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compassionthreads · 4 years

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Real Apologies

Someone asked how to deliver real apologies and how to grow out of behaviors that hurt others and here is what I can offer under the read more:

Why it can be hard to apologise

So why do so many people struggle with admitting their mistakes, electing instead to play the ostrich-head-in-the-sand game? Often masquerading behind stiff facades and a determination to shift blame (often onto the hurt party), and to save ego and skin, it’s a dangerous place to sit long term.

Owning and admitting mistakes of any kind can feel like a loss of power and a declaration of weakness. This is a phoney fear in reality as taking responsibility and apologising takes great courage and strength.

Studies also show entrenched non-apologists grapple with deeper psychological conflict around apologising as it elicits fundamental shameful feelings (either conscious or unconscious) they desperately want to avoid.

Sue Parker wrote for SmartCompany:

For clarity, I’m reflecting in this article on the commonplace (but still harmful) mistakes that are made in our lives and businesses — as opposed to those of the monumental, historical, government, institutional and or royal commission kind. -SUE PARKER AUGUST 14, 2019

So, given that humans make mistakes, be they intentional or inadvertent, why is admitting and apologising with remorse often akin to pulling a decayed tooth from a tiger? What prevents people stepping out to take responsibility and remedy? Mistakes that are not addressed can be set in stone causing ongoing commercial and human damage.

“It’s never too late to put things right. It’s never too late to say sorry and mean it.”

A genuine apology can shift mountains of despair, alleviate hurt, elevate self-esteem and purpose, encourage honesty, build partnerships, foster trust and most importantly allow situations and relationships to really repair, grow and succeed.

An apology:

Is simply the right and decent thing to do;

Works to repair and re-establish relationships and trust;

Helps restores dignity and wellbeing to the other party who has been hurt;

Minimises conflict and gives the space for business creativity;

Strengthens self-respect and values

Minimises feelings of deep remorse that can impact you physically and emotionally.

-SUE PARKER AUGUST 14, 2019

Apologies are definitely “crucial conversations,” and the book gives good insight into the win-win potential a real apology creates:

…an apology isn’t really an apology unless you experienced a change in heart. To offer a sincere apology, your motives have to change. You have to give up saving face, being right or winning in order to focus on what you really want. You have to sacrifice a bit of your ego by admitting your error. But like many sacrifices, when you give up something you value, you’re rewarded with something even more valuable — healthy dialogue and better results.

According to The Power of Remorse and Apology by Hershey H Friedman an apology is structured in the next manner:

What does an apology entail? O’Hara (2004), synthesizing the literature on apologies, states that an effective apology has the following four elements:

(1) Identification of the wrongful act; (2) Expression of remorse and regret for having committed the act; (3) Promise to forbear from committing the wrongful act in the future; (4) Offer of repair.

There can be an apology without remorse. Indeed, this is usually a failed or pseudo-apology, an apology that does not heal and may make matters worse. Lazare (2004, pp. 85-106) describes various types of apologies that do not indicate true remorse, for instance:

An apology that minimizes the offense or implies that the victim was not really hurt.

A conditional apology such as “If anyone has been hurt by my actions, I am sorry” does not usually indicate remorse.

On the other hand, there can be remorse without apology. Remorse usually indicates that there are psychological pain and suffering on the part of the wrongdoer. They wish they could go back in time and undo the bad deed. Many people regret past misdeeds and think of them often but may, however, never apologize to their victims.

Remorse without an apology may mean that both the victim and the offender suffer an entire life; there is no opportunity for healing.

Engel (2001, p. 12) observes:

When we apologize to someone we have hurt, disappointed, neglected, or betrayed, we give them a wonderful gift that is far more healing than almost anything else we can give. By apologizing, we let the other person know that we regret having hurt him or her. Just as important, we let this person know we respect him, and we care about his feelings. It becomes one of the most effective tools for mending a relationship.

Therefore this begs the question what constitues then, as a Non apology?

According to Zahra Barnes (JUL 21, 2015); A non apology constitutes of Five core signs that the aggravator does not mean what they say.

1. They Don't Seem to Understand Why They’re Apologizing

After actually saying "I'm sorry," comprehending what they did wrong is the bare minimum for an apology. "Sorry on its own is like a balloon without a string," says Greer. "It needs to be tied to them explaining how they hurt you."

If they’re not showing an awareness of why what they did wasn't okay and how it affected your feelings, they probably doesn't get that they did anything wrong in the first place. "The apology is just the beginning," says Greer. "The first thing it needs to be packaged with is an explanation of what exactly they’re apologizing for."

2. They Make It All About Themself

Empathy is key for a successful apology, but it needs to be done the right way. "When someone brings in their own experience, he runs the risk of trivializing the intensity of your feelings," says Greer. Instead of making it sound like they know exactly how they hurt you, they could have tweaked the language and settled on something like, "I'm sorry I created some backlash that was upsetting for you. I've been through some myself, and it wasn't fair to help put you in that position." (On a social example.) That way, it doesn't make it seem like they think they're in the same exact situation.

3. They Make a Show Out of It

So about that whole getting-on-his-knees and apologizing to (social circle or media) thing. "That's television, so it makes more sense there, but if a person is falling all over themselves just repeating that they’re sorry, it may not be sincere," says Greer. Without an explanation of how they plan on changing any hurtful behaviors in the future, dramatic apologies can fall flat. "An apology should include some sort of intention about how they’re going to change going forward," says Greer. That's one major way you'll know they care about not making the same mistake twice.

4. Their Actions Don't Mimic Their Words

Following a person’s stated resolve to do better, they need to actually, you know, do better. "You have to give it time to play out because what people say in the moment can only be supported by what they do in the future," says Greer. Otherwise, a lack of change shows they can't take ownership of the apology.

5. They Expect You to Get Over It ASAP

If a person does all of the above, they could still undermine what would otherwise be a good apology by expecting you to go back to normal in an instant. "That's more about them wanting you to get on with it without fully understanding why you might need more time," says Greer. Instead, after explaining that they knows how they hurt you and what they’ll do to make sure it doesn't happen again, a person who's truly sorry will get that it might take some time for you to heal.

Given this information it’s understood that the structure of the apology needs to be characterized by giving a victim space, understanding, empathy, and giving oneself personal introspection and reparation.

But to be more exact, how do you say you don’t mean something, and/or how do you avoid saying the wrong thing?

Kelsey Borresen (04/12/2018) has a good list of things Not to say during apologies that are representative of nonapologies:

1. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“Even though this phrase begins with the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ it is not a real apology. It does not take ownership of any wrongdoing. It does not communicate remorse for your actions, and it does not express any empathy towards the other person’s feelings. Instead, it may imply that you think the other person is being irrational or overly sensitive. Try to understand and take responsibility for how your actions or words hurt the other person, saying something like, ‘I’m sorry that I canceled our plans at the last minute. It was inconsiderate of your time and I understand why you are angry at me.’” ― Gina Delucca, clinical psychologist at Wellspace SF

2. “I’m sorry I said that, but I never would have if you hadn’t behaved the way you did.”

“Again, we are hearing blame. ‘Look what you made me do.’ This is not an apology for one’s behavior but actually a maneuver to hold the other person responsible for one’s behavior. In other words, ‘You caused me to say this to you.’ We are all responsible for our behavior, no matter what the other person says or does. A heartfelt apology is to recognize the pain we cause and own our behavior: ‘I’m sorry that I reacted the way I did and upset you.’” ― Carol A. Lambert, psychotherapist and author of Women with Controlling Partners

3. “I was stressed out!” (or tired... or hungry... or in a bad mood...)

“This makes a recurrence of the offense almost inevitable. Always connect the apology to the future. For example, ‘The next time I feel that way (whatever triggered the offense), I will remember that I love you and that our bond is so important to me,’ or, ‘I’ll make sure I get centered in my values so I don’t act on impulse.’ The subtext should always be: ‘I’m sorry that I hurt you and harmed the bond between us.’” ― Steven Stosny, psychologist and author of Love Without Hurt

4. “I said I’m sorry already, why can’t you just let it go?”

“Blaming your partner for not immediately accepting your apology, forgiving you and moving on is unrealistic and unfair. For an apology to be effective, it must be clear that:

1) You accept full responsibility for your actions and inactions;

2) You are sincerely sorry for anything you’ve done to cause pain and

3) That you want to remedy the situation by giving your partner what they need to feel safe in order to move on and forgive you.

Not all apologies lead to immediate forgiveness. It may take time. And it may take apologizing more than once. Start by asking what your partner needs in order to trust you and feel safe and then do it.” ― Sheri Meyers, marriage and family therapist and author of Chatting or Cheating: How to Detect Infidelity, Rebuild Love and Affair-Proof Your Relationship

5. “I was reacting to...”

“This is an excuse, not an apology.” ― Stosny

6. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“This is an example of a conditional apology that doesn’t truly acknowledge any remorse or personal responsibility. By using the word ‘if,’ you are communicating that the problem isn’t really about what you did, but is about how the person reacted to what you did instead.

Essentially, this type of ‘non-apology’ places the blame back onto the person it’s directed at. Simply remove the word ‘if,’ and your apology can take on a whole new meaning: ‘I’m sorry I offended you. I will make sure to be more considerate and careful with my words in the future.’” ― Tara Griffith, marriage and family therapist and the founder of Wellspace SF

7. “I may have done this, but you did that!”

“Try to avoid keeping score and bringing up times when the other person was in the wrong. An apology is about you acknowledging the wrongfulness of your own actions and making amends; it is not about pointing fingers at other people as a way to justify your actions.” ― Delucca

Here are six words that can sabotage your apology in no time flat delivered by

1. You

There’s no better way to apologize without actually apologizing than following an “I’m sorry” with this three-letter pronoun. “I’m sorry you … [feel that way/think that/misinterpreted things/anything else].”

If you’re sorry, be sorry for your actions. Don’t imply that the recipient was wrong to feel upset or hurt.

Of course, context is important. If it applies, then feel free to throw in you at other points, as in the always appreciated expression “You were right, and I was wrong.”

2. But

This little conjunction may be the ultimate apology annihilator. You never know what will come after it, but whatever it is, it’s bound to steer your mea culpa away from sincerity and down a road of excuses and exculpations . Best to leave the phrase “I’m sorry, but … ” at the door.

3. If

Such a short little pronoun, but its passive-aggressive power is massive.

“If it came off that way …” “If I hurt you …” “If you think I was wrong …” If you were wrong there should be no ifs about it.

4. I

It’s obviously OK to start an apology with I, as in “I am sorry,” but if the rest of your apology is filled with “I this …” and “I that…” then there’s a good chance you’re making it all about you, and not about the person you hurt. Be mindful of how you incorporate this term, and whether what follows is a line of defense, or something more earnest and useful.

5. Blame

While the rain (cue Milli Vanilli), tequila, or anything else may have something to do with your actions, saying, “I blame it on … ” sucks the sincerity right out of an apology. It implies that you’re holding someone or something other than yourself responsible, and it sounds more like an explanation than a plea for forgiveness. Plus, we all know that it can never really be the tequila’s fault.

6. Not

This mighty adverb can come in handy in all kinds of heartfelt apologetic phrases, but the tired “sorry, not sorry” isn’t one of them. Enough with the sarcastic sorrow. Can we please just banish this phrase already? Either be sorry or don’t be sorry, and if you’re not, then words like unapologetic , impenitent, and obdurate have a much nicer ring.

Then if it is this easy to own up, apologize and move on, how come so many people cannot do this?

Why Apologies Threaten Non-Apologists, by Guy Winch tells us that for non-apologists, saying "I’m sorry" carries psychological ramifications that run far deeper than the words themselves imply; it elicits fundamental fears (either conscious or unconscious) they desperately want to avoid:

Admissions of wrongdoing are incredibly threatening for non-apologists because they have trouble separating their actions from their character. If they did something bad, they must be bad people; if they were neglectful, they must be fundamentally selfish and uncaring; if they were wrong, they must be ignorant or stupid, etc. Therefore, apologies represent a major threat to their basic sense of identity and self-esteem.

Apologizing might open the door to guilt for most of us, but for non-apologists, it can instead open the door to shame. While guilt makes us feel bad about our actions, shame makes non-apologists feel bad about their selves—who they are—which is what makes shame a far more toxic emotion than guilt.

While most of us consider apologies as opportunities to resolve interpersonal conflict, non-apologists may fear their apology will only open the floodgates to further accusations and conflict. Once they admit to one wrongdoing, surely the other person will pounce on the opportunity to pile on all the previous offenses for which they refused to apologize as well.

Non-apologists fear that by apologizing, they would assume full responsibility and relieve the other party of any culpability. If arguing with a spouse, for example, they might fear an apology would exempt the spouse from taking any blame for a disagreement, despite the fact that each member of a couple has at least some responsibility in most arguments.

By refusing to apologize, non-apologists are trying to manage their emotions. They are often comfortable with anger, irritability, and emotional distance, and experience emotional closeness and vulnerability to be extremely threatening. They fear that lowering their guard even slightly will make their psychological defenses crumble and open the floodgates to a well of sadness and despair that will pour out of them, leaving them powerless to stop it. They might be correct.

However, they are incorrect in assuming that exhibiting these deep and pent-up emotions (as long as they get support, love, and caring when they do—which fortunately, is often the case) will be traumatic and damaging. Opening up in such a way is often incredibly therapeutic and empowering, and it can lead them to experience far deeper emotional closeness and trust toward the other person, significantly deepening their relationship satisfaction.

Looking at the barebasics of the psychology behind non apologists, and what a non apology may look like, is it possible to implement an apology as an abuse tactic? The short answer ? Is yes, it is. And it is extremely common in familial and romantic relationships with toxic and or unhealthy people who do not know anything about emotional maturity. That and by abusers.

Emily Desanctis’s article for the Writer’s Corps tells us What “I’m Sorry” Means When it’s Used to Manipulate You:

1. A declaration made out of selfishness

Synonym: I don’t want to feel guilty anymore

I feel guilty because of what happened, and guilt isn’t a good feeling. I’m saying that I’m sorry to make myself feel better, not you.

2. A means to end a dispute that the apologizer would prefer to avoid, often for lack of caring

Synonym: This conversation is over

I’m tired and bored with this disagreement so I’m using these words to end it. I probably don’t believe it or don’t care enough to get to the real issue and so I’ll say this, so you’ll stop pressing for more. It may seem that I’m submitting to your point here, but in fact, I’m using this phrase to avoid doing so.

3. A method of appeasement to control another person

Synonym: I’m in control

I’m telling you what you want to hear not because I mean it, but because I know it will appease you and then allow me to pull your strings as I desire. If I don’t say it, there’s a high likelihood of some outcome occurring that I don’t want to happen—maybe you’ll stop talking to me or leave me home alone while you go out with your friends or break up with me for good. “I’m sorry” is simply a tool I pull out from my toolbox to prevent these things from happening.

4. A phrase designed to elicit an apology from the other party, whereby the original apologizer can deflect full responsibility to that other person; usually said in a hostile or sarcastic tone and often followed by an explicit or implicit “…but this is really your fault”

Synonym: you should be sorry

I wanted to hurt you and I did exactly what I knew would do so. But you started it—like always, you did something to make me upset: you weren’t where you said you’d be, you smiled at that stranger in an overtly flirtatious way, you took too long to respond to my text. Even though you might pretend that you didn’t mean to hurt me, I know that’s a lie. This is really your fault; in fact, you should be apologizing to me.

5. A means of furthering the test of how far the apologizer can push the other person’s boundaries and get away with it

Synonym: I’m testing you

I know what will hurt you and I do it with pleasure. I’m testing you to see what I can get away with—to see what you’ll put up with and what you won’t. “I’m sorry” is just something I say before I do this again—maybe the same exact way, or maybe slightly differently. Don’t worry, over time you’ll become desensitized to this; it will simply be “normal,” and so I’ll continue to push further so I can provoke you to react and keep myself entertained.

The hidden meaning behind any disingenuous “I’m sorry” is the same: I’m not really sorry because you deserve it. This is the lie that manipulators who lavish false apologies spread.

In short, a sincere apology can be seen in 3 parts: “I am sorry . It's my fault .What can I do to make it right?”

And how can a person show that they are becoming better?

Respect boundaries. Respect people’s intrincasies or walk away if you cannot coexist healthily. Communicate, constantly. Everything and Anything will be misinterpreted. This is not a joke, it is a common human matter.

Surround yourself with people who will be ready to openly critcize, hold you accountable and/or call you out on your unhealthy behavior, not those that will simply not along to your actions or look the other way when someone is being hurt by you. Yes men are not a ways to grow up, they are enablers who will hold you back on your path toward becoming a better, healthier person and who will allow you to walk all over them regardless of their own feelings and opinions.

Cultivate Gratitude. Yeah. You’ve probably heard it a million times, but keeping a gratitude journal of what you’re thankful for can have a big effect on your mindset. Research has shown that incorporating gratitude into your daily life can help ward off stress, improve sleep, and cultivate more positive social relationships.

Anna Hennings, MA, a mental performance coach in sport psychology, recommends using the acronym GIFT to help you identify what you’re grateful for.

When thinking about things you’re grateful for, look for instances of:

Growth: personal growth, like learning a new skill

Inspiration: moments or things that inspired you

Friends/family: people who enrich your life

Tranquility: the small, in-between moments, such as enjoying a cup of coffee or a good book

Surprise: the unexpected or a nice favor

The next time you find yourself feeling incompetent or overwhelmed, try telling yourself:

“I know this change is going to be challenging, but I’ve put a lot of meaningful thought into it and have considered all the options open to me [fact], so I feel confident I am doing the best I can in this moment [optimism].”

Being kind to others can help give you a sense of purpose and make you feel less isolated.

Try doing something nice for someone at random:

Pay a compliment to a stranger.

Buy lunch for your colleague.

Send a card to a friend.

Make a donation to someone in need.

“You’ll notice your mood lift a little when you do good for the sheer joy of it,” says Roantree. (Studies Trusted Source) show that simply counting acts of kindness for one week can boost happiness and gratitude.

Allow the other person’s experience to be what it is, without trying to dismiss their pain. Work to extend true empathy, as you strive to understand their perspective. There may be a time to teach them a life lesson; for now, offer your love and care instead, which validates their experience.

Before offering your opinion or guidance, think carefully about how it’s likely to be received. For example, that critiques of one’s parenting are almost never welcome. You might also take a closer look at what’s driving the pattern of criticism, and discuss with the recipient how you intend to change your behavior.

Be honest with yourself about the feelings you have that lead to the behavior. If you’re unhappy about something and it’s worth addressing, find a time and a way to do it directly and honestly.

Take a close look at your patterns in relationships. Look into information on “attachment style” (like this book), which is how we tend to connect with other people. You might also address this issue in therapy.

Think about the people you’re close to and who is going through a hard time. Let them know you are there if they need anything. Put reminders in your calendar to check in with them regularly. And remember, it’s much better to support someone imperfectly than to be absent, even if you don’t know “the right thing to say.”

Share more openly with the people who need to know. This will probably be painful at first, but it will spare you and others pain in the long run. It is also likely to lead to more support than you otherwise would have had, and perhaps to a solution you hadn’t thought of.

When you listen and ask more, you are better able to learn and understand others. Compassion and empathy are learned emotions and behaviors.

When you people please, it’s not genuine. And people can definitely feel that and can tell. It doesn’t benefit anyone. The person who is on the receiving end feels uncomfortable and like the other person is acting out of obligation.

Have you ever met someone who was super nice to you, but rude to workers and waiters? Or they were always complimenting you, but always had something mean to say about everyone else? Or they showered you with gifts and ‘love’ only because they wanted something in return or to manipulate you? This is similar and these people may very well be people pleasers. They just want everyone to like them if it serves them.

This is not most people pleasers though. People pleasing often stems out of fear and anxiety, fear of rejection and low self-esteem which results in lower standards, letting people walk all over us, and being afraid to say no.

You should never try to be generous for the sake of being liked. That’s not generosity. It’s people pleasing. And people will often see right through it.

One should learn from other’s mistakes. This is one of the best way to become a better person. People around you - Parent, sibilings, cousins, friends make mistakes. Its always wise to learn from their mistakes, and avoid it in your life.

One should accept their own mistakes. This is first step toward improving yourself, if you don’t accept your mistakes, you are never going to improve. If someone think, he is always right, then in reality he is doing something terribly wrong.

Be humble and avoid ego. There is always someone, who is better than you, so having ego on something is never going to work.

And most importantly don’t pretend that “because it was (x time) ago” it does not matter or that the person / people you have harmed have to “get over it” or are “holding old shit” / “against you”.

Hurt is hurt whether you like it or not. And when you cause it, change needs to come from within, it needs to be a personal decision and choice.

Ask for introspective opinions and constructive criticism. Seek professional guidance and help. Sort your own shit out. Move on if you’re told to move on by your victims. Don’t cling.

Sources:

O’Hara, Erin Ann (2004). Apology and thick trust: What spouse abusers and negligent doctors might have in common. Chicago-Kent Law Review, 79(3), 1055-1089.

Lazare, Aaron (2004). On apology. New York: Oxford University Press.

5 Signs His Apology Is Bullsh*t

If You Say This During An Apology, You're Doing It Wrong

What “I’m Sorry” Means When it’s Used to Manipulate You

You’ve stuffed up, now what? Why the power of a genuine apology can move mountains

Writer’s name needed: https://www.dictionary.com/e/words-that-ruin-an-apology/

Lastly: Administrator’s personal imput.

#mental health #apologies #support #uhhh #hurting people #og post

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ahandsomechicken · 5 years

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literally in WHAT WAY is going to the gym to exercise and get fit and build muscle (when you’re playing a fucking superhero at that!) perpetuating unhealthy body standards? lmao oxymoron much? not to mention the fact that actors have been pretty much molding their bodies to fit the roles they play since fucking forever, and going to the gym to train for a role like every other actor ever is in no way bad or harmful or whatever you’re making it. have you forgotten what a SUPERHERO looks like???

why are you so hung up on what i think about this m8. i am no one. this blog is nothing. my words reach an infinitisemal number of people and affect nothing. why do you care???

but tbh your entire argument depends on compliance with how we’ve decided a superhero must look which is:

a very, very difficult to achieve low body fat hypertrophic physique. this physique does not equate to extraordinary strength or athleticism. people with extraordinary strength/athleticism do not by definition look that way. consider olympic athletes and the not skimpy diversity in their appearances. often “lean” to be sure and more muscled than the average person but far more human than anything demanded of bodybuilders and apparently marvel superheroes. that kind of body which is all about appearance is achieved through ridiculous amounts of exercise and extreme, extreme dieting. it is about aesthetic, meeting a standard.

superheroes look that way not because people with extraordinary ability are borne into existence with low body fat and perfect proportions but because we decided as a culture that they must embody these idealized, unreachable, objectified, and often sexually valued appearances. comic books literally make a point to exaggerate secondary sex characteristics and extreme body proportions not found in nature. live action does its best to replicate that but they don’t have to.

a person could be perfectly strong and not have each muscle in their abdomen carved and starved out. their legs strong enough to lift heavy amounts with a healthy layer of my god: fat over them. their heart powerful enough to sustain long distances of running with a thicker waist and flabby arms. all these things are possible. and besides many superheroes exist on supernatural or electromagnetic powers, none of which require a banging bod. still, they have it. because marvel requires it.

they require of their actors just to receive the part that they starve themselves, overwork themselves, and subject themselves to objectification of their body as if this is fucking normal. and they don’t give a fuck what it costs their actors. even people who generally keep themselves fit outside of the role (the chrises for example) have admitted that the things they have to do to maintain the physique for a marvel film are uncomfortable and unsustainable.

now, in particular, richard madden has expressed multiple times that he fucking hates working out, it isn’t something he enjoys and given his choice he wouldn’t do it. but he’s typecasted as a hunk because by and large he is considered an extremely attractive man. production companies fail to comprehend that he maintains this mass sex appeal without a constantly rock hard, sculpted body. his body is well-loved, for lack of a better word, and you can’t count each abdominal muscle or fit a grapefruit into his bicep at all times. it’s fucked that the appeal of his body is so focused on in the first goddamn place. (they also disregard that perhaps he’s more than a pretty face lmao). he has talked about issues with self esteem and self confidence. richard has expressed how brutal it is to have to keep himself “in shape” for roles and that he often feels objectified and restricted. he gets offered roles that largely have a component in his appearance and so he falls in line with what his job requires of him. and now he’s clearly fucking miserable with what marvel is demanding of him. when they don’t have to! they don’t have to! let superheroes have soft stomachs and normal sized arms and average pectorals! it could happen! you only believe they have to look that way because culture has taught us they must.

and yes, richard madden is a privileged rich white man who suffers on average (from systemic issues) far less than the rest of us. i’m not a fucking moron. but none of these means that he isn’t subject to the same hellish mechanisms of our appearance obsessed society as anyone else. that doesn’t mean that when he expresses discomfort in this regimen, i can’t think “man, fuck the people that require this of him” and be mad that we live in such a way that no one bats an eye about this. being complacent to the systems that exploit you doesn’t mean that you’re not still being exploited. fuck. he’s human and a human i happen to like a lot and he’s uncomfortable and this is my goddamn shitposting blog and i’m gonna talk about it and it hurts no one!

there are worse things happening in the world and you know me not at all or how much time i spend on bigger things. you know my rocketman blog, friend. and that’s all.

i have hurt no one. this impacts no one. you got a fucking essay from me and i hope it’s what you’re looking for and that you’ll leave me alone now. i don’t even ask that you change your mind. people on the internet don’t really do that. just like........take a breath and move on because the fact that i had to type this all out is just. too much. 🤘

#asks #good lord #i cannot believe i’ve pissed someone off so much #with a few posts about richard #body image tw

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rockerchick1330 · 7 years

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~ Flower ~ A Chris Cornell fanfiction (Chapter 9)

Hey again hunnies! Sorry I haven't been posting so often, school recently resumed for me and, ya know -_- xD but I am excited cause I do have a lot of great ideas for the plot, hope you guys enjoy! Love you all and thank you so much for the support! XOX!! (This is Star's POV btw) Warning: This chapter does contain explicit, sexual content... The staircase was probably a faint blur at that moment. I constantly batted my eyelids until the thin, sheen of liquor based influence cleared it's infestation of my pupils. The bitter, yet cloying, taste of victorious spirit still lingering on my tongue. It was certainly responsible for the undefeatable grin plastered across my curled lips, twitching wider until my flushed cheeks ached. The bubbling din of Xana's drunken giggles that emitted like joyful sobs from her throat were quite peculiar, considering the lack of comical humor that Andy condoned. Her feet swirled and danced on the staggered brick path, the stiletto heel of her shoes often snapping sharply against the concrete. "Careful babe," Andrew snorted, rather amused than concerned of Xana's mentally numb condition. He coiled a protective arm around her tiny waist in assistance to avoid any minor incidents. After scribbling what I had assumed to be my originally designed signature on the freshly printed contract, I reminisced on the previous celebration. The loud, flustering cheers of finally being recognized as a foreign, Seattle Hard Rock band suffocated and drowned my self esteem positively. The vivid memory of Layne and Mike encouraging me to chug what appeared to be a quart of infused Vodka. The tingle and smoldering singe as the smooth, what I considered to be at the time, elixir rolled down my gullet. That thrilling after flame that left the linen of my throat raw. Yet, the satisfying pain wasn't enough to distract and amputate the roaring, distorted applause and jeers that followed immediately. With the liquor still churning in my stomach and my immunity barely flinching at its perilous contents, I retrospected on the latter consequences which I further disregarded. The professionally documented and typed sheet of great exaltation flitted and jolted my visual thoughts. The way I had the least heed for the seemingly endless paragraphs, transcripted in ebony ink. Skimming through the elegant font array of sentences just to display some sort of discretion, I hovered atop the labelled, dotted line. Its broken base already autographed by the uniquely drawn signatures of my band mates, I felt a sharp tremble and anxiety spume inside of me. Lines I assumed would've been jaggedly written were perfectly equable as my soul, gravitating on the carbonated ripples of my drinks. With both record executives offering us the typical introductory speech and invitation, an attentive Ashton absorbed most of the information. My attention was diverted on the most regular and uneventful individual in an assembly of notable, ensuing melees. Previously preaching the gospel of Rock 'N' Roll on stage, my eyes had strayed to the shady, sexy figure observing silently on the back. Neither of his fists were lodged into the air and his jaw was clenched shut, not permitting any chants or screeches of support. Clad in the sleek, appealing leather jacket I absolutely adored and fawned upon when he was clothed in it. His long, moisturized curls cascading down his broad, squared shoulders and his ghastly pale complexion shimmering beneath the flickering audience lights. The florid, overdone stage smokers occasionally fogged and clouded the once prominent view of him. I contemplated on the sudden adrenaline rush fumbling with my mature status and in exchange for foolish illusions, but I knew for a certain fact, it had to be whom I was convinced it was. Spitting lyrics out and attempting to congregate how he could've possibly slipped out of the insecure gaze of Susan was overwhelming. My consistent breaths and hesitation on particular lines disoriented my tongue, tying it into tricksy knots. Failing to shove and rid the sensual and intimate fantasizes of him out of my subconscious, I struggled to latch back onto the clasp of my usual performance ego. The moaning of Brandon's whammy bar piercing like a struck bell and creeping through the speakers. The way Ashton's fingers explored and journeyed across and beyond the frets of his guitar, performing licks that weren't even comprehendible. I felt my chest tremble, my rib cage shiver as Cyd's rhythmic bass line seeped like liquid gold from her rusted strings. Paired with Tristan's ridiculously angst amplified drumming, both were coupled romantically. Their depth pleasing the ears of dozens of spectators and fans, making it all the more satisfying to experience. But then, I could've no longer excused the mysterious, abstruse figure, for he was then trudging sluggishly beside me. His hands were buried within the grave of his pockets awkwardly as he occasionally attempted to conceive a normal, casual conversation. Skipping up the staircase, I refused to halt and await his presence as to conceal the existent endearment I shared with him. For cautionary purposes, Andy didn't hesitate or even inquire consent before scraping Xana off her feet. "Andy!" She squealed, struggling abundantly within his cradle intended arms. She punted her legs ferociously whilst wavering and deliberately flinging noneffective blows at his chest. "Baby, calm down!" His intentions of being placid and soothing were completely misinterpreted by his agitated, altercated tone. "No! I'm not a baby!" She bickered like a pouty, aggravated child. Being oblivious to her argument, her milky, shaved legs jolted, rather fiercely that time considering that her left shoe was then plummeting towards an untamed, decorative rose bush. "Fuck," I heard Andy hiss beneath a heavy, irritated breath. "My shoe! Go get it Andy!" Xana instantly swapped her once savage and violent behavior for one of much more agony and affliction for a materialistic object. Either way, Andy hadn't threatened to disobey an intoxicated Xana, bidding Chris and I farewell as we hurried up the creaky stairs. Our weight occasionally shifted the metal planks, a hazardous event I had grown accustomed and acquainted with. "Hey, Star-" arriving at the top floor, he somewhat timidly hailed my attention. "U-Uhh, about what happened today." I hadn't any confidence to properly assemble words, far much for my ability to avoid necessary eye contact. I apprehensively coughed, clearing my throat of the intentional hitch of air that dared to choke me. "W-What?" I ignorantly blurted, tripping over the complicated obstacles that were embarking on my tongue. Just the brief recall of the comprising, yet absolutely orgasmic, encounter Chris and I endured permitted a bright red glow that tinted my cheeks. The surreal feel of his hot, obscene touch merely scratching the surface of my sexual pinnacle. How delicious and delightful his long, calloused fingers apperceived my inner heat, stroking me in that undescribable pattern. He brushed every single inch of my valid weak spots, making me vulnerable, feeble beneath his accomplished smirk. My already aroused girlhood fluttered, reminiscing on how exceptionally he stimulated its palpitating nub of pink flesh. My teeth reflexively clenched my lower lip on the erotic vision of how warm my skin rose from his singular tease. But the most pleasurable and achingly amazing sensation was my achieved climax. It was beautiful, that final contraction and then the sharp ripples of my internal muscles. It was amatory and wonderful, that finishing cry and tight buckle of my pelvics. I would've sacrificed anything I was required to to experience a lengthy, passion driven intercourse session with Chris. "When we-" he paused abruptly as he gazed down at my lowered chin. "Well, when I touched you." I pursed my lips into a thin, firm line, fiddling nervously with the frayed ends of my distressed, acid washed jeans. "Chris, I-I don't know what to say," I mumbled rather charily whilst he ran his tongue along his chapped, bruised lips. Though he labored with the use of understood gestures to plead for applicable, visual communication, my aplomb had withered like the petals of a shriveling rose. I adverted my attention to the semi reflective surface of his boots, the disheveled laces making me cringe mentally from its lack of uniformity. My initial ambition was to ignore the emotional incision that spewed and exhausted my heart, trading it for a more unchanged and aloof spunk. Briefly surpressed by a figurative impediment, I coughed and shrugged either off my tensed shoulders. It was excruciating to mask my true intentions and love for him beneath the girl I attempted, but failed, to be. "I'm sorry for-" "No! No!" I denied and interrupted his sincere apology. Alternating my body language, I tilted my hips in accordance to the shifted weight amongst my legs. Slightly levitating my chin humbly and indolently swaying, I proceeded. "It was n-nothing really," there was an unintended strain in my voice when falsely confessing our affair was of no worth. His eyes frowned at me sympathetically, knowledgeable enough to recognize my transparent lie. "Nothing? What happened today was nothing to you?" He muttered questionably, unfazed by my unrealistic reply to react properly. We were shortly disturbed by the familiar wail that was squawked a floor beneath us. "Fuck! Fuck these motherfuckin' thorns!" He easily disregarded Andrew's cry of arrogation whilst I attempted to alter it into a distracted, miserably doing so unsuccessfully. "I think it meant more to you than it did to me." His assumption immediately captivated me in his skillfully invented snare. "T-That's not true," I spat hastily, abusing my innocent tongue for emitting such fibs. My jaw firmly clenched as my teeth sank into the inner flesh of my lips, silencing my untruthful phrases. I knew well he hadn't been swindled by my charade, proof being the twitching smirk that itched the corners of his lips. With the faint, apologetic moon mimicking his current emotions then, she casted a tender, ghoulishly romantic glow onto our silhouettes. Stumbling back against the front door and wincing at its irritating groan, he properly confronted my figure, skyscraping above my head. "You're a really bad liar babe," he mused, a mere grin tickling at his tempting, irresistible lips. I was immensely startled by his swift motion, barricading my body within the defense of his toned, leather clad arms. His fists solidly plastered onto the door behind and occasionally brushing on my curves as if the intended contact was an incident. My constant wheezing was audible then as he leaned at an appropriate level and reluctantly distanced our faces. That beautiful shimmer and sparkle that wedded his astounding emerald irises never failed to dupe me into a serene epiphany. His pale, perfectly chiseled features and alluring body added to the undeniable urge I felt for him. I desperately grasped at my sanity and control, reminiscing on the later remorse that would've haunted me. But I hungered for him, lusted after his touch and kiss, I needed him, buried deep within me, physically without any boundaries. "Is it that obvious?" I breathed, exchanging necessary oxygen with him, thirsty for any substance that contained matters of him. His hands were then fluctuated on my waist, firmly preparing me for what was soon to occur. Savoring the absolutely delicious taste of his lips as he sloppily latched onto my tongue, my eyelids grew heavy with the great mass of lust weighing them down. Feeling his arms snake around the entirety of my waist, I noosed my frail arms around his neck, gravitating on the very tips of my toes. "Chris," I muffled between our passionate kiss when his either hands heaved and groped at my full, prominent butt cheeks. "Fuck, I just need to see your body one more time," he sighed, regaining the brief disconnection with an equality of desire. "I just need to hear you moan my name again." My skin crawled like six legged fiends on beneath my flesh, making my body violently shiver within his secure prison. Finally committing to him, I breathed, dainty and soft. "P-Please, I need you Chris." Due to a sudden, lustful and horny impulse, he snapped at my lower lip, clenching it sharply between his teeth. Sucking at it and chastely licking its moisturized surface, I whimpered in delight and gasped. "I wanna make you feel so good," he seductively mumbled, lingering on my already swollen lips. "I want you sprawled out and moaning so loud for me when I finally have you." I unintentionally moaned, pleasured just by the unholy thought of hot, procrastinated sex with him. The mild foreplay and exchanging of filthy innuendoes were persuading us accurately, that was until his forsaken brunette snake slithered in... ★★★★★★★★★★★★★ I groaned, bothered and harassed by the vivid imagery of what had previously happened, excluding the interrupting melee from Susan. I uncomfortably shifted and revolved around my scattered, futile sheets that were much too distraught to provide coverage. The fragrance of his musky, alluring cologne infinitely dwelled on his indigo flannel I somewhat alleviated myself within. My digital clock flickered with bold, red numerals which accordingly read '1:35 A.M'. I was unable to analyze or comprehend the idea of slumber. The concept of Chris irritated and nagged annoyingly at me, depriving me of any relief of relaxation. Observing intently as the scarlett digits increased by each ticking minute, another sixty seconds of my deteriorating life squandered on him. My bed was the grave of the underlying scenario that we both part took in several hours before. Its deranged spirit whispered of my sinful disobedience to my once instilled oath. Fluctuating in multiple, unsatisfying directions on my unleveled, measled mattress, I forced my face into my fluffed pillow. The severe, suicidal contemplation of simply stifling myself within the feathers and cloth floated across my subconscious like an innocent cloud wavering amongst the sky. Discreetly exiting my regular thoughts, I stiffened at the sound of heavy, unsteady footsteps thumping down the corridor. Assuming it was Chris roaming the hallway and scraping the kitchen for left over delicacies or expired meals, I presumed to my normal plotting and suggestions. I didn't expect the abrupt introduction of his figure creeping into my room. A streak of yellow light seeped into the ebony atmosphere, approximately glaring straight into my squinted eyes. With shrunken pupils, I inspected his dark silhouette, immediately biting my sore lower lip slightly. His loosely hung boxers, sewed and embellished with a checkered design, barely clung to him. The elastic band of his briefs hung with peril on his extreme, low torso, exposing a mere inch of his muscular indented 'V'. Paired with the nonexistent shirt he wore, I immediately fawned over his sexy, appearance. "Chris, what are-" he harshly shut the door behind him, not exasperated by the still erect lock that perched open. The lack of lights made it difficult to properly detect what his purpose of entering so exaggeratedly was required for. I only realized his ambition when he invited himself to hover on top of my tiny figure. "I'm not finished with you babe," he growled, immediately beginning his intended goal. Clenching both the buttoned seams of the oversized, rugged flannel I was huddled into, with a single, brutal tug, my bare chest was no longer secluded. Before having a moment to protest, he pinned my wrists down on the ruffled covers of my bed, migrating his lips to my neck. My argument only emitted as a faint gasp and moan, thoroughly enjoying his constant, violent nibbling and sensual sucking at my tender flesh. He was already familiar and accustomed with my body. With eventual lag and a teasing ego, he finally arrived at my perky, round breasts. Adorning them with hot kisses that threatened to burn or singe my flesh, I sighed as my chest heaved and released. "Ah! Chris!" I whimpered when he began suckling at one of my erected, solid nipples. Grazing his warm tongue on every single inch of my boobs, my twinging embarrassment or, perhaps more appropriately, shame faltered away like ashes crumbling from blue flames. My skin immediately roused in temperature, contagiously spreading throughout my entire body. Paving his path down my cleavage and flattened stomach, I hesitated when he taunted the waistline of my vulgar panties. "C-Chris," I wheezed as his tongue traced the spacious region between both my pelvics. My heart was palpitating at a surreal rate along with the rapid flow of my blood curdling through my veins. The vague puncture of fear struck me. "I-I'm scared," I honestly confessed as he fiddled with the satin trim of my underwear. "Shh-" he hushed gently, his lips brushing intimately on my inner thighs. "Don't be scared, I promise I won't hurt you." With his fingers prying my panties down and permitting them to dangle around my ankles, he briefly savored a moment to admire my pubic area. Licking his lips and firmly fixating my limbs on how he desired me to be positioned, a shallow breath hitched in my mid throat. "Relax for me," he purred with his hot breath purposely fanning against my glistening genitals. His soothing words smoothed out my ridged edges and choppy fright, leisurely easing my pressure like magic. He firmly grasped onto my thighs, so tightly that my skin seeped through the gaps of his long fingers. With sufficient time to plot out his performance, I pursed my lips and screwed my eyes shut. All his persuasion finally paid their debts in the end. I strangled the sheets from my iron grip, moaning aloud as an approval of his current gesture. His tongue was soft and supple against my shimmering, folds, concentrating especially on my plump, aching clitoris. "Mhmm," I whimpered, my body jostling sharply when he proceeded to pacify my flitting clit. "O-Oh! Chris, I-I." My hips automatically bucked, angling myself for him to make proper love to my flesh orally. The undescribable pleasure tingled and swished inside of me as events developed more erotic and heated whilst he preserved strong eye contact with me through his curtained hair. I grinded against his then inserted fingers and tongue, edging myself to an absolute wonder of an orgasm. "Ohh! Oh yes!" I convinced him more. My toes curled as a thin, sheen layer of sweat built upon the surface of my skin. I felt myself hot and boiling within my lower abdomen, reflexively earning subtle screams and cries then. Easily predicting my oncoming climax by my obvious reactions and muscle contractions, I pouted and whined when he distanced his once consistent lips from me. "D-Don't stop, please," I pleaded as he licked the residue fluids up from the scape and circumference of his lips. Cleansing his sticky fingers with his mouth and returning to kiss me, my interestingly queer taste still lingered on his skilled tongue. "I've got something better for you babe," he whispered sexily as I raked my nails down the width of his firm, strong back... That night was it, the blissful farewell to my purity. The pleasurable moment of combing with his being, becoming singular in soul and mind with him through physical contact. It was impeccable, beautiful, perfectly executed. But nothing, not even considering our passionate sex, was enough to defeat the comforting promise we vowed to one another. "I love you Chris, so much." "I love you more Starlett, I always loved you."

#chris cornell #soundgarden #pearl jam #fanfiction #90s #grunge

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mbethanyr8 · 6 years

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Old Writings

To you, the one who convinced me that I was everything and then nothing. To the one who pretended to give me purpose like it were a gift which could be granted if I behaved properly. To the perpetrator who was always the victim, to the emotionally abused who emotionally overwhelmed me. To you, dear, the one who reads this and knows exactly who I'm writing for. No, that's not correct. I'm not writing for you. I am writing for myself. I am writing for me, so that I can comprehend how something I sought for beauty and love could act as pure poison straight into my cautious heart.

Month one. We were happy. I was happy. The thing is, happiness isn't something which can be earned. It's more than a feeling or emotion. It's a state of mind. You made me feel like I mattered, and to someone who never mattered, it felt as though your affection was water to the barren garden of my self esteem. Each kind word and sweet notion and I felt my heart grow, like sun finally touched my face after years of isolation. You were my rescuer, my resort. I anticipated everything lovely, walks in the park, snowball fights, holding hands, my first kiss. I held these things close, hid my dark thoughts somewhere cold and suppressed so that you could never see I was anything but perfect. I wanted to be perfect for you. If you had known what I was, the monster I really am, if you had known these things prior, would you still have insisted on pursuing me? I don't think you would have.

Month three. January. This was the crossroads of my life. This month held many things for me, though nothing which appeared to be major. In the early days, my depression had not yet reared its head, but we could both see the approaching storm and we did nothing to protect ourselves from it. In this month, the most interaction we had was physical. We discovered a fire which we had never imagined before. I felt so close to you, yet so far away. I was being touched in ways I knew were wrong, and sometimes unwanted, but it was all as a means of rekindling some feeling. I don't know what that feeling was, but I know what it looked like. You'll probably mock me for recounting this particular memory, but it's mandatory. In the early months, you looked at me like I was precious. That glance exclaimed that I was everything you ever wanted. I was worth something, and I didn't need your hands to prove it. I needed that look, the tender look where your nose crinkled and your chocolate eyes sparkled, the look which said you'd never let me go. All I wanted was to feel like I was still wanted. Was I still wanted?

Month nine. This month is the most difficult for me to discuss. the numerical value of every discussion added up in this month. Five attempts. More cuts than arguments, though that seemed improbable. We fought so much. Three times we almost ended. Fifteen pills. This month was the boiling point. You wouldn't know this, but each time you said you loved me, I took one more pill. I identified your lie, and each one sat on my tongue, forced down my throat even though my instinct screamed no more. You went to bed. I couldn't sleep. My heart beat out of my chest. You don't understand what it's like to consider everything in your life, to contemplate what the hell got you here. I do. I know this because that night did this very thing for me. Remember how your friend messaged me? You slept. I could have died in the night and you wouldn't have known because you slept through it. I spent the night messaging your friend, the one you pretended to care about yet revoked because he was different than you, because he wasn't the exact same catastrophe as you were. Your masculinity was so fragile, your insecurities so strong that you were wary that I may develop feelings for your friend. (We both know that wasn't a possibility.) I'm not sure if it was that night which convinced me to end things with you. Really, I'm not sure what did. Don't ask me why I did it. It was the right choice, this I'm confident of. I just don't know why. That was the beginning of the worst week of my life. I was alone. I couldn't seek rest from you. I was abandoned. The major events of those seven days were as follows: I broke up with you. My parents found out my biggest secret. Everyone at that God forsaken church found out. Hours of sobs which no one heard. Therapy. Trying to recover. Failing. Nine months added up and ended before my eyes in the most traumatic week of my life.

Recovery. When I was a kid, I remember my mom reading to us about Anne Frank. She died in a camp after the war had ended. I didn't understand how that was possible. It was over. The worst had passed, hadn't it? How was it possible? I thought after we broke up, that was it. I'd recover on my own, I'd move on without you. I was wrong. I spent hours on phone calls with you, each one tearing out my heart. you swore you'd never get over me. You lied.

Three weeks. My nine months of dedication and addiction were worth a total of three weeks to you. I mattered for a whole twenty-one days. You called me up to taunt me, I'm convinced. She was fulfilling all your physical desires, all in one night. You were given medication I'm still fighting to get. She was stable. I was not. It was one big taunt, a display of cruel mockery. Looking back on it now, you disgust me. Do you remember what you offered me, your deal? You claimed you threw away everything you had on this girl, so if it would make me happy, I could give you all that was left of me. You know what was really pathetic? I almost agreed. You laid me there, hands roaming, hearts pounding, sobs erupting from my brokenness. I felt nothing. I was a corpse who felt nothing. I was nothing. So I took the little dignity I had left, and I left you. I'm glad that I could waste so much of your time. I'm glad I was just there to pre-occupy your pleasures until the next girl came along. You needed to be the victim. I needed to be valued. Those two are incapable of going together, thus I was incapable of ever being with you.

Now. You bring this poor girl to my church, a church I despise, a church I avoid because I lack the motivation to be confrontational, because I lack the strength to stand for myself, because I'm weak, because I'm pathetic. Pathetic. I always have been and I have that as one of many adjectives scarred into my flesh so I'll never forget it. I imagine you two. You sit in the fourth to last row. You hold her hand. You trace each curve of it with your delicate finger. When not holding hands, your arm is draped across her like it belongs there. You whisper all throughout the service, jokes and what not. As she sings, you lean a little closer to hear her because it's your way of letting her know she matters. How long does she matter for? I spend so much time hating this poor girl, when I should pity her and all the hell you will put her through. She is just another name in a cycle which will never end.

In conclusion, I wish you the best. That's a lie. I hate you. I despise you. You repulse me. I wish that you're as miserable as you made me. I wish that you are made to feel like it's your fault. Only then will you understand what you did to me. Eventually, this suffering of mine will be no more. Whether it be through recovery or death, I won't always feel this way. I will always be waiting for you to call me up, to apologize for how you manipulated me. I will never be able to forget it. I can attempt to cut away your touch a million times more. It won't change anything.

Someday I will find someone. That someone was never you.

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