Abuse

So, I am not diagnosed but I know that I have DID.

The thing with me is that my abusers knew that I had a dissociative disorder since I was in seventh grade and they used that knowledge to further exploit me. I believe that I had it since kindergarten. I remember dissociating at 5 years old and not remembering past the indication that there would be an assault.

They campaigned and solicited people to participate in 'brainwashing' me. So every single person that I've ever been friends with, dated, or worked with, was informed about my disorder and given advice on how to take advantage of me. Including doctors, dentists, administrators, employers and law enforcement.

I stopped working because my employers were intentionally triggering my trauma in an effort to get me to live with the main abusers and be financially dependent on them. But I ended up in a homeless shelter. My main abusers tried to make me live with them but my system completely shut down so that I couldn't be bossed around and they kicked me out. By shut down I mean that I was having catatonic episodes where I couldn't move or speak for 3-8 hours. I didn't know about my DID at that time and the doctors mocked me when I said that I was dissociating and that I needed help. Therapists weren't helpful either. No one explained that it was catatonia, they just stared at me when I described what was happening and sent me back to the shelter with no medication or anything.

I was being sex trafficked for three decades and my city has widespread knowledge about it. My friends and coworkers would tell my alters about the abuse. My abusers would tell my alters that I was fake or that I was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. My alters didn't believe them so people would describe the abusive situations to me but with names or locations changed. So many people knew about the trafficking but did nothing to stop it. Most people facilitated or supported the trafficking because they wanted to exert control over me. My alters that endured the abuse is still holding onto the most traumatic memories. I've been piecing things together for the past two years, isolating myself from all humans.

I feel like a monster that nobody would ever understand. I'm still in shock but I'm getting better. I'm having less catatonic episodes, since I've been isolating, but I want to know more about integration. I want to be normal however, I feel like I'll probably always be like this. Is this a lifelong disorder? Are there any people who successfully integrate?

My mom didn’t seem to care too much since she was reassured that I was in good hands. Every day after school, I would go straight to Nino's house and stay there. His parents usually arrived home from work around 8 PM, and they always seemed happy. I would see them talking about their day, sharing stories about work, and sometimes, they would even buy me small gifts—like toys, marbles, rubber bands, and collectible cards. They treated me like their own son.

I could see the joy on Nino's face whenever his parents showed me kindness. They seemed genuinely happy, and I have to admit, in those moments, I felt happy too.

After dinner, I would go home, sleep, wake up, go to school, and repeat the same routine every day. It all started to feel normal—like this was just how life was supposed to be.

I missed my friends. I missed playing video games. Back then, having a phone wasn’t common, so as a kid, I loved going out, walking around, and exploring places with my friends. Nino would sometimes go out with his own friends too, which gave me a chance to sneak away and be with mine on weekends.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to, that Nino had forbidden me from playing with them—but I just couldn’t help it. I wanted to be with my friends.

Until one day, Nino had to go home early. He was looking for me, and he knew exactly where to find me. I was in the middle of a game when he suddenly stormed in, furious.

"You son of a ****! I told you, didn't I? You're not allowed to play!" he shouted.

I felt my heart sink. I knew I was in trouble.

As I followed him back to his house, I could already feel the anger radiating from him. Then, out of nowhere, he pinched my ears—hard. It hurt so much that I ran and hid under their bed, hoping he would cool down.

But to my shock, he grabbed a belt. And then, he started hitting me.

After that happened, I stopped going out with my friends and only spent time with Nino. Every day, it became our routine—I would go to his house, and we would have fun "sex" in the way he wanted.

One day, I noticed something different. He was seeing a girl.

When he introduced me to her, he casually called me their "Ampon"—their adopted child. I just stared at him, confused but silent. I knew they have a relationship.

I saw them kissing, but strangely, I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t care. I really didn’t care.

But despite having a girlfriend, his treatment toward me never changed. Nothing changed.

The abuse continued.

I started my first year of high school, Nino was more involved in my life than ever. He was incredibly supportive—at least, that’s how it looked on the surface. He even gave me a phone.

It was 2011 or 2012, and having a colored phone at my age was rare. The brand was Byrd, or maybe Bird—I don’t remember exactly. My teachers were surprised, and my classmates thought it was cool. I should have felt cool too, but I didn’t.

Instead, I felt alone.

I avoided interacting with anyone. I spent my lunch breaks by myself. I developed a strange habit—I loved digging in the dirt, creating holes over and over again. I didn’t know why, but something about it felt right. It became my daily routine at school: I’d find a quiet spot, sit by myself, and just dig.

One day, Nino visited my school and caught me in the act. He saw my phone lying in the dirt because I had kept it in my pocket while digging, and it must have fallen out. He was furious. He stormed over to me, yelling, demanding that I stop.

But I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen.

Then, one day, I lost the phone completely.

When Nino found out, he was seriously. He took his belt and beat me again.

But that day, I didn’t care.

It wasn’t my phone anyway.

The only thing I felt was fear—fear of his anger.

Wait for part 4

Sat 8th at 10 pm February 2025, and wrote a post about Suicidal Ideation and abuse please return my post

CAN YOU STILL LOVE

WHEN ASSAULTED

CAN YOU FORGIVE YOURSELF

FOR ABUSE FROM OTHERS TO YOUR MOTHER

CAN YOU DREAM OF DEATH

TOO BROKEN N BROKE TO ACCEPT MUCH ELSE

CAN YOU HAVE MOMENTS OF HAPPINESS THEY CALL BIPOLAR

THEY'RE NOT ALLOWED

YOU FALL BETWEEN THE RED TAPE

BEHIND THE YELLOW TAPE

LIFE CUT SHORT

LIFE LIVED CONTAINED MAINLY IN YOUR HOME REALM

NURTURING A KID WHO'S NOT LIKE YOU

IN MY OPINION THE ONE WHO LOSES IS ONE WHO BULLIES SOMEONE TO SUICIDE

THE SUICIDER HAS SOLACE IN THE BLACK

RECOVERING FROM ABUSE Sat night a week and a half ago

Keep on, cooking, cleaning, praying, even enjoying

But watch videos of others in the same boat

Women who've gone to shelters

People in Mental Health Wards

PEOPLE WHO LOST LOVES NOT CAUSE OF SOMETHING THEY DID

A FORCED LINLINESS PANDEMIC THAT TOOK THE LIVES OF THE LONELY

JUST CAUSE SOMETIMES WE'RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE FRAT THAT WAS OUR FAMILY

OUT OF BREATH ON THE STAIRS MAKING BEDS ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH

A LIFETIME OF GIVING LOVE ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH

STUFF US BEHIND WALLS UNABLE TO BREAK FREE

SOME OF US IN NURSING HOMES N HOSPITALS N JAILS

GIVE OF YOURSELF TIL YOU'RE GONE

YEAH COLOUR, READ A VAMPIRE BOOK, FREEZE FOR 10 MINUTES OF FREEDOM

GO FOR FAMILY DINNERS THAT END WITH A FUCK YOU ON A HOLY DAY

GET HURT LOVE'S WORTH IT

ITS BETTER TO HAVE LOVED N LOST YOUR LIFE THAN NEVER TO HAVE LOVED AT ALL

PLEASE STOP

NURTURE

GIVE LIFE DON'T TAKE IT

TAKE MINE NOT YOURS

TAKE MINE NOT HERS

PLEASE STOP

BENEATH THE CROSSES THE LARK IS SILENT

IN THE BLACK

ITS MY ANNIVERSARY OF WEDDING IN 6 DAYS

SOMETIMES HIS BUSY NESS IS ALL THE CURSE YOU NEED

Hi, my name is FunkyCorgi80810. I'm here because
Curious about childhood abuse and discoving it as a adult. I think it effects my relationship with others. #MightyTogether

Hi, my name is EngagingPigeon548. You can call me Epi. I'm here because I'm a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I'm looking for resources to help me with continued healing, particularly in the area of intimacy with a partner, how to overcome triggers, how to be fully present. I've come a long way with my own mental health, but seem to be stuck when it comes to this.

#MightyTogether #PTSD #Migraine

Hi.

I am coping with depression it seems daily. I’ve been on meds for a long time but need to face the fact that meds help me function but don’t cure me. My doctor wants to adjust them but it isn’t going well. I’ve done a lot of therapy to get my head in a good space - no more self-hate, or blame or feeling sorry for myself. I still feel empty, unmotivated, like I’m just walking through life with no feelings.

My sister has recently been sharing her problems with me. She’s described our mother like this:
“Mom abused us.  She humiliates, shames, blames, bullies, screams, yells, cusses to coerce us into what she wants”

I don’t remember that. I remember being unhappy, scared, and hating myself and blaming myself but I’ve never remembered why. I guess I curled up into myself so I could ignore it. I don’t think she physically abused me, I was her golden child, maybe because I always tried to do what she wants. I clearly had a bad childhood.

My sister says she has “PTSD, flashbacks, dissociation, hypervigilance, nightmares and more because of the abuse.”
I have and still do experience all of these. But now I know why.

So my new path is to explore my feelings with the knowledge that I experienced chronic abuse as a child. I’m already learning things from this group but I don’t know what to expect. How much of my childhood do I have to remember to heal from it? I really don’t remember what went on around me, I just remember the messed up feelings I had.

Thanks.

#PTSD #BipolarDepression #Depression

Nicked myself to deal with the greif, like I'm 15, haven't done that since daughter's abuse at my Birthday at least 4 years ago, look Suicidal Ideation seems like a joke but its real, its a figment of abuse and too much pressure n low finances, worst f ing nite of my life in a long time since arrests restraints n cuffs, but you give vows!!!!