#someone triggered my husbands PTSD at a party once and then tried to tell him off when he said

[bourbonandcinnamon]

… your MIL is messed up how is your family being scared of you something to brag about. How is triggering PTSD funny. Why would you try to pressure someone into going to a sex toy show.

I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.

My mother in law wears a poppy to honour those who fought in WW2. She has strict ideas surrounding Remembrance Day and is of the opinion that nobody should but putting up Christmas lights before November 11th because it is "disrespectful".

I think it's ironic. Foster kids have higher rates of PTSD than combat veterans and she has no awareness for how disrespectful she is towards me because I am a former foster kid. She quite honestly is a bully and has raised her voice at me in order to startle me on occasions. She boasts about how I'm "scared" of her.

She doesn't seem to have any comprehension of the foster care to sex trafficking pipeline statistics whatsoever. She recently tried encouraging me to go to some local sex show where they sell sex toys and do other weird things. I obviously was not interested but she insisted that I wanted to go. Really weird woman. She has the self awareness of a typical foster parent. The type that seems truly stunned when their foster kid runs away. I doubt it even occurs to them to think to themselves "was it something I said?"

The presence of people is almost so insufferable that I might actually prefer to be family-less for the rest of my life.

[word-scribbless]

Oh baby part 8

Wooo this one has been in the works for a while! Sorry for the delay life has been very busy! @leroyjethrogibbsgirl and I are very excited for this chapter and the next (this one had to be cut off because it was getting super long so part 9 will pick up right where this one leaves off). We also have a little extra thing in the works we’re excited about!

We’re also very excited about a new character introduced in this chapter!

Side note this chapter and the next deal with some PTSD and anxiety so if that’s a trigger just be warned.

Masterlist

————————

The 3 months after Jethro and the girls were reunited were not the easiest. Both Gibbs and his little girl were having nightmares and Y/N was trying her best to pretend she wasn’t having panic attacks every morning when Gibbs left.

While difficult, it was also a very snuggle and love filled 3 months. Their little family did anything the could together. They would snuggle every night before bed, spend days off together (like usual) but they didn’t take a single second for granted.

“Hey you” Y/N greeted.

“Morning” Gibbs smiled and kissed her while scooping Amelia up off the counter.

“Making breakfast together?” Y/N asked as she smiled at the stack of pancakes. “Pancakes on a weekday?” She questioned with a smile

“Yeah, we were up. Figured we’d spend our time making momma’s favorite.”

“Momma loves CAKES! Wiff chippies” Amelia shouted as she moved to hug her mom.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at her little girl and her husband, but something in her gut told her the reason they’d been up was because they were woken up by their nightmares.

“Rough night?” Y/N whispered to Gibbs when Amelia was distracted.

“Mhm, easier for both of us to just get up.” He said and Y/N frowned.

“Please wake me up next time? She can nap and I only have 1 class this semester, you are our super hero you need sleep!”

“I know” he smiled “just needed some time with her.”

Y/N understood, and wished she would wake up when Gibbs had nightmares, because he’d never wake her up. However her own daily panic attacks took so much out of her, she slept like a rock.

“Just wish you’d let me be there for you too.”

“Ya need your sleep”

“I need to know that you’re okay.”

He just nodded and kissed her head. Truly none of them were okay, but Y/N and Gibbs knew that together they’d get there eventually.

It was quickly approaching Amelia’s 2nd birthday and they were all using that to distract them. It probably wasn’t the best idea but both Gibbs and Y/N knew if they focused on their little girl then they’d be alright.

PTSD however, doesn’t care that it’s a few days from your daughters birthday. The Gibbs family found that out one night when Y/N came home from dropping Amelia off so she and Jethro could get party supplies for the weekend. Y/N walked into the house and noticed a side table flipped, and a vase broken. A few boxes were off the shelves and maganizes off the coffee table. Y/N automatically reached for her phone to call Gibbs and panic set in when his phone rang on the couch.

She stalked slowly to the basement where she head sobs. She ran down the stairs to find her husband curled up on the floor crying with two crumpled up papers in his hand.

“Baby, hey” she cooed and kneeled next to him. She winced when he shrunk away and pulled his hand away from hers.

“Jethro, hey” she tried again. “It’s just me can- can I help?”

She heard him sniffle but he didn’t move.

“Okay I- I’m just going to sit right here. if and when you’re ready I’ll be here. If you want me to go just tap my hand once.” She said, trying to keep her voice even. She wasn’t new to panic attacks at all of course.

She knew that with Gibbs and his PTSD from everything in his life, this was most likely an episode. He usually hid them from her, much like she did with her panic. After this, she knew that they would have to try harder to talk about it.

She waited for him to tap her hand to ask her to leave, she knew how much being alone helps him process. Much to her surprise, when she did feel him touch her hand it wasn’t a tap, it was him sliding his fingers through hers.

“Can I hold you?” She whispered after a few minutes of holding his hand.

He nodded slightly and she wasted no pulling him into her chest.

“I-I-I” he stammered.

“Shhhh” she assured as she stroked his hair. “We can talk in a minute baby, just breath. Can I see what you have?” She asked pointing to the crumpled papers. He nodded and tried to smooth them out a bit before holding them out to her.

She gasped as she saw what they were. It was a stack of letters, half from her that she had written from the safe house a few months ago and half from Shannon, that she had written from protective custody before they were killed.

Tears came to her eyes as she realized just how much it hurt him when they had to go away.

“Aw baby” she said as she kissed his head.

“We’re here, we’re safe. I’m so sorry you had to go through this again.”

“I- I found the letters and thought about how I lost them and I almost lost you and Amelia and I- I can’t lose you.” He cried into her chest. “I just- god it hurt all over again reading these”

“I know, I know” she said, tears falling slowly.

“Has this been happening a lot?” She asked him after about 20 minutes of just holding him.

“Not this bad” he admitted.

“I um- my panic has been bad too. I have been thinking about seeing some one, think maybe you should too.”

“Y/N-“ he started to argue.

“I’m not asking you to spill your guts, just try it?”

He nodded and took a deep breath “I’ll think about it.” He said and she knew that was the most she’d get for now.

Later that night as they were wrapping Amelia’s presents Gibbs finally remembered what she had said about her own panic.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were panicking again?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She leaned back into him and sighed. “I just was hoping it’d go away”

He nodded, getting that more then she knew.

“You gonna get help?” He murmured.

“I actually made an appointment yesterday, thinking about going back on meds.” She had been on them back when Ryan had first died but slowly cut back.

He nodded.

“Had one when I was with meals the other day... I- I- have to be okay for her.” She said and snuggled further into his grip.

He nodded and marveled at how strong and fearless his wife was. She would do anything for their little girl and he wouldn’t even go talk to someone after breaking down. He couldn’t, he just had to keep going. He thought if he was ‘strong’ enough he’d be able to fix them all, even though he knew Y/N would tell him being ‘strong’ didn’t mean you didn’t need help. He just never knew how to ask for it.

The next day Gibbs went in to work for a few hours, Andi and Josh still had Amelia until her party that night. Y/N had her therapy appointment and had to pick up her new medicine. She had one more stop to make.

She had set up the the perfect gift for not just amelia but her whole family.

She pulled into the drive way a few hours later and smiled to see Gibbs truck already there. He had made Amelia her first “Big Girl Bed” complete with railings on the side that they could remove to sit and read to her or when she didn’t need them anymore, and was planning to put it together in her room that afternoon. She smiled at the new member of their family in the back seat.

“Alright bud, hope dad isn’t too mad at me for this” she said and smiled as her new “son” barked from the back seat.

Y/N knew Gibbs loved dogs and that even if he wouldn’t admit he needed help to any other humans, maybe he’d let a dog help him.

She had contacted a program that trains dogs for people with panic disorder and PTSD. She also knew that a puppy would work wonders for their little girl who still woke up From nightmares every few nights. As soon as she saw this particular pup she knew he was theirs.

She walked into the house with the dog following close behind her.

“Jethro” she yelled and she heard “up here” from Amelia’s room.

“Can you come down real quick?”

“In a minute”

He said and she smiled and patted the dogs head as she heard her husband’s foot steps.

“Uh Y/N” he said when he spotted she wasn’t alone.

“Hi”

“Why do you have a dog”

“Meet Sniper, your new puppy son.” Y/N said as she nodded to sniper to go and see the man.

Gibbs smirked and leaned down to pet the dog who had moved to greet his new owner.

“Hi handsome” he said taking the dog’s head in his hands and scratching his cheeks.

“You got her a dog?” He questioned looking up.

“Got us a dog.”

Gibbs smiled and shook his head.

“You’re crazy” he laughed and kissed the dog’s head.

“So you like him”

“He’s our son now...of course I like him” he laughed and she smiled wide, sitting down next to him.

“Sniper huh?” He asked with a grin.

“Thought you’d like that” y/N smiled and he kissed her head.

“He’s trained for families who have members battling panic and ptsd”

“You did this for me?” He asked and she can tell he is a little apprehensive.

“You’re not the only one I did this for Jethro. He is trained for kids who have been through trauma as well.”

“You here to help us buddy?” He asked and smiled when the dog barked happily.

“Just like how we help each other.” Y/N said.

He smiled and kissed her, “you’re crazy, and incredible.” He laughed and hugged her to him.

“Meals is gonna love you” he said to sniper. “Hope you like hugs.” He continued and laughed as Sniper almost leaned his body weight into him, waiting for a hug.

Yeah, she made the right choice, she thought as she watched her husband with sniper.

It was almost time for Andi to bring Amelia home. They had decorated the whole house, Gibbs had finished her “big girl bed” they had put a big bow on it and Sniper was laying on his own bed next to hers with a big bow on his head.

Y/N opened the door while Gibbs stayed upstairs to keep sniper in his spot.

“Hi baby! Happy party day darling!”

“Hi momma!!!! Where poppa!”

“Well, you get most of your presents from momma and poppa on your actual birthday tomorrow, but you get two surprises from us today! They are in your room with poppa, should we go see?”

“Yeahhhhh” she squealed

“Poppa I home!” She yelled and swung the door open stopping in her tracks.

“Hi baby! Happy almost birthday!”

“Rrruff” sniper barked happily and wagged his tail.

“Amelia wanna come meet sniper?”

She nodded and walked over to her dad and the dog.

“He our doggie?”

“He is baby” Gibbs laughed and she pet him.

“I has a puppy brover?”

“Yup you have a puppy brother and poppa made you something too.”

“A BIG GIRL BED!” She yelled jumping up on it.

“Puppy come on my big girl bed?”

“Sure sweets, sniper can go up.” Y/N said looked at the dog “go ahead” she said and the dog jumped up and started licking Amelia’s face.

“I LUV PIP-ER”

Gibbs laughed at how the little girl said sniper and smiled as he watched Y/N join the love fest.

“Come on gunny” Y/N said as she motioned Gibbs to join them. He shook his head and plopped down on the bed sandwiching sniper and Amelia between him and Y/N. Feeling all the more lucky for the ladies and now gentleman in his life.

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Next chapter

@mac99martin @kittenlittle24 @drakelover78 @hopscotchandlemon @viper-official @viper-official @ilovemark1951 @theofficialzivadavid @averyhotchner @andreasworlsboring101 @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

[oftheredmoon]

my abuser abused me. after 10 years i broke my silence and told my childhood friend. i didnt want justice or anything bc i didnt want to destroy my family, i just wanted to confide in my closest friend. she immediately ran around town and told everyone. 2 years later, i found out random people knew about my trauma and were threatening my abuser as well as on the verge of involving my family. so i lied. and said i lied about the abuse. a lot of people in town hate me. ex-childhood friend hates me and victimizes herself; everyone takes her side. my abuser hates me and rather than be grateful that i took one for the team (since we both know what he did) he uses it against me. tells me he hates me because “you know what you did” on party chat in front of the handful of people who still speak to me.

i can never confide in anyone about this due to cultural reasons. i’m stuck living in a looped hell. people think im some mentally ill wacko who went off the deep end and tried to drag innocent people down with me. i dont do drugs. i dont drink. i dont have an escape. i dont have friends anymore. suicide is not an option. confiding in people is no longer an option. coping mechanisms dont work anymore. self-harm never worked and just made me feel stupid. moving out/running away is not an option. therapy didnt help, neither did meds.

i think the most painful thing is the blatant fact that i will never truly be happy.

i’m expected to get married and have children. i want to get married and have children. but how am i supposed to let my husband lay a finger on me without screaming and crying? how am i supposed to explain that the reason i breakdown everytime he compliments me is because nobody has ever paid attention to me before? how am i supposed to be a good wife and have a good job when im completely talentless and stupid because i spent my whole childhood in a locked room neglected? how am i supposed to a healthy partner when the very thought of him becoming slightly annoyed with me or ignoring me is enough to send me into a psychotic breakdown? how am i supposed to explain why im so mentally ill? why i have psychosis, ptsd, depression, anxiety, adhd, and borderline personality disorder. why im constantly dissociating. how am i supposed to explain why im so physically ill? my heart, my blood sugar, my ulcers, the migraines, the potential cysts, crohns disease, the fact that i can hardly eat without throwing up, the fact that my body has dealt with so much stress that its already giving up at 20 years old. i could keep going, but i wont.

its getting hard to feel anything anymore. i’m no longer in touch with reality. when i try to think about myself my appearance, my name and all the things that once defined me do not come up. im hardly human at this point. i wake up, eat, stare at the wall for 8 hours, eat again, maybe do some homework, and play xbox for a few hours before my abuser inevitably makes a comment and i get triggered and leave before i breakdown in front of everyone.

“just tell ur future husband!!” cant, its not that simple, im not from the west.

“find a supportive/understanding man!!” see above plus: no man is going to put up with a complete emotional trainwreck who can hardly function: thats a receipe for creating a cheater.

“find a friend group that your abuser doesnt hang out with!!” cant, everyone hates me, this friend group is the most successful one ive ever had, im scared of making new bonds, theyll all leave eventually.

“make online friends!!” i have very negative experiences with online friends, id rather not.

“seek professional help!!” already tried, didnt work, they would call the cops if they knew half the shit that happened to me, therapy is not the solution to everything.

“why did u say u lied in the first place...?” bc my abuser going to jail/being confronted by all of this wouldve destroyed my family. i couldnt let that happen.

“why did u expect ur abuser to be understanding and grateful..? they’re an abuser lol...” bc after the whole thing blew up and everyone hated me, we had a mutual agreement and understanding to make it water under the bridge in order to protect our family. guess i was wrong to think he cared about them.

“what do u want me to say then lol... ur not willing to help urself” i cant help myself. “my hands are tied” is the biggest understatement of the century.

this post is not to find my cure. i didnt make this post because i want people in my dms showing me that they’re concerned.

if ur concerned about me harming myself, dont be. you have my 100% guarantee that i will not self-harm or attempt suicide. i gave up on that years ago.

this post is to vent.

this post is for people who are in similar situations as me. people who cant find a way out. people who cant turn to escapes such as drugs. people who protect their abuser whether out of love or for the sake of others.

you’re not the only one. i understand. i know. its hard. you’re drowning. no one will grab your hand no matter how much you reach out. in the rare cases that someone does come you pull away. you’ve lost the best years of your life to trauma and mental illness. it feels like theres no point. nothing helps. nothing works. you’re practically a zombie. you often trigger yourself to cope. you just want the pain to end. you dont want to feel anymore. you want to feel something. you dont want to remember. you want to be loved. you want a sign that you belong here. you want to enjoy life. you want to die. you’re afraid of living but you’re afraid of death.

i’m so sorry you’re hurt. i hope you find peace and salvation in a safe manner. i hope you heal and enjoy life to the fullest.

dont really know how to end this. i hope we’ll all be okay. i hope everyone whos been traumatized can find peace on earth. i hope breathing can start to feel a little easier. sorry this is so long. take care of yourselves.

[hellzyeahwebwielingessays]

The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 17: MJ is LYING to Peter (when she knows she shouldn’t)

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One of the most egregious elements to AMJ is the incredible casualness in which the story treats MJ lying to Peter. In this post I will unpack just why this is seriously out of character.

Let’s be clear. Lying to your partner is in general just not a great thing to do, especially when you’ve only recently gotten back together. Lying to your partner about potential risks to your safety, other people’s safety and crimes that have been/are being committed, really, really not a great thing to do; and that’s when your partner’s job isn’t fighting crime.

Now in fairness MJ has lied to Peter about various things over the years. However these occasions (to my recollection anyway) have rarely included Mary Jane withholding information about out-and-out criminal activities from Peter. As I’ve exhaustively demonstrated, Mary Jane understands Peter’s ‘original sin’ and shares his sense of justice.

There were two notable exceptions though, the first occurring in ASM #286.

To fill the vacuum left by the departure of the Kingpin NYC’s mobsters engaged in a humungous gang war. The war involved various costumed types including Hammerhead, Jack Lantern, the Hobgoblin, Daredevil, the Falcon, the Punisher and of course Spider-Man.

Physically and mentally exhausted from putting out fires throughout the city (as well as his recent tussle with the Punisher), Peter returned to his apartment where Mary Jane helped him somewhat recover. As he slept Lance Bannon dropped by, intending to pass on a hot tip about a major gang meet that was to happen that night.

MJ took the message but out of concern for Peter deliberately chose to not tell him about the meeting.

The meeting turned violent causing a distraught MJ to finally tell Peter about it. She was horrified by the extreme violence and placed the blame squarely upon herself.

At the end of the story an even more exhausted Peter once again returned to his apartment. MJ admitted that whilst she was frightened for his safety she also acknowledged that his heroic acts were wonderful. However as Peter collapses on the coach MJ tries to point out to him one person who did in fact die in the incident, a young rookie cop.

This incident, being unique even amidst MJ’s unique life, would stick out in her memory.

It’s a huge lesson for MJ about the horrible consequences of lying to him about potential criminal activities. Noticeably in this situation MJ knew criminals were simply going to meet up and talk to one another, which isn’t (to my knowledge) actually a crime unto itself. And yet in AMJ #1 Mysterio and his crew collectively are actively  committing various crimes (evading the law, identity theft, fraud, etc.) but MJ still lies about them.

The other example where MJ lying had horrible consequences is admittedly much more contentious.  During Howard Mackie and John Byrne’s run on both ASM v2 and Peter Parker: Spider-Man v2 they initiated two subplots regarding Peter and MJ lying to one another. In Peter’s case he lied to Mary Jane about resuming his role as Spider-Man following his seemingly permanent retirement.

In MJ’s case she lied to Peter about a mysterious stalker who had begun making threatening phone calls to her. The stalker aggressively professed ownership of her and also threatened Peter. MJ presumed (for some reason?????) that the stalker was one of Peter’s enemies and thus kept him in the dark in order to protect him and maintain the normal life she believed they had. I admit this doesn’t make much sense but that’s a discussion for another time.

These lies (from both parties) majorly contributed to a creating a big schism in Peter and MJ’s marriage. They also, obviously, harmed MJ’s mental and emotional health through scaring and upsetting her, rendering her terrified of the phone.

MJ’s upset and horror at the situation escalated when her stalker went from threatening phone calls to invading her workplace to leave similarly threatening written messages.

This was very quickly followed by more violent acts like the stalker triggering explosions in the road where MJ’s limo was driving. It is implied several cars are totalled in the explosions, potentially injuring or killing innocent people and leaving MJ’s friend Jill Stacy scared and potentially mentally traumatised.

By this time Peter and MJ had independently learned they were deceiving one another. Peter rescued MJ from the stalker’s attack prompting the couple to briefly argue over their deceptions. It was clear that during this argument they held one another in poor favour for never fessing up, further damaging their marriage.

Not long after MJ’s stalker escalated things again, this time by causing various bombings near MJ’s home and around the city. He even publicly announced he was doing it to ‘have’ Mary Jane and that more attacks would follow. The situation became so serious that the authorities became involved and confirmed that there were innocent casualties resulting from the bombings.

The stalker was so extreme though he even attacked the police station MJ was being kept at for her safety, injuring yet more people and prompting MJ to flee for her life.

Unbeknownst to her, the stalker, posing as a cab driver, picked her up. MJ realized the truth when the stalker took her to the Bugle and locked the doors. Revealing another bomb counting down, he began to ramble about ‘proving his love’ to her and made moves to touch her. MJ escaped and yelled for civilians to clear the area. She escaped just in time as the cab exploded, seemingly killing the stalker.

Obviously such an experience would be upsetting enough, but it got worse because the stalker wasn’t actually dead!

When MJ boarded a plane the stalker (posing as a civilian) drugged her, took her off the plane, then faked her death by causing the plane to explode mid-flight and murdering everyone on board.

The stalker then held Mary Jane prisoner for six months. It was implied that in that time she was confined to a singular room. Even if that wasn’t strictly speaking the case it was confirmed that in all that time MJ was totally denied human contact, the stalker not even talking to her.

She was driven to such desperation that she practically begged her captor to just speak to her. When he did she exclaimed her thanks to him in spite of the situation.

After this the stalker revealed the details of his origin, motivations and plan (which aren’t really relevant right now). These details horrified MJ, none more so than the revelation that he killed everyone on her plane and that Peter was the stalker’s real target.

When Peter showed up the stalker used his psychic abilities to place MJ into a coma, one that would’ve been permanent had he not died shortly thereafter.

MJ barely survived and was seemingly intent upon restarting her normal life. However, she was left (temporarily) traumatised by the experience. She was frightened of phones when they rang and practically had a panic attack when the door to the attic wouldn’t easily open.

In part due to this trauma MJ opted to separate from Peter, eventually heading out to L.A.

In a much later story MJ would reflect that the time they were separated was one of the worst in her life.

The entire saga of the stalker…well actually it doesn’t make sense. 

For various reasons Peter and MJ simply would never have lied to one another in the first place. Even excusing this many of their actions within that context didn’t add up.

Nevertheless it provided the foundation that later (much better) Spider-Man stories built off of and nevertheless provides at least food for thought.

Those thoughts being how the experience clearly illustrated to MJ that she made a mistake in lying to Peter.

Innocent people, her friends, her family and her husband, were physically, mentally or emotionally harmed by her stalker and her 'death'. At the very least the passengers on her plane lost their lives, though other victims of the stalker’s bombings might also have died.

MJ herself suffered a shitton of harm and emerged from the events with outright PTSD.

ALL of this likely would’ve been avoided if Mary Jane had simply told Peter or the authorities about the phone calls earlier than she did.

Whilst Mysterio and his crew might not do anything as bad to her as the stalker, it’s all too possible that they could harm someone if remained unchecked. And lying to her romantic partner is a HUGE part of enabling them to remain unchecked!

Not to mention on the most basic of levels, lying to your romantic partner is 9/10 simply bad for any healthy romantic relationship. Indeed, the stalker saga illustrated that in it’s own clumsy way but its just common sense. Outside of exceptional circumstances couples should be honest with one another. Peter has to routinely lie as a matter of practicality and yet even he  knows that in general it’s something that should be avoided, as evidenced by ASM #310.

I’m not saying there aren’t times where withholding the truth is ultimately the best option for everyone involved but AMJ is obviously not one of those times. There is a huge difference between MJ deciding to not mention that she was briefly tempted to sleep with another man when nothing actually happened...

…verses not telling him the guy who faked his Aunt May’s death is walking free.

One avoids awkward or hurtful feelings in a romantic relationship. One potentially seriously endangers innocent people.

There is a counterargument to all this though. Couldn’t MJ be lying out of concern for Peter?

Answer: Definitely not. But that’s a topic big enough to justify it’s own instalment.

P.S. I am aware MJ has at times lied to Peter about other things. But my point is there is a huge difference between a little white lie or a lie that is intended to not rock their marital boat (e.g. not telling him about Jason Jerome) compared to potential life and death stuff like the above or AMJ #1.

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[whenwomenrefuse]

Almost too late

I met this guy when I was in high school and I liked him from the start. We went our separate ways and both joined separate branches of the military. He became infantry in his branch and I became an MP (military police). He sent me letters when I was deployed but that was kind of the last I’d heard of him. I was still in the military years later, home on leave, when I ran into him again at a bar my younger brother worked at. He was really sweet and hilarious and basically everything I remembered. I found that I still liked him a lot. I found out he had finished his enlistment and was home for good.

We hooked up and eventually started dating long-distance. I traveled back and forth whenever I could on breaks, and he would come to visit me. He was always very sweet and nice except there were times when he would get a little controlling. It started out small, like telling me I shouldn’t post certain pictures or wear certain things. I didn’t see it as an issue because sometimes men just get protective, right? I figured everyone had their issues occasionally and the good seemed to outweigh the bad.

Every time he made me cry (which wasn’t often because the military had taught me to hide these emotions) he would apologize and make up for it somehow, whether it was flowers or a date night or whatever. One time he got angry with me because another guy, one of my platonic friends, messaged me, and he read my phone while I was asleep. He woke me up to angry sex which, at the time, didn’t seem to be such a big deal but he scared me to the point where I started crying when he started grabbing my throat to the point where I couldn’t breathe. When he saw my reaction, he was sweet and went completely 180, as if he had shocked himself. I chose to forgive him

I think I had this idea at the time where I was invincible. I’d been in relationships before, some that ended poorly, but I’d never been physically or mentally abused. I pushed the early warning signs to the side in hopes for a good future with who I thought was the man of my dreams.

We got married and I finished my enlistment, and moved back home to be with him. But I wasn’t sure what I was doing with my life, and in this sort of limbo I was in, all of a sudden, things changed. He became extremely controlling, obsessive, and angry all the time. I wasn’t good enough for him. He would coerce me into having sex with him when I didn’t want to. He would get drunk and say terrible things to me about my family. He gossiped about me to my friends.

All of these things had me in a deep depression. I started having random panic attacks, triggered by nothing I could rationally explain away (I’ve had generalized anxiety for a while but it was usually triggered by stressful events, not out of nowhere like this). I got to the point where I could barely get out of bed and function because I felt so exhausted all the time. I didn’t want to have sex with him. This seemed to make him even angrier. He would constantly tell me how worthless I was and how I deserved this. He told me if I ever cheated on him or left he would kill me and himself. I started to believe him.

I finally got the courage to go stay with my mom. I told him it was just for a few nights so he wouldn’t kill me. But he went on a rampage and after belittling me for an hour to the point of me sobbing uncontrollably while not allowing me to leave (he kept blocking the doors) he finally relented out of nowhere and went 180 again, though with a warning that if I tried to leave, he would bankrupt me and take everything I had. He could afford a good lawyer. I still didn’t have a job and I couldn’t afford this. I only had the last of my deployment money and it was almost gone, and a meager disability check from the VA which is not quite enough to live on, so where would I really go anyway? I believed him. I didn’t leave, and I forgave him once again.

The cycle continued. The next time I tried to leave to stay with my mom, just to get away from it for a while, he racked his .45 and put it to his own head, saying he would kill himself in front of me if I left. I didn’t leave then either because I knew I could not live with myself if he killed himself because of me.

The final straw was after a night of drinking. We went out and partied and came home, bringing one of his friends who couldn’t drive. My husband shouldn’t have driven either but we somehow made it back. When his friend went to bed in the spare room, he started trying to have sex with me. I didn’t want it and I told him so. He started screaming at me (how he didn’t wake his friend up, I don’t know). He grabbed me by the neck and started choking me. I tried to fight back, even hit him to get him off me, but I legitimately thought I was going to die. He told me he was going to kill me and then my mother. He relented for a minute, and told me to get on the bed so he could have sex with me.

In my head, I reasoned that being raped was better than dying, and I complied but I still begged him not to do it, thinking that maybe he would be merciful. He didn’t listen and started having sex with me so I just laid there and prayed it would be over soon. I laid still like a board and after about a minute of him trying, he pushed off me and told me I was useless because I couldn’t even get him off. He resumed trying to choke me though it wasn’t quite hard enough to kill me. I don’t know if he was trying to scare me or what. I didn’t fight back this time because he wasn’t as savage about it this time for whatever reason, and I knew he could fight better than I.

He then told me to get on the bed because he was going to shoot me and kill me. He had guns laying all around the house. I knew he could do it and I was genuinely afraid it was the end for me. I don’t remember what exactly I said, but I think my previous training finally paid off for me, because somehow I convinced him that this wasn’t what he wanted to do, and that he didn’t want to ruin the rest of his life by doing this. I still don’t know how I got so lucky. To this day I don’t know how I managed to survive that night. He could have killed me at any moment and somehow he didn’t.

I finally told him I was leaving (not the same night but within a few months of this last event). I began planning my escape well beforehand but even still, I needed luck on my side to get out of there in one piece. I had handled domestic altercations in the past as an MP, and I knew from my training that the most dangerous time for a woman in an abusive relationship is when she decides to leave. He had told me (jokingly, but with a hint of foreboding) plenty of times that if he killed me, no one would ever find my body. He had killed people before and I didn’t doubt his capability to do so. But I had always considered myself mentally strong and I’d always told myself (especially not after handling a domestic) that I would NEVER put myself in an abusive relationship, yet here I was, trapped by my own fear of this man who had somehow exerted so much control over me. But I was no longer going to be his victim. I had decided that I was getting out, whether it was to safety or to my own death, and I was not going to live out the rest of my life in such a toxic environment.

Somehow, I managed to convince him I wasn’t right for him, that I was bringing him down and that he could be so much happier without me. It took months of throwing this idea at him, only when he was in a good mood. In his defense, he did seem sad that our relationship was so terrible. He had PTSD from being overseas in combat. I think a lot of his violent reactions were because of this. I didn’t hate him, but I needed to get out while I still could. My words slowly got through to him. I don’t know how it worked, I honestly don’t. I knew I was was taking a huge gamble but my strong points have always been my abilities to convince people, to calm a tense situation, and to utilize what the military calls “verbal judo”. I used all of these to my advantage, and slowly the idea of us getting divorced started to sound better to him. He was truly unhappy with me and he started to rationalize this over his obsessiveness (his therapy helped a lot with this too). I told him I wasn’t going to take anything of his (the judge looked at me strangely in court when I said this and even tried to tell me that I was probably entitled to something, considering I wasn’t working due to disability at the time). I did this even knowing I would be living in poverty so he would be more likely to let go. He made lots of money and I didn’t ask for a single cent because I valued my life more than his money.

I moved states away after we finalized the divorce to live with a friend, and cut all ties to my ex husband. I made it out and after seeing all the stories of women who didn’t, I consider myself extremely lucky. I also learned something from this entire ordeal: every woman can be a victim of domestic abuse. I used to think I was strong, both mentally and physically, and completely immune to it because I had seen it so many times firsthand. I never thought it could happen to me. But I was wrong, and I found out the hard way that an abuser is always going to be an abuser and no matter what you do, you can’t change them. Your best bet is to recognize the early warning signs: unhealthy possessiveness/obsession, mood swings, insisting on sex when you have stated you don’t want to, things of that nature. Because by the time you live with someone, it may be too late. It almost was for me.

[brylcighs]

✧·ﾟ(   demeter + maia mitchell + cis female   ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !!  have you seen (   bryleigh fox   ) around ? (   she   ) has been in kaos for (   two months   ). the (   twenty-four year old   ) is a (   baker   ) from (   boulder, colorado   ). people say they can be (   stoic   ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be (   ebullient   ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of (   warm blueberry muffins, black and white movies, and sunny, cloud-free mornings   ).  ·ﾟ✧  (  penned by shiloh, 21+, est, she/her   ).

trigger warnings: mental illness, ptsd, anxiety, depression, a car accident, health problems related to fertility, scars/burns, low self-esteem, drinking. ( i think that’s it, but if you run across something else triggering, pls let me know and i’ll add it to the list. )

THE MUN.

‘lo ! i’m shiloh, but you can call me shy. i’m 28, i live in the est and my preferred pronouns are she/her.��

i’m a school-based therapist and work in an elementary school. with it being summer, i don’t really have a lot going on ! so you’ll see me around quite a bit. 

i have two small puppos, minerva and newt, who are my pride and joy. p.s.: if you couldn’t tell from their names, i’m a huge harry potter fan. i also love young adult literature, i’m a true crime buff and could eat pepperoni hot pockets every day for the rest of my life. 

if you’d like to talk, you can im me on this account, on my rph @shilohrph or ask me for my discord and we can chat there !

and without further ado, allow me to introduce lil miss bryleigh. 

BASIC INFORMATION.

name: bryleigh olivia fox.

age: twenty-four.

gender/pronouns: cis femae & she/her.

orientation: panromantic pansexual. 

olympian: demeter.

occupation: head baker at physis taverna.

faceclaim: maia mitchell.

BACKGROUND.

bryleigh olivia fox was born may 8th, 1995 at 10:12am in kaos, greece to colonel william matthew fox and emma alison stewart-fox.

she has one older brother, lucas daniel fox, who is 28 and an architectural engineer. he’s married to sofia maite valdez-fox, twenty-four. they have a one-year-old daughter,  luciana irene fox. 

bryleigh also has one younger sister, peyton emelia fox, who is 20 and a college student studying communications. she’s engaged to  micah cole butler, twenty-two. they two-year-old twins addison hayley butler and aiden bryant butter. peyton is also currently 10 weeks pregnant.

because of her father’s occupation, the family has lived in different cities all over the world. besides kaos, the fox’s lived in bangkok, thailand, comayagua, honduras, misawa, japan, burkina faso, west africa,  vicenza, italy and pampanga, philippines. i made a handy dandy timeline which you can view here to better break it down.

bryleigh attended and graduated from the auguste escoffier school of culinary arts in boulder, colorado and lived there for about four years.

while living in boulder, her roommate and best friend, sofia, started dating and subsequently married her brother, lucas.

because her aesthetic is running when things get tough/complicated, bryleigh left boulder a few months after ber brother and best friend were married and moved back to kaos, greece. 

she lived in kaos for a year, living above the tavarna where she was head baker. she loved it and kinda looks back on it as the best time of her life. but a rough patch in a relationship caused her to - again - flee, returning to boulder. 

about a month after moving back to boulder, she was in a serious car accident. her vehicle slid on black ice and flipped. she almost died, but managed to pull through.

on top a concussion, many broken bones, several severe burns, some internal bleeding and innumerable cuts, scrapes, and bruises, bryleigh’s pelvis was fractured and her fallopian tubes were crushed. she also later developed  asherman’s syndrome from the surgeries/scar tissue forming. this has basically rendered her infertile. 

after the accident, bryleigh had to move in with her brother and sister-in-law/former best friend. not only did they smother bry trying to take care of her, but sofia was pregnant at the time. this served as a constant reminder of all she’d lost. 

so, as soon as she was cleared to be on her own, she told lucas and sofia that she was going to visit kaos for her birthday.

except that she was actually moving back there and didn’t want to have to deal with their worry and concern and attempts to talk her out of it. queen of running from her problems.

bryleigh has been back in kaos for about two months, and it’s not the carefree, serene place she remembered.

actually, that’s not true. it’s still the place she remembered. she’s just not the same person she once was. no matter how much she tries to pretend she is.

you can read more about her here if you feel so inclined. 

PERSONALITY. 

bryleigh is a bit of a complicated lil nugget. she’s like an onion, ya know ? she has layers. one one hand, she’s this bubbly, happy-go-lucky, upbeat ball of sunshine. but on the other hand, she’s really struggling with ptsd from the crash, as well as a good heaping of anxiety and depression. so she has times where she’s really distant and reticent.

as the ‘mom friend’, she’s always been the person that people turn to. she’s the shoulder to lean on. she’s the one who gives amazing advice. she’s the one who seems wise beyond her years. she’s the one who tells you to stop leaning back in your chair because you’re going to fall over or sets water and tylenol beside your bed after a night of partying. she cares a whole lot. like, an insane about. which is a blessing and a curse. 

what she’s struggling with post-accident is opening up about how she’s doing and how she’s really feeling, beyond the facade that she puts on for everyone. it’s like she’s physically incapable of letting people see that she’s struggling. bry doesn’t want to put that burden on anyone, ya know ? so, she’s kind of suffering in silence and bottling everything up. which is super healthy, i know. 

sarcasm and dry humor are two of her favorite coping skills. she’s also really great at self-deprecating humor !

the accident left her with quite a lot of scars and several skin grafts from having third-degree burns treated, and she’s incredibly self-conscious about them. she covers her low self-esteem up with jokes and humor, but she really is quite sensitive about her appearance. 

as i mentioned, she tends to run from her problems rather than addressing them. and if she can’t run, she makes a joke out of them and doesn’t take them seriously. or she bottles up all the emotions from the problem and pretends it’s not a big deal. i know. her coping skills are so healthy.

the only thing that bryleigh has ever wanted is to be a mom. she’s basically had baby fever since she was old enough to understand the birds and the bees. she always imagined being a stay-at-home mom, taking care of a shew of children and her husband/wife. but since the accident, she’s not sure if that’s what she still wants of her life. she no longer has no direction, and really feels like she’s floundering.

part of her is worried about having kids ( through adoption or surrogacy or on the off-chance that she can naturally conceive ) because the hate in her heart after the accident is so dark and consuming and terrifying. she feels like maybe the car accident did more than break her bones. maybe it broke her as a person. and maybe she’s not capable of loving someone now. or if she is, she’s worried that what she loves will get taken from her. and she doesn’t know if she can stand to lose anything else. 

EXTRA.

she starts every morning with a cup of black coffee and a banana nut muffin and ends every evening with a cup of peppermint tea and two homemade jaffa cakes.

bryleigh has a chocolate labrador retriever named yolo. he’s ancient. she’s not really sure how old he is, but the shelter she adopted him from said that he’d been there for several years. so, she absolutely had to take him home with her. yolo’s very loving and sweet and a lil lazy and he loves pitless olives. she has huge birthday parties for him on his gotcha day, august 12th. 

her walls are covered with abstract art from a bunch of different countries. they remind her of her childhood and everywhere she’s traveled. 

favorite thing in the world to do is have a bunch of her friends over, make a slew of homemade pizzas and desserts, pop open several bottles of rosé wine, throw pillows and blankets all over the floor and watch movies of various genres until everyone falls asleep. 

she loves 80′s music and prefers to listen to records rather than stream music or what have you. it sounds more authentic that way. at least, in her opinion. 

her apartment looks like a forest. she has plants everywhere. e v e r y w h e r e. she’s also a really good plant mom and has named all of her children. she talks to them and knows their favorite songs. maybe she’s a tad bit psychotic. who isn’t, though ?

since the accident, she’s developed a huge fear of driving. she won’t drive. ever. she either walks, rides her bike or takes an uber. if she can get away with not having to ride in a car, though, she much prefers that option. i mean, can you blame her ?

she loves astrology and tarrot readings and ghost hunts and talking about aliens and going on hunts for cryptids. she’s always thought there has to be more to life than what we can see, so she’s open to at least considering most everything, ya know ?

her closest friends call her foxy. everyone else calls her bry. some people call her bryleigh ? but i can’t imagine why. it’s a mouthful. 

send her memes and you’ll have her heart. she has a huge folder of them saved on her phone. there might or might not be more memes on her phone than actual pictures. hint: there totally is. 

bryleigh can speak english, spanish, filipino, greek, italian, thai, japanese, swahili, hausa and a little bit of a berber dialect to varying degrees of success. she’s most comfortable with english, spanish and greek, and least comfortable with the african languages. she can also write in a variety of writing systems, though not nearly as well as she can speak the languages. she’s forgotten a lot of the rules and method that go along with many of them.

PLOT IDEAS.

you can read about all my connection ideas right here !

NOTE: i’m open to pretty much anything, so if you have an idea, run it by me ! more than likely, i’ll approve and start rambling off ideas and headcanons and half-formed thoughts until you politely tell me to shut the fuck up. sounds fun, right ?

THE END.

thanks so much for reading this monster post ! i don’t know how to be concise. i’ve tried. i tried here. obviously, i failed. but i love you all. i can’t wait to write and interact with you all and your lovely, wonderful characters ! hasta la vista, baby.

[txnystarkimagines]

Paradox (Part 2/?)

Disclaimer: This story contains triggering content that includes: violence, abuse (both domestic and sexual), as well as emotional trauma, anxiety, and PTSD. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED. I repeat, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED,OR TRIGGERED. I apologize for inconveniences caused by me.

Words: 2000+

Pairings: Tony Stark x OC, Pepperony

Warnings: Panick attack,angst

Summary:  A sick Pepper Potts on her death bed, asks her best friend Eleanor Belikov to marry her husband Tony Stark AKA Iron Man and be a mother to their child of six months Exton Stark.

Paradox Tag List: @tonystarkfanfiction  @ melizzzabeth  @lovely-geek  @fanficqueen306

Permanent Tags: @sybil-howlett @palaiasaurus64 @sherlockholmesisbae @redroomproperty @alwaysoutoftheordinary @withouthannah @metaphysicalmisha@andybubblebath @secretninjachild @whatshernamemaria @pou-noikiazeis-to-oneiro @alwaysenjoythelifeyoulive@niallandsebastianaremylife @raindancer2004  @v-esperteen  @purpledolphin-f  @sour-kangaroo1998 @princeffreeshgoddessofgreatbooty @melizzzabeth

To continue or not to? Please, feedback is very much appreciated. I need it. 

Paradox Masterlist | Masterlist | Request Here | Tag list is open    

Eleanor,was shocked no doubt. How could Pepper even say that? She couldn't fathom the thought of marrying ever again,let alone an already married man. She new Pepper was a physically sick, but this was a new level even for her.

"Please tell me this is a joke Pepper."Eleanor grimaced at the redhead.

"No, itsn't. I am quiet serious."She replied.

"No just no!"Eleanor leaned back against the seat.

"Ellie please, just hear me out."Pepper begged.

"Don't do this Pep."

"Just listen. I am dying."She shifted uncomfortably in her place on the bed. Pepper herself had accepted the fact that she was going to die but that by no means meant that she was comfortable with it. She didn't want to leave this world so early. She wanted to see her child grow up, his first steps, his first words, his first day of school and anything and everything inbetween and more. She wanted to see whether Exton would take after Tony's genius or her ordinary brain. Though no, fate worked in crueler ways than one could imagine and now almost 7 months after the delievery, she did not even have the energy to lift her child. She could never have imagined. A woman who was once stong enough,could not even pick up her own son. How weak was that? Pepper felt almost hopeless, she never though of life coming and stopping at this point but this was the reality and she needed to fill in all holes, and make sure everything was taken care of after her death. Eleanor was the only way of making sure.

"My organs are giving up on themselves, literally eating each other. In a way I am self destructing."She took a deep breath, even speaking for a  long time made her unwell. "Starks do that, they have a tendency to do that, while I am doing so physically, I know that Tony out there is completely tearing himself apart, preparing for-"Her coughs interrupted her speech.  

Her whole body shook with the coughs as Eleanor quickly got up to pour her some water. While Pepper caught her breath,she took a seat besides her on the bed. "It's okay."Eleanor pressed the bedridden woman's shoulder as comfort, only to get a sad smile in return.  

"See? Can't even speak properly. Anyways,when I'm gone he is going to be a mess, he needs someone to take care of him. He is Tony Stark, an inventor, a superhero and the CEO of the world's biggest multi national company.He will be in the lab for days. My son will be alone. With nannies. How can I let him be raised by them when he has a perfectly alive father?  When he can have a suitable mother?  I need you to raise him, and push Tony in the right direction to do so also. Please Eleanor, I am begging you. This is my last wish. "

"I-I honestly don't know what to say."Eleanor stated, disbelief evident in her voice.  

"Think about it. Meanwhile Jarvis will show you the contract. I can't speak more." Pepper could already feel the medicines she took before El came taking over. They made her whole body numb,which while did help, made Pepper even more helpless. With them she could only speak and turn her neck,no other part of her body moved. Moments like these,made her want to lash out. Scream at God. Why her? Why her when she had just started a family? Why take her away from her loved ones? She was just trying to save another person. She in no way asked for this. Killian did this to her,and she hoped he burn in hell for what he had done to her and hundreds of others,for he was already dead.

"Contract?"

"Yeah, help me lay down?"

Eleanor complied doubtlessly, slowly easing Pepper onto her back, as she closed her eyes,but before she told Jarvis to ask Tony to come to her in about twenty minutes.

As Eleanor exited the spacious room with her bag, Jarvis asked her, "Miss Lockwood would you like to read the documents in holograph, tablet, or hard format?"

"Hard if that can be arranged. "El answered, carefully making her way down the granite stairs.

"It's waiting in the living room, on the table along with a cup of coffee."

"Thank you!"She appreciated the AI 's thoughtfulness.

Eleanor made herself comfortable on the leather couch, besides the fire before grabbing the papers.  Taking a sip of the coffee she opened the file, starting the reading.

The first few pages were all the legal formalities,who was involved in it, and when would it start and what not.Then came the clauses.

Only after Tony and Pepper would divorce will he marry Eleanor.

If both parties agreed then the procedure will start immediately.

None of them are allowed to be a part of any sort of extra marital affairs.

Noone is to be told about the contract.

If both parties agreed to get married Eleanor would automatically assume Pepper's position in the company which would be a personal assistant to CEO and chairman Tony Stark as well as at home, as his wife.

As far as matters are concerned with Exton, no nannies will be hired, he will be raised by the couple as his parents.  

The couple is not allowed to divorce in a minimum of five years and only if Exton knows the truth about his parents and his real mother.

Exton will not be told the truth until and unless circumstances call for it or he hits maturity.

While this was only the summarized version, the documents were a lot more detailed including the details of what would happen when they agreed, what was to be told to the world and in case of interviews their history as a couple.It took her more than 30 minutes to read through. At the end, three empty lines rested for their signatures.

As Eleanor moved onto the more personal notes by Pepper on what exactly she would have to do, she heard a loud crash from upstairs. Alert, she sat up."Jarvis?"

"Nothing to worry about, Miss Lockwood.Mr. and Mrs Stark are having a fight. Mrs. Stark is telling him what she told you.  He is not in a good mood."

"Of course why would he?"Eleanor mumbled under her breath.

Biting her lips she tried to concentrate on the file in front of her, but her mind was somewhere else. She wondered what was happening upstairs. Tony was obviously angry, but how much? Would he agree?  Would he be mad at her too?  Everything was a jumble. She didn't want the fight to escalate and decided it was best to act as a cooling agent between the two overly heated people.

As Eleanor made her way up the stairs, she froze. Tony was making his way towards her.Well not exactly, as he hadn't caught sight of her yet. His whole demeanor screamed anger and frustration.  His fists were clenched by his sides, and his feet stomped as he climbed down the stairs, only to find El standing in the middle.

"You."He seethed, glaring at her as he walked closer only to stand a few inches above her on the step.  

"Me?"She whispered.

"What did you tell her?"

"I didn't tell her anything Tony. I found out about it only a few minutes before you."

"Don't you fucking lie to me.What the hell did you tell her?" He screamed at her, pushing her against the wall, with no way to escape. His arms caged her between the wall and him. Eleanor flinched at the situation, bad memories floating through her head.

"Tony please, believe me I didn't ask her to do any of this. "She grimaced,looking anywhere but at him.  

"Look at me."He ordered.

Eleanor slowly turned her head to look into his raging brown eyes, that almost seemed black with anger.  His hand traveled to her cheek, softly pushing the curly strand of hair behind her ear,where he then cupped her neck. If not for the situation she would have definitely thought he was pulling a move on her.

"You see Miss Lockwood,"He spoke softly, still caressing her hair. "If I find out that you had even one percent of involvement in Pepper's crazy plan,I am going to fucking destroy you. You are never going to be able to find a job, not even in a run down diner. So you better pray to whatever God you pray to, that you don't."With a final shove to her shoulder against the wall,the genius stormed down and into the elevator.

For a few seconds El stood there frozen in shock, marveling at what had just happned. Memories flashed through her head. Dimitri and her against the wall. Dimitri holding her in a chokehold. Similar situations moved through her mind one after another not giving her time to process them. She gasped for air,sliding down the wall, and sitting down on the step, all unknowingly as she remembered the time she broke her arm for hitting the wall to hard. Memories of Dimitri playing with her hair, threatening her just like Tony did mere minutes ago. Her heart beat fast and she could feel the blood rushing through her veins. She made the mistake of holding her breath and made it even harder for herself to calm down. In distress she fell forward, hand resting against the cool granite, her only source of comfort right now. Her curls fell around her face, shielding her away from the world, while she squeezed her eyes shut, flinching at the images that greeted her.

"Your heart rate is unbelievably high. Do you want me to call Mr Stark? Miss?"Jarvis called out.

For a few seconds, there was silence, with only her struggle to breathe as the music, as she tried to calm down enough to let out a reply. "N-" She gasped,"No."

God! She felt so weak. Two weeks. It had been two weeks, she had been without a panic attack, and this measly incident was all it took to break that streak.

Eleanor counted to ten, with holding her breath and releasing every other number. Soon enough as she reached twenty-three she was stable enough.

"Argh!" She let out a frustrated scream. What was wrong with her? He was long gone. Why was she so scared,so weak all the time? She thought to herself.

This was it. This was the moment decided. No more hesitation,no more fear,no more weakness. She had faced far worse than an arrogant man in a can. She was done being weak,she was a survivor she is a survivor,Eleanor determined. Perhaps it was that moment when she signed her life over,one again as history repeated itself. Eleanor reached down a shaky hand,still a bit breathless and grabbed the file which had fallen down a few steps. Immediately she flipped to the last page,not delaying the least bit in case she changed her mind. And then,she signed,a single drop of tear falling down next to the line as she did so.

[ellanainthetardis]

Exciting stuff happening today! First ultrasound! I hope you like it!

[FF] or [AO3)

6. Ten weeks

The clinic’s waiting area was packed and Effie was trying not to feel like every pair of eyes was staring at her – a feat given that they were. She hadn’t been out and about in the District much in the last couple of weeks and people were talking. Rumors in Twelve went fast and far. People kept asking Haymitch and the children if she was sick when they went in town or if she had gone back to the Capitol or…

She supposed after that day, they would have something else to gossip about. She was wearing a loose dress – or at least a dress that had once been loose – but there was no mistaking the small roundness of her belly. The fabric was stretched around her middle. It wasn’t so noticeable when she was standing but when she was sitting…  It was a budge. Nothing huge. But on her figure… It was striking.

The plastic chairs were uncomfortable and Haymitch kept fidgeting, toying with the bottle of water they had carried along. She had been taking regular sips since that morning. All of Haymitch’s books claimed it was better to drink plenty before an ultrasound, that it would help give a clearer image. She wanted a clear image. She wanted to know for sure if something was wrong. She wanted…

A woman was insistently staring at her stomach and Effie was tempted to put her coat back on.

The whole District would know before the day was through.

She didn’t expect the news not to travel further.

It was her worst nightmare. The whole country would know. The whole country would know and pity them when… If, she forced herself to think, not when but if… she would lose it.

“I will need to call my parents. They have a right to know before it hits the papers.” she whispered, more because she needed to hear herself saying it out loud than to start a conversation.

What they would do after that was left to a limbo. Once the whole country would know…

Haymitch frowned a bit because he was well aware that her relationship with her family had always been tense at best. The fact that they had cut her off for siding with the rebels and then having the indecency of living in sin with a notorious alcoholic in the most backend District Panem had to offer hadn’t helped matters.

She had tried to mend bridges after the war and, for a while, when she had still been in the Capitol, she had been naïve enough to think it might even work. When she had finally admitted to herself she couldn’t be alone in that city anymore and she had turned to her parents for help… One’s reputation was still everything in the Capitol and having a rebel-slash-former-escort for a daughter wasn’t good for her mother’s social life or for her father’s business – never mind that her sister still blamed her for her husband’s death. She hadn’t been really surprised to be turned away when she had showed up on their doorstep.

Her subsequent decision to go to Twelve had made things worse between them.

“It won’t hit the papers.” he countered.

She tossed him an incredulous look – because, of course, it would: she was the last escort still alive and he was one of the few victors left, a hero of the rebellion. He refused to meet her eyes, staring at the plastic bottle, turning it this way and that…

She knew that attitude.

She knew it like the back of her hand. It was the sweetheart, I didn’t mean to start a brawl in a bar and cause a scene attitude. “What did you do?”

He winced. “Might have called Plutarch. Cashed in a favor.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You told Plutarch.”

“Well, yeah.” he scoffed. “Nothing will hit the papers for now. We’ve got a month worth of peace at least.”

She pursed her lips, annoyed. “Will I ever get to tell someone myself, on my own terms, or are you and the children going to announce it to all our friends? Perhaps an article in the newspapers would be preferable after all.”

He made a face. “Look…”

“Miss Trinket?” the nurse called.

Lips still pursed, she narrowed her eyes at him, before standing up.

“This conversation is not over.” she hissed in warning.

“When is it ever?” he sighed, rubbing his face and hauling himself out of the plastic chair. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

It would have been hard not to detect the touch of impatience and excitement in his voice. He had been on edge since the previous night, the nose in one of his books when he wasn’t staring at the bottom of a glass. He seemed to be torn between eagerness at the situation and a natural dread of the whole thing.

That was one of the points that made Effie even more wary of the whole affair.

The nurse left them alone in the room after inviting her to lie down on the table and wait for the doctor. There were posters on the wall: charts and framed landscape paintings. She focused on the landscape picturing a meadow overgrown with purple flowers to better ignore the white paint and the smell of antiseptics.

She hated hospitals.

She truly hated hospitals.

Haymitch’s hand squeezed her shoulder and she looked up at him to find his knowing gaze. Some days, she didn’t know how he could bear to be with her and her emotional baggage.

He was certainly not the easiest man on the planet and his alcoholism wasn’t a walk in the park either but, when it came down to it, he had mostly mastered his PTSD. He knew his triggers, he knew how to avoid them and, if worst came to worst, he knew how to work through them without making a spectacle of himself – yes, it almost always involved liquor, but he did that in the privacy of his own house where nobody could see him. And, lately, he had been better at keeping his alcohol consumption to the strict minimum.

She was still trying to deal with everything.

“They weren’t kind.” she heard herself say.

“I know.” he sighed and there was a touch of anger there.

The doctors and nurses who had taken care of her after her rescue hadn’t exactly considered her to be a priority. There had been injured soldiers, injured civilians… People had been hurt and dying by the dozens… The fact that she had been put in a VIP – albeit under guard – area had been seen as a provocation. She was an escort. And, in the rebels’ mind, escorts didn’t deserve much if anything at all. It had been the dawn of a new world, a world where she would have no place in.

They had treated her wounds to the best of their abilities, that was true. But they hadn’t been kind about it. They hadn’t gloated either, but she had seen it on more than one face: the flash of glee at seeing her suffering like District people had suffered. You deserve the pain, the faces had seemed to say – she had never been able to tell apart the truth from her imagination; had they truly been that hostile or had she projected her terror at the time?

She had been wary of touch and they had grabbed her without care, strapped her to the bed when she hadn’t been cooperative enough. She had been desperate to feel human again and they had treated her like an object to probe at, something sentient but weak that could not take decisions for itself. She had resented the nurses for washing her body like it was a chore, for the feeling of mortification and humiliation it had brought each time. She had hated every moment the doctor had spent explaining her condition to a third party when she had been right there. She had hated the professional detachment the staff had showed, as if she hadn’t been a person but a case to solve. She had hated the pity in the eyes of the rare nurses who hadn’t behaved like robots around her. She had hated every single minute of it.

She had remained in the hospital close to a month. Perhaps even more.

She had remained there well after she had needed treatment because it had been the only safe place to keep her while Haymitch and Plutarch had been dealing with President Coin who had wanted her to be arrested and put on trial like everyone else involved in the Games had been. She had followed the Purge on TV until Haymitch had decided it was upsetting her too much and had had the TV removed.

She had resented the lack of control on her own life at the time.

She sometimes still resented it a little now.

“It’s a different place, sweetheart.” he reminded her before she could slip into intrusive bad memories. “It’s a different time. You’re safe. I’m right here.”

“I know.” she hummed, covering his hand with hers.

She supposed it could be considered odd how they transitioned from fighting to this. A lot of people were puzzled by it. She wasn’t. They fought and they bickered and they argued about everything but, deep down, she knew without a doubt he would always be there for her when she needed him – just like she would be there for him.

They weren’t a conventional couple, their relationship wasn’t the healthiest…

But they worked.

“Hello!” Doctor Larcher cheerfully said when he came into the room, nodding at the both of them. “Miss Trinket, Mr Abernathy.” She called back a polite greeting while Haymitch simply shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. The doctor gave him a knowing look. “Impatient, are we?”

“Just want to know they’re ok.” he muttered defensively.

She turned her head so fast something snapped in the side of her neck and there was an unpleasant throb for a few seconds. She hadn’t been expecting that plural.

They.

Was she a they now ?

The idea was both strange and… She wasn’t sure. She didn’t quite know how to feel about it. Just like she didn’t know how to feel about the situation.

Pregnancy, she corrected herself.

She was trying. She truly was trying.

She touched her stomach, something she rarely did, feeling the hard round bump under her clothes. She couldn’t let herself hope. It would destroy her when it… If it…

She couldn’t let herself hope but hoping had always come easily to her. She used to see it as a strength and now she saw it as a flaw. Because, as much as she told herself not to get attached, as much as her instinct told her nothing good would come out of this… A part of her was hoping everything would go well. A part of her wanted to get excited.

“Miss Trinket?” Doctor Larcher called, having obviously repeated her name a few times.

She had missed a part on the conversation and she blinked, forcing a smile on her lips and hiding behind her best polite mask. “My apologies, I was distracted.”

“Understandable.” the doctor chuckled. “Everyone is always excited about the first ultrasound. I just meant to ask a few questions before we start.” He cleared his throat. “For the file, I need to ask officially, have you made your mind about getting an abortion? We are getting close to the deadline.”

“Yes.” she said and then winced a little. “I mean no. We are not getting an abortion.”

The doctor kept his face neutral when he wrote it down. He asked a few other questions that she answered to the best of her abilities, a bit amused by Haymitch’s embarrassment at the topic. The top of his ears was red and, by the time they were finished, his whole face had turned crimson. Openly asking Doctor Larcher about having intercourses was just pure mean on her part but watching Haymitch getting so flustered he seemed to want nothing else but to run far away was entirely too funny.

He paid attention to everything Larcher told them though. The doctor was professional and showed no sign of embarrassment or reluctance to broach the topic, actually seeming rather happy they had thought to ask before doing anything on that front.

Haymitch, once certain that he wouldn’t be mocked or that it wasn’t deemed ridiculous on his part to be concerned about that, had plenty of questions and it was her turn to be mortified because a lady didn’t discuss her sexual life, even with her physician. Larcher answered them all without a flinch though, checking her blood pressure while he talked.

“Still a bit low.” Larcher commented. “Are you following the diet I gave you?”

“Yes.” Haymitch said before she could and she glared because she could still answer for herself. He made a face and lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. “What? You are, sweetheart. Plus the cupcakes.” His lips stretched into a smirk, his grey eyes twinkling in amusement. “Peeta keeps making us those chocolate cupcakes… Never managed to eat one yet, she swallows them faster than the kid bakes them.”

She pursed her lips and glared harder.

“You do not deserve chocolate cupcakes.” she huffed. “Horrid man.”

“Chocolate cupcakes are perfectly acceptable.” Larcher offered, fetching the ultrasound machine from the far wall. “I would certainly be happier if you gained a few pounds.”

The concept of gaining weight was still foreign after two years. She had spent her whole life trying to maintain a certain figure and now… Now she was expected – when not downright forced – to eat more.

Getting ready for the actual ultrasound took a few minutes. She was forced to lift her dress and bundle it under chest, flashing the whole room with her – only pair of plain – black panties while the doctor carefully smeared her stomach with a sticky gel.

Haymitch looked like he badly needed a drink. His fingers were shaking and he kept balling his hands into fists. When he noticed her inquisitive look, he buried them in his pockets with a shake of his head.

He was nervous, she figured.

She held her breath when the sensor touched her skin.

“You need to relax, Miss Trinket.” Larcher told her automatically, without even glancing at her, his eyes on the screen.

She felt Haymitch take her hand but she didn’t look at him, she was staring at the screen, trying to see… To figure out… It was difficult to understand what she was watching and Larcher didn’t seem happy either. He kept moving the sensor around.

Effie braced herself for the news she knew would be coming.

There had been a misdiagnosis and there was no baby, something else was deeply wrong with her.

The baby was gone.

The baby was dead.

The baby…

“Here he is.” Larcher said suddenly, pointing at something on the screen with his free hand.

“He?” Haymitch asked immediately, squeezing her fingers, leaning in to peer at the screen.

“The baby. It is too early to tell the gender yet.” the doctor replied. “Can you see your baby, Miss Trinket? Perfectly healthy. A bit small for my taste but we are still within the normal ranges.”

He was pointing at a dark spot in a white oval that vaguely looked like a rat in her opinion – and she immediately felt guilty for thinking so.

“Looks like a shrimp.” Haymitch commented. He chuckled then and he sounded so happy… It had been a long time since she had heard him laugh like that and the instances had been rare.

“Don’t call my baby a shrimp.” she chided him, watching the screen with rapt attention. “Are you sure he is healthy?”

“Completely healthy.” Larcher insisted. “We will have to run some tests to make sure there are no anomalies… All routine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Alright.” she said softly, distracted by the picture on the screen.

This was her baby.

Her baby.

Their baby.

“I think…” Larcher hesitated, flicking a switch on the monitor. A whooshing sound suddenly echoed in the room and underneath that…

“Is that his heart?” she asked, her own heart pounding harder in answer to that tiny call.

“It’s a bit faint, no?” Haymitch worried, staring at the screen as if he was scared the baby would disappear.

“His heart might not be entirely formed yet.” Larcher declared. “It will get stronger. We will be able to hear more clearly in two weeks. But it is your baby’s heartbeat.”

Effie burst out in tears.

She hated how emotional she was since the whole thing had started. She never used to cry in public and, nowadays, the tiny thing could make tears burn her eyes. But this… This…

“I will print you a picture.” Larcher said quickly, moving to an adjoining room to give them some privacy. The image on the screen was frozen now. A picture and not a live feed of what was going on inside her body.

“Hey…” Haymitch called softly, sitting on the edge of the table. “Sweetheart, it’s okay…”

“It’s a baby.” she hiccupped between two sobs. “A real baby.”

“Well, yeah.” he snorted. “What did you think was in there?” He grabbed a couple of Kleenex from a nearby box and carefully wiped the gel off her stomach. “You heard what the doc said. Perfectly healthy.”

But wasn’t that just as much terrifying? What were they going to do?

What were they going to do with a child?

She was panicking and the sobs turned into panting. Haymitch framed her face, his thumbs catching the last of her tears.

“One day at a time, Effie.” he reminded her. “We’ll figure it out.”

She grabbed his wrists and tried to match his breathing, to calm herself down before she could have a real panic attack.

“Do you swear?” she asked – and it sounded broken and childish.

“I swear.” he said, sounding just as strong as she felt weak. She nodded, sniffing a little, forcing a smile, trying to regain her composure. He pressed a long kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be okay.” he insisted. “I’ll make sure we’re okay if it’s the last thing I do.”

There was a growl in his voice and she knew why. He had his own demons. Not having been able to save his family was one of them.

Larcher made sure to clear his throat before walking back in the room with a white envelope for them to take home. Haymitch helped her down the table and she smoothed her dress back in place, her hand lingering on the round bulge.  

“By the way…” the doctor said suddenly, as an afterthought. “I think we can safely assume your due date will be for the third week of April.”

April…

October had barely started. April seemed like a lifetime away.

“How long do we have to decide on adoption?” she asked.

Haymitch flinched but didn’t protest out loud. They hadn’t talked about it yet. It was an option though. An option he had seemed to be alright with.

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling.

“You have until birth and beyond.” Larcher told her. “There is no rush and no need to make hasty decisions.”

“You must think us to be terrible people.” she remarked. She felt disgusted with herself. So many women wanted children and there she was… With one of her own she was terrified to lose while all the while knowing they would never be able to give him a stable childhood.

“I think you are very responsible parents, on the contrary.” the doctor countered softly. “You want the best for your child. I honestly can only respect that.”

They parted on those words.

People were still staring when they walked out the room but Effie only noticed them in passing, her head too full of information. She couldn’t stop thinking about the dark blot on the screen.

“I will be right back.” she told Haymitch before they left the building.

There was another woman washing her hands in the ladies and Effie nodded politely at her before hurrying to a booth. When she came out and made a beeline for the sink – because she absolutely hated having to use public facilities – the woman was checking her red hair in the mirror. She took one look at Effie’s stomach and made a sympathetic face, rubbing her own protuberant belly. Effie hadn’t even noticed.

“Are you still in that phase when you feel you need to pee every five minutes?” the stranger asked.

Nobody in the Capitol would have ever asked something so intimate to someone they didn’t know and certainly not in those words.

“It is getting better.” Effie hesitated.

“It’ll get worse again later.” the woman laughed. “Wait until you’re seven months in.” She patted her stomach. “This is my second. How far along are you now?”

“Ten weeks.” she said, placing a hand on her stomach. A small smile touched her lips. It was the first time she was able to tell someone about her pregnancy herself. “It is the first time. Well… Not exactly the first time but it is the first time I…” She stopped herself but the woman didn’t seem to need an explanation so Effie averted her eyes, closed the tap and wiped her hands. “He is healthy. We are healthy.”

She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

“That’s good.” the woman said gently and seemed to mean it. “Pregnancy can be a pain, you’ll see, but it’s all worth it when you have your baby in your arms.”

She didn’t know how to explain she wasn’t sure she would ever get to that point. Even if the situation went on… On a whim, she turned to face the woman. “My name is Effie. Effie Trinket.”

She used to be good at this, making friends. Months in a cell had reduced her gifts for social interactions.

She waited for the unavoidable recognition to flash in the woman’s eyes and then for the wariness to appear on her face. There was recognition. The wariness was brief.

“Eileen Clarke.” the woman replied, leading the way out of the ladies. “My husband and I own the new coffee shop in town? We’re still in the building phase for now but we will be ready to open in a few weeks…”

“Oh, yes!” Effie exclaimed with enthusiasm. “That is actually quite modern for Twelve. I was very happy to hear about it.”

“You should come around when it opens.” Eileen offered. “We could have a chat.”

“I would like that.” she said gratefully.

Eileen nodded to her with a smile and then nodded to Haymitch when he wandered closer.

“Made a friend?” he asked.

“I believe so.” she grinned. And it was a good thing. It had been a long time since she had made a friend that wasn’t related to her victors. And right now… Right now she felt she needed something outside of their family, particularly since they all tended to suffocate her with unrequested advices and warnings to be careful in her condition.

How she hated those words.

The way home was a slow one and mostly silent. Haymitch was clutching the white envelope to his chest.

“About adoption…” he hesitated after a while.

“Not yet.” she cut him off. “We are not talking about that yet.”

She didn’t know when she would be ready to open that can of worms. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready.

She still didn’t quite believe it would come down to that.

He looked like he wanted to argue but seemed to think better of it.  She had asked for time and he had agreed to give it to her. He had been very good about giving it to her.

Unsurprisingly, the children showed up barely two minutes after they had sat down in their kitchen with a mug of tea for her and some spiked coffee for him. The ultrasound was passed around twice and Effie watched with some amusement as Haymitch proudly told them they had heard the baby’s heartbeat.

He was attached to him already, that was glaringly obvious to her.

And, later that night, when she was rubbing some cream on her stomach to prevent stretch marks before going to bed, she wasn’t surprised to feel his arms embracing her from behind. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“The shrimp’s fine.” he whispered against her skin, his hands spread on her baby bump. They covered it almost completely. “You’re both fine.”

Her first reflex was to tell him not to hope too much but she swallowed it back. She didn’t tell him not to call the baby a shrimp either, Haymitch liked his nicknames. It was a cute one.

“We are.” she replied.

That we was at the same time the most difficult word and the easiest one she had ever used.

[doloresabernathysworld]

Personal rant

Trigger warning: suicide mention

I would put this under a cut, but I’m on mobile and I don’t know how to do that. Also, pardon me if this is confusing, but I’m pretty much having a meltdown and English is not my first language.

This day was awful. I had my friend’s daughter’s birthday party this evening and I had to arrange her gift plus I had to take a bath, which takes a lot of time because I have long curly hair and I can only comb it when it’s wet. My husband took a really long time to get ready before we eat, and my plan pretty much fell off, so strike one I guess.

Yesterday I got my wisdom tooth removed so I’m on antibiotics, and they cause me stomach aches. The weather is pretty shitty too, so my depression is kicking. And then I realized that with my job, starting the antibiotics and stuff I’ve been forgetting to take my antidepressants.

I just had to get through the evening, I thought to myself. I’ve scripted some phrases to look polite, and since I would be there with my friends I guess I thought I would be safe and I didn’t have to use up all my spoons. And that was kind of important because my master’s evaluation is Tuesday morning, and tomorrow I have to clean up the house and review the material for the evaluation because Monday morning I have to go to the financial services to register as an independent worker so I can receive my paycheck legally and then I’ll be working all afternoon, and after that I have to fix my hair yet again so I can look presentable during the evaluation. So yeah, not an easy start of the week!

Anyway, we get to the party, and there are a lot of people I don’t know, and I’m floundering around, and all my friends are in the smoking area, which makes my life difficult because I’m trying to quit, and most people think I’ve already quit a few months ago, but the truth is I started smoking again after my pregnancy scare in December, not much, but it’s always more difficult to restrain myself when I’m surrounded by smokers.

All and all, everything is going fine until BAM! Someone breaks a glass and my PTSD kicks in. I’m really triggered by the sound of glass breaking, it reminds me of all the abuse I had to endure as a child… but I managed to calm down and not cause a scene.

We went to sing happy birthday to the girl, and when we came back downstairs my friends had started to talk about suicide, and how it’s the cowards exit etc etc, and that is really difficult for me to hear, because I have chronic depression with suicidal indentation, but no one knows because I can’t really talk about it with anyone. No one knows the struggle that is like to have to wake up everyday and try to think why I should live for another day, no one knows how much it hurts to take a smile and say everything is okay, how hard it is to find joy in small things when it would be so much easier to give up… no one knows how much it takes to pick myself up when all I want to do is disappear, how much of a failure I feel when I can’t, when I’m not strong enough to keep going, how many times I said to myself it would get better just to cling to life for a little more… just one more hour… just one more day… just one more week… just this once…

And then I couldn’t take it anymore! I told my friend he shouldn’t run his mouth about things he doesn’t understand, and he actually said that depression is something only weak people go through. I was so angry right then, I wanted to tell him that he always brags about how strong his mother is and little does he know that she is in the same medication I took for two years! That he knows nothing about strength and that he should thank his lucky stars he doesn’t need to know! But I guess I’m too kind, so I just left and had a meltdown in the bathroom. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to hurt him or because I care that much about our friendship, right now I really don’t care, I didn’t because I know his mother and I know she has a lot on her plate right now, so I won’t give her the hardship of dealing with a judgemental asshole of a son whose really a brat that doesn’t know anything about suffering because everything was handed to him on a silver platter.

I tried to minimize my meltdown as much as I could, and I ended up in shutdown the rest of the night. Even when I wanted to talk I couldn’t, for the life of me I couldn’t. I went nonverbal and could only give short objective answers that were already scripted, and in the occasion I tried to say anything more I almost went into meltdown again, and I didn’t want to everyone to see that and ruin everyone’s night, so I just waited patiently until it was time to come home were I could finally cry and scream, and I haven’t stopped crying since I got home, but I needed to get this out of my chest somehow, and I still can’t talk, but also I’m so glad I’m home alone with my dog right now…

I’m just so tired of everyone assuming I’m like this because I want to, because I’m weak. It’s bad enough that nobody believed me when I found out I’m autistic, that they keep denying my struggles thinking I’m making everything up… I’m just so tired of everything and everyone! And they talk so much about people behind their backs, and that’s something I never understood, and then anxiety kicks in and makes me think what the hell do they talk about me when I’m not around… but right now I don’t even care anymore!

The little girl whose birthday was today just turned one. Her mom asked us to make something for a time capsule that she’ll open when she’ll turn 18. As I was writing her letter I could only think that by that time I won’t be alive anymore, because I can’t take another 17 years of this bullshit, honestly right now I’m even doubting if I’ll make it to her next birthday…

I don’t even think I have people I can reach out to… and honestly I’m just so tired…

[mamasgonecrazy]

My Trauma- Trigger Warning

Hello Internet!  So... I don’t know if I am ready to post this. I have been meaning to talk about this for a long time, but it’s such a scary topic that I keep putting it off. I have decided to try just biting the bullet, and this post will be scheduled for a day in the future. Hopefully that way I will be able to share my story, and will have the time to postpone it if I do not feel brave enough.  In many other posts of mine I have talked about the fact that I suffer from PTSD. I usually brush off the reason and say “that’s another post for another time”. Well, that time is now. Please note before reading any further that this is a very difficult topic. It has a high chance of being a trigger for people, so that is my disclaimer. If you don’t want to expose yourself to it, that is fine. Feel free to stop reading here, and maybe read my next post instead. 

There is no easy wording for this, so I will just come out and say it. When I was younger, I was the victim of a sexual assault, a rape. I was way too young, much below the legal age of consent, but had already had sex once before, so this is not a story about my virginity. I met this older guy at work (above legal age), and we started talking and got along really great. I developed a fast crush on him, and was very surprised when he said that he liked me too. He took me out to the movies and was a complete gentleman the whole time. We briefly discussed the age difference between us, and decided that “age is just a number” and we started our relationship. 

Everything was amazing. I felt like I was floating on air- not only was I in a relationship with this really cute guy, but he was older! Clearly, the fact that we could date meant that I was really mature for my age, and I felt so proud about that. Things were kept decently casual, especially at work, but still I could not be happier.  A couple weeks into the relationship, things took a drastic change for the worst. As most young people with hormones, the two of us had kissed, and had let things get slightly further then that. I was fine, happy, and consenting but not willing to take things further at that time. He invited me over one day, and when I got to his house he informed me that his parents were gone. It wasn’t a big deal, so we went to the basement and put in a movie. Only a few minutes into the movie, he moved to start kissing me. He then started removing articles of my clothing. I said “I am not ready to have sex, I really don’t feel comfortable right now, can we please just watch the movie?” He stopped momentarily, but started back up. I continued to express how uncomfortable I was with everything, and he continued to laugh off my concern. Eventually, he had me at a point where I knew what was about to happen. I once again, for probably the tenth time, said “I really don’t know... I don’t feel comfortable.” That was met with a sigh, and then a “you know, you’re the one who wants to be in this mature relationship... well this is just what people who are in mature relationships do.” I felt small, I felt afraid. All of my happiness was gone, and was threatening to “leave forever” with the sense of drama that all teenagers have about the ending of relationships. He informed me that he was getting a condom, took my clothes and placed them well out of my reach, and then disappeared. 

Needless to say, I did not get my clothes back. Once he got back, I blacked myself out and honestly can’t remember much after that point. I went home that day and didn’t even cry, I just felt empty, small. We dated for 3 months after that. The entire time I felt uncomfortable with things, and I kept having emotional threats or abuse to keep me staying. “This is what you wanted” I was told for every single instance. Rules were implemented, such as me not being allowed to wear a shirt if we were alone together. I kept on blacking myself out in order to cope with what was happening.  Eventually, I did flat out say “absolutely not” to something he wanted. He argued, and gave me some more emotional abuse about it, but it was something I was putting my foot down about. He left me where I was and I didn’t hear from him for days. After a few days, I was told “yeah, I don’t like you any more”, and he broke up with me. I was filled with this odd sense of security, as well as grief. I felt immature, like because I refused to do what he wanted, I was not a strong enough person to be in a relationship. I felt ashamed about how I was tossed aside. I felt relief that I didn’t have to deal with being forced into situations I didn’t want to be in anymore. 

Any dignity that I held onto after that breakup was important to me, but was soon crushed. I learnt that he was telling all our coworkers that he had “only ever dated me because he thought I looked easy”, and “I was no longer of any use”. That destroyed me, and all of my self confidence. I believed what he said, that I was only useful for sex. From there on, I hated myself.  The first time I acknowledged that he was wrong in that relationship was a year and a bit later. A friend from work messaged me and said “I demand to know what he did to you”. When I asked why, I found out that he had tried to rape a friend of this coworkers at a party. I told my story, and this coworker asked if I would testify if it came down to it. It never came down to it. From then on, I had to deal with the questions “was I raped? I never said “no”. I must be to blame”. I got all of the emotional pain of having been raped, but all of the guilt knowing that I didn’t do more to stop it. A few years later I found out he was dating another friend of mine. I warned her, but didn’t give details. Later, she told me that he did the same stuff to her. There entered the guilt of knowing I could have saved my friend if I had just done something back then.  The whole experience shaped who I was for the rest of my teenage life, and the beginning of my adult life. If someone wanted sex, I blacked out and would let whatever happens happen. I cheated on many guys that I was dating because of this. I didn’t know that I had the ability to say no. I didn’t know that I was worth more. Some guys wanted to save me from myself, so I would ruin those relationships too, as I was not worthy of being happy.  It wasn’t until I met D that things turned around for me. As with most people that I met, we were in an intimate situation and I was ready to just let it happen. Suddenly, he stopped and said “No. I really like you, and I don’t want to jump right into things like that. You mean more to me than that.” I started crying my eyes out, and opened up about everything that I had kept silent about my whole life. He reacted amazingly, and took care of me in that moment. From there, he helped me get the help that I needed, and I have been working of self-recovery ever since. 

Now, I am happy to call D my husband, and we have our beautiful baby girl. I am able to admit to myself what happened, how awful it was, and work on ways to recover. I’ve also been working on ways to help other victims, as I know how easy it is to blame yourself for everything. 

Still with me? If you are, I am almost done, so you don’t have much more to read. I would like to say that I don’t pity myself, and for the most part I don’t blame myself. I still have weak moments. I hear people saying things like “well if girls didn’t dress a certain way, or get drunk, these things wouldn’t happen”. Many times that I was forced into things, I was wearing a work uniform, and was too sober to deal with it. I don’t let those types of accusations give me any more blame, because it wasn’t my fault. I said that I wasn’t ready, which should have been respected, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t me, it was him. 

If you are also a victim of a traumatic event like this, I want you to know that it does get better. It is not your fault, and you deserved so much better. You can get the help you need, and if you even just need someone to reach out to, feel free to message me and we can chat. Don’t give up, don’t give in, you are beautiful, strong, and amazing. 

Thank you for listening to my story. It is hard to type out, but I feel like it is probably relatable, so it was important for me to share. Until next time, stay crazy! ;)