traumaangel2

[traumaangel2]

New blog is @traaumaangel

[traumaangel2]

moving blog ~

so this is a side blog but unfortunately my main blog was terminated by tumblr. my tumblr is all fucked up because of it so im going to be moving blogs. the new blog will be under the same name, so i’ll be changing this one to traumaangei2 or something similar. thanks, bye <3

[traumaangel2]

don’t follow me if you’re a nsfw account. don’t follow me if you’re a ‘sfw’ ddlg account. this is a trauma blog. this is about my trauma, how i was abused and how i now cope with that. if your blog isn’t related, don’t follow me. don’t rb my posts either. stop fetishising my pain.

#actuallytraumatized #traumaangeI #trauma survivor

[traumaangel2]

i think the worst idea that this site has popularized vis a vis mental health is that its okay to treat your friends like therapists, and that its expected they react like one when you have an episode or breakdown

its a lot like approaching a friend and going “hey, you bandaged my cooking burn once, can you give me open heart surgery?” and getting upset when either they refuse to do so or getting hurt when they dont have the knowledge needed to do it safely.

people can support you, and they can help you out of rough patches, but relying on them for your continued functionality and stability is stressful and dangerous for everyone involved.

[traumaangel2]

#trauma art #ok to rb #traumaangel #trauma survivor #trauma #abuse #vent art #rant account

[traumaangel2]

[traumaangel2]

4.11.17

[traumaangel2]

born into adulthood

he says I am mature, grown-up I say 'no, I am not' as his hand slips to my waist, dangerously close to a place that only grown-ups can trace he tells me he likes how I use big words, bigger than my body, bigger than my age how I act like a young woman, more mature than the other girls he dated before I freeze in my spot and I scream 'no I am not' for I do not want to be grown just yet, take your hand from my waist and raise your eyes to level with mine, I am not a woman, I am a child do you know how it felt to have my childhood, my blissful ignorance, nay, innocence, ripped from me like my clothes as you tore them to the floor explaining how I act like I'm older, more grown I ask you one more time, 'what do you expect?' how would a child deal with something so twisted, so wrong, too early to be born into what I have become

#trauma art #trauma poetry #traumaangeI #trauma survivor #trauma victim #trauma #sexual abuse #abuse art #vent art #poetry #spilled ink #spilled poetry #spilled thoughts #trauma poem

[traumaangel2]

having to be “mature” at a young age sucks bc you aren’t really “mature-mature” you’re a child playing at a maturity bc you don’t have the foundation to be the bigger person when conflict arrives so what you do is ignore it bc ignoring a problem and being happy about a resolution look the same to your inexperienced eyes. Then you get adults praising you for a development above your peers but you aren’t really developing. You’re stagnant. Your peers will grow up and experience things and make mistakes and grow from them but you will keep yourself in this box, ignoring things ignoring ignoring ignoring until one day you have to face the fact… it wasn’t maturity you had. It was fear. And now you’re an adult too and you make all of your choices based on an emotional risk/costs analysis bc you don’t know any emotion other than fear & you have to start healing from your own childhood by making peace that you weren’t really a mature child. You were just a child who was given too much to carry & didn’t know how to say “no”.

[traumaangel2]

get off

#trauma angel #trauma victim #trauma survivor #trauma art #abuse art #vent art #rant art #trauma account #sexual abuse

[traumaangel2]

“they say that thirty meters down in the ocean, a diver loses his senses, forgets which way is up, and swims deeper and deeper and deeper down. they say it’s like being drunk (or stupid) (or maybe some of each) to get dizzy in a dark place and stay, to forget the thing that’s trying to kill you and follow it. and i am always thirty meters under. it is always dark and i am always forgetting to breathe, always forgetting that you are the thing to escape from. this is the midnight zone they warned you about, i am too deep in to go back up.”

— rapture of the deep || sarah kate o.

[traumaangel2]

Abusers don’t come with warning labels.  Abusers don’t hit you on the first date. They don’t write “I will humiliate and belittle you” on their Tinder profiles. They don’t wear “I break things to intimidate my partner” t-shirts. People don’t get trapped in damaging relationships because they saw an abuser coming from 20 yards away and decided “I’m going to date that person anyway”. That’s not how any of this works.  In the beginning, abusers can be some of the most thoughtful, attentive people you’ll ever meet. They’re obsessed with you; that’s what makes them so toxic and deadly as time goes on. Abusers buy you flowers. They remember your birthday. They remember to text you “good morning” and “good night”. They listen to your problems, confide in you and share silly inside jokes. They can keep that “loving, doting partner and best friend” mask in place for months or years if they have to.  So the first time they scream at you or hit you, you don’t see an abuser. You see your best friend, your confidante, the person who brought you soup when you were sick and always laughs at your stories about your nutty coworker. You tell yourself they just had a bad day. Maybe they were tired, sick, hungry, or under a lot of stress. You know them. You’ve made a life with them. And they’re so sorry and so ashamed of what they did. This isn’t who they are.  And so things go back to back to normal for a while. Wonderful, even. This is still one of the best relationships you’ve ever been in, even counting that one incident. You go back to date nights, cozy nights in and 5-hour-long conversations that feel effortless. And then it happens again.  And you still don’t see an abuser. You see the person who means the most to you in the whole world. You decide that maybe they’re just struggling. Maybe they have mental health issues. They’ve told you every horrible thing that’s ever happened to them as a child, and maybe it has something to do with that. But either way, they’re not an abuser. Not yet. They’re just a person who needs you more than ever.  Then things are good for a while. Then something bad happens. Then it’s good again. Then it’s bad. Good. Bad. Good. Bad. And every time it happens, it gets a little harder to get out. The time you’ve invested in the relationship goes up, and your self-esteem goes down. By the time you realize that, yes, the person you thought you knew is an Abuser with a capital A, you’re in deep. You’re a frog that stood in a pot of water so long it turned you into soup before you even noticed it was getting a little warm. But you didn’t ask for this. And you certainly didn’t know it was coming.  We have this image in our heads of what abusers must look like. We picture brawny men with low foreheads and stained white tank tops, screaming at their wives while they drink beer in front of the TV. We think they’re like wildlife, as if we could spot them with the help of a guidebook and know to stay far away from them. But they’re not. Abusers can be anyone. They can be female. They can be accomplished. They can be well-groomed. Queer. Politically far-left. Politically far-right. Artists. Athletic. Charitable. Intelligent. They can come from any walk of life, any spot on the gender spectrum, any religion, any background. It’s not the abused person’s fault for not spotting them - they can’t always be spotted. It’s the abuser’s fault for abusing. 

[traumaangel2]

[traumaangel2]

you made me like this

#trauma victim #trauma survivor #trauma art #traumaart #trauma angel #traumaangel #abusive relationship #eating disorder #restrict #body image

[traumaangel2]

[traumaangel2]

[traumaangel2]

“my battery is low and it’s getting dark” is so hauntingly human, so crushingly lonely. I can’t articulate the deep, profound ache that sentence evokes. It’s acceptance and defeat and terror and sadness all at once, all from one tiny machine we asked to explore the stars for us.