Like, the world clearly doesn’t want me to exist. Growing up a gender non conforming “weird” probably autistic kid, my mother is legitimately a monster along the lines of Gypsy Rose’s mother. I attempted multiple times as a teenager because I kept hoping someone would notice and take me away.
An abusive marriage, where near the end I was my husbands “slave” and had to sleep on the floor while he fucked teenagers. I did sex work to earn my bachelors degree in a career field with high need - but then they made it impossible to teach and be trans.
But if I say - I’d rather just be dead than try to hope the next thirty years won’t be more hell - the answer is to shove me in a cell (with literal shit on the floor and “I am a bad mother” scrawled on the walls in crayon from the previous inhabitant) and drug me unconscious.
The reason I’m not killing myself this week is that I’m waiting on a FOIA request so the fuckers that my mother got to drug me into shutting up about her benzos will face some sort of justice. A lot of it is just being able to call out evil - to keep screaming about the way people like me have been hurt and are being hurt. I’m just so fucking tired though.
fuck. i haven’t been not suicidal since… idk, since i figured out suicide is a thing that is possible?
Like, the world clearly doesn’t want me to exist. Growing up a gender non conforming “weird” probably autistic kid, my mother is legitimately a monster along the lines of Gypsy Rose’s mother. I attempted multiple times as a teenager because I kept hoping someone would notice and take me away.
An abusive marriage, where near the end I was my husbands “slave” and had to sleep on the floor while he fucked teenagers. I did sex work to earn my bachelors degree in a career field with high need - but then they made it impossible to teach and be trans.
But if I say - I’d rather just be dead than try to hope the next thirty years won’t be more hell - the answer is to shove me in a cell (with literal shit on the floor and “I am a bad mother” scrawled on the walls in crayon from the previous inhabitant) and drug me unconscious.
The reason I’m not killing myself this week is that I’m waiting on a FOIA request so the fuckers that my mother got to drug me into shutting up about her benzos will face some sort of justice. A lot of it is just being able to call out evil - to keep screaming about the way people like me have been hurt and are being hurt. I’m just so fucking tired though.