chrislampy

[chrislampy]

A friend of mine was on a road trip and took this picture. Just thought I'd do some fast work to loosen up my stress. Been neglecting this account for too long, will try to liven it up more.

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The drive down south with mom. She was so enchanted with the whole morning mists that if I was even a minute late for the journey, I'd have to suffer her severe looks for making her miss them.

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She'd conveniently appeared out of nowhere and now made her home at our porch.

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Trying out a locally handmade set of watercolours. Not sure if I like it much. The pigments are really good, but the finishing feels rough and sandy. Thought it'll be about the same quality as the Vangogh paints, but it's different. We'll, if I don't try it, I won't know it.

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Photo ref found online. Some practise work here.

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Completed this drawing for a client. Not posting it anywhere else except here. Seriously need more references/materials.

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Moots Psychlo X

by BespokeCycling

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Fixie Illustrations by Thorsten Hasenkamm

(vía Fixie Illustrations by Thorsten Hasenkamm | Inspiration Grid | Design Inspiration)

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Sri Langit Hotel. One of those budget hotels I stayed in :) #lights #interior #budgethotel

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Picture with the Huawei P9 with Dual Leica Lens .

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it’s not about that i know how to do laundry. it’s that when i was four i knew how to fold clothes; small hands working alongside my mother, while my older brother sat and played with his toys. it’s that i know what kind of detergent works but my father guesses. it’s that in my freshman year of college i had a line of boys who needed me to show them how to use the machine. it’s that the first door they knocked on belonged to me. it’s that they expected me to know.

it’s not that i know how to cook. it’s that the biggest christmas present i got was a little plastic kitchenette i never used except to climb on. it’s that my brother used it more, his hands ghosting over pink buttons and yellow dials. it’s that when my work needs cake for a birthday, they turn to me. i get it from costco. i don’t even like cooking. a boy burns popcorn in the dorm microwave and laughs. a week later, i do the same thing, and he snorts at me, “just crossed you off my wife list.” it’s that i had heard something like this so many times before that i laughed, too.

it’s not that i don’t love being feminine. it’s that i came home with bruises from trying to be a trick rider on my bike and heard the word “tomboy,” felt my little mouth say, “but i’m not a boy, i’m a girl”. it’s that they laughed. it’s that until i was sitting in my pretty dress and smiling with a big pretty smile and blinking my big pretty eyes, i wasn’t given back the title “girl”. it’s that until i wore makeup and styled my hair i was bullied; it’s that when i don’t wear makeup i’m a slob, that my mental health diagnosis hangs on the hook of being dressed up. it’s that my therapist sees me returning to bright red lipstick and tells me i am looking happier and i have to explain that i am more sad than i have ever been. it’s that i dress myself in as many layers as i can every time i ride a train because it’s better to be laughed at than harassed. 

it’s not that i know how to clean, it’s that my brother’s chores were outside where i wanted to be, and mine were inside. it’s that i would have weeded the garden better than he did if they had just let me. it’s that i am put in charge of fixing other’s messes, expected to comply without complaint.

it’s not that i can’t open the jar. it’s that you ask my brother first every time. it’s that i am pushed into docile positions, trained to believe that my body when it’s strong and healthy is ugly, trained into being less, weaker. it’s that the jar is also science, is also engineering, is also every job, every opportunity. it’s that you laugh faster when he tells a joke, that you take him seriously but wave off me, that when he raises his voice he’s assertive but when i do i’m hysterical. the jar is getting into a car with a stranger as a driver and wondering if this is our last ride. the jar is knowing that if something happens to us, it’s our fault. 

it’s that i’m weak and i don’t know if it’s because i just am or i was trained to be. it’s that we need to sit pretty with our pretty smiles and our pretty words trapped pretty and silent in our throats, our hands restless but pretty when idle, our bodies vessels for nothing but a future white dress. it’s that we are taught someone else needs to open the jar for us.

here’s the secret: run metal lids under hot water, they’ll expand faster than the glass they’re around. here’s the secret: when you keep us under hot water, we do more than boil. we expand over our edges. and we learn how to open our mouths, our claws, our screams hanging in kites over cities. just give me a chance. give me a chance when i am four when i am seven when i am twenty-three. i promise i can be amazing. give me the jar. i’ll show you something.

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The Nimbus series by Berndnaut Smilde

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People will tell you that emotional abuse isn’t real and what you’re dealing with isn’t that big a deal and you’re just exaggerating, but let me tell you something.

If you’ve ever been wary of everyone you know, even people you trust, because you’re expecting them to get angry with you over literally anything, make fun of you, or start making threats, something’s wrong.

If you’ve ever had to plan things in anticipation of a potential tantrum that you fear will be taken out on you, something’s wrong.

If you succumb to someone’s demands because you’re never sure if their threats are empty or legit and you just want to play it on the safe side, something’s wrong.

If you find yourself jumping at smaller noises in anticipation that they’re a warning sign for a tantrum, something’s wrong.

If you hide things - especially things that make you happy - because you’re so afraid that they’ll make fun of you for liking them, scold you for liking something they don’t, take them away, destroy them, or that they’ll defile them and ruin that love you have for them, something’s wrong.

If you find yourself being silent in the face of mild disagreements or thinly-veiled insults, rather than standing up for yourself because you just don’t want to start an argument and make things worse, something’s wrong.

If that very lack of standing up for yourself eventually leads to you never offering your opinion in any sort of discussion out of fear of ridicule or being scolded because that’s what you’re so used to, something’s wrong.

If you end up spending a lot of your time in your room keeping to yourself and keeping any trip outside of your room to an absolute minimum because you don’t want to risk putting one toe out of line and setting off a tantrum, yet you’re also aware that hiding out will also cause an issue and you’re probably just minimizing the risk instead of erasing it entirely, something’s wrong.

If you ever habitually glance outside the window to keep watch for your supposed abuser’s car to return from their work, errand or trip, and then heading to your room or other hiding place to keep out of their way, erasing any obvious signs that you’ve been out and about in the rest of your living space, something’s wrong.

If one of your greatest fantasies involves not a dream career or winning the lottery but instead an escape plan succeeding, something’s wrong.

If you could basically summarize your life as living in constant, subtle fear, Something. Is. Wrong.

Emotional abuse is very, very real, and it has lasting consequences that can affect people’s relationships, their jobs, and their lives all-around.

Don’t you dare tell me it isn’t real.

[chrislampy]

(I’m writing this at 2am, so please forgive me if I’m not coherent.)

A few months ago, I wrote up a post on emotional abuse. It was partially prompted by my frustration with the fact that people don’t seem to take that topic as seriously as they should, and also as a way to remind myself that what I went through was valid so that I wouldn’t fall victim to abuse so easily again. Short version: My mother was emotionally abusive to me, and part of that involved gaslighting, some of it very blatant. I’m talking straight-up-lying-to-my-face-even-though-I-knew-the-truth(and-sometimes-had-PROOF) blatant. A few years ago and I finally was able to stand up for myself. Sadly, this wasn’t met very well, and things only got worse. My mother began piling on more and more guilt tripping, along with a few other bizarre things like sending the police to my front door for “a simple wellness check” and signing me up for a grocery delivery service. Every so often, I’d doubt whether or not I was truly abused or if I was just being overly sensitive or selfish, and my sister didn’t believe that it was really abuse. And so, with my frustration and uncertainty, that post happened.

Right after I wrote the post, I was messaged by one of my mutuals over skype about it, whom said that it struck a chord with them. I later wrote a follow-up post to that rant. One day, the post about emotional abuse exploded in notes, and it hasn’t stopped since. Reading over some people’s comments and tags, I was stunned by how many people it resonated with.

The post has well over ten thousand notes now, with the follow-up approaching two thousand.

I’m happy that I’ve been able to reach so many people and teach them through this. However, it also upsets me that so many people have to endure this abuse in the first place. Emotional abuse can have lasting effects, and if one isn’t aware of the warning signs, it can be very easy to get dragged right back into it.

I’ve gotten a couple of messages and questions about this topic. Please note that, while I did suffer from it for a long time, I am not an expert on emotional abuse (or at least, I don’t consider myself one), nor am I a psychologist. I can speak from my own experience and offer my own opinions and advice, but please don’t take that as the best possible answer. I’m also not very comfortable delving into this subject beyond making general posts. It’s not because I don’t care, it’s simply because the subject is a bit heavy for me.

One question, though, I’ll go ahead and answer here: Emotional abuse can come from anyone. Your friends, your classmates, your coworkers, your roommates, your family, your extended family. You know how absence of physicality doesn’t mean it isn’t abuse? Well, Someone doesn’t have to be your significant other or a family member for it to be abuse. Along those lines, emotional abuse can happen TO anyone. Abuse is still abuse no matter where it’s coming from or who’s being targeted.

And I’d like to reiterate: emotional abuse. Is. Damaging. It can damage your trust in people, even people who aren’t abusive to you. It can make you doubt yourself in ways that might not otherwise make sense. It could affect your ability to find a job, or your performance in your current one. Worst of all, it’s easy to get sucked back into an abusive situation after you’ve escaped…and if that happens, any recovery you’ve made can get really screwed up.

Again, I’m very sad to see that so many people have to suffer through such an awful thing, but I’m glad I’ve been able to help so many people learn about it, even if it was just from tumblr post I made that I hardly expected to get spread around so widely.