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did you guys know that looking up the reviews for a psychiatric hospital you spent time in at seventeen to convince yourself that "it couldn't be that bad" will in fact just confirm exactly how bad it was and how little they care at all

there's blood stains on everything weve ever loved and owned and every part of us and weve been an addict longer than we were a child and we're the patron saint of lost causes and we hate ourselves more than anyone could ever love us and we love ourselves more than anyone could ever hate us and we shouldve died at seventeen and

what do we not remember? what is hidden from us? what really happened in that tabernacle? was it the chapel? was it the whole camp? we remember so much but i know we are missing so many pieces.

one hour before breakfast, one hour before lunch, one hour before dinner, god comes before sustenance. one hour before breakfast, one hour before lunch, one hour before dinner, god comes before sustenance. one hour before breakfast, one hour before lunch, one hour before dinner, god comes before sustenance. one hour before breakfast, one hour before lunch, one hour before dinner, god comes before sustenance. one hour before breakfast, one hour before lunch, one hour before dinner, god comes before sustenance.

not my brothers keeper, not kept by my brother. not my sisters keeper, not kept by my sisters. not my fathers keeper, not kept by my father. not my mother's keeper, not kept by my father.

why are there no pictures of the outside of The Building? Do you fuckers know you have something to hide? Do you remember everything that happened in those walls and youre hoping I'll forget if I cant see what it looked like? That building is burned into my memory down to the smallest details and I will never forget, no matter how hard you try to erase it.

our earliest memory is being three years old on a windy beach trying to catch up mother and our older sisters and feeling our lungs fill with air we couldn't get back out but im sure there's a totally reasonable reason it's not a better memory

there's probably something to be explored about the fact that despite hearing it from multiple people, licensed professionals included, that mother was in fact without a doubt abusive to us (and continues to be when it benefits her) our inner mind refuses to shake the feeling of her being our only safe place in moments of crisis, ESPECIALLY moments most influenced by bpd

if i had a nickel for every time we were sexually assaulted in a public bathroom in parks that we had chilhood memories in wed have like five nickels which is not a lot but it is uh. definitely too many.