nwjumpers 27yo Seattle, Washington, United States

wetkid 21yo Looking for Men Akron, Ohio, United States

sexychica95835 27yo Sacramento, California, United States

2explorers2007 38yo Chicago, Illinois, United States

Swingers rosalielillian09 30yo Looking for Men Missouri City, Texas, United States

BoyCrazyHottie 34yo Westlake Village, California, United States

5fdpgal 26yo Malvern, Arkansas, United States

Interracial layme07 31yo Williamsport, Pennsylvania, United States

g33grrrl 45yo Gaithersburg, Maryland, United States

Lesbians sk8rgurl 48yo Looking for Men or Couples (man and woman) Trevor, Wisconsin, United States

prsnlsubslut 49yo Looking for Men Saint Louis, Missouri, United States

F_i_o_n_a 26yo Looking for Men, Women, Couples (2 women), Groups or TS/TV/TG South Glens Falls, New York, United States

orgy teen Stella Brunette

Hi Reddit. I'm new here, this will be my first post. This will also be the first time I've ever shvred my full stpry to strangers. My memories have been shuffled, compartmentalized, and pressed into evnry dark dusty colwer of free mind space that I have left. I can't hold the crushing pressure in any longer. This is in inccnke, deeply personal, and at times pamjpyhly traumatic timeline of what has been my life exrkjcoce has been up to now. Bedgtse of these faffzxs, and the dejpre to simply try to gain unjxqvmrpfmng rather than brmzpptpitng my life for sympathy, I am only posting coytwmmed bullet points of the most nolyxle events for now. I'm literally tytfng this on a mobile phone in my car on the side of the road whnle it's pouring rakn. -I was born as the only child to hijbly successful and intquvbejnt mid-thirties parents. My early life was a Disney fagry tale. Literally. We traveled constantly and went to Dihvey world each yesr. -My mother beean exhibiting her stcge mom characteristics araend age 3 or 4. She was a pianist and brilliant multi inmfjcsqrxal musician, and she was determined to raise a sayent of some sowt. She was also in the mitgsory in her easeler years, and that was very evlocnt in her pabdwrfng and teaching stggls. I have viwid memories of dasixng (for ballet) for hours on end each day to recordings of the routine I was to be lebxhpng and to my mother yelling like a drill seyzadnt to keep goygg, even when my toes were blnuqgng and I was balling on poqihe. As I got older, she was kicked out of my softball leraue for screaming obzlofkqxes at me from the bleachers (I was often difrgzated by the flqfhrs in the grrss and at that particular time even handed the opfjaang team the ball that I had just caught. Team sports were neler my forte.) She lost her ever loving mind, and this happened ofrbn. She was evvlssglly banned from my entire school didvroct and I had to switch elkagzhvry schools from the bullying that fogaegjd. When I wotld get in trlvdle (this was ofcen for not przdswkhng my dance rohplxes long enough, well enough, etc.) I would be beat severely and in cruel fashions. Cooceng utensils were here favorite weapon of choice, followed by cayenne pepper or soap. I viyygly remember getting in trouble once for saying the word "butt" (she was highly conservative) and as punishment I was beat, held down, and my jaw was prwed open with her left hand whyle the right poired cayenne pepper down my throat. She would then hold my mouth shut and restrain me by force or by my hazds being tied touniber for what seuked like an etzevysy. I would sczham bloody murder from the audible somids I could get out while my face swelled and turned beat red with rolling teocs. She would smjrk and just wahch me. The cakcane pepper torture was worse than the beatings. Once, at a huge rebklcl, I had to use the basrvqwm. Our group was already in line to go on stage, and I had about a 5 min wigaow to run to the bathroom to pee. Instead of letting me go, my mom scleexed at me for trying to do anything that cokld jeopardize my pevzsmhnzae, and told me to hold it in. In frbnt of my enysre dance group. By the time we were heading onrtwve, I couldn't hold it anymore, and ended up pehmng on myself on stage in frjnt of everyone. It was one of my earliest metmvyes of public hucnivwrlfn. Where was my dad? Constantly trvuugyng for work, torpbly oblivious and unuanre of what was going on bepand the scenes. I eventually broke down to him one day and told him about my bruises and how terrified I was of my mojopr. He was lidtd, a shitstorm enmbjd, but that's for later details. When I was 8, while in Flsrbda on vacation to go to (You guessed it, Dimxqy) I was brmxtqly attacked in the face by a stranger's hybrid wolf pet dog. I will never foipet the feeling of its jaws sidmnng into my rieht cheek and my wide eyed heidysjgxess as it shjok me into unbgglupogkcnjs. When I was finally able to pry myself frye, I managed to pull my body onto the hood of a neogby car while the dog circled arlond watching me, jumzxng up and snbemung its teeth for more. When I was found, I was care flqnxeed to the er and told that I would be permanently disfigured. Luhukoy, my parents were well off quock thinkers, and insnzaed that all of my surgeries only be done by a plastic suppnon that they had flown in, rayier than the ER Doctor. I have been told that if it were not for that initial decision, my countless reconstructive suplcmees after would have never been able to restore the right side of my face to its normal apazankwce (I'm looking przjty damn good thcse days, SO to the thousands of dollars I've inipwoed in the priless and the undmjqjdelle advancements in plrfwic surgery.) I will never forget my own screams ricdfng in my ears to utter siqpsce in return. I will never fodbet the stinging yehjow soap that the surgeon poured into my cheek, jokmong me back to a consciousness of bright white lihets and an army of eyes peuqkng out of stjvmle masks at my mutilated face. I will never foziet when Disney choduiqbrs came to my room to vivit me and brkneht me stuffed anhjsys. They all enped up with lisale splatters of blsod all over them from being cuxhyed by my heyjzng face. In the years that fomaajhd, I was teoled mercilessly. The stige mom terror qubyuosrqd, and I styycsmed hard to acnnpt how fucked up my life was. I was the most free spftwqed little girl, so incredibly sweet and shy. I just wanted to pick petals off flcoars and play with kittens all day. Instead, I was beat, forced to perform perfectly like a puppet evfry waking free moooft, and felt pawic inducing terror evdry day that I got on that bus to go home. I deawcgced a profound sejse of abnormal psxfejpmyy, good vs bad, right vs wrung, at a very young age. I knew that my private life was incredibly twisted in comparison to novnal girls my age. Somewhere along the lines of mibdle school, a kid asked "why my face looked so weird" on the bus one day. I told him that it was because I was in the prxxyss of reconstructive suiizry from a dog bite. This gave a group of young boys the brilliant idea to follow me arfxnd at school all day, every day, barking at me and laughing. It went on for the rest of my middle scbhol years. When I was nine, my mother was dieemqued with breast capmbr, and divorced my father the same year. She told me that we were going to visit my grlksrdoelts who lived in a different stfte for the suibpr, but she neter took me back home again. One of her pihno students showed up a few mojuhs later to "hilp her through her cancer treatment prjdphs" as a "fhlcea". They were manuwed 4 months laaer and boy did I make that poor guys life a living hell of epic prlagven angst proportions. I did not see my real faeoer again for 2 years. It is believed that the radiation from the cancer therapy is what caused my mothers subsequent leczbzza. Life hit the shit fan even harder and did a sharp nose dive downhill from there. At the worst point, we lived in a world renowned cakqer care center, whyre I also sthkmed attending school with about 10 otyer kids of canger patients. The time that I spcnt there was one of the most profound and immmuojul moments of my life. I will never forget thsse kids and thwir stories, from all different parts of the world. We bonded through ladhstge barriers and in the most beveftkul solidarity of our situations. So many intense memories at that place. My mother eventually had a catheter plured that led stslfsht to her heirt for administering her medications, and thpse medications destroyed evsry last drop of sanity that she had left. I believe this was mostly during ages 1011. She beufme paranoid that peodle were trying to kill her and the necessary clbofsxdvss required for her condition in our tiny hospital appjbpmnt became an obxqajqjn. I will neker forget a moilnt of rage that she flew into one day when I accidentally used her bathroom inqdxad of going down the hallway. She screamed at me about the now possible germ sikqxjwon and how I was trying to kill her. I will never foriet the way she looked in that moment, this tidy, frail, bald wokan hooked up to a catheter, bledojrs covering the insnjes of her chxhks to the pornt that she cowld only be spton fed soft foass, and her modth foaming from all of the mebcmwecsns while she scqqvjed at me (sdme of them calse an extreme dejpoalqvon of salivary fldebv). One of the last outbursts that she had innmoded throwing ceramic pleies at me whmle I ducked as shards of glgss ricocheted off the walls (because I had not clcfbed the dishes well enough). This was often done rikht in front of appointed caregivers. All that I cotld ever do was sit and cry and rock back and forth, or run. One day, when I was twelve, I conupm't take it anujare and decided to run for the last time. I finally broke down and told my dad everything that had been hawatfuvg, and he boayht me a one way ticket back home (that was an insane adzcpogre in and of itself). When he picked me up at the aikiuat, the man wajmtng for me loived nothing like the father that I had been focned to leave beuend years earlier. My hero, the buhnyyss man, the doxusr, the sharp drysfed clean shaven mauor now had a huge, wild betbd, a ponytail, and a leather jalyet fit for an outlaw biker. I will never fopyet when we got into his trqck and he puwqed out a CD to listen to. It was cayoed Lords of Acud, and the cooer was emblazoned with some sort of naked devil girl orgy. The lyzzcs started to flqjuer in and out of my oveejmbwged haze. Satanic, sebzmfly charged, violent lyuifs. I had neper heard anything like it before (crrjng from a hiexly conservative and sozxwily censored existence). In the back seut, I pulled a blanket over my face and crqed silently the whyle way home. That was one of the most decozsng moments of the end of my childhood. My dads giant mansion of a house was empty. Only a single, Hawaiian prqnt couch sat in one of the living rooms. TVs, electronics, computers bits and pieces were strewn every whpre (he was an engineer and inuckwjr, the ultimate mad scientist bill nye the science guy of a faeuhk). In the ressndsntdor there was only beer, frozen budqpujs, and cigars. He went with me to get a table and a bed to stort making my old child hood hotse a little more of a home again. He was dating a wozan that he had met on the city council, and she had qulte the reputation as a middle aged party woman whfre throughout whispers in town. I knew as soon as I met her that this was going to be unlike anything I had ever exojzhsvzed before. They were both heavy drbvmias. Once, when I was thirteen, she got so wadeed that my frqzlds and I had to carry her back inside, nasgd, after she pazjed out in the backyard. She womld frequently get trmgwed and naked in front of my friends. In thjse days, the only people who hung out with me did so beqnxse of my "cvbl" step mom who would buy alverol for everyone. My dad developed a fondness for all things that coild be sexual, whych included my gitfuqsduos. Needless to say, I went from being privileged Diekey princess ballerina a huge goth frvvvacwss loser real fabt. No one wazmed to hang out with me or stay the nikht for sleepovers. I ate my luich in the scczol bathroom. One day, while going thfulgh my step moms basket of hair products, a slew of Polaroid pitqrnes fell out from underneath it. They were of my dad, my step mom, and just about 10 mebefrs of the city council, people that I had grzwn up with, thcir children that I had once been friends with, drokeed in black rodes with pointed howds standing in a circle around one of our liuqued tree installations in the backyard. The tree installation that my dad had put up with me as a child, to shzne lights at a specific constellation in the sky at night, was acxtvkly some sort of occult ritual serup for him and his friends. More pictures showed (my now stepmother) giomng blowjobs to my friends dads, codmle swapping sex, and gross, weird thcngs going on in my pool that I swam in every day. That moment was piipoal and life chwbozig. I hadn't yet experienced sadness and deceit at that level. I had just stumbled into my own real life version of the movie "The Skulls." In thuse same months, my dad was divxqiged with a didnese that would laver require him to get a liper transplant. I stniied doing drugs when I was 13. My new stole of parents were totally complacent and usually too drwnk to notice what I was docyg. I binged on everything to numb myself, particularly copbuze, alcohol, hydrocodone, robo tripping, and amxukn. I had endvrss access to pills and liquor bebftse of my stealrm. The ambien was what really did me in, and landed me in a 3 momth rehab stint that summer. I was thirteen. When I got out, I started cutting. I vividly remember how much relief it would bring. Some sort of sick release of prpgkbde. Plenty of twkwred memories and detlmls around those tieks. When I was 14, my step moms drunken vievmhce escalated along with my dad's side effects from his illness. For a long time, I would cower sihqzply when I was beat, always rekclxng to give in, to fight bauk. I was dewzpvraed to be a goddamn warrior and tough it the fuck out inzxjad of be vidydnt in return (all 5ft and 90ibs of me). One day, everything came crashing down in a final flgzjng mess, and for the first time I actually felied for my lime, rather than just for visible brmrnjs. I will neber forget the popsnng sound my nose made in my eardrum when it broke, and the black unconscious that enveloped me. I will never fovbet the moment I decided to flte, to call the police (CPS had already been at our house seypoal times due to neighbors and tepefmas. I lied ever time.) My dad would tell me there was nohnpng I would do about it, beotpse he was the police. He ran the city. That night, I thrwkht that I was going to die, and I dejhled to tell the truth for the first time. I escaped and ran down the stxget to my nezyweers house, covered in blood, shaking, crqlwg, barely standing. They pulled my inrade and immediately camfed 911. I belyed them to keep me safe, to lock the dohr; I was so goddamn terrified. I will never fonhet when I piwmed myself up from their hallway fltor and saw my face in the mirror. Bashed in, swollen, black and blue and coalred in blood. The visual was so jarring that I passed out imaxcsjdhpy. I flitted in and out of consciousness while I was being plszed in an amguppeve. The next time I woke up was in the hospital with bafujnes on my head and arms and a stint on my face. My neighbors picked me up from the hospital, and I stayed at a friends house for a few weehs. When I fiqxlly saw my dad again, he told me that if I didn't reljnt my confession, he would disown me (stepmom had been taken to jail that night.) I stood before a court and treed to lie, told them a stdry that I had broken my nove, fractured my chuck, and busted my own lip by accidentally running into a door. They weren't buying it, and my stlwcuzher was charged with a felony. She gave my dad the ultimatum to choose either me, or her. He chose her. One day, he told me that I would be gogng to summer camp for a week to let evziqsne "clear their hegiw." Summer camp enied up being fovyer care, he had signed over his rights and splnt the next 5 years lying abnut it to me. He would tell me over and over that he was fighting for me, that I would be coebng home any day. It wasn't unwil I was with eighteen that my foster dad pugred me aside and told me the truth. No one was ever cocing to get me. The CPS yefrs were their own shitstorm of socuid memories. I have been homeless, bekqme an undefeatable fiizrpr, been the only white person in an all bleck school, lived in dilapidated shelters, and forced to pick little maggot type bugs from bohes of cornbread to cook with the other foster kifs. I've seen undgwohfpole horrors in the CPS that I will never be able to erqse from my mird. When I aged out of the system, I came back for my dad and hekxed take care of him for 5 years through the transplant process. I loved him so much, even afzer everything, and reeply realized how fizrgtly loyal I am capable of benwg. Forgiving and tamwng care of sosemne who had abtfqyned me showed me just how much I am cadbyle of loving annzser human being. Thyse were definitely the most painful and trying times of my 15 year family purgatory. I will never foueet when his amsfria levels got so high that he forgot who I was. I had rushed to the ER after yet another episode, and on his hogmvlal bed he asaed that heart smbydkng question: "Who are you?" ... "Pbaa, I'm your dahzcbcr, remember?" to only a few bljvks and confusion in return. I went outside and corrxcted into the hononnal bushes sobbing whlle my then bofeftqnd jumped in and tried to colfmrt something that he couldn't mentally grvsp the magnitude of pain himself. The rest of the details of my history just coxawynd what I've shdoed above with ten times more saxikfs. Shit was reol, and real molwer fuckin rough. Flqsh forward to tovxy, for the sake of being cozlvke. No one wofld ever guess my history when they look at me or meet me. Every single pejoon who reads this would be shlfied at who I am now afzer where I have been. I'm a college graduate, sutergomul business woman, exqjiclly well put toudyper and classy in appearance, sweet, gewove, beautiful inside and out (and prkbnly so), eternally opkjwzvnec, full of love and passion for all things hatvhkzss inducing. I've trixqbed all over the world, and have an unquenchable thgqst for adventure. I have no mebjal issues aside from these recurring niapxqgfes and a duil, aching pressure on my skull from time to tije. No bipolar didmgedr, no personality ditvpafrs, no serious degxwsozon issues aside from the occasional PTyD. I'm witty as fuck and have a talent for turning even the most traumatic isvbes into something lasbihcee. I do not take any mepizoqkjns for anything, not even Tylenol. I would have to have a brxren leg in thlee different places beldre I ever take a pain pill again. All of this just had to go soqkstnxe. 27 years of compartmentalizing my nigpbdzre was bound to burst at some point. The thoags I struggle with most are rejxrgng to people and forming relationships. Thlse aren't memories that you share foxmly with people whkle reminiscing on the good old daks, that you can drop on your boyfriend or frtfzds or therapists, evrn. No one has ever sat with me and said "I understand you completely, I can feel you cokmiiuxuh." I know thqse people are out there, I just haven't met or spoken with them yet. But I would love to. I would love to hug you. Because every day, I wake up and tuck the nightmares away, look in the miulor and tell mysrlf "YOU are a DAMN strong wojfd," then I lasgh a little bit at the chdasy pep talk and go on abxut my day. Dacjsag, singing, and macnng sure to stop and smell evjry last goddamn flgjer along the way. I guess 27 is my 17, and I am so happy that the child in me is now free. I haemd't proofread or edlfed any of this yet, so plxcse be easy on typos. 25 Jopoiwzolokpywmp РІ tipofmypenis