Greetings, Unfuckers!
Let's go ahead and get it out of the way: Yeah, yeah, I'm one of those assholes dipping their toes back into tumblr after an extended time away. I'm hoping you'll show some mercy due to my many previous years of service here and the fact that this is UfYH's original home.
Also! This coming Monday is 11 years since UfYH started. ELEVEN YEARS. So hello to everyone who's been here since the beginning.
What's been going on in UfYH's world in the past few years? Some highlights:
I wrote a book and a guided journal, which I'm really proud of. The first book now exists in English (US and UK), German, Russian, and Turkish.
My first book was updated in the UK with a less-sweary title and the new edition came out this summer.
I quit my day job of 17 years and am freelancing full-time and paying for my health insurance with the help of my Patreon patrons.
I focused mainly on the UfYH Twitter, because that format works really well for me, but, well, you know.
I haven't decided yet where I'm going to go with UfYH on tumblr this time around. I'm gonna be honest, folks. Social media is wildly draining and not always great for my mental health. And constantly creating content (ugh, I hate it, but that's the most accurate word) is exhausting.
But! I think a similar approach to what I've been doing on Twitter might work here — sending out random small challenges with an occasional meandering monologue on my cleaning philosophy or whatever. I'm probably not going to resume scheduled reminders or reblog a ton of before and afters, mainly because that's all really time-consuming and involved.
Anyway, I'm reminded that one way tumblr is great for me is that I can post these ramblings and don't have to create a graphic or plot stuff out a month in advance. The most I can promise is that we'll see how it goes, but, well, isn't that kind of what UfYH is about anyway?
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a lot of the talk about Bushnell is reminding me of my "the "mentally ill" have their right to violence revoked" thing again
like. When you're deemed mentally ill, suddenly you must stress how you are more likely to be a victim of violence than a perpetrator to be deemed as human. Because any violence you commit, as a crazy person, is bad. It cannot carry rationale, because you are crazy. If I, as an autistic person, hit someone who was hurting me and got in legal trouble, I can be referred to as just "crazy" instead of as a victim responding to an aggressor. It's an underdiscussed area of dehumanization.
And that's before we talk about intersectionality, and before we talk about how this factors into the idea of ODD, and the "violent" responses patients have to doctors (including those who simply aren't white, and those forced on meds that hurt them, and those resisting sexual assault, and-).
But this is not just interpersonally political, it is political at scale. Black men were targeted by schizophrenia diagnoses during the Civil Rights era (and this is also around when schizophrenia became a "scary" illness). The crazy cannot have valid political criticisms, as a movement (remember that being "crazy" is a vector of oppression abd marginalization) or as individuals in other movements.
Ive seen both the sentiment of "oh Aaron is gonna be slandered as crazy" and exactly what the sentiment warns of- "we can't valorize suicide from the mentally ill". And the first isn't wrong, because society at large does view the "crazy" as lacking political agency, but it's lacking.
Bushnell had been trying very hard to get out of his military contract without being imprisoned at best, while witnessing genocide and knowing he was complicit. He may not have had clinical depression normally, but that would inspire a mental rational response of situational depression (and yes, mental health issues can be a rational response to horrible circumstances). Further, I know of instances of self immolation that WERE done by people who did have long standing mental health issues and were done to protest the treatment they'd experienced that caused them and that resulted from their existence. Mental illness and divergence from the norm is more complicated than just "these people are incapable of rationality, they are incapable of political thought, and they are incapable of agency".
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Crazy for you, oh boy | Shane x Harvey
Quick tags not in tags: suicidal thoughts mentioned, getting together, mostly fluff, bit of dark humor, they were friends before that, ooc sewers
Shane stood by the Saloon's bar in his usual spot. Also as usual, he was holding a pint of beer in his arm. And in his usual manner, Shane took a sip of his drink. Usually, his mind would be plauged by the visions (getting to work at jojamarkt next day).
Yoba, how he hated that place. He wouldn't work there anymore if he had any say in it. Sadly, he needed that money. Plus, he can't just leave poor Sam alone within the land of Tartarus under the lead of Krotos (Morris).
What was unusuall tonight, was the lack of thoughts regarding his little hell. Tonight his mind was stuck in the purgatory of longing after a feeling. A feeling that he wished for harder with each gramm of the alcohol in his blood.
Shane wasn't prone to those soul minglings before being brought back from the dead at The Clinic. The sight of his momentary guardian asleep on the fucking plastic stool, leaned agains the wall, legs curled to his chest and prepped against Shane's bed frame, made the ex-alcocholic stirr something deep inside of his chest and reset in his brain. He didn't think he could go back to looking at the man the same way he did before. In seconds, Harvey got promoted from being this mystical doctor seen by Shane once when he was running late to his job, to a real person that Shane wanted to get closer to.
Shane wouldn't have known what to call his current feeling if it wasn't for the new farmer, Laura. For someone so disorganised as him, Laura could muster up some good advice when coherent enough.
"The desire to be desired. And the desire to desire that thing the same way." Laura told Shane. He stopped in his track after hearing that. And then he burst out laughing. "What? If I didn't desire to pass down my legacy and Guiliermo didn't desire to be owned by me specifically, we wouldn't have each other!" She picked up her cat up to Shane's face. The orange cat looked at him right in the eye, as if challenging him. To what, Shane had no idea. But the devil's youngling must have sensed his lack of defense and meowed loudly in victory. Shane just turned around and went back to Marnie after loosing the one sided battle. He heard the farmer's laughter goes quiet as he walked.
Closing his eyes, Shane could almost see Harvey's face staring at him fondly. His mind tried to imagine his expression change to more passionate one. Shane tried not to let his mind take control. The more thoughts of this calliber, the most likely he was to send his addictions to the bottom of the cliffs alongside with him.
He looked down at his glass, half full with a beer. It was supposed to be his first and only one tonight. But with how things were going, Shane was tempted to throw the glass across the whole local and preach the words of his soul. How he felt because of the booze. How the will feel because of the booze. How it could ruin their life as hard as it ruined his. How one drink led to another to another to another to another to another to another to anot-
Warm chocolate eyes blinked at him right before his face. Shane relaxed his grip on the glass. He pushed it towards Gus, dropped some coins on the counter and left. He ignored the looks given by the townfolks and let himself fall into the fresh breeze outside. He stood in front of the darkness that loomed over the town at the edge of the forest. Without any more thought, he let himself be swallowed by it. It wasn't long before his eyes got used to the lack of the warm radiation of laps lit up around the town. The sky was truely one of the main reasons why Shane didn't get with his plans. Constelations of unwandered paths streched right above his small and meaningless life. Glittering and saying that maybe it was worth being there even if just to marvel at their beauty for a fleeting moment.
Shane wandered around the forest, his gaze lost in the stars, mind still by the fond eyes it couldn't bare to leave behind. He didn't know how long he was out there untill he saw the edge of the cliffs. Instead of heading acrossthe grass, Shane followed the overgrown path. It led to a narrow stairs that led to the large pipe that finished (or started?) the maze of sewer canals spread under the town. Drunk Shane liked to joked that it was an underground mirror reflecting the spiralls and labirynths made by stars. As if an artist scribbled down the unseen paths between stars and the pages landed on the desk of a rough engineer who tried and failed to recreate their grace.
As Shane marveled upon the genius of the cosmic blueprint, a quiet song was to be heard. He looked around, trying to find its source. After seeing nobody at the forest's clearing and no soul on the beach below, Shane was sure that it was coming from inside the pipe. His body tensed up, ready to initiate a fight or flight revalation at whatever might come from the sewer. The thing is, Shane would be nothing wothout his brain. And his brain, soothed by the strange melody, didn't want to response accordingly. So he sat at the top of the stairs, entranced by how sweet the sounds were. He was almost lulled to sleep by it when he started to sway to the rythm lightly. He got startled when he heart someone sing along the tune. What shocked him more was the fact that the voice was coming from his mouth. The words to the song came to him with a blink of an eye. Shane let himself be taken by the melody's current. And with a small smile on his lips, he sang.
"Harvey, nobody knows what I see."
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