What I remember most about emotional abuse is that it’s like being put in a box. How you end up in there is the biggest trick – I never managed to work that one out. Maybe you think it’s a treasure box at first: you’re in there because you’re special. Soon the box starts to shrink. Every time you touch the edges there is an “argument”. So you try to make yourself fit. You curl up, become smaller, quieter, remove the excessive, offensive parts of your personality – you begin to notice lots of these. You eliminate people and interests, change your behaviour. But still the box gets smaller. You think it’s your fault. The terrible, unforgivable too-muchness of you is to blame. You don’t realise that the box is shrinking, or who is making it smaller. You don’t yet understand that you will never, ever be tiny enough to fit, or silent enough to avoid a row
holy fucking shit this exactly what happened to me
I think this is happening to my mom but I don’t know how to talk to her about it….
fuck this gets close to home
THIS IS LITERALLY HOW I FELT OMG. Jesus.
Imagine finding a dragon egg one day, and it hatches in your house and thinks you’re its mom. Then the next morning you wake up and find this mini dragon has gathered all the lose change and shiny objects in your house in a pile, and is gnawing on a nickel. And then when you take it out for walks, it picks up every coin it sees cause its a hoarder. And your house is eventually full of coins. And you are rich. And have a dragon.
It’s scary to think that there are words meant for me but were never said to me.
The first word you see is your other-half’s zodiac sign!
It’s the one you are subconsciously attracted to the most.
Which zodiac sign did you see first?
Corn Gemini. Well I do like corn.
Time to see the world for what it really is.
This is one of my favorite movies ever.! Omg. If they fuck this up I will never forgive them.
Daenerys Targaryen meme + (3/6) traits or emotions ► maternal
Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. Maela, some called her, while others cried Aelalla or Qathei or Tato, but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother.