Anonymous
6/15/2025, 3:50:07 PM No.33223022
Up until my early 20s I was routinely abused and trafficked among a network of those who were supposed to care for me, strangers I was told were my "parents", people from all different walks of life. I won't get too much into it. It started to subside once I attempted to loosen myself from the frey of the abuse and spoke to a teacher about it only to rescind it once my parents had consistently threatened suicide up until I made it known to authorities that I was exaggerating and that I had a skewed perception of our family dynamic (lead to hospitalisation -> drugging). For 20 odd years I genuflected to these animals for anyone's sake but my own. I had no identity, purpose, voice. It took one charter from God for me to take initiative and realise that I was going to die if I didn't, so I did.. In that I combated homelessness, my faith was tested, and my senses, processes, dignity crumbled, but I was out. By that point I was left reeling, even after I moved into my own place, even after I cycled my antipsychotics, even after I allowed myself to talk for the first time. My juvenile wish only served as clarity in how fundamentally broken and stunted I am. My brain was partitioned and molested so far from its original form that I can't begin to hope it'll take any shape at all. I'm confident in saying that this is (a form of) brain damage which I expect and have had people whittle it down to meandering self-deprecation but it is never that simple, as much as I wish it to be. I can't parse information like I used to, I can't speak with conviction, I can't even go outside. Art is my lifeline but I can't draw anymore. My cognitive standing as I know it has been irrevocably raped and I feel my IQ lowering bit by bit, my brain shredding and tearing, floating up and down my skull like scum. I'm retarded. Is there life after a failure to thrive? Is it worth living? I want to know if I can restore some semblance of normalcy even in the knowledge that my old self is long gone.
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