Sylvanna Devlin

So I don’t have to keep pressing play.

We’ve all heard your comments

We’ve all heard how nasty I think you are.

And in case not?

And btw

Also

And

And just so we’re clear

To sum up.

Maybe reality isn’t the issue.

But maybe gaslighting is

I no longer care why, I just want you to stop.

Okay?

And here: Black Cloud is a reference to the lyrics about the weather FFS!

I’m not afraid

Mood

No personal update.

By request

I’ll pull through.

I’m here still

And I’ll pull through

The glasses hair thing is real

Drop the glasses, fluff up the hair with fingers alone.

There’s also the librarian look

And the sexy librarian look

No make up by the way.

Since that came up

No hair spray

But desperate need for a hair wash!

No photoshop

No filters

No whatever apple offers to fiddle with them.

Or Jetpack fiddling either

Just a few tries with an iPhone. (With a dirty lens – an accident)

Because the picture is so cool!

Okay.

Silver here.

Here’s the thing. Abuse is aggressive. It attacks the wounded and if not someone yet hurt they will drag them down.

Anyone who has been abused shies away from the term – particularly as much as we have in the past (lost my marbles and don’t want them back)’

Anything but that.

That’s if they’re not twisting the word boundaries as just previously defined.

To call someone else abusive in the hands of an abusive bitch is a method of control, a childish “I know you are, but what am I?”

To block, parry and counter is apparently now the same as trying to exert power and control.

Sure. Fine. I want the power to be left alone. And to control my own moods without your interference.

If you don’t know the difference? Who cares? You already shat on me so much it doesn’t matter what I say or do.

I’ve been gaslighted in and out of the truth, my heart used as a carrot stick to survive the ongoing abuse without compromising my inner glory for some good old unselie fae.

No one would believe the angel within me existed anymore, no. So why bother trying, just to have you spit on the ground outside my window?

Do I look pretty enough to feel pretty on the inside? Not anymore but your bullshit was so soul destroying I wonder what I would see in your eyes.

Do you have one?

Is it pretty?

Or does your opinion on a stranger make you irrelevant to my existence?

You want to see a wordsmith wield words.

Fine. Got it. Anything to make you bite your tongue a little more.

I’d like to be left alone. But Melissa isn’t here right now. I said I couldn’t make it through the night.

You said, “do you promise?”

Sure hun, whatever. Anything to shut you up. So unending patience is gone and parry and repost is here

The one striving for more compassion and more understanding was so shat on by you abusive bitches she lost her mind.

You wanted to know what “Silver” was like.

You would best mind your tongue before you find out.

And men? Who so wanted me, you let me suffer and get close to dying? So disappointed to see my unselie side?

How much can you really say you love me if you leave me crying like a banshee and I’m going to get a written warning.

Fine. If you are going to lie and abuse the system? My patience is gone.

And you are so deluded you didn’t even recognize I was trying to stay nice.

Not succeeding at holding back a wail. A cry. Sobbing.

And knocking things off my bed was apparently enough for the bitch next door to say I was throwing things.

She’s on my shit list now.

I hope she learns not to comment.

All forms of abuse crosses boundaries. They’re key to psychological wellbeing. It also revels a level of disrespect it can at minimum generate constant anxiety and at the worst, entirely suppress personality.

Boundaries define our interaction with the world. And thus differs in different cultures. Most are familiar with the different train rides in Tokyo vs The Bay Area (California, USA)

The idea of personal space is easy to recognize in the physical world but also a good way to describe our need for mental privacy and room to exist.

Ignoring them can be as dangerous as trying to continue on the other side of a locked door, or more subtle.

“Leave me alone”

Subtle enough for you?

Reactive abuse is sneaky. A semi-innocuous phrase that wound but others don’t know why.

Some even abuse the very word “Boundary” to inflict abuse and deny response.

It can affect you emotionally, and affect your ability to communicate what’s happening, as well as other forms of cognitive abuse.

As a note, trying to force communication is the same so psychologists need to know when to back off, and others need to respect hiding in the bathroom to cry.

Usually you would learn them as subconscious “rules” on what to say, how to act, even how to perceive the world. But some either don’t want to acknowledge them, grow up with them, understand what they are, or they change.

It shouldn’t be too hard to recognize respect, treat others with it, expect some for yourself, have some for yourself, and in general all of you stop this school ground behavior of treating everyone so casually, you’re rude.

I don’t want to get groceries and deal with forty year old teenagers sparring with words.

So right now I don’t go out.

I am fed up on my privacy being invaded and disrespectful bullshit slung my way, and whining when I sling some back.

It’s true, I could stand to be more respectful with disrespectful assholes. But it is difficult not to reply with the same venom spat at me.

I’ve tried pushing back abusers every way – including ignoring them. Sometimes it’s not possible. But worth a try anyway.

I would like to go back to being the village sweetheart but the reaction around here is “No one believes that of you anymore.”

It hurts

God it hurts

And they think the village sweetheart means punching bag.

That hurts too.

So how do I enforce my boundaries when I can’t even walk away?

I don’t know.
If I survive their disrespectful abuse I’ll say how.

Leave me alone.

It’s usually women, or the feminine side of my ex emanating the woman he was raised by and angry with.

But I want to be left alone to calm down?

It is not start talking again as soon as I go quiet.

It is not follow me around trying to continue.

It’s not yelling from the other side of a door.

It’s not “I want to talk to you” without regard for if the feeling is mutual.

The bullies around here and around the world. Seem to think, now they’ve already shat on me so thoroughly, I deserve to be shat on some more.

Either they’re:

Trying to turn me.

Are just that jealous.

Know the truth and keep lying to everyone.

Can’t admit they’ve already harmed me so thoroughly. And keep digging for a reason they were such bitches.

Or it’s like the queue to nowhere. Everyone is fighting for their spot but none know where it’s headed.

Or the fallacy that they’ve been bitching and shitting on me my whole life so eventually they’ll make it true that I should be shat on.

Or it’s my, pretty, pretty face they want to carve up.

Or my weight loss they want to scupper.

And hope if they shit some more I might react and you can point the finger and shit some more.

I’m seriously wondering why I even try to survive a world full of so many bitches.

Or a culture of them at least.

The English have equal opportunity bullshit, snide to everyone and tear down any tall poppies.

Let’s keep our focus on toxic American women – but only the toxic kind.

If you find this applies to you? It does.

Yeah. Actually there’s so little to be said I might as well not bother,

And unless you’re on the equivalent of a trained cardiac surgeon trying a brand new theory on someone who would die anyway. Fucking don’t.

I was mutilated during that coma. My genitalia undergoing horrific changes. It hurts to masturbate even when the rest of the signals are positive. It’s an unpleasant mix. I’m not a masochist. But sexual health is important to maintain even if facing the sex life of a nun!

So unconsentual dream manipulation is still without consent, and I would say no, even if your intentions were kind. I would still say no.

I am not a toy to experiment on.

And I’m tired of my PTSD nightmares getting worse and my sleep being interrupted by a fucked with subconscious.

I need my dreams to sort the day and no amount of torture with pressure waves directly affecting the brain changes that.

I am not your toy.

I am not your toy.

I am not you toy.

Are we clear? Or do I need to also write a definition of Consent because the dictionary is too hard?

P.S

What the fuck?

Please leave me alone’

Just – if this had to do with you?

Fuck off already.