I really hope some one that reads this can relate to anything that they read here. I am currently a 13yr old male so i havent completely finished "childhood" ; i'll probably be adding onto this later on.

Just a disclosure this contains subjects such as sexual harrassment, suicide, death, diseases such as cancer and slight abuse. If you are triggered by any of these things please do not continue reading.

To begin when i was younger i had a seveer case of some type of exma. While this is a small thing, it still affected me both mentally and physically.

Further on in life my dad left me at the age of three after he called my mum a c*nt. Then after that i dont know how old she was but my sister was molested by her dad (not the same dad as mine). When i was around six my head had been cut open at least 4 times at this point and my brother and sister were both very... i wouldnt say abusive, but they hit me alot.

After that, when i was 7 or 8 my sister was annoying me so much that i pushed her down the stairs and then she got up and pushed me down the stairs sending me to the hospital so i could get my scalp glued back together. I had been to the hospital once previous to this. After this we had to move house so i lost a lot of friends.

In the new house it was different but i got used to it and this was the point where i had to share a room with my brother. While some may think well that isnt that bad, it really affected me due to him having anger issues. My brother used to hit me for nearly everything i did either if it was being too loud or even opening the window in the room because it was too hot.

This was the moment in my life where on top of my sister also having anger issues i started to cut myself. While my family didnt know yet it was hard to hide it so i wouldn't alarm them. At the same time my sister was also cutting her self.

Continuing with the whole brother and sister always hitting me, it got to the point that i became extremely depressed and ressulted to trying to commit su***de. To do this i tryed to slit my throat with a knife. Luckily just as i was about to do those things my brother saw me with the knife up to my kneck and immediatly to the knife away and told my mum.

From here i became more and more depressed as i wasn't given proper help to deal with all of my feelings. All of the slight abuse from my brother and sister continued after this which added onto the depression and overwhelming feelings that were beginning to build up. From here there was very little that went on.

Between the age of 8 and 12 my mum was dating a giy that me and my sister absolutley hated, during their relationship my mum and him went on a vacation in which me and my sister had to stay with his parents. During the stay at his parents i refused to eat the food that they had cooked. While some people may say that this was very disrespectful on top of their cooking being horrible i had started to develop a strange eating habit. I had also accidentally pulled a curtain of the wall after i sat on a bed and the curtain that was sort of draped on the bed.

When i got home my mums ex was so mad at me after his parents told him what had happened that he smashed my ps4 that my dad had brought me and he also grounded me for 5 months. This lead to me having a habit of staying in my room and only coming out to eat or go to the toilet. This also lead to me being anti-social and even being banned from going out with friends on halloween (the best day of the year).

During my mums relationship with this guy, my third oldest sister got into a hit and run accident in 2020 causing her to have to be transported in a helicopter to the hospital leaving a big scar from her hairline down to her left eyebrow.

After all of this had happened my mum foumd out that he had been cheating on her for two years out of the 4 year relationship they were in. My mum finding this out resulted in them breaking up and my mum becoming depressed in a way. This continued for some time even going into some time that i was in year seven.

After this when i was in year seven (around a year ago) my sisters girlfriend, after they broke up, convinced all of her friends to be rude to her and started to spread rumers about her. This lead to her leaving the school. Just before my sister left the school that both me, my other sister and her were in, my sister was overwhelmed by everything that had happened and eventually tried to k*ll herself.

This effected me as it scared me to think that i could lose my sister at anytime if she suddenly decided to do those things again. This also links to my sisters car accident as i could have lost her if she had not been transported to the hospital as fast as she was.

After my sister had moved schools my depression continued to build up going on to year 8. The stress of secondary school also adds onto this due to the emmence amount of tests and also the increased difficulty in work.

At the start of year 8 i tried to commit su***de on my sisters birthday after the build up of emotions and depression overwhelmed me so much that i decided that the world would be better without me. I did this by trying to hang myself with a belt on a wooden pole in my cupboard. This lead to me having minor nerve damage in my spine and getting help from a professional.

To anyone who has read this whole thing i just want you to know that if you are going through anything like this, please seek help from a medical professional.

Hi everyone, happy new year.

I would like to take this opportunity to invite you to participate in an important research study on how childhood experiences influence resilience and well-being in adulthood.

Click here to participate:

https://www.psytoolkit.org/c/3.6.0/survey?s=hDLQn

The survey is anonymous, takes about 20–30 minutes to complete, and includes both multiple-choice and optional open-ended questions. Your input is invaluable and greatly appreciated!

What’s This Study About?

Adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) refer to potentially traumatic events or challenging environments during childhood. Examples include:

1. Experiencing violence, abuse, or neglect.
2. Witnessing violence in the home or community.
3. Growing up in a household with challenges such as substance use, mental health issues, or instability due to separation or incarceration.

The examples are not exhaustive but the representation of the type of things that are considered ACEs.

This research focuses on how these experiences—and the support systems available—shape resilience and coping abilities later in life.

Who Can Participate?

1. Adults aged 18 and above.
2. Anyone willing to reflect on their childhood experiences and their impact on well-being.

Why Participate?

Your responses will help advance our understanding of resilience and inform future support programs. Participation is completely voluntary, and you can opt out if any questions make you uncomfortable.

Click here to participate:

https://www.psytoolkit.org/c/3.6.0/survey?s=hDLQn

If you find this meaningful, please consider sharing the survey with others who might be interested. Your help in spreading the word will make a significant difference!

Thank you so much for your time and support. If you have any questions about the study, feel free to contact me directly.

Selemani Said Jawa

🙋‍♀️🙋‍♂️

Hopefully, some of you will be able to find this post relatable, and/or provide me with comfort in knowing I’m at least not the only one who’s the designated punching bag of the family. This is a long one so get ready.

Firstly, let me start with the simple fact that I live in a family of alcoholics who can’t face their problem nor do they believe they have one. Also not a single one of them has any respect for me in the slightest bit (for more context, I am the youngest in a family of 4 with my older brother).

My brother: lives on his high horse constantly talking about how he makes more money than everyone, knows so much more than everybody, especially me (whom he has zero respect for) yet he expects me to bow down to him. Anytime, my mother says something rude to me and I begin to defend myself, my brother will instantly snap at me saying I’m the one that caused the problem because for some reason he’s deaf to anyone else starting the problem and must find a way to blame me only. He’s also physically abused me many times throughout my childhood and to provide you more information onto his personality. There has been times where we have been out to dinner as a family and my brother will trash my parents to their faces while they are paying for his food. The only thing that really made me feel better as a kid is when I invited friends over and they would just notice how much of an asshole he was and confirm my beliefs.

My mother: is a stubborn narcissist. Anything important to me that she doesn’t care about doesn’t matter, the only way she’ll ever listen to me or do anything that I ask is if she actually cares about it herself. If it’s something that is only important to me and not her, she’ll completely disregard it and ignore it. She constantly makes rude comments to me and when I ask for an apology, she does not believe she owes me one, even if she calls me uncalled for names. I truly believe she’s probably said the words I’m sorry to me maybe twice in my life after I’ve confronted her about something she did to hurt me and probably neither of those times has she actually meant it.

And my father: just sits there as an “innocent bystander”. He doesn’t say shit when I’m being ganged up on by my mother and brother (while he tells me that he sees all of this bullying going on targeted at me). He tries to convince me that he’s on my side over text after the fact when I’ve left the room, but has never actually told them off in the moment when I’m attempting to defend myself. Due to the fact that he is the least hurtful out of the bunch, my relationship with my father is probably the least toxic.

I’ve just now stumbled across this thread, which I might go more into detail on my trauma through but for now this will be all. I’ve never really described in detail how my family treats me before and trust me there’s a whole lot more than what I’ve shared, but if you can relate or provide some sense of comfort, I could really use it and thanks for reading.

My name is Michelle Glover and I am a trainee counselling psychologist conducting doctoral research at Middlesex University and the Metanoia Institute. I am also a practising UKCP registered psychotherapist and BACP registered counsellor; I’ve worked in mental health services for over 20 years.

I would very much like to hear about your experience if you:

• Currently are, or ever have been, in therapy, and
• Can recall one or more instances when your therapist was, or tried to be, humorous; this may include your therapist making jokes, playing on words, using sarcasm, or laughing during sessions.

In speaking with you, I hope to better understand how you felt your relationship with your therapist was impacted by your therapist’s humour. With your help, I aim to develop a theory, and ultimately training, to support qualified and trainee therapists to recognise if, when, and how, therapist humour may influence clients’ perceptions of their relationship with their therapist.

My research includes an initial 15-minute conversation to talk about what is involved and a screening process to discuss eligibility. Please note, at the time of interview, all participants must be in the United Kingdom and over 18 years old.

If you have any questions, or are interested in sharing your experience with me in a confidential, one-hour, one-to-one online interview, please:

• Email: humour.in.therapy@gmail.com
• Or, visit this webpage: https://forms.gle/dQWKUhE1xz3Z1oRSA

My research has received ethical approval from both Middlesex University and The Metanoia Institute.

Thanks for reading.

Michelle

I feel I can't possibly protect my child if she/he ever gets to experience my same trauma. And I feel that it will break me even more if my own child experiences that and I won't be able to cope.

Anybody else? Care enough to vent?

I was exploited online and abused by my entire family. My brother molested me and one of my parents was verbally abusive and physical. No one was there to support me or save me. I had to make the decision to leave on my own. It really sucks seeing people my age having supportive families and receiving love from their childhood. I did nothing wrong to deserve this, so why me? I have no will to live currently.

So um,recently I (19y F) had been doing very well mentally and I have made realy big progress in the way that I navigate my emotions and trauma etc.That was until two weeks ago I remembered something that happened when I was like 11/10(I don't really remember when).

So like growing up I wasn't Like the coolest kid,I was wierd and was always on the bigger side so to fit in I naturally became the funny kid who bent over backwards to get people to like her.I had a neighbour who was this cool older girl,maybe 3 years older?maybe, and she was really popular so I started hanging out with her.

So we'd go to this after school tutoring Academy together since our mothers were friends and he mom recommended the place to my mom . After our classes ,we'd go to the top floor where nobody came since it lead to the rooftop and that was always locked.so we'd sit on the stairs and like laugh and talk until like one day she told me to kiss her.I was confused ,I'm 10/11 I didn't know how to kiss and I was shocked and the memory is all blurry but I remember it escalating quickly from just kisses to more on many occasions and I just remember freaking out.Nothing else.

So we moved from that city like 6 months later and I've never spoken about this to anyone and I naturally just dismissed it and now im like low-key confused coz how do I even start processing this ?!?!

Any thoughts would be very much appreciated. This unlocked a chain of other traumatic memories all more or else in the same context and now I'm like WTAF!!!!!

I don’t know what to do. I moved out of my emotionally and verbally abusive parents house last year. This was because of my very traumatising childhood which included a lot of neglect, beatings and emotional neglect. Every time I visit my parents house I feel jealous of my little sister. Not in a way where I don’t want her to have the things she has but like why couldn’t I have this? The stability, emotional love with my parents and even material things like clothes and toys. I really feel so bad for my little self. I deserved a childhood filled with the same love and joy.

I’m happier now, my boyfriend is amazing. My birthdays are now celebrated and I get loads of love and care and presents. I feel like I matter. But every time I come back home I feel the same like rn. I’m crying while typing this because I’m at my parents house and I saw my mum hug my sister with so much love but I never experienced this:(

I need some help with how I can overcome this feeling because I feel this isn’t right to feel like this. I don’t want to have to run out of the room and pretend to go toilet just to cry.

Hi there, 23f :) I’m new to this page. Growing up (until i moved out at 17), my entire life was all about my mother + sisters’ drug addiction, my dads abusive parenting, and us being very poor. My sister died shortly after I moved out from an OD, and then my mom followed her 2 years later and died from an OD as well. I have managed to have a pretty nice life despite my upbringing- no drug addiction, I have my own beautiful apartment, a steady job, a great relationship, and lots of friends. 
Obviously, I struggle every day with my trauma, but there are a few things that get to me the most: the anger and jealousy when people have had it easier than I did. I find myself being very angry AT my close friends and my partner when they talk about their life before adulthood. I am incredibly blessed to have amazing friends who all went to important colleges, who are smart and (to put it plainly) not drug addicted felons like I was probably destined to befriend. However, when my friends and my partner talk about their nice childhoods, their great highschool and college experience, the trips they’ve been on, and how they have great relationships with their parents to this day, I find it so hard to be happy for them, I’m just so gosh darn angry! 

I spent my highschool years staying awake at night to make sure my mom didn’t die in my care, fearing my fathers wrath. I worked at Steak n’ Shake every night in highschool until 2am to save up for college, only for my mother to steal all of it for drugs, resulting in my having to drop out 2 years in. I never got to travel anywhere, and I still haven’t been able to because I have been living paycheck to paycheck my entire life. All of the holidays bring up terrifying scenes for me. So when my partner is telling me about his trip to china with his family, or how his college years were so fun because his parents payed for it, or my friends’ most recent trip to switzerland, or my friends sharing heartwarming stories about their childhood, or even serving happy families at work- I start fuming. I am so overcome with jealousy, why didn’t I get to have these things? Why do I still suffer after all I’ve done to overcome my past? What did THEY do to earn what they have and I didn’t? I want to yell at them: “You have NO idea what my life was like!!”, I’m proud to say that I don’t though. I have let this jealousy dictate how I act though. I find myself distancing from those who have had a nice life, I find myself acting snappy at my friends simply for counting their blessings. Maybe it’s because all the people who have done this to me are dead or I refuse to talk to, so I am searching for an outlet to let it out? This way of thinking and acting has clearly been holding me back in life. I feel disconnected with the world. It seems like I am constantly reminded of what I don’t have, or maybe I’m constantly reminding myself? I want to be happy for my loved ones, I want my heart to feel warm when I hear about their happy memories instead of angry. I want to just be happy with what I have now, and not focus so hard on what I didn’t so that I can progress further in life. I am in therapy, but it would be nice to hear from other people who might share this feeling. Are there any habits I can get into, any ways of thinking I should adopt, tough love, can anyone relate? It feels great even putting this feeling out into the world because I have kept it inside for a long time, embarrassed of it.

(TRIGGER WARNING: vent, abuse[all kinds], assault, sa, csa, bullying, sh, mental health issues, trauma)

Its not that I don't want to get better. It's not that I don't want to get help. I feel like I'm too broken for it to actually work. I'm 24 now, I've tried so hard so fucking hard, why am I so fucking broken. I know I had a fucked up life. It's been hard I get that, but other people have had worse and could still function. Why can't I? Why am I like this? I fight day and night to just be able to live because all my brain what's to do is die. I feel like it is not even possible.

My story is a sad one, at least that's what I've been told. I was unplanned and unwanted, a mistake my mother called me. She didn't love my dad, he was just a rebound. Then again she doesn't care for anyone unless they are praising the ground she walks on. My dad was a kind man who joined the military as a teen to pay for college to follow his dreams. I was born and he loved me but worked full time and still was trying to finish college. My mother spent her days cheating with a man that had left his wife and 3 kids for her and was willing to kill for her. My dad found out he was angry but couldn't do anything. He didn't want it to come back to hurt me, only for my mother to disappear while he was at work with everything he owned and me. My dad was never the same after that. I was 4.

We went to some far away relatives. My mother didn't want me but knew I was worth some money from my dad, so she kept me. If I wasn't silent, out of her way, didn't bring attention to the fact that I existed she would put me in the closet. A little 2x3 space filled with clothes and luggage, I remember being squished in as I stared at the door inches from my face wondering when mama was coming back. Some time it was a few hours some time it was 7 or 8 or fucking more. She left the house often to go see her Boyfriend (the man she had cheated with). That year was blurry and sad. My mother's family tried to help my dad but she threatened to make me disappear all together so they would never see me again. A year later my mom introduced me to my new siblings.

When I was 5 my mom married him, I call him the devil, he was my step dad. He had three kids from his previous relationships. We all moved in to a house,my mother and the devil left often for weeks on end. I was able to see my dad one day a week, now he wasn't the same.

Turns out my mother had lied about the court date so she got everything and everything was on her terms. He was couch surfing and working from 3am to 8pm everyday. I got to see him an hour every week. Sometimes I even got to spend the weekend with him. My dad loved me but the hurt of the abandonment broke and misshaped his heart in some way. He was always so angry, he would scream and scream, throwing and smashing things at the drop of a hat. When I was with him he always told me he loved me, but i don't think he could feel anything in his heart anymore other than pain. I love my dad but he never came back after the divorce. I did everything I could to make him happy, but he was always seconds from breaking and getting angry. He was so mean when he was angry his words cut my tiny soul like razors.

My siblings went to their moms but I did see them every other weekend and week. We all had our rolls in the house since there were no adults.

My brother Richard was the oldest. He made sure we got food, he couldn't cook much just heating up cans in the microwave or spaghetti but it was better than starving. He helped us with homework, I remember he would spend a few minutes working on his then stand up and go down the line helping all of us then going back to his then repeating this until we were all done. I can't imagine how he did it. He was only 12 when we all moved in together and he had to take on this role.

My brother Jason was the same age as me, just 4 months older. To talk about him I also talk about myself. We had the same role, just different fonts. We took care of our little sister. We knew this would fuck us up but we wanted at least one of us to get out ok at least. We worked hard to make sure she didn't notice our parents had abandoned us. He was strict when it came to rules and bedtimes. I was the nurturing one, I tucked her in and read her to sleep, she had a nightmare she slept in my bed. We took turns checking in on her in the night, and playing with her. I know Jason hated that we were abandoned. I know he was angry. I wish I could have helped him too.

My little sister was Cass, she was only 3 when the move happened. She didn't really understand anything, we wanted to keep it that way. To keep her from knocking on the door of an open room only to find out daddy was gone. To keep her from feeling that deep cold hand around your heart that comes from the knowledge you're alone. She was my baby, she still is. I would give my whole soul and being for her, and I kind of did.

The roles didn't alway exist since they all went to their moms when they were kids again. I didn't really get that. I was in that house, that empty quiet house, that cold house. Alone. No one to talk to. No one to see. Just me. I would lay in bed and not move for days. I started talking to myself, who else was there to talk to. That empty house was so quiet. I think I died in that quiet house, at least some part of me did.

School wasn't much better, I had bad eczema and the other kids thought I was infected. No one spoke to me or came within 5 feet of me. Scared that they would get infected by the diseased freak. I didn't speak much so it didn't help. I moved schools a lot as a kid. I just didn't fit anywhere I went. When I was 7 I started going to a school that was the worst of them all, but at least some kids pretended to like me. They were mean and talk behind my back, I knew they did too. But at least they looked at me, talked to me. Anything other than the quiet empty feeling of loneliness was great in my book.

When I was 7 I started to get texts and emails from random numbers. Strangers would text me, on the phone that was only for my dad and mom to reach me. I knew I shouldn't have talked to them, but they were so nice, kind and sweet. I never thought to ask how they got my number, or how they knew my name and where I lived. They were so nice they said I was their friend, but then they would ask for things. Things I didn't want to send, like pictures. First it was just of my face, they would say suck nice things, a stark comparison to the few times I had talked to my mother. She had called me horrible things like ugly, fat, r3t4rd3d, stupid, and a mistake. They said I was so pretty, said I was cute, and how much they loved me and my face.Tbut then they would ask for more. I really really don't want to but when I tried to say no they would get scary. Said they would come to my house and take it. I couldn't let them come to my house; they could hurt Cass. I couldn't let anyone hurt my family, my siblings. So I agreed. I felt so icky after. They would go back to being nice then ask for more and more and more. Then finally they would get bored and leave,only for more to show up. I was scared but couldn't tell anyone since I had agreed to do it. I felt guilty and dirty. Then it got worse.

When I was 8, the devil came knocking. I remember the first time so clearly. He was home for once, I got home from school and claimed though the kitchen window since I didn't have keys to the house. I remember hearing him in the living room, I went to go see. He was sitting there with all the curtains open. I remember him getting close and wrestling me to the ground. He was rough, I fought, I think he liked that. I kicked, pulled, pushed, anything everything. He didn't do anything just stare at me with this sick twisted smirk. Telling me "fight harder, come on fight, you can do better than that". I ran out of strength I couldn't fight anymore, and that's when he started to strip me. I remember trying to push my arms against myself to make it harder to get my shirt off but it was pointless he was so much bigger and stronger. I remember just sitting there as he pulled off clothes, I tried so hard to stop him but I couldn't do anything. Then he let me go. I remember after that day I tried to where as many layers as I could so it would be harder for him, but nothing I did could stop him. I was powerless. He later found the text I had been getting, he told me if I ever tried to say anything about what he was doing to me he would show everyone how disgusting I was.

My littlest sister was born when I was 10. Stephanie was so cute they say she looked just like me as a baby. My mother madetsure her room was perfect. Made sure she had the best things. She was born with some complications, a huge abscess on her back. She spent longer in the hospital so they could drain it. She healed but changing diapers was a delicate task, I know I was the one that did that. That and put her to bed, fed her, checked on her, dried her tears when she was hurt, rocked her to sleep, taught her to walk and read and take and everything. When she was 3 she got pneumonia, I stayed up every night watching her breathing and listening to her. If I couldn't hear her breaths I would rush over and check she was still breathing. I wish I could have taken her to the hospital but it wasn't worth it they said wasn't even that bad they said. She got better thankfully. My little brother was born not long after.

Damian was mine. From the day they got back from the hospital, they handed him to me. They didn't say anything but it was clear "you take care of this we are done".Iit was as if my mother put every motherly bone in her to make those photos so we all looked perfect and the first few months of Stephanie life. Cause Damian got none of it. All she did was by formula so I could feed him. I didn't care if he was "forced" on me; he was my baby. I fed and bathed them, got them ready, cuddled them, taught them everything. I stayed all night with Damian, he was so little. They say he also looked like me. He was just so perfect.

Jason finally reached his breaking point, he attempted. Thankfully he didn't die,he was in the hospital for a month. I blamed myself. I should have known. I should have been there for him, I should have saved him, stopped him something. But I didn't. I turned 14 a few days after he got back. A few days after that I saw his scars for the first time. I will never forget those deep dark scars. I will never not remember.

The nightmare I had had my whole life got worse. And less than a year later Jason left. No warning no nothing just gone. They blamed me. My step dad started taking me on drives. I used to wish I bruised easier so there was proof, but I never did. He was a smart man who knew to hit the right spots and just hard enough to hurt but to not leave evidence. I transfer schools a few months later. I couldn't take the bullying and abuse and guilt all at once.

I started homeschooling myself. The abuse got worse and the house got worse. I no longer had school as an escape. They had never fed me before and I had always dumpster dived at school but now I had to go steal any food I could. Had to clean or else the devil would come. I had to hide or would be alone and the perfect prey. I remember being dragged by my angles out of my room to the bedroom and thrown down so hard so many times I got a concussion. He smiled and told me to fight fight fight. I tried I tried so fucking hard, nothing. I just layed there and took it.

When I was 16 I got mixed up with the wrong people trying to get out just trying to get some money so maybe there would be more to my life then torture till I eventually offed myself. But he found out twisted it and then it all came out. He was the one sharing my info, he was the one who had been sending all those people to me and profiting from them getting to talk to me and get pictures. But now that he had proper blackmail, he started demanding pictures and sending them to the buyers directly. There was no escape, just hell.

Right before my 18th birthday he offered me a deal. If I paid him 2000 dollars by the end of the week he would let me go. He would never bother me again. If I failed though he would r4p3 me and never let me go, fully knowing I would off myself afterwards. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get the money, then as a last stitch effort I asked my dad. Said I needed it and I couldn't tell him what it was for but I needed it. He gave it to me. The next day I gave it to the devil and was free. A few months later I moved away.

I visited twice a year, never fully being able to leave my babies behind. I know he never did anything to them. I always made sure. Checked every time. And going back was also a way to remind both my mother and the devil I'm the one they hated not the others just me.

Life moved forward, I tried so hard to heal, therapy, meds, support groups, everything and anything. I've lived with my dad and he has slowly healed as well and finally remarried a few years ago, I'm happy for him, I want him to be happy. But his wife is abusive not as bad as before but she yells and sends my dad back to that place in his past she threatens to leave him and take their baby. She hates me she yells and screams at me cause it's all my fault that she hear in this stupid country and with these stupid people cause my dad can't leave me and go to her home. It's not as bad but I can't take this she calls me worthless, failure, and broken. I feel like it's all just repeating like I'll never full escape this hell.

I feel like I can never fully open up, I still feel dirty, I still feel guilty, I still feel broken. I still feel like that little kid crying for mama and begging daddy to not be mad, hiding in the closet begging whatever God exists for him not to find me. I feel like no matter what I do I'll always be that kid. Scared and alone.

I've tried to open up about some of my "history" and had a professional therapist running. Now I have no insurance and things are repeating and I'm tired and I feel like it will never get better. I feel hopeless.

long post I hardly recognize him anymore. My little brother (M19) used to be passionate, smart, loving, and talented. He was an amazing artist, loved singing and making music, and had so much potential. Now, he’s angry, overly sensitive, unmotivated, depressed, and has completely lost his spark. He believes he’s stupid and lazy, and he doesn’t draw, paint, or make music anymore. He gets hyper-fixated on niche things but quickly convinces himself they’re not for him anymore.

A few days ago, he texted me threatening to take his own life. I (F22) had to call 911 because I was terrified, he told me after his shift he would take action, stating “all I have to do is close my eyes and let the wheel go.” The cops and my dad showed up to his job and the cop sat with him in the cop car to talk. However, my brother has bragged about being able to manipulate cops and mental health workers. The cop said he didn’t think he needed to be admitted into a mental health facility, but he didn’t see the texts he sent to me, all of my siblings, and my dad. He was upset after reaching out to my older siblings about needing nicotine while working, and when they said no, their text exchange got messy and tense. He texted me saying he thinks everyone has suddenly turned against him other than me. He has a history of being manipulative and intense mood swings. Anyways, He was admitted to a mental health facility, but only after staying for 3 days, he’s being released—and I don’t think he’s ready.

I’ve tried to talk to him about getting help. I was recently prescribed anxiety medication, and I told him how much it’s been helping me. I encouraged him to try therapy again, but he told me: “I don’t trust doctors or therapists. I don’t really trust anyone. I didn’t like what they prescribed me that one time a couple of years ago, so I’m against all medication.”

I tried to explain that finding the right medication is a process of trial and error and that he needs to trust the process, but he refuses. He seems stuck in this cycle of distrust and hopelessness, and I don’t know how to help him out of it.

He’s told me he feels hopeless about his future, especially when it comes to understanding the economy and housing market. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to move out of our dad’s house. My brother has also been abusing alcohol and might have a drug problem. He has a medical marijuana card, and I’m scared he’s fried his brain to the point where he’s living in a constant fog.

Even though I’m away at college, I’ve experienced a lot of this firsthand when I’ve been home. It’s progressively gotten worse over the last eight years since my parents divorced nine years ago. I have my own trauma from that time, but it’s been heartbreaking to see how much it’s changed my brother. When I look at him now, it’s like he’s a completely different person—or not even there at all.

His relationship with my dad is tense. My dad gets frustrated when my brother misunderstands him, and my brother feels the same way. They’re stuck in a cycle of miscommunication. My brother has even told me he’s starting to hate our dad, but I know my dad just wants him to be okay.

Our family has been through a lot of trauma. My parents are divorced and remarried to stepparents who’ve caused additional stress. My dad just divorced my strict and divisive stepmom, which helped, but my mom is still married to my controlling, extremely conservative stepdad. They live three hours away now, but their impact lingers.

Last year, on my brother’s 18th birthday, he experienced something traumatic. He heard my mom crying in the living room as my stepdad screamed at her. My brother tried to stand up to him, but my stepdad—a muscular, alcoholic man—pinned him to the ground while he screamed and cried. My youngest brother called the cops. When the police arrived, my stepdad whispered something to my mom, and she sided with him, even though she and my brothers were clearly terrified. My brother hasn’t spoken to my mom since.

I want my brother to get back to being the talented, loving person he used to be, but I feel so helpless. Does anyone have advice on how I can support him and encourage him to trust therapy or medication again? I just want him to find hope and himself again.

8 years gone and still crying over that one incident where my father handed me a rope and asked me to hang myself just because I studied an hour less that day..

I keep seeing reels and such saying, “Your parents did their best, so you should forgive them.” Or something to that effect but what if you feel that they didn’t do their best and their sorry excuses or aftermath apologies feel a little too late and kind of pointless tbh. My father was physically abusive, most of my life, towards my mother but was no longer after I was about 20. She finally left him when I was about 29-30(I am the youngest of 5). I just feel like, if he decided to quit being physically abusive, couldn’t he have done it years before? I wonder what changed but something did change. People know being any type of abusive is unacceptable so that’s the main reason why I feel abusive people know they aren’t doing their best so why should I forgive my parent according to pop culture??

Mi vida era medianamente normal para ser alguien de LATAM, con padres que discuten, se golpean entre ellos, tener que entrometerme para que no se maten, en fin, muchas cosas, lo malo viene que yo era el hermano menor de 2 hermanas más 1 hermano que apenas llevaba 2 meses de nacido, eso es normal en mi vida hasta ahora, actualmente tengo 19 años y mi vida a pesar de ello siempre he tratado de llevarla de una manera optimista, trate siempre de ser alguien optimista y alegre, después de todo, yo era el payaso del grupo, eso se debe porque siempre fui el niño raro del salón porque siempre estaba alejado de todos, no me gustaba trabajar en grupos y no me gustaba el fútbol, de hecho odiaba ese deporte hasta que un día, saliendo de mi trabajo fui a beber con mis colegas del trabajo, estábamos bebiendo tranquilamente entre Risas y Tragos, hasta que llegó ese momento en donde mi vida entera cambio.

Al momento de irme, un compañero me pidió que no me fuera y me abrazo de una manera "picante" por decirle menos, es entonces qué la borrachera se fue y empecé a recordar ese mismo tacto, y empecé a temblar, me agite y busque en todas las direcciones que era lo que pasaba, por que me dio tanto miedo, es entonces qué me retire y fui a casa.

En ese instante empecé a recordar varias cosas, recordaba a más detalle las discusiones en las que mi padre me solía someter a golpes, como mi madre lloraba con la cara llena de golpes, oía los llantos de mi hermano pequeño, era un caso, pero cuando desperté fue como si todo eso hubiera pasado minutos antes.

Pasaron 2 semanas y por mi cuenta me compré 4 latas de un trago fuerte, me las bebí todas y empecé a recordar muchas cosas, recordé que cuando era niño sufrí 4bus05 de parte de un ebrio, eso cuando mi padre celebraba que había ganado un campeonato, en ese instante no pude evitar derramar algunas lágrimas, recorde más cosas, como que desde que tengo 15 años me vendía a múltiples sujetos por dinero, específicamente a hombres de más de 35 o 40 años, por ese motivo me mantenía alejado de todos, además que también recordé que tras cada 4bus0 me lesionada, cuando volví a la realidad no estaba llorando, estaba riendo a carcajadas y luego esas carcajadas terminaban en un amargo llanto.

Actualmente tengo fuertes problemas de alcohol y ansiedad, no puedo decirle nada de esto a mis padres, nadie debe saberlo, debo tenerlo en secreto hasta el final de mis días.

Ya tengo todo Planeado, s4lt4re de un puente famoso en mi país, le diré adiós a todo el dolor, así que eso es todo lo que tengo que decir.... Muchas gracias

Mi vida era medianamente normal para ser alguien de LATAM, con padres que discuten, se golpean entre ellos, tener que entrometerme para que no se maten, en fin, muchas cosas, lo malo viene que yo era el hermano menor de 2 hermanas más 1 hermano que apenas llevaba 2 meses de nacido, eso es normal en mi vida hasta ahora, actualmente tengo 19 años y mi vida a pesar de ello siempre he tratado de llevarla de una manera optimista, trate siempre de ser alguien optimista y alegre, después de todo, yo era el payaso del grupo, eso se debe porque siempre fui el niño raro del salón porque siempre estaba alejado de todos, no me gustaba trabajar en grupos y no me gustaba el fútbol, de hecho odiaba ese deporte hasta que un día, saliendo de mi trabajo fui a beber con mis colegas del trabajo, estábamos bebiendo tranquilamente entre Risas y Tragos, hasta que llegó ese momento en donde mi vida entera cambio.

Al momento de irme, un compañero me pidió que no me fuera y me abrazo de una manera "picante" por decirle menos, es entonces qué la borrachera se fue y empecé a recordar ese mismo tacto, y empecé a temblar, me agite y busque en todas las direcciones que era lo que pasaba, por que me dio tanto miedo, es entonces qué me retire y fui a casa.

En ese instante empecé a recordar varias cosas, recordaba a más detalle las discusiones en las que mi padre me solía someter a golpes, como mi madre lloraba con la cara llena de golpes, oía los llantos de mi hermano pequeño, era un caso, pero cuando desperté fue como si todo eso hubiera pasado minutos antes.

Pasaron 2 semanas y por mi cuenta me compré 4 latas de un trago fuerte, me las bebí todas y empecé a recordar muchas cosas, recordé que cuando era niño sufrí 4bus05 de parte de un ebrio, eso cuando mi padre celebraba que había ganado un campeonato, en ese instante no pude evitar derramar algunas lágrimas, recorde más cosas, como que desde que tengo 15 años me vendía a múltiples sujetos por dinero, específicamente a hombres de más de 35 o 40 años, por ese motivo me mantenía alejado de todos, además que también recordé que tras cada 4bus0 me lesionada, cuando volví a la realidad no estaba llorando, estaba riendo a carcajadas y luego esas carcajadas terminaban en un amargo llanto.

Actualmente tengo fuertes problemas de alcohol y ansiedad, no puedo decirle nada de esto a mis padres, nadie debe saberlo, debo tenerlo en secreto hasta el final de mis días.

Ya tengo todo Planeado, s4lt4re de un puente famoso en mi país, le diré adiós a todo el dolor, así que eso es todo lo que tengo que decir.... Muchas gracias

I'll start this post by saying that i am 16 as of now, and no i wont be bothered by vulgar comments, so you might as well be creative with them.

this is my wild and sad journey.

Trauma - as a word, has been used loosely by people now, as seen by me. many of you may actually know the true meaning of the word trauma. it is hard to overcome.

as a little kid, i was acing all aspects of school, having no problem with it, in fucking peace.

back then, i was taken care of by my father and my grandmother. i was happy, or atleast "I" was. then came my "mother" . it was okay at first like i was 5 then, and was all ok. then, my little brother was born, then it did turn upside down. my "mother" turned agressive. this started with just making me do more homework and studies, like once, i "stole" ( just took ) an old unused cell phone, and just typing shit on the calculator. was she found out, she gave me a scolding, and wanted to make me learn tables upto 15, remember, i was just 7 here.

she would exxagerate all thing, like in class 3, when we used to make "currency" in our class, i would tear squares out of notebook pages. she beat me badly.

now, upto this, i think this would be normal behavior for a parent, to discipline ones child, and read ahead.

she made me stay all nighters at the fucking age of 7 , to write tables from 1 to 10, A HUNDRED FUCKING TIMES. when i couldnt write it a hundred times, i was beaten up so badly, i got high fever. we once went to attend my "mother"s brother's wedding , and i got infected my malaria. it was bad, i had very high fever, and my mother would cuss at me, to stop crying. i had to be admitted in a nearby hospital, for a month. it got bad ( now that i think about it, as my relatives came to visit me) only my dad and grandmother would care for me in that hospital. my handwriting was bad, and so is for 7 year olds. she would make me write notes again and again , keeping me up all night.

she also started to feed my leftover rice from like 2 days ago, she used to give that shitty rice, in my school tiffin everyday. no nutritious meals whatsoever, while my little bro, in kindergarten , got really good food in the tiffin, cheese dosas, cheese rolls, etc ( its indian food, look it up). i kept getting malnourished. i used to have chronic headaches, knee pain at 7!. the doctor gave me a mass gainer, and if my memory serves well, she didnt let me use it.

it only gets worse. she had a gal bladder stone, and after she recovered, i got treated worse.

no play time, severe sleep deprivation to "memorise poems" (she would yell , hit me with a plastic cricket bat, slapping , yelling vulgarities all night). i would sleep regularly at 12 or 1am, and getting up at 5am , to "clean the house" to mop the floor.

we did not have any shortage of money, and had maids to do this.

this followed up by my dad taking me for a "walk" ( we just went to a nearby restaraunt, for me to eat as she would not let me eat all day.) and then school, which i very much enjoyed, to get away from her. i would come home and this hitting, yelling, slapping , scrathing would continue.

at this point i am in grade 4,

this would continue, the sleep deprivation , starving, yelling, hitting. i would just "normally have scratches, on me, as she would scratch and pinch me with her long nails. at this point i was frail as a stick , and severely underweight. and during one of many yelling sessions, i learnt that my biological mother was dead, and that this was my step mother.

i once learnt that my grandparents from my actual mothers side, when that come to visit me, cried after seeing my mistreatment. my grand mother, who i mentioned in the beginning , had come to visit us, during a argument, got very high BP, and had to be rushed to the hospital via an ambulance.

later that day, my "mother" threatened me with a knife, saying, "i'll kill you first and then i'll kill myself" repeatedly. this haunts me even today, in my nightmares. you cannot comprehend, the dread you would feel as a 9 year old in this situation

this shit continued . my father decided to sent me to live with my grandparents to get me away from this. for 2 year, i ate junk food everyday, skipped school regularly , got fat,

now comes covid. my father and "mother" got covid and got admitted in a hospital. it was horrifying for me , living 800 km away from my dad, and there was a chance he could died. like the fucking idiot i was , i went back to live with them. and this abuse started again ad soon as she recovered. sick of this, i came back to live with my grandparents on my will. AGAIN.

now to 2023, i got typhoid, and went down to 31 kilos bodyweight. now after that, i went to the gym for a bit, and started to have chronic headaches and bodypain. i would be depressed, wake up afraid of the day, and skipped school like 4 days out of a week. they stopped my gym , thinking it may be the cause , and it made my feel worse. my aunt, whom i had a strong bond with, died of cancer.

i lived in rage 24/7 , started gym again, and trained like a maniac. i had nightmares every night, about her strangling me, beating me, etc, and it drove me to trained harder. i eat a lot now.

as of the present, i am recovering, LEARNING TO LIVE,.

i have gained, nearly 21 kilos of weight, of which most is muscle, as i am lean enough to see my defined obliques. i eat a lot, train everyday, do lots of cardio etc.

i am now 5"2 , 51 kg, lean and i could say, better than yesterday. i have got a lot stronger ( i think i am weak ) i have gotten compliments, like "are you on gear".

i recently injured my hamstrings deadlifting, to which i got scolded my a trainer in my gym, (he does not train me) , that , in his words: "dont train this hard, you train so hard that, "i" have to wonder if i train hard enough". heck of a compliment.

i am still having nighmares, rage ( which i keep in till i get to the gym).

i am happier, healthier, more muscular, and getting better.

- Aditya.

shredded and delusional

You know why I hate the holidays?

For most people, it’s a time to see loved ones and friends. For me, it was a reminder of what’s missing in my life. My family isn’t dead. They’re alive, but not well, much like myself. I haven’t seen one side of my family in three years. Until we address the generational cycle of abuse and things that have been ignored for decades, I have nothing to say. A relationship cannot function when trauma and pain are hidden. But that’s not the only reason I can’t stand the holiday season.

The other half of my family? I’m forced to break bread with people who don’t eat or even speak with me unless it’s a holiday. And I live with my family. My interactions with family almost always involve sighs, eye rolls, moving my things, or trying to persuade me to do something for them. Sometimes I won’t even get looked at, as my very existence offends them. And that’s on the good days. I won’t air the bad day’s laundry. That’s stuff I don’t even want in my head. You don’t want it, either. Trust me.

The forced gatherings are surface level, awkward and sad, with decades of things being left unsaid. Ignore the pain. Forget the past. Don’t rock the boat. Keep quiet. Play along. Be a happy family. Too bad you can’t push down that emotional baggage forever.

Whenever I try to talk about dysfunction, my life, or anything of meaning to me, favors, I’m met with negativity and dismissal. One hundred percent of the time. I’m always wrong about everything, too. Have been since the day I was born. Any time I utter a word, it’s immediately met with a “no”, gaslighting, or immediate questioning of my reality.

Here’s a recent example of what I’m dealing with. A utility company guy shut off the gas because my house had a carbon monoxide leak. No one was home, so I handled the situation. I told my mom what happened and the first thing she asked? “Are you sure it was the gas company that came today?” Harmless? No. This questioning of my reality has been a common occurrence in my life. Anytime I open my mouth, in fact. It stems from when my dad would beat the piss out of me or humiliate me in front of my siblings by screaming and name-calling me for being stupid. I’d tell my mom when she was done work, but she didn’t have time to hear it or refused to believe me. It didn’t help that dad was abusing her too. None of that helps me now. My reality hasn’t changed much since my childhood.

Knowing this, I calmly explained what was going on and what we should do reference my notes. Considering it was a carbon monoxide leak, I suggested we listen to what the service technician recommended. My mom scolded me saying I didn’t know what I was talking about and I should have told the guy to come back later. I left the room, not going to be berated for nothing, but told her to tell me when she was going to call the utility company, so I could help with the details. Of course, she didn’t tell me when she called.

After hearing my mom shouting, I stopped working and came to see what was going on. My mom was flipping out on some poor customer agent about why her gas was shut off. When I tried to explain that she was wrong and the customer service rep was right, my mom turned on me once again. Yelling at me and the customer service rep. My mom wasn’t even there. And that’s why she screamed at me. Other family members teamed up on me, saying I get emotional and irrational, and in this case responded poorly by not waiting for my mom to get home. I didn’t know what I was doing, according to them. What the fuck am I, five? An idiot? Once again, like always, my entire family thinks I can’t handle a conversation about something serious. The way they treat me, and always have, I think I might have a mental disability. Seriously. That’s not even a joke. Maybe I’m a functioning moron and don’t know it. I’ve thought about taking an IQ test or disability assessment just to check.

I stormed out of the room and after a half hour of irrational emotions from the carbon monoxide incident, everyone calmed down enough to speak. No apologies. No one talked about what transpired. Sweep it under the rug. Like all the abuse and trauma buried in our souls. My family talked about how to fix the leak. That’s when they told me how the basement had an alarm going off for months. I didn’t even hear it. My family thought it was a faulty smoke alarm. They unplugged it. Too bad it was a carbon monoxide detector. That’s what we found out from the utility company. We were breathing in poison, for God knows how long.

This isn’t a woe is me piece. I’m not trying to pick on my family, either. We’ve had a lot of good moments over the years, but as we get older, they become less frequent. That’s what hurts the most. Those fleeting moments. A tease of what could be. Or could have been. I don’t dismiss these happy little things, but when 99% of my interactions with family are negative, it’s hard to cherish them. If they weren’t blood, I’m not sure they would be in my life. The connection was lost when I started healing. Since I started to break free, my family relationships feel bitter and cold. Maybe they project onto me because they failed to protect me as a child, can’t/don’t remember what happened, or frankly, don’t give a shit about me. I’m not a therapist. None of that is my problem. I just have to deal with it. That’s the brutal, honest truth. The worst part is I think they’re oblivious to their behaviors and their effects on others. Especially me.

Any idea I’ve ever shared with my family has been met with disapproval. Even the good ones. I’ve tried to talk to my family, bring them together. It’s always turned negative and deflected back to me. I’m the dysfunction. I’ve struggled with this my whole life. Holding these thoughts inside has caused me to self-destruct. I won’t harm myself for them anymore. A part of that is saying what I think. One of my biggest fears. I wish I was the only one who felt this way during the holidays, but I know I’m not. I have to speak so others can suffer in silence. Just know you’re not alone.

Pretending to get along for a meal is mentally and emotionally exhausting. Every year I put on my mask. The holidays are for beating myself up, for not being strong enough to say what I felt. Instead, forced pleasantries with family who need help but won’t get it. Often I’m the collateral damage of that wound. That’s how I spend a time of joy and love, pretending to be someone I’m not for people who don’t even know me, but are incapable of loving me unconditionally. I can’t talk about what’s going on with me. A year ago, I participated in my first book festival as a writer. Of course, I told my family about it, but didn’t hold out hope anyone would show. It was a fantastic day, where I sold some books and had a ton of support from loved ones. I felt like I was living my dream. Not a single member of my family even stopped by. It didn’t surprise me. Did it ruin my day? Hell no, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. The thing I hate about myself the most? The hope I hold out for my family.

Lucky for me, family gatherings never last more than an hour, which is good because they often feel like a funeral. Every year, they hurt a little less. After that, I’ll enjoy the rest of the holiday with those who I can experience love with in a healthy way. It truly is a shame, but I can only play the hand I’m dealt. For at least one more year, I’ll keep my mouth shut and play the good son in a dysfunctional mess.

The day after the holidays? Back to the status quo. My very existence an inconvenience for them. They’ll go back to days or weeks without uttering a word to me. An adult still trapped like a child. A lot of that is on me. An unpredictably terrifying childhood. Decades of unresolved trauma. Financial mistakes the cherry on top. I started in a hole, but I didn’t help myself any. I’m trending up, but need a little more time. Maybe this is the year I’ll do better.

Happy holidays.

Especially to those dealing with estrangement, dysfunction, or trauma/abuse. I hope you find healing and love this season. I’m hoping the same for my family.

A parent of mines sex trafficked me online. People would watch me change, use the bathroom, shower, through a webcam all throughout my teenage years. I was groomed by them. Both women and men from ages 25-50s. They saw me topless and made remarks about my private parts. I am forever traumatized by this. I dissociate a lot because of this.

I'm probably gonna put this in a couple of different groups because I don't know where this belongs.

I have a feeling something happened to me when I was little. I don't know exactly what entailed, but I feel like I was SA at one point.

I have a gut feeling something happened. I don't have any memory of anything happening. Or maybe I do- I had a traumatic childhood and have been told somethings that happened never did and that I was a liar. So I don't even know if I can trust my mind atp.

I've always been fully aware of what sex was. I was FOUR and knew what it was. I remember asking where it came from when I was 2/3 turning 4 at the MOST. But I do know for a fact I knew what it wad when I was 4. I would look stuff up pertaining to it. I don't know how or why I knew what that was. The only thing I would think of is when I would constantly get UTI's and the doctor would fully graze my area roughly.

I've had a memory(?) resurface a couple years ago of being in a room with my parents former guy friend where he assaulted me. I don't think that's what happened though, I think maybe it was my brain making something up. I mostly think this because I know for a fact that particular friend wouldn't do that. I think maybe my brain just used that friend as a filler. My dad would take me to random houses (he jumped from plug to plug) so maybe something happened there? I don't know. Since that memory resurfaced I have almost completely forgotten about it.

I just don't think it's normal for a 4 year old to know what sex is. I was very sexual and would act them out with my dolls; Which I know it is normal for kids to do have their dolls make-up but I would have mine do way more that that.

I just want an answer to why I was like that and what happened but I don't think I'll ever get that answered.

My first blurry memory of my childhood is waking up at 8 years old with my underwear pulled to my knees at night. I would wear a nightgown and always found it weird how I'd have to pull up my underwear at night. I found out through therapy my narcissistic mother was molesting me. When I was a teen my brother grabbed my breasts underneath my swimsuit top until he got what he wanted. Then, he tried pushing me into the pool making my boobs pop out of my swimsuit and he stared and fantasized for 30 seconds at my breasts. Everyday I prayed to God for why you would allow me to live with my molester. I don't have much family and went out to dinner with my aunt and uncle. Over dinner, I saw my uncle staring at my breasts. Even when I went to their house he still did the same thing. Another uncle I just met acts creepy towards me and always checks me out. I hate being a woman and I hate all the trauma and incest I've endured because of it. I might kill myself eventually because I have other trauma as well.

Looking back on my past, I can't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for the innocence I lost at such a young age. From a tumultuous childhood filled with abuse and trauma to the struggles of adolescence, my journey has been a rollercoaster of emotions and experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today

Trigger Warning: This essay contains graphic content and themes of abuse physical and sexual, trauma, and substance use. My life has been a never-ending cycle of pain, trauma, and struggle. From a young age, I was forced to endure unimaginable abuse and neglect at the hands of those who were supposed to protect and care for me. My story is one of survival, but also of the long-lasting effects of trauma and the struggles of mental illness. I was just four years old when my mom left me to live with my dad, a man who struggled with addiction and had a history of abuse. I was too young to understand the complexities of his problems, but I knew that I was scared and alone. My dad's substance use and anger issues created a toxic environment that I was forced to navigate on my own. I remember feeling like I was walking on eggshells, never knowing when he would lash out at me next. But my dad's abuse was not the only trauma I faced. When I was just five years old, my uncle raped me. I was too young to understand what was happening, but I knew that it was wrong and that I felt ashamed and scared. This experience would shape my view of myself and the world around me, leaving me with deep-seated feelings of guilt and self-blame. A year later, my mom took me from my school to live with her, her new husband, and my cousins. I thought that I had finally found a safe haven, but it was short-lived. Just one week later, the cops came and took me back to my dad's house, where the abuse continued. I felt like I was being tossed around like a rag doll, with no one to turn to for help. When I was eight years old, my mom finally gained custody of me. I thought that this would be the start of a new chapter in my life, one where I could finally feel safe and loved. But it was not meant to be. Just one week after moving in with my mom, my stepdad started raping me. I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of abuse, with no escape in sight. As I grew older, I turned to substance use as a way to cope with my trauma. I started vaping at the age of eight, and by the time I was ten, I was drinking and trying to kill myself for the first time. I was desperate to escape the pain and the memories that haunted me, but I didn't know how. I started cutting myself, trying to release the emotions that were bottled up inside of me. As I entered my preteen years, my substance use escalated. I started smoking weed and doing hardcore drugs, overdosing for the first time at the age of 12. I was trapped in a cycle of addiction, and I didn't know how to escape. My mental health was suffering, and I was desperate for help. But help was hard to find. My stepdad continued to rape me, and I felt like I was all alone. It wasn't until I met my current boyfriend at the age of 14 that I finally felt like I had someone to turn to. He has been my rock, my support system, and my safe haven. Today, at the age of 15, I am still struggling to come to terms with my past. The rape has stopped, but the memories and the emotions still linger. I still vape, drink, and smoke weed, trying to cope with the trauma that I have endured. I have been taking meds for my mental illness for a few years now, but it's not always enough. Some days are better than others, but the pain and the memories are always there, lurking just beneath the surface. My story is not an easy one to tell, but it's one that needs to be heard. I am not alone in my struggles, and I know that there are others out there who have endured similar trauma. My hope is that by sharing my story, I can help others feel less alone, and that I can raise awareness about the long-lasting effects of trauma and abuse. I am a survivor, but I am also a work in progress. I am still trying to heal, still trying to come to terms with my past. It's a journey that is not easy, but it's one that I am determined to take. I will not let my trauma define me, but I will use it to fuel my passion for helping others. I will rise above my pain, and I will make a difference in the world.

Dear little me,

Thank you for protecting me, for protecting us from what he did. Thank you for carrying the weight of what happened to us instead, you allowed me to live as normal of a life as I could for years. I know you tried so hard to keep protecting me, I know you tried so hard to let me keep forgetting exactly what happened. It’s not your burden anymore. It’s been eight years since all of it happened and a few years of piecing it together, I’ve accepted that it was truly something I experienced. I’m ready now. You can rest, you did your job. I’m ready to face this.

I am 45 years old and I feel like my trauma has finally caught up with me and demands to be examined. I just don’t know where to start. I’m do have a therapist and have started discussing with her.

I was molested by 2 of my cousins that were the same age as me. From a young age until around 13-15. I feel so much Shame as I never told them to stop and I could have and should have- especially when I was older. I hate that I just let it happen and didn’t use my voice. I keep thinking about it and I’m just not sure how to process it and move through it. I’m having some dp/dr moments that are quite scary. I feel like I’ve been somewhat ok with it my whole life but for some reason all of my trauma is just hitting me all at once right now.

Thanks for listening

as a child, I always had a lot of body hair given our families mediterranean background. this made me really self conscious as a child and being that I am a female.

anyways, I don’t think about this as much anymore, but I remember when my mom used to literally pull up my shirt or sweater to show people my back or my arms and show them the amount of body hair I had… this would usually happen when someone would bring up the fact that people in our family had thick beautiful hair, eyebrows, etc... or if someone noticed the hair on my arms.

I felt like I was being exhibited as an odd creature and I felt violated. my “odd” body was used as some sort of sick entertainment. at least that’s how I view it.

I don’t even know where to begin regarding how traumatizing this was for me. I’m 26 now.