✝

a mo(u)rning diary

[painandcats]

hatred of disabled people doesn’t have to be blatant:

complaining about “people who walk slowly”

calling people with specific dietary restrictions needy/fakers/high-maintenance/etc.

insinuating someone isn’t responsible if they’re “living in their parents’ basement”/some variation thereof

insinuating that students with disabilities are actually “cashing in on special treatment”

praising what are basically snuff films about disabled characters

defending the casting of abled people for disabled roles

defending paying us lower wages

[volaee]

-being invasive about our private lives and our disability -casually dismissing our concerns & objections to ableism as unimportant -attempting to compare and contrast disabled people against each other (whether they have the same disability/ies or not) for the purposes of inspiration or shaming us for how we choose to live our lives -along the lines of the last one - presuming that any two people experience the same or similar disability in the same way -pretending to know our own needs and capacities better than we do even when you don’t know us at all -becoming angry and exerting your power over us when we point out how your actions and/or words were harming us to start, but then claiming your behavior is induced because of other reasons (gaslighting)

[khristian-ity-blog]

[nebulosa]

The number 4. The number 4, always.

I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything,         couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush through me and it never made         any sense, anything. And I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t sit still or fix things and I wake up and I wake up and you’re still dead, you’re under the table, you’re still feeding         the damn dog, you’re cutting the room in half. Whatever.           Feed him whatever.           Burn the straw house down.

I don’t really blame you for being dead but you can’t have your sweater back.         So, I said, now that we have our dead, what are we going to do with them? There’s a black dog and there’s a white dog, depends on which you feed,         depends on which damn dog you live with.

[openlyb]

[these--withered--machines]

& you can slide back down that slope at any time

[whatever-is-pxre]

When I was 13 years old and curious about sex and love, I asked my mom if she had had sex before marrying my father (of whom she is still married to, and has been since before I was born). She said that that wasn’t really a ‘yes’ or 'no’ question. I said 'sure it is, you’ve either had sex before him, or you haven’t’. She brought me onto the couch and sat me down and told me about the boy she liked when she was young and how one night she snuck into his house while his parents were gone and they were kissing and he said they should have sex and she said that she wanted to save sex for marriage and he laughed and basically took all her clothes off and he raped her and as my mom was telling the story she cried and this was the second time I had ever seen my mom cry. She was 12 when it happened.

In grade 8 I got a call from my friend in the middle of the night and she was drunk in the park crying and told me that she went out that night with some other friends and they drank a little and her guy “friend” starting flirting and yes she laughed at first but then he tried to pull her shirt over her head and she pulled away and he ripped her shirt and it was her favourite shirt and then he pushed her to her knees and HIS BEST FRIEND HELD HER JAW OPEN WHILE HE FACE FUCKED HER. And so I went to the park and picked her up and took her home and slept in her bed with her except we didn’t sleep because she just cried and her mouth bled and this was four years ago but I still have to be the one to bring her items to the till it the cashier is a man, and she still has anxiety attacks and she’ll get a rash all over her body and I just want to kill those boys but instead they are still walking around. And I’m in the bathroom with her, dabbing at her skin with a warm cloth until it returns to its regular colour.

And in grade 9 one of my closest friends was kinda seeing this boy and so they hung out one night and then she said that she really had to be getting back home and he said that she wasn’t going anywhere until she gave him what he wanted and he parked the car and took off her clothes and she said no and he ignored her and so she laid in the backseat totally limp and just cried and it wasn’t even sex, he just masterbated by using her body instead of his hand and she came to school the next day with vodka in her water bottle and she drank all day and I had to fight her to get the alcohol away from her and she just cried and threw up and I skipped class while I held her hair back and that same boy texted me a month later, asking if I ever wanted to hangout sometime.

And in that same year my very best friend who has never even kissed a boy, confessed to me that when she was 9 years old, her 12 year old cousin made her give him a hand job and he told her that was what cousins do and he gave her a chocolate bar afterwards and she told me that he probably doesn’t even remember it but that it’s something that she’ll never have the luxury of forgetting.

And in grade 10 I knew a girl who invited her best friend over to watch Disney movies and then he started to put his hands down her pants and she said no but she is 130lbs and he is 220lbs and he called her a tease while she tried to fight him but he used one hand to hold her down, and the other to put inside of her and i was the one to push her inside of a classroom and stand in front of her while calling the police when he showed up at our school looking for her and she was so damn scared.

And a few months later I skipped class and was in the car with a guy who i had had unprotected sex with in the past while under the influence of cocaine but this time I was sober and I insisted we use a condom but he told me he couldn’t feel anything while the condom was on so he ripped it off and I said I refused to have unprotected sex again and so he just grabbed me and forced himself into my mouth and I was crying and he pulled me onto him and I just came saying “stop” over and over like a broken record but he must’ve heard something different because he went until he came and I just sat naked in the backseat while he drove me back to the school and said “we should do this again sometime”. And I had five showers that night and I scratched at my skin so hard to try and rip his fingerprints off of me, I still have the scars.

And I found out soon afterwards that that same guy had raped a classmate of mine, 5 months earlier and she told me about how he brought her McDonald’s first, and how he said they could take things slow and she told me about how he didn’t listen to her either. And he goes to our school and so after she told me about her incident and I told her about mine, we decided to report it to the police and the trial is currently still going on and he told people about it, except in his version we are just “asking for attention” and all his friends talk about how bad they feel for him. As if HE is the one that still wakes up screaming. As if HE felt like his skin no longer was beautiful, no longer belonged to him. And I held her in my arms as she bawled after giving the police her statement. And she did the same for me.

And I met a woman a year ago in a paint store and she had a service dog and I asked what the dog was for and it turns out that she had been so brutally raped and abused in her life, that the dog is literally trained to keep men away from her.

And I’m so FUCKING SICK AND TIRED OF THIS WORLD WE ARE LIVING IN. How many rape victims eyes have I already looked into? How many more will I? And how many more friends will I hold while they shake? Because I don’t know how many more I can take. And who the fuck still has the nerve to make rape jokes? And… Something just has to change. Please, someone just start being that change.

-16 year old girl

[cool-yr-jets-lucifer]

my band faux cults put out a single! take a listen?? woo

[these--withered--machines]

<333

[these--withered--machines]

activist burnout is such a real and frustrating thing. i’ve been working for the past few months as the coordinator for a mental health advocacy group, as well as doing a lot of harassment/sexual assault campaigns. i am fucking exhausted. 

my job is completely draining and i don’t know how to keep it together for students who are also struggling with mental illnesses. i have to listen to their stories, hold events for them, be constantly immersed in an ableist and unsafe university environment, and be forced to interact with a coworker who is constantly asking inappropriate, triggering questions. 

it isn’t okay to pry into someone’s trauma. it isn’t okay to coerce a new employee into educating you because you don’t know about illnesses you SHOULD know about. you need to do your own research on the internet and look into discussions that are already occurring about things like this, you absolutely should not ask someone: how did you feel when he died? how did you feel when you lost someone to suicide? when you were suicidal yourself? how did it feel to be in an abusive relationship? to have an eating disorder? to self-harm? 

in what world is it okay to pry into people’s trauma like that? i am such an open person and i’m happy to have conversations about this stuff if it happens organically, if it’s a shared trauma, or if i choose to disclose. 

my school had it’s first suicide of the year. it’s not even two weeks into classes. i was in a lot of really bad places throughout my time as a student, but they aren’t nearly as close to how down and useless i feel as a staff member. 

i am so mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. my disability has also been completely draining and i’m frustrated with doctors not having any answers. i should be writing more, making art or doing something fun while the weather is alright, but every day it gets a little colder, the sun goes down earlier, and i cry because i think i would be a lot less fucked up right now if the brutal winter wasn’t right around the corner. 

[angelfishing]

[these--withered--machines]

Дерево и Кошка (1983)

[these--withered--machines]

I miss you so much today, I feel like I can't breath.

[ladugard]

I want gay cafés

Like gay bars except no drunk people or loud music, instead there’s coffee and cinnamon buns and pleasant conversations

[cryztalgemz-deactivated20150904]

see? this is what we need

a non-alcoholic, non-sexual space for LGBT groups that is inclusive to younger people

[these--withered--machines]

There's a crack In the handle of a coronation cup That I once brought back From the study trip in Athens Where we plated my hair And I put eyeliner on Until they stopped in the street And pointed at me And I felt only pride For the first time in my life

There's a warm warm rain Upon a hotel balcony Where we looked out upon A darkening sea And the light, and the light Down on the Mediterranean Burned like candles in the memory Of all the things that we mislaid On our way here

Why did Nirvana ever Bother to play here Hey there I don't want to stay here

I decree there is a higher plane Some place of little consequence That I might see your face again Before the living and the dead Are reunited

And this town This town is killing me now I can't believe I waited so long From the shopping trolleys On the river bend To the sound of the bassbins booming

Can I see your face In this acid light Of another suburban evening As I roll my eyes up To these dirty skies And count the days Til I'll be leaving

I decree there is a higher plane Some place of little consequence When I might see your face again Before the living and the dead Are reunited

And what is love What is love in the time of ecstasy And bare knuckle fighting

Lord, won't you deliver me From the wave machine And the transparent bikini Like isn't there some skeleton On me I should find That I might vanquish

Please, won't you listen to me Your unfaithful servant's Filthy fucking language

I decree there is a higher plane Some place of little consequence When I might see your face again Before the living and the dead Are reunited

And what is love What is love in the time of ecstasy And bare knuckle fighting Don't tell me that he died for that

Counselor forgive me for I knew not What I vandalized Don't tell me that he died for that

Take me down to the paradise club Where the girls are drunk and over sized Don't tell me that he died for that

And there's a crack In the handle of a coronation cup That I once brought back

I decree there is a higher plane Some place of little consequence

[tha--snazzle]

“Considering how common illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that it brings, how astonishing, when the lights of health go down, the undiscovered countries that are then disclosed, what wastes and deserts of the soul a slight attack of influenza brings to view, what precipices and lawns sprinkled with bright flowers a little rise of temperature reveals, what ancient and obdurate oaks are uprooted in us by the act of sickness, how we go down into the pit of death and feel the waters of annihilation close above our heads and wake thinking to find ourselves in the presence of angels and the harpers when we have a tooth out and come to the surface in the dentist’s arm-chair and confuse his “Rinse the mouth—rinse the mouth” with Heaven to welcome us—when we think of this, as we are so frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has not taken its place with love and battle and jealousy among the prime themes of literature.”

[pussynommertz]

my roommates have been leaving me presents everywhere to cheer me up, the sweethearts. my gift to them will be teaching quinn how to spell “whoa.”

[fennekfocks]

On mental illness and not living with it

Because when they talk about mental illness in schools and when they talk about mental illness affecting young people they only want to stick to one narrative. They only want to to tell you that mental illness is the reason the beautiful, quiet girl who sits  in the back of the class, who answers all the questions right and smiles just a little too fake has a dark horrible tragic secret. And that she has these poetic, beautiful scars across her thighs and if you only take the chance to talk to her, just fucking talk to her, than she will show you them and open up about her daddy issues and how she feels fake with her friends and through the power of conversation and friendship you can single handidly help the poor depressed beautiful creature. 

and that is so fucked up

Because no one ever wants to talk about kids with aspergers. They take up too much space, they talk to loud, they aren’t socially appropriate all the time. Because panic attacks and breakdowns aren’t poetic and sexy. Because medication is 100 times more complicated and dangerous and not so much of a quick fix. Because you can’t fucking talk people out of depression. Because mental illness is scary, not in a “were all fucked up follow for more soft grunge everything is dark and beautiful” scary. Like really scary. Because they just keep telling you friendship and reaching out is a quick fix for depression but they never tell you what to say. They never tell you what to say when the conversation goes from daddy issues and bad friends to hallucinations, to when they just swear inaudibly at you. When you have to rehearse the panic attack steps over and over and over. 

Because they never prepare you for anything. They never want to tell you about kids with aspergers, they never want to tell you about fucking fetal alcohol syndrome, they never want tell you about learning disabilities that go beyond a shitty ADHD diagnosis from when you were in kindergarten.  They don’t even really want to tell you about depression and anxiety. Because you set your self up for the single fucking narrative you are handed your whole life. Because you think you saved a fucking life when she tells you “you’re the reason I’m not 90 pounds anymore” and when he says “You made me not want to kill myself”. When really it’s an uphill battle everyday and you can’t save anyone through the power of friendship. 

And this is all so fucked up and I watch kids eat it up and I am so so scared.

[these--withered--machines]

"you can’t save anyone through the power of friendship."

[these--withered--machines]

long winter, I’m over it already

[these--withered--machines]

I'm so thankful for this photo album.

[reversereverb-deactivated201709]

I completely lost my sense of humor when I realized offensive things aren’t funny so now I just rely on heavy sarcasm and everyone thinks I’m a dick