Colorful and hopefully optimistic but maybe hateful occasionally

littleoc

Sponsor
This post is just for exposure because I can’t stop thinking about it, probably because I’m (practically involuntarily) trying to avoid it. Ads on the radio keep mentioning human trafficking, which is... good, I guess. They say to look out for it and then they don’t explain. So I’m sure that they aren’t doing anything, honestly. Most people don’t know what it looks like. Hell, I can barely tell you what it looks like. That’s why I’m writing this post. To say:

I am a survivor of human trafficking. I am a survivor of human trafficking. I am a survivor of human trafficking.

Analysis of emotions:
Typing that was hard. The third time I let predictive text do it for me. I looked away.

I immediately felt afraid. Afraid I was lying, afraid I was being misleading. Afraid I had the definition of human trafficking wrong somehow — I have the obsessive urge to go Googling to find out. I am choosing not to look because I think that’s the OCD. Or something.

I feel fear that saying that I am a survivor will get me killed. That he will track me down and silence me. Just casually show up in my yard again. Like he has done. I always have a little voice in my head claiming he can track me.

I’m afraid that someone who had it worse will immediately call me out.

I’m worried I am not a real person, but a toy. And my friends will discover this and disappear. Or worse.

Is there anything positive?

Yes. I called myself a survivor, not a victim. And that part feels right.

Have my friends disappeared? No.

Am I a survivor of human trafficking?

I can’t get myself to be affirmative. Saying I was is proof that it really happened.

And I feel it couldn’t have. The world would have ended. Some superhero would have saved me. An adult, the police officer at my school who I spoke to about him, would have done something.

I forgot I spoke to the police about this again. Damn, that’s really sad. My dad had the biggest crush on those cops. Gross.

Worst of all, my mom doesn’t know. I am not sure how else to word this. She knows I got... assaulted. I told her against my will, when I was not ready, by hospital staff, and I’ve never been able to talk to her properly since. I gained the ability to speak in school, and... yeah.

My mom was sympathetic at first. Still is but if she brings it up I quickly change the subject or even leave the room. It makes me so, so, SO angry to hear her be sympathetic.

Anyway, she yelled at me once, when I was a teenager, for not telling her sooner. I told her I had tried to tell my dad, not knowing he was the cause of it, despite SEEING it, and she got mad. She said, “What, so you told everyone but me?” I never responded. I was thinking, “Well, you were dying.” Nowadays, I just get angry.

Especially when I remember the pedophile standing in my yard. I locked the door and hid in my room. My mom came in and asked me, “You aren’t just saying it was him?” I found out later she meant to ask, “You aren’t covering for your father?” Too late, though. Damage done.

So I just never told her. The police report, had it not mysteriously left the face of the Earth, would be incorrect.

I never want to clarify it. I do not want my mom’s sympathy. It would make me angrier than anything for her to be sad for me. She doesn’t GET to be sad for me. Not unless shes on her own and I do dont have to deal with it. I’m not here to reassure anyone that they’re good parents.

And, deep down, this feels like a fallacy. If I did get “kidnapped” or “trafficked” or “raped” or “abused,” then my mom must have heard about it. She must have done something to prevent it. Right?

So, in conclusion. I can say I am a survivor, and that’s positive. It’s getting me somewhere.

The phrase “trafficked” is loaded in such an awful way. That is proof that no definition I look up on the Internet will ever, EVER satisfy this feeling that I’m lying. My brain I should looking for evidence. I need to address that if I want to be able to say “I am a survivor of human trafficking” without instantly needing to run off.
 

littleoc

Sponsor
I tried re-reading the post I just posted (to fix some typos, mostly), and I can NOT once it gets to my mom.

You’d think the “human trafficking” part would be the hardest part. And it’s most certainly is hard to read, too, but... well. Very interesting.
 

littleoc

Sponsor
Unrelated but I found out I suffer from gender dysphoria. I feel like my case isn’t as valid as trans binary people, but I would tell anyone else who said this about themselves that this is, inherently, false.

I’d also like to add a thought to the emotional analysis above.

I feel like if I call myself a survivor, which I am, and which I feel strongly that I am (which is amazing), that I am betraying the pedophile. I understand that this is normal. I am a real life human being (why does that feel weirder to say than “I am a survivor”?) who has the world’s strongest sense of empathy.

But I feel so strongly for him, STILL, that I can almost say his name when I talk about the emotions I feel. Almost, and I wouldn’t think that’s a good idea in this case anyway.

He seemed to me like a sad man who needed me. The fact that he willingly let me go seems to solidify that. That keeps showing up in my dreams. “I bought you, but I love you. I just want to listen to music with you.”

It took a long, LONG time to be able to hang out with friends in their rooms because of that. Listening to music still makes me hold my breath.

I can do it in the car just fine, though. I’m still normal :)
 

Freida

Sponsor
You are a survivor of trafficking.
You are survivor of a pedophile
You are a survivor of a nut job who tried to convince you that you weren't a person an used you for her own sick games
You are a survivor of your parents

You. Are. A. Survivor
And you are a human
You are our Littleoc,
The real, brave, astounding, brilliant, completly human Littleoc 💜 💜
 

littleoc

Sponsor
— my main issue currently is actually that my mom has a fever now. Which was kinda my fault, but OCD rituals weren’t gonna prevent it.

Well, not my fault, more like a virus’s fault. Probably a million faulty ones. Viruses are usually haphazard lol
Things that did not age well
 
Top