Heavy

Warped and Distorted

The hardest part about doing better is you end up with a lot more to lose. It can hit you when you least expect it, swiping you off your feet and sending you back quite a few steps. I lost my calm earlier and panic joked about being groomed growing up. That already sounds bad enough, but the extent is pretty horrific. They wanted me to die for their sexual satisfaction and leveraged my issues against me, exacerbating a lot of my issues.

I wish I could just have anger issues or literally anything else sometimes. Anything other than being strangled by my own warped sexuality. I am choking on roses and thorns. I don't want to be desired but I need to be wanted. Sex makes me wish I could disappear but it is all my stupid body wants all the damn time. The only time I can exist outside of this fucked up framework is when I've pushed myself too far and my brain forces itself to shut down. I'm so exhausted and disgusted because all attempts to keep it out of sight have failed. It feels like everyone can see through me and knows how messed up I am.

Nov 20 2025

Hard Win vs Easy Loss

All I can do is think about it. I had to put my life on hold because I'm just unstable. I almost sliced my hand washing dishes because I had a flashback when cleaning a steak knife. I can't sleep, eating makes me sick, and I can forget about focus. The unpleasantries are supposed to be worth it and, if I rationalize, that makes sense. Emotionally, though, I just want to give up and go back to laying in this pit because climbing out is so exhausting. I have to see my therapist later and I just hope that she imparts some of her magical wisdom onto me. Sometimes it is like that. As if someone else stating the obvious and telling me to do it is the real magic behind all this. It's funny but it's infuriating being told to drink more water only for it to actually work because I should have thought of it. But I did not and that is why I go to therapy, right? Right.

Nov 16 2025

Doom and Gloom

All I feel like is a harbinger of doom and gloom. Like I just choke the joy out of living. I've been dealing with something so terrible for the past two days that I haven't been able to think directly about it. My first reflex was to try to approach the problem factually, but that I threw up. I made myself sick, can't fight my way out of the panic attacks it send me into, and essentially just now sit here, trying to pretend like my foot isn't resting on an emotional landmine. That probably sounds dramatic, but I can't pack the memory away for another day.

As a kid, I believed certain adults were safer than others. It makes sense even in a healthy way. Most kids favored their mom or their dad when they had to break bad news, right? I had favorite adults since my mom was a couch surfer and SW. We moved around a lot and there was someone who I would have died for. I loved them. Adored them. If I could, I'd wanted to be them. The kiddie admiration goggles coupled with the limited level of understanding a child could manage meant I had a very superficial opinion of people.

This is your last chance to avert your attention.

While I didn't understand or know, I have since been cursed with the knowledge of thigh riding. The safer adult and something of a mental support was just less terrible. They weren't a good person but they were one of the best people around me. I've always known they were comparatively awful, but I guess I felt like they had a limit that they just didn't actually have and it makes me so sick I want to just scream. It's all so much more specific and there's more to it, but I don't even feel connected to my body right now.

My thoughts are so heavy and I'm too tired to think. I just want to forget everything permanently. To restart right here, right now. No redos. Just undo me. Paint over my shape. Start over. Anything but another day of this stupid game the universe is playing with me. I give up. Mercy.

Nov 03 2025

Guilt and Shame

I have issues just saying things. A lot of things. It's hard to admit when I'm starting to feel the creeping desire to hurt myself, I am devoured by guilt when suicidal ideation possesses my mind, and I am way too harsh with myself when it comes to anything having to do with being sexually assaulted. If I were someone else, even someone I loathed, I would not be half as harsh or hurtful towards them for struggling with the same issues. This is probably because I had been raised to consider myself of little to no value. My mother tied my value to what I could offer the best she could and successfully created a painfully dysfunctional adult who needs someone to periodically tell them that they deserve to just be alive.

I tackled the whole being raped thing in a vent fic and I actually threw up. I wouldn't say the whole fic was carefully written out of any kind of respect for myself and other victims, but it made me think about what hurt more. What really just fucked me up so bad that I ended up like this. It's the aftermath. I don't think I would have been okay afterwards, but I don't think I would be this broken if things didn't get so bad. Being shamed into silence, my mother sexually harassing me, my ex taking advantage of me when I clear was not in an okay state of mind, my peers accusing me of being on the road to becoming my abusers, my first therapist calling me a liar and telling me there's no point in me showing up, and just the way the few people who do know talk about it. All of that just comes together to put holes in my sense of self. It's like I'm trying to preform human kintsugi but I am missing a lot of big shards to this vase that is supposed to be me because people kicked them into the gutters, assuming whatever they pleased about it.

It's the reason I was careful to refer to Layle as a man in Under No Obligation. That was a very conscious choice because most people try to minimize me. Make me small, weak, and pathetic when they talk about this. At the time, yeah, I was in that environment where my mom's ex had unrestricted access to me until I was about three to four I think. Right now though? I'm a grown ass man. I am a terrified, grieving, grown ass man. Despite it all, I am married and I do have sex because it matters to my husband. Because I trust him with this kintsugi'd vase that is supposed to be me in all my glory and being, broken but complete, and that extends to the trust I have that he won't put me on a high, precarious pedestal. I deserve to be respected as I am and that's more than the holes in my vase.

Nov 01 2025

Hollow Thoughts

I feel absolutely hollow. Obliterated. Destroyed. I'm so distressed and upset that I haven't been able to sleep and I can hardly bring myself to eat much of anything. I reek but I don't want to take my clothes off. I thought I could handle it, that it would be fine, but now all I feel like I can do is replay my own sexual assault on repeat in the back of my head. I'm scared of falling asleep because I keep having nightmares. Last night it was about my husband finding out and leaving me.

To add insult to injury, I've been turned on against my will by just about anything and everything which is starting to really worm its way under my skin to gnaw on my bones. I can't even stop shaking and I hate how little control I have over my body and mind right now. I cut my nails as far down as I could to stop myself from trying to rip my skin off and I just don't know what to think or do anymore. If I try to deal with it, I zone out for hours at a time and waste the entire day. If I don't try to deal with it, it invades my thoughts in ways that make every conscious second a living hell.

It's a terrible idea, but I used to take sleep aids to shut my brain off. I used to load up on caffeine and take sleep aids just so everything in my head would go quiet. It means I can't be happy, either, but it's not like I'm very capable of that right now anyways. I know better than to get the bottle since the blister packs help me control myself when I get impulsive and decide to test my luck.

I've been like this since August and it just feels like this is the new normal. Miserable. Optimistic. Suicidal. Enduring. Words of inspiration stained because no matter how hard I try I can't dig myself out of this pit I'm in. I've thought about killing myself almost every single day for the past two months. Obviously I don't intend to, but it's a heavy thought and reality. That I'm not okay no matter how hard I pretend to be. I'll live to see tomorrow, but I'll probably also fantasize about it all being over over. I feel sorry for anyone that actually believed in me because this would feel like a complete disappointment to hear.

Oct 30 2025

Unhappiness and Skincrawl

This is a confession and refusal to keep defending my mother at the expense of my own sanity. I feel the need to be on her side even when she's wrong and even in the silence of my own mind. No she does not deserve benefit of doubt and implying that much is an insult to the child I used to be. I deserved better.

As a kid, my mother was extremely neglectful. She nearly let me die of collapsing lungs as a baby, leaving me in a box at a hotel while she partied until my grandmother stepped in but my lungs still haven't fully recovered, often making any kind of labored breathing extremely painful and forcing me to spend years breathing into a machine. My collarbone is broken in a way consistent with being yanked around as a child but poorly healed because she likely did not get me any medical help. My ankle is healed wrong after being crushed because she didn't want to take me to a hospital despite being unable to walk on it.

My mother taught me from a young age to know and understand what rape is because that's the reason I exist at all. Rape followed by an unsuccessful attempt to kill either just me or both of us. These were the kinds of discussions she'd have with a kid who couldn't even spell their own name, dumping all her worries, burdens, concerns, and pain onto me while letting me fend for myself. She'd been in the other room when I'd been strangled and sexually assaulted by her ex and pretended not to know while praising me for being the first person in the family not to be raped, forcing me to keep it all in just to feel like I'm worth something.

She beat me senseless for 'sexual behavior' when I didn't even understand what that meant. No one stood up for me until she beat my uncle and even then they'd pretend not to see it when it just involved me. As I grew up, she made uncomfortable advances and I didn't know how to stop them other than to hide from her. She gave me lingerie and pressed me for information about my sex life and interests at fourteen. The last time she got close to me, she kept trying to kiss my neck and grab me as an adult. I know some people think it's a normal show of affection in some places, but I'm the only one of my siblings she would do this to and my ex at the time picked up on it and put himself between us whenever he could without me even asking.

On a less depressing note that I really just need right now, my husband is a saint. Kind, patient, and willing to understand. He dug me out of a very deep and dark hole. He's my sun, moon, and stars. I'd give him my life if he asked for it, but I also know he never would, so I want to spend my life with him.

Oct 28 2025

Unhappiness and Skincrawl

I am overcomplicated and trying so hard to be optimistic about it. I hate myself so much it gets overwhelming. Talking about it feels taboo but not talking about it makes me feel like glass on the verge of cracking from the pressure. It's shameful and humiliating. Everything is. I'm so unhappy when I should be thrilled and, if I let myself be honest for five freaking seconds, I really hope tomorrow never comes. I'm so sorry and I don't know what for or for who. This life just feels entirely wasted on me. I wish I'd died instead. I can't even make myself happy and so I'm selfishly drowning myself in distractions while my sorrow bleeds over and out of me, infecting everyone around me.

All I've been able to think about is myself and how awful I feel. It's like an itch under my skin up and down my arms and it hurts to leave it be. I've made it almost a year and I plan to make it two and, universe willing, the rest of my damn life, but it hurts. It itches so bad it almost burns. I know it's just a craving, but it's overwhelmingly uncomfortable and I hate that it feels like I've made zero progress with it. I don't want to be like this. I should be happier than ever because my life is better than ever, but I feel like I'm barely alive.

I am so sorry that things turned out this way because I'm the one who made it. I make so many people uncomfortable and the harder I try not to, the worse it gets. All I have are these pointless apologies. I'm going to spiral out and make a mess of a perfectly good life only to wake up every day because I'm a coward. I can't change and I'm stuck choking on my desires for everything to just stop so I can sleep for a small lifetime. All I do is worry people and bind them up in obligation because there is nothing in me as a human. People feel they need to pour hope and joy into me, but I am a bottomless void and wear them out. I just want them to stop trying because I don't want them to hate me for taking so much and having so little to offer.

Oct 25 2025