oooooo white people in my replies really saying ‘I can excuse racism but I draw the line at homophobia’
Not surprised since this is the site that only talks about racism and thinks it’s a big deal when they see it demonstrated in the cartoons and comics they like *coughs* dungeonmeshi *coughs* (for example at least. I haven’t seen THIS many white ppl talk as in depth about racism on here as much as these fandom nerds, man. I stg. Like “Ohhhh, so you all DO acknowledge that racism is real? Just not in real life even if you could feel it slapping you in the face at high speed. Gotcha.” It’s crazy.
Tumblr is like, 90% white and is extremely centered around them. That’s why you barely see stuff that’s important to black and brown people ever trending here or being talked about. It has to be something incredibly huge to the point where even white people can’t ignore it like they usually do, to talk about it here.
They only talked about George Floyd here because the topic of his death became world news. Even people in other countries were talking about it. Before him, it was probably Ferguson and Trayvon Martin… most of them are still trying their best to ignore the genocides because it’s a “touchy subject.” What do you expect from white people who live in their own bubbles of comfort and refuse to pop it with a needle??? They find comfort in their privilege and faux ignorance (they love playing stupid to avoid conversations about important things outside of fandoms like, are these mfs born with half a brain dedicated to fandom or what.) That’s literally all these mfs make a big deal out of, especially on this annoying ass platform. The ao3 mfs will go to war for the site that allows racist ff and cp like it’s no big deal. I wonder how many people here even donated to the site while actively scrolling past dono posts from folks who really do need help. They act like they’re doing a civil service by defending this site that makes over the amount of it’s intended dono goal in minutes.
Then you already know as soon as you even bring up racism in the stuff they like, they start ganging up and harassing black bloggers especially, calling them TERFs and the whole nine. Anything to make that person look bad for being concerned about the racism that they have such an intense aversion to. God, it’s absolutely exhausting knowing that these people would have no problem choosing a cartoon character over your entire existence if they COULD. Isn’t that fucking sad, man?
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“What do I do when I’m angry?” You ask without even asking. You are small, these emotions are new, the people around you teach you about each. Being happy is yellow and you show you are happy with a smile. Being sad is blue and you show you are sad by crying. Being mad is red. “How do I be angry?” They don’t really answer it.
You learn later that being angry is being loud and scary. Being angry is when your parents yell at you for doing something you shouldn’t have. Of course your parents yelling is scary. Being angry is being scary.
But being scary isn’t exactly an action to do. You can yell. Yelling is a good way to be angry. People already tell you are loud a lot though, like when you are excited! What’s another way to be angry.
The animal inside of you responds. Being angry is to be violent. The best way to get rid of the pain of holding the boiling pot of rage is throw it on someone else.
You scratch the girl you were mad at in first grade. You really should have gone to the principals when she told on you. You realize in that moment and dozens before you can’t hurt someone when you are angry. You lie to the teacher and say it was an accident, your nails were long and you didn’t mean it. But you didn’t have to hold that pot. You don’t do that again, being a good girl means you can’t be hurting anyone.
You are holding the boiling pot yet again and it hurts and it hurts and you have to do something. The pressure is mounting with deadlines for projects and extracurricular activities and now you need to do all of that work all over again and you kick a fucking hole in the wall at your middle school.
You know you shouldn’t have done that but nothing chills the pot like guilt sliding down your throat. You already knew by then that the boiling anger can’t go onto objects either. Only special objects can be hit. “You can punch your pillow if you are mad.” Your parents say. You can’t punch your fucking pillow when you are at SCHOOL. You can’t punch your pillow on the bus you cant you can’t.
So you learn to hold the boiling metal. You scream about it next time it begins to boil. Everyone looks at you and goes silent. Your friends tell you they were scared you’d hurt them.
you can’t do that. You can’t do that.
You go silent as the anger seeps through you. That’s weird. Why aren’t you talking. You talk. You sound angry, why are you angry. You leave the room. You can’t do that, we are busy right now, you can’t leave without permission.
You are trapped there. You have enough brain power left as the rage seeps into your skin to realize you are the only one who is angry in the situation you are in. Because you are angry at things you did and didn’t do. Because you have to be a good girl. That’s who you are. You set expectations for yourself and for others and you can’t even get yourself to meet all of them, how could you ever get someone else to. The kettle whistles louder and louder as the kids around you in class get off topic as the teacher runs to grab something. This is a discussion you want to scream. We have a topic to talk about you want to beg. You are sitting criss cross applesauce on the fucking floor with a hot iron pressed to your chest and you can not leave. You can not fix it.
So what did you learn to do? The anger has to go somewhere. It doesn’t sit in you well. You know you should be able to handle the searing metal but you can’t. It has to go somewhere. It can’t go on others, they’ll hurt. It can’t go on objects. They’ll break. It can’t go in the air it can’t be pushed into the ground it can’t leave the room all the time.
You pour the boiling hot anger onto yourself. It’s the only place for it to go? Isn’t it. It doesn’t solve the fact the water is still boiling. Now more is burned, but your hands don’t have to hold it. The sound of your fist hitting your own head provides some relief. The rattle in your brain after you slam it against something can distract you from the rage. You can punish yourself for the fact that no one else seems to have this problem that you do.
You know you picked the wrong way to pour out the water. it’s too loud. Too noticeable. You get in trouble for doing it. People get angry at you. Concerned for you. Scared of you. You look one of your best friends in the eyes and you want to punch them for something they said. You don’t remember what it was at this point you just remember you thought you should punch her.
But that was the first thing you learned wasn’t it? You can’t hit someone. You look her dead in the eyes and punch yourself with the force you wanted to hit her with.
You get in trouble with your parents for doing it, grabbed by the arm to stop you from giving yourself a concussion in a parking lot as you sobbed over not knowing what item you wanted at the craft store.
they still haven’t answered what you should do instead.
You still don’t have a better answer. You become an adult, far past the point of learning that anger is red and you still don’t know what to do about it.
you learn to be quieter about it though. You try counting how many times you wanted to do it in a day. The people around you ask you to stop the ominous counting at the things you used to get mad about. You stop doing it on the second day. You try not to think about how you didn’t hit yourself at all yesterday, despite the rage. You start doing it again.
You learn that biting isn’t quite as good as hitting but it’s quiet and clean and easily hideable as you twist your hands to hide the teeth marks.
You stop being as angry when you leave high school. It turns out not being locked into rooms with the things that make you angry, helps a lot.
and yet.
One day you realize your sibling got to go to therapy for their anger issues. They went to therapy for it because they didn’t learn. They kept hitting and breaking and yelling. They got cards to give their teachers to take a walk when their pot started boiling. The reason you didn’t is because you learned. The reason you didn’t is because you hit yourself instead of others.
At that realization, the pot starts to simmer once more.
this time you cry.
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