Carissa Potter Carlson  

“They call it dissociation. I call it containers in which I horror-stored. Each of which have to be opened, reheated, rolled out like a lava carpet and crawled on.”

— The Nine | Tara Hardy

Do not talk about your abusive family on tiktok. Do not talk about your closeted identity on tiktok. Do not talk about your traumas and mental illnesses on tiktok. Do not talk about your plans to move out from your abusive household on tiktok. Do not talk about the ways you disagree with your bigoted family on tiktok.

Do not attach your face or voice to anything on tiktok that you do not want your family members, neighbors, coworkers, or classmates to see. Be smart and stay safe.

I really cannot emphasize enough the mental health benefits of abandoning the idea that you're special.

Jesus Christ this fucking disorder. I've had someone screaming and crying inside my fucking head all day and it's taking everything in me to not let them front and I just wanna lay down inside like ten blankets and not have to be real

I have therapy tomorrow, and my homework was to write, so... Hobey ho, let's go.

I'm fucking tired because my second father in law just died in a fucking stupid, traumatic, idiotic way. When my husband brought me into this family thirteen years ago, I gained three father figures. His dad, his stepdad, and one of his uncles. I was so lucky to have them in my life. But they're all fucking dead now. Cancer, cancer, and now an accident.

And I'm just. So fucking tired. My own father, after hearing about this, drunk dialed me three separate times while my father in law was on life support and sent me $500. Like, I appreciate the money. But could I have a hug? Could you tell me you love me when you're sober? Could you fucking try to fucking BE HERE? Could you try, at all. I want your attention. I want you to want me in your life. I want you to care about what's happening in mine. But you fucking don't and it's exhausting to keep wanting.

And then I have these three men that care and support me and protect me and every single one of them fucking dies within a few years of each other. And it's FUCKING STUPID. It's stupid they're dead. It's stupid I loved them so much. It's stupid that my mother is still alive when these good people are gone.

I'm fucking tired. I'm just so tired. I haven't been tired like this since I was in high school, living with my mother, being sex trafficked to pay the fucking mortgage.

I can't bring myself to feel anything beyond tired. I just want somebody to come take care of me, which is embarrassing, because I'm 31 fucking years old, but you know what? Nobody ever fucking took care of me. Nobody. And then when I was 19, I got a partner and his family and they loved me and taught me how to be loved and now they KEEP FUCKING DYING ON ME and I'm pissed. I'm pissed and tired and I want it to stop.

If you think having uncomfortable conversations is hard - wait until you see the result of not having them.