My FFS surgeon, Sarah Saxon in Austin, Texas, who is not legally allowed to block patients' phone numbers, blocked my phone number because I had post-surgical complications as a result of her giving me a surgery I didn't even consent to in the first place.
I've already reported her to the Texas state medical board & they basically told me to go fuck myself so the next best thing is to tell as many trans people as possible what she did to me.
If you're a trans person from Texas, avoid her at all costs.
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Me, watching my kitten hold still for a suspiciously long time: Ollie, are you peeing on my floor?
Ollie: Not
Me: Are you sure?
Ollie, grunting through time and space to push out a chocolate mcmuffin wider than he is tall: Not
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the dead don’t always die
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Hey Episode WHAT THE FUCK
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Immensely powerful thrift shop find, google drive to follow
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online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.
and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.
there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.
i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.
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