Disabled People Deserve Government Assistance And Benefits. Even If They Have Incomes. Even If Their

"i would kill for you" "i would die for you" okay but would you forgive me if i forgot something important for the 51204th time in a row even though i tried my best to remember

People talk so often about wanting to go back to the "good old days" of childhood and I can't help but feel some kind of way about it. When I think about my childhood, in an overall general sense, all I feel is fear and dread and relief that it's over.

It's like reminiscing about the good old days is so unrelatable that my brain just turns off. I hate navigating those conversations.

abused kids daydreaming: but what if there was a situation where I got hurt... and someone cared and comforted me? what then??

abused kids: oh no I'm selfish and stupid for imagining this! How could I think my pain would matter enough for someone to comfort me, I need to get over myself and start living in the real life! Comfort doesn't exist and if I'm not tough I'm not going to make it!

R.M. Rilke, The Man Watching // Euripides, An Oresteia (trans. Anne Carson) // Oscar Wilde // Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life // @bitsbyt3s // Mary MacLane, "January 20", The Story of Mary MacLane // Trista Mateer // see 4 // @kafk-a // Olivia Laing, "Loneliness: coping with the gap where friends used to be"

in recognition of World Down Syndrome Day on March 21

feeling trapped

i think one of the things i'm struggling with the most is the feeling of being trapped. it's what the majority of my nightmares focus on, either with memories of real events or invented trauma-based dream nonsense, but i haven't parsed out exactly why this is such an issue for me still.

for all intents and purposes, i'm not trapped anymore. i've been out of that environment since 2008. i've been no-contact with my abusers since 2018. i'm married, living in a different county, in my own house with my partner and two dogs. i am the least trapped i've ever been.

though i do feel trapped in my body- it's maddening sometimes, having to deal with my chronic illness and disability on top of this mental health baggage. it's frustrating. but i don't really think that's what the issue is, with this trapped feeling.

i know it somehow relates to my trauma, but i can't put my finger on why my brain feels the need to process this now. what even is there to process? i was trapped. often physically, always psychologically, but like why does my brain keep telling me there is something deeper about this that i'm not understanding? it's like having a word or phrase on the tip of my tongue. there is something but i don't know what.

one of the reasons my therapist suggested writing online, anonymously, is because my trapped feelings can be triggered when i want to talk about my trauma but get stuck in the potential consequences of doing so with my identity attached. my abusers have both, separately, threatened me with lawsuits should i ever attempt to report them again or go public with my story. defamation, libel, countersuits if charges are pressed again. as if i would even want to go through the trauma of legal proceedings, all over again, since all it ever did was make my life harder. that court experience was worse than some of the rapes i remember.

so i'm writing, to see if putting this out into the world helps this feeling. or maybe it will help something else inside of me. part of me wonders if i'm just using it as an excuse to lean into the trauma more, since feeling broken down is more comforting than feeling strong, even now. the pain of it feels safe.

people vaguely saying 'the horrors' as shorthand for 'life problems, don't worry about it' in conversations where the problems are not going to be delved into has got to be one of my favorite new Ways Of Speaking that has emerged. like it's polite and vague and succinct enough for impersonal conversation but also extremely honest. it's very funny. The Horrors. we all know of them.

Recently I keep thinking about how I wasn't allowed to clean myself properly as a child. My mother was obsessed with ridiculing me for my general hygiene making her look bad, but didn't allow me to condition my hair or moisturize my face or use soap on certain areas of my body. Like why? If you're so obsessed with how I look, why are you trying to make me look bad?

here we go, i guess

my therapist suggested i make an anonymous blog to write about my experiences growing up in an abusive household, because i'm still trying to sort some shit out, and i keep feeling compelled to tell my story. but i can't publicly, because it wouldn't be safe for me. so here we are.

i feel old, the last time I had an active tumblr account was like 2012, lmao. this is weird.

i don't actually give a fuck whether fatness is an indicator of health because health shouldn't indicate a moral high ground. being healthy isn't some pinnacle of human achievement, it's not morally superior. and being unhealthy isn't a moral failing and shouldn't mean you're less worthy of kindness, justice, and a good life. signed, a chronically ill person who will never be "healthy" at any weight.