My Childhood Was Abusive. The Effects of CPTSD Kept Me From Realizing It
It took me over two decades to readily consider myself a victim of abuse.
It took me over two decades to readily consider myself a victim of abuse.
A big reason for my move was the fact that I’m immune compromised. Instagram’s creepy algorithm delivered me an image, “moving won’t solve your problems, you’ll just be sad in a prettier place.”
Happy Gallbladder Day on Autostraddle dot com! I’m glad you’re here and I’m glad my gallbladder is not.
Tell yourself that you’re not like one of those chain smokers, that you can stop whenever you want. Start smoking American Spirits, so it’s like, not even that bad for you because it’s natural, or organic, or something. You forget.
I like to think I can control my anger, but I usually end up burning my own life down instead.
When waking up every morning feels like starting another steep climb, how do we keep our wits about us long enough to reach the top and breathe?
“It became a running joke between my partners and I, that I was both too stigmatized and too famous to get my needs met.”
“I made a choice about how I would look, and didn’t realize until I’d done it how unprecedented that was.”
“Sad cloud” and “naked Christmas tree” did not make the list. You’re welcome, makers of anti-depressant commercials!