PrincessSparkleFang

there’s something about becoming older where everything feels finite. summer isn’t endless, love isn’t eternal. you move homes, your favorite boots fall apart, your dog dies. everything feels consuming and beautiful when it is believed to be eternal. now it is all precious. everything. and there is a melancholy that comes with it.

the more i talk to extended family the more i learn that it was EXTREMELY obvious to all the adults around me as a child that something had gone horribly wrong and i needed professional help, but i guess there's some sort of prime directive thing where you can suggest to the kid's parents that the kid might need help but you can never ever ever let on to the kid that you can tell something is wrong. you just have to hold on to that until the kid becomes an adult who's able to say "so i think i experienced a lot of trauma when i was very little" and then you can say "yes, i know. i didn't know what happened but it was completely unmissable that something had." okay. thank you. that's very validating. but why did you leave me to suffer and keep feeling like there was no other explanation than that i was broken and going insane. would it really have been so bad to sit me down and go "i see you. i can't help much, but i can tell something happened and you're in a lot of pain. you deserve help and support. you're not going insane." or something. i don't know. my internal experience was mostly that i had suddenly become a bad child who couldn't seem to get anything right and was always being yelled at. maybe it would have helped if someone had said something.