#whay if it was just teenage hormones

[yvesbuprofen]

lmao idk why did I come out as lesbian to my friends, now if I say idk maybe I'm ace everyone will hate me

[shadymultiverse]

I remember laying on my bed in highschool, sophomore year. I was exhausted. I had reached the point where every person id managed to scrape out of the hell hole that is middle education had turned against me. Rumors, as they do, flooded my small community. Things like lesbianism and sluttery being the least of it and incest and beastiality the worst. Theu were also convinced I was either possessed or the spawn of hell, which remains to be a point of pride for me.

My delicait social circle had collapsed under the strain of one thing, teenage hormones. Not my own, but that of my brother and his girlfriend, the girl coming from my group of friends. Their relationship had been incredibly toxic, but as Im realizing, everyone who comes into contact with my brother experiences the same kind of manipulation and fear. Not that she was innocent, none of them were. Ive always known a bad person when i meet one, but I also have the fatal flaw that cruelty and misguided affection will always taste like home to me.

They were the school bullies, though I would have shot you if youd said it at the time. I suppose by extention I was probably a bully, though I dont remember being one. It just explains why there was not a soul to catch me when I fell. There nnever was, not once in my entire life has someone actually caught me when I needed it, so its not like K was suprised.

'Oh but you were' My mind so helpfully supplies. I always viewed myself as kind. Sweet. Loving, even.

Yet there I was laid across my bed, too tired to get up, too tired to cry. It was after an episode from my brother.

It stands to reason I should describe him, he was not a small man. No. He stood at 6'1 back then, a weight lifter through highschool, he was a physically imposing person. Being the malnurished, overweight, gaslighted and generally abused little girl that I was, I was never any match for him. I had one fought against him, and my sister- who was always thin as a fuse and leading to something dangerous- but it was always them that were rewarded and I who was punished. My mother, who I struggle to speak ill of even now, was an enabler. She refused to see the cruelty that my siblings put me through as anything other than normal, but any kind of defense that I levied for myself was something of an act against the pure, Goddly love that was my siblings.

Now Ive realized that it was just too much for her to bare, too much for her to understand. She is a very fragile woman for how strong she is. She knew that as long as I was taking their abuse, she wouldnt have to think about it. She didnt want me to get better.

That said at that point my sister was long gone. It was just me and my brother.

He was in the bedroom next to mine. A trailer, so any sound or move I made was hyperly monitored. I was too tired to do much more than breathe and even that was a fete. He must not have been satisfied by that because his door opened and then so did mine. He stared at me, I looked in his dirrection, at his eyes. He was still angry. This was the fifth or sixth day in a row that hed chased me ariund the house, screaming at me and cornering me. He hit me all the time, always in the same spot over and over so that it wouldnt look like Id been beaten, but I was being beaten.

I remember thinking how much I was struggling. In everything. My school work, my home life, my social life, everything.

He told me to make him something to eat. I told him no.

I almost always did. I hated the way that he spoke to me, hated that I was nothing more than a slave.

I didnt have the energy tk try to fight or get up or get out of the way but he jumped on top of me and wrapped his fingers around my throat.

I remember thinking 'I just wanna go. Let me go, please just let me go' I didnt realize it at the time but I was praying that he would kill me. I was so tired....

He would put his knees on top of your hands and sit in your chest, then squeeze your throat just hard enough to not actually bruise. Cut off the circulation but ot actually kill me. Its this strange in realm between pain and peace.

This time, however, he was squeezing so hard I thought my head might pop. His eyes told me he wanted me to die. Truly intended to finally end the charade that was my life. I wasnt scared. Just tired. Ready.

I was almost gone when something changed. I was there, floating up put of my body and his face felt slack, his eyes lost their psychotic glint and he let go. He got off of me and left the house. I can still feel the gasp that tore through my lungs. If yoive ever blown up a baloon and held it against your hand to feel the way it sticks to your skin then you know whay it feels like to breathe into empty lungs.

Its most painful part of being choked

Strangely enough, I started thinking about what I should do with my life. If he wouldnt do me the kindness of finishing the job, then I needed to plan how I was going to escape.

I was tired though, and the one thing i jad always wanted seemed absolutely impossible to attain. Brain Surgeon.

I could barely pull myself through a day in highschool, the idea of two decades of college was impossible to imagine. I decided I needed to do soemthing else. Something...easy. I had earned easy, hadnt I?

It was Tom Hiddleston that made me decided I should go into theater. Ironic, since it was earlier that same year that I had been in theater, had auditioned for a monolouge and a duet for our state competition, gotten it, only to have it ripped away because I wasnt good enough. Ive always had trouble commiting to things like afterschool practice. Though, maybe ita because out practices were just delaying the inevitable abuse Id be put through at home. I only ever wnated to sleep, to stay after shcool for three hours and practice was like eating broken glass before going home to drink rubbing alcohol.

But Theater was the way to go. I liked acting, I preferred make up and set design. That way, maybe Id get to meet Tom Hiddleston. Silly, looking back. What a way to decidee the fate of my life.

He seemed caring, you see. Like he wouldnt let anyone hurt me. Not even in a husbandry kind of way, just in the human way.

He would see whay was happening and say 'This isnt ok'. He didnt have to rescue me or anything. He would just understand.

By extention, the world would see me, delight in me, applaud me.

So I started focussing on this fantasy of becoming famous.

At every turn the rug was yanked out from under me. Every time i got a line or a song or something that I craved, it was taken away before it could ever be preformed.

Just like my home life, I kept being told that I did not matter. I didnt deserve to feel anything but disapointment and anguish.

Maybe thats why Ive run away from every job that Ive ever had.