Some kids grew up scared of the monsters under their beds.

I never did.

My parents were the monsters.

My bpd isn’t letting me go…

Anxiety. Constant anxiety. They dont need to yell at me for me to know they are angry at me. I can pick this up by the most subtle things they do. I have become really good at gauging their mood. I would notice the hostile atmosphere without them having to say a word. This would immediately trigger my anxiety. The heart would become heavy and I would feel distressed. So yes, I understand the phrase "my heart sank" really well. I wish I didn't. Because it is not a good feeling at all.

parents are always like oh i gave birth to you, fed you, gave you clothes to wear and education now that means i can disrespect you, abuse you, treat you like shit even tho clothes, food and education are just the bare minimum every parent should provide

People who grew up in toxic families are the kings of acting like nothing traumatic happened the next day

Please go torture someone else…

Give it back!

Why would you treat your own child like this?

The voices use me…

Why….why …..WHY

I fucking hate myself. I am a goddamn mistake. Why can I never do anything right. I fuck everything up.

Drawing inspired by @howlsnteeth 's awesome style. Drawn to represent the main five fronters of our DID system.

God, were you watching? Watching him put his evil inside of me? Fingers of death ran up my thigh, I closed my eyes and prayed for my life. Now when I close my eyes, all I see is his dirty face. Do you know what he did? Do you know how I ache? The space between my thighs no longer feels safe. I close my eyes and I see his face, the face of a man who made sure I knew the feeling of rape. God, am I grieving too loud? Did your hear me scream? Did you hear me shout? I was crying for help, moments before he covered my mouth. God, will you forgive me for taking my life? Cause I don’t forgive you for standing by, watching him force this evil inside. God, are you listening now? The nurses that night, held me in their arms while I cried. They were the real heros that night. My parents sat in the waiting room for hours, while I cried, trying to get the confidence to wash the dirtiness between my thighs. God, do you even care? I’m removing dirt and branches from my hair, my mothers trying to be strong so I wipe her tears. This pain, it isn’t right, every girl I know has a story like mine, most of them now, carry a knife. God, do you know what it’s like? For a man to force his way between your thighs? For a man to hold you down, to pray for death instead of carrying on your life? God, do you understand the words I am saying now? I’ve been to hell and I’m calling you out, you won’t save the woman who cried out loud or even the woman who made no sound.

— Hannah Green, from “Questions god won’t answer pt.1” ©