Personal post: Read this only if you wish to shower me with love, or cry with me. This is not an easy post, but I wanted to offer a little more of where I am. Stick with my [poems] or my [Writer’s Stuff]
Trigger warning: all of them… kinda.
Please do not continue if triggers can catch you off guard. I didn’t create Tod Leben for funzies.
I had a major breakdown the end of last year. It’s been about a year since then… And I guess I should give some of the real reason behind it.
I mean there were a bunch of little things. Always is. But I could manage the little stuff. I probably would’ve added triggers to Cat Hartliebe at some point anyway. It’s not a big deal. Not really. Cat would just be less rose colored and more neutral or dark.
Why did Tod Leben get created to mark triggers?
I have a lot of trauma. My triggering content isn’t because I studied the world. I was forced to face most of it.
Last fall, I was re-triggered. In real life. By a friend. #MeToo is a group I belong to. And a friend who I trusted replaced me in that group.
Tod Leben means death, life. Hartliebe means tough love. 넷같지 means four equates to wisdom. Four in any language that uses Chinese characters references death. These are the names I picked for my author title. (Net Cat-Ji is close to Cat Gillette transliteration-wise , but the meaning behind the name made me pick it.)
Tod Leben was created because I was newly triggered. I was newly re-traumatized.
I’m living in a toxic environment. I can’t get out of it. I’ve written a bunch of poems about abuse. I’ve written a bunch of traumas within my stories. I have been hoping I could escape my abusive household – and take Cyro with me – by writing just a little bit more.
I’m failing in so many ways.
The friend who had been giving me a lot of support was the one who traumatized me.
I can’t escape. There is no escape.
Pretending GD could save me is a joke. He’s probably the same as the rest.
I’m so tired of trying. I’m tired of being traumatized. I’m tired to watching my back. I’m tired. So very, very tired.
And nothing is going to change any time soon.
Even if I became famous tomorrow, my life won’t change. I’ll still be stuck here.
If I don’t live in a fantasy world, I’d be facing the desire to climb the tallest tree.
Writing has always been my savior.
I need a real life savior. But they only exist in fantasy.
Why did I end up in this disaster of a life? Why did I never get the chance to live? Why is I’ve only been surviving?
What is wrong with this world that I’m not one of kind with this? That I’m one of many? One person suffering as I do is far too many.
I can’t save anyone. I can’t even save myself.
I’m really not looking for my Alex. Or for GD. Or for another person who wants to “save me”. I’m not a Cinderella. I don’t want to be. Give me a chance. I need a chance. One escape pod. One escape boat. Just one chance.
…. One probably won’t be enough. If I could get my work in front of my audience who needs it… I could survive without the help of those who traumatize me on a daily basis.
I don’t want to ask for help, because I know I’m not in the worse state. But I really need help.
I really, really need help.