me, talking about my trauma: this feels so great and freeing?? why don't I do it more often
Vivid flashbacks, hyperventilation, mental breakdown, dissociation, panic attacks, nightmares, skin memories: :)
me:
me: ah,

Origami Around
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pixel skylines
YOU ARE THE REASON
occasionally subtle
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
The Stonewall Inn
noise dept.
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❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Noah Kahan
KIROKAZE
almost home

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@monthlybleeding
me, talking about my trauma: this feels so great and freeing?? why don't I do it more often
Vivid flashbacks, hyperventilation, mental breakdown, dissociation, panic attacks, nightmares, skin memories: :)
me:
me: ah,
Sylvia Plath was right
About what?
“Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording —all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night.”
by Ana Victoria
feliz dia da mulher
sina
há catorze anos de sangue
escorrido entre minhas pernas
banhando o contorcer do meu ventre trincado
e a rachadura que me corta dos pés à cabeça
catorze anos de sangue
apodrecendo em minhas veias
dissolve minhas entranhas feito buraco negro
a fenda invisível que você me fez
há catorze anos de memórias enferrujadas
encrustadas feito chumbo embotado em meu peito
manchando minhas tentativas de respirar
catorze anos desintegrando feito poeira
estacionada no vácuo das suas lembranças
do estupro que me marcou a fogo feito gado
do peso do seu corpo sobre meus seios
da força dos socos que exauriram meu estômago
de sua mão no meu pescoço e sua podridão no meu útero
há catorze anos de sangue transbordando de meus poros
inundando meus olhos e ouvidos, minha boca
o gosto férreo da ausência do que você me tirou
um presente mórbido por existir como mulher
catorze anos que você se recusa a virar cicatriz
que seu rosto povoa outros rostos
que seu ódio contamina meus espelhos
que me vejo tão descartável quando fui pra você
há catorze anos de sangue escorrido entre minhas pernas
uma cartografia vermelha tatuada em minha pele
desenhando sobrevivências nada poéticas
um pesadelo eterno pra chamar de meu.
i’ve been tainted
🤷♀️
Don’t test me, brother.
melhor personagem
Edie Windsor & Thea Spyer 46 years of true love
The Gateways Club in Chelsea 1953
Looking at old anti-suffragette posters is weird because the people who made them did such a bad job that even the fictional women in their misogynistic propaganda were fucking awesome.
Men literally laughing at how they made wearing trousers illegal for women and the idea of women wearing trousers was such a huge threat to their masculinity that it became a symbol of the HORRORS of women wanting to be equal participants in society.
And you thought men were being babies over over an ad for razor blades. Same shit, different century.
Viola Davis has never shied away from harsh truths. On Tuesday, Davis spoke to the Stuart House (a nonprofit for sexually abused children) about trauma in her own family. Through her speech, she explained how abuse changes survivors’ lives and what she wishes she could say to her sister now: “I wish I could tell my sister …”