WARNING: This article contains content that may be sensitive to readers, mostly touching upon online grooming, child abuse, mental health, and similar. In addition, with such content being present, and sexual topics being discussed, this article is probably not suitable for minors.
I think I've seen hundreds of sites that talk at least a little bit about mental health. I am not excempt to it -- my struggles with such a thing are the topic of many of the writings here. However, one topic I do stray away from, not because I do not wish to share it, but because sharing it is a struggle in and of itself, is how being raised and being with my family has played into, and perhaps, caused these issues. I've been thinking about this specific part of my life that was meant to be a band-aid to my problems, and only infected the wound, a lot more than usual lately, and upon doing some small research, I guess it wasn't the most common thing, so I think it'd be nice to share it, perhaps see if somebody thinks my trauma is as funny as I do nowadays.
Until I was fifteen, almost all of my internet access was through the Nintendo 3DS Browser. It was kinda a circle -- do stupid shit online my (now deceased) stepmother did not approve of, only allowed outside contact through 3DS, still did the same shit on there, banished to it for years. The browser was...not the best, obviously, because what handheld gaming console needed a powerful one? It was a Netfront browser, Mozilla powered, and could not load most mainstream websites without crashing at the time of its release, much less a few years into the future. Specific to the old 3DS models (which I was able to escape from) were that the browser was simple to the point of not being able to watch videos, copy or paste, or even have more than one tab. It was simple, sluggish, and I was stuck with it. Now, how could I get into trouble on such a brick? To the point where I consider it one of my main Trauma Blocks?
Chatzy is a very small chatroom creation website with a large roleplayer base, and even larger erotic roleplayer base.
It also worked perfectly on the 3DS browser, and thus, became my home.
My creativity did not suddenly appear one day -- I had plenty of characters I would make for these roleplays, but most of them I do not use anymore. And the people in these rooms were usually at least decent with writing, which helped me develop my own writing style, and I guess that's the one good thing that came out of this. My writing style and talent can be entirely credited to the amount of time I spent on certain Chatzy rooms. I will not be naming any of them, seeing as half of them are dead or replaced with streamlined Discord servers, but I was well known in them for having ok writing, and being incredibly fucking annoying outside of that. I mean...I was like. Not even or barely a teenager when I was there, of course I was annoying. Picking fights, shitty jokes, you know the drill. I got banned from one for trying to spread antinatalist views to somebody who had just announced a pregnancy...that's an embarassing phase I had.
I was also not very great with opsec at first -- one of the ERP rooms knew I was a minor, because I mentioned my age once, and it was played off as a "haha XYZ is our local fbi agent by the way", followed by asking me for nudes which I, in a fit of pure, groomed, and porn-sick retardation, gave out at one point. It is probably still out there. I don't like thinking about that. Moving on.
I overshared, I vented about my life problems, my parents, my school issues, I had nowhere else to put this. Any diary in my house was searched, including the one I brought back from a stay in a psych ward, in which I was screamed at for a solid half an hour for drawing pornography in. My passwords had to be written down so my stepmother could spend her time she spent not getting shitfaced drunk and arguing with her own kids peeling through my internet life, and sharing it to my dad, and dissapointing everybody involved. It would be brought up at random intervals through the day, used against me, and, of course, used to justify any contact with the outside world.
A certain individual I met on actually one of the SFW roleplay chatrooms stands out to me more than anybody for basically ruining how I viewed myself for a few years. They will be referred to as Cardboard. Cardboard one day made a joke about a certain fetish in the main chat, and PMed me, of all people, to clarify it was somehow not a joke. It only escalated from there, and not even waterboarding will get most of the details of these years of being held sexually hostage by some guy across the Atlantic Ocean, but what I will share to try and publicly shame him is that he pissed himself in public once for a sex fetish. Also, he still begs NSFW Twitter artists for fetish art of an old design of my OC, and it's fucking disgusting.
Important to note is that I was allowed outside of the 3DS Internet Jail sometimes, but my stepmother wanted it in her view at all times, which made even doing something normal on, say, a computer, incredibly nerve wracking. I still leave a new tab open at all times in case somebody walks into my room or I have to leave my computer unsupervised so that I can leave that open and look innocent. Also would draw on the puter. I went through an old dA account recently of mine, and there's somebody from the psych ward I went to saying hi, and somebody asking if I was even alive anymore, with a reply confirming that I haven't killed myself yet, but also that they had no idea where I was.
I was so, so mentally unwell, and it's taken me a while to even try to recover from it all. Most of it is blocked out of my mind -- dissociation is a godsend sometimes -- but sometimes a particularly unpleasant part of it shows up, and I have to stop what I'm doing to make sure I don't spiral. Of course, this era is over -- I got a shitty Android tablet in high school, and I freed myself to the large scale web for the most part there, only to bury myself in obscurity once more, because, honestly, I'm used to it. Being known sucks. I like it here, in my garbage trash pile of creation where I can be a degenerate and free to be just that.
The very measures meant to protect me from predators bit me in the ass, and I have nobody to blame but both me, myself, and sometimes her for it. It's like an addiction. Desired. Nobody in the real world desired me. Here, I was anybody but myself. The patterns still remain. I still yearn for the desire, but I try and patch it up into a healthy desire. Sometimes it works.
To end this off in the same lane as how it started with "oh god, my stepmom really did try her best and still fuck it all up, and now i live like this", here's a trauma processing excerpt I wrote for myself this week that I'll share publicly. Every time I share anything about the women who raised me, and I say women because I've had three chances at a proper motherly figure and none of them fucking parented me, it gets more obvious why my favorite Toontown: Corporate Clash boss is the C.L.O...or something like that.
Words of fire and war locked into a verbal crossbow, hypocritically shouted out in the moment, where the one who should've held me up to grow under the sun pulled a Cinderella on my ass. No matter how many times someone who valued me as a person said otherwise, how many times I wished and tried to redeem myself of this great sin, her iron branding has never left me.
*Selfish* -- for wanting a life outside of her middle-class ideals, to step outside invisible lines. It weighs down like a hook embedded into my spine, and if an angel ripped it out, there would now be a deep, black void in its place.