Congress, Palestinian terrorists are busy rallying against Israel in Ramallah chanting out their intentions to “Blow up the head of the settler.” “Settlers” are Israeli pioneers who are willing to live outside of city limits in order to possess the land rightfully owned by Israel. The Palestinian chant calling for the killing of Israelis ought to be a punishable crime yet there seems to be no public outcry and no legal action.

Does this sound as though we’ve stepped back in time to the 1930’s and 1940’s when Jew-bashing was in vogue? Those who perpetually sweep the barbaric actions and words of Arab terrorists under the rug are guilty of foul play! It’s an outrage each time a politician or news reporter paints Israel as the villain yet these same people have the audacity to minimize the uncivilized actions of Hamas, Fatah, ISIS, Hezbollah and other evil factions of militant Islam.

They twist, turn and even weave false stories to create a negative public image of Israel. The world must stop holding Israel to a different and higher standard and stop demanding that Israel “exercise restraint” or give up more land in exchange for an unrealistic peace. Pro-Palestinian groups are making their voices heard and now we have openly pro-Palestinian, anti-Semitic member(s) serving in the Congress of the United States. The question is, who are they serving? The truth must be told.

The message that Palestinians are poor, oppressed and unfairly suffering because of Israel is simply not true. The oppressors are their own leaders who have created a society that hates the Jews more than they care about the well-being of their own people. It’s to their advantage to keep the Palestinians in a state of turmoil. This way they can blame all of their woes on Israel.

Because times are changing and not necessarily for the better, it is vitally important that we keep abreast of all proposed legislation impacting Israel. We must make known to our public officials that we expect them to vote in accordance with that which is in the best interest of America’s only true friend and ally in the Middle East and that friend is Israel.

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