Emmy

caution some posts may be triggering. I post to let out my frustrations and thoughts i have throughout the day If you need any one to talk to I am always here

phandoms-united:

art-sex-drugs:

I have finally hit my breaking point. For as long as I can remember I have endured my mother’s abuse, whether it is verbal, emotional, or as seen here physical. I can expect some act of violence on a daily basis, and her beating me is not an usual occurrence, but today something snapped. My mother did this unprovoked, and this time she didn’t stop. Usually it’s bad for a little while and then she’s done, today it went on for what seemed like forever. At a certain point I decided I was going to do something I never do, call the police. You see, my mother is a highly respected and very well known person where I live. She is on the board of ed, worked for CPS for many years, and is close personal friends with people like the local chief of police, director of our local CPS unit, and so on. I always knew that calling wouldn’t go anywhere and just upset her more, but today I had to try. While she was kicking me I found my opportunity, and somehow managed to get away from someone more than twice my size. I ran as fast as I could, knocking things over behind my, trying to find a phone. I dialed and they listened and my mother proceeding to beat me over it, while I screamed for help. For the second time today, I managed to get away from her and ran to my room. I barely had enough time to lock my door, before she starting trying to get it, to the point that she ripped my door off the frame. I decided I was going to stay locked in there, until the police came. The past few months I have been collecting evidence against her, voice recordings, pictures like these, and videos of her violence, so they couldn’t dispute what was going on. But I was dead wrong. 

When the officer finally came up to my room, I attempted to tell him my side of the story, but before I could get a sentence out he silenced me. HE told me that this was my mothers house, and I needed to live by her rules. If I didn’t she had the right to punish me. He also told me to be tankful for her, because he wanted to press assault charges against me. finally, he refused, despite my begging, for him to take me to a shelter for teens. 

I am utterly disgusted by the injustice that occurred today. I pray there is no one else out there who is living in such a situation. I am not sure exactly what I am getting out of writing this, except maybe that it’s just nice to be able to open up about this, when I have had to keep it a secret my whole life. idk. sorry for posting such heavy shit. 

Signal boost the fuck out of this

sharkfighting-zero:

theyoutubewriter:

thewriting-banshee:

I can not fathom to you how annoyingly frustrated I am by Sam Peppers actions; when you dig yourself a hole and find you’re to blame, the mature thing to do is accept and own up to your actions.

Not only has this boy lied further into protecting his image and his self, he has made the situation worse by opening his mouth; he has now threatened some one who has had the courage to show the truth.

We have had numerous amounts of evidence where people have shun the light onto Sam Pepper’s true self and I find it very difficult to believe that he will find a way out of this situation.

why the hell are these tweets not covering my entire dash

fix. that.

I like how Sam is saying that the email is a “spoof” on Twitter. 

All my life I’ve had people tell me;
“You’re 16. What do you know?
You don’t pay taxes.
You don’t pay bills or a mortgage.
You don’t worry about having a job.
You don’t have mouths to feed.”

You’re right.
I’m only 16.
But at the age of 13 I was already contemplating suicide.
At the age of 13 I was relentlessly told how ugly, fat, and untalented I was.
How I would never amount to anything.

At 15 I held a bottle of pills in my hands several times a week.
At 15 my parents fought so loudly the whole house would shake.
At 15 I started telling myself how fat and worthless I was.
At 15 I stopped eating for two months.

By the age of 16 my thighs were covered in battle scars.
At 16 I learned what it was like to pray every night that I wouldn’t wake up to see the sun.
At 16 I swallowed a bottle of pills and had my stomach pumped in the middle 3rd period.
At 16 I woke up in a hospital and crying and screaming because I wasn’t dead.
At 16 I was told my depression and anxiety were just cries for attention.
At 16 I learned what it was like to feel the rejection from the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally.
I learned what it was like to feel the love my parents used to have for me drain out of their eyes.

So I maybe 16 but I feel like I am a thousand years old. I have fought battles you cannot even begin to imagine.

I have endured years of relentless torment and taunts, and when I asked for help I was told I deserved it.

I may be 16 but I have endured more than you ever have in your 36 years of life.

So I may not have to pay taxes.
But at 16 I have anxiety attacks over the piles of homework I have to turn in the next day.

I may not have to worry about feeding my kids.
but even after 2 years of rehabilitation I still get depressed if I eat too much.

So you tell me;
“You’re 16. What do you know?”
And my answer will always be;
“Far too much”

– Sorry. this was a rant.   (via secret-paranoia)