#triggering tw

Whumpee and Caretaker get into a fight with each other, going back and forth in an increasingly heated argument. It’s so intense that Caretaker doesn’t notice when they say something that accidentally triggers Whumpee. They freeze and go silent, trying to fight the instinct to cower as Caretaker keeps arguing.

[ooooooohhh anon, this is terrible and I love it. Under the cut because CW; purposeful triggering, panic attack, flashback.

Comment expliquer à un humain que son comportement est dérangeant sans le.la blessé.e dans son estime et son intégrité.e? Comment faire valoir ce que l’on ressent sans empiéter sur les limitations des autres? Les émotions nous empêchent d’être vrai.e., honnête, transparents.

Je crois que nous nous limitons dans nos paroles et nos gestes par peur décevoir, certes, mais aussi pour ne pas se sentir coupables par la suite. Égoïstement, nous nous dédouanons d’apprendre des choses aux autres par peur de ce que l’on va ressentir à l’intérieur. Parce que nous sommes responsables de ce que l’on dit et nous croyons à tort que nous sommes aussi responsable de la perception et de la réaction des autres. À quel point nous sommes démunis quand vient le temps d’être transparents me dépasse.

:readmore:

I hate the way I feel like dying every time you touch, look or talk to/about me. the way you scold or grab me when I lean away from your touch. the way I willingly took showers with you as a kid. the fact that you and mum don’t know boundaries as we’ve never locked the bathroom door, but when I lock the door now, I feel like I’m doing something illegal. I’ve seen everything, you two have seen everything and it makes me sick to my stomach. the way I freeze and disassociate when I hear your belt and the sound of you taking of your clothes off when you get ready for bed, walking around the house naked, or when you burst into the bathroom in the morning naked.

the way you talk about my generation, all we do is kiss, drink, do drugs and have sex. you call me lazy and yell at me when I raise my voice slightly or sigh.

I feel dirty, unclean. you’ve never done anything, but you don’t actually have to do anything for this to be my reality.

I hope I can let you go, I hope I’ll get out of here soon, see you or not see you on my terms. I’ll never tell you about me, and I won’t try to explain if you find out because you won’t understand. I’ll never forgive you or mum. you might think that you are good parents, but you’re not.