Also not only words tell stories. Actions, actions have always meant way more to me than words. Maybe because of my misunderstanding of emotions and feelings is why I have no words for them. But my actions told a story nobody picked up on.its so sad how many children fall through the cracks, who are being abused as we speak. I should be thankful mine is over. Not sit here and relive every waking moment in a dissociated blob. I should get out there and see the signs and work towards helping children be free and vindicated. Not sit and wallow. What has it all been for. All the suffering and self persecution, what has it been for. If I can get b’s in a dissociated suicidal manic meltdown imagine what those parts could do with support. Persecute others who deserve it not yourself.
Hmmmm I don’t know who wrote that. This is a few hours later. After the post tickle. Which I was just about to edit but this caught my eye again, didn’t know what I’d written. Tickle makes me want to vomit. I keep having the words why was I highly sexualised little bitch running through my head? Anyway ugh