ovde je noć što se životu opire

n. m.

[marimekkogirl]

anyway I love things like having independence, being intelligent, taking pride in my skills, not feigning incompetence, referring to myself as a woman instead of a girl, aging unapologetically, having pores, stretch marks, grey hairs, wrinkles and body fat, listening to my body's needs, eating as much as I need to satisfy my hunger, being bare-faced, wearing comfortable clothes, etcetera

[evilvillain123456789]

what you experience is hyperfixation, which is pathological. what I experience is psychosexual obsession， which is also pathological, but in a darkly chic and subversive way. thank you for understanding.

[tajac]

like. the concept of a permanently injured whumpee knowing they've been altered in some way, and trying so hard to cope with it and adjust and not dwell, and the people who love them just cannot get over that hurdle. they mean well, but whumpee can hear them whispering amongst themselves when they think whumpee can't hear. they mean well, but conversation halts the moment whumpee enters the room because everyone is immediately bracing for their pain. they mean well, but they just cannot stop looking at whumpee with some odd mix of discomfort and guilt on their faces, and so even amongst people who love them like family, whumpee feels... alienated.

even though they mean well.

[tajac]

whumpee has sustained some sort of visible, permanent injury, — anything from severe facial scarring to limb loss, something unignorable — and it's an awful reminder of what they'd gone through under whumper, but they were, well, coping, sort of. the rest of the team was not.

maybe it was a team whump situation, or maybe it was just an awful journey rescuing them, but either way, whumpee's injury will simply not let them forget what had happened, every time their gazes fall on it. and the team love whumpee. they're so relieved whumpee is finally safe, no matter what that looks like now.

but they're uncomfortable. they feel guilty.

they don't know how to touch whumpee in a way that doesn't hurt, not anymore, so they don't. they don't know how to talk to someone who's been hurt so badly... so they try not to. it's not malicious, quite the opposite — it's because they care too much, and it hurts too much to see whumpee suffer.

but to whumpee, it's just confirmation that they're now broken. they see the way conversation halts around their pain, around every wince or shift. they see the way their teammates' gazes linger on their injury, or avoid looking at them altogether. they see the way everyone's walking on eggshells around them. so, they hide it. they grow quiet, withdrawn. they only allow themselves to feel the pain of it in the isolation of their room — and they stay in there, alone, more and more often. the increasingly unbearable emotional pain of it? forget about it, they're never broaching that subject. the team is better off not knowing. and perhaps, one day, the weight of having to manage everyone else's guilt and discomfort will make them snap, but for now...

well, if that nasty wound gets an infection, or the pain gets to be too much, or something complicates further...they don't have to tell the team right away, right? surely it will go away on its own! surely it could not get worse!

[alexandriaellisart]

oh sappho

[tajac]

they should invent a man who loves you for more than sex

[contemptible-scoundrel]

I was mugged by snow white and the seven dwarves the other day. six dwarves now, I suppose. kneed dipshit or dopey or whatever he was called in the eye socket so hard he died before his limp body hit the ground. they all scattered after that. I'll never forget how they wailed his name

[northstareclipse]

One of the most exhausting things about modern “health” discourse is the Kafkaesque double bind where no matter how you spend your time, you are somehow doing life wrong.

You need social connection for your mental health, BUT it has to be in person specifically. Online friends “don’t count.”

Okay. So you go to an in-person event.

Well, not like that. Evening events are bad for your circadian rhythm. You should be winding down by 7 PM.

Okay. So you look for daytime events.

No, not THOSE daytime events. Those are for teens. Adult socialization should revolve around networking, productivity, childrearing, or politely listening to someone explain Mediterranean diet meal prep in a fluorescent multipurpose room.

Okay. So you stay home and do solitary hobbies you genuinely enjoy.

Careful. Too much isolation is unhealthy.

Okay. So you spend time online talking to people with shared interests.

No, not like that either. That’s “screen addiction.” Go outside.

Okay. So you go outside. You hike. You walk. You take photos. You exercise to a point that blows way past the minimum weekly recommended amount.

That doesn’t count because you did it alone, or with people you already live with.

Okay. So you try local community spaces.

Actually, “community” now means “sit through interactions with people you have nothing in common with and pretend this nourishes you spiritually.”

And if you say you still feel lonely or unstimulated afterward, suddenly the problem is your mindset. Your expectations. Your inability to appreciate simple things. Your refusal to heal. Your “avoidance.”

At no point does anyone stop and consider that maybe the issue is not that you are failing to optimize your life correctly.

Maybe the issue is that modern adulthood offers an increasingly narrow and sanitized version of acceptable existence, and then pathologizes anyone who remains hungry for something larger, stranger, warmer, more communal, more emotionally charged, more alive.

I swear over half of modern wellness culture treats being a person as an unfortunate obstacle to successfully maintaining a body.

Like congratulations. You have successfully become an administrative assistant to your own mitochondria.

Meanwhile your actual self is sitting in the corner like a neglected child asking if it’s still allowed to want music, subculture, spontaneity, attraction, art, weirdness, intensity, laughter, late nights, friendship, beauty, or a sense that life is happening instead of merely being managed.

And the really insidious part is that after enough exposure to this stuff, people start feeling guilty not for harming themselves, but for participating in their own lives in ways that are not fully optimized, clinically approved, and morally sanitized.

You can end up feeling like going to karaoke at 8 PM is a cry for help while compulsively micromanaging every aspect of your existence in the name of “wellness” is treated as maturity.

[tajac]

and btw the whump doesn't have to end with rescue. give that man a painkiller addiction

[sexchangedotcom]

ancient roman women whose husband keeps looking at the neighbour's boy quintus and he never looks at her that way and she can't even chainsmoke in the kitchen because they don't have marlboro blues in ancient times. and she can't even go to the club because they haven't discovered drum and bass music yet. her friend clodia's having visions of a woman named doechii but neither of them knows what that means

[yasmin1000000]

we need non cancerous cigarettes to give to women so they look hot. men get the normal kind

[martindykewood]

like i quite literally have never been more passionate about anything than i am about the human race’s invariable desire to tell stories and the fact that we always find a way to do it, through spoken language and written language and body language and visual art and theater and poetry and oral tradition and a million other things. there are so many things we take for granted about the human experience that we never stop to think about but i really want you to take a step back and consider how fucking amazing it is that our need to tell stories transcends all boundaries of time and geography and borders and language. it is one of very few things that is legitimately intrinsic to human nature and i will never stop being completely in awe of humanity for that.

[sluttyquarantinetheory]

The concept that married people live longer is interesting. I'm sure there is some merit to the idea that if you're married there is someone there to nag you about going to the doctor, but I think much larger factors are having the finances of dual incomes and access to an immediate support person.

Surgeries require having a designated person to look after you. Many injuries require driving to somewhere like an emergency room which can be hard to do if you are the one injured. If you're home with the flu, it's hard to tell when it's bad enough to go to the hospital without another person checking on you. And if you pass out it requires another person to find you like that to get medical aid.

You can prop it up as the benefits of marriage, but I think there's a much deeper discussion to be had about how we've built society around marriage as an inevitable conclusion and neglected to build support systems that function outside of romantic pairings.

[tajac]

lullaby, n. moravac

[tajac]

paul monette, no goodbyes // 18 elegies for rog

[bloedgetuige]

I'd been there a few minutes, setting up command, when Roger began to moan. It was the saddest, hollowest sound I've ever heard, and loud, like the trumpet note of a wounded animal. It had no shape to it, nothing like a word, and he repeated it over and over, every few seconds. "Why is he doing that?" I asked the nurse, but she didn't know. I assumed he must be roaring with misery and anxiety, and he hadn't had any Xanax since the previous day. I ordered a tranquilizer and told him everything I was doing. It wasn't till ten weeks later, on New Year's Day, that I understood the trumpet sound. I was crying up at the grave, and started to mimic his moaning, and suddenly understood that what he was doing was calling my name. Nothing in my life or the death to come hurts as much as that, him calling me without a voice through a wall he could not pierce.

Borrowed Time: An AIDS Memoir, Paul Monette

[tajac]

and whatever you do. never read 18 elegies for rog