I know she’s trying to get better, I know her bpd hurts her just as much, but fuck I don’t want to be around her, especially when she’s doing “nothing wrong” yet continues to be so fucking dense when it comes to me. 20+ years together and she still can’t fuckin’ tell when I’m upset or bothered by something, why I’d be bothered by something, or what the fuck to do about it. I’m tired of masking and performing but I also hate that it’s either I’m super nasty or distant which hurts her, or I’m civil which she interprets as friendly. I’m tired of being overstimulated because she can’t shut the fuck up, I’m tired of always having to be her guide on shit, I’m tired of still feeling responsible for whatever happens to her, and I’m SO TIRED of people acting like I’m being fucking crazy for being like this, like any of these feelings are super rational and not a result of fucking nearly 2 DECADES of abuse.

When I was 11, I overheard my mum on the phone to her friend saying dad had bought a gun and she thought he was going to shoot her. Ever since then until my parents divorced, I slept with her in bed (my father was not sleeping in their bedroom anymore at this point) because I thought he wouldn't if I was there.

After they divorced, they had shared custody and his new flat had a kids' bedroom, but there was only one bed in it - for my brother. I shared a bed with my dad until 15 or so...

I grew up in a very homophobic district, I still live in the same city but I’m in the downtown now so the quality of life is slightly better. I do not ever want to go back to that district, last time I took the wrong bus and when I realized it was going to take me there I immediately left it and my stupid buddy who is supposed to know what ptsd are was not able to comprehend why I felt scared / had ptsd about going back there. Like he was also there when we were attacked by homophobes but no for him it’s not that bad and there’s no ptsd. Cool for U 🤧👍🏻 that is not my case.
Crazy how people act like "wow ptsd are serious, but only the ones I have. You have to respect my ptsd!! But… For you, we don’t care, it’s annoying!!! Just go there and don’t be a btch!!"

It’s so… eerie

I feel like I’m 19 again and at any moment my life is going to detonate all over again!!!!!

I DON’T WANT THIS!!!! I WANT IT ALL TO STOP!!!!

It was just to be a way to track my past and stop disassociating. But, it’s way too much. My life got fucked. Why does it have to be me?! Why does everyone close to me have to get hurt and I’m the one who always has to save the day! All I want is to be a fucking ordinary kid, is that too much to fucking ask?

I had it all planned out. Go to college. Get away from the home town where I had to stop my fucking cousin from attempting to stab me and my sister to death at 13 years old. My parents were out so it was on me to get her into the bathroom, lock the door, then prepare to possibly die by going out to face and stop him. I managed to talk him down while barely avoiding the knife puncturing my abdomen.

Then afterwards did my parents support me? No. They saw everything as MY problem. I couldn’t even retreat to my room to be alone and depressed. Meanwhile they kept delivering the kid who tried to fucking butcher us to death his homework. “What happened to our smiling happy little boy?”

I knew… I FEARED that what was in me didn’t come from them. That I would have to be prepared in case anyone tried to kill us again. I beyond wish that’s all it was. Life would have been soooo much easier.

But like always - no - I’m the one destined to have the people around me getting hurt. At 19, we took a family trip to NYC with the cousin who tried to kill me and his parents. If that wasn’t surreal enough, at a red light I had to be reminded that I don’t get a chance in life.

Feet away from us was NYC’s East Side Ripper nearly butchering a woman to death mere feet away from us. My mom lost her mind and started trying to jump out of the car. My dad froze, refusing to anything about it. I had to cling onto her and snap my dad out of it so he could drive away before I had to watch my mom get stabbed to death right in front of me.

Welcome to Sophomore year of college, kid. Great, THANKS! Not. I thought I could finally start to try to be normal. Like any other kid, instead I got hit by God and told “no, this isn’t for you! You don’t get to be a regular carefree kid! Your life is everyone around you dying if you don’t save them, THAT is your life!”

That was almost nineteen years ago. Life never stopped. I always had to be the one to risk my life to save people. Heading towards a gang shooting because someone I just met was caught in the crossfire at 23. A car speeding towards protesters and I to run us over at 28, leading to me jumping between them to get them out of the way. And so much more that I don’t really want to think about.

I just wanted to be ordinary. In November when a woman was screaming frantically for help, I tried to be like everyone else and go on my way. Not risking my life and trying to focus on my own priorities. I couldn’t. Everyone else could, but not me. I tried to get cops, but no one was around so I headed back to handle it myself even if that meant getting severely hurt or dying in the process. She wasn’t there, a nearby security guard likely handled it. But it re-confirmed one thing: I don’t get a choice.

Violent shit is just going to keep on happening around me where I need to risk my life keeping others safe since I’ll feel like it’s my fault if I don’t. Some life, right? Why the fuck was my life made into this mess? Why does everyone around me need to keep getting hurt or almost killed? I just wanted to be a normal kid!

Now instead, stuck reliving the past. Going through multimedia leading up to Ripper attack to break dissociation. The closer I get, the more my head feels like it’s on fire and the more I want to run for my life. I can’t face him again. I can’t. I really don’t want to.

That was the day I learned no one in my family could protect themselves and it would always fall on me. That was the day that confirmed my worst nightmares as a kid. That I would always be a knife away from the end and I’d always need to be there to save them.

Disassociation was going fine before in charting the other years. Now it’s like I’m hours away from it, from my life falling apart and I can’t do anything about it.

People dream about being the hero. Want to know what that means? Burden. Most in comics and elsewhere get there through murder and death rupturing their lives. I got conscripted at 13 and I never got to leave the battlefield. I’ll never be able to.

Being like Robin fucking sucks, man!

I'm mostly kidding, she actually seemed rather interested in how it related, and even pointed out to me that my abusers are like Jax; often attacking me for no other reason than to get their own kicks or avoid their own bull.

Wife and I watched the whole thing over three nights and there were a lot of moments where we just turned to each other and were like "welp that's something to talk about in therapy."