#i can't help myself the thiught was to funny!

[xelitzenith]

Drifter: " Okay, you can marry anybody in this-. "

Tenno: *immediately points to Albrecht* " I could go into heavy detail you know? "

[bun-ika]

Trauma rambling. Pretty severe abuse mentioned, suicide, self harm, sexual assult, domestic violence. Maybe just don't read it. I just wanted to get it out.

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It's really funny how you just learn to live with things. I've had too much coffee today and I'm up and exhausted thinking. There is so much ive just... forgotten, lr shrugged away over the years. Buried under other things that have happened. I dont know how my mind just brushed away the rape(s) that happened and i was told not to talk about. The countless times my mom ran to my bedtoom as a little girl screamng to baracade the door from my dad, who would scream and puch and bang relentlessly. Or the day we woke up to my mom telling us to hurry and pack the most important things we can think of because we were running away that day while my dad was working. Or that i raised my little brother, only to have him go to my dad after being "old enough" to make the choice (and no one faught it even thiught it woukd have been considered kidnapping). The first time stepping foot in that house to see the holes in the walls, the slash marks on all moms paintings. In the walls.. The times my dad would drag me downstairs and show me the rafters in the workshop, telling me how he stood with a rope around his neck because of us. Because of my mom. Because of everthing. Or when i finally confronted my dad as an angry child (maybe 13?) About a letter promising to kill my mom and her family, only to have him put me in a headlock and try to choke me to death. I remember losing my breath and kicking, screaming, clawing, finally biting, and i ran faster than i ever have, i swear. Nothing happened. No one did a thing about the bruises around my throat. The nothing that happened when she walked in on me cutting myself and just closed the door. Let me keep doing it through the years. It never mattered, I was still doing my job for her. It took me a long time to realize that's really all that mattered. And I understand, I get it. After the mess of everything, we all need help and to be taken care of. I think it broke her. I miss the person she was horribly. I grieve her every day. But I don't know who she is now. Who told me never to call again. Who didn't show up when I died twice after a successful suicide attempt and landed in the icu, babbling about being used for a year as a convenience, not love. The heartbreak of realizing you were nothing, meant nothing, and always woukd be nothing to the people you gave up your life, and family for. How they made sure to tell me I was never a part of it. Object. She never came.

It's all buried. Because one terrible man I gave myself to broke me. From yelling at me when I was sleeping, trying to sleep, or trying to fuxk me when I was asleep (and then screaming at me), to locking me in rooms and took my clothes so I couldn't run. Screamed and berated me for every last thing you can think of for hours. "You can't always just cry." Holes in the walls. Death threats. Suicide threats. The gun. Screaming. Pounding. Where, shut, disgusting. Never believed I'd been raped. "I bet you liked it. I bet you asked for it, begged for it, liked it better than me." "How could I ever love someone like you," "how could I ever marry you," "look what you make me do." It never stopped. And in my head it never has. The day I left was the day I had a seizure at work after finding out he had been cheating on me (which I knew) but with a woman he was in a relationship with and telling he loved her. Later, i found out about the countless others. She ended up having her own horror stories. I still wake up screaming, fighting, begging. I can't sleep anymore. I'm scared. I developed a seizure disorder linked to trauma. Later, a "friend" that was my one remaining friend and support was the one I turned to during another suicide attempt. Knowing I was actively in the middle of this and overdosing, he gave me more pills and violently raped me through the night and into the morning. Laughed as I fell unconscious. Threw up. It didn't matter, and he never stopped.

Now, there is so much I forget after acquiring a brain injury from dying and damage from the narcotics I took to do it. Nevermind the mental health aspect or any of my chronic illness. But I remember so much I wish I didn't. I wish I could remember the things I just looked at, get words out properly, remember short-term.... I'd love to forget.