#graphic descriptions of abuse

[youknowihadtodoittothem]

@ihatemenandtherearereasons

@maledepravityarchive

[furiousgoldfish]

personal post (tw: suicidal ideation, detailed descriptions of psychological and emotional abuse, osdd, alters, theories about alters splitting)

I have a child alter who is wildly suicidal, to the point where they'll push me to commit suicide with every opportunity, and try to do psychological damage to me as an attempt to make me suicidal. I've been trying to figure out for years what was it that made them so determined to die, with no luck because this alter does not give any information away, and seems to hate me and my attempts.

Recently I've had a flashback where I remembered what it was like to be their age. It felt like I had to die. There was constant pressure, almost like a duty, that I have to be thinking about ending my life at all times. I needed to make sure I wasn't alive for long. And I felt this at all times, that continuing to be alive is a failure and I need to do whats right. It was bizarre to remember. But there had to be a reason I felt this.

I attempted again to probe at the alter, to try and figure out whats the reason for all this, what was done to us to make us so determined to die? And this time I managed to get a little bit of information – the the alter lashed out at me saying 'well there's no other way! remember this!' and I got some interesting flashbacks of psychological abuse. I knew vaguely this was going on, but forgot for the most part, that it had any effect on me. (tw for the next part)

When I was about 8 or 9, I got my own room, and one of my caretakers, my grandmother, had an issue with that. Until then, she was able to lock me in her own room and beat me, because I slept in there, but now it was a bit more difficult to catch me. So, she would often stand in my doorway, and scream at me, for hours, in bouts of intense rage. I thought this was normal at the time, just because it was so common, and nobody did anything to stop it.

She would start by calling me animal names, and demonic names, telling me that I'm the most selfish brat to ever exist who only ever thinks of themselves, and I will burn in hell for it – she would describe it in detail how I would be boiled eternally, there was no escape from it. Then she would go on to tell me how everything that is wrong in the world is directly my fault – my parents fighting, other people being upset, her entire life and misery, that was all on me, I was the direct cause of it. And then, she would go on to describe in detail, how she was going to kill me, usually suffocating me with her bare hands. And she would swear and promise that she would do it, she'd challenge me to not even think that it wouldn't happen. And then she'd go on to describe how much I deserved that, how everything I do in life is done directly to ruin her life, to cause her misery, how I'm a demon who is only happy when she suffers, how I satisfy myself by torturing her, how I am the most twisted, cruel, despicable, demonic, monstrous, unforgivable, horrendous ugly creature that ever existed, worst person in the entire world, and how I should be deeply ashamed of myself and everything I've ever done. She would state very clearly how everything in the entire world would be better if I didn't exist.

Now, me being age 9 or something like that, I thought, well, maybe she's right, maybe I am a bad person, maybe I am selfish by not forfeiting every second of my life to others, maybe I really am the reason everyone is fighting all the time, maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe I need to think about others more often, maybe I need to be more critical of myself. But, no matter how much I changed my behaviour, her rage wouldn't stop, until I was faced with the inescapable feeling of just being so intrinsically wrong and defected that I shouldn't exist. I remember wanting to disappear, wanting to fall trough the floor and into the earth and cease and desist. I would have to spend hours and hours listening to her scream, telling me I should have been murdered the second I was born.

And at this point my father had tried to/almost killed me a few times so death felt like a very inevitable and natural thing to happen to me. I wasn't even scared of upset about it because it just seemed like one of the normal things you know? If you're small and you see things are bad you easily accept your fate. If everyone around you thinks you should die, then you will die soon and thats that.

So by the age of 13 I was full on suicidal, I saw no value in myself, I felt violence and pain was all I deserved because everyone agreed upon it, and it was what I was experiencing at all times. I couldn't stop listening to the screaming and at the end of it, I just agreed with it, it felt true, why would anyone say it so many times, with such intense rage, if it was made up? And by the person who knew me since I was born? I had no arguments against it.

And then one day I was like, wait, this will kill me. Her screaming at me will force me into suicide. I can't have that. I need to cut her off if I want to live. This person doesn't love me, she's trying to kill me. I can't keep listening to her or I'll die. And then I did the funniest thing – I stopped talking to her even though we lived at the same house. And she did even funnier thing and DIDN'T NOTICE for a FULL YEAR. Which sounds wild on the surface, but here's how it played out: She would say something to me, I would stay quiet. She would assume my answer, and say what she wanted me to say, and add 'right?' at the end. I would stay quiet. She would continue the conversation as if I had said what she imagined. And this went on for a year.

With this new situation unfolding, I became certain that she didn't love me, even though she would cry and swear how she sacrificed everything for me and was the only person who loved me and so on – I literally caught her not noticing that she's cut off for a whole year. That was some heavy evidence and I had it.

The screaming however, continued, but now I decided, hey, I don't need to listen to this shit. I would put my hands on my ears (didn't have earphones in that era) and make whatever noises to shut her out. And it worked, I became unaffected by the screaming because I was no longer listening, she eventually stopped because it became obvious that I was oblivious to it and had no reaction, and I guess that was just not fun for her. I went on to not be severely affected by whatever she said because I understood by then that she's a liar and after my life and didn't care for her antics anymore.

Now you might be noticing a lack of consistency here – just how would a child who is completely broken and suicial just snap out of it, decide to cut off the cause of suicidality and then live on to be unaffected by the same abuse that almost cost them their life until then? I originally thought it was some survival instinct kicking in, letting me know that I'm too close to death and need to be putting some boundaries in my life, but that wasn't the case. I went on to think that I was no longer affected by the years of this abuse, I never thought about it, never felt like I needed to process that, I was convinced I dealt with this as a child.

What actually happened is that I became too close to suicide and I split. My osdd figured I was  close to death and something needed to be done. An alter formed who was able to contain all of that trauma inside themselves, the memories of how it felt to listen to that screaming for hours and hours until all hope was lost, until I could no longer see myself as anything but deserving of death and eternal hell. That was wrapped up and put inside a child version of myself who couldn't grow, couldn't see trough any of it, and had to stay trapped in that world, where they're always a minute away from being psychologically tortured and having their integrity assaulted in every way possible, and forced to listen how much their family members wanted to brutally murder them.

Once this alter split off, I was left in control of the body. I was able to evaluate the situation without the emotional effects of being brainwashed or tortured and decided to cut of grandmother immediately and to live my life without listening to her nonsense.

What is interesting to me is that this was the third time an alter split off in order for our life to be saved, one before was split due to my father, and another due to my grandmother, because of other nasty stuff she was doing to me. I'm trying to figure out just how neglected a child needs to be that a complete overhaul of attitude, sudden non-reactiveness to brainwashing and sudden complete apathy to screaming interactions, is just not noticed. Like this kid was close to death seconds before and now they're just fine and going on about their day ignoring everyone, and nobody noticed.

And this is not me being strong or resilient or anything like that. It was my brain tearing my memories and emotions in pieces and containing them into alters so that I would be able to live on without comitting suicide. If this hadn't happened I'd be dead. This also meant that all of that trauma would come back and make me sick for the rest of my life, or until I resolve it. That was me sacrificing my future in order to be able to survive the present. Developing trauma disorders that meant I would have to live while the pressure to commit suicide is always present in my brain, but I can resist it because I don't remember how it came to be there.

*

So, back to the main plot, after I finally extracted this information from my trapped, tortured alter, who just wanted to end it all, I said 'okay, well give the trauma to me, I'm older so it makes sense for me to handle it.'

I didn't handle it well. It was instant pain, dread, horror, I wanted to be dead. I was bedridden for days, kept re-experiencing the screaming, remembered  how many times I listened to descriptions of myself getting murdered, felt very horrified about it, and couldn't see how I thought this wouldn't affect me. What even needs to be wrong with a person to go tell a child in detail how they're going to murder them, how is this giving anyone pleasure. Feeling very icky about that. How hard would it be not to speak out loud your children-murdering fantasies. Get a secret diary or something for heavens sake.

It's a few days later and I am feeling, kinda weak, kinda close to passing out at all times, a bit shaken, bit scared. Very betrayed. Thankfully my sense of self is enough well established that I never doubt if anything that was said to me back then was true, because I'm so disgusted with the person who said it, I'm just feeling grossed out with it. I don't think I've managed to take in all of the trauma from the child alter, it wouldn't be something I could experience in a few days, it's been years of that stuff. But I'm glad to make progress, I'm pleased that something originally nonsensical makes sense, I'm glad I can make connections to why this alter is so suicidal, and I can at least try to make it easier on them. I'm hopeful that one day this part of me won't need to be trapped in an eternal state of a child being told to die.

[eri-pl]

Ar-Pharazôn's mother

(Lady not-appearing-in-the-canon*, I'll probably devise a name for her soon.)

(Late Numenor, but in terms of things explicitely mentioned we aren't going beyond speculated murder + some emotional abuse. Not a veeery long post, but long enough that it would get the cut even without the TWs.)

So, I was thinking about Pharazôn (as you do).

About how his father was a nasty, opinionated guy hating the Faithful and yet Pharazôn in his youth spent time with Amandil, Elendil, Miriel etc, in Andunie. Why? Who took him there, who let him?

Not his father, obviously, so I assume it must have been his mother. I don't think she was one of the Faithful (his dad probably wouldn't marry her in that case, also I think it would lead to Pharazôn being a better person… maybe?). But I think she was quite neutral on the Faithful-King's Men divide—as neutral as one can be—and was close friends with some of them, probably related to some, and keeping close ties with friends and family was important to her.

Technically Miriel (and, more distantly, amandil) was Gimilkhâd's (Pharazôn's father's) family, but knowing Tolkien's family trees (only first cousins are a clear "nope") I would assume his mother was also related to them somehow. Even if not, she clearly liked them enough to keep strong contacts.

And then she died. Yes, I think she died relatively early.

If she leaned (even socially) towards the Faithful, or simply grew old and Gimilkhâd wanted a younger wife… we're talking late Numenor. There were surely many plants and substances he could have used to make it look natural.

Or she may have died giving birth to a daughter (the daughters and sisters are rarely mentioned even if they exist), which would lead Pharazôn to dislike the idea of having kids in general. (I have some HCs about it but that's another thing).

Or, tbh, it may have been both.

Anyway she died and Gimilkhâd had nobody to stop him from "teaching" his son "proper Númenorean values". Which unfortunately stuck, even after Pharazôn left to Middle Earth to prove himself… I imagine Gimilkhâd as the kind of guy who is never satisfied with his son (think: Oazi to Zuko, kind of, but there's no Azula), and his own upbringing hadn't been great either (think: Azula). It was a whole chain of emotional abuse and expectations.

And then Pharazôn returned and his father was dead but at this point he had internalized enough of the legacy. He chose to make the memory of Gimilkhâd proud, or maybe to prove it wrong. Same thing, in the end.

But the friendships ignited by his mother remained alive until almost the end. Almost.

I wonder if Sauron, when he got to know Pharazôn better, slowly changed his voice, every day making it closer to Gimilkhâd's. OK, I do not wonder. He did. He absolutely did.

*btw Edennill, don't ever watch Monty Python, you'd hate it in more than one way. Probably. Anyway, I do reference it sometimes.

[sprixyn]

yesterday, i brushed my teeth for the first time in weeks.

its not like i'm *depressed*, exactly, i just.. forget, y'know?

life is busy, and i'm busy.

and i'm always rushing from place to place.

there's no time to stand around for *two entire minutes* and *focus* on something other than my phone,

focus on something that's boring like self care or whatever the fuck,

focus on something that doesn't take up all my attention

so that

my thoughts

don't

...

i spat into the drain, and

it was a vibrant pink.

i stared for a moment.

i don't know how long.

that happens sometimes.

i just get...

unfocused.

i don't know.

y'know that camera effect they do in movies

where the focus stays the same

and the background gets further away??

it's kinda like that.

okay so i googled it!

apparently it's a "dolly zoom".

sounds wayyyy more fun than it feels, but the gif on the wikipedia page is pretty neat.

anyways. the point is, i zoned out.

staring at the pink splatters on the bright white ceramic.

and then

my eyes

slowly travelled upwards

to the mirror.

i wanted to know

why it was pink, i guess.

and then when i looked in the mirror,

i just didn't

recognize myself?

i swallowed, hard.

my tongue was heavy, and my throat was dry. that was weird, wasn't it?

hadn't i just

had something wet in my mouth?

something

like

...

no, sorry.

something like...

a toothbrush? yeah, a toothbrush.

where did it...?

anyways,

it tastes minty.

it doesn't taste like i just...

and the world zoomed out again, so fast it almost made me nauseous.

and

in the mirror,

it was

me at 16, staring right back at me with dull grey eyes

big shirt and no pants, the little rascal.

fresh scars all over.

must've been hot that day, i guess.

and... it was

holding a pill bottle

and

those

bright pink pills

were

spilled into my hand.

how strange.

the bathroom got far away again.

everything except for the mirror.

and then

it was

me at 12,

frantically bandaging my arm with a blank expression

and tear tracks on my face.

crumpled up tissues all over the place,

the blood and water turning them a lovely shade of pink.

two people were talking outside the bathroom, muffled voices.

were they angry? what were they saying?

i feel scared.

i listened close,

straining my ears

and

before i could think

the bathroom zoomed away again

and

it was

me at 6,

locked into the bathroom

since my door didn't have a lock

and i wanted to be alone

and

i was

crying so hard i couldn't breathe, because

i just didn't understand what i was doing wrong, and

i didnt understand why i was bad, and

that badness made people yell at me, or

why them hugging me hurt, when it was

just because they loved me, and

i was supposed to be grateful, or

why everything was so loud and bright, and

why the clothing i used to like, i just couldn't

wear anymore, because

it was rough and had tags,

but they didn't understand, so i had to

lie and say i just liked leggings, or

why i was

never good at being a girl.

why i was never like the other girls.

and why

i have to try harder, for it to work.

i have to

wear skirts, and

make the right faces, and

be shy, and

sit still, and

follow *all* the rules.

...

even if i

don't understand what the rules are, and

they scare me, and

i just don't understand, i don't

i don't

please, don't

i'm sorry, i don't

i didn't mean to

...

i just didn't make a very good girl, is all. and

there was something else...

oh. right.

my favorite color was green,

but i had to like

the color

pink.

...

.....

.......

and when i wake up on the unforgiving tile floor,

i am cold, and

my ass hurts like all hell.

must've sat on my tailbone, i guess.

my whole body is weak and shaking, and

my stomach feels weird. everything feels pretty weird, honestly.

and my back aches

like i'd been leaning over something all day, or walked a few miles.

i blink.

hard. and

i can see a constellation inside my eyelids.

it's beautiful.

and

i get up, and

i look in the mirror, and

i'm half afraid of what i'll see,

half burning with curiosity.

but

it's just me again.

and

my gums are bleeding.

and

it's pink.

[bardic-tales]

Tumblr Games: FF Edition: Six Sentences

Thank you so much for the tag, @sliceoflifeshepard. I loved your response to this.

Rules: Share six sentences of your recent work.

Tagging:

@watermeezer @nightingaleflowlibrary @megandaisy9 @themaradwrites

@serenofroses @kricketbee @pinkevilwriter @asirensrage

So, I have been working on short flash fictions for Whumptober. This is from the Trust Issues. This Sephiroth is the caregiver, and his future self is the whumper. This Sephiroth is a fragment attached to Bianca's soul and only exists for this event.

Content Warning: physical abuse, bruising and injury, graphic description of wounds

“Why are you doing this?” Bianca shied away from his hand, as her breath hammered in throat. Ugly marks ringed around her wrist: crimson against the delicate skin. The raw skin ached when it was touched, as small, bloody lines amalgamated with the dark purple bruises.

“I would never hurt you, Bia.” Sephiroth knelt before her. A forest green haze oscillated around him, raising up off of his shoulders like fine mist before twisting around before descending to rejoin the rest of the wispy veil that covered his body. "I'm not him."

[muchmossymess]

Love using "canon typical violence" when writing for fmab

Like do I mean comically throwing wrenches at people's heads? Or do I mean horrifically and permanently disfiguring children.

[jamiebluewind]

My arm hurts

I broke it 5 years ago and it still hurts. It's still weak. Sometimes when I pick up something, it would feel like my arm was breaking. I went to doctors. The xrays were normal. I've got enough movement. It's fine...

It wasn't

I went to my new pcp (primary care physician) after it was getting to me again. He sent me to a specialist on bones who then sent me to a SPECIAL specialist on just arm bone stuff. The specialists saw my flexibility and the normal x-ray, but also the pain, so they ordered a CT scan. I half hoped they would find something just to have proof that I wasn't crazy and maybe a way to go forward.

The CT scan results popped in my portal, so I looked.

Chronic fracture deformities (bone kept breaking and/or bone took a looong time to heal) post ORIF (the surgery they do to repair bones). Cortical lunacy along the radial aspect of the mid radial diaphanous (in the middle of the big bone in my arm, there's a line that the 3D x-ray went through that it shouldn't have been able to at that strength).

I see the specialist again in 2 weeks. It's been sooo bad the last month. I currently can't hold my phone in my left hand for longer than a minute without it hurting. I struggle to pick up my cat with one arm. I can't open child safe caps, so my roommate has to help. I use a cane for my sporadic left side weakness, so having my left hand be useless means I really can't do much while walking. I'm moving in a couple months and I'm struggling to pack. Just on and on and on...

I broke my left ankle a couple years ago. The scar is small, there is no pain, I often forget anything is in there, and I swear it's stronger than it was BEFORE the break. I never get to forget about my arm because on top of the pain and everything else, the doctor that did the surgery left a long scar down both sides of it. People assume things when they see the bigger one. I hate it. I'm tired of explaining it. I'm tired of people getting weird or staring at it. I was going to get a tattoo over it to make it a little less noticeable, but it hurts so much and the scars are so thick that I don't think I'll ever be able to.

- Pictures below break, followed by graphic details -

The other side isn't as bad but...

yeah.

You might be wondering what those dashes are beside the long scar. If you wanna know, be warned. This part gets graphic.

The original doctor used non dissolving sutures, wrapped about 2/3rds of the stitched area in a single layer of gause with a cast over it, and sent me home. I tried contacting them about my stitched catching in the cast and pulling. About my skin growing over the stitches.

They ignored me every time.

It wasn't until I told them that the knot of one got so stuck in the cast that I had to cut it with a pair of sanitized nail clippers. They had me come in and were actually SURPRISED that my skin had grown completely over all the stitches except for the knot of some of them. So what did they do?

They cut.

I was awake and just sitting in the office as they cut off my cast. They gave me nothing for pain as over two dozen cuts were made down my arm to get enough access to my arm to dig out the stitches with tweezers. On top of pain, I felt weak and this sick cold feeling as they worked. Then, the other side of my arm and more of the same. I was shaking from it all. And then? He just sent me home. Gave me a brace to wear. When I told him that the weight of my hand made my arm feel like it was gonna snap and that I still could barely move two of my fingers, he waved me off, saying it would get better with physical therapy.

It took YEARS of me working on my hand to get as much dexterity as I have now. And it hurts. It always hurts. I told him. I told so many. Something is wrong. I did everything they suggested and nothing helped.

Part of me wonders if this is all my fault. My father said it was because I was stupid (went to a sleep doctor and they had something slick on the floor that I slipped on and the ENT that came ALSO nearly slipped on it too). My mind says all of you will blame me for cutting the stitch caught on my cast. But... I don't know. Sometimes screaming into the void helps. Sometimes a stranger is even nice and/or helpful about it! I just... two weeks. Two weeks until I find out if anything can even be done for this. And all the while, I wasn't able to sue the place I fell and the surgeon that messed up my arm is still probably out there practicing. It sucks.

[traumastories]

tw for school abuse/teacher-on-student abuse + graphic description of what happened

When I was in 5th grade (age 10), I was physically dragged to the principal's office.

I don't remember all the details, but I remember that only like 10 of us were in the classroom, doing make-up work or something. The teacher asked me something and I don't remember why, but I got confused and frustrated and put my head down on my desk to collect myself and calm down. She came over and began demanding I look up and answer her or something, then gave me a countdown of 5. When I didn't respond when she reached 5, she grabbed my chair and dragged me out into the hall. The other students watched this happen with horrified expressions.

I ran into the corner (it was shaped like a T, with a classroom on either end of the upper bar, and ours in the middle; the upper bar hallway doubled as a coat rack) and hid under the coats. I was embarrassed furious with her for drawing attention to me like that.

She kept talking to me, but I was in what I know realize was a speech loss episode brought on by the anger and such. She wanted me to stand up and go back into the classroom, and gave me another countdown. I don't remember how long it was, but it wasn't long. Certainly not long enough for a kid to calm down. When I still hadn't responded to her, she went to the classroom on the opposite side of the hall and together she and the other 5th grade teacher grabbed a wrist and dragged me backwards down the halls to the principal's office.

I was mortified and I was angry. I kept kicking, trying to get them to let go as well as to get my feet under me. I did manage the latter once, but they were walking too fast and I fell.

When they finally let go of me, I locked myself in the bathroom.

They called my parents (not telling them what happened; just that I'd locked myself in the bathroom), and they came to school. I actually didn't believe the secretary when she first said my mom was there; I thought it was some sort of trick to get me to open the door. It wasn't until I heard my mom's voice that I actually did open it. They took me home. Apparently I told mom that I didn't like being dragged, but I don't remember this.

The next few days were really confusing. I don't remember much of that time, but I vaguely remember getting Burger King for dinner last night and my siblings not understanding why (I didn't understand why), and the next morning when I went down for school, mom and dad told me to go back upstairs; I wasn't going to school that day. I was relieved (as it meant not having to face everyone after the embarrassment of yesterday), but was really confused about why.

I ended up getting pulled out of public school and mom and dad began homeschooling me. They also talked about sueing the the school, but eventually decided that they weren't able to handle it at that time, and they didn't want to put me through that, either.

At the time I didn't know and didn't really care. But now? I wish they had.

.

[therealblondebucky]

Chapter 4 of Not The Only One - A Winter Soldier Story

Rating: Teen to Mature

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (with more specifics in the tags)

The jostling of the shipping container woke me up. With nothing else to do, I ate the unappetizing combo of canned meat and ration crackers. Once I finished them off, I was left feeling restless like a caged animal.

In a few hours, the container came to a full stop. Slipping down to the ground, I made my way through the train yard until I found the Lev Tolstoy and my target's train car.

When the train started to move, I punched out a window with my metal arm and came in through the now-open space.

The next moments were a blur as I sprayed mothers and their children alike with bullets from my submachine gun, bashed their heads, slit their throats, and threw knives into their bodies.

Eventually, there were only two people left. The woman leaned forward and her brown hair cascaded over her face and the baby daughter she clutched to her chest.

A few bullets later, my targets were eliminated. Now, I was the only one alive left in the car. I sat down, surrounded by bodies and covered in blood, waiting to pass the Vyborg train station.

When we neared my destination, I jumped off of the train, tucking my body into a ball before the inevitable impact with the ground. I lay stunned for a moment before getting on my feet.

I managed to find my way to the back of the train station without encountering anyone. Two soldiers stood waiting for me. After grabbing my arms, they put the black bag over my head and led me away.

I was completely numb. The world rushed around me without me being conscious of it.

The first thing I saw once the bag was taken off of my head was the man in the beret. He sat at a desk in a large green and white hallway.

"Отведите ее в душ и приведите в порядо," he ordered gruffly after taking a look at me. ["Take her to the shower and get her cleaned up."]

The two soldiers took me into a small locker room with a tiny shower. A crude brown bar of soap and a rough grey towel lay on a bench in the corner.

I stripped out of my blood-covered clothes and unbraided my hair, which was dark and crusty with dried blood.

One of the soldiers said something about hair being thick on my legs and elsewhere. The other replied that he would mention that I needed to be waxed.

Turning the tap revealed that the water was lukewarm at best, but I did not mind. It just felt good to have it flow over my dirty body. I leaned my head back and let it rinse over me.

As the water ran over my perfectly formed muscles, I had the strange feeling that my body had not always been like this.

Rubbing the bar soap on my head, I worked up a lather. I scratched my scalp deeply to get my hair as clean as possible.

Even though the soap was harsh, I scrubbed every inch of my skin with it. Who knew when I would be allowed a luxury like this again?

Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed my towel and quickly dried myself. A sports bra, a pair of underwear, a tank top, and a pair of cloth drawstring shorts were tucked into my towel. I put the all black outfit on and was led away by the two men.

We walked down a long hallway until we came to a room with a thick metal door. Inside, there were various pieces of medical equipment, cabinets, counters, and such, but what caught my attention was the bed with a tray on it.

My supper was a piece of still warm fish, a serving of canned pickled salad, and a slice of bread thinly spread with butter. The food quieted my stomach, but it could not quiet my mind.

When I finished, the men told me to lie down on the bed and fastened me to it. They flicked off the light as they left, closing the large door behind them.

Alone in the dark, I closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me far from the horrors the day had brought.

~~~

"Как она?" the doctor asked. ["How is she?"]

"В таком же состоянии, в каком она уехала," Colonel Karpov answered without looking up from the papers on his desk. ["In the same condition as when she left."]

The doctor breathed a sigh of relief. "Хорошо. Все наши тесты указывают на здоровую беременность и безопасные роды. А завтра мы проведем осеменение, если вы согласитесь." ["Good. All our testing indicates a healthy pregnancy and safe birth. And we will perform the insemination tomorrow, if you approve."]

To this news, the Colonel gave his phrase of highest praise. "Отлично." ["Excellent."]

After dismissing the doctor, Karpov dialed the Major General's number. "Женщина-солдат вернулась." ["Zhenshchina Soldat has returned."]

"Лично мне бы ничего не хотелось, кроме как стерилизовать ее и повесить вас, но это не подошло бы высшим силам," his superior snapped. ["Personally, I would like nothing more than to sterilize her and hang you, but that would not go over well with the higher powers."]

The Colonel hated to ask, but after a comment like that, he felt he must. "Сэр, а как насчет Детей Зимы?" ["Sir, what about the Winter's Children?"]

The Major General laughed. "Вы имеете в виду программу разведения? Полковник, у нас сейчас кризис. У нас сейчас нет времени вынашивать и рожать ребенка. Так вы действительно думаете, что у него будет время, чтобы он вырасти и обучился?" ["You mean the breeding program? Colonel, we are in a crisis right now. We don't have time to bear and birth a child right now. So do you really think there will be time for it to grow up and be trained?"]

Karpov took a deep breath. "Сэр, я думаю не только о сегодняшней битве или завтрашней войне. Я думаю о будущем." ["Sir, I'm not just thinking about today's fight or tomorrow's war. I'm thinking about the future."]

"Тогда вы должны знать, полковник, что будущего не будет, если мы не выиграем сегодняшнюю битву и завтрашнюю войну." He paused a moment. "Что заставляет вас поверить в то, что Дитя Зимы - это хорошо?" Major General asked in a tone that was almost sincere. ["Then you should know, Colonel, that there will be no future unless we win today's fight and tomorrow's war."] ["What makes you believe that a Winter's Child would be a good thing?"]

"Зимний Солдат и Женщина Солдат хорошо восприняли сыворотку и были ценны для нашего дела. Логично предположить, что их потомство поступило бы так же, если не лучше," Colonel Karpov replied. ["Zimniy Soldat and Zhenshchina Soldat have taken the serum well and been valuable to our cause. It is only logical to assume that their offspring would do the same, if not better."]

"Они оба были агрессивными и нестабильными. Зимний Солдат имеет долгую историю. А еще я слышал, что твоя любимая маленькая Женщина Солдат тоже недавно убила одного из наших лучших врачей. Что, если бы их ребенок унаследовал двойную часть этих качеств? Мы создали бы монстра для собственного разрушения, а не мощное средство для продолжения нашей работы. Действующая немедленно программа Дети зимы прекращена. И если вы попытаетесь пережить это, морская свинка Женщина Солдат не будет единственной, кто умрет в наказание," the Major General warned before the line went dead. ["They both have been aggressive and unstable as well. Zimniy Soldat has a long history of that. And I heard that your beloved little Zhenshchina Soldat killed one of our best doctors recently, too. What if their child inherited a double portion of those qualities? We would be creating a monster to bring about our own destruction, not a powerful asset to continue our work. Active immediately, the Winter's Children program has been terminated. And if you try to go through with it, the guinea pig Zhenshchina Soldat won't be the only one who dies as punishment."]

~~~

I woke up to the man in the beret and two soldiers opening the door. After undoing my restraints, the soldiers locked their arms under my armpits and dragged me into a room with metal railings and some type of device in the center.

I was fastened into the strange metal chair. Machinery whirred, and two metal pieces made contact with my head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from my throat...

~~~

I was held in some strange type of metal chair. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around me. A man in a military uniform with a crimson beret stood in front of me.

A dark red book held the words he read aloud to me. "Созда��ие. Убегая. Принуждение. Мать. Огонь. Вечер. Второй. Разрушен. Рейс. Лезвие." ["Creation. Fleeing. Duress. Mother. Fire. Evening. Second. Shattered. Flight. Blade."]

He closed the book and set it down. "Доброе утро, солдат." ["Good morning, soldier."]

After an undersized breakfast of a bowl of porridge and a small cup full of sausage, the man in the beret led me down a long hallway until we came to a room with a thick metal door.

Inside, there were various pieces of medical equipment, cabinets, counters, a bed, and such, but what caught my attention was the man in medical scrubs.

"Вы готовы, доктор?" the man in the beret asked him. ["Are you ready, doctor?]

The doctor replied, "Я думал, что программа Детей Зимы свернута." ["I thought the Winter’s Children program had been terminated."]

"Я не вижу необходимости в том, чтобы продолжать работу по плану," explained the man in the beret. ["I see no need for us to not continue according to plan."]

Shifting his weight uncomfortably, the doctor said, "Я не хочу попасть в беду из-за этого, полковник." ["I do not want to get in trouble for this, Colonel."]

"У вас не будет никаких проблем. Даю слово. Вы будете отмечены, когда поможете вывести на свет первого чистокровного суперсолдата," the man in the beret assured the doctor. ["You will not be in any trouble. You have my word. You will be celebrated when you help bring the first purebred super soldier into the world."]

The man in the beret then turned to me. "Сегодня для тебя радостный день. Вы безупречно выполнили свою первую миссию. Теперь вы готовы к следующей миссии, чтобы ввести в мир больше суперсолдат." ["Today is a glad day for you. You completed your first mission flawlessly. Now you are ready for your next mission, to bring more super soldiers into the world."]

"Я буду смотреть, как Зимний Солдат тренирует остальных," the man in the beret informed the doctor before leaving. ["I am going to watch Zimniy Soldat train the others."]

The doctor had me take off all my clothes and put on a flimsy gown made of paper that tied in the back. He made me lay down on the bed and spread my legs for him. Apparently pleased with what he saw, the doctor went over to one of the counters and began busying himself with the items over there.

Several minutes later, the man in the beret burst in, holding a gun to a man who had a metal arm. The man in the beret's eyes revealed how deeply terrified he was. Even the cold, steely face of the man with the metal arm showed he was shaken. They had met Death and barely managed to escape.

"Я думала, мы собираемся искусственно ее оплодотворить. Или вы хотите, чтобы он делал это по старинке?" the doctor asked, motioning to the metal armed man. ["I thought we were going to artificially inseminate her. Or do you want him to do it the old-fashioned way?"]

The man in the beret shook his head. "Ни один. План изменился. Удалите один из ее яичников." ["Neither. The plan has changed. Remove one of her ovaries."]

~~~

I woke up to seven men in SWAT gear opening the door. After undoing my restraints, two of the men locked their arms under my armpits and dragged me into a huge room with five golden chambers along the outside and metal railings around some type of device in the center.

The man with the metal arm was fastened into the strange metal chair and the man in the beret stood nearby. Men with guns surrounded the railed area around them. Machinery whirred and two metal pieces made contact with the metal armed man's head. A painful electrical zapping forced horrible screams from his throat as I looked on, unable to do anything else but watch him writhe in pain.

A dark red book held the words the man in the beret read aloud to him. "Желание. Ржавый. Семнадцать. Рассвет. Печь. Девять. Добросердечный. Возвращение на родину. Один. Грузовой вагон." ["Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight car."]

He closed the book and set it down. "Доброе утро, солдат." ["Good morning, soldier."]

"Я готов отвечать," the metal armed man answered and was released from the torture chair. ["Ready to comply."]

The man in the beret ordered, "Зимний Солдат, обезопасьте ее." ["Zimniy Soldat, secure her."]

Zimniy Soldat came from behind me and grabbed my left arm with his left arm, making it his metal against my flesh. I knew somewhere deep down inside that I could overpower him, but I did not-

Before I finished my thought, he pressed a gun to the nape of my neck. It was as if he could read my mind and was challenging me to give him a reason to pull the trigger. I bristled at having a weapon turned on me like this, especially by him.

"Полковник, разве вы не хотите, чтобы некоторые из нас пошли с вами?" one of the men in SWAT gear asked. ["Colonel, don't you want some of us to come with you?"]

"В этом не будет необходимости. Зимний Солдат обеспечит меня всей необходимой защитой, пока ее не казнят," replied the man in the beret. ["That will not be necessary. Zimniy Soldat will provide me with all the protection that I need until she is executed."]

So, I was to be executed. Somehow, this thought filled me with relief rather than dread. At least it would all be over soon.

Zimniy Soldat followed the man in the beret as he left the huge room. We walked through a series of hallways until coming to a room with a large metal door. Inside was a laboratory, a man in a lab coat, and a sizable machine in the far right corner.

"Зимний Солдат, отпусти ее," the man in the beret commanded and Zimniy Soldat let go of me. ["Zimniy Soldat, release her."]

The man in the lab coat handed me a bodysuit made of a specialized material.

The man in the beret barked at me, "Надень это." ["Put it on."]

After removing my old outer clothing, I suited up in the new garment.

The man in the lab coat directed me to lie down on the table in the far right corner. He typed away at a computer making thick metal clamps come around both my arms and my legs. This man then came over to me, sweating and trembling. He struggled to put a mask on my face and attach wires to various places on my bodysuit. The man in the lab coat returned to typing at his computer, causing the table to begin tilting upwards until I was vertical.

"Спасибо за службу и счастливого Рождества. Я надеялся, что все пойдет иначе," the man in the beret stated before shooting the man in the lab coat twice in the head. ["Thank you for your service and Merry Christmas. I had hoped things would go differently than this."]

A moment later, a large glass and metal tube came down around me. Frigid white fog descended, and everything went dark.

[milkywayscap-blog]

Tainted Waters

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SA, CHILD ABUSE, GORE, BLOOD, VIOLENCE, DOMESTIC ABUSE

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The life of Lucianus Amandus:

Infancy to early childhood:

Lucianus was always praised and adored as a child by his family, especially his mother. She viewed him as a blessing from the goddess of beauty, Venus. This became more apparent as he grew up. Although his older siblings and father also doted on him, his mother smothered him with attention every chance she got. Despite this, Lucianus loved his family's attention and cherished those moments. His father often took him to the beach near their village where they would name sea creatures and play in the water, which was Lucianus's favorite part of the day. He had grown an attachment to the sea and its many facets, the beach, anyone really, was a safe space for him.

Early childhood to mid-preteens:

Lucianus’ father had died in battle. He sobbed into his eldest brother’s arms as his other sibling simply patted his head as they stared sadly at their father’s grave. Their mother seemed the most affected by his death, though it wouldn’t seem to be the case as only a few months after she had met a new man and quickly married him. The siblings did not take a liking to the man, there was something off about him and his demeanor. Unfortunately, Lucianus’ eldest brother, Glacies, could not stay as he had to go fight in the war, though they wrote to each other very often. However, things were only doomed to get worse. His stepfather was a drunkard but a wealthy man. He would constantly find things or nitpick the two about. Achaea, the middle child, had enough of their stepfather and yelled at him, “Why the hell do you think you can dictate what we do!? You make it seem like we’re the problem when it’s just you.” But they would regret doing so. Their stepfather grabbed a knife from the table. Lucianus’ eyes widened as he stood frozen behind his sibling. A blood-curdling scream was let out as Achaea fell to the ground as they covered their face. The sound of something falling to the ground was muffled for Lucianus as he just stood there frozen in fear at his stepfather's bloody knife. His gaze fell to whatever fell to the ground... It was Achaea's eyes, the man had gouged out his older sibling's eyes. "How... How could you-" "Shut up. Just bandage them up before I give you the same treatment." The man said as he walked away, slamming the knife back onto the kitchen table. Lucianus hurried to Achaea as he helped them up and went to bandage their eyes. That was when his life took a drastic turn when his older sibling was blinded and almost fatally wounded by their stepfather.

Early teens to now:

Lucianus felt himself being tugged his begging and and pleading falling on deaf ears as he was tossed into the arms of an older man. "He's going to take care of you for the next few days, sweetie," His mother said in a soft tone as the unknown noble handed her a hefty pouch of gold coins. The next few days Lucianus wished he could wipe from his memory. The older man used him like a doll pushing, pulling, and contorting his body to fit the unknown man's pleasures and desires. Lucianus felt like a passenger to all of the events and actions that took place over those few days feeling his body be touched, poked, prodded, and even violated. He felt every stroke, kiss, and hungry stare. He felt how things happened to his body and his body reacted and that made him feel even more sick to his stomach. He would shove and push at the men but that would just lead to them being even more turned on at how 'feisty' he was. After those events he never wanted another man to touch him let alone lay his eyes on him. But fate must want to be cruel as he was bought off and given around to noblemen like he was a toy. "You're so beautiful," "Your body is so plush and soft," "I would almost think you were a girl with how beautiful and soft you are," "Do you think your mother would let me keep you for a few more days?" and "Your body accepts me so well, have you done this before?" is what those men would say as they pulled on his body and hair watching him scream and cry as they gorged themselves on his body. He was like a toy that his mother chose to give away every now and then. A toy that got more broken each time he was 'played' with. He felt trapped as if he was a butterfly simply caught in the web that was his mother's and stepfather's influence, control, and power. It had never got better when Lucianus, as well as Achaea, heard the news of their mother carrying another child. They had delivered this news to Glacies in their letter to him. Seeing how their stepfather treated Kalliaros, their youngest brother, it had shocked the two. And made it all the more apparent that they could not let him fall victim as well. The young boy was as sweet as sugar helping Achaea at every turn. Though, whether it would be fortunate or not, Lucianus had been sent to a school far out in the city of Rome. Lucianus found it to be a reprieve from the things that awaited him back at home, though he knew eventually that he would go back on breaks. And that scared him the most, having to go back there. The 17-year-old made it his mission to avoid any and all men at his new school though, he's already been there for two years now and still hasn't made any effort to speak or even look at his male classmates and teachers. That was until he met... Him. Antemion was the boy's name, the boy who had just followed him into an empty classroom. He was known to be a troublemaker. But, instead of the usual snide remarks that he had seen the other boy make... he was surprisingly sweet, apologized, and even gave Lucianus a fig as a sign that he had not meant to scare the boy.

[talkingattumble]

the rage I feel whenever someone says “it’s just a (insert small pet animal here)” about someone’s dead, missing, or sick pet could power my entire state for a month.

The rage I feel seeing people brag about how they brutally killed their small animal pets would be enough to power every single chainsaw in the United States, which I will promptly use to kill them.

“I used to have a fish but I threw it out of its tank for fun and it died haha” am I supposed to laugh at that.

“I flushed my hamster down the toilet and it drowned lmao” you see how that makes me see you as a disgusting and abhorrent person right.

Like how is it that people take “I hit my dog” so seriously but not “I stomped on my mouse because I was mad at it”??? How???

[werevampiwolf]

I've reached the point where I've run out of fucks to give, and the next person who tells me that my joints wouldn't hurt anymore if I lost weight, I'm just gonna go

"Well, you see, I was born with hip and spinal deformities that get progressively worse over time due to use. Also, when I was 10, I injured my knee so badly that I can confidently say that the end of a human femur feels disconcertingly like the skinny end of a chicken drumstick. Also, this happened at school and I was just sent back to class at the end of recess, despite having a bruise the size of a slice of bread. I ended up betting sent home early (without even being sent to the nurse) and my mom just told me to put ice on it. I didn't see an actual doctor for months, when I had my next annual checkup. She confirmed that my kneecap is now free-floating (aka, no longer attached to anything; it's supposed to be embedded between two layers of ligament) but it is at least still there. But I could push my kneecap to the side and feel the end of my femur because there was hardly any tissue between skin and bone, and I'd let other kids feel it as a party trick. It's too bad I have too much scarring and arthritis there now, or I'd offer to let you find out for yourself. But yeah, I'm sure losing some weight would solve that."

Like gee, maybe the reason I have a hard time exercising is because I can barely move because my entire body is fucked by a combination of congenital issues and childhood medical neglect (I was literally diagnosed with asthma while still in the NICU. They didn't have spacers in my premie size so the nurse showed my mom how to punch a hole in a styrofoam coffee cup to make one to go over my entire face. At some point my parents decided that I no longer needed medication, because they're big believers of "you shouldn't be on meds for the rest of your life", and my breathing got worse and worse for years, until I was diagnosed with asthma again when I was 7.)

Also, I'm pretty sure my mom putting me on a diet from a young age was why I ended up getting fat in my teens, since I started hoarding food.

I work at a daycare with infants.

One of our baby girls is fat, in the 99th percentile for her age. She is super cute and sweet. Lately, she has been sick with various breathing issues, so she has been reluctant to take her bottles. Normally, she’ll take 4 ounces of formula at lunch and 8 ounces in the afternoon. Today, I was lucky to get to her take 5 all day.

There was a substitute covering a lunch break in my classroom today. We emphasized to her that we need to keep trying to get the baby to drink her bottle until she finished it. She said, “Why are you guys so worried about taking her bottle?”

My coworker replied, “That’s where all her nutrients are. She needs the nutrients and the water.”

To which the substitute replied, “But she’s so fat. She doesn’t need it.”

Thin privilege is a small, pretty baby getting better childcare because the caretaker doesn’t think she’s too fat to be allowed to eat.

[firedragonx]

Poppy War by R. F Kuang Review

Tw: body mutilation, graphic description of dead bodies, self-harm, drug abuse/addiction, rape, child rape, and forced marriage. In this story, Rin a war orphan raised by drug dealers was going to force her to marry an older man. So instead she competitive exam in the hope of being accepted to the most prestigious military school in the empire. Then a whole bunch of stuff happens. There is no review of this without telling you it’s based on the second Japanese and Chinese war that happened before and during World War 2. Which is worse than human war crimes in recent memory. Poppy War doesn’t hold anything back. It shows the dark side of war and doesn’t glorify it, which I like. The magic system is unique. Human contact with gods is a frame that is not good, as they see the world as a plaything and people as vessels. There a rich history of this world that makes it feel alive. The Mugen, who are Japanese people, are written to be as evil as they can be. While the war was popular, there were people who opposed it as well, especially toward the end. I know why it’s written like this because it’s from the point of view of Rin, who sees their war crimes and thinks everyone from that country is like this. But in real life, there are more people who opposed it and more after the war. Go read it for yourself; it’s an interesting read. The ending leave a bad taste in my mouth giving historical context of not only the victims and the people involved. And I get why it was written like this. To show the horror of war and how far a person is push. However, the real people who were involved suffered mental breakdowns throughout their lives and victims still alive today suffer from the fallout. Just didn’t sit right for me how the character reacted. I don’t know. Let me know what you guys think. Overall I give this 8/10.

[dancyfeast]

wutiwant - saraunh0ly

I'm finally free from that hell, but it seems I'm only in a new form of it. I'm free, though my wrists and ankles are bruised from the chains, my neck has burns from the rope, and my body is littered in scars from their blades, every kind they can press into my human skin. I can still feel the sharp burn that came after you would press that hand onto my cheek with as little love as you could muster, and as much hate as you could turn into a force. I still feel your leather belt making a loud whipping sound as you snapped it onto my exposed legs, then my arms. That voice of yours, like nails on a chalkboard. You could shriek, or you could spit out your malice. You could even shoot me a glare and it would easily burn holes into my heart like a mirror in the sun's rays. And like the sun, I try to brighten your day. Only it seems like each time I shine the brightest, there's a cloud to darken your sky. I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed your floors shiny. Tidied the living room, my own room, and the bathroom. I did laundry. And still, you whine and complain and punish me for never quite meeting your expectations. The floor always has dust, a stain I failed to rid of, a stray roll of toilet paper, or candy that a fellow prisoner forgot to pick up. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, a never ending flow that I can never seem to stop. I don't sob, don't even whimper. Quiet, shaky breaths leave my nostrils. I don't speak unless told to. I don't make eye contact unless ordered. You wonder, years later, why that is. I wonder if it's changed. Do I speak more than not? Do I look into people's eyes instead of looking up at the sky and counting the clouds, recalling their names? Names. Do I have a name? You shout it when something has gone wrong. I whisper it when I stare into the mirror and I can't quite recognize what I see reflected back. I feel my face, brush a finger down my nose, feeling the curves of my jaw, the softness of my brows and length of my lashes. I rub a thumb side to side over my lips. I can't tell if any of it is my own. I pull my hand away, and simply stare. Who is that? Who am I? What was my name again? Who am I? I blink away the queries, but they linger as I trail my gaze down to my exposed torso. My breasts have scars as well. Those must not have been you. Was it me? My waist is thin, but then again, so is every other part of me. There's a gap between my thighs. My legs are so thin. I look up to my collarbones. They seem to have hollowed. My face. It's grown paler than before. I stop staring and make my way into the shower. The heat is comforting over my skin, the burn familiar and welcome. It takes me almost an hour before I leave the warmth, and slip on my clothes, offering not a glance to the mirror. Hours pass, someone new is in the apartment with me. He's not new. I don't regard him, instead curling into that ball of flesh and pulling the heavy plushy into my arms as well. I disappear from existence, and appear in a new one. I must be dreaming. I can't recognize such as I'm used to my setting. I'm in a hospital of some sorts, people know my name, though they aren't exactly talking to me. I don't mind. A boy is talking to me though. Hazel eyes, brown wavy hair, tan skin. He's nearly my age. My words slip out of my mouth, but it doesn't feel like they're my own. Jesus. I can't feel right now. I close my eyes and when I open them, my name is being called. I realize now, who I must be. A god of pain. A god of sadness. Oh well. I must be human for now. One day, I'll return to my throne of sorrow. For now, I'll be a shell of what I'm meant to be. I'll be human for today.

[jamiebluewind]

My arm hurts

I broke it 5 years ago and it still hurts. It's still weak. Sometimes when I pick up something, it would feel like my arm was breaking. I went to doctors. The xrays were normal. I've got enough movement. It's fine...

It wasn't

I went to my new pcp (primary care physician) after it was getting to me again. He sent me to a specialist on bones who then sent me to a SPECIAL specialist on just arm bone stuff. The specialists saw my flexibility and the normal x-ray, but also the pain, so they ordered a CT scan. I half hoped they would find something just to have proof that I wasn't crazy and maybe a way to go forward.

The CT scan results popped in my portal, so I looked.

Chronic fracture deformities (bone kept breaking and/or bone took a looong time to heal) post ORIF (the surgery they do to repair bones). Cortical lunacy along the radial aspect of the mid radial diaphanous (in the middle of the big bone in my arm, there's a line that the 3D x-ray went through that it shouldn't have been able to at that strength).

I see the specialist again in 2 weeks. It's been sooo bad the last month. I currently can't hold my phone in my left hand for longer than a minute without it hurting. I struggle to pick up my cat with one arm. I can't open child safe caps, so my roommate has to help. I use a cane for my sporadic left side weakness, so having my left hand be useless means I really can't do much while walking. I'm moving in a couple months and I'm struggling to pack. Just on and on and on...

I broke my left ankle a couple years ago. The scar is small, there is no pain, I often forget anything is in there, and I swear it's stronger than it was BEFORE the break. I never get to forget about my arm because on top of the pain and everything else, the doctor that did the surgery left a long scar down both sides of it. People assume things when they see the bigger one. I hate it. I'm tired of explaining it. I'm tired of people getting weird or staring at it. I was going to get a tattoo over it to make it a little less noticeable, but it hurts so much and the scars are so thick that I don't think I'll ever be able to.

- Pictures below break, followed by graphic details -

The other side isn't as bad but...

yeah.

You might be wondering what those dashes are beside the long scar. If you wanna know, be warned. This part gets graphic.

The original doctor used non dissolving sutures, wrapped about 2/3rds of the stitched area in a single layer of gause with a cast over it, and sent me home. I tried contacting them about my stitched catching in the cast and pulling. About my skin growing over the stitches.

They ignored me every time.

It wasn't until I told them that the knot of one got so stuck in the cast that I had to cut it with a pair of sanitized nail clippers. They had me come in and were actually SURPRISED that my skin had grown completely over all the stitches except for the knot of some of them. So what did they do?

They cut.

I was awake and just sitting in the office as they cut off my cast. They gave me nothing for pain as over two dozen cuts were made down my arm to get enough access to my arm to dig out the stitches with tweezers. On top of pain, I felt weak and this sick cold feeling as they worked. Then, the other side of my arm and more of the same. I was shaking from it all. And then? He just sent me home. Gave me a brace to wear. When I told him that the weight of my hand made my arm feel like it was gonna snap and that I still could barely move two of my fingers, he waved me off, saying it would get better with physical therapy.

It took YEARS of me working on my hand to get as much dexterity as I have now. And it hurts. It always hurts. I told him. I told so many. Something is wrong. I did everything they suggested and nothing helped.

Part of me wonders if this is all my fault. My father said it was because I was stupid (went to a sleep doctor and they had something slick on the floor that I slipped on and the ENT that came ALSO nearly slipped on it too). My mind says all of you will blame me for cutting the stitch caught on my cast. But... I don't know. Sometimes screaming into the void helps. Sometimes a stranger is even nice and/or helpful about it! I just... two weeks. Two weeks until I find out if anything can even be done for this. And all the while, I wasn't able to sue the place I fell and the surgeon that messed up my arm is still probably out there practicing. It sucks.

[traumastories]

So, we aren't ready to talk about this quite yet in therapy, but I kinda want to share it here anyways. (We did previously share this on one of our blogs; please do not draw attention to that post or refer to it or anything. Just act like you never saw it before)

(We're a system, but at the time this happened, our host was unaware of this, so this is technically her story, but for clarity I'm going to tell it from just a general first person)

TW kinda graphic? / possibly unreality triggering/description of unreality trigger

When I was a young teenager, my sister told me that I had murdered our infant sister when I was a kid. I've always been really sensitive to unreality stuff and she was being a really good actor and I was actually starting to believe her.

She said that she, mom, and dad had all been in the other room when they were a noise like a muffled cry or something coming from the baby's room and they all ran to see me holding a pillow over the baby's face. Apparently her name was Lily. They told me to stop but I just looked up at them, smiling sweetly, and said, "No <3" She said that I was a "psychopath" and that they put me through intensive therapy to make me forget that it happened.

By this point I was very firmly telling her "Stop" and "No, I didn't" and similar things, but it was mostly because I was starting to panic that she was actually telling the truth this time. She ignored me and kept going with the story, even at one point lowering her gaze to the floor and saying "I miss her" in a heartbroken whisper.

I don't remember if I refuted it more or if I was just silent or what, but shortly after this she looked up smiling and admitted the whole thing was made up and it was just a joke. At the time, I* was too relieved to be upset and I made the mistake of trying to ease the tension by saying, "You almost had me/I almost believed you" or something (which was true).

She instantly reacted with "What! I/You did? No! Argh!" She kinda did one of those self-berating/self-frustrated gestures. "I guess I'll just have to try harder next time."

Fortunately, she didn't try to convince me of anything like this ever again (that we remember), but I was worried she would try for a long while after that. We sometimes still wonder if it was true anyways, or will question other things she's said to us (the narrator especially). It's awful and miserable not knowing if you can trust someone to actually tell you the truth, especially when you know they've purposely tried to get you to to believe a falsehood before.

When I told my mom about a month ago, she was horrified and that's when I found out my sister was abusive towards me!

*Me personally: I'm furious. The one this happened to, the one the story is written in the perspective of, isn't, but is upset by it. Just not mad, per se

.