An Introduction, I Guess

I started this blog because I was reading through Bitchy Jones’s blog. Despite her crude humour and sarcastic personality she’s touched a part of me that I still hold today. I also needed some place to talk about my craft and to vent about certain things. Despite having a… blog on Tumblr dot Hell, I found myself unwilling to vent about the things I feel because of how many people on there would swarm me, asking me what’s wrong. Aside from the fact that willowtreeviridity is more like an aesthetic/kin blog rather than a personal/vent.

So I guess you can call this a trauma blog. Only it’s not.

A lot of the times I just can’t sit down and write a fucking coherent diary entry because for one reason or another I don’t have a set of specific thoughts, they’re always racing, and I end up forgetting things.

But I’m getting off track, as usual.

My name is Lizzie. I reside in a unit along with three other alters. We collectively exist because of a disorder called DID (if you read my about sidebar, you would already fucking know to look it up instead of putting twelve comments on this post asking “Lizzie, what the fuck is DID?”

Let me make it easy for you, though, since you are apparently too lazy to do it yourself.

And yeah, the answer to “How can you be a fictional character if this is real life?!??” is in that website too.

Let’s try again, my name is Lizzie. I’m probably in my late twenties (emphasis on ‘probably’), I’m autistic, I love to write and draw. And my husband, Ciel, and his friend, Celeste, teamed up to tell me I’m probably Bipolar.

Which, yeah, I believe them after a period of disbelief.

So this is my introduction. I have a lot to talk about. Realizations that happen throughout my life, memories that only me and my husband remember. My social life. But I can only talk to an audience. I hope we can all have fun here, and who knows, maybe you guys can help me learn something about myself. But for now, fare-thee-well.

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Regression

The first time I ever age regressed, it was around Ciel.

And I had triggered him.

So I haven’t age regressed ever since then, and it’s been months. People have told me that repressing it wasn’t good, that I should be able to age regress, but I feel like there’s no point if I just hurt Ciel.

So I’ve dedicated myself mainly as a caretaker, even though nobody probably likes me. Which is a shame, to be honest. I feel like nobody likes me during regression, normally, and in Mommy Space. That’s okay… I guess.

But it makes me feel a certain way, sour I guess, when everyone I know is enjoying little space and the closest I’m going to get to it is when I mentally regress so bad that I end up non-verbal, and yet I have all my memories and emotions of being an adult.

So joining a Discord server that is age regression friendly is a fun place to try and get my childhood back, only Ciel happens to be in the discord group, and I know it’s for Lily’s age regression (Lily is my best friend), but I just feel like I’m going to hurt him one way or another.

 

Roots

“I can’t break the cycle, am I just a fool?
Falling down like dominoes, hit by family jewels.”

 The caption for the picture above is a good song, by the way. You should check it out.

When I see the word “root”, the picture of a tree jumps into my mind, depending on the context. Roots provide a tree a secure home, so the word is overall sad to me, because I don’t have roots in a family sense.

Well, I guess I did, but I didn’t have roots before.

I’m autistic, so I generally work differently than other people. I get overwhelmed and excited easily. It’s hard for me to pick up on social cues so I laugh at ‘inappropriate’ times. I don’t understand sarcasm and it’s very hard to talk to me over the internet, because if you are typing in a certain way I think you’re being rude or aggressive (I know, big surprise).

My mother, Francis, didn’t understand me. She thought I was acting like this on purpose. She was convinced other people would call me crazy and it would damn her name if she was known as the marchioness with the crazy daughter. Since always told me things like “quiet hands and big eyes” because I didn’t like to make eye contact and I always flapped excitedly when I was happy. I liked to rock back and forth while sitting down, so sometimes she’d just grab my shoulders and hold me still. Every time I tried to tell her that I saw colours she would dismiss me. Whenever I acted… like myself in public, she’d willow switch me. She once willow switched me so hard I couldn’t stretch without reopening the wounds.

My brother, Edward, loved me. More than how a brother should. He would constantly say he wished that Ciel was dead. How Ciel was undeserving of me, of how sweet and pure I was. When me and Edward were older, he came to the Phantomhive manor with my mother and his stupid fiancee. Her name was Trinity, or something of the sort. He pulled me aside, and told me that he still loved me like that, that he was sorry for what he did to me when we were younger. I hate Edward’s guts.

My father was the only good person in the house. I remember he was the only one who loved me despite how I acted, who wanted me to be happy, who didn’t enjoy the way Francis treated me.

And I killed him. I killed my entire family.

Naberius

Yesterday night a memory was triggered.

An awful, awful memory that I would’ve loved to have just forgotten along with all the other memories I’d forgotten in my life.

The unit’s mother (the unit being the body I reside in) was on the phone with the unit’s sister, and during their talk, I heard the unit’s mother say “get on your knees”. A wave of memories washed over my poor little mind, of my brother by the name Edward, who raped me when I was only six or seven.

My panic attack wasn’t too bad, and I was calming down had the unit’s mother not started yelling at me and triggering me even more. And before she left, she shut the lights off on me.

She left the house, and I started frantically crying and panicking, until Ciel started singing to me. He told me to turn the lights on, and then continued to help me by sending me things to draw on and singing to me.

The dark is my mortal enemy. I used to not be afraid of the dark, or the night, but with my trauma… every time I’ve been raped, it was dark. So I associate darkness with my trauma. And it was bad.

But I wasn’t as affected by the dark until I remembered Naberius (but you all better know him as Sebastian).

I’m still not exactly sure how I had came to him. I think after I had died I was in Hell for a significant time, in his castle of madness. He captured me and wiped my memories so that I’d never leave his side, he called me his princess (I can’t be called ‘princess’ anymore). I was his personal slave, a guard dog, a sex toy. His little maid who didn’t know any better.

Soon enough, I met this little girl, her name was Lily. She was… beautiful. She radiated like she was the sun, and I knew immediately that she needed to get out of there, that I needed to free her. Because anywhere else was better than this place, where her light would be snuffed out over and over like mine had.

I’d spend my days sewing dresses for her from sheets I’d stolen, braiding and playing with her hair, and then early in the mornings when the beast slumbered, I’d try to sneak her out. The first time we had gotten so close, but the sun was setting and the red filtered light from the windows began dying, so I stuffed Lily into a small space (she was very tiny) and took the punishment.

To punish me, he’d rape me. And while he was raping me, I would remember who I really was, and the effect was…so much worse. And after raping me, he’d lock me in a small black room with no light and no colour, and no space to move.

One time I pleaded to be let out, and when he did, I attacked him, and he pinned me on top of him and forced me up and down his disgusting length.

But I still tried to help Lily escape. If he did all that to me, imagine what he’d do to the girl who shone like the sun.


One day, we reached the outside. I pushed her outside, because Naberius was coming. But instead of running, she twisted, pushed me outside, and went back inside. She told me to run, to go and finish my story. I never saw her again, and I ran, I ran like my name was Finnian.

Freedom was abnormally bittersweet.

Grey

Today is grey.

I simply adore the rain. I love rain, thunderstorms, you name it. But sometimes, I just don’t like how negative the day can get. For most people it seems, a grey, rainy day brings them down and makes them miserable. I don’t know what it is, but while I’m happy and cheerful, people are down in the dumps and then try to bring me down too.

Even if it isn’t on purpose, they’ll say or do things that make me react, and when I react, they take it as a personal offense.

I love rainy days. I don’t like cloudy days. Cloudy days are a weird in-between of rain and sun, and remind me of snow.

And snow is just depressing.

Most children love wintertime because Christmas comes and the the New Years is right afterwards. I used to think I had seasonal depression, but after finding out I might be bipolar, it suddenly makes sense. But wintertime reminds me of when the Phantomhive manor burned down, of when I thought I lost my beloved Ciel… autumn does to. It was autumn when my mother gave me the worst willow lashing of my life. Though the weather and colours in autumn are gorgeous, I end up remembering two of my many emotional traumas.

I’ve always navigated the world in colours and pictures. In fact, I don’t even read like most people do. I don’t read the letters or the sounds, I see the word and recognize it as a picture. Then, I associate the arrangement of symbols to a mental image. Then I have to translate that into sounds and words when I speak, so that people around me understand.

So it’s fundamentally much easier to type than speak, even though if you spoke to me you wouldn’t be able to tell all of that is going on in my head since my words come from my mouth a million-miles-per-minute.

And words I don’t know I can’t pronounce because I’ve basically never seen them before and I don’t have a set sound for it.

But anyway, before coming to this body, I had synesthesia. The kind where you hear sounds and see colours. I was a prodigy at playing the piano because I knew each note had a colour. I can’t play anymore because this unit doesn’t have synesthesia.

And without it, the world is a bit greyer than before.

Dice

Suppose there’s something weird about me. Or maybe it’s about Ciel.

I suffer from a disorder called hypersexuality (fucking look it up). And no, not everyone experiences it, no, it’s not just my hormones, no, no, shut up. Hypersexuality stems off from sexual trauma and from what my husband has told me (you know, about being Bipolar) it can stem from that too.

And yes, I’m valid. My fucking brother raped me when I was 4-6-years old. I was held captive by a creature you all call Sebastian Michaelis. I was used as his slave, and no, it wasn’t fun.

In fact, I considered myself asexual until I managed to find Ciel again.

And that asshole makes me crave him. When we meet I especially want to shove him down into the mattress and show him who’s always been in charge. Punish him. But the moment he smiles, the moment he speaks in that tone that just makes me melt, I’m helpless and he knows it.

He knows how to make me want to get down on my knees like a loyal dog and beg him to abuse me. And I don’t have leverage over him anymore. The other day he literally told me “Go to bed, Elizabeth, that is an order.”

That’s hot.

But what was even hotter was that even though I tried to wiggle my way out of kink territory he remained firm and unrelenting, so cold. I couldn’t tell if he was acting or if he was really irritated with me. But that last part is less hot. Because in truth I’m terrified of his anger.

My birthday is on January 1st. And for my birthday, he made me so flustered I desperately tried to get off until I couldn’t anymore, especially since I can’t even achieve orgasm on my own because I’m so used to having his hands all over me.

Guh.

So when exactly does dice come into play?

He had two. They were primarily black with little gold dots. They were a bit sharper on the edges. And because of him, whenever I see dice I suddenly get soaked. Sopping wet, instantly. Whenever he really wanted to torture me is when he brought them out, and I fucking loved them.

And after spending two days fixated on trying to remember them, Ciel looks at me and says, “Well, now that we’ve remembered that, I’ll keep in mind to buy a pair.”

Guh.

 

Break

4-29-2017

So this is just one of those posts I don’t feel like scheduling because I’m going to post this diary to my personal blog and I want to be as passive aggressive as I possibly fucking can in this entry so that the people who I’m being passive aggressive about read it and know that they should have never went on here.

When you have DID, you go through the messages of what other people have wrote about you and you just get this frustration of never being able to say anything about it because you were snooping. Yeah. That’s okay.

How dare Ciel say that he’s tired of my breakdowns? That he can’t handle them? I’m staring at the text messages right now and I’m just completely fucking baffled. I get it, I can be overbearing, but Jesus Christ? Imagine how I’m fucking feeling, I’m the one having the fucking breakdown.

Saying something like that just worsens my state of mind! I want to fucking die right now because, news flash, guess who just (in her mind) realized that her husband actually fucking hates her! Whoops, you guessed right! It’s me.

I just lost the love of my life and my best friend and my brother so there’s literally no fucking point in living I’m tired I’m done the world just needs to fucking stop! I want to fucking die!

I cannot fucking stand anything!

I’m so tired oh my God, everyone fucking hates me! Everyone hates me and they refuse to fucking admit it! I don’t want to know anything once I’m dead! They better not fucking cry over me once I’m dead! I’m fucking done with this fucking stupid planet! I’m tired! I’m done! I hate being sad and I hate feeling emotions!

I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL BLOCK THEM ON EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!! They don’t deserve to BREATHE in my direction! I hate everyone and everything I fucking can’t stand this anymore!!!!!!!

I’m so TIRED enjoy fucking having Celeste around because I’m literally so fucking done !!!! i hate myself all i do!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! is make mistakes so IM JUST BETTER OFF FUCKING DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!

Easter

I realize that I didn’t write anything for Easter.

Probably because I didn’t make this blog until after Easter.

I’m pretty much making this post also to let you guys know my blog will be updating on Monday of every week, with an occasional post for the holidays. So I guess for this Easter (which I missed) I’ll be writing about a memory me and Ciel discussed. (Note that all Monday posts are most likely old and my current life probably doesn’t have to do with them anymore, this is because I write them when I feel like it and then schedule them for the next free Monday.)

On Easter, the first one we spent together after Ciel returned from the Cult, my mother had suggested that we spend Easter at the Phantomhive manor as we always had. Before Easter consisted of finding eggs and sharing prayers over meals, but Ciel of course didn’t seem interested in them. Neither did eye. We both felt like God had abandoned us in our greatest time of need. Plus, I always felt like something was off with Ciel’s butler, who radiated darkness and hatred and the colour black. In fact, nobody in my family particularly adored Sebastian. It’s as if we all just had the ability to sense when something was unholy. (lol)

Ciel had his staff dressed up like Alice in Wonderland characters. I wanted to be the white rabbit though, so Ciel made Sebastian dress up like Alice and let me be the white rabbit.

We then went egg hunting. That was the best part about it, because Ciel was having fun, he was smiling and laughing so much, it made my heart burst with happiness, but I had a feeling he was letting me find all the eggs. (Even though we were a team, if he found an egg it wouldn’t matter… stupid dork.)

There had been a chocolate egg hidden, but April had been very warm that year, and when we found it, it had melted. He suggested that we leave it where it was but I was young and reckless, I reached out and started salvaging what I could from the egg. I got chocolate all over my hands and face, and I was laughing the entire time Ciel nagged over me, trying to clean me up, because Francis was here and he didn’t want me getting in trouble.

At some point he stopped cleaning me with his stupid handkerchief (I didn’t like the way the material felt against my skin. Autism Things) and started licking his thumb and trying to clean my face that way, and because I was an idiot (read: I’m still an idiot) I leaned forward to try and lick the chocolate off his finger.

I don’t remember what happened, but after talking to Ciel about the memory, he admitted he slipped on the grass because he wasn’t wearing shoes made to be worn in grass. His thumb got jammed in my eye and he spent the next four minutes furiously apologizing while I rubbed my injured eye, stunned. It was really funny to me.

Until I got pink eye. (That was the worst part of it, because doctors kept telling me that I was going to lose my eye, and my mother wouldn’t let me go out without an eye patch. An eye for an eye I guess!)

I remember after the finger-in-the-eye incident it had begun drizzling, so Ciel took his overcoat off and gave it to me to keep me from getting wet. Once we got inside, I remember mother telling me that it was time to go, and me complaining that I didn’t want to.

She yelled at me after that, haha.

It was the best Easter I ever had.

But anyway, happy late Easter, everyone!