#warning: mention of rape

[just-antithings]

Proship propaganda💀

This person writes rape smut

This person wrote a rape smut fic about a creepypasta character that is a canon a pedo

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #image #dni hall of shame #rape mention #pedophillia mention #nazi mention #eating disorder mention #caps warning #death wishes cw

[sirfrogsworth]

Mounjaro's Revenge: The Inevitable Adventures of Froggie, Chapter Unknown

I keep saying I can't leave the house without having some kind of adventure. And I really thought I was going to have a quick, uneventful doctor's visit with my monthly checkup this past Wednesday. I'd go in, they'd check the box Medicare requires every month, and I'd come straight home.

But adventure seeks me out. I can't seem to escape its grasp. And, yes, sometimes I like having adventures. They give me something to write about. And sometimes they are fun memories. But sometimes adventures just make me tired. And not all adventures are positive.

For the past 3 weeks I have been on the second dosage amount of Mounjaro. Unlike the Ozempic, I have had a few issues with side effects. Roughly 48 hours after my injection, I get sick to my stomach and feel pukey. It lasts for about two hours. I either vomit and lose the urge or I hold it in and it fades. I am then compelled to take a nap.

Considering the weight loss and glucose control, getting sick for an hour or two per week isn't a huge deal. There is a good chance I will get used to the medication as time goes on, but even if I don't, I am okay with this consequence.

My injection day was Tuesday, and based on past experience, I figured I'd have until Thursday morning before I got sick. The past 2 episodes happened at almost identical times, so I figured Wednesday wouldn't be a problem.

But right before my doctor's appointment I started feeling extremely... rough.

Optimistic for no good reason, I was hopeful I could get through the appointment before the urge to vomit arrived.

I get to the office and there are 3 patients ahead of me. This was not a good sign. My doctor tends to overbook and I was probably going to have a bit of a wait. I arrived in the middle of a lively conversation about where to get a good steak in St. Louis. I'm used to waiting rooms being full of quiet and bored people staring at their phones so when I opened the door it felt like the conversation smacked me in the face.

The cast of characters were as follows...

There was an older black man who had the spirit of a kindly grandpa. He seemed nice and wise and was enjoying the steak conversation. Let's call him, Old Guy.

There was an older white fellow who was anxious about the wait time due to having another appointment soon. He was on hold with the other doctor's office trying to delay his appointment time. He was only mildly interested in steak due to that distraction. I already used Old Guy, so... Anxious Guy.

And then there was the steak expert who was leading the conversation. Actually, leading is not strong enough. He was *dominating* the conversation. As I sat down and his visage entered my field of view, I was a bit taken aback.

Do you know how in Star Trek everyone has a mirror universe doppelganger who may look the same, but they usually have personality traits that are reversed?

They are often identified by arch overacting or a change in facial hair.

The steak expert was my mirror universe counterpart. He was of similar age, height, and weight. Same color hair and eyes. He even wore similar clothing.

But he had a goatee instead of a beard. *gasp*

And he wore... sandals. *double gasp*

He had clearly been in a recent transporter mishap.

I mean, I could *never* wear sandals. The world is not ready to handle my nude foot and I find very few sandals have the load-bearing capacity necessary for people my size. You are asking for foot pain if you are over 300 pounds and wearing sandals.

Mirror Froggie was very outgoing and personable, but he had trouble filtering what he said and was often obliviously rude. He clearly thought himself to be hilarious but struggled to make even kindly Old Guy chuckle.

Old Guy said, "I think Longhorn makes a decent steak for the money."

And then Mirror Me's unfiltered response... "Longhorn is shit. You shouldn't eat there. You are wasting your money on shit steak."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed..."

"I'm telling you, friend, it is shit steak. End of story."

You could tell that made Old Guy feel bad for suggesting what he liked. But he brushed it off and asked for a better suggestion. Mirror Froggie confidently told him of a restaurant called "Sam's" that had "the best steak in town."

Old Guy proceeded to ask Siri to look up Sam's and it took a few tries. He reminded me of my dad fighting with the iPhone and repeating things over and over with increasing volume. I think Old Guy wasn't specific enough as he got the wholesale club on the first few attempts. Finally he said, "SAMMM'S STEAKHOUSSSSE" and found success. Old Guy saw the reviews and some of them were... not great.

But Mirror Froggie was like, "You can't read reviews. They're all liars." And I was questioning why people would take the time to lie about a small St. Louis steakhouse, but whatever. He then said it was because the restaurant was in disrepair and needed new plumbing, but that's why they could sell such amazing steak at reasonable prices.

Theories are less logical in the Mirror Universe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anxious Guy got off his phone call and cursed into the void. He missed his other appointment. He interjected with, "Is that Sam's place expensive?" And that sent Mirror Froggie into a long diatribe about the price of meat at different places and his annoyance at steak-related inflation. Soon after, Anxious Guy finally got in to see the doctor. Old Guy was keeping Mirror Froggie busy with conversation, so I just closed my eyes and rested as they discussed the price of oversized shrimp "as big as your fist". I guess they ran out of things to say about steak.

As they were talking I started to get a spidey-sense about Mirror Froggie.

He *needed* conversation.

He *needed* distraction.

His boredom abhors a vacuum.

Whenever there was a lull or silent moment, I could see him getting very antsy. And if Old Guy got called in before Mirror Froggie... I was going to have a problem.

I was feeling sicker by the moment and did not have the bandwidth to help some stranger with his inability to accept boredom.

And... Old Guy was next.

Because, of course he was.

I feel like sitting there with my eyes closed and also not having said a word the entire time was a pretty decent social cue that I was not interested in talking. But Mirror Me decided to poke that notion with a stick in order to find a way in.

He speaks barely above a whisper, "I wish I could sleep in a public waiting room. Not sure how you do that."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well. Nothing contagious, just very tired."

"Well, if you're sick, I guess you're in the right place, am I right? *long pause* Cuz we're next to a hospital. *short pause* Right?"

Oh great, he's a joke explainer.

Mirror Froggie did not care about my desire to sit in peace while I waited. His foot was anxiously a-tappin' and he was vibrating with energy that needed someplace to go. He tried standing up and walking in circles. And I guess because my eyes were shut he decided to narrate his walking and stretching to keep me informed. That satisfied him for roughly 20 seconds. He sat back down and was clearly struggling to be alone with his own thoughts.

"Hey, friend."

I open my eyes slowly.

"Do you see that magazine next to you? Would you mind handing that to me?"

I thought, "This is good. He's seeking out an alternate source of stimulation. He can read the magazine and I can rest until my turn."

Seriously, brain... where is this optimism coming from? I've been a cynical misanthrope for like 4 years now.

He flips through a few pages. "Look at this. It's got Oprah on the cover. It's got to be good, right? They don't put Oprah on the cover unless it is good, ya know? Though she doesn't look right after losing all that weight. You know what I mean, friend?"

Well, shit.

I didn't give him a distraction, I gave him a conversation starter. Still, I kept my eyes closed in the hopes he would give up.

"Hey, friend."

Crap.

"You want to hear a joke?"

I open my eyes. I'm not getting out of this.

"Sure." as unenthusiastically as I can manage.

He proceeds to tell three jokes all strung together. All of them terrible and none of them coherent enough for me to remember. I gave him complimentary singular chuckles even though two of the punchlines didn't make sense. I think one was about accidentally eating cat food.

"Hey, friend... how'd you like my jokes?"

I jokingly replied back, "Well, you said *a* joke and that was *three* jokes. That wasn't what I agreed to."

He chuckles and I close my eyes again.

"Hey, friend."

Jesus Christ, would someone jingle their keys for this dude?

"Do you want to hear a 'locker room' joke?"

Oh fuck me.

"I... guess?"

There was no way out of this aside from unpleasant confrontation and my energy calculation of that was much higher than just suffering through a dirty joke.

Here it is, as best as I can remember...

"So there is a pirate ship. And the captain has a beautiful daughter who has come aboard. He tells her that the crew hasn't seen a woman in a long time and they aren't safe to be around, so she should keep a razor blade 'down there.' After the voyage he assembles all of his men and instructs them to pull down their pants. Every one of them has had their dick cut off... except for one. The captain goes up to the only one with their dick intact and says, 'Thank you for not deflowering my only daughter. You should be commended for your restraint. And as a reward, I will make you my first mate.'"

I literally cannot type the punchline because it was an unintelligible noise. Basically, Mirror Froggie imitated someone without a tongue trying to speak.

Yeah. That happened.

I could not hide my disdain for this joke and I was feeling too awful to muster up any kind of response. He seemed confused by the absence of laughter from his wonderful rapey body mutilation joke.

"You get it, friend? He lost his tongue because he ate her pussy."

Yes, explaining the joke always helps... friend.

In whatever the opposite of the nick of time is, moments after this stranger said "ate her pussy"... the nurse calls Mirror Froggie in for his appointment.

I would feel relieved, but the Mounjaro side effects were getting worse and the urge to lose the remaining nutritional value from last night's dinner was increasing by the moment. I was next in line, so I was hoping Mirror Froggie didn't take up too much of the doctor's time with horrible "locker room" jokes and dubious steakhouse suggestions.

Roughly 5 minutes later the nurse calls me in to get my vitals. She weighs me and I am down another 3 pounds. That reminded me of why I was suffering this tummy tantrum. My blood pressure was perfect but my pulse was quite high. I was very anxious holding in my stomach contents and I tried to explain, but she asked me to try and relax to lower my heart rate. We compromised when I got it down to 107.

The nurse keeps forgetting that I don't really have a family anymore. And I know she has a lot of patients in and out and they probably all blend together. But she always ends up asking me questions that require me to remind her my parents are dead.

"Did your mom put up the Christmas tree yet?"

I went with, "No tree this year. Too much work."

"Aw, that's too bad. I actually got mine up early this year. You gotta put up a tree for Christmas."

Thankfully her job was done at this point and she abruptly ended the conversation.

Next up, the pee guy.

He has never actually told me what his name is so that is just what I call him in my head.

Every month I have to sacrifice my urine to the gods of Medicare so they know I am taking my meds and not selling them on the mean streets of Spanish Lake. And the pee guy always comes in to collect my sample. The little cup is kept in a white paper bag for discretion. He used to just give you a clear ziplock, and that was a little embarrassing, as everyone in the waiting room could see your pee. I definitely prefer the new white paper bag system.

It could be my lunch or some cookies or a bunch of peanuts.

Who is to know?

The pee guy is a bit of a talker as well. But the nice thing about his conversational style is that you can't get in a word edgewise. If he asks you a question, he'll even answer it for you. This requires very little effort on my part.

"Hey there, Mr. Benjermin!"

(I have noticed Ben-jer-min is a common pronunciation among Black folks in the area. Not sure if that is just a St. Louis thing or not. Perhaps I have a dialectologist follower who knows.)

I wave hello.

"How's it going, Mr. Benjermin!? Good? Good. Just gotta get your sample. Still taking the same meds? (I nod yes.) Okay, just need you to sign here. New Year's is coming up. Gotta be careful not to party too hard. You'll be regretting that. Though you don't look like a drinker to me. (I nod no.) Yeah, you're a good one. You keep it clean. Okay then, Mr. Benjermin. You're all set. Here is your new sample cup for next time."

He replaces my white paper bag with a new white paper bag and leaves the room without me saying a word. And I'm just realizing he asks me if I am a drinker quite a lot. He must sense my teetotaler spirit or something because he always assumes (correctly) that I don't drink. He's just really concerned about me partying too hard.

Finally the doctor comes in.

My doctor is kind, compassionate, and competent. The almost 3 Cs. But he's got a touch of what I call "Boomer-itis." He's on the progressive side of most things but there are a few ingrained sensibilities from that generation he didn't escape. It's mostly harmless. Though he said something sexist in front of a nurse practitioner student during my last visit that made her roll her eyes behind him.

He greets me and I tell him I'm not feeling well from the Mounjaro and that I am still recovering from my trip to Florida. He tells me that a lot of people can get sick for days from these new drugs, so getting sick for an hour or two isn't so bad. I agree, though I really wish I had not gotten sick at the exact time of this appointment. I keep eyeballing the trash can in the corner just in case things go sideways in my tummy.

He asks about my trip to Florida and I predicted that—as I already had photos ready to go on my phone. I scroll through them, showing off amazing cityscapes and mountainous clouds and an orange sunset over a lake—hoping to impress him with my photography skills to no avail. And then he sees Katrina. Now, I am not blind to her attractiveness, but I do sometimes forget how people respond when they see her next to me.

"Oh, wow. She's beautiful!" he exclaims.

I almost felt flattered on her behalf. But then his Boomer-itis starts to kick in. And he repeats, "Yeah, she's *really* beautiful. Just a friend, you said?" His facial expression and tone of voice are like, "You poor thing, you have been friendzone'd." And probably a touch of, "She's out of your league, buddy." I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it is this familiar look of pity and worry. This is usually followed up with a probing question trying to figure out what our "deal" is. Why is it so odd to that generation that a man and woman can earnestly be just friends and perfectly content with that arrangement?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just say, "She's gay" and that she isn't "out of my league" as she plays an entirely different sport. (Competitive Subaru Ownership?) But my friendship with Katrina is not some consolation prize due to her queerness. I shouldn't have to explain or justify why I'm "just friends" or why I'm not "being led on."

In a worried tone, "So, umm, how'd you two meet?"

There it is.

"She is an artist. I posted some of her work on my website and it was very popular and helped people find her work. She messaged me to say thank you and we were instant friends. 10 years later she's my best friend and very much like family."

Thankfully his pity face evaporated and he finally saw how long-lasting and meaningful this friendship was. But it is a weirdly common obstacle I have noticed whenever people see a fat guy has a conventionally attractive friend.

Friends are great. Friends have been more supportive and beneficial to me than any romantic entanglement I've ever had.

All of my friends are hot and queer and that's awesome.

Note to self: Put that on a t-shirt.

Knowing how difficult it was, he congratulated me on surviving the trip and we wrapped up our appointment quickly. All I have left to do is check in with his assistant, get my prescriptions sent in, and make my next appointment. I can see the finish line, but my tummy is rumbling and I am making contingency plans for the Great Upchuck of 2023™. I'm clocking trashcans with plastic liners. I'm trying to remember where the nearest restroom is. And then I look down at the little white paper bag containing my urine sample cup and think, "Last resort."

Trinica (the competence ninja and my favorite person in the office) is processing my meds and searching the calendar for next month's visit. Shelly is keeping quiet and working on her computer. I start pacing back and forth. I'm not sure what I think that will do, but I think desperation is taking over at this point.

Shelly sees me and asks, "How's that whole disability situation going for you?" She is acting like my best friend now after cursing at me on the phone. I have a feeling she had an unpleasant conversation with my doctor after that episode because she isn't this sweet and nice to anyone.

I give her the update, "Everything is submitted. My lawyer is happy with all of the records we were able to find. It's just a waiting game now. It could be a couple of months but if I have to see a judge it could be over a year."

She commiserates with me about how slow the process can be.

Then, out of fucking nowhere, Mirror Froggie reappears in the little sliding reception window like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?

"Hey Trinica, do you have a business card for the doctor? I want to recommend him to Doug."

Who the fuck is Doug? Are we supposed to know Doug? Is Doug the tongueless pussy-eating pirate who needs medical attention?

Trinica looks in her desk and is unable to find a spare card. So she stops processing my stuff and starts hunting around the office. She has a bad leg so she is slowly limping while searching every desk. I have never wanted to strangle anyone before, but my doppeldouche was really pushing his luck.

At this point I am just staring at the little trash can in the blood-draw room. I can feel the scrambled eggs reversing course through my digestive system.

Trinica finds a fucking card for fucking Doug and fucking Mirror Froggie finally fucks off to bother people that are not me.

Trinica gets me all sorted, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and make to the car.

I sit in the driver's seat, and with that unearned optimism, say to myself, "I made it."

For all of you who are squeamish about bodily fluids, you can just pretend this is where the story ends. Everything was fine. I made it home and was happy and comfortable and nothing gross happened. The nausea faded away and I lived happily ever after.

The End.

Thank you for reading this and have a lovely day.

Just scroll on by to the next post!

.

.

.

Okay, so you all probably thought I was foreshadowing a monumental barf.

But foreshadowing is typically subtle. You don't want to give away the ending. Of course this was going to end in barf. The barfing was inevitable. The barf was not what I was *actually* foreshadowing at all.

Did anyone catch what it was?

You know that discrete white paper bag?

The one that could be for peanuts or maybe a sammich and definitely not my urine sample cup?

The last resort?

Look, it's all I had.

I was not going to make it home. I was not going to make it back into the bathroom. No trash bins on the horizon. Nothing in my car.

At first it was just an itty bitty baby barf. A perfect amount to be contained in a flimsy paper bag. I felt a relief wash over me.

"That's all?" still being stupidly optimistic.

But then I made that noise.

That... pre-retch noise.

That one where your head kinda juts forward and your lips make a giant O shape and you make a very specific grunting sound. That sound where if another person hears it, they involuntarily make the same specific grunting sound.

This was when I had one of those movie moments when a character knows they are about to die and they can't do anything about it. And I made this exact face as I waited for the impending doom of a vomitous explosion.

The Great Upchuck of 2023™ commenced.

And it was... intense.

Everything inside my stomach transferred rapidly, furiously, projectile-ly into the bag of foreshadowing.

I mean, I'm pretty much convinced my stomach is a TARDIS because I do not remember ingesting that much food. This sheer volume of barf had to be coming from another dimensional plane.

I could see it staining the sides of the bag as it was clearly not meant for this. When I finished it was barely intact—soggy, if you will. When I was absolutely sure I had ralph'd to completion, my only option was to gently place it on the passenger's side floor (sans floor mats). All I needed was for it to last 5 more minutes on the trip home and then I could dispose of it and pretend this never happened.

Physically I felt such a relief. Sometimes there is this post-puke euphoria where you just feel, well... lighter. Unburdened with no longer having that feeling. Happy it is over with.

I place the key in the ignition and head for home. As I'm driving I can't help but stare at the bag. I can see it mocking me as it changes colors. The exterior was getting... damp. If this were someone else's vomit, I would have been vomiting because of it. Just... so gross.

I get home and park the car. I walk around to the passenger side to begin the extraction process. I pull the trash can close and I have to psych myself up to deal with this horrible hurling happenstance.

And this next part, well... it would be hilarious if it weren't so damned disgusting.

I stare at the bag.

The bag stares back at me.

I take a deep breath and approach the bag.

The bag grins at me.

I gingerly grasp the very tippy-top in an effort to not touch any of the offending material.

I slowly lift up the bag.

And the very instant it reaches just enough height to do the most damage...

The bottom falls out.

If the bag had broken just as I was picking it up, the carnage would have been minimal. Only a small area to clean up. But clearly this bag read the Wikipedia page on air burst nuclear weapons. It knew you get a much more devastating blast radius if you detonate from an elevated position.

A TARDIS worth of partially digested scrambled eggs just pour and splatter and spray onto the floor of my car. It looked like the bag was puking out my puke.

The bag is now dead but I can feel its ghost laughing at me.

I stand there frozen holding the top of this evil deceased white paper bag trying and failing to process what just happened.

I realize I have no idea what to do with this situation. This is something that would usually be followed with, "MOoooOOOoooommmmm! How do I clean up vomit?"

And she would say, "You'll never do it right. I'll clean it up."

And I'd pretend to be like, "Oh no, it's my mess. I could never let you do that for me."

And she'd insist and break out her endless supply of very specific cleaning potions and magics and soon it would be as if the vomit didn't even exist.

So, I guess my question is... do I have to get my car detailed now?

The Actual End.

#long post #the inevitable adventures of froggie #trigger warning #vomit mention #rape mention

[funpuddle]

#scrap art #TW rape mention #CW #general trigger warning #theyre addicted to drugs and also have ocd what more can i say

[star-trek-fandom-confessions]

#419

"I don't understand why they came up with a cheating plot for T'Pring/Spock. Even if Spock didn't cheat, T'Pring is in her right to want a divorce whatever her reasons. In TOS, lot of people saw her as a villain because of the situation she put Kirk in (even if he agreed though) but she was dealing with a possible marital rape. She didn't love Spock and that's a good reasons enough to get a divorce. In SNW, it's sad how she put her energy on a worthless partner. It's funny how the writers avoided the topic of child marriage, pon farr and why Amanda put her son in this situation. Yes I know probably because of Sarek's influence..."

#confession 419 #star-trek-fandom-confessions #star trek #trigger warnings #tw rape mention #tw cheating mention #t'pring #spock #strange new worlds spoilers #strange new worlds #the original series #episode tag: Amok Time #tw child marriage mention #james t kirk #amanda grayson #sarek #critical confession

[theeggoman]

I am genuinely scared that once AI starts officially and somehow legally stealing art from artists on Twitter to feed into Elon Musk's AI company that there will be no more spaces for LGBT people to exist online. I'm talking about NSFW art, NSFW writing, discussions about kink and BDSM and leather, advice about transitioning and surgery and STD testing, resources for homeless LGBT youth, comics and animations and stories about queer love. The internet loves to hate gay sex. They demonize us, humiliate us, infantilize our bodily autonomy and choice and the moment you bring up anything relating to your own sexual experiences you're now a target for ridicule and shame. We are not profitable. We are not family friendly. We are "inappropriate" for normal people, and across every single social media platform we are banned. Our discussions about the basic human experience of sex expressed in ANY WAY are eventually banned. Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Youtube, Tik Tok, Deviant art, the restrictions and requirements and borderline threats from Patreon. As much as we've all hated it, Twitter has been a final stand. It's a place for furry art and gay porn and weird kinky fanfiction and BDSM. There's a community of people who exist together online and nowhere else. And people don't care that we're losing it, yet again, because they want people to like us. They want people to approve of us, to accept us. They want to be palatable for a straight audience, for a heterosexual society that has only barely begun to tolerate us out of necessity and the turn of deemed popular opinion. It's the internet mob mentality that crucified trans youth as "transtrenders" out of fear that they themselves would be targeted next. It's the accusations against drag queens being inappropriate for children. It's the LGB without the T because they fear they will be next. If they could just package us into something respectable, maybe the rest of the world wouldn't hate them so much, right? Get rid of the "bad" gays and suddenly our parents will love us again. Show them they're wrong, we're not pedophiles and rapists and groomers like they've been accusing us of being for centuries, we're NORMAL and GOOD and PURE, we like Heartstopper, not Yaoi! We don't fetishize gay men, we don't sexualize our trauma! We don't even LIKE sex! See, we think sex is immoral and shameful and wrong just like you. Will you love us now?

The truth is they will never love us. They will never want us. They will never accept us. The more we fight for our rights, they more they will try to take them way. The more we fight amongst ourselves, the more they will try to divide us.

I probably sound insane talking about niche queer Fandom spaces like some kind of gay revolution, but the ability to be unapologetically gay and trans and gross and weird and find a community of people you can be with who are all like you, who are working through that trauma together, who you meet online and fly out to visit in real life, who you love: It matters. It matters so much that they keep trying to take it away from us. I don't really know what the future holds here, I'm just rambling my anger onto the only platform that actuslly gives a shit about the artists on it. I just want the young people in the community to understand that this IS a community. And it matters.

#trigger warning #tw #pedophillia mention #rape mention #just let gay people exsist??? just let us fucking exsist.

[just-antithings]

I think this post is so funny because they probably just know horror media based on titles alone and I doubt they read or watch horror related media because they would have known all of the things they complain about is part of horror

Aldo some of the titles they mentioned aren’t horror? The only “horrific” thing that happens in “Anne with an E” is that her adopted father dies, but that’s not horror

Oh not this asshole again

#mod erin #ask #just anti things #image #incest mention #pedophillia mention #caps warning #rape mention

[sirfrogsworth]

Actually, I might have too many reasons.

I'm afraid it has been a really difficult few years for me and my family.

Our beloved corgi, Otis, developed a terrible condition (degenerative myelopathy) that made him lose the function of his back legs. Once his quality of life diminished passed the point where he could no longer experience joy as a dog and only had hardship and suffering to look forward to, we had to put him to sleep.

In February, despite taking painstaking measures to stay safe, my entire family contracted COVID and I also developed a kidney stone at the same time. Unfortunately, my mother was on medication that made her immune system pretty much useless. She died a horribly lonely death in the ICU. The last time I got to speak to her was over the telephone, with a nurse holding the phone up to her face. She was confused and scared and could not breathe despite being on two different breathing aids. All she could do was ask if my dad and I were okay. She was more worried about us than herself. Then they had to put her mask back on and she kept trying to talk even though I couldn't understand her. All I could hear was the fear in her voice. I tried to tell her how much I loved her one last time, but I have no idea if she could hear me.

She lost consciousness soon after and never woke up. Eventually her heart gave up and she passed. I only got to see her once briefly through a glass door. Her body was still alive, but she was already gone at that point. Just an unconscious vessel attached to machines.

My father has kidney failure and heart failure. He is being kept alive by dialysis 3 times per week. He hates going and it wipes him out every time. We hope he has a year or two left, but it's impossible to know for sure.

I am his caretaker even though I am also disabled with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Narcolepsy. I do my best to make sure his needs are met. My brother has been almost no help at all. A few friends and my aunt come by every once in a while to help with chores, but it's pretty much just me alone taking care of the both of us.

I have no idea where I am going to live if my dad passes away. I have no plan. I have no energy to make a plan. And that fear makes it hard to sleep many nights.

Then I was having these horrible stomach issues and lost nearly 30 pounds (in a bad way). The discomfort got so bad at one point I became suicidal. My dad feared for my life and so he called the police and EMTs. They admitted me into the hospital. After 2 days in the ER, being stuck in a small room because they had no other place to put me during COVID, I was finally admitted to a psychiatric ward for observation. Weirdly my stomach issues started improving and my suicidal thoughts passed.

I'm honestly not sure if I would have taken my own life if I had not been admitted. But I will say those two days in a tiny ER room did not do much to improve my mental health. It is sad that in this country with all its resources, there is no such thing as urgent mental healthcare. They just stick you in a room and make sure you can't hurt yourself as you wait in line to get the actual help you need.

Thankfully I was able to adjust some medication I was taking and resolve my stomach issues. That seemed to relieve me of my dangerous thoughts and I have been okay in that regard ever since.

My dad had a serious infection in July that placed him in the hospital. He lost the ability to walk, his heart stopped briefly, and he started having horrible hallucinations. At one point I wasn't sure if he would ever return to reality. Nothing he said made any sense. Thankfully once they treated the infection and he got decent sleep he returned to lucidity. But he had to go through brutal rehab in order to walk again (with a walker and only short distances).

He was in hospital and rehab for over a month. After what happened to my mom, I promised myself that my dad would not be alone in the hospital. So, no matter how bad I physically felt, I pushed myself to visit him and be at his bedside every day and all day until they kicked me out. It was grueling for both of us, but I don't know if he would have recovered if I hadn't been there. Partly because I kept his spirits up, but also because I was able to get him better care as an advocate. I had to push to make sure he got the tests and medication he needed and saw the doctors that could help him. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

The only bright side of his hospital stay is that we rediscovered our love for St. Louis Cardinals baseball. We bonded over it and ended up watching every game. We were very sad when they were quickly eliminated in the first round of the playoffs. But it was a magical season as two fan-favorite players were playing their final season and they had amazing and emotional sendoffs. (Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina) It is my hope that my dad has at least one more baseball season left in him.

My health took a serious downturn earlier this year. It happened on the very same day that my best friend Katrina came to visit from Florida. I got so sick I could barely appreciate her presence when she was here. I had been looking forward to seeing her for a very long time and my stupid chronic illness ruined it. I was counting on that visit to give me a mental health boost.

I recovered a few weeks later, but my health has never been the same. I had to adjust to a new normal and adapt and find ways to take care of my father despite being further impaired.

I also lost my last creative outlet--writing. I enjoy researching and writing long and humorous political essays, but since my health declined further, I have not been able to write like that ever since. I'm really hoping I can regain that ability, but I'm unsure if that will happen.

One of my best friends is trans and I have many trans friends and followers and I am just really scared for them right now. The laws that are being proposed and passed are unjust and cruel. I have never witnessed such an effective campaign of hatred in my lifetime. I mean, I know there has always been hatred of the marginalized in every era of modern human existence, but this seems to go beyond just the conservative hate-mongers. It is not couched in subtext and dog whistles. It is overt and very "out loud." And I'm seeing people who claim to be progressive join in this hatred.

They are suddenly super worried about sports they never used to pay attention to. They think bathrooms are suddenly dens of danger despite trans people existing long before this concentrated hate became popular and bathrooms being perfectly safe beforehand. And now people believe that helping trans kids with proper healthcare is akin to child abuse. They think accepting trans kids is "grooming."

I see Twitter and Reddit threads filled with transphobia and it often brings me to tears to see people openly and comfortably hate the people I love so much. They hate people who have no tangible effect on their lives. People who just want to exist and be respected.

I just don't know how people can hate my friends so much without even knowing them.

Also, I'm just... really really lonely. All the time. It feels like a constant punch in the gut. I miss seeing and hugging my friends. I miss romantic companionship. And I've got a 20+ year streak of being sexually frustrated and am completely unsure how in the world to address that.

And finally, I decided to watch The Handmaid's Tale which is just full of rape and sadness. I figured I'm already horribly depressed, so a show probably isn't going to do much more damage. But it is still a tough watch.

That's the major headlines of my depression.

I'm just trying to survive and find little ways to cope. Mostly I am leaning on my support system and amazing best friends to keep me propped up and functioning.

Best I can do right now.

#trigger warning #depression #sad things #transphobia #rape mention

[dapperinsanity]

Oh boy, I was waiting for Hazbin Hotel controversy to blow up again, mainly due to the fact of how Hazbin would portray AngelDust’s trauma. Am I going to make a post about it? Probably but not at the moment. I want to organize my thoughts first. I’m not an SA victim but I want to be educated to further my support for them and to see what SA victims have to say when it comes to representation in media. While I do know a few people who are close to me that are SA victims, I’m not here to claim authority on what’s right and wrong regarding this topic. I’d just like to share my thoughts from a “viewer” point of view concerning the show.

#sa mention #rape mention #tw sa #trigger warning #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #Hazbin hotel leaks

[isagrimorie]

So I've been listening to Kate Mulgrew's Memoir Born with Teeth and it's absolutely gorgeously written. But even more beautifully narrated by Kate Mulgrew herself.

It has all the complicated, thorny, sharp edges I was looking for when I listened to the Autobiography of Janeway -- which sounded dry and straight out of Starfleet publicity.

But I had to stop in one portion of the audiobook, and the moment Kate mentioned she was on her way home alone, I had a sinking feeling.

We all know that fear.

I had paused the audiobook and waited for a few days before continuing and then I continued on, and then had to stop because what I feared would happen did happen.

And it took me a few more weeks before I restarted the audiobook.

Kate was a survivor of rape. I can't imagine how hard it must have been for Kate to revisit this moment in her life, and write it down, and then narrate it.

And the way she told the story clinically, dispassionately, and at a remove from herself. And then the aftermath felt like Kate was telling the story of coming back to herself with it, the awareness that two people she loved were there.

I continued on a few more chapters to make sure that Kate was alright and then had to hit pause again to give that whole chapter its due and weight.

It was so terrible that I instantly knew what was going to happen.

#kate mulgrew #born with teeth #star trek cast #voyager cast #warning: rape mention

[hadesisqueer]

Just saw a rape joke and I got triggered so badly that I started kicking things.

You see, when I was a child, I was sexually abused.

The boy was older than me; not an adult, but but definitely a teenager, he was at least thirteen. I was very young, maybe four or five years old.

I don't think I knew him before that, but we were bored, and there was a ball, so he started playing soccer with me. And I think I got tired, and we sat down away from adults. And he started insisting. I remember being very uncomfortable and crying, not knowing what was going on, and he told me afterwards not to tell my parents because they'd be mad at me. So I didn't.

Being honest, I don't remember much of it. It's blurry. I blocked it out for years, and I think I still block some parts out. I can remember what color the soccer ball was but I can't remember the boy's face. Or even if it happened more than once: some memories differ from the other, so it might have happened more times. Or maybe I misremember things. I don't know.

Like I said, I entirely blocked it out for years. Until I was around sixteen, when I was watching a TV show, and they touched a similar topic. I started feeling bad, I didn't realize why. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. And then, a couple of days later, I had flashes of it, and I started remembering. And I had the worst panic attack of my life. My mother wanted to have me hospitalized, and I only started calming down when my sister came home and talked to me. And thus, my PTSD triggered 12 years later. I've been dealing with it for almost five years.

My parents were furious. Not at me, but at themselves for not realizing it at the time. I was so loving as a little girl, I loved hugging and being hugged, and then suddenly around that age, I started pushing people away when they touched me out of nowhere, and I became much more anxious, and lonelier, and much less talkative. That event, among other things, shaped who I was growing up to be. Why hadn't they noticed? They could have helped me sooner. They could have caught the boy and made sure he was punished.

I haven't told many people about this. The ones I did, had varied reactions. Most told me they were sorry for me, and that they were thankful I trusted them. One didn't believe me and thought I was faking it for attention. Another one questioned my sexual orientation, saying that maybe the reason I thought I didn't like boys was because one abused me as a child. I don't really talk to those two people anymore, as you can imagine.

And one paled because precisely, right before I told him, he had made a rape joke. He tried to explain the joke, but I just kept staring at him. He probably realized he had fucked up badly, because he ended up shutting up and leaving.

Rape jokes are disgusting. And when a victim confronts you about it, if you even try to explain yourself and why the joke is funny instead of immediately apologizing, you're just showing even more just how repulsive and miserable you are as a human being. Literally, go fuck yourselves.

#tw sex abuse #tw rape mention #trigger warnings #tw ptsd mention

[lostryu]

The wild part about tr*ns*ndrophobia is how happy and quick people were to latch onto a term coined by a guy with a lesbian correctional r*pe fantasy who also loved the idea of r*ping butches into being trans men. Not to mention all of the perpetuators of tr*ns*ndrophobia all support Saint as well.

Like I dunno, maybe these guys do not have both lesbian's and women’s best interests at heart.

#lesbophobia #transphobia #serious trigger warnings on the callout post #tw rape mention #like seriously you guys support these people way too much #for men blogging about lesbian r*pe #actually this guy just loves the idea of r*pe in general #misspelled a word so i had to go back. Thanks autocorrect