Taking Care Callista Buchen
From running away, hitting and abusing to this...
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@hairyholly
Taking Care Callista Buchen
From running away, hitting and abusing to this...
The most basic, intractable fact about mental illnesses is that you simply cannot willpower your way out of them. The only exceptions to this rule are the ones I have, which continue to disable me due to lack of determination and other grave personal flaws
Reblog if you're transmasc, support trans men, or want a chocolate chip cookie
That thing where milkmaids were often immunized against small pox because they'd already contracted the weaker cow pox earlier in their lives. That's Tumblr, to me, against whatever the hell social media landscape is happening in 2026.
"TikTok Instagram Youtube-Shorts Share-Your-Whole-Life Influencer Social-Media Online Online Online" it cannot affect me. I was already a weird online 16-year-old all so many years ago. You cannot grab me raw and unfortified with these poisons. I inoculated myself when glomping was a thing. I am still on Tumblr making text poasts.
because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.
you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.
you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.
don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.
if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.
you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:
how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!
aren't you happy yet?
.... and people ask us why masking is so difficult.
one of the best academic paper titles
for those who don't speak academia: "according to our MRI machine, dead fish can recognise human emotions. this suggests we probably should look at the results of our MRI machine a bit more carefully"
I hope everyone realises how incredibly important this dead fish study is. This was SO fucking important.
I still donât understand
So basically, in the psych and social science fields, researchers would (I don't know if they still do this, I've been out of science for awhile) sling around MRIs like microbiolosts sling around metagenomic analyses. MRIs can measure a lot but people would use them to measure 'activity' in the brain which is like... it's basically the machine doing a fuckload of statistics on brain images of your blood vessels while you do or think about stuff. So you throw a dude in the machine and take a scan, then give him a piece of chocolate cake and throw him back in and the pleasure centres light up. Bam! Eating chocolate makes you happy, proven with MRI! Simple!
These tests get used for all kinds of stuff, and they get used by a lot of people who don't actually know what they're doing, how to interpret the data, or whether there's any real link between what they're measuring and what they're claiming. It's why you see shit going around like "men think of women as objects because when they look at a woman, the same part of their brain is active as when they look at a tool!" and "if you play Mozart for your baby for twenty minutes then their imagination improves, we imaged the brain to prove it!" and "we found where God is in the brain! Christians have more brain activity in this region than atheists!"
There are numerous problems with this kind of science, but the most pressing issue is the validity of the scans themselves. As I said, there's a fair bit of stats to turn an MRI image into 'brain activity', and then you do even more stats on that to get your results. Bennett et. al.'s work ran one of these sorts of experiments, with one difference -- they used a dead salmon instead of living human subjects. And they got positive results. The same sort of experiment, the same methodology, the same results that people were bandying about as positive results. According to the methodology in common use, dead salmon can distinguish human facial expressions. Meaning one of two things:
Dead salmon can recognise human facial expressions. OR
Everyone else's results are garbage also, none of you have data for any of this junk.
I cannot overstate just how many papers were completely fucking destroyed by this experiment. Entire careers of particularly lazy scientists were built on these sorts of experiments. A decent chunk of modern experimental neuropsychology was resting on it. Which shows that science is like everything else -- the best advances are motivated by spite.
iron lung is about drowning in guilt its about feeling like youve wasted your life its about the greater good its about the difference between living and survival its about mark e plier's big fucking bazongas holy shit dude
i cant stop thinking about how simon refused to go down without a fight. if he was going down then he was making it EVERYBODY'S problem. he was going down kicking and screaming. he is not the sacrificial lamb that goes quietly, he is not an evil being to be banished, he is just a man fighting for himself; the most human a person can be. he looked a God in the eye and chose his own path. i guess, in a way just like the previous convict, he found his freedom in the end.
True love isn't a fairytale thing. Nor is it particularly rare. It's not precious because it's rare, it's precious because it's yours. It's not true like magic being true. It's true like true steel, a true sailor, a true war horse. Something that doesn't happen by accident, but which was forged through hard work to be exactly what it is now, and you can always trust it to be exactly what it is.
It's knowing someone so well that you know beforehand exactly what they'll do, and feel safe knowing it. Someone who knows when the way you turn in bed means that you want them to lift your blanket and wiggle in next to you, and when you don't want them on your skin. Being able to trust that someone wants you close despite of you both knowing that they're just going to stick their icy fucking fingers on you.
I drew this stupid burger I saw that brings me comfort and joy
Sometimes the rats in my brain come together and start yelling âYEARNINGâ and in trying to appease them I ask âFOR WHATâ but they are too small so all they can say is âYEARNINGâ which is a very big word for such a tiny creature, even collectively
I loved this visual so much I had to doodle it.
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