the-story-of-a-teen

[the-story-of-a-teen]

“… Sweetheart, when was the last time you went into heat?”

“I mean, I’ve— I’ve always been on suppressants, so—“

“That’s not a date, love.”

You swallow hard, looking at the cement floor of the makeshift safe house. You were supposed to be home by now, to have access to all your meds—but no. You were here. Out in enemy territory, holed up with the rest of your team.

Your otherwise all alpha team.

“Never.”

Well. Shit.

[the-story-of-a-teen]

cw: really strange romance, smelling underwear.

sending your pretty nudes to könig, a man you know only by his name, you didn't see his face, didn't see him standing in front of you in the daylight, you only know that he's a colonel registered in a military program that let's people from the area nearby send some reassuring words to the lone soldiers.

perhaps, your silly head gets a wrong call from this, and your choice of words end where you take a small polaroids of your body posed in provocative way, hand squeezing your breasts through the shirt, stuffed in your flimsy panties, toying with your nipples, your clit, until there's no clothes remained, only clean sheets on the background and your naked, smooth skin under flashed light.

könig is too perverted to tell someone about this type of letters he get's, he's been in the army for long enough to cherish every glimpse of a woman he gets, and when she herself sends himself such a material, he can't offer anything but a gratitude and his boxers sticky and sodden by milky ropes of cum that spill from his jerking cock.

there's nothing but your body, you don't offer your face for him to jerk off, but he's sure you're a right doll, offering your curves to him so easily, always with a small, sweet text that wishes him a good week and much luck on upcoming mission, if only you knew that it's you who make it all better for him.

make könig try his best at each mission so he could tell you about it, knowing he'd get a treat in his next letter from you, not only a photos and praising words, but your panties folded in as well, a sexy pair that is soiled at the gusset, your cum dried there and still prominent with your alluring, cloying scent, making him get rid of his hood with shaky, fumbling fingers, just so he could take a whiff of you, whining.

you get him addicted unknowingly, depending on your attention and sight of your naked body even in his dreams, so it's only a sure thing when he somehow finds out your address, and on the day of mail distribution, it's könig who holds the letter you waited for in his grimey, gloved hand, while you outstretch the letter on your own behalf, but now he's here to see you up close himself.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[the-story-of-a-teen]

I mad agree with this.

[the-story-of-a-teen]

too many parents get mad at their children for lying to them or not trusting them, but not enough of them ask themselves why their kids do that in the first place

[the-story-of-a-teen]

[the-story-of-a-teen]

[the-story-of-a-teen]

When you are talking to someone, doesn't matter who; could be a friend, partner, family member, etc... If you have to think before you type something and you're worried you're gonna offend them; RED FUCKING FLAGS!!

You should NOT feel, like you're walking on egg shells around them.

You should NOT feel afraid, to be yourself around them.

You should NOT feel, that you have to hide yourself around them.

These are Red Flags for toxic people that deserves to be cut out from your life. Remember, you are more valuable than you think. You do matter and you do deserve love.

Stop clinging onto people who don't love you back. You deserve so much more than that.

[the-story-of-a-teen]

My family talks about how outgoing and talkative and confident I was as a little child and wonders why I changed so drastically.

Uh ?? Because you guys fucking mentally, emotionally and physically abused me ?? And invalidated me ?? And neglected my emotional and mental problems/needs ??

[the-story-of-a-teen]

Free Trauma and Dissociation Books

This is the link to Google Drive folder containing these books. There is a list below of what is in the folder. Please consider reblogging so these resources are available.

Disclaimer: I have not read all of these to completion. I have not researched all the authors. Please do your own research if you have concerns.

Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents: How to Heal from Distant, Rejecting, or Self-Involved Parents by Lindsay C. Gibson

The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk MD

Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker

Complex PTSD Recovery Workbook by Kimberly Callis

Complex PTSD Workbook by Arielle Schwartz

Coping with Trauma-Related Dissociation by Suzette Boon, Kathy Steele, Onno van der Hart

EMDR Toolbox: Theory and Treatment of Complex PTSD and Dissociation by James Knipe

Emotional Incest Syndrome: What to Do When a Parent’s Love Rules Your Life by Patricia Love, Jo Robinson

Got Parts? An Insider’s Guide to Managing Life Successfully with Dissociative Identity Disorder by ATW

The Haunted Self by Onno Hart

Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors: Overcoming Internal Self Alienation by Janina Fisher

In an Unspoken Voice How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness by Peter A. Levine

Life After Trauma: A Workbook for Healing by Dena Rosenbloom, Mary Beth Williams, Barbara E. Watkins

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook: A Guide to Healing, Recovery, and Growth by Glenn R. Schiraldi

The PTSD Workbook: Simple, Effective Techniques for Overcoming Traumatic Stress Symptoms by Mary Beth Williams, Soili Poijula

Rebuilding Shattered Lives: Treating Complex PTSD and Dissociative Disorders by James A. Chu

Running on Empty: Overcome Your Childhood Emotional Neglect by Jonice Webb, Christine Musello

Stoning Demons Book 1: Childhood Trauma is a Primer for Complex PTSD by Kimberly Callis

Stoning Demons Book 3: Physical Health and Complex PTSD by Kimberly Callis

The Stranger in the Mirror by Marlene Steinberg

Toxic Parents by Susan Forward, Craig Buck

Trauma and Recovery by Judith L. Herman

Trauma and the Body: A Sensorimotor Approach to Psychotherapy by Pat Ogden

Waking the Tiger Healing Trauma by Peter A. Levine

[the-story-of-a-teen]

"yOuR trAuMa mAde yOu sTroNger" no bitch it made me prone to disassociation and afraid of loud noises

[the-story-of-a-teen]

you're so mature for your age

thank you it's the

Emotional and physical abuse I had to go through as a child and still do.

Trauma gifted by my parents instead of actual gifts on my birthday.

Being the mature one among people who are twice my age.

[the-story-of-a-teen]

#mystory

I got inspired by a youtube video, which was a talk by a father that lost his son to suicide. This is what I wish I could tell my parents, when I was a teenager. (I’m 24 now)

If you are suicidal please call the suicide hotline for your country or talk to a mental health professional. TW: This posts discusses suicide, eating disorders, suicidal idealization, religious trauma, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, sexual assault, slut shaming.

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01/01/2010

That was the day I was the closest to killing myself, I wanted to poison myself, cut myself, or access the guns, of which I knew were the keys were and I knew where the ammunition was. The thing that stopped myself was my friend Edward, who you claimed was a devil worshipper, a bad influence, and a ‘hussy’. Edward was the only person who seemed to understand me, who took time to be my friend, and would rant with me about the things we went through. 

I don’t know how many times I tried talking to you over the years, those times when I went “Hey mom, hey dad, can we talk soon?” “Hey mom, hey dad, can I talk to you but you have to promise not to get mad.” “Hey somethings going on.” but every time I did that, you would get angry, get upset, or invalidate my feelings completely. You didn’t even seem to care that I was struggling, even though I made it as obvious as I could as a 13 year old could. Instead of making time to talk to me, you tried to get me to talk on your time/terms, when I wasn’t ready to talk to you about it. This wasn’t the first time you had done this either. I remember as a child I would try and tell you things and you would shush me, we even had a little nonverbal cue to when I wanted to talk to you, I would hold your wrist when I wanted to tell you something, but you would ignore that as well, no matter how long I waited. 

This is why I felt like I could never talk to you about things, you would brush me off as unimportant, you would tell me that without ever saying the words. You didn’t care if I wanted to tell you about something I found interesting, or wanted to ask you if I could go play with my friends. 

This leads me into the next reason, you would never let me out of your sight, let me have anything private, or simply do things by myself. Even if I wanted to go play with my friends on the playground less right outside the building you were in, I needed to ask your permission, tell you exactly who I was playing with, and make sure my friends also had permission (when they didn’t need permission). As I grew older this type of overprotection grew more and more. I had to ask you to play in the drive way or back yard, to have my friend’s parents talk to you when we wanted to have a sleep over, to have food from the fridge, to watch tv, to play pinball on the computer, to read, to do anything I wished to do. You then wondered why I had separation issues, you NEVER let me be alone. When I was 10 or 11 I started keeping a journal. It had a lock on it, and I put the keys in a safe place that I thought was secret. One day the keys disappeared. I had put them back, but still searched through my room and the rest of the house, except your room, because you wanted your privacy. The day after that my journal was different from how I originally put it. I thought it was weird, and hid it somewhere else, but you found that spot too.  You then brought up very private things I had put into my journal as a vent, things I had certainly never told you, and things I swore I had never told anyone else unless they swore on their mother’s grave and promised not to tell. 

You took away my door when I would accidentally slam it when I got emotional, and because you ‘couldn’t trust me to be alone’. You wouldn’t let me hang a curtain or anything so I could change and not have people walk in on me.

When I got old enough to have a cellphone, I caught you sneaking into my room and taking my cellphone, or sitting in my desk chair and going through the messages. You would then interrogate me on my text messages, and would openly take my phone and go through my messages, despite me pleading you not to. This lead to me intentionally setting alarms that would go off through the night, and could only be stopped with a passcode which only I knew.

You would interrogate me any time I wanted to go on the computer to do anything, you forced me to lie to have any sort of freedom to talk to people, look at memes, listen to music, or play games on the computer. You even put parental controls on my computer that would monitor everything and take screen shots, I was allowed exactly 45 minutes a day, which you wouldn’t compromise on, even when I was talking to my friends that lived hours away from us. Then you would get mad when I would trick you into allowing me access so I could change those settings, what else could I do? There was no compromise. Additionally you made me give you every password to every account I ever had, and would get mad when I would change the passwords because you would go through private messages and post on my accounts. Even when I was almost 18, and handed over my computer to show you the receipts, you couldn’t help but go through the whole conversation, even though I told you not to and you promised not to. 

On the xbox you would hack into my account (Which I had a passcode on), and would read through the messages, you would have to approve every game and made sure it stood up to your religious and moral standards, or hear me plea to be able to have a game I was interested in. Even when you had approved the game, you had to watch me play it, I wasn’t allowed to enjoy the game on my own.

You thought you were entitled to walk into my room at any time. You wouldn’t listen when I would tell you ‘one moment, I’m changing.’ Instead you would waltz right in, even when I was naked. You would barge into my bathroom, even when I told you to wait. Then you would get mad when I was upset over this. Maybe I didn’t want my parents to see me naked, even though ‘you saw me naked as a baby and child’.

How was I supposed to talk to you openly when you would violate my privacy? When I could have nothing to myself, be able to vent and get my feelings out in a healthy way, to talk about things I didn’t feel I needed to or could tell you, to talk about things I know you all opposed and would interrogate me on, to just talk about day to day things? 

When I started dating I was hypersexual. I admit that. When puberty hit I became very sexual and physically affectionate without knowing it, but you started to analyze and criticize me for every action I made. I was touch starved, and craving genuine affection. I wanted to feel loved, to feel wanted, to feel appreciated, and to feel alive. I felt dead inside. I barely got any affection, even from my parents, from other family members, and those I was childhood friends with and was no longer close to. I went to seek that affection with other people, I called my friends parents ‘mom and dad’ because of this and how you all were. You emotionally neglected me. Sure I had physical things, but that wasn’t what I wanted or needed. I need your love, your time, and your acceptance. The only way I got that was through teenage boys that would give me their love, time, acceptance, and physical affection. I even went out seeking any of those things online, which lead me to an early discovery of porn (I was 11), of online chat rooms where I could do smut rps and flirt (I was 13), and teenage dating sites ((common in the 2000′s)(I was 14)). Instead of figuring out what the root of this was, and trying to listen, actually listen, you went about accusing me of different things related to what I had found, even when I wasn’t. You were telling me that you were expecting me to do those things, and that I had to lie to you all to have any sort of freedom. You though dating was only to get married, you had the ‘date to mate’ mentality.

I started dressing in popular clothes of that time, and finding ways of expressing myself and my feelings. Gone were the days of pink dresses and frills. I liked black, blue, and purple, rather than pink and purple. I wanted to wear tighter fitting shirts that were comfortable, easy to move around in, and had fun graphics and words on the chest area. I wanted to wear cute skirts and shorts, as well as skinny jeans, and leggings. You were unhappy with all of it. I was 13 and a C cup, it wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t find anything cute that would comfortably fit. I liked wearing shorter shorts, skirts, skinny jeans, and leggings because they were comfy, easy to move around in, and made me feel free and happy.  I can’t tell you how many times you criticized my hair, make up, and clothes. You would constantly tell me that I looked like a hussy, like a prostitute, like an attention seeker, like a devil worshipper, like I was ‘asking to be raped’. You said the same things about other people behind their backs, and you didn’t like it when I used your religion against you. You would ask me if I would wear that around ‘God’, or ‘Jesus,  and I would say yes. You would tell me that I would be distracting to guys, or that they would look at me a certain way. I simply said that they shouldn’t look if they can’t control themselves, and that the bible said that any man who looked at a woman with lust in his eyes should gouge them out. You hated when I was right, and would deny that you were wrong.

How was I not supposed to be hypersexual, even when I had been sexualized and been deprived of any affection since I was a child?

At the age of 6 you had me start working out because I had “baby fat” and was overweight at my age. You started only having and making healthy things to eat, then would get mad when I liked the taste of some of them, and would eat more than my ‘portion size’. You limited my food intake, and made me work out so I could ‘loose weight’. At 9 this all got worse, as I was beginning to go into puberty, was getting breasts, and had more baby fat moving to my hips. You started humiliating me for getting seconds at dinner, for eating three meals a day, and for continuing to go through puberty. You would also get mad at me for having things like white bread (I hate the texture of wheat and wholegrain), white rice (I don’t like the texture of brown rice), or any sort of junk food. It was no surprise that I started to starve myself so I would fit your standards. 

Why wouldn’t I have an eating disorder when that was all I heard all day every day?

These are the main things that lent to my depression, made it worse, and made me want to kill myself from an early age. These are the main behaviors that made me despise my parents and cut them out of my life. These are what you should avoid. If you want to have your kids in your life, don’t do these.