#the more i think about it the deeper in my heart i know that anti-therapy james bond has never had a thought about himself

[hungry-hobbits]

i wanna write a 00silva fic where silva is like doing all this psychoanalytical work on bond and bond's just sat there like "nope. who cares"

#the more i think about it the deeper in my heart i know that anti-therapy james bond has never had a thought about himself #that wasnt surface level - there is NO introspection for his ass #silva's like do you think the way you cant form long lasting connections with women stems from the early death of your mum #and bonds like i dont think about any of that

[storiesofsvu]

Habits of the Heart Ch 3

Warnings: Talk of assault, talk of mental health issues, self harm and suicide, nothing graphic! Language, usual SVU type case work.

The next case you caught was less than heartwarming, the victim had come forward originally, making an outcry statement to her sister, who came to SVU with the information. Olivia sent you and Carisi to talk to the vic, only to find her gone from the apartment, when you’d eventually tracked her down it was on the ledge of a roof in the middle of Manhattan. Carisi was more than impressed with the very gentle way you talked to her as you very hesitantly moved closer to her, far enough away that he couldn’t quite make out what you were saying. He was even more impressed when the poor girl climbed down, collapsing in a fit of sobs into your arms. Your heart was hammering in your chest, you were sure she was going to end up going over the edge and the rescue crew hadn’t gotten there yet. You gave her a few long moments of reassuring and comforting, letting her know it was going to be okay before you collected her down to the precinct.

Back at the 16th Olivia let you take lead since you had the strongest connection with Julia, sending Carisi back to talk to the sister. When you entered the room with a spare bottle of water, it was just Olivia on the other side of the glass. You kept your movements slow and cautious, your voice steady and soft as you tried to get Julia to open up about her attack. She was clearly rattled up, practically jumping out of her skin when an alarm went off on her phone, she silenced it quickly, reaching into her bag.

“Sorry…” She muttered, dumping out a pill into her hand.

“It’s okay.” You gave her a soft smile, then you found your in, recognizing the little yellow pill in her palm, “Zoloft?” You questioned as she popped it into her mouth, brows furrowing as she swallowed a gulp of water with the anti depressant. 

“What, they give you a pharmaceutical degree with that badge?” She shot back, you sighed, folding your arms against the table between you.

“No. I was on them for a couple years.”

“What happened?”

“I…got my heart broken…sent me off the deep end into a pretty bad downward spiral.” Julia was shocked by your honesty, but you knew it was the easiest way to slowly break away at her shell, get the story out of her. What you didn’t know was that Casey had arrived at the precinct and was on the other side of the one way glass. Her heart dropped into her stomach listening to the words you were saying, she knew it was a tactic for detectives to make up stories to get through to people but she also knew in her soul that this wasn’t fake.

“They really let a cutter be a cop?” Julia realized her brashness a second too late, “Sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it.” You sighed, “Self harm isn’t always about cutting, I threw myself into my work, I barely slept, definitely indulged in too much wine, I did everything I could to distract myself from having a spare moment to think about my ex. I nearly lost my job…”

It had been a really bad couple of years for you, you’d been so fucking head over heels for Casey it took nearly two months for you to even come to terms with the cheating part of the scandal. Your heart was absolutely wrecked, you’d just started at a new precinct and didn’t have the support system you needed to help you out of the deep pit, you just continued to dig it deeper. It was when you’d nearly been shot on the job that you attended a mandatory therapy session, breaking down into a fit of sobs over everything, which resulted in the Zoloft being prescribed. When your Captain in Brooklyn had to suspend you, you knew you needed to change something in your life, and put in transfer papers knowing Manhattan needed a few extra hands. When the squad was more than welcoming and you found the incredible support of Sonny as a friend and Fin as a partner, you managed to start pulling yourself out of said pit.

“Did you ever think about ending it?” Julia’s voice was wavering, you could see the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Not exactly…but I definitely thought it would be easier to simply not exist than deal with the heartbreak anymore…”

“So you get it?”

“Yeah. I really do.” You slowly reached out, giving her hand a soft squeeze, “Julia, there’s another way out of this…if you tell me about what happened, we can catch the bastard and you don’t have to worry about him ever again. I know it seems like such an easy way out to just disappear, but you’ve already survived, and survival is strength. We’ll put him behind bars, and I know a few very well recommended people you can talk to that will help you move past all of this, because life is worth living. Believe me…I know…” 

It was then that she broke, tears slowly slipping their way across her cheeks while she went through excruciating details of her assault. On the other side of the glass Casey felt her own tears burning in her eyes, she’d had no idea what you’d gone through after you’d left. She’d been so wrapped up in trying to save Charlie, brain scrambled by his psychotic games that she didn’t even happen to think about how you were coping. She didn’t notice you standing, giving Julia a gentle squeeze on the shoulder as you moved from the room, you gave her a slight nod in greeting as you spoke to Benson.

“I’ll take her to Mercy myself, I just…need a minute…”

“Course.” Liv replied, you disappeared into the precinct, giving yourself time to try and calm down. You wondered how much of your story Casey had heard, or if she thought it was just a tactic of yours. “You okay?” Olivia addressed the A.D.A. beside her. Casey shook out of her trance, 

“Yeah…I just…Summers did really well in there. Mental health’s hard to work around…” She couldn’t quite find the words without admitting secrets to Olivia and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

***

It took a few hours, but Julia’s rape kit was finally down at the lab and she was back at her sister’s apartment. Rollins and Fin had brought in her attacker while you and Sonny were down at Mercy, leaving the questioning to the two of you. Sonny ended up running off to a family dinner while you wrapped up this stage of paperwork. You dropped it off in Benson’s office, her giving you a quick thank you before she spoke again,

“You got a minute Summers?” Sighing gently, you’d been waiting for this all day, taking a lean against the arm of one of the chairs in front of her desk.

“Yeah.”

“That wasn’t just some story today, was it?” Olivia was gentle, you often praised the way she was able to deal so softly with victims before absolutely tearing apart a perp.

“No..” You shook your head, “I went off the Zoloft a few months after I transferred here, everything’s been great.”

“If you ever need to talk—“ You cut her off slightly, a small smile on your face.

“I go to therapy every two weeks Liv, I promise you I’m fine, and I’ll be the first to tell you if anything starts to go downhill. It’s just…my ex..kinda popped back up, took me by surprise, kinda threw a curve ball into things.” She gave you a soft smile, 

“Okay. Great job today, now get outta here before I have to kick you out. You call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” You promised before leaving her office, a huff of satisfaction leaving your lips before you gathered your things. 

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #habits of the heart #law and order #law and order svu #svu #law and order special victims unit

[iputthediscoindiscourse]

Another bi women used lesbianism to shock her parents instead of actually considering what she was attracted to :) and is now going on to suck and fuck and breed with men :)) and now a whole bunch of homophobes plus other lesbians will see this and their doubt about lesbianism will grow deeper :))) larping like a tra because you think lesbianism is a fucking haircut and then pulling right out of it with no apology, go fuck yourself homophobe

As I stated before in the other hate I got, the fact you sent this as an anon proves you are a pathetic coward who needs tons of therapy and help to actually be a functioning human.

Another bi women used lesbianism to shock her parents instead of actually considering what she was attracted to :)

You know when I told my mother I thought I was gay she made it about herself told me she knew i was a lesbian since I was a preteen cause of how I fangirled over Demi Lovato and Taylor Swift. Then admitted to outing me to my father, which explains why he would randomly call me a pervert and a pedophile because to him homosexuality equals pedophilia. Like actually from the time I was 20 to the time I was 23 I literally had no attraction to the male sex at all. Like it was most definitely a trauma response,but like I was a lesbian for like 3 ish years until I did that shroom trip and realized I was in love with a good friend of mine, who happens to be a male. Also fun fact my parents still think I am a lesbian because I haven't talked to them in a few years now sooo.

and is now going on to suck and fuck and breed with men :))

For how much anti-porn radfems say they are this screams like you are a regular porn watcher and adopted the extremely violent language in this media, and use it for people who you do not like. This statement also reduces me to a sex object, which again is antithetical to radical feminism.

and now a whole bunch of homophobes plus other lesbians will see this and their doubt about lesbianism will grow deeper :)))

How does me figuring out my sexuality and gender identity, harm others? You do realize I was in a high control environment until I was about 20 ish and then didn't have really any freedom until I came up to nyc earlier this year right? Like everyone is in the process of growing and finding oneself whether they want to believe it or not. The fact that hate has overcrowded your heart like this, makes me feel sorry for you. The fact you look at the world like this, screams you need some serious help and I hope to God you find it.

larping like a tra because you think lesbianism is a fucking haircut and then pulling right out of it with no apology

how am I like a TRA? Yeah I did have some sex dysphoria was a preteen, teenager and a little bit up til my early 20s, but most of it I worked through on shrooms so, I am just a gender conforming cisgendered bisexual woman. Nothing wrong with that!! Where tf did I say lesbian is a look? I said me being gnc was a cope, I didn't specify why. Which that stems from the fact my parents wanted a son, not a daughter and they bullied me and were rude and cruel to me over my sex, and I thought if I acted more masculine they would love me more. Well that backfired. Pulling out without an apology? what the fuck are you talking about bro?? how is my personal growth have anything to do with others??? Like I wanted to post a cute life update and you people just come for my throat; which proves why I am not the biggest fan of radfems anymore. Most of y'all are hateful bigots with complexes that obscure you from being kind or understanding. Which if you want women's liberation you need to be kind and understanding,which you are neither and I hope to god you find some goddamn peace cause you fucking need it.

go fuck yourself homophobe

How am I homophobic? Like anon you don't know me at all, like now to toot my own horn but there are some bloggers who orbit the same circles as us who know me irl and they will disagree with this statement a lot sooo lol

#anon #answered #hate messages #gabe.txt

[firespirited]

Today's ramblings

Watched The Wheel 2021 ($3 to rent on amazon) featuring Amber Midhunter. It's best to go in knowing that it's a slow burn personal drama. The music choices and editing took away slightly from the story. I thought there was a plot point about a txt message I couldn't read (not being able to make out phone and computer messages in media is a pet peeve) but I went back after finishing the film and it wasn't really that important.

The film is mostly carried by the luminous acting. These people feel very real despite the cliché setups.

I found it touching. The hedgehog problem but hurt adults.

Watched some YouTube and got annoyed because folks could have made a 10 minute video that said it better than 100 mins but I guess youtube doesn't reward 10 minutes like it used to. I'll happily watch your three hour video if there's three hours of subject matter. But really no need to dance around the point just doing filler. It's painful.

Then I ended up on a channel with some great social analysis that segued into some "very close to getting it but also so far from getting it" christian content. I hope to see her in five years having broken off from her church and/or founded or joined one that's inclusive, egalitarian, decolonized with tithes going to direct social action. She has all the systemic analysis tools she needs and one big blindspot. But I had to nope out and not engage, I don't think she's ready to hear from any exians, not yet.

Tw: covid, I had a sudden realisation that if tweens and teens weren't carriers during the pandemic, we would have put them to work. Emergency anti child labour law exemptions would have been passed.

Tw: transphobia and terfs. A woman who used to read or watch every interview with JK Rowling out of fascination wrote a small essay in a comment section where she dissects what she understands of Joanne's complex relationship to gender. A father who wanted a son and made her wear blue, being a tomboy and rejecting feminity for approval. Feeling fragile when she got trapped in an abusive marriage. The books, written from the point of a boy then a man under a male pen name. Massive areas of unexamined internalised misogyny and gender resentment. She said herself she thought changing gender could have been a way to that better life with more respect. Except she never sat with that thought and followed through to find out if she actually wants to be a woman (I realised i'd be dysphoric as a boy then later as a man when I revisited the concept) or wouldn't mind the change if it wasn't socially costly. It'd been the first time i'd seen someone who had studied her as a personal hero do a full read on where her trans masc issues come from. Her trans femme issues come from feeling powerless and hurt by men this is something the Gender Essential cults are experts at exploiting by presenting trans feminity as a flavour of male entitlement (which is wild when you consider even most drag queens won't go out in drag unless it's for an event because it's dangerous and also a performance). Jk's flavour of trans phobia tends to skew anti masc because that's her real fear: she already spent time "as a man" when she published the Strike books, I think she quite probably hasn't mulled it over at all: i imagine she thinks men don't love their children in the way women do so there's that 'contradiction' in the way. Maybe someday she'll have a breakthrough in therapy. She's got a window of about 5 years to change before mainstream society has moved passed this reactionary blip and she's regarded by even centrists and center right as a nutjob. After that any change of heart will be seen as phony.

I have good days and bad days in the depresh and some flip half way through. We're wading into deeper water. I can feel other mutuals in the same terrible headspace. I don't want to make things worse or put a thought out there that is like an ear worm for the blues. My default used to be hermit mode who emerges with nice happy clappy mood once a day to not hurt anyone through contagious sads or neglect.

Finding the right balance is hard.

#saf #movie reviews #The wheel 2021 #Tw: covid #Tw: depression #Tw: religion

[delusion-of-negation]

top 10 (ish) ridiculous or annoying FAQs:

(click at your own discretion)

1) "kids today rely on others to do everything"

ah yes, damn those participation trophies! if it wasn't for them my hands wouldn't be fucked, and I wouldn't need people to write for me. but seriously, stop reading boomer comics, and go outside to meet some actual young people.

2) "sus that a non-american says mom"

yeah, because it's clearly the superior version, and I'm not too patriotic to concede a defeat.

3) "sweaty, the victims of abuse by catholics are real people, stop appropriating their pain just because you want to hate catholics; plus teachers abuse people just as often anyway"

so firstly, I don't hate anybody. and secondly, regarding the fact that victims really do exist, [insert "of course I know him, he's me" meme here]; although I don't often talk much about the abuse I went through or what my religious beliefs are. but, more importantly, statements like "survivors are people" can be phrased like "some people are survivors", and when you're unable to act according to the latter (like when you don't even consider that somebody might be one) then you display a failure to recognise the former - you're projecting; a survivor can't be appropriating their own pain, but you can be appropriating it to silence one. and thirdly, teachers do abuse - the problem isn't and has never been purely religion, rather that abuse is often done by somebody in a position of trust, power, and familiarity; and that the lack of a global minimum enables totally legal abuse on top of the illegal stuff. people with access and respect have more opportunity to abuse than those without, and that goes for teachers too. but, once again, you can be appropriating the pain of survivors to deflect and silence people. please remember this before you say that shit.

4) "get help/therapy"

way ahead of you - years ahead of you. but it's not magic - people who say this often act as if you'll start behaving differently overnight. not only are some things simply beyond the ability of talking therapy to completely rectify, it also takes time and has to be selective. you've got to pick your priorities, and that's definitely not whatever ship or joke you're mad at me about today. therapy is a slow, arduous process that can't guarantee results - it isn't "anti-recovery" to recognise that, it's honesty. while I've been in therapy for a long time, it is not necessarily going to change whatever you don't like about me - whether that's because it can't, because my focus now is on more important or urgent things, or because I don't want to change that.

5a) "tell your family you ship incest, see how that goes; normal people find it disgusting"

actually, some know, and they're fine with it. in fact, one prefers sibling pairings in fiction to all other dynamics because, to paraphrase, "it's a deeper level of messed up co-dependence". so unfortunately for you, my remaining family (by which I mean those not dead or cut out of my life after abuse and so forth) actually are able to distinguish between fiction and reality. plus, my reasoning for caring if they find it gross or not pertains only to recommending books and such - their opinions do not dictate my tastes.

5b) "don't sexualise/appropriate incestuous abuse" and "I bet you enjoyed being raped" and other attempts to upset me over 5a

firstly, as I've already said here, survivors can't be appropriating ourselves. in addition, you're not owed people's history or trauma - it's not okay to require people's personal information, or else you'll send anon hate and accusations of appropriation. secondly, I'm not sexualising our abuse (not just because I write horror, and so a lot of my writing is intended to be creepy, not sexy); these stories aren't about us, they're not us at all. entire dynamics/people (fictional or otherwise) aren't all going to be applicable to us or identical to us, just because they have something in common with us; they're not us and they're not accountable to us. thirdly, the fact that people send this stuff (attempting to trigger people's trauma over ships) is so much more worrying to me than somebody making our communal imaginary friends kiss. you're trying to hurt people. and finally, to the "I bet you enjoyed it" crowd (if you're at all serious): do you think you'd enjoy being in a real zombie apocalypse, alone, afraid, and really at risk of being eaten alive? a fictional scenario does not feel remotely the same as a real one. this isn't rocket science - things that look like you aren't you; fiction isn't reality; don't send anon hate. (edit: comparable "just leave me alone, I'm not hurting anyone" sentiments for yandere stuff, and anything else you decide I'm naughty for.)

6) "you'll be sent off to do manual labour once your communist revolution happens"

while I don't know why people think that I'm a communist, a dictatorial regime probably isn't going to want me to do manual labour. they're more likely to just shoot me; I'm useless and a liability. call me crazy, but something tells me that "ah yes, we shall give ze deranged cripple ze power tools" isn't the communist position.

7a) "they/them can't be singular pronouns"

yes they can, and they're used as such in both shakespeare and the bible. but you don't have to say this - I'm also okay with he/him, so you could've just used those and chilled out. also, do I look like somebody who views the rules of grammar as fully immutable and imperative?

7b) "enbies/aros/pan/etc aren't valid"

do you really think that you're going to change any hearts or minds by putting that in my ask box or under my funny maymays? chill out, it's not worth the effort - you could be planning a party (in minecraft) and having fun instead. it isn't worth my time to rant at everybody who's saying something isn't valid, updating how I'm explaining it as my opinions grow and general discourse around it evolves; I'm just who I am, somebody else is who they are - why bicker in presumptuous ways about if that's enough? it ultimately is valid, in my opinion, but that isn't an invitation to keep demanding that I debate. (edit: old posts of mine probably don't phrase things incredibly, on this or anything... I tried.)

8) "what are your politics?"

my politics are informed first and foremost by the knowledge that I'm not cut out to be some kind of leader - I don't want to be the guy who tells everyone else what to do, I just offer what seem to me like valid criticisms of how we are doing things now, and general pointers on the values and ethics that I would prefer to move towards. things like individual freedom, taking the most pacifist route where possible, trying not to give excessive power to small groups of people (governments or corporations), helping those in need even when they're not palatable, and letting me suck loads of dicks. but please refrain from decreeing me something - there's not enough information in what I said, so you'll just be filling in the blanks with assumptions. (edit: workplace democracy seems cool to me; benefits are good; fair fines and taxes; and the "sperm makes you loopy" saga: 1, 2, 3, and 4.)

9) "you're a narcissist"

no, I don't meet the diagnostic criteria. joking on the internet that you're hot doesn't make a person a narcissist. the fact that I've chosen to keep my actual self-esteem issues to myself is not proof that they don't exist - you're just not entitled to that information about me. but it's also not narcissism to really like how you look. (edit: don't throw labels around carelessly too.)

10a) "kin list?"

the fabric of the universe, a zombie, dionysus, maned wolf/arctic fox hybrid, a comedian, big gay, big rock, ambiguously partial insincerity. (edit: kin list may or may not be incomplete.)

10b) "kin isn't valid/that's just being insane"

haven't we established that I'm deranged, and that sending stuff like this on anon is simply a waste of your precious time? besides, I do not care if it's invalid or insane - it's fun, I'm happy. (edit: see 7b for my opinion on sending me yet another ask with "that's invalid" in it; I'm not in the mood to discuss the nature of validity.)

bonus: "it gets better" and "trigger list?"

as I've said before, things just don't always get better for everyone - sometimes things can't be cured or even treated, sometimes they kill you; in some cases it could get better if not for a blockade or lack of time. the world is messy. it needs to be more normalised to reassure or comfort people without relying on saying that their issue will get better or be cured. it does suck to be this ill, but it also sucks to be made out to be a lazy pessimist, just because I have the audacity to not play along. and as for the trigger list, I don't like providing people with an easily accessed list of ways to hurt my feelings or harm me - upsetting me is supposed to be challenging, and thus rewarding. if you want a cheat sheet then you're out of luck, I'm afraid.

bonus #2: "FAQ stands for frequently asked questions, it doesn't need that s at the end!"

yeah, I know, I just enjoy chaos and disarray.

bonus #3 (edit): "what are your disabilities and how exactly are they incurable and/or deadly?"

again, I don't tell the internet everything about me, especially when it poses a risk, especially not as an easily accessible list for you to refer back to whenever you feel inclined to hurt my feelings. that is understandably a sore subject. (edit: that includes physical health issues btw.)

bonus #4 (edit): "so we shouldn't be critical?"

if it wasn't clear from my answer about politics or my post in general, you can have opinions about things, and you can voice that. it's just not realistic to exist at extremes: to think that you alone should dictate what exists in fiction, or to think that people shouldn't be expressing disdain or criticism of any calibur. say how you feel about things, that's fine, but it's also fine if people find that they don't value your input. plus we're all flawed, we can all be hypocritical from time to time, we all get bitchy, and we all make mistakes, or even knowingly fuck things up. that's important to keep in mind, whether we're talking about the one being criticised or the one doing the criticising - poor choices of words, imperfect tone, or contradictory ideas are inevitably going to happen occasionally.

congrats on reaching the end! if you have, at any point, said one of these to me, you owe a hug to your nearest loved one (once it's safe).

edit: might add more links/bonus points in the future when I think of things, but it's late now. (sorry for links where prior notes in the thread have my old url, that may get a tad confusing; also, not all links are my blog or my op, since it is to illustrate points/vibes, not to self-promo.)

#don't take life too seriously #nobody gets out alive anyway #tw abuse mention #tw csa mention #tw incest mention #tw for any tws I missed #idk why I did this

[generaleferri]

I often read in comments that Gavin Reed is a plain character with little to no introspection and that he’s nothing more of a jerk.

While I totally agree on him not being a positive character throughout the game, I actually disagree with the idea he wasn’t given some deeper characterization.

Since dissecting characters’ minds and behaviours is one of my favourite pastimes, I tried to give it a go with Gavin, and these are the results.

I’m keeping this analysis shipping-free, since I only want to focus on Gavin’s actions and behaviours with the least possible emotional involvement.

This is going to be long, brace yourselves.

 1. Body language and general behaviour All Gavin's dialogues make us perceive him as an arrogant and aggressive person, yet his body language (when Connor isn't there) is the one of an Introvert™️: his posture is closed, his arms always crossed and if he can he tends to lean on some element of the surrounding space (the wall in the interrogation room or the table in the break room).

If Gavin had no dialogue lines and we were to judge him solely by his "passive" behaviour, we would think him a somehow reserved character, probably not at ease with himself and with a low self-esteem.

When he talks, however, he instantly becomes aggressive and raises his voice, all behaviours taken to extreme that one would indeed expect from an insecure subject who does not want to show their flaws and insecurities. Gavin clearly exaggerates certain sides of his character in order to hide others.

Bonus: the fact he abandons his usual closed posture when he's around Connor -who is incidentally the only one we see having direct physical contact with Gavin- is interesting for  two reasons.

First, we know Gavin doesn't think of him as a human being, so he feels less emotionally scrutinized by Connor. Second, he's so attracted to him (with "attracted to" meaning "irresistibly curious about") that he momentarily forgets he's constantly ashamed of himself and trying to censor his insecurities.

Connor makes Gavin show a certain kind of courage (sheer impulsiveness would be a more fitting way to put it) that he would not display in any other circumstances.

This, of course, doesn’t mean Gavin feels safe around Connor, since his aggressive attitude still shows an attempt at defending himself. In this particular scenario, Gavin doesn’t defend himself from judgement, but from someone he perceives as a competitor.

 2. Unconscious process of acceptance

When he follows Connor just out of the Evidence Room, Gavin already knows the android has been removed from the case, and we can tell it for a very specific reason: Connor is ranked Detective and he has all rights to get into the Evidence Room and do his job, so Gavin would have no right to stop him doing so. Unless, of course, he already knows Connor is not officially a detective anymore and lost his right of access to the Evidence Room.

This leads to the thought that just as soon as Gavin found out Connor had been dismissed, the very first thing he thought/felt the urge to do was dropping everything he was actually doing to go chasing the android.

Now, I think at this moment Gavin had no real interest in/plan to kill Connor, and again I have two reasons to provide.

First, if he had rushed to kill him with no repercussions he could have just shot him right there in the corridor without any real need to go away and then come back all the way down to the Evidence Room. He could have just said Connor had gone deviant and was attempting to corrupt the evidence.

Second, he calls him "Connor". It’s the first time ever he calls him by name and it is very curious he does it to stop him before he leaves for good. Maybe, just for one moment, Gavin forgot he was having to do with an android and not with a real human being? Maybe the urgency to tell him something, anything, before he left for good was enough to let the name slip through his lips?

This, if we consider it as a sort of Freudian Lapsus, would imply that Gavin refers to Connor by name in other circumstances, meaning he actually talks about him with the other colleagues/people in general or that he simply thinks about Connor quite often and in his thoughts he addresses the android by name.

(Which shows however a certain -small yet existing- level of empathy and feeling for him. Not talking about romance here, it's more of a super tiny and irrational process of acceptance through the subconscious act of humanizing him, something Gavin will never be aware of if nobody points it out to him)

In addition to this, it’ curious how Gavin is basically the only one in the game (among the anti-android people, of course) who refers to Connor using he/him pronouns and not the neutral “it”.

 3. Impulsiveness and learned behaviour

In this scene right out of the Evidence Room, if Connor acts all polite and submissive and says he's about to leave, Gavin looks sad disappointed.

Instead, if Connor acts snarky, we see Gavin being more or less calm until Connor mentions their "bromance", implying the existence -sarcastic or not is none of our business now- of a bond between them.

That's when Gavin loses it. He cannot hold his mess of emotions anymore and he draws his gun, but he immediately puts himself together.

We already said that plausibly Gavin already knows Connor is leaving and plausibly he's chasing him to unconsciously talk to him one last time.

With that line, Connor outs him shamelessly and Gavin feels suddenly exposed and without excuses to deny this indefinable yet existing bond, this inexplicable attraction he feels towards him.

That's why he reacts impulsively, and the impulse is to silence Connor before he can say something even more tragically true.

In the light of what we just said, it’s hard to define the following scene inside the Evidence Room.

If Gavin really wanted to kill Connor, as we said before, doing it in the corridor with the excuse Connor had gone deviant would have made sense, so again, why going away (after winking with both eyes or “jokingly” threatening him with the gun) and then coming back?

Still, Gavin actually attempted to kill Connor, so in the window of time between the “bromance” scene and the shooting scene, he must have had some sort of epiphany that made him make up his mind to kill Connor.

This, of all Gavin’s actions throughout the game, is the one that puzzles me the most.

According to my analysis up to now, the only reason I can think of is something very twisted and problematic in relation to Gavin’s way of thinking.

Since his very first appearance in the game, Gavin gave me the vibes of the classic homosexual character with internalised homophobia, but with androids.

Shipping or not, it is undeniable that Gavin is obsessed with Connor (first he tells him to stay away from him, then he doesn’t miss the chance to interact with him, he always makes sure to touch him somehow, he always tries to get his attention and that “since the first second I saw you”… really, Gavin? Are you that obsessed?)

If we add to it the fact that Gavin often unconsciously humanises Connor as we said before, it is highly likely that during that five minutes after the “bromance” scene his head and heart felt like a dumpster on fire: part of him wanted to hate Connor and rejoice of his departure, but the other part of him was strong enough to be clearly heard and didn’t wanted to let him go.

What I think is that probably Gavin realised Connor was right and there was a bond, he felt something for him. Again, I’m not speaking of romance, but of a general and undefined feeling. At this point, Gavin’s fear of admitting it was strong enough to make him take the worst possible decision: to remove the temptation once and for all from his path.

  In conclusion, it is undeniable that Gavin is strongly coded as a negative character, but there are many clues that lead to an interesting interpretation of him.

It is plausible that he had a rough childhood, maybe he was bullied or he had a difficult family situation, but everything in Gavin points to a time previous to the game in which he had to learn how to defend himself, and now this learned behaviour sticks with him on many levels. This prompts to some chance for a redemption arc, even though I don’t think it’s the better way to define it.

Thing is, learned behaviours can actually be un-learned. It is a difficult and complicated path, often requiring specialised assistance, but it’s not impossible (and by the way I really think Gavin would need therapy). So, with the right circumstances and a lot of work, Gavin could actually become less of a jerk and maybe even a decent person.

 This analysis is of course related only to Gavin’s behaviours around/towards Connor, but there are other things to be noticed regarding how Gavin deals with his colleagues and other people. But maybe I will save that for another post. ;)

#detroit become human #detroit become human meta #dbh #dbh meta #gavin reed #dbh gavin #detective gavin reed #detective reed #gavin reed meta #things i write #sort of #sorry guys this came out extra long

[thelittleinjenthatcould]

Hi loves! My latest post is up #ontheblog Jen Finds Gems

New Post has been published on https://www.jenfindsgems.com/more-than-migraines/

Opening Up About my Health: More than Migraines

On October 11th the symptoms started. I went for a bike ride on a beautiful Sunday morning (feeling a little nauseous, but ready to power through it). It was pretty hot and I biked farther than usual so when I returned feeling more nauseous than before and a little “out of it”, I figured I was just dehydrated. I remember speaking to my sister and brother in law on the phone about an hour later and suddenly starting to feel a migraine come on. I figured if I just take it easy and drink some water with my usual migraine meds, it would pass quickly.

It didn’t.

On October 13th I visited my primary Doctor for my symptoms. My migraine was still present but I was feeling dizzy and nauseous. I knew something was wrong. I made the mistake of mentioning that I thought I had vertigo, and after doing a few manual tests (follow my finger, touch your nose, walk in a straight line, etc.) the Doctor said that’s what it sounds like so let’s treat it as vertigto. He preseribed me a anti-dizziness medication called Meclizine and told me that in order to recover and help with the dizziness, I should see a physical therapist.

What? A physical therapist? This won’t pass on it’s own? I have to see a physical therapist to help me walk “normal” again? How did this happen? How long am I going to feel this way? I had so many questions! I visited a physical therapist twice before I realized that there was a bigger problem that lied ahead. The therapist listened to my symptoms and concerns and ran a few tests on his own (the epley maneuver) and realized that this didn’t sound like vertigo at all. “I think we are dealing with something bigger here Jen,” he told me.

I kept that with me. Something bigger. Okay… but what? No one could give me answers.

I was a mess and everyday functions seemed difficult or damn near impossible. I couldn’t move too quickly. I couldn’t look around a room without getting pains. It had gotten to the point where just turning my head from one side to the other felt like the room was violently spinning and I was beginning to have double and blurred vision in my right eye. I couldn’t lay flat, sleep on my right side, or sleep in total darkness because that made the dizziness worse. I felt like I was free falling in the dark and of course that made me super nauseous.

Saturday morning I woke up ready to vomit and I almost fell to my feet. Walking was too difficult because I swayed from one side to the other and I had to run and grab a wall to hold. I fell to my knees and crawled to the bathroom, vomiting for hours. When my husband returned home (he went to drop the kids off at family’s house so he could take care of me) I was hugging the toilet, sweating and holding my head with my eyes closed. I didn’t know if I was having a stroke, a seizure, suffering from brain tumor, or an aneurysm. I was terrified.

That day Nick took me to the Emergency room. They drugged me up and ran countless tests from MRI’s, MRA’s, CT scans and heart evaluations. I was picked and prodded by nurses and Doctors and the on site Neurologist told me that my exams came back fine. He said there wasn’t any area of concern that he could find but he wanted me to follow up with ENT for a possible inner ear issue and then follow up with him for brain evaluations as this could have been linked to my migraines. He also prescribed a medication by the name of Topiramate which is an anti-seizure medication that is used to treat migraines.

After coming home from the hospital, covered in EKG tabs.

I have been suffering from migraines for over 20 years and they never presented themselves in this way. What was happening inside my body? Why now and why wasn’t anything showing up on the tests? I was confused and I was scared.

I was released from the hospital the next day, more confused and afraid than ever. I had no idea what was happening and what I was supposed to do from here. So this is it, I thought. This is how I’m going to feel forever.

As the days and weeks went on, I continued to do research, pray and research more. I made an appointment with an ENT Specialist that left me in tears because he said whether this is an inner ear issue or a migraine issue, it could take years to recover. Years? What the hell! I can barely walk without holding on to my husband or a wall, I can’t be in a bright room and too much noise or movement is over stimulation for me. Years?

That night I found two blogs that gave me relief- The Dizzy Cook and Jennifer of Migraine Strong. I read their stories and instantly felt closer to answers. They spoke about their experiences with vestibular migraines, dizziness and other symptoms, their road to recovery and their treatment plans. Every night I went back to their words. I studied their plans and their courses of action. I took notes of what they did and how it helped them. I looked up the books they recommended and the supplements they took and then… I found that Jen went to Dr. Danner in Tampa that specializes in migraines and neurology! He’s here in Tampa?! I HAVE TO SEE HIM!!

My first appointment with Dr. Danner was on November 4th. He listened to my concerns and helped me understand that what I was experiencing could have been an inner ear issue or be a migraine issue however regardless of which one it was, it would be treated in the same way. He encouraged me to follow a migraine elimination diet to help me find what my triggers are, start taking at least 500 mgs of a magnesium supplement everyday, keep taking my prevention medication, and follow up with him in a month.

I followed the elimination diet to a “T”. I fell in love with a book called “Heal Your Headache,” and I went down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of vestibular migraine research.

A few weeks went by my dizziness subsided but I started to notice that the migraine prevention medication that I was on was giving me adverse effects. I had crazy brain fog, to the point where I found it hard to hold conversations or keep a thought for longer than a few seconds. It made me crazy exhausted, depressed, and I lost about 20 lbs. It made my body feel cold (literally) and I felt frail and weak. The day before Thanksgiving I called Dr. Danner and asked if I should keep taking this medication or stop based on these symptoms and a numbness I started to feel in my right leg. After careful consideration, he recommended that I stop but continue the other migraine treatment plan and follow up with him at my next appointment (which was about a week and a half later).

When I had my follow up appointment, he asked me how I felt. By that time, the numbness in my right limbs had started to feel like a heaviness and my leg would sporadically “lock up”. My leg and arm would move (or not move) on their own and it started to worry me. Dr. Danner had his office staff call in an appointment for me with Dr. Sunil Reddy, an awesome Neurologist in Tampa that could take a deeper look to see if there were possibly any other neurological issues going on.

I have been going to my Neurologist and weekly physical therapy appointments since.

Today I experience less migraines and the spasms in my arms and legs are few and far between. These spasms are believed to be linked to Transverse Myelisits which is inflammation of the spinal cord. This was determined from a neck MRI that I had that showed some scarring on my spine. Sometimes Transverse Myelitis can progress to MS however sometimes it is a one time event that can heal on it’s own. After several brain MRI’s, my Neurologist does not see any lesions or scarring on my brain and does not see an area of concern there. My next order is to get an MRI of my spine and we will monitor and make an action plan based on the findings there.

I still have no idea what triggered all of this to occur and if they are linked in any way. Did my migraines progress into something more which caused these other symptoms and issues? Was something lying dormant and now decided to progress as I got older? How does your spinal cord even get inflammed? Is it something I did??

I’m still learning and I think that my greatest lesson is that I won’t always have the answers. But I know I’m not giving up, and all of this taught me that I’m more of a warrior than I realize!

I am writing this because I hope to help someone that may be going through something similar, just as Jen and “The Dizzy Cook” helped me. When all of this started to happen, all I could do was think of how much I wanted to write about my experiences for this reason. I wish that I could have given you a full synopsis of what I was experiencing in live time, but things progressed so quickly that I seldom had time to process them fully, or the energy or brain power to do so.

I’m sure I left out a lot of details. Like me crying every night wondering why this was happening. My husband having to physically hold me up to walk and take a shower because I was too dizzy to stand. The lack of confidence I had making eye contact with people, in fear that they would see my eyes darting from side to side or trying to focus. Wondering if people were whispering or thinking I was drunk when I stumbled to walk at my daughter’s Gymnastics class or my son’s Taekwondo class. Seeing more Doctor’s, nurses, emergency rooms and Specialists in the last 4 months that I have in the past 5 years. The time, money and MEDICAL BILLS I have racked up since this all started.

This journey has been humbling and frustrating, but I’m happy that I am stronger now than when I started.

I hope that this has helped you in some way and I look forward to sharing more of my journey with you here. If you haven’t already, please check out my blog post on my recommendations for dealing with migraines and follow me on IG for more health and wellness tips.

Stay encouraged and stay positive friends.

With love,

Jennifer.

#migraines

[dieverdediger]

The Worship of Depression

Hot take: We as a Western society like depression. We like darkness. We like the “broken” guy. Take a look at shows like Rick and Morty, BBC’s Sherlock (to some extent), House M.D., Bojack Horseman, Doc Martin, and many others. We always like to see how this “weird” but “smart” guy struggles with his relationship and struggles to be a better person. 

That’s all well and good... IF we keep in mind that he is the abnormality. Not us. The problem lies in him, not me. Where he represents some universal condition, it is not necessarily an inevitable one. 

The lead characters of all these shows tend to have a pessimistic view of life. Take Dr. House especially. “Life is pain”, he says. And so he drives almost everyone away. They think the universe is meaningless and godless (literally and figuratively). We would be stupid to take their advice. Clearly there is something wrong with them. House has an addiction and tries to solve his loneliness through work and prostitutes, Morty is alcoholic and also lonely, Bojack is depressed, Martin has anxiety. Healthy people have none of these. So what they say should be taken with a grain of salt. 

Two shows point to a better world. Sherlock starts out like the guys above: cold, analytical, unappreciative of relationships. But we quickly realise - and Sherlock himself quickly realises - that he is the one missing out. There is some healthy view of the world that he, in all his genius, never realised. In Season 3 there is this one scene where Sherlock and his brother Mycroft have a little game. They try to one-up each other by analysing a stranger’s hat:

(See the vid below)

Sherlock: A quick sniff of the offending bobble tells us all we need to know about the state of his breath.

Mycroft: Brilliant! Elementary.

Sherlock: But you've missed his isolation.

Mycroft: I don't see it.

Sherlock: Plain as day.

Mycroft: Where? 

Sherlock: There for all to see.

Mycroft: Tell me.

Sherlock: Plain as the nose on your -

Mycroft: Tell me! 

Sherlock: Well, anybody who wears a hat as stupid as this isn't in the habit of hanging around other people, is he? 

By the third season Sherlock has grown, and this has helped him even in his intellectual pursuits. He could have stuck to his isolation and obsessiveness, but he didn’t. He opened up and really started to care for John and the others. It was through his empathy that he recognised the stranger’s isolation. That’s good. That’s growth. 

The other show, which is even better, is Lucifer. On the surface Lucifer is everything that’s bad about our obsession with the anti-hero: violent, destructive, has orgies, ignores important problems, hides his feelings... But the creators of the show always keeps it very clear to the audience that Lucifer is the one with the issue. Lucifer has the “daddy issues”. Lucifer himself often admits this. In fact his entire therapy thing is an attempt to deal with a recognition that he has the problem. Not Cloe, he. We should not emulate him. We can study him, and laugh at him, and cry for him. But not copy him. 

The point of everything is this: depressed does NOT equal depth or intelligence. What is sad is not necessarily true. What is pessimistic is not necessarily realistic. Quite the opposite usually. We have a tendency for taking the sad guy to be the one with the right view of life, and the happy guy to be the one with the naive and stupid view of life. Why? What is the rational reason for this? We do so because we think in our heart of hearts that life really is meaningless. But if it is NOT meaningless, then of course the happy man would be the right one. We shouldn’t mock him.

Now, of course if the universe is meaningless then we should agree with Dr. House. And if it has meaning, we should agree with Dr. Wilson. But suppose we don’t know whether it is meaningless or not. If we don’t know the facts, then shouldn’t we chose the healthier option? The view that is conducive to happiness, relationships, and love? Isn’t it the more “fitting”? 

I think linked to the “depression equals depth” assumption is the idea that happy people are naive. That they do not know pain. The idea that everyone who really knows pain would be cynical and depressed. But surely the facts don’t show that? All the great people in history have known suffering. Most of the happy people you know might even have suffered more than the rest. In fact, it is usually those with the most pain in life who somehow manage to be the happiest in spite of it all. And we envy them for that. 

It is easy to be sad. You simply let your sadness overwhelm you. It doesn’t take effort. You just allow it. But to be happy is difficult. To be grateful is an exercise. To overcome and see past your own pain is a skill. It takes effort. And we don’t like that. 

One fictional character that encompasses an awareness of suffering, and yet stays happy, is Father Brown. You might have heard about him. He is a creation of G. K. Chesterton. He appears has a kind of detective priest who solves crime by looking at the characters of people.

In Chesterton’s autobiography he explained how the glory of Father Brown lies not in him being some naive priest, but rather in a priest that is more aware of evil than others, but doesn’t let it overwhelm him. He transcends it. He based Brown on a person he knew in real life: Father John o’Connor:

I mentioned to the priest in conversation that I proposed to support in print a certain proposal, it matters not what, in connection with some rather sordid social questions of vice and crime. On this particular point he thought I was in error, or rather in ignorance; as indeed I was. And, merely as a necessary duty and to prevent me from falling into a mare's nest, he told me certain facts he knew about perverted practices which I certainly shall not set down or discuss here. 

I have confessed on an earlier page that in my own youth I had imagined for myself any amount of iniquity; and it was a curious experience to find that this quiet and pleasant celibate had plumbed those abysses far deeper than I. I had not imagined that the world could hold such horrors. If he had been a professional novelist throwing such filth broadcast on all the bookstalls for boys and babies to pick up, of course he would have been a great creative artist and a herald of the Dawn. As he was only stating them reluctantly, in strict privacy, as a practical necessity, he was, of course, a typical Jesuit whispering poisonous secrets in my ear. 

When we returned to the house, we found it was full of visitors, and fell into special conversation with two hearty and healthy young Cambridge undergraduates, who had been walking or cycling across the moors in the spirit of the stern and vigorous English holiday. They were no narrow athletes, however, but interested in various sports and in a breezy way in various arts; and they began to discuss music and landscape with my friend Father O'Connor. I never knew a man who could turn with more ease than he from one topic to another, or who had more unexpected stores of information, often purely technical information, upon all. 

The talk soon deepened into a discussion on matters more philosophical and moral; and when the priest had left the room, the two young men broke out into generous expressions of admiration, saying truly that he was a remarkable man, and seemed to know a great deal about Palestrina or Baroque architecture, or whatever was the point at the moment. Then there fell a curious reflective silence, at the end of which one of the undergraduates suddenly burst out. "All the same, I don't believe his sort of life is the right one. It's all very well to like religious music and so on, when you're all shut up in a sort of cloister and don't know anything about the real evil in the world. But I don't believe that's the right ideal. I believe in a fellow coming out into the world, and facing the evil that's in it, and knowing something about the dangers and all that. It's a very beautiful thing to be innocent and ignorant; but I think it's a much finer thing not to be afraid of knowledge."

To me, still almost shivering with the appallingly practical facts of which the priest had warned me, this comment came with such a colossal and crushing irony, that I nearly burst into a loud harsh laugh in the drawing-room. For I knew perfectly well that, as regards all the solid Satanism which the priest knew and warred against with all his life, these two Cambridge gentlemen (luckily for them) knew about as much of real evil as two babies in the same perambulator.

And so, to end my much too long post, I will make my point clear: there is nothing necessarily deep in being sad. And there’s nothing necessarily superficial in being happy. Don’t be depressed because you think it is deep. Don’t envy those who are clearly unhappy. Don’t mistake joy for foolishness.

P. S. I am not making any comment on depression as an actual psychological disease. I understand that this is not always a choice. But this just reinforces my point: clearly depression isn’t healthy. So we shouldn’t emulate it. We should pity and help those who have it, but we are idiots if we think people who suffer from it are somehow “deeper” and “more profound” than our happy Christian neighbour. There’s something this neighbour - who has the same problems us we - realise that we don’t. 

#depression #media #pop #culture #shows #sherlock #house #rick and morty #philosophy #Christianity #sad #depressed #health #series #Hugh Laurie #mental health #suicide #addiction #addict #abuse

[funny-mxrp]

A letter and apology to the rping community

I really wanted to kick this blog off with a more lighthearted post, but I feel like before I can move on and even get back into the rping scene there is something very important I need to explain and a really big apology is in order.

I used to be badparp. Yes, I used to run that blog where I would roast people for being rude to other rpers. You know the one.

Anyway, there are a lot of rumors going around about me right now. Some of them are true and some of them are not. I am going to tell the story of what actually happened and the circumstances surrounding everything. I need to come clean about all of it.

Keep in mind my memories from this time are a bit hazy because there are a lot of things my brain is closing me off from remembering about that time period, but I remember what went down mostly and I remember the bad things I did and how I wronged the rping community.

When I got into the rping community hard I was 17 years old at the time. It was the worst year of my life and I was coming to terms with a lot of things. I had freshly developed trauma that would later become PTSD and I was forced to go live with my abusive parent who would starve me, emotionally abuse me, and sometimes beat me.

I was also slowly starting to come to terms with my gender, but I had not fully realized what it was yet. This led to me getting harassed online constantly by TERFs who would send me death threats and suicide bait me when I already wanted to die so badly.

I was also trying to figure out my sexuality at the time. This led to me experimenting A LOT. I was looking up porn constantly and I was also trying to figure out what kinks I did or did not have. Previously I had been in a more healthy situation to do it with love and support, but because I was shoved into living with an abuser who did not care about me at all as anything but a punching bad and a servant, I closed myself off and was forced to experiment largely on my own with only the help of a few other teenagers that were not...the most informed.

This led me into getting into NSFW rping as a teenager. I did not know it was wrong at the time because no one had told me and no one would tell me for years, but I still did it.

And I got good at it. I got attention. I got people that actually thought I could do well and that I was good at something. After being told to die so much for my gender stuff and after being abused at home, this felt good in ways that are unimaginable. I absolutely drank up the attention. I kept pushing myself more and more and trying out kinks that were things I was uncomfortable with, but willing to force myself to do so that I would gain the respect of other rpers and I could keep getting the attention and praise I was missing in my life. I kept telling myself it was ok. It was an rp so it was ok right?

Other rpers started contacting me. Other rpers started soliciting me for things. But there were some people that did not like my rps and often rightfully called me on my stuff. This made me absolutely enraged because how dare they insult the thing that was giving me the only positive attention in my life. How dare they?

These people were what others were calling SJWs at the time. The same people also would call the TERFs SJWs. I figured that these people were just like them and that I should fight them because they were bad and evil and lashed out at people and hated them. Some of them took things way too far and that pretty much cemented in my young traumatized mind that these people were the bad guys and I should hate people like them.

So it pulled me down another rabbit hole and I became an edgy anti SJW. I would lash out and get into drama constantly. The drama made me feel like I could be right about something in the world when I was constantly being told that I was wrong.

Along the way I started making friends that were also anti SJWs. Some of them were good people that were misguided like I was. Some of them were wolves in sheep's clothing trying to convert people to the right.

At one point I joined a group of fellow NSFW rper anti SJWs. This was the point where the coercing me into NSFW rps started to get very focused and very disturbing even if I couldn’t see it at the time.

These people absolutely knew I was an underage rper. They told me there was nothing wrong with it and I was ok. They kept encouraging me to do more and more of it. I kept sending them links to my private blog where they could read my rps. These were adults. These were adults and they absolutely knew what they were doing. I was being groomed and I had no idea because I had always assumed being groomed meant having to send nudes and stuff. I was cocky and I thought I was safe.

They also kept egging me on with more and more drama and getting deeper and deeper into the anti SJW community. I would get angry more often. I would keep being more and more sympathetic to fucked up right wing views. I would fight constantly. And it hurt. It hurt so badly. But I needed it. I needed to feel good again and feel like I was right. Just like I needed the praise I got from my rps.

It kept going like this for a while. I kept getting worse and worse and going more and more down.

It only started to change when I met someone that could pull me out of it. He didn’t attack me. He didn’t accuse me of being a terrible person and tell me to go die. He calmly talked to me and he listened. As he listened he started to slowly become my voice of reason, asking me questions about whey I thought certain things were true.

As I kept talking to him, I started to question things too. I started to question if what was happening was really ok. If it was really right. I started to engage less and less in drama. The more I pulled away the better I started to feel because I actually had someone to support me and care about me now that was not as confused as I was.

It eventually got the the point where I realized that I had legitimately been a horrible person. I felt crazy amounts of guilt over what happened and I decided to delete all of my blogs because I didn’t want to be that person anymore. The person who ran badparp and justified really messed up things and always wanted attention and drama was dead. I was an adult and I wasn’t an edgy teenager anymore.

I spent a few more years feeling horrific guilt over what happened. There were countless people that I must have said horrible things to and I had unwillingly become a tool to spread a narrative to the community that was wrong, but I had still done it and I could not undo that.

It’s been a very long time though. I am getting therapy now. I am away from my abuser. I am happily married to the person that saved me from who I used to be and pulled me out of the horrible pit I was slowly being dragged down into that was turning me into a monster.

I don’t fight anyone online anymore. I don’t like fighting with people at all anymore at all. I no longer consider myself an anti SJW and I no longer defend the awful things that I did back then. I am slowly starting to heal.

But Homestuck and the good not toxic rps that I did have will always have a special place in my heart and I don’t think I can ever get rid of that.

So this blog is my apology to the community and the fandom for the person I was back then and I want it to be proof that people can change and rping does not have to be about toxicity, drama, and fighting. The more people fight the more people like me back then will be driven into the arms of people that want to hurt them.

I want this to be a happy lighthearted blog where people can post funny rps that they have and share them with others. I want to promote a new mindset for rping that is about something good.

I can’t undo the things I did or said, but I can try to change and be a better person and build something new.

#mxrp #msparp #homestuck rping #very long post #mass apology to the fandom #abuse mention #grooming mention #the homestuck fandom

[queercapwriting]

prompt from the wonderful Deanlu: “Cap!! Well done. If your taking requests...superreigncorp - Kara's infected with red kryptonite by Cadmus and goes after Lena. Sam was defend Lena. Awful things get said and Sam ends up injuring Kara badly to protect Lena. The three have a heart to heart at the DEO where Kara thanks Sam for stopping her. Alex and Maggie are there too.”

“You have to, Sam. Please. I’m so sorry. But please.” 

Alex’s jaw is set and Sam’s eyes are wide, like if she wishes it hard enough, nothing Alex is saying to her will be true.

That Cadmus didn’t get a hold of her girlfriend. 

That they didn’t infect her with red kryptonite.

That Alex isn’t suiting up to fight her own sister and asking Sam to do the same.

“I might be able to talk her down,” Alex’s voice definitely hitches this time, “but if we’ve gotta restrain her at any point, you’re our safest bet.”

“She won’t go after Ruby.” Sam says it like a statement, but Alex knows damn well that it’s a question.

And that’s when her voice hitches again. Dammit.

“No. She’s not. Sam.” Alex takes her hand, this time, and that’s when Sam’s stomach really plummets. “According to the tracker in her suit, she’s going after Lena.”

Sam doesn’t wait for Alex.

She doesn’t wait for anyone.

She flies.

She only catches the tail end of it. The things Kara’s saying to their girlfriend. The things about her family, her worth. Exactly what she thinks of Lena’s appropriateness for the Luthor family name and exactly what she thinks of why a Super would ever want to sleep with a Luthor.

“Kara, you’re ill, you don’t really mean any of this,” Lena’s trying. She’s trying, but it’s a voice Sam knows better than she would like to.

It’s Lena’s broken voice.

The one where she’s saying things, talking out loud, but believes none of it. The voice where she believes every terrible thing anyone will throw at her, about herself.

“Kara,” Sam calls, no mask. Because if this is going to work, Kara needs to see her face.

Kara freezes, and when she turns to her other girlfriend, she sneers.

It looks unfamiliar on her face.

Unfamiliar, and horrific.

It’s the worst thing Sam’s ever seen, and she’s seen more than her share.

“Don’t hurt her, Sam,” Lena begs, even though she’s bleeding. Even though she’s shaking and trembling because she’s damn good in a fight, but she’s only human, after all.

“I’ll try, Lena,” Sam tells her, soft and gentle, but her eyes never leave Kara’s face.

“You’ll fail,” Kara’s sneer only sets deeper into her face, and her voice is low and deep and usually, that’s sexy as hell.

Now, it just tears Sam to shreds.

“I mean really, it’s kind of awesome.” Kara’s smiling now, flying slowly away from Lena and toward Sam - good, that’s what they need, good, good, a little more - and her laugh is even worse than her sneer. “Think about it, Reign. You hurt me to protect Lena, and you’ll lose her. You don’t hurt me, and you’re still losing. Because really, do you even want to stop me? You were born for this, Sam. It’s your birthright. So really, not hurting me? Not stopping me? You fail at being human, at being a mother.” 

She says it with such disdain that Sam nearly shudders, nearly loses her grip on the air around her. On her will to live.

Kara’s flying backwards, towards Lena, as she talks. 

Sam has no idea what she plans to do. But they’re above the deck of Lena’s penthouse and it’s too risky to take any chances.

She tightens her fists and tries to black out her girlfriend’s voice. Tries to watch her body, instead, tries to read what threat it holds, this time.

“Which means you succeed at what really matters. At being a supervillain. So really, either way you choose, Reign, you can’t escape your true-”

Sam blasts Kara out of the sky, just as she’s about to get close to Lena again.

Kara falls.

Sam flies.

She catches her.

There’s still blood on her forehead.

But she’s unconscious. 

Alex can treat her.

Alex can make her better.

Physically.

Who knows how the rest will happen.

Lena doesn’t need stitches, but it still takes everything Maggie has to get her to sit still long enough for one of the DEO medics to get her cleared.

Sam doesn’t need anything, medically, but it still takes everything Vasquez has to get her to take an anti-anxiety pill designed just for her.

And Kara.

They keep Kara unconscious until Alex can leech the red K from her system.

Alex cries while she works.

She thinks no one notices.

They do.

J’onn kisses her forehead and James puts his hand on her shoulder and Winn paces the hallways, occassionally shouting at the walls.

They wait while Alex works. They wait while Kara recovers.

Maggie gets a hold of Winn so he can cry himself out on her shoulder. 

Sam and Lena don’t say a word.

They hold hands and they watch Alex and they wait.

“I’m sorry I hurt her,” Sam says after a long, long while. Her voice sounds like she hasn’t used it in years, and she’s grateful this all happened early in the morning, so Ruby’s still at school.

“You gave her the equivalent of a Kryptonian slap on the back of the head,” Lena tries to comfort her, though she can’t quite meet her eyes.

“She’s my girlfriend. That’s not okay.”

“None of it’s okay,” Lena murmurs, but she squeezes Sam’s hand like maybe she’s not going to break up with her.

“You know none of what she was saying about you was true.”

“You neither,” Lena tells her, and they both believe it of the other.

Neither quite believe it about themselves.

Later, neither of them will be sure who falls asleep on the other’s shoulder first.

But Maggie is definitely the one who put a blanket over them, because they recognize the one she keeps safe in a compartment on the back of her bike for impromptu beach trips.

“Hey,” James kneels in front of them as soon as he realizes they’re awake. “Alex says she can wake Kara whenever you guys are ready. We just didn’t want to wake you.”

Lena grimaces and nods, and Sam does the same. James offers to collect the blanket from them.

“My boyfriend could use it, now: I think he tired himself out from all the crying, and Vasquez probably wants her jacket back.”

Sam and Lena exchange small smiles at the idea of Winn curled up somewhere in the med bay, asleep under Vasquez’s favorite leather jacket.

James hugs them both, and they hug back, hard.

They’ll need it.

They’ll all need it.

“Alex?” Lena asks, soft and slow, as they step into the room where Kara is still unconscious and Maggie is holding Alex from behind.

“Are you ready?” Alex asks, trying to sound like she hasn’t been crying for hours.

She’s not fooling anyone, but no one minds.

Lena and Sam lace their fingers together and step toward Kara’s med chamber.

Sam runs her fingers over the angry bruise on Kara’s cheek from when she fell.

From when Sam made her fall.

She shivers.

Lena kisses her neck.

She shivers again and she nods.

Alex types in some sort of code on Kara’s monitors, and her IV drip changes the tone of its humming.

It takes a few minutes.

No one speaks.

Kara stirs.

And immediately begins to weep.

“Did I kill anyone?” is the first thing she needs to know.

It’s always the first thing she needs to know.

“No, Kara, no. Everyone’s fine. Everyone’s fine,” Alex drops to her knees next to her, on the other side of the bed from where Sam and Lena are. Maggie keeps one hand on Alex’s shoulder, the other balled in a fist in her pocket. Her jaw is set and her eyes are glassy.

All of their eyes are glassy.

“Sam? Lena? Oh, Rao, Alex. Lena.”

“I’m right here, darling. We’re both right here.” She tries to take Kara’s hand, but Kara whines and flinches and curls, as fetal as she can get with the IV still in her hand, shaking her head and rocking into herself.

“I’m so sorry,” is all she can sob for long, long, long moments.

Everyone cries.

Everyone has their own reasons to.

Sam figures out a way to speak first.

“It could have been me,” she tells her girlfriend, one arm firmly around Lena’s waist and the other, reaching to try to get Kara to unclench her hands. “Cadmus could have gotten me, and I could have done some pretty terrible things, Kara. And you’d tell me it wasn’t my fault. You’d tell me it was Cadmus.”

“And I’d be lying,” Kara moaned, and Sam flinched, but nodded, because she knew. She knew. “I wouldn’t blame you, Sam, and I wouldn’t stop loving you. But that wouldn’t keep me from laying awake at night, wondering if one of the women in my bed really does believe these terrible things about me, deep down. Really does want to hurt me, deep down, so damn badly. I wouldn’t know how to not wonder.”

“Do you still wonder about me?” Alex asks, soft and scared, like she’s trying to help, desperately, but also like she’s scared to hear the answer.

Sam and Lena turn to look at Alex, both crying but both confused. Maggie squeezes her girlfriend’s hand, hard. Kara looks stunned. Only Alex’s eyes are steady, even as she bites her bottom lip so hard she might bleed.

“Myriad,” she whispers as explanation. Like Kara needs reminding. 

And while Sam and Lena won’t have the full story, not yet - it’s not something either Danvers woman talks about, not really, not often, not unless they’re beyond drunk or had a particularly grueling day in therapy - they’ll remember Myriad. They’ll be able to put enough pieces together.

“It took me a long time, Alex,” Kara whispers, because it’s true. 

And Alex gets that. 

She remembers what this is like from both sides, not just the one.

“But we’re still us,” Alex reminds her. “And we still really should come with a warning.”

Alex’s voice breaks and Kara lets herself sob into her sister’s chest for a long, long minute before breathing again and turning, trembling, toward her girlfriends.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts before Kara gets the chance to speak. “I told Lena I wouldn’t hurt you, and I did, and I should have found a different way to -”

“No.” It’s the first time Kara’s voice is solid since she’s come to.

“No, Sam, no. Thank you. Thank you. I was hurting Lena, and I was hurting you, and it... thank you. I’m sorry I put you in that position. To have to hurt one of your girlfriends to protect the other.” Her voice cracks again, but she shakes her head like she’s making a decision, and she sits up, kissing Alex’s hand before detatching herself and reaching for Lena and Sam.

“You needed to stop me. And I never want you to have to do it again, but if Rao forbid you ever do? Please do exactly the same thing. I don’t know what right I have to ask you to be that strong, but please, Sam. You don’t have to hesitate.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

“And I could’ve killed either of you. Or Rao knows who else.”

“None of this is okay,” Sam whispers, her shoulders sinking. Because it’s not, it’s not, it’s not.

“But it will be,” Lena says, because Kara’s right. She will lay awake at night, and she will wonder if Kara really thinks those terrible things about her, about Sam. 

And Sam will lay awake, wondering the same. 

And Kara will lay awake, wondering if, deep down, she is truly as cruel, as sadistic, as the red K makes her.

They’ll all wonder that, at night. If they are as terrible as the things that were said, were done, were thought, were felt. 

And they’ll all lay there, wondering; but they’ll be laying there, together.

She’s not sure how she knows, but she does.

She’s not sure about anything right now, but she’s sure about that.

“It will be,” she says again, and this time, it’s a promise, and it’s a prayer, and it’s everything.

#superreigncorp #superreigncorp fic #supereigncorp #supereigncorp fic #supercorp #supercorp angst

[iampikachuhearmeroar]

Skincare/ makeup culture ☕️

oooh. i’ll divide this post into two parts: makeup culture and skincare culture.

(1.) makeup culture.

i think everyone knows that I’ve never liked makeup, mostly because I had relatively bad cystic acne throughout high school, that reacted badly to all of the makeup that my sister used (but most particularly her l’oreal foundation). I think makeup culture is particularly harmful to young girls, like the makeup youtube channels that are run by the parents I suppose of 8 year olds, where the 8yo is the actual youtuber.

like don’t get me wrong, i know young girls like playing with makeup (I actually did when I was that age, funnily enough)….. but the fact that professional or just plain fucking ridiculously expensive makeup palettes are now being marketed to girls in bloody primary/grade/elementary school, is just fucking wrong. and yeah there’s the post on here about how some younger girls are finding themselves ugly when they don’t wear properly applied makeup or something like that. and that breaks my heart. why the fuck should a young girl be made to feel ugly if she can’t blend like josiemaycosmetics (I made that up btw idk any makeup channels besides Jeffree star, James Charles and that tatti woman tbh) and can’t afford the bullshit Too Faced $98 powered foundation, $65 Sunday Riley blush (I roughly remember the price of this particular blush bc my sister bought it for me for my 20th birthday so that I could according to her “look good for uni” but I never actually used it lmao… and it’s no longer sold here in australia) and Kylie Jenner’s overpriced lip kits and idk Smashbox “photo finish” primer priced between $AU23-$AU55????

like I had this bad enough in fucking HIGH SCHOOL with my sister telling me that I’d “never get a boyfriend” or “never get a date for the formal/junior prom” if I didn’t spend hundreds of $$$$ for a good face of makeup and didn’t spend hours and hours learning how to do my own makeup. or how last year for my uni grad, she made out that I’d ruin my own uni grad if we didn’t spend $250 on the makeup artist we got for me….. where I unfortunately found out that my skin reacts to MAC products 😭😨 bc the MUA used MAC concealer and foundation. my sister also expected me to remember the setting spray the woman used for my makeup, when I was there from like 4:30am till like 6:45am and i was barely fucking awake. the setting spray probably could’ve easily cost over $100. let’s be real here. like why am I expected to remember shit that early in the morning???

one of my least favourite things with makeup culture is that you’re not meant to fuck it up in any way, shape or form. like when my sister did my makeup for my two high school formals/proms (year 10 & year 12) she constantly told me not to scratch my face while she was doing it (but it made me itchy, hooray for L’Oréal being shit lmao)…. not to fuck it up while I ate at those events….. and she didn’t let me eat before my uni grad last year bc “you’d definitely fuck up your makeup. don’t you dare scratch your face at all today!” like for someone who has hypersensitive/highly reactive skin that she has to scratch when it’s itchy….. and also loves fucking stuffing her face with food….. expecting me to never touch/scratch my face and to practically starve myself to preserve the integrity of my makeup (that i ended up paying for some in the end anyway) for an event is fucking stupid and over-restrictive.

like i always hated the way that the kardashians ate on KUWTK bc it looked so fucking mechanical and whatever bc they had to obvs preserve their makeup while shooting and also look nice for the camera. like why the fuck am I expected to eat ~like that~ when I have a faceload of MU on???? FUCK OFF. I will scratch it off. I will smear the food all over my face (ok not really) and eat however I motherfucking want, thank you very fucking much. like for my uni grad last year I was up from 4am and my grad ended at like 12:30pm….. so I didn’t have food til about 12:35 when I left the hall. and the whole time while I was eating my sister kept reminding me to not fuck up my makeup that we’d spent $250 on. JUST LET ME FUCKING EAT WOMAN, I SWEAR TO FUCK. lmao.

the last thing I hate the most about makeup culture is that like….. I absolutely hate makeup like I said above….. but once I have it on I feel pretty and cry a bit bc I’ll just never learn to do it myself…. mostly bc I couldn’t be bothered…. bc I save hundreds, if not thousands of $$$$ from not buying all the bullshit essential items you need just for a ~basic no makeup, makeup look~, and bc my hands have never been steady enough to use some of the things, like false eyelashes and eyelash curlers or liquid eyeliner/normal eyeliner….. 

but yeah. I just hate that it makes me feel pretty???? but I also feel good and more natural without it???? and I’ll never like my sister’s comment that: “you’re the prettier one out of the two of us…. but if only you hurried up and learnt to do your makeup, you’d be even prettier” or some dumb semi-condescending shit comment she’s said to me like that before. like why is the only way a woman can be pretty (other than some clothes that make her feel good) by smearing 100s/1000s of dollars worth of makeup on???? like why the fuck am I expected to spend all that money when a good bulk of men will never bother with the male makeup trend anyway???? like why am I expected to act differently when I basically just have grown up face-paint on lmao???? I’ve never felt natural in makeup, I’ve always felt awkward and like…. not sound like an cringey edgelord emo kid…. but i never felt ~real~ wearing makeup lmao. just yeah.

but yeah I also understand makeup is an art and I appreciate that. makeup culture is so fucked on all sides for women.

(2.) skincare culture:

now skincare culture is different for me. considering that, like I said before, I had relatively bad cystic acne…. and I’ve since also developed eczema during the winter months….. so I’ve had to develop a good skincare routine over the years to keep my skin under control. but again, there are parts that I don’t like about skincare culture…. like women are typically meant to spend, again, hundreds and if not thousands of dollars on super expensive skin creams (some of which I’ve tried) to fix their fine lines, their laugh lines, their crows feet, their blemishes, their birth marks and cellulite…… the list truly goes on and on….. and on top of that (well this hellsite which isn’t entirely accurate) I’m, or we as women, are expected to teach all of that to men in their 20s???? like fuck off. why and how the fuck didn’t they get the fucking memo to look after their own goddamned skin???? like my 20s are already tiring enough, and now I gotta pass on important skincare advice to men, who could easily fucking find it themselves online???? lord help their asses lmao.

but other than the men bit…. yeah skincare culture is just as bad as makeup culture. like when Cosmo mag was still running in australia, more than half of the shit the women at Cosmo were advertising as part of their skincare routines were literally $300 night treatment creams or moisturisers; $150 facial cleansers; or $500 skin peels, or $600 appointments at dermatologists and skin therapies like electrolysis that I’ll probs never be able to afford. like one of the luxury brands that I LOVE (💖) is Mario badescu bc the two pimple treatments that i sometimes I use from them (the drying lotion and the anti-acne serum) are the ONLY two acne treatments that have NEVER made my face turn red and my skin peel off (besides a really good neutrogena one that Neutrogena discontinued 😭). every other chemist bought pimple treatment cream makes my skin peel off/itchy/turn red. but sadly the two Mario badescu treatments are priced over $50 if bought together (ones now $31 (formerly $28, this one’s great bc it dries clear), the other is like $26, this one dries pink). so the chemist bought ones like the ones by Clearasil or OXY10 are my saviours at $11.99-$12.99, even though they dry out my skin to buggery and leave big white marks on my face bc they both dry white lmao. but I’ve gotta suffer that for the price of beauty lmao.

also there’s expensive face washes (or skin care program packs etc) from Paula’s choice that I love.... but again they were like $35 for a 400ml bottle and $25 for a fucking 150ml or 250ml bottle. now the one i like is $20 for 177ml, which is a rip off. some of the other luxury things that I’ve tried (via free samples) that don’t work, like Kate Somerville (priced at like $65 and over), Philosophy and god knows what else that i’ve bought from Mecca Cosmetica, which is the Aussie version of Sephora in the past. and yes, for acne treatments, i’ve used pro-activ before. it was ok… but i never used it in high school, after the awful time we had trying to cancel our subscription to it back in the day for my sister lol.

also can we talk about the ultrasonic face brush systems that are still raging strongly??? like they’re also super rip offs, especially with buying replacement heads for $35 a pop. like I’ve had a Clarisonic for years (that I’ve stopped using, admittedly)…. the model was roughly $250 when I got it for my like 19th birthday. now they’re even more expensive at like $315 for the latest “clarisonic mia fit cleansing system” which is linked on the $315. or now there’s the foreo that costs anywhere between $75 (the cheapest model) to fucking almost $400… ie $395. the replacement heads for the clarisonic and i suppose replacement like pads or something for the foreo are meant to be replaced every three months “for optimum cleansing” or whatever. like $35 every three months is a lot to maintain after a while. also using the clarisonic added like 10 extra minutes to my showers/general skincare routine bc you’re meant to use it for five mins or whatever and then spend another 5mins washing it out to make sure that it doesn’t collect mould and buildup too much soap residue. it was just a lot of effort to use, even if it did make me feel like i had a better and deeper face washing routine.

and yes, i know there’s Lush. both my sister and i (but more my sister) were obsessed with Lush back in high school, after one of our sydney cousins introduced it to us. but Lush’s skincare stuff for pimples just never worked for us. it made me breakout more, actually. but their old apple pie and choc-orange lip balms were the BOMB. it’s a pity that they no longer make them tbh. their jelly soaps were fun to use and smelt nice too. i can’t remember much else about lush tbh lmao.

for face masks, i’ve found that store/chemist bought formula 10.0.06 or whatever works the best for my skin. but the push, especially again in cosmo and other places, to buy more expensive face-masks and like designer FMs that you should really ask a professional to use first imo, is fucking harmful, especially when you’ve got ones that take off the whole top layer of skin from your face (like the famous and the overly popular charcoal face peel masks), or so i’ve read. like it’s yikes out there. please be safe with these masks, ya’ll. and the same goes for making your own organic face masks, considering that i’ve seen posts on here about using lemon juice which is bad for your skin??? idk anyway. i also hate how with the face masks i buy, there’s about 6 different “skin-illuminating”/“skin brightening”/”skin detoxing” etc masks, that all essentially do the same fucking thing. just keep it at one and fucking go; for gods fucking sake lmao.

but yeah, skincare culture does suck just as much as makeup culture, considering that is heavily focused on women’s self-esteem and wallets…. and barely ever focuses on men. like it’s a double-edged sword tbh.

also as side notes: why the actual fuck are makeup companies still giving their makeup shades or makeup lines sexual names???? like i just found a fucking blush shade by NARS, in my research for this post, called “Orgasm”???? like what the FUCK is wrong with ya’ll??? like y’all actually have the fucking AUDACITY to really make 8 year olds say that in their makeup tutorial videos as well??? “our best selling orgasm collection” sweet lord. that sounds bad. y’all need to sort your shit out, and so do the people who name nail polish shades.. 

the other worrying general beauty trends that i keep getting on my facebook newsfeed are the teeth whitening systems like hismile and at home laser treatment machines… and then also the charcoal toothpastes to whiten your teeth. oh and also the facial skin “vacuums”, that suck out dirt/oil and your blackheads/pimples etc from your pores. stay safe out there everyone, and do your bloody research. don’t believe the reviews and the hype.

also finally: take your skin type and skin condition/(s) into account if you want to use any of the things that I’ve mentioned that I use/have used on this post. or that I’ve just generally mentioned, like the Clarisonic and the foreo. because what works for me, might not work for you. I’m not a skincare expert or dermatologist. check with your doctor or a skincare professional or whatever before you start using some of these things, even if you might think that it’s stupid & pointless to do so.

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ask game thing #anon ask #answered anon ask #anon #answered anon #anonymous

[androgyne-acolyte]

Coming out (as a queer ministry hopeful)

A version of this was cross-posted to my personal Facebook profile. This is the first in (hopefully) a series of posts discussing what I believe, how I got here, and how my faith and praxis continue to evolve. 

I’m also indebted to all the queer and trans people of faith here on Tumblr for providing me with countless tidbits of affirming and radical theology. You’ve contributed to my decision as much as anyone.

So, I have some life changes on the horizon. As of Tuesday, I’ve been accepted to the Master of Divinity program at Atlantic School of Theology, starting in September and continuing for the next three years. Concurrently, I’m pursuing candidacy for ordination as a minister in the United Church of Canada.

To those who don’t know me closely, this may seem like a surprise; I usually don’t talk about faith unless directly asked. Let me explain...

In the second half of 2018, a number of personal and professional issues came to a head for me. To make a long story short, I realized that being a full-time composer and musician simply wasn’t financially or emotionally sustainable anymore; at the same time, I faced an untenable personal situation that seriously challenged my values as a queer person.

I realized that, throughout years of unstable circumstances and a rapidly changing self, my spirituality has been the one beneficial constant in my life. It’s challenged me to act when I see distress and suffering, to see the good in people, and to not get cynical — all of which, I’ve learned, are extremely difficult to do well! Even so, my spirituality has been like a signal, calling me to explore it and live it out more fully, and I hit a point where I simply couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Again, to those who haven’t been following me closely, it may seem strange that I’m re-joining an institution like the church as an openly genderqueer person; especially (if you look more closely) as someone who seems to reject a lot of the main points of normative Christianity in favour of obscure ideas plucked from the forgotten depths of history. Maybe it helps to picture me aspiring to be a whiter, trans-er version of Shepherd Book from Firefly, or a real-life D&D cleric. But I think I’ve stumbled onto something profound, and I want to share it.

These next sections are addressed to two groups of people in my life: First, the rad queers, the activists of whatever stripe, and all those who have good reason to distrust the church. Second, the few traditional Christians who might be paying attention, if you’ve read this far.

To my queer and trans siblings especially: I want to be the rad genderqueer minister who you can trust — who provides a safe harbour for down-and-out trans kids, has Plan B in their pastoral care kit, runs free therapy groups out of the church basement (how about a whole youth shelter while we’re at it?), and gives humble, honest answers to anyone who has ever questioned and been silenced. I believe that “another world is possible”;  a more just and loving world, where we can build new systems based on radical equity, work to heal ourselves and each other from the scars of trauma and oppression, and kick at the foundations of unjust power through acts of sacred mischief. This is my activism.

Moreover, the United Church is special to me in that social action and healthy dialogue (not to mention decolonization and reconciliation) are its bread and butter. I feel like I’ve finally found a spiritual home, an organization that can provide a platform and a support for me to live out this kind of work; in turn, I can keep challenging the church to be better, more inclusive, more radical. After all, truly queer-affirming and anti-oppressive spiritual practices are still sorely lacking at the church level; imagine the impact of a community of faith that uplifts and nurtures our queer descendants instead of judging and alienating them, where if anything gets denounced from the pulpit, it’s the evil of late capitalism and white supremacy.

Not that I’m attached to denominational identity, or even to the idea that being capital-C Christian is a prerequisite; the earliest form of christianity, after all, was simply called “the Way”, a community of thought and action that transcended social, cultural, and patriarchal boundaries. If you believe in compassion, justice, and healing, that’s good enough for me; I want to walk this Way with you and for you. No gatekeeping, no ahistorical rhetoric about sin and sacrifice, no dumbed-down creedal statements to accept by rote; my christian agenda is one where everyone gets enough and nobody gets left behind.

(And, like, I’m no saint, either; I’ve made mistakes, I’ve hurt people, I’ve gone off the rails once or twice. The above is as much an aspiration for me as it is for anyone.)

To any self-identified traditional Christians who are still reading: Go back and reread Matthew 3; just as the first century was a time of rapid change (Mark 13), the 21st century is more bewildering still, and I believe that we are called to walk through it with our hearts and minds open. Remember that the world that Paul admonishes us not to conform to (Romans 12:2) is the Roman world of two millennia ago; keeping our faith is something much bigger than rigid adherence to social norms and cultural identity (Galatians 3:23-29). Look at our history; how many of our beliefs are recent developments adopted in resistance to modernity? How many are medieval constructs that would have been foreign to the actual authors of the Bible? How many are compromises meant to make us look respectable in front of the Roman Empire?

Finally, when was the last time a parable surprised you (Mark 12:17)? Jesus wasn’t crucified over theological differences; he was killed because he represented something bigger and better than the repressive empire around him, and the folks in power knew it (Matthew 27:54). In every parable, every teaching, there is something gleefully, mischievously countercultural that centuries of societal change have obscured; to overlook that is to overlook part of the incredible beauty and vitality of our faith. Isn’t it more satisfying to examine our beliefs and come out with a deeper understanding? Isn’t it more inspiring to see allies all around us? Isn’t it more fun to get our hands dirty? And who are we to limit God’s overwhelming love?

Postscript: As a friend pointed out, I’m not trying to juggle being a queer person and being an aspiring minister, as if these are somehow disparate identities; I want to be a Queer Minister, with all the powerful and unsettling possibilities that implies. I think it’s something our world needs right now.

#tamsin the seminarian #tamsin writes #long post #queer christianity #queer ministry goals #anti-oppressive christianity #transgender christians #lowercase christianity #articulating praxis #reclaiming christianity #the empire never ended

[iputthediscoindiscourse]

I posted 38 times in 2022

That's 38 more posts than 2021!

18 posts created (47%)

20 posts reblogged (53%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@aa-terf

@arethousa

@halfheartdead

@the-land-of-women

I tagged 38 of my posts in 2022

#gabe.txt - 33 posts

#discourse - 17 posts

#answered - 12 posts

#anon - 11 posts

#religion - 6 posts

#hate messages - 2 posts

#ask game - 2 posts

#personal - 1 post

#a lot of you need to learn this when i post - 1 post

#marriage - 1 post

Longest Tag: 51 characters

#like it would save you a lot of your anger and shit

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Another bi women used lesbianism to shock her parents instead of actually considering what she was attracted to :) and is now going on to suck and fuck and breed with men :)) and now a whole bunch of homophobes plus other lesbians will see this and their doubt about lesbianism will grow deeper :))) larping like a tra because you think lesbianism is a fucking haircut and then pulling right out of it with no apology, go fuck yourself homophobe

As I stated before in the other hate I got, the fact you sent this as an anon proves you are a pathetic coward who needs tons of therapy and help to actually be a functioning human.

Another bi women used lesbianism to shock her parents instead of actually considering what she was attracted to :)

You know when I told my mother I thought I was gay she made it about herself told me she knew i was a lesbian since I was a preteen cause of how I fangirled over Demi Lovato and Taylor Swift. Then admitted to outing me to my father, which explains why he would randomly call me a pervert and a pedophile because to him homosexuality equals pedophilia. Like actually from the time I was 20 to the time I was 23 I literally had no attraction to the male sex at all. Like it was most definitely a trauma response,but like I was a lesbian for like 3 ish years until I did that shroom trip and realized I was in love with a good friend of mine, who happens to be a male. Also fun fact my parents still think I am a lesbian because I haven't talked to them in a few years now sooo.

and is now going on to suck and fuck and breed with men :))

For how much anti-porn radfems say they are this screams like you are a regular porn watcher and adopted the extremely violent language in this media, and use it for people who you do not like. This statement also reduces me to a sex object, which again is antithetical to radical feminism.

and now a whole bunch of homophobes plus other lesbians will see this and their doubt about lesbianism will grow deeper :)))

How does me figuring out my sexuality and gender identity, harm others? You do realize I was in a high control environment until I was about 20 ish and then didn't have really any freedom until I came up to nyc earlier this year right? Like everyone is in the process of growing and finding oneself whether they want to believe it or not. The fact that hate has overcrowded your heart like this, makes me feel sorry for you. The fact you look at the world like this, screams you need some serious help and I hope to God you find it.

larping like a tra because you think lesbianism is a fucking haircut and then pulling right out of it with no apology

how am I like a TRA? Yeah I did have some sex dysphoria was a preteen, teenager and a little bit up til my early 20s, but most of it I worked through on shrooms so, I am just a gender conforming cisgendered bisexual woman. Nothing wrong with that!! Where tf did I say lesbian is a look? I said me being gnc was a cope, I didn't specify why. Which that stems from the fact my parents wanted a son, not a daughter and they bullied me and were rude and cruel to me over my sex, and I thought if I acted more masculine they would love me more. Well that backfired. Pulling out without an apology? what the fuck are you talking about bro?? how is my personal growth have anything to do with others??? Like I wanted to post a cute life update and you people just come for my throat; which proves why I am not the biggest fan of radfems anymore. Most of y'all are hateful bigots with complexes that obscure you from being kind or understanding. Which if you want women's liberation you need to be kind and understanding,which you are neither and I hope to god you find some goddamn peace cause you fucking need it.

go fuck yourself homophobe

How am I homophobic? Like anon you don't know me at all, like now to toot my own horn but there are some bloggers who orbit the same circles as us who know me irl and they will disagree with this statement a lot sooo lol

2 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#4

sorry about the religious indoctrination get well soon!!!

You know I was raised in a culty environment and escaped it, right anon?

Like my parents literally held me against my will for almost a decade. Like from the time i was 11 to the time I was almost 20, i was watched 24/7, i had no rights or say in anything. Like my mother literally forced me to be affectionate (e.g. hug and kisses type of stuff) to church men or else she would threaten to make me homeless and cause of those incidences I actually cannot handle being in co-ed religious spaces cause of my ptsd. So I mostly hang out at more traditional mosques and shuls, or if it is co-ed and I need/want to go, I just ask a male friend to go with me for protection purposes. My mother also almost made me a childbride, was grooming me for it and tried to set me up with men that I could never be attracted to.

Like yeah religion has traumatized me a lot,but also through studying it in a secular institution, it has made me realize why and how I got into the mess that I was during my childhood. And now I spend my time creating a new type of theology that actually helps out others like myself. Cause honestly I love reading and learning more about how others interact with the divine, and it gives me hope and faith that my children will not suffer like I did.

3 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#3

also its really frustrating that despite radical feminism being so misportrayed in the mainstream, many people on here wont take 2 seconds to think about what you mean by tradfem and automatically assume the worst caricatured sexist version possible. whereas i hve seen lots of content on here that technically follows under tradfem that centers on women setting standards and boundaries on the men they allow in their lives, refusing sexualization, enjoying traditionally female roles but the ones that are actually valuable work (childrearing, cooking, sewing etc.) not stupid pornified stuff. like does it suck that for centuries women were forced into those roles? duh! but there is also so much valuable female knowledge there, it is a sphere where women worked together and apart from men and i totally get not being interested in it but its sad to see it disregarded just bc of its origins. anyways sorry to rant in your inbox. i just really Felt ur post lol

also its really frustrating that despite radical feminism being so misportrayed in the mainstream, many people on here wont take 2 seconds to think about what you mean by tradfem and automatically assume the worst caricatured sexist version possible.

Exactly!! Like it seems like tradfem seems to be a trigger word to them and it sends the worst to me. Like all I want is a good partner who will take care of me, and a house to turn into a home. Which is like very traditional, you know? I just want to serve the creator, and have a simple life, which shouldn't piss people off but I digress. Like I grew up with a stay at home mother, and that was a hot mess for many many reasons which is why I was very very hyper independent until recently. Like it was a trauma response and honestly I am too mentally ill to be that independent. Like I function better when being take care of by a lover. And honestly I cannot wait for the day I am married and am able to dotted on my future spouse and create a home full of love happiness and laughter with them.

whereas i hve seen lots of content on here that technically follows under tradfem that centers on women setting standards and boundaries on the men they allow in their lives, refusing sexualization, enjoying traditionally female roles but the ones that are actually valuable work (childrearing, cooking, sewing etc.) not stupid pornified stuff.

Like honestly, if you want me to get religious on main. In both Judaism and Islam, there is religious law that basically protects and gives women rights, which in the middle ages and up til recently in human history it was extremely progressive. Like in both religious, if you, the woman, are not sexually satisfied with your husband you can divorce him!! Along with that, in Islam, his money is your money, and he cannot touch your money if you decide to work; Judaism has similar protections. Which is partly why I like dating Jewish or Muslim men cause they seem to treat me better than secular non religious men. But I will say if I am not nearly as religious as them, they can become cunts so it is a double edged sword. But when it comes to like women's work I personally prefer childrearing and cooking way better than other stuff, like i plan to get more college degrees but it is just to give myself more credentials for my writing and cause the thought of being a children's librarian sounds so lovely. Because children's media is a special interest of mine and i love talking/studying it!! Also now that I think of it the fact they instantly think of the pornified shit just proves they are really into black and white thinking and probably have some shit they need to work out tbh.

like does it suck that for centuries women were forced into those roles? duh! but there is also so much valuable female knowledge there, it is a sphere where women worked together and apart from men and i totally get not being interested in it but its sad to see it disregarded just bc of its origins.

Exactly!! Like I would never want anyone to be forced to do anything they didn't want to. Like this world needs all kinds of wonderful personalities and people who specialize in all kinds of different work. Personally I just want to be a role model for children who come from the background I did to show them it gets better. While advocating for better rights for both children and women. Just because I want to be more traditional in my work doesn't make me bad or good. It is just a neutral quality you know. The only reason it so demonized by both males and radfems is because it is gendered as female. Which is straight up sexism imho.

anyways sorry to rant in your inbox. i just really Felt ur post lol

don't be sorry!! I loved reading this and glad someone else feels the same way dear!! Love and power to you <3

4 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

#2

just wanted to say i totally understand where ur coming from and wholeheartedly agree. idk about for you but for me coming to a middle ground has been much more psychologically healthy for me too which is great. sending love

Just wanted to say that I love you anonymous besite!! Honestly I have gotten to the age where idgaf about ideological purity anymore. Like during my late teens and early 20s that shit consumed me like a motherfucker but like now, don't care. Just gonna vibe,live my life and see where it takes me. Like honestly all this push back i am getting from radfems just proves the horseshoe theory on the tradfem to radfem line to be true like once you become so radical either right or left, you become extremely hateful and bigoted and loose all reasoning and rationalizing skills, which is evident by the shit in my mentions.

Like my religion degree actually taught me to question everything like are you truly studying religion if you are not having an existential crisis every once in a while during your studies?? so like if someone said they were tradfem i would not pile hate unto them, I would just keep asking questions to figure out if they are bigoted or not you know?

Also sending love back <33

4 notes - Posted November 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

wow haven't touched this blog in almost 4 years and I have changed a lot since then. If anyone wants a life update:I graduated with my religion degree,i now live in nyc, and turns out i am actually bisexual and not a lesbian. when it comes to feminism if y'all want me to be honest i am in the middle of radfem and tradfem nowadays. i honestly am pretty traditional when it comes to a lot of certain ideals but I am also pretty radfemy when it comes to others. If anyone wants my contact info or any of my other tumblr blogs slide into my dms and i am happy to share soo lol

211 notes - Posted November 17, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

[mywinestainedheart]

Depression, Anxiety and … Cigarettes?

I’m not a smoker.

I know this because I take three drags then let it burn to the butt between my fingers. Sometimes it dies before I even take those three drags because I’m not pulling hard enough. Other times I put it out myself and get back to that same stick a week later.

I hate the taste. I usually eat something or wash my mouth out with toothpaste to get rid of it. I hate the smell. I wash my hands three times, toss my jerseys into the washing machine and hang my head over the bathtub for a conditioner-rinse to douse all traces of the scent.

I’m not a smoker.

What I am is a heartbroken, social media stalking, recently-diagnosed-with-depression twenty-eight year old woman trying to quell the anxiety she’s, apparently, been living with since her teenage years. Childhood bullying and molestation sob-stories aside, I always knew there was something functionally wrong with me.

Online descriptions of depression will detail a broad list of symptoms that essentially claim everyone in the world to be depressed. Sleep disorderliness, apathy, agitation, lack of concentration, poor appetite etc., etc. By that standard, my whole first year class at uni was depressed, so I never thought much of it. Besides, this would happen in bouts. It was never consistent. I’d experience an odd wave of anxiety that would come out of nowhere, but hang out with my smoker friends and feel fine for the next five to ten minutes. The next day, that anxiety might even be gone. I would have breakdowns and cry about feeling ugly, vapid and worthless, then eventually sober to no sense of feelings at all. I tend to overthink and get angry very easily. Someone cutting me off in traffic can have me ruminating over it for the rest of the day. I prefer to keep to myself, yet I’m constantly seeking distractions. In childhood it was imaginary worlds through Barbie dolls, in adulthood it was sex. Happiness would come and go, but pessimistic thoughts about myself, my life and my chances of finding love in a partner the way it seemed so easy for all my prettier friends were an ever-present influence on my psyche.

People will tell you “just snap out of it”, “think positive”, “thoughts become things” and, my personal favourite, “choose to be happy”. Well, gee! I never thought of that, clueless Life Orientation teacher who has probably never stepped out of her comfort zone within the northern suburbs of Johannesburg. Imma just wake up tomorrow and tell myself to be in a better mood.

I had learned to exist in this way: Feeling empty and, fittingly, not having a name for it. Feeling sad and not having a reason for it. Overthinking and comparing myself to every girl who walked into the room because I believed that everyone else could see how much lesser than I was compared to her too. I would come up after brushing my teeth to stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wonder what it would be like to just not exist anymore.

We used to live in an upmarket housing complex in Johannesburg. People who lived in this area are usually well off. They aren’t thought to have problems, and yet, we had a neighbour whose husband shot himself in the complex park. Years later, I heard of a former high school classmate of mine who shot himself in the middle of the street in the same area.

It got me thinking: People who are only occasionally sad, like me, don’t frequently envy people who had the gall to commit suicide, do they?

The first time I went to a psychiatrist was because I broke down in front of my mother the night before. My heart was bleeding from a breakup I hated that I was going through. This man insisted that I “didn’t deserve him”, but the twenty-four-year-old yuppie he used to go to school with, for some reason, did. He picked her over me and he’s happy with his choice. Put that on top of an entire existence of feeling lesser than, and I realised I was a ticking timebomb.

I was toying with the idea of suicide and noticed that the only thing holding me back was a fear of the unknown.

These thoughts are not new, by the way. I’d been having them since childhood. The one I entertained the most was standing behind the kitchen door with a knife to my chest, so that when someone swung the door open, the blade would push through my ribcage. Obviously, this would not be as simple in execution, but I was nine and it was a fantasy. Give me a break.

Upon hearing that I was thinking of killing myself, my mother chortled and told me “you’re behaving like a teenager”. That response would be the number one reason I have never spoken about my deeper feelings with my mom before this. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to love, it was that she didn’t understand that someone like me required a different type of love. A child might not say so because they themselves don’t know what it is, but there will always be subtle signs of a mood disorder. In hindsight, I’d displayed a number of them, but I was dismissed as being anti-social, sullen or attention-seeking.

“I’m just so tired,” I remember saying, choking on my own tears.

“Of what?” My mother demanded. She couldn’t understand what I could possibly be talking about. You’re only twenty-eight, you have a roof over your head and both parents that love you. You have a job. We’ve given you a car. You have freedom. You have friends. What on earth could have you crying like the world was coming to an end?

“Everything,” I said. Because that was the truth. I was tired of everything. I was tired of waking up every morning and remembering that the man I loved had chosen someone else over me. I was tired of driving for an hour every day to get into town, passing everything that reminded me of him and the breakup (including him and his new girlfriend in the middle of traffic). I was tired of going to a job that was adding nothing to my career, tired of budgeting a pathetic salary. Tired of waiting on my father and his promises that he was setting me up on a different career path, tired of eating the same food everyday (if I even remembered to eat). Tired of smoking cigarettes with my cousins cause I felt like if I was failing this badly at life then I may as well smoke up and hope for cancer, and I was absolutely exhausted with the idea that I had lost my twenty-four-year-old niece; a bodacious lover of life who’d existed on a seemingly never-ending vibration of confidence and positivity, to a senseless car accident, but here I was, still breathing.

Someone who deserved life was cemented in the ground. I woke up every morning wishing we could trade places.

The psychiatrist let me talk for a few minutes before diagnosing me as depressed and suicidal. Considering multiple factors and incidences I’d described in session, she said the depression has been there my whole life and that my break up was the lit cigarette that rolled too close to the leaky-gas pipe in my identity, causing this implosion.

Note, I’m not blaming my ex for my mental instability. How could he have known if I didn’t know? I’d had my suspicions, but, like my mother; telling him would have likely amounted to him (initially) dismissing me as being dramatic. What he saw as a “crazy” display of raw insecurity was probably the starter flames of this inferno. Again, not his fault, but he was certainly a contributor, and I find myself struggling not to resent him for that. But that’s a blog post for another time.

The psychiatrist prescribes me anti-depressants, some other drug that causes drowsiness, and orders to me to eight months of therapy with a nice woman she recommends in the area I live now. All I’m hearing is money, money and more money. I can’t afford any of this on what I make, and my dad is a businessman whose entire income is dependent on deals. Sometimes we have more money than we know what to do with, other times we’re so broke that there’s a negotiation between toilet paper and breakfast cereal. At twenty-eight, I’m officially jaded with the financial instability I grew up in, so I dismiss the idea of therapy entirely. Why start something only to stop because we can’t afford it anymore? Besides, I’d apparently been living with this raging beast my whole life. Surely, we could find a way to co-exist once again? Like Venom and Eddie Brock.

I say thanks but no thanks to the medication and go home with a mother who suddenly has a whole new understanding of me. She’s attentive when she talks now, and says ‘I love you’ before she hangs up the phone. Confessing my diagnosis to my father shouldn’t have felt embarrassing, but it did. I hated that he might now see me as weak. I was the one child he didn’t have to worry about. I had a sassy attitude and a smart mouth. I was assertive in my speech and tolerated no bullshit. I could hold my own against anyone, and I knew he was proud of me for that. How would he perceive me after I admitted that I’m not as strong as I pretend to be?

The truth? No different. I was still his daughter. The only change I noticed is that he looks at me when he talks to me (more attentive, like my mother) and makes a point of using my family nickname when he says good morning, hello or goodbye. He’s also trying harder to make sure his planned career path for me falls into place, but I’m no longer holding my breath.

As for me and my revelation of my diagnosis? Like I said, I always knew that there was something functionally wrong with me. I just have a name for it now. I’m still battling with the ideas of death and how I would do it. The running fantasy now is one I usually entertain before bed about slitting my wrists and sliding into a bathtub. Morbid, I know, but it’s the only way I can seem to find sleep these days: Thinking of no longer existing helps me transition into a state where I no longer exist for a little while. I’m not about to slit my wrists any time soon (besides, my pain threshold has a limit. If I were going to kill myself I wouldn’t pick a method quite so agonising and messy), but I recognise that these are not healthy thought processes. I do think I need therapy. After all, you have to learn how to love yourself before anyone else can love you and all that, right? I want to overcome this. I want to see progression in my life and my career. I don’t want my ex to believe he dodged a stagnant bullet the next time he bumps into me—or give him the satisfaction of knowing he was the catalyst of my failure.

I want to be happy.

So as I take my third drag of my last cigarette of 2019, I pray to a Deity I have a shaky belief in and tell myself that this is my rock bottom. It can’t possibly get any worse from here.

Or can it?

I suppose only my next move, and time, will tell.

#Depression Anxiety MentalHealth Scared Heartbroken

[vitos-ordination-song]

very important passages from On Becoming a Person:

One of the most revolutionary concepts to grow out of our clinical experience is the growing recognition that the innermost core of man's nature, the deepest layers of his personality, the base of his "animal nature," is positive in nature--is basically socialized., forward-moving, rational and realistic.

This point of view is so foreign to our present culture that I do not expect it to be accepted, and it is indeed so revolutionary in its implications that it should not be accepted without thorough-going inquiry. But even if it should stand these tests, it will be difficult to accept. Religion, especially the Protestant Christian tradition, has permeated our culture with the concept that man is basically sinful, and only by something approaching a miracle can his sinful nature be negated. In psychology, Freud and his followers have presented convincing arguments that the id, man's basic and unconscious nature, is primarily made up of instincts which would, if permitted expression, result in incest, murder, and other crimes. The whole problem of therapy, as seen by this group, is how to hold these untamed forces in check in a wholesome and constructive manner, rather than in the costly fashion of the neurotic. But the fact that at heart man is irrational, unsocialized, destructive of others and self--this is a concept accepted almost without question. To be sure there are occasional voices of protest. Maslow (I) puts up a vigorous case for man's animal nature, pointing out that the anti-social emotions--hostility, jealousy, etc.--result from frustration of more basic impulses for love and security and belonging, which are in themselves desirable. And Montagu (2) likewise develops the thesis that cooperation, rather than struggle, is the basic law of human life. But these solitary voices are little heard. On the whole the viewpoint of the professional worker as well as the layman is that man as he is, in his basic nature, had best be kept under control or under cover or both.

As I look back over my years of clinical experience and research, it seems to me that I have been very slow to recognize the falseness of this popular and professional concept. The reason, I believe, lies in the fact that in therapy there are continually being uncovered hostile and anti-social feelings, so that it is easy to assume that this indicates the deeper and therefore the basic nature of man. Only slowly has it become evident that these untamed and unsocial feelings are neither the deepest nor the strongest, and that the inner core of man's personality is the organism itself, which is essentially both self-preserving and social.

The thread which runs through much of the foregoing material of this chapter is that psychotherapy (at least client-centered therapy) is a process whereby one becomes his organism--without self-deception, without distortion. What does this mean? 

We are talking here about something at an experiential level--a phenomenon which is not easily put into words, and which, if apprehended only at the verbal level, is by that very fact, already distorted. Perhaps if we use several sorts of descriptive formulation, it may ring some bell, however faint, in the reader's experience, and cause him to feel, "Oh, now I know, from my own experience, something of what you are talking about."

Therapy seems to mean a getting back to basic sensory and visceral experience. Prior to therapy the person is prone to ask himself, often unwittingly, "What do others think I should do in this situation?" "What would my parents or my culture want me to do?" "What do I think ought to be done?" He is thus continually acting in terms of the form which should be imposed upon his behavior. This does not necessarily mean that he always acts in accord with the opinions of others. He may indeed endeavor to act so as to contradict the expectations of others. He is nevertheless acting in terms of the (often introjected) expectations of others. During the process of therapy the individual comes to ask himself, in regard to ever-widening areas of his life-space, "How do I experience this? "What does it mean to me?" "If I behave in a certain way how do I symbolize the meaning which it will have for me?" He comes to act on a basis of what may be termed realism--a realistic balancing of the satisfactions and dissatisfactions which any action will bring to himself.

Perhaps it will assist those who, like myself tend to think in concrete arid clinical terms, if I put some of these ideas into schematized formulations of the process through which various clients go. For one client this may mean: "I have thought I must feel only love for my parents, but I find that I experience both love and bitter resentment. Perhaps I can be that person who freely experiences both love and resentment." For another client the learning may be: "I have thought I was only bad and worthless. Now I experience myself at times as one of much worth; at other times as one of little worth or usefulness. Perhaps I can be a person who experiences varying degrees of worth." For another: "I have held the conception that no one could really love me for myself. Now I experience the affectional warmth of another for me. Perhaps I can be a person who is lovable by others--perhaps I am such a person." For still another: "I have been brought up to feel that I must not appreciate myself--but I do. I can cry for myself, but I can enjoy myself, too. Perhaps I am a richly varied person whom I can enjoy and for whom I can feel sorry." Or, to take the last example from Mrs. Oak, "I have thought that in some deep way I was bad, that the most basic elements in me must be dire and awful. I don't experience that badness, but rather a positive desire to live and let live. Perhaps I can be that person who is, at heart, positive." 

What is it that makes possible anything but the first sentence of each of these formulations? It is the addition of awareness. In therapy the person adds to ordinary experience the full and undistorted awareness of his experiencing--of his sensory and visceral reactions. He ceases, or at least decreases, the distortions of experience in awareness. He can be aware of what he is actually experiencing, not simply what he can permit himself to experience after a thorough screening through a conceptual filter. In this sense the person becomes for the first time the full potential of the human organism, with the enriching element of awareness freely added to the basic aspect of sensory and visceral reaction. The person comes to be what he is, as clients so frequently say in therapy. What this seems to mean is that the individual comes to be--in awareness--what he is--in experience. He is, in other words, a complete and fully functioning human organism.

Already I can sense the reactions of some of my readers. "Do you mean that as a result of therapy, man becomes nothing but a human organism, a human animal? Who will control him? Who will socialize him? Will he then throw over all inhibitions? Have you merely released the beast, the id, in man?" To which the most adequate reply seems to be, "In therapy the individual has actually become a human organism, with all the richness which that implies. He is realistically able to control himself, and he is incorrigibly socialized in his desires. There is no beast in man. There is only man in man, and this we have been able to release.”

So the basic discovery of psychotherapy seems to me, if our observations have any validity, that we do not need to be afraid of being "merely" homo sapiens. It is the discovery that if we can add to the sensory and visceral experiencing which is characteristic of the whole animal kingdom, the gift of a free and undistorted awareness of which only the human animal seems fully capable, we have an organism which is beautifully and constructively realistic. We have then an organism which is as aware of the demands of the culture as it is of its own physiological demands for food or sex--which is just as aware of its desire for friendly relationships as it is of its desire to aggrandize itself--which is just as aware of its delicate and sensitive tenderness toward others, as it is of its hostilities toward others. When man's unique capacity of awareness is thus functioning freely and fully, we find that we have, not an animal whom we must fear, not a beast who must be controlled, but an organism able to achieve, through the remarkable integrative capacity of its central nervous system, a balanced, realistic, self-enhancing, other-enhancing behavior as a resultant of all these elements of awareness. To put it another way, when man is less than fully man--when he denies an awareness of various aspects of his experience--then indeed we have all too often reason to fear him and his behavior, as the present world situation testifies. But when he is most fully man, when he is his complete organism, when awareness of experience, that peculiarly human attribute, is most fully operating, then he is to be trusted, then his behavior is constructive. It is not always conventional. It will not always be conforming. It will be individualized. But it will also be socialized.

#i love u mr rogers #self therapy #i see him as basically an anarchist thinker #as far as philosophy goes #the idea is that. you know. you facilitate growth rather than trying to direct it #you dont try to control and suppress others #trusting their manifestation of the universe to echo your own #rather than setting yourself up as uniquely good and able to order the world #by enforcing your will #and that is how you will create a better world #also points out how narratives about how terrible humans are are used to subjugate #and avoid looking at one's self/justify bad behavior

[growingupautie]

Anti-NT or Misanthropy part 3.

Q: Dear Nathan. Your last response has given me a bit of perspective on my own personal story and made me realize the extent to which, particularly in the crucial years of High School, I have been extremely fortunate.

I moved to Italy from the US when I was 12. To say I stuck out like a sore thumb would be an understatement. I was one of the few foreigners living in the town, I was (whether or not everyone had heard of the diagnosis) evidently non-neurotypical and dressed in a way that was borderline acceptable in the US but totally out of place in fashion conscious Italy. Most of the younger population of the town knew who I was.

I was most definitely a minority of one.

Slowly but surely, throughout the course of seven years, I moved towards a deeper and deeper form of acceptance, until I finally felt free. I recognize that I had some pretty rare catalysts to help me achieve that.

My parents made sure to get to know teachers and make sure the ones they trusted knew of my diagnosis. I’m sure my parents played an eloquent case on my behalf. Teachers tend to prefer intellectually inclined, interested students who respond well to clearly structured activities and have no trouble with rote learning over unmotivated students. I was generally treated very well by the teaching body. Their support was important in keeping me with a sense of self-worth and acceptance. For a while, I wanted to be a teacher. I benefited from both my social class, domestic stability and academic ability. Though this shouldn’t negate the amount of work and energy I invested and how hard things often were for me, these are things I was born with.

Also, the way the Italian school system is structured is (unintentionally) very autism-friendly. In fact, it was one of the reasons we moved in the first place. The school system keeps classes together for many years so small groups of students (25 per class) get to know each other almost as a second family. You tend to stay in the same classroom all day and everyone takes the same classes, week in week out. In a way, I was treated as an awkward cousin from a distant part of the family. Also, the high school system is vocational, grouping people with similar interests and academic abilities into separate schools, reducing potential tensions between ‘geeks’ and ‘jocks’. By high school, I was in a class of very studious people, with little or no contact with the more violent students I had encountered in middle school.

Most importantly, without which all the above wouldn’t have been enough, I benefited from the moral integrity, empathy and strength of character of a few classmates that saw beyond my awkward behaviors to the human behind them. I owe much of my happiness to them.

I survived middle school thanks in part to a very popular and empathetic student who didn’t allow jokes on my behalf to get too far out of hand. I was rejected often (sometimes very painfully) but rarely deceived. Though there was widespread violence at the school, there wasn’t any concentrated effort on people’s part to violently suppress me. I was deeply unhappy. But I wasn’t scared.

In High School, one of the defining moments for me was joining a band. I had been playing the bass 2 weeks and decided I wanted to be part of a band. I went to one of the many political gatherings at my school, thinking it was probably the best place to find musicians, and walked up to some random guy and asked him if he would be in my band. He could have said no. He could have laughed in my face. He could have forgotten about it. He could have used my naivety for a prank. Not only did he say yes, he also matched me up with a drummer friend of his who was looking for a bassist at the time. Being part of a band made an enormous difference to my social life in High School. We didn’t last long, but we lasted enough. I picked up social skills and norms like a sponge. By the end of two years, I had kept some and dropped the rest. I like to think it was like learning a new instrument; I had started with scales and progressed to symphonies.

There were many moments in which things could have gone horrifically wrong. I could have been lured into an abusive situation instead of band practice. I could have been beaten to a pulp on the concrete outside the metro station for reasons I could never have understood. I could have been taken advantage of and blamed for a crime I never committed.

I had watchful angels.

Perhaps what the main obstacle for a lot of people trying to befriend someone on the spectrum is the fear that their boundaries won’t be respected if they do. That they’ll be followed around. That their friends will make fun of them.

My classmates, besides being wonderful people, knew that I was going to be part of the classroom family for five years, so we had time to bond in a way we wouldn’t have had I seen them for a class a week. The structures I was in favored long term investment in people over short term ‘make your friends laugh about the weird kid’ mentality.

A final word on the diagnosis question:

It didn’t take long for that doctor to diagnose me. I was a clear case of autism, exhibiting most of the typical behaviours of an Aspie. It probably took him about 30 seconds to get the gist of the case. I re-read the diagnosis which he emailed back to me when I got in touch with him last year. I was described as a clear-cut case of Asperger’s syndrome. In his office in Boston that morning 12 years later, the question lingering in the air was not whether the diagnosis was accurate. I’ve acquired significant social and coping skills, but my basic traits haven’t changed that far. The question was whether it was meaningful. At the end of our appointment, he told me that ours was more a conversation between old friends than between doctor and patient and didn’t charge me. I loved him for that.

What I was rejecting was not so much my identity – being a ‘self-hating’ autistic person as you say – as the clammy feeling of the hospital still lingering on my body. The demeaning ritual of special ed “speech and language therapy” classes, grouped with pupils with severe learning difficulties. Seeing myself as the observed in a science experiment. Perhaps I threw the baby out with the bath water. I think in hindsight I see the value of diagnosis.

The summer before going to University, I had opened up completely about my diagnosis and my history to the guys I keep closest to me. We spent the summer with a running joke. They would insult my special ed. Teacher in the US every time I made a clumsy move like missing a volleyball or spilling something, calling him a useless pile of junk and a failure as an educator. In my heart of hearts I whispered “I win.”

I guess I didn’t really reject autism. It’s just that in my high school years I never was forced to wear a neurotypical mask. I went from being begrudgingly tolerated but isolated at middle school to being so completely accepted by the last year of High School that the distinction between myself – because as far as autism is concerned, I had always conceived of myself as a minority of one – and the others, ceased to be meaningful. I knew them down to their most intimate frailties and up to their utmost strengths. I praised them and they praised me. We were free to be individuals. The label ceased to be meaningful because they saw leagues beyond it. The autism toolbox remained in the shed. I thought I didn’t need it anymore.

As I write to you, I am in my last year of University the week before spring term starts.

Moving to the UK for University, I came up head to head with problems that I hadn’t faced before. The rigid routine of Italian high school faded away and the support of family and friends became more distant as I moved away and my friends began University in Italy. I didn’t come face to face with abuse or misunderstanding or oppression. I came face to face with entropy. All at once, I had to build my own social circle from scratch, dictate my own times, do my own cooking. It was a kind of pain I had never encountered before.

It was the first time I really, really doubted my ability to cope and make good decisions for my own well-being. I was very offended when my mother suggested I request extra time on my University Exams for ‘my autism.’ In retrospect, some autism support, not so much on academics but on life skills would have been useful.

I suppose part of my reason I burnt those documents in my first year of University was that I was rejecting the idea that I needed extra support ‘for disabled students’.

As it stands, I’m much better off than I was then, but the doubts haven’t gone away and building up a stable social life in a universe of fleeting encounters and pleasant but sometimes distant acquaintances still isn’t easy. My cooking has improved vastly but is still a chore.

What I wrote to you at the beginning of ‘wanting to take myself off the centre of the Universe’ needs to be explained a bit better. What I really realized being in the UK was the importance of contributing to something much bigger than myself in order to find happiness and meaning.

I meant, in my engagement with this page, to deepen my understanding of how the autistic community perceives itself. The oppositional imagery NT/autistic was a surprise for me since, considering I am still am the only autistic person I know personally in Italy and I knew my class well, I never thought of myself as ‘neurodiverse’ in opposition to ‘NTs’. Also, I had never heard of or encountered Autism Speaks until last year and it had no impact whatsoever on my years in Italy. It seems to be one of the main factors creating the opposition in the first place.

At the moment of writing to you, I am preparing a speculative application to Specialisterne, an organization that specializes in helping people on the Spectrum into employment by offering training and a link to corporate partners. I’d like to write posts for them, since they do not have much of a media outlet, particularly on google and that would help their outreach. Perhaps ‘autism toolbox’ (great concept from one of the comments) would be a good place to start. Any other advice from you or others is much appreciated

Peace

A: Our lives mirror each other quite a bit minus the traveling. I've had some pretty bad culture shock at times when it came to switching schools. I originally went to a kindergarten close to my home where I was isolated from the rest of the kids. They felt like something was up with me from the getgo and made sure I never got too close. When I was ripped away from there to a new school, it was a small Christian school where I managed to befriend a few people, possibly through the prodding of teachers and the principal.

After a few years though, my friends left the school and I was left with people who didn't care for me, and people who bullied me.

After a few year at that school, I was taken out for a public school for financial reasons, and that barely lasted a week for two. I was bullied by almost every kid I met. One kid grabbed me by my backpack and pushed me in the circle of the hall and into my class because he was "helping me" understand the one direction only rule they had in the hallway. After a week or so of this, and me drawing on my notes in class, a teacher grabbed me by the shirt and drug me into another classroom where there were several other mocked me, and tore up my artwork, telling me it was a waste of time, and I would never amount to anything. I was back in my Christian school by the next week.

Back in the Christian school, I continue being bullied until I joined the basketball team, and through showing some skill and oddly enough becoming somewhat "volatile" (when needed) towards bullying I became more accepted. But as usual, once I found acceptance through hard work and perseverance I was taken from that comfort and put into a completely new place. Middle school at a "Magnet School" where you could specialize in Engineering, Arts, or the Performing Arts. I went into music as I have been a musician for years at that point.

The school was a hodgepodge of races and a "cliques" none of which I was welcomed into. I made myself known as the "goody-two-shoes" on day one and that really wasn't the best move in the world. Over time, I was bullied so mercilessly that the assistant principal gave me permission to stand up for myself and fight back. I learned martial arts and took up skateboarding. Started getting into shape, and literally became even more volatile (when needed) people started to leave me alone.

I switched to the arts program after a while and found some acceptance with the artist's kids who were musicians, and artists like myself. They started a band and added me because I was one of the only ones who could actually play, and I helped teach them some things as well. A few of them actually skateboarded, so we did that together. Though looking back there was so much micro-bullying and mockery I'm not sure how I can put too much of a positive spin on that. Honestly, I was never even invited to eat lunch with them so it was a little like I was just kept around for usefulness.

By high school, they had "disbanded" the band, and put a new band together without specifically me. I created a new group of friends which were basically other outcasts. Earned my respect in this new school with many of the groups and even managed to become king of prom by the end of it despite maintaining my outsider status. Like you though when I went to college (from home) the lack of structure was my Achilles heel. There were so many new rules, almost all of them were illogical. Very few students and teachers who wanted to help me.

I struggled to get anything done but managed to keep a passing grade the majority of the time. I managed to get my degree even after my life fell completely apart and my group of high school friends who had followed me to the same college had, for the most part, turned against me and (longer story there.) The point being, that diagnosed or undiagnosed, we Autistic people go through some very similar issues. A lot of times our parents struggle and often fail to recognize what it would really take for us to succeed and flourish.

You and I both were young Autistics at a time where it was not as understood as it is now. We are not out of the dark ages just yet, but we certainly know more than we did then about who and what we are, what we need, and what we should do about it. Parents are just starting to catch up to it as well hence the need to fight off groups like Autism Speaks, dangerous "cures," and ABA techniques which often involving torturous methods. Fighting against these people as hard as we often do can certainly make it seem like we are against the entire NT population which is why I try to show some positivity in my comics as well.

I certainly didn't mean to imply that you were a "self-hating" Autistic, but that there were many out there. I sensed your story was similar to the one you eventually gave me. We are all at a different place in understanding at any given point in time and that's alright. I would definitely be in support of an Autism Toolbox thought I myself don't have the time to create or maintain one. (At the moment.) You have probably noticed the Autism community as a whole is quite divided in several ways. The want for a "cure" vs fighting against one. The acceptance of ABA and Autism Speaks vs fighting against them. We all need to do a better job of getting to the truth through facts and coming together for the greater goal of acceptance.

If you are going to write on our behalf, I would focus on the positives and negative, and also on the explaining actions, and needs, all in a way Neurotypical people will understand. A good piece of advice I always give is to scroll the Autism Boards on Facebook and look for common issues with your own life to write about. That way it's relevant to everyone and personal at the same time. And treat everyone as if they are where they are in life understanding that they may not have come in contact with the same information you have, and may not have come to the same conclusions you have. I think you are inquisitive enough, and understanding enough to find common ground and write from a good perspective.

I hope that helps. Commentors, any advice?

-Nathan

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