On Depression

CN: depression, self-harm, trite BS regarding both

In the wake of the news of Robin Williams’ death, I’ve seen such an outpouring of trite guff on Twitter. ‘Reach out’ ‘You ARE loved’ etc etc, all clearly from people who don’t know what it’s like to wake up and not know if your own head, your thoughts, are going to let you get through the day relatively easily.

So, my mental siblings, this is what I want to say. You’re not alone. There are MILLIONS of us in this same boat. We all have so much pressure, external and internal, to pretend that we’re okay. You know how good we all are at hiding because you do it every damned day, too. You’re ill and you have every reason to be. Don’t listen to anyone, ever, who says “What have you got to be depressed about.” It’s not a measure of your career or love life or the amount of fancy things you own. If you have the energy, throatpunch those people. If not, just imagine doing so. Do whatever you need to do to get through one more day. Make a cup of tea. Knit. Play video games. Write it all down. Watch mindless TV. Paint your nails. If you use self-harm to cope, then do that, but please be safe. Only you know how you are feeling in any given moment, and only you know what will make you feel less bad. It’s okay to tell people you’re fine, but think about saying to someone you trust that you’re not, if you have someone. The anonimity of talking to a stranger can be so much easier than to someone who has a lot invested in you being ‘normal’ and okay.

It can get better. You just need to hang on one more day and give it a chance.

TW: sexual aggression, male entitlement

An unpleasant memory has just bubbled up. About 10 years ago, in the immediate aftermath of finally breaking up with EvilEx, I was out with friends. I’d drunkenly kissed some of the guys in the group - it meant nothing. I was also very well trained, at that point, to believe that that was all I had to offer. That said, I was beginning to learn that I could say ‘no’ and it actually meant something to the person hearing it.

On this night, I decided to go home. One of the guys (a friend of a friend’s brother) offered to see me to the taxi rank. Either there were no taxis, or he somehow persuaded me to call for one from his flat, which was fairly nearby. No, he offered to walk me up the road, but he insisted on stopping at his place to get something or do something. I just wanted to go home, but agreed. Once he had me in his room, he was all over me. I do recall that he was very awkward about it. To his obvious frustration, I wasn’t even a little bit interested. When he eventually accepted that I wasn’t so much as rolling up my sleeve for him, he allowed me to call a taxi. I insisted on waiting outside for it. He didn’t offer to wait with me, and his parting words were something along ‘missing out on the best night of my life’.

It’s horrible to realise that a person in your acquaintance can view you as simply a hole to fuck. That’s all I was; he somehow thought that because I kissed anyone and everyone (it was a passing phase because it was so nice to kiss people I wasn’t ever afraid of; it wore off eventually) I would therefore be an easy lay. The idea that I didn’t want to have sex with him hadn’t even occurred to him.

And it was clearly just sex he wanted; if he actually thought of me as a complete human being, he would have respected the fact that I just wanted to go home. Alone. And had said that to him.

Is it a bit sad that I view this as a lucky escape?

Pretty foil #nails, got a Caité set last week.

Pretty foil #nails, got a Caité set last week.

Why rape jokes are uniquely bad.

fuckyeahfeminists:

Must read.

afternoonsnoozebutton:

Apologies in advance for the really serious post, but I think I’ve actually made my point pretty well in the text below and it’d mean a lot to me if you’d read it. Trigger warning for rape and sexual violence. 

I want to prove two things

  1. Rape is a unique crime not comparable to being robbed or murdered. 
  2. The unique nature of rape makes rape jokes especially heinous. 

This post is a sort-of response to a question I got this morning.  

Rape is a unique crime. 

Rape is not like murder or being robbed, rape is a type of torture - an exceptionally malicious act that has, at its core, no purpose except to inflict exceptional pain on you. It’s an act where the perpetrator not only wants to hurt you in a uniquely personal way, but enjoys the violation. Rape is so much more than just the act of sex - it destroys your bodily and sexual autonomy.

To rape is not merely to deny someone’s will, but to deny them their very personhood. The humiliation and shame experienced by rape victims is completely unique; they experience complete subjugation and the intimate loss of control of their own bodies.

A few weeks ago, I was mugged at gunpoint on North Carolina Ave. in Southeast DC. Now, if I’m ever back there, I’ll be much more apprehensive of my safety than I would’ve been before. This is pretty common - when you experience a violation, the area of the violation no longer feels safe. With rape, the area of violation is your own body. 

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25,045 notes

victorianaaa:

steegeschnoeber:

oneandonlygabriel:

I really, REALLY wish you could read this article about a father who started wearing skirts because his son likes to wear skirts and dresses and he wants his son to feel strongerLike, holy shit, the end made me feel so happy 

I took the liberty to translate the text.
Please note that it’s not a word to word translation.

Sometimes men simply have to be role models.
Because his son likes to wear skirts Nils Pickert started with it as well. After all, the little one needs a role model. And he thinks long skirts with elastic bands suit him quite well anyways. A story about two misfits in the Province of southern Germany.
My fife year old son likes to wear dresses. In Berlin Kreuzberg that alone would be enough to get into conversation with other parents. Is it wise or ridiculous? „Neither one nor the other!“ I still want to shout back at them. But sadly they can’t hear me any more. Because by now I live in a small town in South Germany. Not even a hundred thousand inhabitants, very traditional, very religious. Plainly motherland. Here the partiality of my son are not only a subject for parents, they are a town wide issue. And I did my bit for that to happen.
Yes, I’m one of those dads, that try to raise their children equal. I’m not one of those academic daddies that ramble about gender equality during their studies and then, as soon as a child’s in the house, still relapse into those fluffy gender roles: He’s finding fulfilment in his carrier and she’s doing the rest.
Thus I am, I know that by now, part of the minority that makes a fool of themselves from time to time. Out of conviction.
In my case that’s because I didn’t want to talk my son into not wearing dresses and skirts. He didn’t make friends in doing that in Berlin already and after a lot of contemplation I had only one option left: To broaden my shoulders for my little buddy and dress in a skirt myself. After all you can’t expect a child at pre-school age to have the same ability to assert themselves as an adult. Completely without role model. And so I became that role model.
We already had skirt and dress days back then during mild Kreuzbergian weather. And I think long skirts with elastic bands suit me quite well anyways. Dresses are a bit more difficult. There was either no reaction of the people in Berlin or it was positive. In my small town in the south of Germany that’s a little bit different.
Being all stressed out, because of the moving I forgot to notify the nursery-school teachers to have an eye on my boy not being laughed at because of his fondness of dresses and skirts. Shortly after moving he didn’t dare to go to nursery-school wearing a skirt or a dress any more. And looking at me with big eyes he asked: “Daddy, when are you going to wear a skirt again?”
To this very day I’m thankful for that women, that stared at us on the street until she ran face first into a street light. My son was roaring with laugher. And the next day he fished out a dress from the depth of his wardrobe. At first only for the weekend. Later also for nursery-school.
And what’s the little guy doing by now? He’s painting his fingernails. He thinks it looks pretty on my nails, too. He’s simply smiling, when other boys ( and it’s nearly always boys) want to make fun of him and says: “You only don’t dare to wear skirts and dresses because your dads don’t dare to either.” That’s how broad his own shoulders have become by now. And all thanks to daddy in a skirt.

I hope it’s alright like this.

That’s sweet. My babe has almost completely stopped wearing skirts and dresses and has gone from always picking out pink toys to picking out blue toys. It’s strange for me to see his shift because of a handful of comments, mostly from other kids (adults usually direct their comments at me), while he is fully supported in choosing what he wants from me, and for the most part from his dad, too.

victorianaaa:

steegeschnoeber:

oneandonlygabriel:

I really, REALLY wish you could read this article about a father who started wearing skirts because his son likes to wear skirts and dresses and he wants his son to feel stronger
Like, holy shit, the end made me feel so happy 

I took the liberty to translate the text.

Please note that it’s not a word to word translation.

Sometimes men simply have to be role models.

Because his son likes to wear skirts Nils Pickert started with it as well. After all, the little one needs a role model. And he thinks long skirts with elastic bands suit him quite well anyways. A story about two misfits in the Province of southern Germany.

My fife year old son likes to wear dresses. In Berlin Kreuzberg that alone would be enough to get into conversation with other parents. Is it wise or ridiculous? „Neither one nor the other!“ I still want to shout back at them. But sadly they can’t hear me any more. Because by now I live in a small town in South Germany. Not even a hundred thousand inhabitants, very traditional, very religious. Plainly motherland. Here the partiality of my son are not only a subject for parents, they are a town wide issue. And I did my bit for that to happen.

Yes, I’m one of those dads, that try to raise their children equal. I’m not one of those academic daddies that ramble about gender equality during their studies and then, as soon as a child’s in the house, still relapse into those fluffy gender roles: He’s finding fulfilment in his carrier and she’s doing the rest.

Thus I am, I know that by now, part of the minority that makes a fool of themselves from time to time. Out of conviction.

In my case that’s because I didn’t want to talk my son into not wearing dresses and skirts. He didn’t make friends in doing that in Berlin already and after a lot of contemplation I had only one option left: To broaden my shoulders for my little buddy and dress in a skirt myself. After all you can’t expect a child at pre-school age to have the same ability to assert themselves as an adult. Completely without role model. And so I became that role model.

We already had skirt and dress days back then during mild Kreuzbergian weather. And I think long skirts with elastic bands suit me quite well anyways. Dresses are a bit more difficult. There was either no reaction of the people in Berlin or it was positive. In my small town in the south of Germany that’s a little bit different.

Being all stressed out, because of the moving I forgot to notify the nursery-school teachers to have an eye on my boy not being laughed at because of his fondness of dresses and skirts. Shortly after moving he didn’t dare to go to nursery-school wearing a skirt or a dress any more. And looking at me with big eyes he asked: “Daddy, when are you going to wear a skirt again?”

To this very day I’m thankful for that women, that stared at us on the street until she ran face first into a street light. My son was roaring with laugher. And the next day he fished out a dress from the depth of his wardrobe. At first only for the weekend. Later also for nursery-school.

And what’s the little guy doing by now? He’s painting his fingernails. He thinks it looks pretty on my nails, too. He’s simply smiling, when other boys ( and it’s nearly always boys) want to make fun of him and says: “You only don’t dare to wear skirts and dresses because your dads don’t dare to either.” That’s how broad his own shoulders have become by now. And all thanks to daddy in a skirt.

I hope it’s alright like this.

That’s sweet. My babe has almost completely stopped wearing skirts and dresses and has gone from always picking out pink toys to picking out blue toys. It’s strange for me to see his shift because of a handful of comments, mostly from other kids (adults usually direct their comments at me), while he is fully supported in choosing what he wants from me, and for the most part from his dad, too.

78,287 notes

thetendergravityofkindness:

josiahd:

ceepolk:

thatdeafchick:

thetendergravityofkindness:

I love this pic so much. But I hate the quote, so much. My “bad attitude” comes from the fact that so many of my disabled kin are either homeless or locked up in nursing homes. It comes from the long history of eugenics [that’s still continuing today]. It comes from the fact that disability justice gets pushed so far back that many, many activists haven’t even heard/come across the term “ableism,” let alone understand it as a systemic oppression. Shit like this makes disabled people responsible for inaccessibility and ableism—while it romanticizes it. ::hisses:: Why can’t this simply be a pic of a child running with her friend/mentor? Why does everything having to do with our lives have to be repackaged and consumed for the purpose of inspiration?Our lives aren’t owned by Hallmark, y’all.

also you get abled bodied people going, “such and such disabled person did this! whats your excuse?”
what the fuck is that supposed to mean? everyone’s amazing is different. obviously people like Oscar Pistorius are born athletes. thats HIS skills. it doesnt make him some sort of poster child to make all other people who have NOT accomplished some great feats feel bad about themselves and to have their accomplishments diminished by highlighting his disability as “WOW he did that even though he is disabled! whats your excuse for not being better??”
disabled people are not here to be your inspiration. 
i will repeat. disabled people are not here to be your inspiration.

Thank you. And that child is cute, I remember having a dress like that when I was little.

And you know what else?
This *could* be a picture of something like “why disabled kids need disabled adults”, or “Awesome, she’s not being taught to pretend she’s not disabled and look normal at all costs”, or any number of other genuinely good things going on in that picture.
But instead people make it mean *the exact opposite* of what it’s a picture of.

Reblogging for josiahd’s commentary. Super good point.

thetendergravityofkindness:

josiahd:

ceepolk:

thatdeafchick:

thetendergravityofkindness:

I love this pic so much. But I hate the quote, so much. My “bad attitude” comes from the fact that so many of my disabled kin are either homeless or locked up in nursing homes. It comes from the long history of eugenics [that’s still continuing today]. It comes from the fact that disability justice gets pushed so far back that many, many activists haven’t even heard/come across the term “ableism,” let alone understand it as a systemic oppression. 

Shit like this makes disabled people responsible for inaccessibility and ableism—while it romanticizes it. ::hisses:: Why can’t this simply be a pic of a child running with her friend/mentor? Why does everything having to do with our lives have to be repackaged and consumed for the purpose of inspiration?

Our lives aren’t owned by Hallmark, y’all.

also you get abled bodied people going, “such and such disabled person did this! whats your excuse?”

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? everyone’s amazing is different. obviously people like Oscar Pistorius are born athletes. thats HIS skills. it doesnt make him some sort of poster child to make all other people who have NOT accomplished some great feats feel bad about themselves and to have their accomplishments diminished by highlighting his disability as “WOW he did that even though he is disabled! whats your excuse for not being better??”

disabled people are not here to be your inspiration. 

i will repeat. disabled people are not here to be your inspiration.

Thank you. And that child is cute, I remember having a dress like that when I was little.

And you know what else?

This *could* be a picture of something like “why disabled kids need disabled adults”, or “Awesome, she’s not being taught to pretend she’s not disabled and look normal at all costs”, or any number of other genuinely good things going on in that picture.

But instead people make it mean *the exact opposite* of what it’s a picture of.

Reblogging for josiahd’s commentary. Super good point.

(Source: chronicallyqueer)

260 notes

moniquill:

goldenheartedrose:

dopethoughtswhilehigh:

grow up humanity. they’re just sounds

Hahahahahahaahahahaha.

But you’re wrong, though.

No no no no no, I need to break this shit down though.

Ok, let’s talk about what words are.

Words are the most powerful piece of technology that…

(Source: yerpgod)

1,526 notes