Toxic Parents - Blog Posts

I cry for the butcher

Gold silver and copper

cake my tongue

No harm can ever come from

my mother's praying hands

My filthy mouth -

I harmed myself

Orange wedge lip

Clenched ivory threat

Pulled the trigger with my tongue

Blood orange

Her saintly hands

I’m sorry - a million times over

I say to her

And when i finally cry

It is not for the lamb.

Excerpt from a text convo between two Friends who both have BPD:

*edited for typos and clarity*

[...] I will do what Is in my nature to do.

I will beg the frog to take me to the other side of the river.

The frog will say no because it knows it cannot trust me.

And I will say: "you can trust me because if I sting you I too will drown".

And with its last ghasping drowning breath the frog will ask me: "why?" and I will say:

"Because it's in my nature".

As a person with BPD, I deeply identify with the scorpion in that story. I don't start out wanting to hurt the people that are helping me. I don't start out thinking about how much pain I can cause.

I ask for help from people who should know better than to trust me and I make it very difficult for them to do what I asked.

"Let yourself be loved", said my mother as she squeezed and pinched and bruied us with her hugs and kisses.

Don't be a "Limosnero con garrote" (begger with a club), my parents would tell us. They often found it difficult to meet our needs. And somehow, that was our fault.

Can a scorpion live without its stinger? Can a beggar carry a club? Can I stop hurting?

Um so...

I tried avoiding conflict with my mom... but that turned into avoiding my mom...

On tuesday after a very intense phone call with her and an equally intense therapy session, I decided to go no contact.

I then hung out with friends, got embarrassingly drunk, woke up with a hangover that was less debilitating than I had hoped and blocked her on all my socials.

I didn't think ti was going to hurt *me* this much. I should be happy. But I feel guilty. I feel like I gave up too soon, like if I had hung on a little longer, then everything would have been ok.

But I know that's not true. I know that she uses the fact that I still have hope to rope me back in every time. And every time I fall for it.

I know I don't miss her. I know I miss the "in between" times. I miss the way she would behave when she was making up for having hurt me; when she was trying to "earn" the forgiveness I gave her for free. I miss how she would make me feel so safe and so loved, like I was the only one with who she could really be herself, like there was no one in the world who saw me like she did.

I know that all those wo derfull feelings come at the cost of hollowing out everything that makes me "me" to make room for what she wants me to be.

I know all that.

And It still feels like I fucked up. Like I should apologize and beg for her forgiveness and pray to a god I no longer believe in that she will welcome me back into a "home" that has only ever felt as calm and as safe as the eye of a hurricane.

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Chapter 3 - Fake It Till You Make It

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

an: JEEZ LOUISEEEE! SMOOCHEEEES 💋💋💋

{chapter 2} ; {next}

taglist: @hanakotateyama @sleepykittyenergy @inthedarkshadows000 @codeseven @byakuya61085 @minzxec @ivydoesit23

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

You already knew today was going to be bad, but you hadn’t expected it to be this bad.

It started when you woke up late. Your phone was dead—your stepsister had “accidentally” unplugged your charger overnight, and your alarm never went off. You had exactly ten minutes to get ready, which meant skipping breakfast and throwing on whatever clothes you could grab. In your rush, you stubbed your toe against the corner of your desk so hard that you nearly collapsed.

You tried to shake it off, but things only got worse from there.

By the time you got to campus, the café was out of everything except black coffee, which tasted like burnt disappointment. You tried to force it down anyway, only to spill half of it on your sweater before your first lecture.

Then, your professor—who never acknowledged your existence before—suddenly decided today was the perfect day to call on you. It had to be on the one topic you hadn’t reviewed properly, and when you failed to answer, he sighed and moved on. That one sigh was enough to make the students around you turn and look, some of them exchanging glances, some holding back laughter.

You spent the rest of the class staring at your notebook, trying to disappear.

By the time you reached the library, you were exhausted, but just as you sat down and opened your book, a chair scraped loudly across from you.

Before you even looked up, you already knew who it was.

“Why do you look like someone just ran over your dog?”

Satoru Gojo.

You sighed. “Go away, Satoru.”

“No can do,” he said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. “Saw you sitting here all alone and thought, ‘Wow, that’s kind of depressing.’ So, here I am. Your knight in shining armor.”

You shot him a flat look. “More like my court jester.”

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “Ouch. Right in my fragile heart.”

Ignoring him, you turned back to your book.

He didn’t do silence.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table in an annoying rhythm.

“What question?” you muttered, already regretting engaging.

“Why you look like someone just ran over your dog.”

You debated whether answering would make him leave faster. “…Because I had a long day.”

Satoru hummed, tilting his head. “Long day or bad day?”

“Both.”

To your surprise, he didn’t joke. He just nodded, like he actually understood.

For a second, you almost thought you’d get some peace. But then, his smirk returned.

“And here I was thinking you were deep in thought about me.”

Your face deadpanned. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “But you still haven’t denied it.”

You shut your book. “Gojo.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I will kill you.”

His grin widened. “That would require effort. And let’s be honest, you don’t strike me as the type.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

Gojo sat there for another ten minutes, occasionally tapping his fingers on the table just to annoy you, before finally stretching and standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your brooding,” he said, adjusting his sunglasses. “But don’t miss me too much.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response.

A Lie That Shouldn’t Have Happened

When you finally got home, all you wanted was a shower and sleep.

But the second you stepped inside, your mother’s voice cut through the air.

“Come to the living room.”

Your stomach sank.

Your stepsister was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, a smug, knowing smile on her lips. Your stepfather sat beside her, looking like he’d just won the lottery.

“We have something to celebrate,” he announced.

You didn’t react.

Your stepsister, on the other hand, was practically glowing. “I got invited to the National Collegiate Tennis Championship,” she said, tilting her head like she wanted to see your reaction.

Your mother sighed, so proud. “She’s worked so hard. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

You forced yourself to nod. You weren’t bitter about your stepsister’s success. It wasn’t her fault she was their favorite. But the way your parents used her as a golden standard—while treating you like you weren’t even worth noticing—never failed to sting.

Your stepfather leaned back in his chair, his expression turning more mocking. “And you,” he said, looking at you expectantly, “what exactly have you been doing?”

“College,” you said, keeping your voice neutral. “Like everyone else.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “But you don’t do anything else, do you? No sports, no clubs. You don’t go out, you don’t socialize.” He smirked. “Do you even have a boyfriend, or are you just wasting your time being forgettable?”

Your stepsister covered her mouth, laughing under her breath. “Dad, that’s mean,” she said sweetly. “She’s just… not really the type to have a boyfriend.”

Your mother sighed like this was the greatest disappointment of all. “She’s always been a bit… invisible.”

That was it. That was the moment.

The exhaustion, the stress, the endless belittling—it all crashed over you at once. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “I do have a boyfriend, actually.”

The room went silent.

Then, they laughed.

Not a chuckle. Not a scoff. A full-blown, gut-wrenching laugh.

“You?” Your stepfather shook his head, smiling. “Oh, that’s rich.”

Your stepsister raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you’re serious?” Her smile widened. “Who is he?”

Your brain short-circuited.

Shit.

“Someone from school,” you muttered.

“Well, obviously,” she said, laughing. “But what’s his name?”

Your heart pounded. “You don’t know him.”

Your stepfather shook his head, amused. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

Your mother didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you said it all—like she didn’t believe you for a second.

Your face burned.

Before they could ask anything else, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs.

By the time you slammed your bedroom door, reality had settled in.

You had lied.

You had actually lied.

And worse? You had no way of getting out of it without making yourself look even more pathetic.

For the next week, you racked your brain for solutions. You considered telling them you broke up with this mystery boyfriend before they could meet him, but you knew that’d just open the door for more insults, more mockery. You thought about faking a long-distance relationship, but that seemed way too complicated.

Meanwhile, Satoru Gojo was everywhere.

You didn’t know why you kept seeing him—maybe the universe was punishing you—but he popped up in the library, at the campus café, even outside one of your lectures. And every single time, he made sure to annoy you.

“You always look so serious,” he teased one day, leaning against the table you were studying at. “Are you plotting world domination or just thinking about me?”

“Neither,” you muttered, turning the page in your book.

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

He was relentless.

And today, after another long, exhausting day, you just wanted to be alone.

Your safe place was a hidden bench near the lake, tucked away behind the trees where no one ever bothered you. It was quiet, peaceful—exactly what you needed.

But as you sat there, staring at the water, a loud rustling noise came from the bushes.

You tensed.

Then, Satoru Gojo stumbled out.

“Are you serious?” you groaned.

“Oh, hey,” he grinned, “didn’t know you’d be here.”

“This is my spot.”

“I don’t see your name on it.”

You shot him a glare. He sat down anyway.

You considered getting up and leaving, but you were too tired to fight.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustling leaves and the soft ripples of the lake.

Then, Gojo broke the silence.

“Alright, spill. What’s wrong?”

You scoffed. “None of your business.”

“Oh, so it’s extra bad.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “C’mon, you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

You tried to ignore him. But he kept poking, prodding, teasing until finally, you snapped, “Fine! I lied to my family about having a boyfriend, okay?”

He blinked. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.

“Oh, this is fantastic.”

“What?”

“I’ll be your boyfriend.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you insane?”

“Probably,” he admitted cheerfully. “But listen—this works out perfectly. You need a fake boyfriend, and I need a serious girlfriend for my family thing. Boom. Problem solved.”

You gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, grinning like a lunatic.

Your brain struggled to keep up. Gojo? Pretending to be your boyfriend? This had to be a joke.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Ridiculously genius,” he corrected.

He must have seen the doubt on your face because his expression softened slightly. “Hey. It’s just a deal. No strings attached, no weird expectations. Just two people faking a relationship to make their lives easier.”

You hesitated.

You wanted to say no. But… he wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if you make this weird, I swear—”

“No promises,” he sang.

With an annoyed sigh, you pulled out your phone. “We need proof.”

The first selfie was awkward. You sat stiffly on the bench, trying to keep as much space between you and Satoru as possible. He, of course, leaned in way too close, grinning like an idiot as he snapped the first photo.

Click.

You glanced at it. It was bad. You looked uncomfortable, your lips pressed into a tight line, while Satoru, on the other hand, looked effortlessly photogenic—like he wasn’t taking a fake couple’s picture but rather doing a promotional shoot for some high-end brand.

“This is terrible,” you muttered.

Satoru let out a dramatic sigh. “That’s because you look like I’m holding you hostage.”

“You are holding me hostage.”

“Emotionally,” he agreed, scrolling through the photos. “Alright, let’s try again. This time, look at me like you actually like me. Pretend I just said something funny.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Blatant lies.” He placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “I’m hilarious. Try to keep up.”

Click.

The second was worse. You tried forcing a small smile, but it came out looking like you were in pain.

Satoru examined it and snorted. “You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”

“I hate this.”

“No, you just suck at it,” he corrected. “Here, let’s make it natural.”

Before you could react, he suddenly threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in.

“Hey—!”

Click.

“Much better,” he said, showing you the photo.

It was… convincing. His arm around you, the effortless smirk, the way your faces were close enough to suggest something more. You still looked hesitant, but at least you weren’t grimacing anymore.

“This could work,” he said, sounding pleased.

You shifted uncomfortably. “You’re way too comfortable with this.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Natural talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. We got the pictures. We’re done here.”

“Not quite,” he corrected. “We need a convincing story. How long have we been dating? How did we meet? What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Nothing,” you deadpanned.

“Ouch. Okay, my favorite thing about you is—” he tapped his chin thoughtfully before grinning— “how easy you are to mess with.”

You groaned. “This was a mistake.”

“Too late now, babe,” he teased, stretching out the last word obnoxiously. “We’re in this together.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Fine. How did we meet?”

“Obviously, you fell madly in love with me the first time you saw me.”

“Try again.”

“We met in class,” he said, thinking. “I was struggling with my engineering assignments, and you offered to help. We bonded over late-night study sessions, and boom, love blossomed.”

You squinted. “You don’t struggle with engineering.”

“They don’t know that,” he pointed out. “Besides, it makes me sound relatable.”

You sighed. “Whatever. And how long have we been together?”

He grinned. “Long enough to make it believable, short enough that you don’t have to explain why I wasn’t around before. Let’s say… a month?”

You shrugged. “Fine.”

“And my favorite thing about you?” he pressed.

“That you shut up when I tell you to.”

He laughed. “We both know that’s not true.”

You shook your head, stuffing your phone into your pocket. “I’m leaving.”

“Not before you post those pictures,” he reminded you.

You hesitated.

Posting them meant committing to this ridiculous lie. It meant opening yourself up to questions, speculation, and attention—all things you had avoided for so long.

Satoru watched you, head tilted. “Cold feet?”

You exhaled slowly. “No.”

With one last look at the photos, you posted them to your Instagram. Satoru did the same, tagging you with a caption that read:

“Finally got her to admit she’s obsessed with me. Took long enough. ❤️”

Your phone immediately started vibrating.

By the time you got home, the notifications were nonstop.

Messages. Comments. Likes.

And by morning, one thing was clear:

You and Satoru Gojo were now the hottest gossip on campus.

This is to all the parents out there:

1.Just because you are older than us does not mean you can never be wrong, don’t justify your mistakes by saying that you are older than us and therefore deserve the respect.

2.Don’t take out your work stress on your kids. Don’t tell them that they are a burden and don’t make them lose their confidence because they can’t meet up with your expectations

3.Let them be who they really are. If they want to dance in public let them, let them love whoever they want. Support them and be there for them even when the world thinks they are going bonkers. Help them be who they truly are.

4.When a kid says they are depressed or down don’t say “all the kids are depressed” listen to them, help them become better. They are your kids, your responsibility don’t make them feel even worse because of your lack of mental health awareness

5.Don’t ask your kids to be grateful to them. You brought them in this world, it is your duty to provide for them, make them respect you instead of forcing them to be grateful to you.

Abusive Parents

I know it gets really hard living with someone who treats you as if you are the most useless person they ever know. They make you feel like a burden, they make you feel like you should just die instead of bothering other people with your mere existence. It’s sad, it really is. I wish I could help you with this. 

But all i can ask you is to be strong. Most of you probably have it worse than me. 

But i just don’t get it, why do they act as if they care in front of others and behind closed doors they are literally satan. It hurts so bad being called useless, being called stupid multiple times, being beaten and being compared. 

I mean I am sorry if I was not the daughter you wanted me to be, but i am trying to be the best you know?

I wish people knew how my parents were behind the scenes

shoutout to all the kids with good people as bad parents. the parents who were sympathetic, honest and kind to everyone until you were the next in line. the parents who loved the entire family except you. the parents who preached about acceptance, warmth and kindness, but never offered it to you. the parents who were understanding to friends, cousins or siblings, but not to their own children. the cognitive dissonance is surreal, but i promise it is not a reflection of your own worth. you deserve more.

My therapist says I don’t really have the right to be angry at my parents because they accept that I’m trans when it’s not generally accepted.

I’ve grown up in fear of them because of how bad the verbal and physical abuse was/is (mostly while I was younger).

I just can’t agree. I know how lucky I am. I’m on T as a minor. I’m literally blessed. I also know how I felt as a five year old, running from my dad, multiple times a week, as he chased after me, screaming how he’s going to kill me, and trying to often.

It’s a weird combination. One saved my life, the other ruined it. I’m so grateful, but I also will forever hate them (my mom for defending my dad no matter what, and hiding his actions from others like police and DYFS).

I feel like no one can really relate to this but I feel guilt for my anger/hatred/not forgiving them because of how accepting they are. It’s so weird.

In every kind man I see what would’ve been.

When abusive parents hurt you, they're not 'doing it for your own good' or 'disciplining you', they're singling you out and making you a target. Because they're not doing it to all other kids, they're not doing it to their guests, friends, coworkers, bosses, neighbours, it doesn't even count if all of those people make one of the same mistakes you do. It's allowed for them. It's okay if anyone else does it. It's okay if other people break things, or refuse to be controlled, or speak up, or demand something, or act selfish, or act childish, or don't cater endlessly, or don't guess their moods, or don't act submissive, it's okay for everyone else! Just not for you!

What exactly is that teaching you?

That you're different. That the brutal and torturous rules exist only for you. That you are the only one who deserves no allowances, no forgiveness, no gentleness, no tolerance, no nuance, no love. And you are the only one! Everyone else can get those things and do what they want, but you will get tortured for it, you'll get tortured even for things you didn't do, because these two people have singled you out and deserved that you're so rotten you deserve worse treatment than any other person alive. And those people are your parents, they made you.

It teaches you injustice, it teaches you to put yourself in a different category than anyone else in the world and to assume you must be so intrinsically different that you won't ever find community, you won't ever find somebody to be on your side or similar to you, because you are the only one who could ever deserve this kind of hatred. It separates you from humanity and makes you feel like you don't belong, like you don't have a home here, it makes you abandoned by everyone because nobody is stating anything different about you. With their silence, dismissal and neglect, everyone is passively agreeing that this is what you deserve. That it doesn't matter to them if you live in pain and despair because you're too different, too otherworldly for them to care about.

No child has deserved to feel like that. Nobody is supposed to be pushed into that pit of despair, injustice and pain, alone, with no visible way out. With nothing they can do to redeem themselves, to find a way to see themselves as human after all that's been done to them. This is not a pit that somebody can easily crawl out of, this is something that can follow you all your life.

All children deserve better than this. Never defend abusive parents when they do this to a child. If you don't want a child to believe themselves to be a monster, don't ignore when this is happening and don't act like it's none of anybody's business. It's all of our business to make sure no kid thinks this lowly of themselves, not even if their parents decide they should. Parents who do this to children should be charged with torture, isolation and psychological devastation of a human being. All children are human. And no child deserves that.

abusive parents will act like the world is insanely dangerous place where you get shot on sight as soon as you make a slightest mistake or displease anyone, when in reality the only place where this happens is your parents house

I hate it when people are subtly assholes. I already have an awful time remembering things some days.

That, and my family already thinks I'm weak and useless. My father problems are overtaking my my mother issues at the moment, and I remind her that he's been acting more and more like a dick overtime. I told her months ago, but she brushed it off. Someone asks for context. She tells them it's because I was upset about having to do the dishes...

I'm not a fucking toddler.

I can handle being asked to do fucking chores just fucking fine. The problem is that he would randomly threaten to beat my ass or tell me and my brother that we're fucking assholes and tell us that no one cares about him and wants him to die... The thing is, I did most of the cooking and a good chunk of the cleaning. This rat fucking bastard never bothered cleaning his room, which over time, could've caused us to get evicted.

Not only that, but he'd blame my mother's disability to worm himself out of responsibility until it became an actual issue, then it's suddenly all her fault. Literally fuck both of them. She's not the only person he's hurt and vice versa, but I look fucking insane because I'm the only one (other than the two of them) that's gotten the worst of them.

AND NO ONE IN MY FAMILY EVER FUCKING BELIEVES HOW BAD IT CAN GET.

I hate this shit. I hate having been raised by terrible people. I hate living with terrible people. I'm already at the edge of my fucking rope, partially because of this bastard, but I can't afford to do anything stupid for that same reason. You tell me to hurry up and get a job and then you steal the goddamn car. No one wants to fucking hire me, and you ruin my chances even more. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it.

Even if I do get a normal job that I have to commute to daily, I'll only last so long. There's a metaphorical bomb strapped to my fucking chest and I can only hope I'll have enough money to cover the costs of the fallout by the time it detonates.

I desperately need someone to let me cry into their chest until I can't breathe. Please. I can't take being an adult anymore

Abusive parents will program you so extensively, that when you’re asked:

‘What have your parents done to you?’

the only thing you know how to answer is:

‘They gave me the roof over my head and clothed me and fed me.’

Because that’s whats repeated to you almost every day of your life to be grateful for, you don’t have the words to describe the devastating abuse and hatred, because they don’t want you to have the words for it. All they teach you to say is ‘I’m grateful and it could have been so much worse’.

That’s how nobody can ever find out about the abuse. They make sure the children won’t know how to answer even if asked.

"you're an adult. I know you can't move out yet, but stand up to your parents. Don't be so spineless."

You don't fucking understand. My safety has been threatened over the smallest things. They haven't hit me as an adult, but one of them definitely would if I gave a good enough reason, and the other enables it.

The worst they've done recently is toss drinks on me or throw candy or whatever at me (which is harmless coming from one of them and ambiguous from the other) or get into some psychological or emotional abuse. That's lessened for now too, but only until we move out and they can corner me in a time and place where no one can see or hear either of us.

If I do fight back and it gets violent, I can't do anything about it. They might kick me out. I have nowhere to go. I don't have nearly enough money to sustain myself and most of my clothes are unwearable. It's winter. I could die.

So I'm glad you can do that, but we aren't all so fortunate.

It's so hard to not feel guilty about being upset at the people who mistreated you. Especially parents.

"But she gave me soup and stuff when I was sick. She even cried when I told her I was having dark thoughts."

Yes but she also basically told me to end myself, showed clear favoritism, frequently used corporal punishment, and a whole laundry list of other things.

It's so hard because she hasn't done too many harmful things as of recent. I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and it almost feels like I'm being overly dramatic about it now. It almost feels like maybe it was all in my head in the first place.

Then I remember that I was so desperate to get away when I was younger. Desperate enough to think about taking drastic measures. Desperate enough to dream about someone just taking me away from my family.

And then I feel guilty again five minutes later

Is "irrational" anger a trauma response?

I only feel like it might be because I'm always bothered when this person enters the room. I'm almost enraged when they try to speak to me, more often than not. I try to keep it to myself only because I know I would look utterly insane otherwise.

It's almost like I've gaslit myself into thinking I've been overly dramatic this whole time and nothing they ever did was so terrible. Then, I feel guilty for being mad at them, even though I look back in it and see how much it affected me or how badly my younger self wanted to leave and cut contact.

I almost feel like I'm losing my mind just thinking about this.

Oh to Have Certainty

The only thing that feels worse to me than realizing that abuse has occurred is the doubt. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Is it actually over now or is it just less frequent and less obvious because of other people in the house? Would it have been better if I’d behaved better?