“But, to be clear, there are times my fantasies take me to dark places. Dark, deserved places.”Linda Kay Gifford
SELF TALK - dark deserved places
My biggest day to day, year after year, consistent stressor, is just the act of walking into a room. Any room. That may seem simple enough to most, but to a survivor of any kind of routine degradation, it can be the hardest part of any event, the provocateur of extreme anxiety and panic, and the reason we often back out of social events we agreed to attend.
That people can see there is something wrong with me is my constant fear; the sense that I broadcast fucked up karma like a neon sign; the feeling that there’s a noxious gas that surrounds my whole substantive being all the time, lighting up like a toxic warning beacon when forced to stand alone under scrutiny. "Get near this one and you'll likely be broken on the unseen, jagged rocks."
Abuse survivors seldom like to stand out in a crowd.
That I am inherently flawed now is ridiculous. I know it is. I can reason that it is. I can write papers citing experts and statistics and make reasoned arguments that I am, certainly, the “victim”.
But that bears me little to no comfort.
And for the record, I seriously hate that word. “Victim”.
“Survivor” sucks, too. I haven’t fully survived, yet. There isn’t a Survivor Graduation. I suppose dying a natural death outside of prison will be proof that I have finally survived.
I have survived if I don’t duck tape someone to a chair, cut off their dick, and put it in their mouth today.
Okay, that was Lagartha on “Vikings” who did that; and it was a rope and a tree, but you get the drift... I have enjoyed the fantasy ever since.
I suppose I have the common sense and self control to choose to not spend my life in prison.
But, to be clear, there are times my fantasies take me to dark places. Dark, deserved places.