Facebook continuously ask “What’s on your mind?”, and some times I actually write exactly what’s on my mind. This has a tendency to bleed problems. When I wake up in the morning with pictures in my head of a man who flays another mans head with a chainsaw while he calmly explains to me how important it is to be caotious so one doesn’t cut of the entire head, I need to write this down somewhere. Otherwise I have to carry these images in my head all day, which obviously isn’t very healthy to my mental state nor my surroundings.
My experience is that most of my followers find my violently worded postings fascinating, like they’re fascinated by f.ex. movies such as Saw or Jigsaw, but in real life as a traumatized woman writing scary stuff that goes on in her mind rather than fulfill that which would only lead to a longer sentence in prison. Then again there are men who likes erotic images I post, which probably triggers their boner, but whom which are not to fond of my indeed so feminin wrath, which they, of course, comment as me in need to be analysed by a psychiatrist, which I obviously have been already. I guess my rage doesn’t suit their fantasies the same way porn does. Maybe it makes their fragile manhood shiver, their hands and skin cold sweat and their testicles crawl up in their midriff.
I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with my head other than adhd, which was finally medicated after half a lifetime waiting to be diagnozed, and then a decade waiting to be medicated before i finally recieved a prescription for it, and again cptsd, which is nothing more than a natural reaction to trauma, or in my case many traumas. I’m fine most of the time, and female outrage rarely hurt men the same way some men hurt women. When I put a name to that anger, a warfare in the comment field and naturally behind my back as these people aren’t my friends, they’re my stalkers, is set off, and I’m told I have a bad mouth and that I’m sick in the head and so on.
Well, assholes, you shouldn’t have done what you did, should you? Some of you pussies have been stalking me for more than 25 years, you morons! Is my fury in some possible way asked for? Could it be that my mental issues are, on the contrary to what you say yourself, caused by you and therefor also your problem? I don’t know how many times I’ve heard “You’re delusional!”, or “You must be scizophren!”. Guess again, fucktards! You’re my mental issues! Not some psychiatric diagnosis. Not something innate! Just you and you’re absence of intellect and lack of respect for woman in particularly! You don’t even have the balls nor the decency to talk to me face to face. You send out your rats, your flying monkeys to spy on me, you weasels! And you have the nerves to call me insane?
YOU NEED THERAPI!
You need to get another obsession than me, like knitting or embroidery, or something useful that’s not a danger to other peoples health, both the mental and the physical.
YOU ARE MY PROBLEM!
I’m not a dilemma to you! It’s you who’s a hornets’ nest to me! You need to fuck off! Really! And by the way! You obviously need someone to tell you that it’s neither okey nor innocent to post nude pictures of children on social media, even if they’re your own, so I filed a report to the police about the nude pictures of your children that you posted on Facebook. It doesn’t matter if you only did so to spite me as a victim of abuse. I’m sure they’ll have a chat with you about that some time soon. That’s right! You couldn’t stop me even though you’re screwing the police.