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“There are not two sexes, there are n sexes; there are as many sexes as there are assemblages. And since each of us enters into several assemblages, each of us has n sexes. When children discover that they are reduced to one sex, male or female, they discover their powerlessness: they lose the machinic sense and are left only with the signification of a tool. And then a child really does fall into depression. They have been damaged; their countless sexes have been stolen!”

— Gilles Deleuze, “The Interpretation of Utterances” (via deleuzeandphilosophy)

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i think i could just pass away and it'd be nbd

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In the minds of ordinary people disgusted with the life in front of them, therapy becomes a spell. GETHELP. Don’t do something as innocous as relating a drug experience you had in a comment section; don’t be an otherkin on Tumblr; GETHELP. Why is this cringe ugliness in front of my sane eyes? There is no wait time, no cost, no codified DSM, no messy public existence between your therapist appointments or struggle to heal, only GOTHERAPY, GETHELP, the incantation that makes this problem disappear. Unlimited numbers of therapists await to get this fucking degeneracy out of our sight! That’s what they’re FOR!

This reveals the true character of the construction of madness, with all complication of the psychiatric process gone, all distinction of the difference between crazy and vile gone, all scrunched away into a spiky little ball of shocked contempt. This is a simplicity of view that I can only desire to answer with a simplicity of my own, hitting the speaker over and over again while repeating “get hospital. Get hospital. Get hospital. Go doctor.”

Ideally this would be followed up by encountering them in public two weeks later, pulling a cartoonishly disgusted face at each of their bruises, and then following them around shouting the exact same sentiment at them until they go home.

I think this is an ideal method to promote understanding and mutual empathy.

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It’s these medico-psychiatric rhetorics that construct us not only as disabled/neurodivergent/Mad, but as not-yet-well. Engagement with the medical industry becomes a means of getting clean (note the overlap between addiction and non-substance related situations here); getting sanitized –– it becomes both an enactment of the desire to get well (“they must be trying, they are putting in the effort, they are making changes) and, in so doing, an enactment of wellness in and of itself.

the visit to the doctor becomes both evidence of improving-wellness (insight; internal motivation) and a process through which wellness is achieved. and if wellness is not attained via the doctor, well, that’s just your fault for being non-compliant.

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“When I was about fourteen years old, I used to sleep with my curtain slightly open. I liked to watch the sky before going to sleep. There was one night when one vibrant star was visible despite the light pollution. I told myself I had to make a wish to this star that seemed to brighten the night sky just for me. So I looked at the star for a little while, unable to sleep because of the thousand bricks that seemed to lay on my chest, disrupting my every breath. I wished, with tears streaming down my face, for the universe, god, anyone willing to listen, to take me because the thought of living another day was that soul crushing to me. That night I felt what Fyodor Dostoyevsky meant when he said to live without hope is to cease to live because the idea of living made me hopeless to the point where death was the first thing that came to my mind when making a wish.”

— my journal entries

i've noticed a trend that people only talk to me when theyve exhausted their other options. why am i worth nothing on my own?

i hate holidays so fucking much I hate being told that i should celebrate someone who shouldve died at least ten years ago