Crimson

We should probably introduce ourselves, you may call us Crimson. We are a system, and RAMCOA survivor, in our 30s and use any pronouns unless speficied.

Happily taken, and Polyamorous.

We will talk about heavy stuff here, be it about our experiences as a system or our writings about trauma stuff.

Feel free to ask questions, if they aren't too personal we will answer them.

Generally you won't see us using "we/us" but for this introduction post we will.

You might get a name of one of our Parts (we refuse to use Alters) or you might not, respect that.

A confession that will never be sent, it would ruin everything.

I hope, and it is okay to hope, but I hope I hope I hope. That is dangerous you know? Dangerous in the words of hope, dangerous in letting yourself get to close and oh god not again.

Why?

Why did I let myself get so close to someone again? Why this time? It should be different, it should be different and special and all it is is confusing.

I told myself, not again, not this time. And yet?

And yet

And yet.

I still love you, it still is you, I wish all for the best. I hope everything is and will be, better now.

The answer will always be no, and I know that. I know it deep down in my very soul, I know deep down that I can never ask. I can never..

I can not ask

Would you be mine?

The answer would be no, every time. From lips of someone I cherish so much. From boundaries I dare not touch.

Content with just looking from afar, from simply existing near you, that feels enough. It is enough, it has to be enough.

But fuck it, here's my confession

I'm kinda hooked on you

And in the mood for an obsession, yeah

You might be someone I could love.

--------------------------------

Foolish thoughts, foolish actions, foolish life, foolish wants.

Foolish hopes, foolish wishes. Foolish, foolish, foolish.

But I suppose it's better to be foolish then to be ridiculous, then to be perfect.

I'd rather be foolish then be perfect.

CW: general triggers i suppose.

Anger is an emotion I am familiar with, it courses through my veins like the blood pooling through my cold heart.

Anger, keeps me alive, it makes me whole, it feeds me when I feel nothing at all.

It gets messy when I feel things that are not anger, for I do not tend to understand what I feel. Is it love? Is it obsession? Is it just familiarity? It gets so messy and confusing, and I do not really like messy and confusing. I like anger, it feels safe. Safer then the hands of abusers, ghost memories and thoughts of the past.

Anger is safe, it hugs me close like a friend, it protects me when nothing else ever did. Anger is a friend, and I welcome the emotion with everything I am. Anger never hurt me, anger never lied. Anger has kept me safe, time and time again.

CW? MEMORIES, lies, mentions of abuse, hurt and pain. Ect.

There once was a man, one who had a bright smile and would do anything to hear me laugh, if you ever asked him he would just say "oh it's nothing, that isn't the point." But he was hurting inside, and I had no way to help.

One day, it felt like a hot iron against my skin, burning to warm and hurting to much.

He left, i was broken and shattered and quite honestly a mess. His leaving, helped. It helped in ways I didn't know at the time, it helped me realize I was okay. That I did not need to be perfect, that I was hardly perfect at all.

But in the absence of being left, filled the void of the memories he took with him.

The yelling, the fights. The hands against skin, and burning pain. He was not good for me, yet I craved what he brought in a way of comfort.

Then there came someone new, someone with a bright smile and determination, one who would show and prove that he would never hurt me. Not like that, and he didn't.

He never hurt me, not once. Maybe I am getting to comfortable, or maybe there's something sweet and kind in knowing there's someone there for you, maybe it's okay to not be okay.

In this short amount of time, of finding myself, I have learned that it's okay to be imperfect, that it's okay to not be okay. That nothing else matters, as long as you are having fun.

Because of a boy, and his silly smile and his goofy words and his heart felt conversations. Maybe, just maybe, I'll be okay.

And even if I'm not, no matter what happens, I know i can be myself and not be something perfect.

Hi hello! I wanted to give a little Intro into who I am. (The second picture was made for me by a dear friend)

This is my Intro

I am also chaos, and will give the same energy you give me!

❝ Xiao Yueqing ❞

　__Moon__/Xiao .⛧. ~~21+~~ .

　𝘪. She/They ❀ *Femme Neutral*

　𝘪𝘪. Femme . *Demiromantic* . poly?

　*single?*・❥・~~Na~~

　**memories** . *mood booster* ♕

　⋆ *yes* ﹕ Conversation, friendship!

　⋆ *no* ﹕ touch without asking

　⋆ *ask* ﹕ Nicknames, friend requests, Dms

　**Queer**　⚰︎　~~A little obessed~~ .

Written by me 5/14/2024

I was a child.

I was a child when I felt hands against my skin that shouldn't have been there.

I was a child.

When I learned about things I never should have learned at that age.

I was a child.

When I was first told to comply

Or else.

I wad a child.

When I was threatened and hurt.

I was a child when I learned no part of me was my own, and only for them.

I was a child

With no voice

With no one to belive me

Because I couldn't say anything

Without my throat closing up

Without being unable to breathe

Without shaking at the thought of punishment

I was a child.

I was 6 the first time I was prepared to die

They beat me

They offered me for sacrifice

They took away my power

And I was prepared to die.

Not at my own hands

But as those who hurt me

I was 10 the second time I was prepared to die

Offered like a lamb for slaughter

I had no choice

I couldn't say no

They wouldn't have liked it if I said no

I somehow survived.

I was 11 when I was prepared to die

I was 12

I was 13

I was 14

I was 15 when I was prepared to die, this time at my own hands.

No one believed me, no matter how hard I screamed

No one believed me when I said who hurt me

No one wanted to believe someone was capable of these things.

I don't remember now, but at 15 I was prepared to die.

I was 16

I was 17

I was 18 and prepared to die.

I was prepared to die because I was told I would never live to see 19

I made it to 19 and was still prepared to die

Waiting for them to find me

Waiting for them to kill me

Waiting for them to make it look like I had ended myself.

I was 20 and 21 and 22

Every year since I was 11 years old.

And every other year since I was younger then 6

I was prepared to die.

I made it somehow.

Every now and again, i am still prepared to die