Abuse

Hi, my name is FTMKitty710. I'm here because I want to share my story without being the center of attention. I just need it out there to warn people of family abuse.

#MightyTogether #Anxiety #Depression #Migraine #Fibromyalgia #PTSD #ADHD #MultipleSclerosis #EatingDisorder #OCD #Grief #AutismSpectrumDisorder #Hyperparathyroidism

I'm in therapy with an amazing therapist and she recommended a book that I am actually terrified of, but that is only because every time I read a chapter, I remember something new. I am 47yo and finally remembering details to a 6month long ongoing SA that happened when I was 5. I hadn't even remembered it happened to me until I was 17, no facts. Just night terrors that tore my mattress off the bed and woke my house with my screaming. I'd wake up with no memory of what I dremt. 30 years later, I still have night terrors I don't remember, but memories do remember when I reading this book. It's called The Courage to Heal and it has a work book as well.

I heartily recommend it for anyone healing from any kind of childhood abuse. It will make you cry, the big ugly sobs, that from a distance people can't tell if you're laughing or crying from your shoulders (my daughter couldn't). But it helps.

I am healing, finally, #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder

As I'm recovering from my eating disorder (I'm in an ED program fights now) I'm coming to realize that so much of the disorder was propagated by the men who abused me. I've all forgiven them, of course, and I've safely left them. But I admit, sometimes their words hurt me still. For a long time, their words were part of the reason I was starving myself. It was like another brick in the wall stacked high by the harms of rampant diet culture, a society that hates and polices women's bodies, and abuse. As I'm recovering, I'm rediscovering a sense of empowerment. Each time I eat, it's a big middle finger to the abuse. It's a way of sauing, "You don't control me anymore." Because for so long, I starved myself in response to bullying and abuse. I'm beginning to be my advocate and realize what I will and will not tolerate anymore. I would never allow someone into my space who hurts me again.

#MentalHealth
#AnorexiaNervosa
#Anxiety
#BorderlinePersonalityDisorder
#Depression
#EatingDisorders
#Grief
#MajorDepressiveDisorder
#PTSD
#Selfharm
#Trauma
#MightyTogether
#CheckInWithMe @

Hi, my name is NoahFence. I'm here because on May 20, 2025. I underwent a Brain Scan. The diagnoses are dementia. Multiple sclerosis and strokes. The left-side of my brain had "gross amount" of white tissues and damaged tissues. I just turned 37 on October 2nd. These past few years of substance abuse and being a domestic abuse victim had truly taken a toll on my body and now my overall health.
#MightyTogether #MultipleSclerosis #Anxiety #Depression #PTSD #Grief #Dementia

I was in a 6-year on-and-off relationship with a narc man. I got hooked but he had a reckless lifestyle, heavy drinking, drugs, abusive/narc traits, never processed his dad’s suicide, and several failed relationships (incl. a court case with an ex gf). I knew something was off but I ignored it. I was loyal, never liked his behaviour, but kept compromising, hoping he’d change. But I never felt like he really loved me.

He was "nice" but he also lied, cheated, kicked me out several times, threatened, humiliated me, forced sex while intoxicated a few times, never appreciated me or my help. We'd always argue. I swept things under the rug until the night he strangled me. He was arrested. And I left him.

He smeared me, played the victim, afterwards. Typical. He's been hunting on SM for a few months, and now he’s on a swingers site chasing supplies. I was in a trauma bond, blind. Then I saw things clearly, but I still feel shaken sometimes. How do I finally detach emotionally from all this?

The Reality of Being Mentally Ill :

TW : Raw and harsh content, SH, violence, S attempts

“Time to finally live. It’s my one and only chance to finally escape this family,” I thought.

But I should’ve known. It was too easy. I’m stupid; it’s not how life works.

I was born prematurely—seven months—at home. I’m the second of six sisters. My whole life, I’ve looked up to my older sister. She’s always known what she wants, and she goes after it. She’s fearless, outspoken, and determined.

Isn’t that admirable?

I’m the opposite. I’m shy, introverted, and timid. I have severe anxiety, depression and eating disorders. Multiple professionals have told me I might be on the autism spectrum, and honestly, I probably am.

Why? Because I’ve never really fit in. I learned to mask from an early age—to change everything about myself just to be accepted. And now? I have no idea who I really am. I hate noise. I hate people. I get intensely obsessed with things (but it doesn’t last). I crave knowledge and details. I don’t understand emotions, including my own. I don’t know how to express how I feel, and I don’t know how to be myself.

Some days, I just... shut down. I can’t speak. They say it’s from the exhaustion of constantly pretending to be someone else just to survive. And I agree. I even had to do it in my own family.

I want to meet the real me, but I don’t know where to look.

I have younger sisters too—each one stronger, more expressive, louder, and more confident than me. I always felt like the odd one out. I was bullied growing up, and my older sister sometimes stepped in, but she never saw the full extent of it. I was always following her, always watching her, always wishing I could be like her.

One of my younger sisters was bullied too, and I did my best to protect her—to say things I wish someone had said to me. I saw myself in her... but she’s stronger than I ever was.

My father died years ago. It didn’t affect me.

Now, here’s the real story. Not the version I usually tell—the sugarcoated one with only the highlights.

Here’s the dark truth. The actual truth.

My father was violent—especially to my mother and me. He would hit me, tell me he hated me, punish me at random. My mother fought him when he went too far. He only acted like a father once—when a classmate was bullying me and he finally stood up for me. That’s the only "good" memory I have of him.

My family says I’m heartless for not mourning him, for not remembering his good sides. But when they started pretending I wasn’t the one who suffered most under him, I realized—no one had really been on my side.

My mother has always been harsh with me, more than anyone else. She says things like “I don’t want another one like you” or “Don’t act like her” to my sisters. She made me the example of what not to become.

My sisters lie about me, blame me, twist the story. They hate me. I don’t know why. I’ve done nothing wrong.

They say they wish I was dead. That I’d rot in hell.

And I’ve tried. Many times.

Unfortunately... I’m still here.

But don’t worry. I’m on stronger medication now. If I try again, it’ll work.

No one will find me. No one will care.

Even my mother knows about the scars, the attempts. She does nothing.

So, I gave up.

In early 2025, I made the difficult decision to seek help. I got a diagnosis. I started treatment. The medication didn’t work. We tried again—still nothing. Then I broke. Mentally, physically. I collapsed. I stopped trying.

Eventually, I needed medical attention. A doctor online told me to get hospital tests. I ended up in a psychiatric ward. It was hell. No privacy, no space, constant noise. I wasn’t in a room—just in a hallway.

I begged to leave, and the psychiatrist agreed. She referred me to her clinic. They called me the next day.

The truth is, mental illness isn’t just “feeling sad” or “tired.” It’s worse than that. Way worse.

We’re not just drained. We’re dying inside. Healing is terrifying. It means facing everything you buried.

It gets worse before it gets better. That’s the part no one talks about.

Here’s a glimpse of what life looks like in my head, every single day:

No energy. Even turning over in bed feels impossible. You don’t shower. You don’t eat. You don’t drink.

You sleep too much or not at all. You push people away. You self-harm.

If you eat, you purge. You weight yourself every minutes.

You are never satisfied.

You panic.

Obsessions about violently hurting yourself. Think violent thoughts. Think about suicide all day, every day. You planed everything.

You overthink. Your thoughts just go on and on.

You don’t trust yourself around pills or blades. You’re a danger to yourself.

Your body is sick from it all. You’re already dead inside.

But you have to pretend you’re fine. Even tho you wrote goodbye letters.

You lie. Smile. Joke. Keep it all hidden.

You don’t have hobbies. You don’t feel joy. You’re numb.

You’re falling apart. Alone.

And when you finally open up?

They leave.

They use you. They play with your vulnerability and weaknesses. They hurt you. Then vanish.

I’m struggling. Drowning. Suffocating.

I’m scared. I’m tired. I don’t want to be here.

I want to die.

I want to disappear.

I want to stop hurting.

I want to end it all.

I opened up to people—just once. Just to feel loved.

They abandoned me. No closure. Just silence.

I have attachment issues. They knew. They didn’t care.

I’m tired of swimming oceans for people who wouldn’t step over a puddle for me.

And this? This is just a tiny part of it.

That’s why mental illness should never be taken lightly.

All they want is to be loved. Just once. Just a little.

Not fixed. Not lectured.

Just held.

I moved away from my hometown to study, thinking I’d finally be free. That I’d be happy.

But you can’t escape trauma.

You can’t outrun abuse.

It follows you. And it whispers the same lie every day:

“You’re never going to make it.”

I told myself : “This is my chance to live.”

“Time to finally live. It’s my one and only chance to finally escape this family,” I thought.

But I should’ve known. It was too easy. I’m stupid; it’s not how life works.

#Depression #Anxiety #EatingDisorder #MentalHealth

Fellow Mighty member @mightyaut has expressed her fears regarding the state of care for disabled people in the United States. I am adding my voice to hers, as I believe it is important that we understand the threat that Donald Trump poses to the services that disabled folk rely on.

I had reservations about Mr. Trump from the beginning of his candidacy in 2015. His mockery of disabled Washington Post reporter Serge Kovaleski convinced me that Mr. Trump lacks compassion and was unfit to be President. Learning about Mr. Trump’s nephew Fred and Fred’s disabled son William only strengthened my conviction that Mr. Trump is unfit to lead a nation with a substantial disabled population. Fred visited his uncle to express his concerns about the increasing cost of William’s care, and Mr. Trump told his nephew that he should just let his son die. According to an article in The Guardian, Mr. Trump expressed the same sentiment to a group of physicians and disability advocates he met at the White House. In Mr. Trump’s eyes, the lives of disabled people have no value; they are a burden to be disposed of. Fred Trump said, understandably, that it hurt him to hear his uncle speak that way about his son. He added,“Acceptance and tolerance would only come with public education and awareness…Donald might never understand this.”

Mr. Trump is intent on destroying the Department of Education, which, among other duties, maintains the Office for Civil Rights. This office investigates when schools discriminate against or abuse disabled students. An article in USA Today says that shortly after taking office, Mr. Trump ordered that 243 staffers from that office be laid off, crippling its ability to look out for its young charges. Allowing discrimination and abuse to go unchecked normalizes seeing disabled people as “other.” This in turn makes it easier to paint disabled people as subhuman.

Disabled folk disgust Mr. Trump. He doesn’t see us as people, instead viewing us solely in terms of how expensive it is to keep us alive. His solution is slashing Medicaid, a move one disability advocate calls a “soft” version of Nazi Germany’s Aktion T4 euthanasia program. Between 1939 and 1945, pediatricians, psychiatrists and nurses working for the Third Reich murdered upwards of 300,000 mentally and physically disabled children and adults after the Reich disparaged them as “useless eaters’ and “burdensome lives.” The equivalent manifesting in 2025 America is more subtle: deny vulnerable Americans access to care while denigrating them as parasites and the reason that MAGA’s diehard supporters can’t have nice things. In the meantime, the money the country saves by killing its most vulnerable citizens will fund a tax cut for Elon Musk. If Mr. Musk spent an amount totaling my father’s mortgage every day of the year, it would take over ten thousand years to exhaust his net worth. I for one am glad that Mr. Musk will see his tax burden relieved. I don’t know how he summons the strength to go on, making do with so little.

The need for brevity has obliged me to simplify my arguments against President Trump. At this juncture, I recall helpful advice offered by fantasy author George R. R. Martin when the President was running against Hillary Clinton. Martin pointed out that Mrs. Clinton’s campaign ads were straightforward, unedited clips of Mr. Trump being himself, because the strongest argument against Mr. Trump becoming President has always been Mr. Trump himself. To paraphrase Mr. Martin, you don’t need to listen to Mrs. Clinton, George R.R. Martin, or me. Listen to Trump. Watch videos of his speeches. Read the transcript of his address at West Point over Memorial Day weekend. Look at his social media accounts. Then ask yourself, seriously, if this is a man who should be deciding whether you deserve to have health care or not.

Thank you, @mightyaut, for creating this group. I hope it will encourage others to speak out as well. Before I go, I recommend Sarah Kendzior’s Substack as a source of information on the danger that Mr. Trump poses to American democracy. As Ms. Kendzior puts it, the smoking gun pointing to Mr. Trump’s crimes against ordinary Americans is smoking because Mr. Trump is shooting this country to death, and that won’t change until enough of us stand up to a man who is little more than a glorified bully.

As we wake up this morning, most children and young adults celebrate by saying “Happy Fathers Day” to their Dads and celebrating the day with them. As I walk by the shelf with the picture of my Dad, All I can do is walk with the memories. Looking back, I was a hard kid and teenager to raise and he felt the frustration of dealing and trying to raise me. He did his best that he knew of but I didn’t. It wasn’t until I grew up and had kids that I finally realized. I understand some of you had severe traumatic abuse and can never forgive which is understandable. For me, looking back it was both of us. He didn’t understand my generation and I didn’t understand pretty much anything but surfing and partying. How I wish I had that chance again ! On March 10th 2018 while taking his 90 year old neighbor to the grocery store, He was hit head on by a young ex marine who was addicted to OxyContin driving a lifted GMC full sized 4 x4 at 90 mph and still accelerating in a school zone. My dad was driving a small Chevy SUV at 15 mph. My Dads injuries were to numerous and severe that he had no chance to survive. The kid that hit him ran and checked himself into a VA addiction hospital before the police could arrest him. ( He still had 1 other DUI case that hadn’t gone before the judge yet). He checked himself out a day early and went home and overdosed on OxyContin and died at 25 years old. Yes, we forgave him but will never forget him. I hope my Dad hears my words Dad, I love you and miss you and you were one hell of a great Dad! Guys and Gals, Don’t let yourself learn like I did , talking to a picture. Talk to your Dad and tell him what he means to you ! Dad, Happy Fathers Day !…….David