No catchy title

Thinking it through & figuring out the unspoken darkness.

Piecing together the narrative from context and the unspoken parts.

I truly don’t know how the fuck I survived long enough to fully escape.

But I did.

And now it’s about to get uncomfortable for those never held accountable.

Helpless

Feeling helpless and knowing no one will help even thought they know what’s happening is not a good feeling.

The feeling of not knowing what’s coming or when is the most terrifying feeling.

It’s ok. It’s more important to not tell anyone. Ever.

Because embarrassment is worse than reality.

Did I get that right?

Shoes dropping and Footsteps

Not fun is it.

Lots of other shoes dropping.

Not knowing when something fucking horrible will happen with NO ONE TO PROTECT OR HELP YOU.

Will there be a phone call?

A knock at the door?

Lots of people are nervous at the moment.

My voice is my own now.

Not knowing what’s coming is there absolute fucking worst.

I should know.

And I know you all know.

And now all those you hoped would never find out about the real (three of) you will know.

In time.

Welcome to the fucking hell you all let me live through.

Hope it was worth it.

Miss Betty’s Brother Art

I realized to the uninformed that my last post ends very harshly but for context, this person said he would punch me and didn’t care if he went to jail on more than one occasion for some perceived slight.

Hence, my commentary.

The more memories I am piecing together the more I can pinpoint specific reasons that support my hypothesis.

The version of events I was always told don’t hold water in the light of reality. The parts left out or fabricated events betray the lies because the unspoken parts can no longer hide.

Imagine making it so many years with no consequences or questions only for it to all fall apart.