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  1. Disclaimer: The story contains mentions of abuse if you are uncomfortable with that I suggest you don't read. ooOoo Chapter 1: The orphanage was overcrowded and chaotic. It was a small building, more a house, in a decent neighborhood. Marina and Christian hadn’t known what to expect when they pulled into the driveway. In front of the white two-story house was a sign that said, Brighter Horizons Orphanage. There was a large wrap-around porch and the garden in the front yard was only half alive and grass overgrown. It was known that the orphanages were terribly underfunded. The government tended to give all their money to the large hospitals leaving nothing for anyone else. It was a part of Christian Tischner’s goal to make sure everyone could afford the same opportunities. No littles should have to suffer. No workers should be stressed or overworked. But that was often the case with the underpaid staff. When the couple got the phone call a week ago, they were taken aback. It was from Marsha Mercer, a woman they hadn’t heard from in many years. She was their designated social worker. When you adopt your first little, it’s the law that you have surprise home checks every three months for up to a year to ensure that the little is being well taken care of. However, because it had been so long since they had a little, Marsha decided to check in, just to make sure everything was going ok. Their first thought was of Willa, worried something had happened, and she was going to be taken away. That’s what those phone calls usually led to. Their fears, however, were quickly squashed as Marsha explained the situation. A little by the name of Olive May was in need of fostering. She had been the third girl at Little Beginnings Hospital in the Newborn Ward with Lulu and Willa. The story was devastating. A friend of Astrid Reichner wanted to adopt her early. The girl was a master at manipulation and had everyone convinced that she had fully regressed. She was released into the woman’s custody but her new mommy quickly learned that she was not the perfect angel she portrayed. For three years she was abused physically and mentally. Her mommy could not afford to send her back to the hospital so she tried to force her into little space. It did not work and she’s now stuck between a 6-month-old to three years old, headspace, often fluctuating between them. Olive May was aware enough to know that she shouldn’t be in diapers and a onesie and that he was actually an adult. That proved a huge problem because little’s like those, if escaped, could reveal all of their secrets. Her social worker never noticed the signs of abuse. She was overworked, taking on hundreds of cases that most of the time she’d forget to check in. When she was rescued, she spent a month at SunnySide Hospital but the doctors determined that too much damage had been done and it would be virtually impossible to regress her to a set age. There was nothing more they could do for her. She was sent to Bright Horizons Orphanage but nobody wanted to adopt or foster her. She tended to lean towards violence when upset and nobody wanted a little that wasn’t fully regressed. The orphanage was weeks away from sending her to, Henderson’s Psychiatric Hospital for Littles where she’d most likely spend the rest of her life. When Marsha heard of the situation she immediately intervened. She knew that wasn’t what she needed and if they could just find a loving family to take her in, perhaps she could heal. Marsha wanted the Tischners to be that family. They were well off, loved by everyone, and Christian was a miracle worker when it came to littles. But the couple was wary at first. They wanted to help her but it sounded as if she was too late to be saved. They also had to think about Willa. She was their full-time responsibility and while they were pretty certain that she would never fall out of her headspace, they didn’t want to take the chance. Marsha remained optimistic though and wholeheartedly believed she could still be helped. The Tischners didn’t say no right away and slept on the decision for a few days before ultimately deciding they’d take her on. No little should have to suffer. They made a promise to each other that they wouldn’t let the girl’s care get in the way of their little Willa. They’d make sure Willa knew that she was still loved. They just would have a new family member now. She’d have a big sister. They sat in an office right off the front door. The sound of crying sounded from one end of the house and laughter from another. Just from their brief moment in the main room when they first entered, they were shocked. Littles ranging from all ages were crowded in several rooms. There were about forty littles in total that they had seen. The diapers were cheap and the clothes were obviously from second-hand stores. The toys they played with were falling apart. There was the strongest smell of dirty diapers and Marina couldn’t help but cover her nose. The house had definitely seen better days. It looked moments away from falling apart. They had known that orphanages were bad but they hadn’t expected this. Nobody wanted to end up in one. Littles who were abused, abandoned, or caregivers that had died were brought to places like this. The hospitals were only for the injured and for those who needed to be regressed which left everyone else in the dust. Most people didn’t like adopting from the orphanages because there was always something wrong with the littles. Most preferred the hospitals because they were all shiny, new, and well behaved. The stigma and bias against orphanage littles and hospital littles was a sad reality. Five minutes later a stern-looking woman entered the office. She had hard brown eyes, blonde hair cut into a bob cut, and pale skin. She was dressed for a day at the office instead of in a house full of littles. She wore a white blouse (which had somehow managed to stay clean) and blue jeans. “Thank you for your patience,” she said with the slightest English accent. The woman reached over to shake their hands as she sat down behind the desk. “My name is Anne Marie Whitmore. I’m the owner of Brighter Horizons. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” “The pleasure is ours,” Christian replied. Mrs. Whitmore curtly nodded her head, sliding over a vanilla folder with papers inside. She was not one for small talk. They jumped right into business. “I’m not going to lie. I was surprised to hear that you were interested in fostering. I’m aware of your accomplishments and how charitable you’ve been in the past but fostering a little-- especially this little is a huge responsibility.” It sounded as if she were doubting their capabilities. Of course, they knew that they had their skeptics. Some were determined to paint them in a negative light for every single thing they did, such as donating to charities and exposing Little Beginnings Hospital. Some believed that they had done it just to increase their fame, claiming they had, Caregiver Savior Complex: caregiver’s feeling the need to help sick and injured littles when it benefited them in some way. Of course, that wasn’t true but it still hurt that people thought that. “I’m aware that Ms. Mercer has alerted you to Olive May’s issues but inside the folder is a more formal and detailed report.” They opened it up and to say it wasn’t slightly overwhelming would be a lie. Christian was trained in caring for abused littles and had worked with them before but this was obviously going to be a whole new experience. The first page read: Babygirl, Olive May Sex: F DOB: 9/27/2003 Previous Name: Jessica Flannery Demographics Contact Information: Address: 42 Hickory Street, Brighter Horizons Orphanage, Henderson, WA, Email: Brighterhorizons@littlespace.net Phone: 92-334-1995 Little Space: Six months old to three years old Biological Age: 21 years old Regression Status: Incomplete Height: 5ft 1in Weight: 95lbs Nationality: Irish Dual Citizenship: United States Race: White Ethnic Group: Irish Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Blue Health Issues Chronic Constipation, PTSD, Anxiety, Anger issues, Malnourishment, Dehydration, Vitamin Deficiencies, Anemia, Muscle Atrophy, Selective Muteness, Claustrophobia: fear of small spaces, Nyctophobia: fear of the dark “As you can see her file is over twenty pages long,” said Mrs. Whitmore. “That’s the reason she’s listed as a high priority little. We will not let just anyone foster her.” The pages went on and on, going into more detail about her treatments, medicines, behaviors, etc. It would take a whole week to just read through every single detail. “What did the woman do to her?” Marina gulped with tears in her eyes. She’d heard these stories time and time again when working with patients but this hit different. It was a caregiver who hurt their little. Never in a million years would she ever lay a hand on Willa. The Tischners didn’t believe in corporal punishment. Not that they ever needed to punish her but if they did, they’d simply take away her plushie. That made her upset enough. “The details of her rescue and past living conditions are all in the folder.” she sighed, sadness hinted in her voice. “The trauma she’s been through has left her unable to communicate effectively. She’s constantly angry and fights against the regression. If she feels herself start to slip then she’ll begin hitting and scratching herself. We clipped her nails all the way down and placed her hands in mitts. The only effective punishments are time outs when she’s in an old enough headspace and when she is a younger, we take away her plushie--” “She has a favorite plushie?” he interrupted, surprised. If a little was having difficult regressing, usually the first things doctors did was give them a plushie. It always seemed to do the trick, no one knew why though. “Yes,” she nodded her head. “It’s a stuffed elephant and it’s attached to her hip at all times. She doesn’t let anyone else touch the thing.” That was a good sign. Usually if a little became attached to a plushie, they’d quickly fall into their little space but something was obviously blocking that from happening. She continued to tell them about her, the situation sounding more dire as she went on. Marina was starting to wonder if they were the right people for this job. But she knew they had to do it. “It’s not too late to back out, if you’re having second thoughts,” Mrs. Whitmore stared right at her as if sensing her thoughts. They shared a glance, grasping each other’s hand and said, “we’d like to continue with the fostering process. You’re not going to scare us off.” Her lips pursed and her brown eyes assessed them for a moment before saying, “very well. I believe it’s time to meet Miss Olive May.” ooOoo Author Notes: Hey everyone! This is part 2 of Willa’s story. As you can see a new character was introduced, some may remember a brief mention of her from part 1. You’ll see more of Willa in the other chapters and it will be heavily focused on the both of them. Hope you enjoy!
  2. Hi Sorry to be posting this here. So far this year things have been pilling on bit by bit, but i feel like i am reaching breaking point. 1. Car troubles 2. Problems with my boss at work 3. Work has gone through three sets of redundancy in the last two months and it has been said another 100 have to go. 4. My fathers illness is getting worse 5. My wife's mother rang today to say she has acute leukeamia... to say my wife is upset is an understatement. I just want to crawl into the little in me and never come out.
  3. Hi, Its been a while since i posted here, still having problems. Its difficult to explain how this affects me. I have had several bouts of CBT with limited success. I did get a diagnosis in the end and the doctors letter recommended further treatment and meds, my GP practice just filed the letter away for information without reading it, four years later thinking i am on a very long NHS waiting list i found out the truth. Now i have to try more options before seeing a shrink (which is a level 2 service) and i have to apparently exhaust all level 1 options first.. hence the meds and i am now starting EMDR. Feel like i am in a computer game and stuck on level 1
  4. So yeah. I've known I've had PTSD for a while. It's something that someone had to tell me (a therapist), and even now I just don't feel like I've got it, mostly because there's never been a moment in my life where this particular demon wasn't just over my shoulder. I'm 31 years old. This shit just... drags on me. Yeah, I've got the symptoms. Not all of them for sure, but enough for a solid diagnosis. I need someone in my life who's there, who will dig through the miles of emotional scarring from years of physical, emotional, and possibly sexual (don't know because I can only recall a single event and even that one is fuzzy) abuse. The problem is I can't stand to let people that close because of the scarring. It hurts for people to be close to me. It terrifies me when people even want to hug me. I just... can't deal with it at times. I want attention. I want to be left alone. I want contact with another human being, but the same thing sends me into massive panic attacks. I need the love and support of another person, but I won't be able to let them give it to me. I can't. Because the last time I had people who were supposed to be loving and supportive, they beat me. They threatened me. They belittled me and criticized every little thing I did right down to attempts to clean things. I'm just... broken. I don't have all the pieces, and the ones I do have don't fit together. I need the glue to salvage myself, but have no way to pay for it. I just needed to get this off my chest, hopefully to people who won't judge.
  5. Hello everyone, familiar and unfamiliar alike. I know it's rare for me to really participate in this community anymore, or write any stories or make any posts. Some of you know I've been dealing with a lot of bad luck lately. My aunt passed away 2 months ago, my car engine died (and thankfully was fixed under warranty), had a girl I was dating essentially tell me the last 3 weeks of us going out was nothing because she didn't really want a relationship anyway. Sounds like average complaints you'd hear from someone, right? And you know what? None of these things compare to what happened this past Monday morning. Bad luck, or fate, or whatever you want to call it, has had a funny way of finding me lately, and this week was no exception. I'm not going to get into the full details in a forum out of respect for the individual (whom I did not know), but I was witness to part of a suicide at the parking garage where I work. Needless to say, it was the scariest and most horrifying thing I've ever seen in my life, and I'm pretty messed up from it. I saw part of what the individual had done and was also the first to find her and respond. I ran into my office and had my coworkers call 911.. I found out a short time later that she ended up not making it, despite our efforts and despite her being alive when the paramedics got to her. I was shaking, I was breathing heavy, and I almost passed out. Dealing with anxiety already, this experience has increased it 100-fold. I'm hardly sleeping, and the images and sounds of what I experienced are constantly replaying in my head. I'm getting help currently, more so than usual, but it is taking its toll. I'm told by the crisis counselors that I may develop some form of PTSD, and that with my current struggle with anxiety that this may exacerbate it further.
  6. first off, i want to appoligize for the way i acted last summer, i'm not pissed at AE and tigger, i never really was. i flipped out over the site update because my phone wasnt working right, and that was just the straw that broke the camels back. i have been dealing with a very bad case of ptsd due to some drunk redneck punks trying to kill me back in april. im the same smokey physically, but not the same smokey you all know. i had to check myself into therepy because of everything that happend, and it is working, but i'll never be the same after this. i should have talked about my problems here first, but i didn't. ive always felt that if i try to talk about my problems with someone, they just respond with "well, you better un-fuck yourself, and get back to work". i'm willing to talk, but only in pm, and only if i'm allowed back in this site. even if i am allowed back, you wont see me in chat, and i wont be very active on the boards due to the fact im still stressed about my situation. i have a shotgun on my lap as i write this because im so paranoid about what happend back in april. if you really want to here from me, pm me. and once again, i am sorry to those i hurt and offended
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