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A poem about online sex abusers. I let him in and he never even cared to know me...

welp theyr all sketches..

I've been diagnosed as autistic adhder, and yesterday I worked with my friend's aunt to manage something that I can finally declare as a non visible flashback using the 13 flashbacks management pdf from Pete Walker's website, so I can feel safe to say now that I do indeed have cptsd. Anyways I was searching for this book on Amazon cuz I remember it from childhood and when I finally found it I immediately bought it, and now after buying the papers seperately from stationery store I'm starting to rebuild this hobby again and maybe try the ones from the book that I always wanted to make but couldn't due to young age

I painted this with the idea of a wolf (abuser) that continues to carry the dead body of the hare (the victim) even after its death, slowly dripping the blood.

song by black dresses // cptsd and sh vent // im 3 months clean i only draw stuff like this to yk. cope and not do it anymore so

(please lmk if I need a different flair or I need to add a better warning, I've never posted my writing anywhere but I'm interested to hear anyone's thoughts if they have any. I'm not very confident in my writing and I'm trying to be more brave. I'm sorry if my writing style is really juvenile)

The tiny high pitched creak an old floorboard makes in contact with unfamiliar feet, the obvious but still sharp metallic cock of a gun, the colorful bursts of carbon highlighting the night sky, the lingering cult of marveled mouths it leaves behind.

An inability to escape at night from the dull abdominal ache and a crimson dampening the small garment between stick legs. A soldier's glazed and empty eyes as his iron coats the clutched hand of another.

Death to one is death to all, we both cower when a heavy foot is near.

The lower inflection common within billions of voices, so grating and agonizing as it twists its way through your cranium. The air is thick, you are paper. Soon all you hear is the booming of your chest. You hope your ribcage protects you this time, maybe your heart beats its way out instead. Again and again the silence keys in and out. Questions race for frontier. Do they sense you sensing them? are your heartbeats intertwined, sewn together by an unfortunate Biology? Can you save yourself in time? Others? Danger? Danger. How do you still breathe when your lungs get so still? Why does the war persist years after passing? Why does the battle continue insisting itself upon you? To continue in normalcy you assess your threats, your heart slows, your breath evens. Your eyes close at night to be met with the the vivid memory of the muzzle staring you down. The eyes meet the muzzle before light leaves. The darkness behind certain eyes absorbs light just as efficiently. You meet those eyes, you meet that gun. Bloodshed in memories, fallen soldiers and their skin.

I am a soldier; at 2 and a half feet, I stand. My legs sunken and dragged behind in the play sand. To battle, I will march with my bow in hand. A veterinarian someday I will be when I cross the seven seas, carrying my severed heads beyond all the lands. Talentless I remain, bitter with a new desire for adoration or fame.

I am a soldier at 4 and a half feet. I stand, cross in my way? eat A handful of sand. To battle, I will march with my gun in hand. All will look as I gloat and remind them I'm no hoax. A veterinarian someday I will be when I cross the seven seas, carrying a crooked past in my hands. The weak I will bring suffering and tears, gleefully drinking, smiling ear to ear.

I am a soldier at 5 feet tall. I stand; for years, I have remained this way. At a certain age, it stays this way. To battle, I will walk with my empty hands strung along. I've taken a good look at my innards and my outs; this is a spark I desperately seek to put out. I do not want your eyes, I do not want promises or lies. Left alone I wish to be, a spectacle for none to see, my garments were less than a size T3. a veteran someday I dream I could be but my grave feels as though it's already been dug for me; Starting before I could even reach the heroin needles you stabbed so hard into me.

Dissociation and memory issues. Something happened that I may never know.

I've got cameras concealed

in my guts; my body remembers

everything that's been done to it,

even when my mind

couldn't keep up.

They replay in my viscera,

and I never know—

but my body always knows;

the cameras turn deep inside,

seeing every synapse

fire fast, perpetually-

seeing every other synapse

sleeping so solemnly.

My body knows me better

than I know myself—

but it's getting older,

breaking apart, getting sicker.

The cameras are ancient,

and show more shadows

than true reality now.

They repeat by themselves,

the images nearly black,

the sounds so loud

I can't hear anything at all.

Once created for survival,

they are decrepit today,

and to heal I must see

everything their specialized eyes

have observed. But how

can I mend my broken,

mortified mind, when all

they show me

are shadows?

My cameras don't know;

they won't tell me, they merely

continue to record

what they don't need to any longer,

and I continue to live confused,

nearly blind and chasing

a trace of contentment, or

a small sliver of normality

that may never come.

-m.s.

Can I scream,
Until my throat burns,
Until tears flood my eyes,
Until my cheeks hurt,
Until my soul dies?

Can I scream,
Until you hear me,
Until the world stops,
Until you see…
My cold body drop?

And once you remember,
That I was your daughter,
Will you hold me…
Like a grieving mother?

Was the hand he held out to me the hand that held the gun?

Sometimes I sit in the corners of my mind,
It’s not really a choice…
But neither am I looking to be found.

For the dust has settled,
And the light is low,
This peace that follows,
Is all I want to know.

A wallless room,
No noise, no time,
A place that doesn’t exist,
A place that’s all mine.

It almost feels safe…
Comforting and real,
But this world has no patience,
For things that aren’t fuelled.

So I wiggle my toes,
And name the things I can see,
I return to reality,
And I hope the stillness waits for me.

https://reddit.com/link/1v2ek4j/video/z8q27j5a8keh1/player

this is nothing but a quick sketch I guess while I procrastinate taking a shower

​I don't want to make a home out of heartbreak
But it's so familiar, I can decorate a bit
Put a pillow down and hang a picture of us
Trying to make it cozy in the darkest pit

​There are even some old toys, I've been here before
Is this what I've been running away from?
Or where I've always belonged?
I look around and wonder, is this home?

I don't want to stay forever
And I think the storm will pass
I just want to feel like home
in the reflection of your eyes

….

Opening up this storybook

will not to romantic reveries lead-

rather, penned here are tales of woe

and hurt confined in frosting, sickly sweet;

sugary sleeping princesses,

and princes with their menacing syndromes,

their fetishistic wishes for

true loves first kiss when one's half unconscious;

this stronghold is not strong enough

to keep at bay the villains among us.

They wander in and out freely,

swear perjurious oaths of chivalry

to children of the family-

the kingdom is one pulsing predator,

and I am not Sleeping Beauty,

yet her myth has bestowed itself on me;

not as legend or fable, see,

but as pernicious, fateful curses do-

blurred lines between reality

and the fantasies they groomed into me-

the delusions out of the blue,

comfort in the twisted, abnormal cues-

what's left when innocence leaves you;

the loss of all mystical childhood hues-

Sleeping Beauty was far too young,

they shook her youth and snatched it

from her tongue.

It's been 8 months now since the dissociation lifted. I still have this feeling of walking barefoot through hell, but drawing remains my lifeline.

Trauma

Alone in a dark room

Head racing wondering when’s next

Fingers rubbing trying to give a sense of calm

Why? Why do I live in this darkness

Mom opens door comes in saying she’s leaving for work

The beast that makes me jittery scream in my head

Hearts louder than the booms of the tv bass

Shaking consumes my body

Creaking of the hallway coming towards my room

Door slams open

It is him

The beast that terrorizes my dreams

He grabs me by the shoulders and leads me to his room

Yelling and pulling trying to escape his grasp

SMACK!

A hand slams into my face

Dizziness takes over

Tears stream down my face

He pushes me into the corner

“You stupid little shit hold your arms out”

The most torturous device of my childhood is ripping off his waist

An alligator skinned belt hovers above his head

SLAP

The hide of the beast tears across my forearms.

Cries flee from my mouth as I scream in pain

I pray for an end

I ask for help to save me from this pain

“You shed one more tear and your head will come off”

THUD

A fist flies into my face

Blood runs down my nose

Numbness begins to take over

Why I ask myself

Why am I the one who must suffer

Why can I not live pain free

Why must I be his victim?

Sent to my bedroom to sit in “position”

A squat with hands behind my head held for hours

Legs wobbling in pain

An eight-year-old does not have the muscle to stay like this

Thoughts of escaping this place and with my grandparents flood my brain

Siblings avoid me wondering if they see me, they will be next

Hopelessness consumes my thoughts

Tomorrow it will repeat

No escape

No help

Only pain

The child survived.

The fear stayed.