#the assumption that all negative things must be about me is a mental health issue I've been working on for a long time

[vmures]

Think I may jave figured out why some of the complaints about Teen Wolf fandom members being dumb bug me so much. It's hard to tell if people are basing their criticisms of others fandom opinions on people's meta posts or their fandom creations.

Add in that certain defense squad people absolutely use fandom creations to argue that the creator is any number of things and I tend to assume that other's are basing their takes on fanworks, which don't accurately reflect a creators opinions on the show itself.

I use canon as inspiration but I don't stick to it in fan works. That's not why I'm in fandom. I like fanworks because they let me explore all the what it's and play with the characters the same way I used to play with my toys. They are storytelling vehicles.

I focus on the characters that draw me in the most and tend to write limited third person point of view. This means that a lot of times the characters opinions are what is shown. Those opinions do not necessarily reflect my own.

There are characters who just rub me the wrong way and that does show in my work, as well. Though I try to keep it nuanced and not just outright bash. I do frequently play with canon and I like playing with the complexities. So I might soften a harsh character or explore changes would have resulted from that chatacter having different circumstances. Sometimes the are out-of-character to the canon version. None of that means that I don't understand canon.

Outside of showing which characters I prefer and which I find annoying or frustrating, my fic doesn't necessarily reflect any of my thoughts on the show.

I don't tend to offer my meta takes very often because I don't like getting dragged into discourse or told I don't belong just because I have a different take from someone else. I stay away from fandom tags for similar reasons. But sometimes it crosses my dash and some of those times it feels like a kick in the gut and leaves me wondering if a mutual thinks that that negatively about me.

Now that I've realized the issue causing me to feel that way, it will be easy to try remind myself these are not the defense squad posts and that more than likely they are basing their frustrations on meta takes and not fan creations and thus is not about me.

[avonne-writes]

Hi! I want to start by saying that I love your writing, it's well-planned and easy to follow, but captivating and detailed at the same time, and I've spent so much time rereading your works that it's honestly embarassing, but I can't help myself, because each time I find some other detail to focus on, which makes it all worthwhile.

But I wanted to ask about your HS AU - specifically about the other canon characters from MOTA. I remember you mentioned that they (Brady, Benny, Curt, and all the others) don't know the severity of Gale's home situation, only that he spends a lot of time at Bucky's. But they surely had to notice something? Especially after the events of "Broken Things"? Maybe they didn't know about the situation in details, but if the boys (or just Gale) missed school in that period of 10 days between "Broken Things" and "Silence", they must have asked questions? They must have sent messages to both of them? Maybe Gale and John tried to cover it with an illness or a roadtrip or something, but there must have been times, after he came back to school, when he didn't feel quite like himself, and when Bucky was visibly distraught when Gale wasn't near or when he was more quiet than usual, etc. Sorry for rambling, I'm just very curious, in general, if they ever suspected something, or how Gale and John handled that at school, with their closest friends?

For satisfying my curiosity, thanks in advance <3

Hi dear, thank you for the ask! ❤️ Nothing makes me happier than to hear that you guys are enjoying my stories. These were great questions!

Gradually, their friends became more aware of Gale's family issues as Gale's mental health started to deteriorate before Broken Things. They put two and two together and filled the gaps - sometimes incorrectly - with their own assumptions.

When Gale cracks, there's no hiding it, but Gale and Bucky try not to share how bad it got.

Bucky goes back to school on day 2 after it happens but Gale is absent for a few more days. Their friends can already tell from Bucky’s agitated, sleep-deprived, unusually quiet behaviour that something is very wrong. To their questions, he just says that Gale is away because of family issues.

Some of the boys message Gale, but Gale brushes them off. He pretends it's a much less serious issue than it actually is.

When Gale comes back to school, their friends are ready to move on and carry on as usual, but they can tell that Gale is not okay. He goes through all the motions but his and Bucky's interactions give it away, because they're not as playful as usual. Constant worried looks from Bucky, half-embraces that look more protective than possessive, quiet affection instead of over the top flirting.

The boys are all texting each other separately to discuss what's going on. Bucky told one of them that Gale moved in with him, Gale told someone else that he just didn't want to feel anything anymore.

It's Curt who eventually takes the plunge, texts Gale and finds a way to stir the conversation to what happened, and then he doesn’t let up. He tells Gale that they're his friends and worry about him.

This is all through text, which is lucky for Curt because that's why Gale is eventually able to open up a bit. He says that he considered taking his life and that's why he needed things to change. He still paints a less severe picture than reality, but it's better than nothing. He gives Curt permission to tell the others but also says he doesn’t want to talk about it.

The issues John and Gale struggle with for the rest of Year 12 affect their friend group negatively. With some other things (like new girlfriends, university plans etc.) also pulling them away, it becomes less tight-knit than it used to be, and they don't hang out as often as in the past. Their paths diverge, and it's mostly just Bucky-Curt and Bucky-Brady who stay in touch regularly after high school.

[bryte-eyed-athena]

A New Earthseed Community

I used to imagine what life would be like in a dystopian society where everything has collapsed or is on the verge of collapse. This Earthseed community project has given me the opportunity to actually put some serious thought into how a community might survive in a world that has gone off the rails. However, I am going into this making a few assumptions. First, the world I am envisioning my community living in is very similar to the one depicted in Parable of the Sower. I was considering writing journal entries like Lauren did, but then I thought that was too much like fanfiction. Instead I am going to simply respond to the questions. Second, this is an established community that has already done the hard work of gathering trusted people, escaping to a safe area, and building the community. I’m trying to think about how to make this community survive, as well as thrive, long term after it has already been established. Third, the community has decided to give their settlement a name so I will refer to them as “The Dandelion Community”. Hopefully trying to envision this ideal community can help me with thinking of solutions to solve our real world problems.

Explain two real-life issues that make it necessary to create your Earthseed community. What are you seeking shelter from?

Climate change is wreaking havoc all over the world as it exacerbates natural disasters and displaces millions of people. In California the climate will get hotter and wildfires will cause more damage. Climate change also disproportionately impacts low income people of color who do not have a refuge to escape to once the environment becomes hostile. These are the groups of people that are going to be impacted the most negatively and they are the ones who require shelter and protection.

Police brutality has impacted communities of color and immigrant communities the harshest due to the influence of systemic racism and capitalism. It has created a culture of fear and violence which harms us physically, mentally, and spiritually. It is a system that must be entirely abolished in order for all marginalized people to feel safe. If it cannot be abolished then we must seek refuge in areas where the police don’t exist and have no power.

Quote two Earthseed verses from Parable of the Sower and show how you will apply them to your community. You may be creative in your interpretation.

“All successful life is Adaptable, Opportunistic, Tenacious, Interconnected, and Fecund. Understand this. Use it. Shape God.”

The Dandelion community understands that there will be numerous challenges for them to face if they want to survive. But life is not just about survival it is also about being able to live well. This verse will inspire the community to see their existence as more than just a fight for survival. It will motivate them to seek success defined in these terms. They will internalize this message and learn to be adaptable to new challenges. They will either seek opportunities or turn their dire circumstances into one. They will tenaciously fight for themselves and for their fellow members. They will feel connected with the community and other people they meet on the outside. They will also try to make sure that all their endeavors are fertile in order to produce more good to balance all the bad in the world. With this verse in their hearts they will be able to Shape God.

“Embrace diversity. Unite— Or be divided, robbed, ruled, killed By those who see you as prey. Embrace diversity Or be destroyed.”

Out of all of the Earthseed verses, this is the one that defines the human story. Centuries of conflict and horror could have been avoided if we sought to embrace diversity and unite with our fellow man. Instead, this planet has been divided and conquered over and over. The Dandelion community will refuse to be divided, robbed, ruled, or killed by any one. Their strength will be in unity and the bonds they form with each other will heal them internally. The diversity of body ability, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, faith and so on will give the community a unique advantage to respond to change. The diversity of opinion and experience would be a useful tool and not seen as a hindrance.

Explain where you will create your Earthseed community to be safe.

Safety comes from being in a defendable area surrounded by people with the skills and tools to survive. The Channel Islands National Park is a chain of four islands off the coast of Santa Barbara. It is too far away to swim to and there is enough land to support a large community if they are spread across all the islands. The Dandelion can reserve certain areas for small villages that contain homes, libraries, and facilities to create goods. The rest of the land can be used for farming sustainably as well as a training/play area for children. Once the community is able to build boats they can start to fish farther out into the ocean to provide more variety in their diets. These islands would be easy to defend since they are isolated and far away from the coast. Swimmers wouldn’t be able to get there and the community could devise ways to sabotage the waters so boats wouldn't be able to get through. The islands are also large enough that a stable and thriving community could be built there so people can live peacefully.

Who can join your community and why? Who can’t join? Why not?

Anyone can join as long as they are willing to learn skills and be ready to contribute. They are expected to be understanding of others and respectful of diversity. They also must dedicate themselves to protecting all members of the community from external threats. It is also important that they understand that joining a community means truly becoming an engaged member of the community. This means that they make the effort to be a part of people’s lives and make positive contributions no matter how small. They must want peace and understand that it takes hard work to create the conditions for peace and love to flourish.

What will your leadership model be for your community?

The Dandelion community is very mutual aid based so it is important that every member has a voice and opportunity to exercise power. There will not be a single leader since teamwork and communication are valued highly here. Instead there will be a group of around ten people who gather and discuss the problems of the community no matter how big or small. The community will also gather in weekly town halls to address any grievances or solutions they have directly to the group of leaders. During that meeting they will try to create solutions that take into account the needs and wants of the community. After a month this group of ten people will be replaced with a different set of ten people. Anyone can volunteer to be a member of the group and it's basically first come first serve. Eventually as the group rotated members monthly every person in the community who wanted to be a leader would have been a leader at least once. This way the burden of leadership is shared equally across the community. This also means that no one person can hold total power and become a tyrant. It also means that there will always be someone in charge and someone the group can defer to in order to make a final decision.

Create a future technology (one on the horizon, not something like teleportation or time travel) to help improve life at your Earthseed community.

A water filtration device will be necessary to support the community. It would be non polluting and powered by solar energy. Once water is filtered from the ocean the community members can all go and get as much as they need. There will not be a plumbing system so people will have clay jugs to transport their clean water.

A series of solar powered radios set all around the island chain will help make communication easier and faster. If an urgent warning needs to be sent out people will be able to hear it on their radio. It will also make internal communication easier so people could just ask for things without having to travel.

Long range portable telescopes will help the defenders of the island see any oncoming threats. They will also be a good educational tool for the children when they want to see the stars.

Most importantly would be a submarine that can be used to travel to the mainland safely. The island won't be able to provide for every need and there will be times where trash needs to be disposed of. A submarine with a renewable energy source would be a good way to travel and maybe explore other places that could be safe as well.

Explain/show how your Earthseed community will SURVIVE.

The Dandelion community will survive by using knowledge collected in books and by forging strong community bonds that will encourage mental health. Books on indegenous and sustainable farming practices will help the community create a replenishable food source that feeds everyone. If there are surpluses, scouts could travel to the mainland and give it away. Books about fishing and the ocean would help the community fish safely and prevent overfishing. Books on natural medicine and surviving in wilderness environments can help the community treat and prevent illnesses as well as be attentive to their surroundings. Other books on math and literature and technology can help with basic education and entertainment which will help the community feed their minds and souls. All of this knowledge will help the community become self reliant and understand the world better which will help them Shape God.

Explain/show what TWO steps your Earthseed community will make to build a better future, i.e. education, housing, conservation, farming, etc.

The Dandelion community recognizes the importance of education and that learning can happen at any point in life. All members of the community will be educated equally and on the same topics. They will learn the basics like reading, writing, and math. They will also learn survival skills, how to cook and clean, how to swim, and how to use tools and weapons. They will also learn how to be sustainable and not harm the environment. As they grow older and develop their own interest they can divert into different fields. Some may wish to become teachers, potters, weavers, fishers, farmers, writers, etc. New members that come from the mainland will also be educated in the same way and if they have certain skills then they will be asked to contribute their knowledge as well. Innovation and creativity are encouraged, but above all the survival of the whole must be put first.

Hopefully the environment of peace and love will encourage the community to want to share their resources with others. One of the reasons Lauren’s original community fell was because outsiders thought that they were rich. In reality, that wasn’t the case, but Lauren’s family was still better off than most. If the Dandelion community found a way to share their resources and beliefs with those on the mainland they would be able to create more stable communities. The best defense against criminality and violence would be to remove the factors that cause it, in this case poverty. By sharing their technology and knowledge the Dandelion community would be able to lift people out of poverty and create stable communities across the coast line. Once those communities are stable enough they would also be able to create stability even further inland. This will ensure the longevity and survival of the Dandelion community.

[coldcolourchords]

Turning 21 - an unwanted landmark

It happened an hour and 20 minutes ago, as the clock hit midnight CEST and the date changed so seamlessly to the 12th, without any hesitation, uneventfully and in complete silence, just as expected. The day I've been negatively anticipating for the better half of the past one year has come, and it caught me sitting at my computer alone in the living room, drinking hot tea on a summer night in a sweater and doing my silly little tasks that I call "work" (because despite my best efforts, middle of the night is still the only time of the day I can function as intended).

I remember ever since I was a child I always used to start mentally preparing myself for my birthday from New Year's Day. Even my mother used to say, "now that it's 2010, you're already 10 to me", even though August was still nowhere to be seen. But that felt good at the time. The beginning of a new year and my birthday approaching meant hope and progress, as the only thing I wanted as a child and as a teen was to grow up and not have to be a child anymore. I didn't like going to school, I didn't like being told to do things, I didn't like not being taken seriously, as I'm sure no one does. But by "didn't like", I mean it caused me severe emotional distress, the stuff that happened to me every single day without my control. It's hard to tell now in retrospect what caused what, but I have memories of developing my two most prominent and persistent mental disorders at around 6 years old (social anxiety and a BFRB) which have isolated me and often subjected me to cooler kids poking fun at me, shortly followed by starting school in the middle of my parent's divorce and moving houses. One of our last dinners in my father's comforting family home at the dinner table, I remember being visibly sad and my mum asking me what was wrong. My slightly belated answer ("everything") did not quite get the desired reception, as she and my little brother went on to have a little giggle over making assumptions about what that must include ("I'm sure she's sad over dinosaurs going extinct too..."). And, from then on, it's pretty much been downhill. I didn't like being home and I didn't like being at school (or at any of the million extracurricular activities my mum had picked out for me falsely thinking they could stop me from hurting myself and not just accelerate it). The ever-present social anxiety, bottled up frustration, high academic expectations and confusion about the nature of my very own self-destructive behaviours did not make for an enjoyable time in any of my 12 years at school. So, obviously, all I could do was anticipate the end. The end of being vulnerable to the very systems that were meant to nurture me and protect me.

I think that was my way of thinking all the way until I turned 19. Two years ago. At 19, I had graduated high school, I was about to start university studying something I was interested in, I had a semi-stable student job I liked and I was ready to move in with my boyfriend (a former classmate), separate from our parents. I had an artistic goal that I was ready to work for in my free time, and living away from home I was finally going to get the capacity to do so as well. And then when all of this happened and my thoughts became occupied with the new kind of responsibilities that came with "adulting", I started getting this overwhelming feeling of "what now?". A couple months have passed in the blink of an eye, it was November and I wasn't happy. I was making virtually no progress on my creative goals, my flat was a smelly mess, I didn't see my friends and I wasn't making new ones, and I found university to be draining and incompatible with my brain. I wasn't enjoying anything. I thought, "is this how I'm going to have to spend another 3 years?".

And then a miracle happened. I had to give a presentation at uni with a couple of other girls, and one of them suggested a book to do it based on. Reading my part of the book to prepare for the presentation has unlocked something in me - it was a book about the way people manage to feel like hostages due to their own decisions and thoughts. First it hurt to read because I had to face the truth: I wasn't really a hostage of expectations, university or responsibilities, I was a hostage of myself and my own attitude. I even wrote a song about this (my ultimate way of being honest with myself), and that's when I've felt ready to start working on myself in order to take back control over my life. And hell, I have done it. In a couple of weeks, I was feeling the best I've ever felt and I went into exam season thinking I was capable of the impossible at this point. Who knew I had it in me? I had gotten through a couple of exams and assignments and I was thinking soon I was going to start improving in other areas of my life as well. I was going to make art, see my friends again, go out, have fun, maybe learn to cook and be a better girlfriend too. Not a lot of that has happened. Came the end of exams and the second half of January and I was already exhausted. My job was at a halt and uni wasn't back on until mid February, so I spent a few shallow weeks at home just thinking "why am I doing this again?". It was difficult, suddenly having too much space for negative thoughts and rumination.

But it was only the start of the pandemic when my race with time has really begun. Which is ironic, because when the restrictions were first announced in my country, I really saw a lot of opportunity in them to grow for myself (and I mean this is in the least "this deadly virus is a blessing in disguise" way possible). University moving online and social gatherings being nothing short of illegal all of a sudden felt more than convenient for my social (but very luckily not health) anxiety ridden brain, and I had imagined this was going to be the most prosperous phase in my life, in terms of moving forward with my goals.

Ever since I was little, I had dreamed of becoming a musical artist. No one ever encouraged me - maybe for a good reason - and I tried to keep quiet about it as well. I was so ashamed of desiring something that was so "unlike me" according to everyone who knew me. I never had a good voice and everyone perceived me as shy, on top of being seen as more of a "STEM girl" (until I went to high school for maths and ended up not understanding any of it anymore). I'd been writing lyrics into my phone since 14 and attempting to turn them into actual songs on my laptop since 17. At 18, I even took a beginner's course in Ableton. Still, I just never felt like anything I wrote was of any worth or that I had a single ounce of talent in any part of the process. But I kept on dreaming and pushing because I thought "if I don't try, how will I know?". My work ethic was awful too, I was an inconsistent writer and an even more inconsistent producer. I never got anything finished because I got lost in the details and gave up due to my perfectionism. Plus, and this is what I perceived to be the biggest problem at the time, I could only record music at home, and my family were home all the time. Moving out, I thought I was going to prosper, then I didn't prosper for a bit, told myself it was okay because uni was making me depressed, then I continued to not prosper, told myself it was okay because I had to rest up after exams. And then it's like the universe said "Stop. You're just making excuses. Stay home and produce those songs now because there will NOT be another opportunity like this".

I put so much pressure on myself then to get stuff done. It felt like my time - all my adolescence I was looking at teenage popstars rising to fame and each year they were just getting younger and all I did was compare myself to them and worry. Worry that I was running late, that no one was going to ever care about me because I am late, but growing up I excused it every time. I was home with my family and stressed because of school all the time, duh, how could I have made good art? But right there, at the beginning of "quarantining", it was just me and my willpower. No school, no job, no impromptu social plans. And who knew how long it was going to last? Some people said only four weeks, some others said months, some the rest of the year. All I knew was I was 19, still young and practically a teenager, and I had to act. And I did. I made two of the worst songs you've heard in your life and I put them both out in the summer under my own name. Like proper released them on streaming services and all. Looking back now, holy hell, how desperate was I, posting it on my social media that people I actually knew followed? With my fear of being ridiculed? I was setting myself up for an emotional disaster. Shock horror: my songs didn't blow up (although I have had a few friends say lovely things about them, at least to me). By the time of scheduling the second one for release (mid July) I was already feeling burnt out. Yes, there was another exam season in the meantime, and the unexpectedness of the elongated pandemic has definitely been a factor as well, but generally I was just so let down by the overall underwhelming experience. I made such bad decisions - why my own full name? Why did I have to let people know and thereby handicap myself? Of course I wasn't going to promote my songs now or even speak of them positively because I feared coming off ridiculous. So I just let the whole thing pass without a sound and made myself sad. By last August, I was back to "what now?".

Needless to say, there were no festivals last summer. Festivals used to be my ultimate summer happy place and I always celebrated my birthday at a specific one (the biggest one in my city to be exact) starting with the 15th. Concerts and festivals were somehow simultaneously an adventurous escape from all my worries and the root of a lot of my confidence issues and anxiety. I dreamed of being on stage and presenting my art to the world, pouring my heart out to even just one person who will listen, the same way that I listen to my favourite artists and what they have to say. Some nights were emotional, some nights were energising, some nights were spent worrying about the people who surrounded me and some nights were just pure jealousy and feeling far away from my goals - you never knew what you were going to get at a gig. I think that overall most gigs were bittersweet experiences for me, but that's how I liked them to be. The whole point was just to feel something. But there were no festivals last year. There were concerts, though, put on by local bands, but lord do I wish there hadn't been any. I went to two of those last summer - one I went to alone and walked away feeling like shit, another I went to with my friends and felt extremely guilty and anxious about the virus after. This second one happened to be two days before my 20th birthday. I spent my birthday worried to death that I got the virus (even though numbers were extremely low at the time in my country and going to small gigs was perfectly legal and deemed not dangerous) and that I was going to infect my elderly relatives who I was going to meet with later. That didn't happen, but I haven't been to a single show since then, and it's been a year. So that's how my first non-festival birthday worked out.

Turning 20 didn't feel good and my birthday aligned with the onset of a bunch of new problems as well as old ones accelerated. I began to think deeply about everything. What was the point of anything I was doing? Was any of it going to get me anywhere? Was any of it causing me joy, even? I didn't know what to do about my musical efforts - should I keep trying to put out songs or admit defeat? I still had that creative drive in me and I worried so much about my role in the world - "I'm not a good friend, not a good girlfriend and not a good daughter, and I certainly will never become a good psychologist directly helping people with their problems. I need to give something to the world - I need to find a purpose". I didn't do stuff because I was anxious, and then I was anxious because I didn't do stuff. But I think at that point I also realised I didn't only want to succeed and produce. I also wanted to live. Having fun was missing from my life too. I rarely saw or talked to friends and my relationship wasn't going well either. Every day I tortured myself looking at other people live their lives on social media and thinking to myself I wanted what they had. I wanted to be someone. I wanted to create, to connect and to matter, but all of these things have only ever caused me anxiety in my life and I didn't know where to go from there.

With the virus getting worse again and the start of another online semester, there was one silver lining to locking myself in again though. During the pandemic, I have been playing a lot of video games, possibly even more than before. They weren't only a nice way to numb my brain and relax - no, the opposite, they were actively giving me a temporary sense of direction and progress with each gaming session. I have always loved The Sims for this reason, I had spent so many years building and perfecting my little worlds to my liking and practicing full control over my characters' lives, but this time I began to feel like it was something bigger. I discovered the Sims side of the internet, something I had not really done before, and the amount of content, help, info and Sims-related entertainment has blown me away. Whole new levels of playing have been unlocked for me and I began to dive deeper than ever. I wanted to be part of the community, so in the autumn I started streaming the game on Twitch and this time I knew better than to tell anyone I already knew about it. That didn't quite turn out as I expected, and my streamer phase was cut short in January by someone I knew from high school accidentally finding my stream. Before that, I would only get moderately anxious before streams, not worried much about what viewers were going to think of me (if they find me annoying they'll just leave and I'll never have to hear from them again), but then that unexpected turn of events ruined everything in my head. All my confidence I had built up was suddenly gone. I never streamed again after that. It wasn't really for me anyway, I told myself.

Instead, insistent on further pursuing the only thing that was giving me joy at the time, I started my YouTube channel initially uploading Sims tutorials, because I thought I had useful stuff to show people that has a greater chance of making someone happy than just watching me try to put together a sentence for 5 minutes straight while my Sims struggle to get in the shower by themselves. And much to my surprise, it was gaining decent traction, although I put a lot of it down to luck even today. But either way, it's been growing more or less consistently ever since, and beginning of the summer I stopped to think "could I not just be doing this for a living now?". "Could this be my new creative ambition?". As much as I would have liked to say yes based on my progress and how I managed to earn the same amount I would have earned in a month at my part-time retail job (we're talking Eastern European sums kids!), it wasn't that simple. Thoughts around this have of course been puzzling me for months now. I like to think of myself as a natural talker, just because I am anxious I am NOT quiet or shy. I can even make small talk very well, it's just that because I'm mortified by the possibility of an awkward silence I tend to avoid situations where it might be required. And I talk to myself all the time. So on paper, talking to a camera should not be an issue. And yet every time I record a video I feel my soul being sucked out of my body because I need to make sure I say every sentence correctly and that ends up in draining 4 hour recording sessions. Editing videos, on the other hand, is a rewarding process, a kind of flow-experience I have not really known before, though extremely long and usually detrimental to my sleep schedule (which is far from being rosy by default). Maybe I just put too much effort into everything, but it really makes you question - is it worth it? Can I really be doing this on the long run without destroying myself? And will I ever get used to the social interactions that come with it?

It's weird, suddenly getting recognition for something, people giving me positive feedback on the daily. This certainly happened more suddenly than I thought it would and I don't think I was prepared. Naturally, people taking the effort to leave me nice comments and messages makes me want to reply, appreciate their kindness and return the favour but the trinity of little demons inside me - social anxiety, impostor syndrome and a chronically low self-esteem - makes this a difficult task to complete. To combat the overwhelming weight of responsibility that comes with making sure I appreciate everyone who appreciates me enough, as well as to shut out the fear that what I have now can be taken away from me any second, I have built up a mental wall between me and my relative success. This wasn't a conscious choice, it's just the way my brain has started dealing with this new situation. I do not allow myself to internalise the rewards of what I work so hard for and that contributes to why, when I look back on 2021 so far, all I see is depression despite having "gotten what I wanted". My YouTube channel has been the only thing bringing hope and the only thing I've got going for me and yet I am incapable of embracing it.

The past one year has been enlightening. It has enlightened me that there must be something deeply wrong with me because I have not been able to enjoy life even at times I had all the reasons to. The times I am capable of letting go and feeling happy for short periods come exactly based on that - short periods. I'm drifting into states of bliss only when I know the situation is temporary and doesn't come with commitment and responsibility. Some of these moments of calmness come to me while walking to the store by myself after dark, getting invested in my video games, meeting up with my friends for an evening every once in a while and writing a therapeutic song just for myself using the simplest chords on the piano. The feeling usually doesn't last and disappears at the first attempt to get back to any kind of organised schedule (that attempt on most days is the simple act of trying to force myself to go to bed). Isn't that ironic? I wanted purpose. I wanted to get it together. And yet... every day is a struggle. I know now, I am the problem. Whether it's a chemical imbalance or another anomaly in my brain or my own fault somehow, it's not my circumstances, it's me. I wanted to be free and to make my life my own, and now I just can't. Every day I worry about running out of time, rapidly approaching death and not being able to say that I have lived. This is why turning 21 fills me with so much panic. I am no longer a child and I'll never be again, although I wouldn't even like to be. I just can't help thinking that I wasted so many opportunities to enjoy myself and to push for my goals. But it's gone now and there's no point regretting how I used to think about life back then. If I look back on my life so far I see a lot of stuff that happened that made half of my brain temporarily happy, but the other half was always filled with anxiety, anticipation to get out or dissatisfaction. It was just never fully right and I keep hoping that there will come a time when it will feel fully right. Before turning 19, I thought independence was going to give me that. Now at 21, I'm not quite sure there's anything that's going to give me that if I don't also start to work through every single one of my issues (although part of me still likes to cling onto the idea that once I'm done with my first and last degree, a lot of underlying stress and guilt will be taken off my shoulders and I'll see everything in a different light). So for a start, I just finally signed up for psychological counselling. I don't know if it will help but it's something and I've done it for myself. I need to do more for myself.

There is so much more I could talk about. Like the pandemic, how I've turned into a hermit, my relationship, struggling to be honest with myself and slowly losing touch with my all time number one passion because of it. I could talk about how I know that society has been deliberately making us (especially women) feel scared of aging and yet I still file it under personal issues, how I've been trying to fix my sleep schedule for a year and a half straight now, the guilt I feel from my family and friends all the time, my inability to concentrate and how I fall into despair concerning the future and present of humanity every time I read the news and people's opinions on social media. I could talk about how I want to cry every time I see a picture of somewhere beautiful in the world - a street in Japan, a lake in the Alps or the trees in the Mediterranean - because I feel a longing that is almost nostalgic for places I've never even visited. There is always so much to still be told to complete the story, but why do I want people I'll never fully know to understand me that well? I need to let go of compulsions like these.

Deep down I just hope that I'm not the only one terrified of growing old.

[custoshaeresis]

hi!!! i just saw your post! my favourite fuzzy feel good song at the moment is definitely from now on by vincent blue, my favourite flower is the plumeria! i’d like some insight on my soulmate, what they look and how they’re like. thank you! 🔥🥘

Oooh. I've never heard that one before. Time to jam out while doing your reading. Apologies once again for the extreme delay with this. For full disclosure, these will be more detailed and specific than I normally go and due to this there is a huge chance none of this will land with you at all but take what fits and laugh at the mistakes I make along the way. It's part of the ✨ experience✨.

Your cards for today:

Q♦️ 9♦️ 8♣️ 10♦️ 7♠️ 5♠️ 4♣️ 7♥️ 9♣️ Q♥️

Alright so I'll start right out of the gate with the biggest potential leap that may or may not make this entire thing crumble apart, I'm seeing a women when it comes to your soulmate. If you're not attracted to women this may be a more platonic match than anything potentially. People often make the incorrect assumption that soulmates need only be romantic and may forget that there are many forms of love. A platonic soulmate can be just as fulfilling (perhaps even more so depending on your personal preference) than a romantic one. Romantic or not, this particular woman is leaning towards earth signs (Taurus, Virgo or Capricorn) and has potentially either died or naturally light hair. I don't know why (that cards certainly don't give me a hint with this one) but I have a strange gut feeling saying dyed hair. Bleached specifically. She may naturally have much much darker hair. I'm feeling black or near.

Now, I'm not one for astrology but from what I can gather when it comes to Earth signs they're a more well rooted group. Truthful, stable, loyal almost to a fault. HOWEVER this particular Earth sign enjoys partaking in gossip. Not to the point of it's particularly harmful and never in a negative malicious way that would directly effect people but more she just really enjoys hearing it? She is 100% the type to binge youtube drama videos about the latest scandal. She's got standards though so maybe not trashy tabloid level of gossip and drama. Though, just because she enjoys drama doesn't mean that she's easily fooled or believes everything she hears. In fact, while she does partake, she leaves a lot of room for a healthy and proper dose of skepticism and knows that there's more to all situations than one initially sees. She's willing to listen and to see the other side of all gossip she hears.

But! I'm getting ahead of myself. You probably want to start at the top with how one would go about meeting this soulmate. Now I don't wanna be cliche here but: Travel.

Maybe you'll be on a business trip, maybe SHE'LL be on a business trip, hell maybe you ARE the business trip. There's definitely some change in location involved here and it deals a touch with finances and a sense of restlessness. Perhaps a new job or a yearning for one which makes you travel to explore your potential other avenues. In fact, when a few of your cards are mixed together it paints a picture of some internal struggles at work for one of you. There may be some issues when it comes with jealousy or potential envy in the workplace leading to a hostile environment. It may start out as a few small passive aggressive comments but over time it builds and starts to wear on you or her more and more. This will be severely draining on your mental and physical health and it will lead you to spend more and more time away from your job to simply avoid it.

Or maybe you just wanted to get a hot dog in the next town over and your coworker was really envious of your tater tots I'm over thinking this all.

50/50 shot.

BUT if we WERE to go with the narrative of issues in the workplace, you leaving said problematic work place will not only put you in her path but also in the path for a change in your life for the better, especially when it comes to finances. Just because they paid you like shit doesn't mean that others will. There's always a better job out there and nothing is worth staying for petty internal squabbles. Now, hear me out though, this doesn't mean that your transition will be flawless and your life with her will instantly start and it'll be all sunshine and rainbows. No no no. There will indeed be loss. There will be failures. There will be so many growing pains that come with uprooting yourself from where you once were to where you should be. You'll feel lost and like you should have avoided leaving. That you could have powered through it and you may even start to feel guilt for being so selfish as to leave a "well paying job" to find something better for yourself. Don't. It's not worth the emotional exhaustion to dig yourself a guilt trip induced grave. Just know that if you were to stay things would have gotten worse.

But how does she play in? Well, now that you've gotten your ass out of whatever negative experience you were in you'll find her coming towards you in someway or another but do be careful because she may not be emotionally ready for anything with you. Friendship, romance, casual drinks together. It's all a touch too much for her at the time and though your initial experiences with her may be pleasant she is hiding a much darker and troubled side to her than she'd ever want to let on to those on the outside. It will be rough. She will actively try to push you away but you must remember that if the cards were reversed that she would try her hardest to stay by you. Even if you hardly know each other, you know that there's something there and you should pursue that feeling.

But do beware. Due to her mental state at the time of meeting her she may either intentionally or unintentionally try to harm you by being untruthful and hurtful with her words. Know that she doesn't mean what she says at times and that she needs time to experience what she needs to and develop a way to cope with it via either professional therapy or her own methods. She will get there one day.

The thing that will really be a turning point for you both though will oddly enough be an argument. You two will specifically be arguing about something money related when something will seemingly click for the both of you. It wont be an instant change. It isn't going to be like a bad fanfiction where you launch into each other's arms when this revelation occurs. But something will make you both realize how much you care. Maybe it's something you slip out accidentally in the heat of the moment. Maybe it's just how passionate she gets when she speaks to you. But there's something there that starts to make your heart twist in all the good ways.

While I don't know what awaits you after that, I do see marriage at some point or the emotional equivalent. You two are bonded to each other and close beyond compare. With a friend this would be achieving that ideal BFF status while with a romantic partner you truly gain a dedicated partner.

The only word of warning I have for you is to watch out for a judgemental bitch that may try to stand between you two or who will constantly through negative vibes your way. She's likely widowed or divorced, may be older and seems to be more on the Air side with her signs.

[wonder-cripple]

Hey world, stop telling my disabled ass to go to war with itself!

I’ve been disabled all my life, and I can say with absolute certainty that being raised in a society that frames the very idea of disability as something to “be aware of” so that we can “fight against it” has been seriously detrimental to my mental health and sense of self-worth.

Encouraging millions of people to approach the life circumstances of disabled people within such an incredibly ableist paradigm comes with some very disturbing assumptions made about us and expectations set forth of us, arguably the most common of which stipulates that, in order for us to not only actively participate in and contribute to society, but to – God forbid – be happy doing so, WE must “fight”. WE must “overcome”. In essence, society tells us that we must resist our very nature in order to live truly fulfilling lives, because there is apparently no way on God’s green earth that we are “happy AND disabled”, not “happy DESPITE being disabled”.

And yet, curiously, while screaming this message in our befuddled faces, society simultaneously turns its back on us and exploits us. We’re told to “stop making excuses”, “quit faking” and “try harder” one minute, and used as the centerpiece of cringe worthy “inspirational” sob stories the next, because hey, how are you ever going to feel good about yourself if you don’t know that someone “has it worse than you” but is living life anyway, so what’s your excuse, buddy? Right?

So basically, we’re only allowed to be disabled when it somehow benefits the abled population. And even then, society refuses to take responsibility for disabling us by using person-first language and coming up with apologist-sounding terms like “differently abled”, “physically challenged” and “special needs” to excuse the fact that we wouldn’t HAVE needs that are considered “special”, or that you feel you need to make exceptions for, if this world had been designed with disabled people and their various (and varying) needs in mind.

These terms, as unassuming as they seem, are packed with a plethora of disconcerting implications. They tell me, a full-time wheelchair user who encounters a multitude of accessibility issues on an almost daily basis, that the problem is with me. They tell me that my inability to climb stairs, work with the physical manipulatives required for the psychological assessments that I administer, and toilet myself have nothing to do with the fact that the only stairclimbing wheelchair on the market right now sells at the price of a car, or that I will likely only have access to physical testing kits wherever I end up working unless I specifically request (and the place budgets for) digital ones, or that my cerebellum is nonfunctional. Instead, my difficulty completing these tasks exists because I’m lazy. Because I’m melodramatic. Because I don’t try. Because I make excuses. Because I’m supposed to be a fighter. A warrior, effectively fighting against myself, and I’m not fighting hard enough.

This is why I experience crippling anxiety. This is why I say “I’m sorry” so often, I actually annoy and frustrate people. This is why I’m borderline phobic when it comes to asking for help and often don’t, even when I desperately need it. Because awareness is not acceptance. Because people knowing about my disability has never rendered them cognizant of everything that it means, and willing to see it as anything other than a bad thing. A stain on my life.

For too long, that lack of acceptance extended to me and how I viewed my own disability. I pushed it away at every turn and distanced myself from it as much as was possible given its pervasive impact on my life. I did what society told me to and fought it with everything I had. I pretended it didn’t exist.

So what did that look like?

Well, I pissed myself in class in the fifth grade because I really had to pee and was too embarrassed to ask for help. I was so isolated and angry as a teenager that I basically bitched out everyone and lost all my friends, all because I thought my disability and subsequent lack of proficiency in adaptive skills was somehow my fault, and I hated myself for that. And when the time came to assess possible career paths as I was entering college, I convinced myself that I was going to be either a med student or a pharmacist, because what motor skill deficits? I don’t see any!

Perhaps what I am most ashamed of is that for the longest time, I was adamant that, once I figured out what I wanted to do, I wasn’t going to “box myself in” and work exclusively with disabled people, like everyone was suggesting based on my unique perspective. To be honest, that was a possibility that I was not only reluctant to consider, but actively avoiding in my mind.

It is the idea of acceptance that has changed my perception. The realization that fighting my core self is not only exhausting, but unnecessary, was the most liberating, enlightening eureka moment that someone in my position and with my mindset could have experienced. You wanna talk about a handicap? You wanna talk about disabling? Think about how disabling it is to feel like you MUST deny  your most defining characteristic, and watch your very soul slowly suffocate under the crushing delusion that, in doing so, you will one day reach an impossible ideal. THAT, to me, is even more disabling than a flight of stairs, because it is a notion that has the capacity to negatively impact every single aspect of a person: mental, physical, emotional, spiritual, you name it. It breaks my heart to know that, if I had been guided towards acceptance as a child instead of consistently being encouraged to “push through” my circumstances, I would now be so much healthier in each of these respects.

Given this, I cannot even begin to expound upon how much it bothers me to see parents of disabled children calling their kids “[insert disability here] warriors”. In doing so, these children are expected to essentially come out of the womb battling themselves and wishing that an integral part of their existence would just disappear. As a disabled person and future psychologist, who once hit the rock bottom that I hope to God these kids won’t get to, I feel that I have a responsibility to advocate for acceptance, both personally and professionally, and I will.

Awareness is good. It’s a start. But it’s only half of the equation, and it’s time to move forward.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 7: Reflection

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Seven: Reflection

Note: Thanks for the comments on the last chapter! I had a blast talking with you all, as always! Thanks for sticking around! Sorry I responded as late as I did!

-~-

Snow fell slowly from above, a saving grace and a curse all at once. While it chilled the air and impeded their progress by negatively affecting their body temperature and line of sight, it also served as a means of covering their tracks. That was something that they were grateful for, given their current circumstances, even if it did mean that they were mildly uncomfortable. Still, marching through nearly two feet of snow was a challenge on its own, but doing so in a race against the clock didn’t help.

The only sound that could be heard was that of the snow crunching beneath their feet and their labored breathing as they struggled forward. The occasional branch dropped it’s snow or even broke under their grasp as they tried to push it out of the way in order to pass, but aside from that, there was very little indication that they had ever been there. But after the better part of five straight hours of trudging through snow, they were both less than energetic, and more than ready to take a breather. The question was, did they actually have time?

Morgan suddenly stopped, leaning over and panting, taking deep breaths as she waved V along. He stopped, giving her a curious look as she tried and seemingly failed to catch her breath. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she reached in her pocket and took out a small device before holding it up to her mouth and inhaling deeply. It didn’t take him very long to realize the issue at play here, but it did concern him. Luckily after a few minutes of silence, she straightened back up and exhaled heavily, shivering. The young girl noticed the look on his face and shrugged, unsure of why he was looking at her like that. It wasn’t so much unnerving as it was perplexing to her.

“Probably should have mentioned it, but I have a breathing problem. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be okay. Just needed to use my inhaler.” Morgan said, holding up the small red device as evidence of her point. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain this fact to him, but she did. “It only ever bothers me when I’m up here. I think it might be the cold. It’s a little warmer where I’m from. But I’ll be fine. I think I caught it early.”

V nodded, somewhat relieved to know that his assumption about her condition was correct, and that she at least had a means of combating it. The nearest hospital was nearly fifty miles away from town, and heading back to town to try and find a doctor was a lost cause. Not only would she probably be beyond help by that point, but he was sure that all the doctors were probably indisposed at the moment if they were even still alive. It was an issue to be sure, but one that he was better equipped to deal with now that he knew about it.

As far as misfortunes in his life went, they seemed to be ceaseless and unending. But he was glad to be able to say that issues with his overall health were at least more than manageable. Sure, his energy reserves were what could charitably be called “lacking”, but at least he didn’t have any other underlying health problems. Well, at least, non that he knew about just yet. But he would worry about that later. For now, they needed to get going again. It seemed that they had some kind of lead in this little chase, and it was best that they preserve it. Pepper spray and politely asking their attackers to leave and never come back wasn’t exactly a foolproof insurance plan.

“Do you need to rest a little longer? I think we can spare a few minutes.” V asked quietly as he glanced around the space they currently occupied. He didn’t hear or see anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing in a situation like this. Their very lives were at stake. He’d like to know more about what they were up against if he could.

“Oh, no I’m fine,” Morgan said softly as she tucked the inhaler back into her pocket and wiggled her shoulders, trying to shake off the bitter cold that they found themselves in. “Let’s get going. I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to be. It’ll be getting dark in a few hours, and the woods are the last place that I want to be, curse or no curse. Might get eaten by wolves or something like that. Who knows?”

They started along again, the pair glancing behind them to affirm that they were, in fact, actually going in the correct direction. It was easy to get turned around in these kinds of conditions, and neither of them wanted to waste precious energy walking back towards their untimely deaths. But the words that his young counterpart had spoken had caught his attention. It seemed that she knew much more about why the locals avoided the forest than he did, and he was genuinely curious to know about it. Although he wasn’t one for long conversations, or short ones for that matter, a good story was still a good story. And as long as they kept their voices down, he was willing to entertain the tale if she was willing to share it with him. It might prove to be a much-needed source of entertainment and distraction in such a chilling and uncertain time.

“You said something about a curse. What did you mean by that,” V asked quietly as they carried on. He could see the road just up ahead, which meant that they had not strayed from their path. It would soon be time to cross again.” The locals didn’t share much with me aside from saying that I should never venture into this place. Many of them didn’t really have much to say to me.”

Morgan gave him a curious look, seemingly puzzled by the statement. “They didn’t have much to say to you? Why? What were they doing?  Just ignoring you or something?” She seemed to already know the answer to her question without knowing it, her response hitting the nail right on the head.

V blinked slowly, holding his now cupped hands up to his mouth in order to blow hot air into them. It was a wonder to him that his body still produced warm air at this point. It had to be below freezing outside, or at least near it. Yet another compelling reason to reach the next town over before nightfall. “Yes. That is exactly what they did. But I’m not upset by it. I’ve long since come to expect it from others.”

Now she seemed more confused than ever, her disapproval visible in every aspect of her facial expression. “You expect people to be rude to you for no reason? That’s awful. Why, do they always do that to you?”

The conversation had become more personal by that point than he probably would have liked, but he was still willing to answer it. He wasn’t really interested in elaborating upon it, but still. “I believe it has something to do with my hair color. Or, at least that is an aspect of it. I won’t pretend to know why my very existence seems to be so offensive to some people and, at this point, I don’t really care to.”

An almost sad look crossed her face as she hurried to catch up to him. She’d fallen ever so slightly behind, and had no intention of slowing them both down. Morgan knew that V wasn’t going to leave her behind, and she didn’t want her inability to keep up with his stride to be the reason they got left behind. “People are stupid. You dye your hair a fun color, and suddenly they just lose their-”

It’s actually naturally this color. Always has been from what I understand. Or, at least that’s what the orphanage I grew up in…” He trailed off then, instantly regretting the fact that he’d mentioned that. It was a painful topic, and he liked to keep it buried deep. Simply mentioning it then had brought up brief flashes of things that he’d wished his entire life up until then that he could forget, and he took a moment to mentally chastise himself for not simply shutting up about it. It was best that he not confront those demons. It did nothing but hurt him, and the last thing he needed in a situation like this was to suffer further. Becoming upset tended to lead to other unsavory side effects, and he had no interest or reason to want to cause himself further anxiety. Although his calm demeanor might imply that he was cool and collected, he was barely hiding the fact that he was scared out of his mind. The freezing temperature wasn’t the only reason that he was shivering and shaking.

Morgan blinked, her eyes going slightly wide. “Wow, really? I think that’s pretty cool. But then again, I’m fifteen, so I’m not allowed to know what’s cool. At least that’s what my mom says.” She shook her head still just behind him as she hurried along. “I’m sorry about you being an orphan and all that. Seems pretty rough. At least I have my mom.”

V was more than willing to agree with that statement. Being an orphan had indeed been “pretty rough”, especially when you were an orphan that even the orphanage had no interest in. The amount of disinterest, avoidance, and outright neglect that he’d been shown as a child made him question what an actual happy family must function like. And he’d never received a chance to find out, either. V could count the number of times on one hand that he’d actually been allowed to interact with a couple or individual that was looking to adopt. Something about the possibility of him chasing away adoptees due to being “abnormal.”

Yes, that wasn’t at all psychologically damaging to a young child. And no, the entire experience hadn’t emotionally stunted him as a result. But then again, that could simply be a heavy dose of denial. Whatever it took to get through the day. He told himself that they were simply singling him out, but there was a sad, deeply hurt part of him that couldn’t help but wonder if they were right. Somewhere out there, at least at one point, he’d had a set of biological parents, and he’d still ended up where he had at a very young age. There was always the possibility that something unfortunate had befallen them, but there was also the equally likely possible outcome that they had simply agreed with the same sentiments that the orphanage had shared and had decided to dispose of him before someone else noticed that he didn’t fit in with the rest of polite society.

He paused for a moment, realizing only then that he’d been lost in his painful thoughts and hadn’t responded to Morgan. She was watching him quietly, a concerned yet sympathetic look on his face that he knew he was responsible for. His discontent with himself grew slightly. It was not becoming of an adult to offload their damage onto a minor. He needed to do better. One would think that after a lifetime of burying his pain and insecurities deeper and deeper that he’d be better at hiding them when the need arised. “Sorry. Forgive me. And thank you, but I don’t need your sympathy.”

Morgan was more or less adept at telling when someone was hurt, and she was silently horrified by the overwhelmingly melancholy demeanor that he possessed. She hadn’t really noticed it until then, but it was there, no doubt about it. Her new companion was suffering a great deal from something she couldn’t even begin to guess at, and she wished she could help, but that would have to wait until they got out of this mess. Still, it was something she found extremely sad. He seemed like a good person from what she could tell. Good people shouldn’t have to suffer. Maybe a light dose of humor could help break the barrier that he was forming around himself?

“Eh, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. And sorry that I can’t keep up with your long gazelle legs. I’m not that tall, ya know?” She kept a straight face as she spoke, but she couldn’t help but nearly laugh. On the inside, she was quaking from what she knew was probably a really stupid joke, but she couldn’t help herself. Humor was her only coping mechanism when she was down in the dumps, and as such, it was all she had to fall back on during situations like this.

V glanced over at her for a moment, a soft, brief smirk spreading across the right side of his face before dissipating. The comment had been so juvenile, but the lighthearted nature of it was somehow compelling to him. He was aware of the fact that he was very tall. There was no escaping it. He’d always been that way, even as a child. But he’d never heard someone put it that way, and it honestly sort of cracked him up a little. He genuinely appreciated the gesture, and was impressed by her level of emotional maturity for one so young. It had gone a long way towards reassuring him that everything might actually turn out okay in the end. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Don’t worry about it, man. Were good. We just have to get out of here.” She brushed a fallen dusting of snow off of her coat, clearly displeased by the coating of white powder that had nearly hit her square in the face. “But we can’t be, what, more than like five miles away at this point?”

He nodded. “I’d say about six. It’s hard to triangulate without a map, but cutting directly across the center of a winding road has saved us a substantial amount of time and walking.” He sighed, relieved to find that his plan had worked for the most part. He was far from the hiking sort, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever enter another forest for the rest of his life after this. “They say that the quickest way forward is straight, and it has proven correct in this circumstance.”

Morgan cleared her throat as quietly as she could as they approached the edge of the road, the both of them looking around for any signs of company. From what she understood, this was the last stretch of their journey. If the trees were taller, she could only imagine that she’d be able to see smoke from the chimneys of the nearby city. It was much larger and more populous than the small town they’d just come from. Surely the worst hadn’t come to pass there, too. And if it had, then she was going to find the nearest car, hotwire it or something, and they were going to get the hell out of there. She’d had enough walking to last a lifetime.

He went across the road first, slowly crossing and looking around as he stayed as low to the ground as he could. There was no sight of anyone, but he still couldn’t shake the anxiety that threatened to boil over every time that he dared come out in the open. He felt exposed and helpless like a prey animal caught in the sights of an apex predator. It was a strange sensation, and he hoped to never feel it again after this little misadventure that they found themselves in.

Once he’d found his way to the other side of the road, V had gestured for Morgan to follow him as quickly and as quietly as she could. She did so, her eyes never leaving him as she practically leaped across the road and into the gulch below. They then both bolted into the woods, the tall, dark trees welcoming them like old friends. Despite the situation that they found themselves in, there was some measure of comfort and solace that they found amongst the trees. It was like a security blanket or a night light in a dark room when you thought a monster was under your bed as a child. Only this monster was real, and it was probably after them.

“... You said before that you wanted to hear about the curse, right? I totally forgot,” Morgan said after nearly a half-hour of genuinely unbearable silence. The mid-day sun was beginning to fall, and a strange sense of unease grew within her. As far as she was concerned, it was only a story. But then again, there was a measure of truth to every story, wasn’t there? “If it’s real, then we’re pretty lucky that it hasn’t come after us yet, right? I’ve heard that it’s pretty nasty stuff.”

V glanced over at her, an unreadable look on his face. “Let’s not say as much, then. We have enough bad fortune to contend with. Why chance it?”

Morgan shrugged, still somewhat detached from the reality of the situation she found herself in. It was the only way that she could keep it together for the time being. “I guess that raises a good question, doesn’t it? Are we lucky or unlucky, V? Because we made it out alive, but stuff like this shouldn’t happen in the first place, right? What a pain.”

“A conundrum for sure. Our perception of luck is subjective, and has a lot to do with our outlook on life. Someone more positive than me might say were luck, but I…” He drifted off again, catching sight of something just ahead. It looked like light smoke from a chimney, but he couldn’t be sure from this distance. They would find out soon enough, though since it was directly in their path. “I can’t say just yet. We need to get to safety first. Were not out of the woods just yet. In any manner of speaking.”

She shook her head and followed along, wrapping her arms around herself. He made a good point. Morgan could only hope she’d be this wise one day. With a playful jab in the side, she walked forward, her eyes trained on the same distant object that his had been only moments ago. “Oh my god, never tell a joke again, V. You really suck.”

-~-

Hey everyone! Thanks for checking out this week’s chapters! I wonder what that object in the distance is going to turn out to be… Tune in next week for what will be the beginning of the end to this little snow arch. I hope it’s been an insightful and interesting look into V’s past so far. LOL DMC5 wasn’t his first nightmare, it seems. “After the Nightmare” is more like it!

[bothsandneithers]

Day 3327

I need to hurry up and write this, because I am forgetting how miserable I was. This is not part of an effort to ensure that I don't repeat this process over again (perhaps as some may be tempted to do after childbirth). Instead, this exercise is consistent with my tendency to ask my friends to describe the most uncomfortable and unfortunate parts of their vacations. Who wants to hear a story that could more succinctly be conveyed within the narrow pages of a travel brochure? To adapt this question to the present situation: Who wants to hear a series of events that could be more adequately summarized by a few pages in a student handbook?

I’m sure that someone could have a field day by drawing parallels between giving birth to a child and writing a dissertation. While this is not my story to tell, I have described my experience by drawing upon the image of a mother who harnesses supernatural strength to lift a car off of her child. The listener is then immediately confused, and I then have to clarify that, in this metaphor, I am both the mother and the child, and that the dangerous, debilitating, threat of the car, is my dissertation.

It may be more effective if I am more direct: I want everyone to know that I (as the small child) was quite miserable, and I (as the mother) accomplished something that I thought was more than I could handle.

I imagine that if a car did end up on a small child, then the entire situation would invoke so much stress on the mother that she may not ever be able to recount exactly what happened during those subsequent moments. In a different way, of course, and for reasons I am still trying to understand, I too remember very little from the summer and early fall leading up to my defense.

In the place of memories, I find myself relying on artifacts to represent months and events that I cannot recall. One such set of artifacts are the six or so issues of The Atlantic magazine that have been set aside into a small pile; each one received a small verbal promise that I would open the pages after my defense. Now, as I review the covers, I imagine that they may never be read. Below are some of the stress-inducing cover stories of these abandoned issues:

How to destroy a government: The president is winning his war on American institutions.

How QAnon is warping reality and discrediting science.

The election that could break American.

How did it come to this? Why the virus won.

In the early days of lockdown, when the virus was beginning to take hold of its victory, I read this explanation for why most of us are not thriving right now: In order to flourish, one must be able to play several different human roles over the course of the day -- something that is arguably impossible when we rarely leave our dwellings.1

After reading this explanation, I starting clinging to the argument that the overwhelming reason why completing my dissertation had become so difficult was because of an absence of variability in my human roles. Even though none of my other typically played human roles were terribly interesting (commuter, friend, peer, coffee shop customer, gym patron), each one offered me respite from the singular human role that I was stuck with: The neurotic graduate student.

The neurotic graduate student human role was difficult to be around, because she was always worried about so many things: that her arguments weren't good enough, that there were errors in her code, that she should be able to understand certain concepts that were still evading her, that more time-intensive analyses were still required, and that overturning new stones would reveal that previous analyses or assumptions were wrong or incomplete. More simply, the neurotic graduate student human role was always worried that she was not good enough.

This persona can be debilitating, and I found that the act of writing a dissertation included a lot of time not actually writing, but rather, a substantial amount of time was devoted to sitting in paralyzing anxiety, not able to do anything.

Even though many of the weeks leading up to my due date were a blur, I do recall choosing this time to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Perhaps I did this because misery loves company. I decided to view this odd movie choice in a particular odd format, whereby I watched the movie in 15 minute intervals, across several nights, as if savoring a segmented Toblerone.

I watched the first few segments in stoic sympathy with the characters, but I eventually found myself amused when Jack Nicholson realizes that almost all the residents are “voluntary”:

You can go home any time you want? You're bullshittin' me. He's bullshittin' me right? Cheswick, you're voluntary? Scanlon? Billy, for chrissakes you must be committed, right? I mean, you're just a young kid, what're you doin' here? … I mean, you guys do nothing but complain about how you can't stand it in this place here and then you haven't got the guts just to walk out?

I remember smiling for a few moments at this scene; it was a gentle reminder that I invited this stress into my life, and that I could, indeed, bring it all to an end if I really wanted to. The smile was fleeting, and felt similar to when you are crying, and your friend says something that is true and funny to try and make you feel better, and you laugh and it feels really good but it also reminds you of how bad you feel, and how far away you are from feeling like yourself.

Yet again, someone else might have a field day drawing parallels between today’s academic environment and a fictional mental institution from the 1970s. I can't do this, in part because, aside from that one scene, I don’t actually remember what happens in the movie.

I did, however, voluntarily lock myself in a hotel room to write, because the suffocating familiarity of my home was preventing me from generating any new sentences. A sticker had been placed between the room's door and its frame, denoting that the room had been thoroughly cleaned. Surely this was only intended to be a symbolic seal to provide some peace of mind that it was safe and acceptable to be outside of one's house.

Once inside the room (that seemed no cleaner than in the absence of a pandemic), I did not immediately initalize my plan to write incessantly. Instead, I desultorily found myself on a support group on reddit that was dedicated to "PhD stress." Feeling compelled to write anything that was not my dissertation, I made a post targeted at those who were also writing their dissertations during a pandemic:

What you are doing right now is really, really hard.

Under "normal" conditions, you would be facing a sheer amount of uncertainty with your work (e.g., not knowing how analyses will turn out, not knowing what your advisor will think of your progress, etc). Under these new conditions, you are dealing with the uncertainty of the state of the world (pandemic), the government (upcoming election -- if in the US), as well as your dissertation! These are absurd conditions, whereby any one of these things would undoubtedly have negative impacts on your well being.

For many, you went from having an entire support group of peers, to sitting in your bedroom, day in and day out, trying to come up with novel ideas and effective ways to communicate these ideas.

As such, I urge you to take care of yourself. I urge you to give yourself permission to ignore unwanted criticism that, while in other circumstances you may work hard to address. Now, in this current context, just don't. Give yourself permission to stop perpetuating the idea that your work and your psyche should not be impacted by the fact that nothing is the same right now.

Defend your ideas, yes. And do good work (-- nah, do good enough work). But know that you are defending your work under surreal circumstances. Account for this when you wake up tomorrow, move four feet from your bed to your desk, and try to do the same thing over again.

Overnight, this became the most popular post in the subreddit’s history. Admittedly, there aren’t a lot of members in this particular community (it should also be noted that this post was recently surpassed in popularity by a post entitled, “PhD has destroyed my mental health”). Still, several users responded with something along the lines of, “Thank you. I needed to hear this.”

I needed to hear those words too -- that is one reason why I wrote them. But I was also desperate to play another human role; one who ambiguously could have already made it to the other side of the dissertation defense, and was able to offer encouragement to those close to the finish line.

Soon after my hotel stay, where I eventually did find motivation to write, I was set to defend my dissertation. This was met with the opportunity to transform into another human role: someone who was nearing the end of her graduate student career, and had no choice but believe that her work was good enough.

The dissertation defense took place via video conferencing. I sat at my desk in my make-shift office in my bedroom.

Five kind and smart professors asked me kind questions that made me feel smart.

And that was it.

After the defense, the stress began to fade away. I recalled the wise words that my therapist once said, “It’s remarkable how, after the defense, people just won’t need anything from you anymore.” I made edits to my dissertation and submitted my final version. I dismantled my “home office” and replaced it with a reading chair and a plant. A new issue of The Atlantic arrived in the mail, and now with time, cognitive space, and optimism that this issue would not be as depressing as the others, I started to read.

I opened to an article about a historian who predicts that the United States is about to experience a terrible decade. He blames this on the overproduction of elites. ("There are still only 100 Senate seats, but more people than ever have enough money or degrees to think they should be running the country.") These elites find alternative ways to disrupt the status quo to influence people; the elite overproduction "creates counter-elites, and counter-elites look for allies among the commoners.”2

Although the article was compelling, it did not feel like appropriate material, as one does not work tirelessly through graduate school to then be compared to Steve Bannon.

I continued to the next article which was about young adults (or old children) who post things to a social media platform I’ve never used (TikTok). Not only do they create short videos that are viewed by millions of viewers, but there is an entire industry of these individuals, and they curate their content together in the mansions that they cohabitate (I am yet to grasp the monetization of this endeavor).3

I settled into my chair. Finding myself enjoying my new human role as a casual observer to an unknown world, I thought: What an absolutely absurd life pursuit.

xx,

Amy, PhD

https://nplusonemag.com/issue-37/the-intellectual-situation/epilogue-for-a-way-of-life/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/can-history-predict-future/616993/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/charli-damelio-tiktok-teens/616929/ ↩︎

[theselfcaresocialworker]

Intro P2

I wish I could tell you that I have always been good at self-care, have always managed symptoms of burnout gracefully and have been fine in a general sense. To say that would be lying and would further perpetuate the myth that therapists have their shit together. The journey that got me to where I am started way way back, but just for shits and giggles let’s go back to summer 2020.

It was June 2020 (which isn’t that far from when I wrote this in August 2020 and edited it in September). This was in the “middle” of the COVID-19 pandemic, I had been working from home for 3 months. I was in the most healthy and happy relationship of my life. I had a few awesome close friends. I was making good money, had time off (that I seldom took). I was in therapy and had worked through a fair bit of my own trauma. I had hobbies. I had a career I was objectively good at. I was knowledgeable, well read, and had good experience. All before I turned 30. I was also depressed, anxious, often triggered, down on myself, exhausted, passively suicidal, physically unwell… I dreaded doing anything related to my job. Worst of all, and I hate to say this, I didn’t care about my clients… I honestly couldn’t care anymore. The fucks to give were all gone, the proverbial well had dried out months ago. I felt helpless and hopeless about clients, about humanity. But... I was a strong social worker, and I just kept going, day to day, doing everything over and over and over. And over...

One day I had a client crying on the phone all I could think was, “Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You’re sad, I get it. Join the club, life sucks. Just shut up and do something about it.” I paused, disgusted, scared and frustrated with myself, “What the hell is wrong with me?! That’s not how I am supposed to think about this! I am not that person; I am supposed to care! Why don’t I care?!” Since I was in the middle of the session, I had to contain that all and pull my shit together and finish the appointment. Once it was done and I hung up the phone, I stared into space and tried to process what was happening to me. It felt like I started to wake up to what was happening to me; I started to see that I was beginning to make mistakes and only just catching them before it turned into a big deal. I wasn’t offering my best services. I was on autopilot.

I did what any good social worker does, I talked to my clinical supervisor. I told them bluntly and with vulnerability, what was happening and how I felt. I was very honest and open, hoping for some validation, some empathy, care. What I got was a “lecture” about what I already knew. They regurgitated everything I had already read and researched, but not even in an educated way or with any thoroughness. It was almost offensive how poorly it was delivered.  

Anyways. There I was feeling all the things, not getting much, if any, help with them. Knowing that I had to do something, I worked on why I must have been feeling that way, how it had happened, what had gotten me to that point. I read articles and books, talked to my colleagues and friends. I knew in theory how to work on my symptoms, and what to do. I still have this treatment plan in my head (like I said, I am writing this awfully close to when this all happened, so I am not indeed out of the proverbial woods just yet). I just couldn’t do it. No one had ever taught me how to do the internal work I would need to do as a therapist, no one had told me what to expect internally. I realized I had gone into this work, eyes closed tight and here I was seeing the reality of this work, what it had done to me, and what I had done to myself several years in. I started clearly seeing the wear and tear it has had on my psyche, my emotions, on me as a person.

Let’s take a few steps back. To be clear. How I got to this point was not completely the fault of “the field”. Like I alluded to earlier, I have my own baggage and trauma which has heavily influenced what makes me, me. This has also played a big role in WHY I chose this work.

The following section is from a personal journal entry in December 2019.

It has always been my job to help others. Even as a young child I was a natural at making myself small, having fewer needs, being independent in order to be less of a burden. I learned that in order to earn my keep, be worthy of anything, I needed to do something for someone. What came naturally as a deeply sensitive person was helping, listening, and feeling for others. I got so good at it that I made a career out of it.

I learned so many basic counseling and social work skills within the first ten years of life that when I finally got into graduate school I was made in the shade. I was a natural, it came easily. I think the assumption is that when a grown adult goes into a graduate program, they have a more or less well-rounded, healthy set of skills upon which to build. I didn’t have that, this was a huge issue moving forward. I knew how to handle living with this set of skills on a small scale, with friends and family. NOT as a professional. The problem was that I was not well balanced or well-rounded as a person and I was so good at “social working” that I just jumped in eager to help, to fill a purpose. I didn’t have a whole other set of skills that are needed in the field like setting boundaries, self-advocacy, self-care, etc. that are expected when you are an adult.

What happened was that I jumped into this disaster of human misery thinking that I was made in the shade, I have been doing this my whole life, but had no protective gear. It’s a whole different ball game to provide mental health care full time for 8 or more hours a day; it's nothing like being the friend everyone talks to. You are in a fucking ecological disaster. Some people have protective gear, they have the boundaries, they can advocate for themselves, they have a healthy sense of self or whatever. But there I was without boots, a jacket, or whatever else you might fucking need in a god damn disaster zone. Of course I got infections in the cuts one will inevitably get, of course I was coming home covered in goop and never really being able to get it all out from my hair and under my fingernails. I never learned otherwise, and no one prepared me.

I started realizing going to and graduating from school was like I had researched and learned about everything I could about some sort of ecological, environmental disaster (think BP oil spill, Chernobyl, poisonous lakes). I knew about the local and global ecosystem, I learned about the plants, the animals, I learned about why it was a travesty. I was ready to go into the disaster zone to make a difference. However, nowhere in my education did someone adequately impress upon me the absolute necessity for practical tools like waders, gloves, a hat, sunscreen, bug spray; anything to protect me from the very real hazards of the job in the disaster. School gave me shovels, trowels, clippers, hoses, tools to work on the problem, and they probably

assumed I already had a jacket, boots, wader, gloves, and goggles and further assumed that work places provided sunscreen, bug spray, maybe even a hat. Looking back now, at the beginning it’s like I was wearing a tank top, shorts, canvas tennis shoes and maybe a wind breaker, in a fucking poisonous lake.

Other’s told me to take care of myself, make me a priority, saying, “You can’t pour from an empty cup”. But I didn’t see many other people doing it either. I was arrogant, I thought I was strong enough to not need it. Only weak people need gloves and goggles. I thought if I just cared and cared and worked and worked to help, to fix people, the swamp would clear.

 *woosh, pan camera back to Summer 2020* There I was, wounded, sick, malnourished (whatever metaphor you want to put here) and I had to get out. I started to wake up in this seemingly never-ending series of ecological disasters, not caring that people were crying and struggling, and all I could think about was that they just needed to get the fuck over it. I was lost so far in the polluted lake with no real exit strategy. I had not planned for this. I had placed a bet on myself that I could hack it, that I would be fine. The only way was for me to get out—a med evac. I had to *gasp* take a leave of absence.

...

There are so many things that got me to that point. Some are system wide; some are part of the system of where I work. Some are from my own internal workings, negative core beliefs, negative thinking patterns, faulty assumptions. Some of the things existed before I started this work and weirdly make me good at this.

I don’t know how much of me sharing my story of lack of adequate self-care, of what my burn out was/is like helps anyone. I guess I am just hoping it makes it real for someone so that they avoid the mistakes I made. I guess it comes down to me wanting to go back and fix myself; if I can prevent what happened to me in someone else, then it feels like I heal myself. This is fundamentally flawed and part of why I have such bad burn out. Also, I don’t want to be one of those people that says, “Don’t do what I did” or worse, “Do as I say not as I do” so I avoided saying anything. But this is also part of my burn out—being afraid to say anything, being afraid of my own voice, denying that I even have one at all, not believing that I have anything valuable to say at all. I also know, a lot of what I have to say is said by countless other people in what may be more eloquent ways. But I come back to the point…I have a voice, maybe someone would benefit from hearing it.

This is as much for myself as it is for other people. I want to live a life I am proud of, one that I don’t need a vacation from, one where I am genuine, authentic and real; so I am learning to use my voice even when it feels awkward. I am learning to use my voice to stand up for myself and others even when what I think and feel is invalidated by people in power.

...

I know that what I am about to talk about is something you already know, and I know you will say to yourself, “Yeah, I know. I will.” And you might think, “That won’t be a problem for me.” But it will. Maybe you will be able to do some self-reflection about it quickly afterwards, hopefully before the full throws of burn out grab you, you make a change.

I wish I had known early on that you absolutely cannot care for others in a healthy, sustainable way if you do not take care of yourself first, if you do not have clearly defined internal and external boundaries that you regularly enforce and that are supported by those around you. I know you know this. We tell others this all the time. But us therapists/counselors/social workers have a nasty habit (not everyone, but I have yet to encounter a mental health provider that doesn’t or hasn’t struggled with this at some point…I have a lot of thoughts about this to discuss later) of giving sound advice and suggestions and somehow thinking we don’t have to follow it. It's classic, it really is.

We all experience stress, exposure to the everyday hazards of this work differently. My experience will not be yours. All I know is that what I have been through is unremarkably common, and yet, I feel like it is not shared as widely and as thoroughly as I believe it should. Ignoring not only the issue of burnout, but the lack of adequate education about it and self-care, we put ourselves, our clients, and the field in jeopardy. It is irresponsible, reckless, arrogant and short sighted.

As far as an answer to “Now what Sara? What are we supposed to do?” I have no real satisfying, thoughtful, profound answer. What I do now is this:

Journal entry from December 2019

The funny thing is that when things get bad, I know there isn’t anything anyone can say or do to make it any better. There isn’t always anything you can do or say to yourself that makes it better. Sometimes, all that can be done is to sit through it however you can despite how excruciating it can be. Sometimes, just knowing you aren’t alone and that someone has been there or knowing that someone somewhere cares even just a little makes all the difference.

If I can be that person, that voice for someone somewhere, I will have done my job. I know what it is like to be there, in the trenches of your mind with thoughts like bombs and feelings like mustard gas trying to kill you. It’s exhausting and excruciating fighting with and within yourself every day. I suppose in war, part of what might make things more tolerable is having your comrades, your platoon mates or whatever, there fighting with you; knowing you aren’t in that hell alone. Dealing with mental illness, trauma, oppression, with life, is no less of a significant widespread battle. How awful is it that we all feel incredibly alone even when everyone is fighting the same or similar battle?” We are all fighting something, and hearing someone say, “Hey! Yeah, me too! How do you fight off the suicidal thoughts at work??” can make all the difference.

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

Regarding Vulcans and autism

Since why the hell not make it a series with recognizable titles that will make it easy to look up and create links for if I ever make enough of them for it to be worth it. Disclaimer: it might be hard to understand what I’m getting at without reading the other posts since this isn’t supposed to be, like, a comprehensive analysis on how one is like the other.

Thing is, as an Aspie woman, I can see perfectly well how Vulcans expressing nothing but neutrality gets twisted in reception and interpreted as smugness/disdain, and autism (or at least Asperger’s, I am sorta more knowledgeable about one than the other) does tend to include self-awareness issues that leads to feelings of superiority and/or inferiority, and with the most recognizably “autistic” (either explicitly or through coding) being the Sheldon Coopers and the BBC Sherlock types, the assumption that anyone like them in some ways will follow in others (heck, might be why pop culture has accepted Holmes as an asshole at all, since he wasn’t that bad in the stories but he WAS smart and eccentric and every once in a while disdaindful of the people whose jobs he did better than them) is not unexpected.

The problem’s not really there because I actually have faith that we could have talked about it and raised awareness of not only this case, but also made people question why seeing a smart(er), seemingly cold but all-around just neutral characters or races made everyone raise their hackles to such a degree, assume that they’re actually mostaken about their skills (literally have seen people go “but what if Vulcans only think they’re some of the best scientists around bc they’re supercilious assholes and it’s just not true”)and wrong about life in general. Don’t get me wrong, I do get the impulse ever since Star Trek (2009), but, well, that’s just the thing, that’s where the problem is. Because we could have talked about it in fandom and be friends about it, but now there are TWO official canon sources that depict the Vulcans as intolerant, xenophobic, racist, ableist hypocrites, and not only is it harder to argue with actual canon telling you that you were right about your worst assumptions, but now you’ve seen them be actually WORSE than you first thougt, and to your faves, and in such a way that none of their positive/redeeming qualities (say, being all of that stuff sorta kinda messes up the whole IDIC thing, but it wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t doing it out out of malice, but out of ignorance and genuine misunderstanding, and if the only members who were shown to be sorta kinda decent weren’t at least partly from a different species (u.s., uh, I mean, us) and/or implied to have been influenced by a different culture) were shown. In fact, those good qualities, such as their pacifism, reverence for life, belief and respect for diversity, their curiosity and constant push for knowledge that probably wouldn’t let them just let a kid fall by the wayside becuase he was dyslexic (“there is no other wisdom, and no hope for us, but that we grow wise”), their deep attachment to their morality that’s even more important to them than to be liked by the other members of the Federation COUGH COUGH AUTISM MUCH COUGH COUGH were the first to be dropped in favour of what’s anathema to all of this, the last one in particular was turned on its head so it wasn’t that they used their logic to arrive to the most compassionate and fair choice, and it had to be logic since emotion would resist a sacrifice in a way logic won’t, making logic the compassionate choice (as they saw it, I don’t think it’s universally true, but also not universaly false), but that they were mich more willing to let people suffer and to look the other way and not be affected at all because, I don’t know, they mistook logic, which is a tool, with efficiency, which is a goal, I’d guess.

They lost the best things about them because freaking J J Abrams decided to make movies about a franchise he didn’t even like and then, even though all of it could have stayed in a parallel universe were, as many have proposed, Vulcans were worse because the Kelvin accident led people to know what Romulans looked like earlier so THEY were worse and everyone was just an asshole to each other, but then Discovery took a leaf out of his book and used his version of Vulcans and even changed old characters to fit this new version better (Sarek doesn’t disagree with Starfleet because of its bellicosity [you can’t even argue that he still disaproves of violence because he spent the worst part of the war following General Cornwell around and idk commiting mind crimes] or because he sees it as a rejection from Spock [since he says he’ll keep his distance because it’s what Spock would want and what the fuck even was that?] and he’s a cold bastard who’d take a child to a completely different culture than the one she’s used to purely for superficial beliefs and even then he’ll still prioritize his more Vulcan son, Amanda doesn’t think Vulcan’s is a hard but better way [and honestly she wouldn’t be justified to] so since she can’t be staying because of her children since they’re being mistreated, she must be doing it because of Sarek which is just so feminist, you guys, and ok, I better change topics before this becomes an “everything that’s wrong about Disco with a sidenote of everything that’s not objectively wrong but I still didn’t like”, but also, Vulcan brains can literally lobotomize themselves while dealing with trauma, don’t you think they’d take mental health seriously?) so now it’s canon in the original universe, too. Even with Enterprise (which, to be honest, I haven’t watched, I’ve only learned what was going on with Vulcans from Memory Alpha and the recounting might hace left events and/or the essence and implications of the plotline out), the tomfoolery was supposed to be Romulans infiltrating the government and twisting Surak’s teachings, all of this is supposed to be how things vecame after they got his katra back and went through the Reform.

And this got long, but the thing is: it’s not just about the Vulcans. It’s about the fact that some of the worst assumptions made about them were recognizable at least by this one Aspie as, among other things, a neurotypical’s response to an autistic trait and a long history of negative autistic coding, and now they’ve been confirmed by canon, so instead of having a nice discussion and maybe a bit of disk horse about this, we’ve gotta deal with the fact that now some people feel legitimally repelled by and resentful of Vulcans (insofar as any emotion applies to fiction) because they are now the bigots and oppressors - now it’s not a one episode race of black&white and white&black people ridiculously pointing at the obvious differences between each other, but Vulcans who have said and done bigoted things many people have been exposed to during their lives, and if they were ever willing to give them, and by extension us, a chance, now it’s ruined. I am not, of course, saying that if you hate Vulcans, especially now, you’re ableist, or that making them the Asshole^tm will turn people ableist. Just that it would have been nice to see people like me who didn’t end up justifiably despised.*

*Especially through character assassination, couldn’t you have at least made them unlikeable from the start?

[rivkahstudies]

do you have any advice for a high school senior who wants to make the most of their last year of high school? asking for a friend :)

hi darling! I think the things I remember most from my senior year (though it was only two years ago that it started) can be summarized in, “crazy busy, crazy stressful, but at times, crazy fun.” Here’s to making the most of it, and maintaining health while you do so!

This is going to be combination masterpost and advice post, because I’ve accumulated a lot on this subject and I have a loooot to say. 

Also this is heavily based off of the assumption you’re pursuing higher education, but some of these things still apply/can be tweaked.

table of contents:

i. academics

ii. social life

iii. personal health

i. 𝓪𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓬𝓼

a. grades

They’re important for your future if your plan is to go to college or academy, but they’re not the whole world. (see social life and personal health)

I’m not a big fan of the “3-to-1 rule” or other such things that tell you “study for this amount of time no matter what” because it’s important for you to understand what comes naturally to you and what you need further clarification on. Some classes are going to take up less of your time than others.

The best you can do on a given day isn’t necessarily 100%. Sometimes your best that day is 90%, 80%, 60%. “try your best” isn’t “your best ever” so don’t push yourself for 100s every time for the expense of categories ii and iii.

A lot of people (at least in places like where I went to high school) who are hung up on the stress of competition and the need to be The Best™ are going to ask you for grades. It’s going to be everywhere. Assignment grades, test grades, SATs, ACTs, (if you’re not in the US, the equivalents of your state, regional, or national standardized tests), entrance exams, et cetera, et cetera. I know it’s tempting to fall into the anxiety of whether you measure up, but here’s a quick tip: even if you think you did well/above average, you can keep it private. It infuriated my classmates when I wouldn’t share, because I was comfortable with how I competed with myself and didn’t care what my peers thought of my scores. 

When you’re someone as dedicated to studying as I am, you might get a lot of “oh, you got that grade because you’re you” (the underlying implication being that it’s natural or the work is easy for you, which was not the case for me) or “ha! I got higher than (name)! I measure up!” This is a lot of their own biases and insecurity talking and the best way not to be affected is not to buy into it. Again, this is based on my own experience.

 I really cannot emphasize extra credit enough because some of my teachers threw it around like candy and some of them barely drizzled a little in at intervals, but either way it really saved me when it came to rounding my grades up.

It never hurts to have a grade tracker if you’re concerned, you don’t get graded by total points accumulation/have a weighted system, and/or don’t have an easy way to access your grades online throughout the year.

find your study strategy/ies for each class and stick to it/them. It won’t necessarily be the same. I’m a primarily visual learner, and it really, really helps for most things, but I still need rote memorization for subjects with a lot of vocabulary, like medicine or languages.

further resources

studying without notes by @fuckstudy . 

prioritizing that crazy to do list (the abcde method) by @eintsein

a comphrensive guide to anki (flashcards online) by @studyingstudent

a stash of tiny study tips by @acalmstudiousfirecracker

and much much more on my #studyref tag.

b. extracurriculars

These I think matter (though I’m biased) more than grades, because they’re what shape you and your experience. Most of the students at my university had grades like mine, but it’s the places I frequented and the people to whom I devoted my time that formed my sense of self. I have so many skills, anecdotes, and ideas that I’ve gained from my extracurricular work.

If you have any you’ve stuck with since early in high school and you still like, keep ‘em. Quality over quantity. Show jobs or universities you can be dedicated and disciplined, and have stamina to see projects to the end. (I was in 7 and held leadership positions in 4 and it was probably part of the reason why I spent all of senior year on three hours sleep… besides my IB classes of course.)

If you’re not pursuing college immediately or at all (or even if you are), participate in ones that pull you out of your comfort zone and teach you something new.

ii. 𝓼𝓸𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮

Treat this category as you would anything else in your schedule–requiring time and being a significant priority. Not always at the very top, but still demanding its own attention.

See friends outside of school, for however long or short a period, at least once every week to two weeks. This can include extracurricular time if you’re pressed.

Schedule time with your family (especially if their lives are also cluttered and hectic) do something dynamic, and also something separate that’s relaxing. One week your family time might be reading in the same room and having gentle conversation or a family dinner; the next might be going out to the movies or taking a hike together. It can be easy to feel taken for granted or to take family for granted.

By the way, this includes “chosen” family if you’re not on great terms with some/all of them. I have experience with this too.

Get. Out. Of. The. House. This plays into “personal health” too! You need a change in rhythm/routine and exposure to the outside. Especially in your winter season. 

I’m one of those people who has to have things scheduled way in advance, so family/curfew/etc permitting, do something a little bit spontaneous, say with only a few hours or a couple days notice. It will make you feel more alive if you’re in a stressful slump.

Communication is really important, especially if you’re stressed. Don’t be afraid to tell people “I am sensitive/hyperreactive to X because Y is putting me on edge right now” or “this triggers X insecurity because I’m anxious about Y.” This goes doubly if you’re struggling with mental illness. Talk to someone you trust. (See “personal health.”)

Don’t give in to peer pressure if you’re spent the time you need with friends and have to excuse yourself for other responsibilities. Balance!

No is equally as important to respected as Yes, no matter what the case.

Respect boundaries but invite people to challenge their comfort zone at their space.

Don’t be broken up if a romantic relationship doesn’t last. It’s senior year. Everything’s changing. Let it.

Also, please don’t be like me and let your summer/your school year be eaten up with relationship drama. I thankfully ended a difficult relationship early (late September) so it wasn’t a huge issue, but I watched people close to me struggle with while also battling the stress of the year.

iii. 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓱

mentally

If you’re struggling with mental illness, be aware of your own limits and pace yourself.

Sometimes we feel dull because we need to break routine/stimulate ourselves in a new way. You should have a structure/routine, but it should be flexible enough for you to adapt to changes and listen to what your mind and body are telling you.

The path to self-love must first begin with self-acceptance. If you struggle with self-image or self-esteem issues, you can’t build positivity off a foundation of negativity. You must first level it to neutrality.

Perform check-ups with yourself. This may be in the form of meditation, a diary, therapy, etc. None of these things are a “last resort” but rather a healthy part of building good mental habits.

physically

Exercise! You don’t have to be a star athlete to bring about the benefits. Even a 15 minute jog, 30 minute walk/hike, or 10 minutes of stretching can give you benefits.

On that note! Take! Frequent! Breaks! And please, please google stretches for certain body parts like hands if you do repetitive motion like drawing or writing for a long period of time! You don’t want to push yourself!

Listen to your body and don’t ignore pain, hunger, nausea, fatigue, etc. Respond patiently and with what’s appropriate.

Don’t forget about diet. It’s easy when you’re busy to reach for the quick and nutritionally poor snacks/meals, but it’s really important to set aside time to cook/meal plan or even just throw together a quick snack tray of fruits/crackers/cheeses/etc. It doesn’t have to be instragrammable but you should have a balanced diet that factors in your specific needs, if you have any restrictions, etc.

Change yo pillow case frequently kids, it does wonders for acne.

I cannot stress enough! To! Stay! Hydrated! My goal is eventually eight glasses a day but my minimum is 4-5. I try to have one every meal, especially in college.

Bedtime is important! But more than that, wake up time is important. If you’re trying to adjust your schedule and can only keep one consistent, choose the time you wake up. Eventually your body will naturally become fatigued for the bedtime to match it. It’s how I turned my sleep schedule from 12:00 AM to 8:00 into 9:30 PM to 5:30 AM over the course of one winter break! 

If you’re a morning person, you’re a morning person. If you’re a night owl, you’re a night owl. There’s research now to prove that forcing yourself into a rhythm too extreme for your tendencies can make you feel awful either way.

At the end of the day, you’ve got one goal and one goal only: to look back on this year and be proud of what you’ve achieved and how you’ve grown. You shape your future and choose what matters most in your life!

If there’s anything else you think I’ve missed or you’d like me to cover more in depth/link more posts to, please ask me! I’d be happy to clarify/continue this series! I want to make sure you’re completely satisfied.

[unified-multiversal-theory]

by Lauren Rowello

A methylprednisolone medrol pack is just a flimsy foil case of 21 little, sour, white pills. If someone would have asked me a few weeks ago which prescription would be the key factor to beating pneumonia, I wouldn’t have pointed to that dinky pack of steroids. The loud roar of my nebulizer with its heavy, stable base, sterile tubes, and burdensome mask seemed more official. The indestructible metal canisters of my brand new inhalers looked more impressive.

I felt sick on March 10, a Tuesday. It wasn’t the kind of sick that anyone takes seriously. It was a shruggable dry cough in late winter. Yes, there were some articles floating around about some distant virus, but it was on the West Coast. It was overseas.

By Wednesday, I was pretty sure I had a fever, and my coughs became more painful, noisy and dramatic as the day continued. I lost my sense of taste almost completely and was short of breath. My spouse ran out and got the only flu medicine still available at our local CVS where no thermometers remained on the shelves. While I rested at home, I navigated emails and decisions about canceling meetings, classes and other plans.

By Thursday, I couldn’t take more than a shallow breath and I was spitting up globs of mucus into washcloths multiple times per hour. By Friday morning, it was challenging to eat without becoming fatigued ― without losing too much air to manage chewing. I finally queued up in a three-hour virtual waiting room to speak with a doctor via a telemedicine app. She diagnosed me with viral bronchitis in less than five minutes. I was quickly prescribed multiple medications to combat my worsening respiratory symptoms with instructions to check back if I did not improve.

I’m newly 29 without any high-risk diagnoses, but even with a pharmacy at my bedside, pneumonia developed in less than two days. With scarves wrapped around my face, I ventured out for an X-ray of my crackling chest and additional testing that was uploaded to the remote doctor. She decided I should be monitored more regularly while self-isolating and continued my treatment as a presumed positive for COVID-19, the disease caused by the coronavirus.

By the last day of my steroids, improvements were obvious, but the progress would be short-lived. My steroid pack finished its course on the morning of the 18th, and within 24 hours, I began to regress. The mucus in my chest grew darker and thicker again, and inflammation made me gag and choke as I tried to expel it. My chest rumbled on every exhale, and breaths became almost as shallow as they were before I sought treatment.

Because it wasn’t time for my scheduled check-in with the same doctor, I had to wait in another virtual line to speak with whoever became available if I wanted to avoid the emergency room.

After a few hours, I was finally connected to a provider who checked in with me about my medical history. She told me that she’d reviewed the notes and watched the recordings from my previous visits, then asked about my vitals ― which can be monitored through the app ― before getting to my reason for the visit. I explained between achy pauses that I was going backward ― and quickly ― but she shooed away my complaints.

I was more direct. “Can you extend my steroid prescription for another week? I think that was key to helping push through this.” She immediately shook her head and interjected:

“I don’t recommend that. That medication could lead to weight gain.”

I asked again. She declined, shifting the conversation toward the steps I could take to limit the spread: hand-washing rituals, daily disinfecting routines, social distancing.  

When the session ended, I felt abandoned, furious and confused. While my mom and spouse networked so that I could find a new provider, I started researching the intersections of viral pneumonia, steroids and weight. I couldn’t even find concerns about weight gain for short-term users ― but I wouldn’t have cared if I did. I knew this drug was treating the inflammation associated with my most severe respiratory symptoms and shifting my immune response, that this steroid was helping some patients with COVID-19-induced pneumonia recover more quickly. I posted to Facebook about my frustration.

Comments were mostly supportive ― with face-palming gifs, shocked and angry emojis, words of solidarity. One mentioned malpractice; a few noted that they now opt out of weigh-ins for check-ups; some people told their own stories of medical and mental health providers bringing up weight when it was irrelevant and inappropriate. Another shared their fear that heavier people might not receive access to ventilators during shortages because they’d be misperceived as having poorer prognoses.

A few more friends chimed in to play devil’s advocate ― trusting that there must be a reason for the doctor’s comment. A relative explained that although it may have been poor bedside manner, the doctor could be worried about weight gain leading to future health issues, such as Type 2 Diabetes. A nurse mentioned that people with a body mass index (BMI) over 25 have worse outcomes and higher mortality rates ― but a recent study asserts that those categorized as “overweight” (with a BMI of 27) are at the lowest risk for all-cause mortality. Additionally, obese patients have better outcomes when being treated for a variety of ailments ― including significantly lower mortality rates when treated for pneumonia ― the illness this doctor should have been focused on. People with higher weights receive a lower quality of care from their providers ― including delays in access to treatments ― due to cognitive bias. This could be the cause of those worse outcomes and comorbidities my friends are worried about. During this pandemic, when health care providers are deciding whose symptoms are most urgent and severe, lack of access and decreased quality of care will cost lives.The comments in the doctor’s defense point to the internalized belief that being fat is bad, that being fat leads to other bad things. They point to subconscious patterns of thinking that guide flawed decisions, such as placing too much concern on some future weight rather than recovering from a tangible virus. We must stop justifying the health care industry’s obsession with weight ― and that starts with combating our own tendencies toward the same beliefs.I didn’t include my weight in the vitals connected to the app, so this doctor didn’t actually know that number or my BMI. She could only see my face on the screen. I suppose it’s possible that she made an inference about my weight based on a bad camera angle ― but her statement was more like a reflex, absent of considerations about my own body or experience. Since she couldn’t actually size me up with her eyes or a number, she made the assumption that any gained pounds wouldn’t be OK for anyone ― no matter their shape or weight. In that moment, she projected a cultural ideal onto my treatment ― encouraging the belief that it would be better to maintain my size than conquer life-threatening pneumonia.If you are a patient whose treatment is being stifled by a biased provider, you should seek care elsewhere ― but that’s easier said than done. My call wasted $50, and a second opinion would cost another ― or a much more expensive trip to the ER. What will happen to those who don’t have that kind of cash? Or time?Fatphobia will continue to negatively impact the quality of care all people receive if providers are distracted by weight standards or cultural ideals. During a global pandemic when actual or virtual lines for health care consume hours and providers are even more overworked than we’re used to, we cannot delay treatment due to cognitive bias.This doctor did not allow me to advocate for my needs, even though I was an informed patient. Her unwillingness to extend the use of a crucial medication during a pandemic demonstrates just how pervasive our cultural obsession with thinness has become. It took a few more hours for me to find a new provider, who proved glad I reached out and helped me find the right dosing to extend the steroids a few more days. My most severe symptoms have dissipated, and I know that I’ll be OK in time. I trust that these providers will help me make decisions about my health based on preserving my life rather than my waistline. But this experience serves as a reminder that if we hope to survive this pandemic, we must become fierce advocates who hold the health care industry to our own standards, unafraid to challenge the status quo.

[orangeoctopi7]

Liars

Spider Stan AU Chapter 5 Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been distracted by other fandoms. Also trying to apply to Grad School again. As such, don’t expect the next chapter until after November.

It had only been a couple of days, but already Fiddleford was about ready to smack these brothers. They barely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was clear they were walking on eggshells. Every so often, either Stan or Ford would take a bitter tone with the other, and McGucket hoped they were on the brink of actually talking about their issues, but each time, it just resulted in a heated argument. Twice now, Stan had driven off in his car, and Ford had stormed out into the woods. Ford came back first, worrying that Stan had left for good this time. Each time Stan had eventually returned, murmuring that he knew Ford wanted to run more tests.

That was another thing that had been bothering McGucket. The tests they’d run the first day had been interesting, to be sure. Stan’s nervous system, his immune system, all of his senses, were faster than any normal human’s. But there was nothing to indicate that his mutation was continuing or that it had any ill effects on Stan. If anything, Stan was healthier than he should have been, considering his living conditions. But Ford insisted on running more each day. Testing the extent of Stan’s strength, his flexibility and reflexes, whether he could see in the dark, how he stuck to walls, anything, it seemed, that Ford could think of. Fiddleford couldn’t help but think this went far beyond just checking to make sure Ford’s brother wasn’t negatively affected by his mutation. 

McGucket decided to air his grievances while he and Ford were alone, looking at some X-rays of Stan’s hands.

“Incredible! Look at this!” Ford pointed to some faint lines running between the phalanges and metacarpals, “Normally, in a human being, these muscles are vestigial, useless. But Stan’s mutation somehow enlarged and invigorated them. That must be how he can hold himself up just by sticking to a wall!”

“Well, that certainly is fascinatin’.” McGucket agreed. “D’you think it’ll lead to overcrowding with his other muscles? Arthritis? Carpal-tunnel?” 

“Mmm, no. Stan’s hands are rather large and meaty. There should be plenty of room. And it actually lessens the stress on his joints.”

“I see....” McGucket nodded, making a mental note to try and replicate the effect on a robotic joint later. “Ford, don’t ya think this is beginnin’ to go well beyond jus’ lookin’ after yer brother’s health? It’s pretty clear he’s fit as a fiddle, heck, even more fit than yer average athlete!”

“Well… yes, but… there’s still more to do… to, uh, study the long-term effects…”

“Stanford, please, you gotta start bein’ honest with yerself. And with him!”

Ford flinched. “Him who?” he asked nervously.

“Your brother! Who else?”

“Oh. Of course. I-I mean…” the researcher huffed a short sigh. “I know, sooner rather than later, he’ll decide he’s had enough and leave. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can from him until then.”

“Well, he’s already left twice, and ya spent a good hour or so worryin’ he was never gonna come back.”

“Be-because if he leaves, we’ll lose a great research opportunity!”

“But he’s come back each time. Supposedly because he knows ya wanna run more tests on him.”

“Fiddleford, if you’re trying to make a point, would you please just get to it?”

“Alright, fine! You two keep dancin’ around yer issues, pretendin’ like yer jus’ here fer the sake of science, but it’s pretty obvious yer both hopin’ that somehow bein’ in the same place long enough is gonna somehow make everythin’ right. But it ain’t! Nothin’ about whatever bad blood you two got betwixt y’all is gonna get solved unless ya both sit down an’ talk. An’ I mean really talk, not jus’ yellin’ or bein’ passive-aggressive all the time.”

Ford was taken aback by his friend’s bluntness. He spluttered for a solid thirty seconds before finally shouting, “It is incredibly presumptuous of you to make assumptions as to why I choose to keep my brother around, let alone deem yourself qualified to offer me advice on how to conduct my own family matters! And while we may be old friends, I shouldn’t have to remind you that while you are here you are technically my employee. As such, keep your overly-large nose out of my personal business!”

“Personal business!? I’m the one who has to live with both of ya!” Fiddleford retorted, then stormed out of the lab.

“I’m not forcing you to stay here!” Ford shouted after him. “You could get a room at the motel if it bothers you that much!”

McGucket’s raging mood quickly dissipated as he took the elevator back up to the main floor. He hadn’t had an angry outburst like that in a while. He wasn’t nearly as short tempered as those Pines twins, but even the mild-mannered inventor just lost his cool sometimes. 

“Good to see I’m not the only one he has shouting matches with.” Stan commented from the chair sitting in front of the TV when McGucket passed. Oh right. Enhanced senses, including hearing.

“How much did you hear?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Eh, more the volume than actual words.” Stan shrugged.

McGucket briefly considered telling Stan how much Ford had worried each time he left, telling him exactly what he’d told his brother. But Fiddleford had a feeling Stan would have a very similar reaction, except the con man’s temper was even worse than his brother’s.

Instead he settled for a beleaguered “You two’re gonna drive me off the deep end.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ford to regret his words. Sure, he was mad that McGucket would try and wheedle his way into the brothers’ issues when the inventor clearly didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, or the extent of the betrayal Ford still felt. But the inventor’s heart was in the right place, and he was the one who had to live with the feuding twins. And while Ford had been truthful in telling Fiddleford he was free to leave, that certainly didn’t mean Ford wanted him to go. Just the opposite, in fact.

Stanford had never felt lonely after moving out to the woods of Gravity Falls, oh no. He’d kept far too busy exploring and studying for that. But after Fiddelford had moved in, the researcher found he preferred his friend’s company to solitude.

Of course, if McGucket were to move out now, Ford would not be returning to solitude. He’d be sharing his cabin with Stanley.

Stanford decided he really needed to apologize to Fiddleford.

The researcher hastily put away the x-rays and the other print-outs he’d be going over and rushed into the elevator. He hummed impatiently as it creeped back up to ground level. Once he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around the pantry until he found a can of those baked beans McGucket liked, heated it up over the stove, and began searching for his roommate so he could extend the peace offering.

He found McGucket just as the researcher was finishing a conversation over the phone.

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.” He hung up the phone.

“You’re leaving?” Ford asked, trying not to sound hurt. He’d known his harsh words would probably come back to bite him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!

“Uh, that’s right…” Fiddelford began awkwardly. “I jus’ spoke with Emma-May an’--” 

“Fiddleford, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled, and I certainly shouldn’t have insinuated you might be fired, or insulted you. But please, don’t leave!” Ford pleaded. “I’ll admit, the situation with Stanley is volatile, but that’s why I need you here now!”

“Calm down, calm down!” McGucket placated him. “I ain’t leavin’ fer more’n a few days. I was tryin’ to tell ya, Emma-May’s sick, an’, well, she needs me to come take care of Tate ‘til she gets better.”

“O-oh.” Ford squeaked out once his mind processed what his friend was saying. McGucket was leaving, but it wasn’t because he was mad, it was because of a family emergency. That was almost worse. Ford could try and apologize or talk his friend out of it if he was mad, but the researcher couldn’t, wouldn’t, try and stop his friend from taking care of his family.

“What’s goin’ on?” Stan peeked into the hall, checking to see what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, uh, I was just tellin’ Ford I gotta head back home to help take care’a things while my wife’s sick.”

Stan scrutinized McGucket carefully, taking in his expression and stance, before glancing at Ford briefly. “Uh-huh.” the con-man grunted.

“So, I’ll be leavin’ soon as I get packed. Are… are you gonna be fine here, just the two of ya?”

“Sure, mom.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Ford folded his arms defensively.

“That’s not really what I’m worried ‘bout.” McGucket muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are those baked beans?” He exclaimed, like he’d only just noticed the pan Ford was carrying, “I think I’ll go eat these before I pack.”

With that, the inventor made his way to the kitchen, leaving the two brothers alone, with the fact that they were about to spend a lot more time alone together hanging over them.

Stan shook his head. “He’s a bad liar.” he said as soon as McGucket was out of ear-shot.

“What!?” Ford spluttered. “He’s not--”

“Just callin’ it as I see it.”

“He’s coming back!” the researcher insisted, even as his own thoughts doubted “He wouldn’t just leave…” He wouldn’t just leave me like this.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.” Stan agreed. “But his wife ain’t sick.”

“Oh, and is that another thing your ‘Spider Sense’ can detect?” Ford asked sarcastically. Ever since Stan had interrupted one of his visions with Bill, the researcher didn’t have a high opinion of that particular ability.

“Nah. You lie enough, and you get pretty good at tellin’ when other people are doin’ it. If his wife was really sick, you’d think he’d be a lot more concerned. I mean, you’ve mentioned he has issues with anxiety, but he doesn’t seem all that anxious about it. He did seem keen on gettin’ out of here before we could ask him more questions about what’s wrong with her.”

“I think that if you lie enough, you start to assume everyone else must be lying too.” Ford said icily. Although he couldn’t help but remember a time a few years back when Fiddleford had gotten news his mother was sick. His poor friend had been so worried, he’d barely eaten the day he got the news.

“Whatever.” Stan harrumphed and turned back down the hall. “Honestly, I can’t blame the guy for wantin’ a break from all of this.” He gestured back and forth to himself and his brother. “Anyway, I’m gonna go see if there’s any of those baked beans left.”

* * *

That night, Ford had a hard time falling asleep. Stan’s wrong. He kept telling himself. But a part of him couldn’t help wondering, But what if he’s right? What if all this tension with Stan is driving Fiddleford away? What if he doesn’t come back? 

When he finally did fall asleep, Ford was glad to find Bill waiting for him. He could really use a little help from a friend right now.

“HUH, YOU’RE LATER THAN USUAL. I DON’T THINK YOU’VE HAD THIS MUCH TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP SINCE THE HAUNTED CABIN.”

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed right now, what with everything that’s going on with Stan and McGucket.”

“HEY, I WARNED YOU BRINGING YOUR BROTHER BACK HERE WOULD BE BITING OFF MORE THAN YOU COULD CHEW.”

“It’s not.” Ford said defensively, “I mean, yes, I’m a little more stressed than usual, but I can handle it.”

“OH SURE.” Bill rolled his eye, “THAT’S WHY YOU’VE KEPT WORKING ON THE PORTAL, OH WAIT! YOU HAVEN’T! AND NOW THE GUY WE NEED TO ACTUALLY START THE BUILDING PROCESS IS LEAVING!”

“That’s unfortunate, yes, but it’s not McGucket’s fault. His… his wife’s sick.” Ford explained, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“YEAH, NO. YOUR BROTHER MAY BE AN UNTRUSTWORTHY LEACH, BUT HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING. FOUR-EYES WAS LYING TO YOU.” 

“Hey, Stan’s not--”

“OH, ARE YOU SAYING I’M WRONG? ME? THE ALL-SEEING EYE?”

“No, of course not!”

“HERE, I’LL SHOW YOU!”

Bill’s yellow bricks flickered like a television screen, and suddenly Ford was watching McGucket’s conversation on the phone earlier, from the perspective of one of the many effigies of Bill he had hanging in the house.

“Hey sugar, it’s me!” Fiddleford began the conversation. “Yeah, things’re, uh, things’re goin’ great here. But, you’ll never believe what happened last week! We were in Portland, doin’ some, er, some research, an’ guess what? Stanford ran into his twin brother!” 

He paused and listened to her reply. “Yeah, he don’t talk ‘bout it much. They ain’t seen each other in over ten years. Anyway they, uh, need some time to re-connect, So I’m gonna head home, jus’ so’s I can give ‘em some space fer a bit.”

Another pause. “Aw, naw, Ford said it’s fine! I don’t think it’ll be a problem! And besides, this way I’ll be home fer Tate’s first spring break!”

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.”

Ford shook his head in disbelief. “I-I don’t know what to say…” 

“WHAT’D I TELL YA, FORDSY? I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN TRUST!”

On one hand, he was hurt that his friend would lie to him like that, but on the other, it was clear that poor Fiddleford just wanted to spend some time with his family, and Ford could hardly begrudge him that. All the same, there were those same thoughts that had been keeping him up earlier, only here in the Dreamscape, they echoed around him in surround-sound.

It’s my fault. I’m driving him away, all because I can’t get along with my own brother!

“AW, DON’T FEEL SO BAD, SIXER!” Bill patted him on the back comfortingly. “IF THIS IS ANYBODY’S FAULT, IT’S YOUR DUMB BROTHER. HE’S THE ONE WHO BARGED BACK INTO YOUR LIFE JUST WHEN WE WERE ON THE BRINK OF CHANGING THE WORLD.”

“I know you don’t like me spending so much time studying Stan’s mutation. But it’s so incredible! We’ve only just scratched the surface of what he’s capable of! I know with just a little time and training, he could even help us build the portal!”

Bill didn’t look convinced. “FORGIVE ME IF I’M NOT SOLD ON BRINGING THE GUY WHO SMASHED YOUR SPIDER HABITAT TO SMITHEREENS INTO CONTACT WITH THE DELICATE WORKINGS OF A TRANSUNIVERSAL PORTAL.”

Ford frowned. “I know, but… but ever since I learned that Stan’s the Spider Man, I’m beginning to think… maybe he’s changed.”

“HA!” Bill laughed sharply. “I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR A SENTIMENTAL FOOL, STANFORD!”

“I’m serious!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY IT’S SO HILARIOUS!” But Bill noticed Ford wasn’t taking this not-so-good-natured ribbing well. “HEY, DON’T LOOK SO SERIOUS, IQ, IT’S JUST THAT YOUR HUMAN SENTIMENTALITY IS SO FAR OUTSIDE MY PRIORITIES. IF YOU’RE SO DEAD-SET ON IT, GO AHEAD AND INCLUDE YOUR BROTHER IN ON THE PROJECT. EVEN IF HE DOES MESS THINGS UP AGAIN, YOU’VE GOT ME FOR DAMAGE CONTROL THIS TIME.”

“Thank you, Bill, I’ll do my best to make sure Stan doesn’t cause too much trouble.”

* * *

Once again, Stan woke in the middle of the night, his Spider Sense twinging. He was really getting tired of this. Not wanting another wild goose chase like his first night here, the conman tried just sitting quietly and concentrating on the unfamiliar sensation. It was so unlike his usual Spider Sense, and yet… somehow he knew it was the same sense. 

Maybe this was a newly developing power, like Ford had predicted. Unfortunately, waking Ford in the middle of the night seemed to have ticked him off so much that now Ford didn’t want to hear anything about the Spider Sense. And McGucket had left earlier that evening. So Stan was going to have to figure this out on his own. Ha. That wasn’t any different from his other powers.

As Stan sat focusing on the strange sensation for a few minutes, he finally though he could place a direction to it. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, but there was definitely one direction where it was the strongest. It was coming from downstairs.

Stan followed the sensation as quietly as he could, which was pretty darn quietly. It led him to Ford’s bedroom.

“Oh no, we’re not doin’ this again.” Stan muttered to himself. Ford had been mad enough the first time. Twice in one week, and he was sure to be kicked out. But still, he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was Ford in some kind of danger? Or maybe… Ford was the danger?

“Great, now my Spider Sense is trying to protect me from emotional harm.” Stan grumbled to himself as he climbed the wall back up to the attic.

* * *

Dbae’k rwou se apfleqnx dtirj. Swt tyw xwrv jpisff ew gvl cqd fx sqm. Sme pon lz oek Ktfei lz bhigh bhzk mqg Dsnseiww jatc tvtf lsm svs?

[tazusher-blog]

Asking for Aggro. ASK.FM

Impoliteness on the web: an unusual case study. 

When it comes to being polite in the real world, there are several foundations we look to for guidance: what our parents taught us, what was acceptable at school, the norms and routines of our social groups. We use politeness as a strategy for protecting our and other’s ‘faces’ (Goffman,1967), for building and maintaining relationships, and achieving goals in different contexts (such as the workplace).

In the online world, however, these practices are much different. Our politeness routines are distorted and shaped by people we have weak ties with, and the anonymity that comes with sitting behind a screen. One could even argue that, when online, it is much harder to be naturally polite, and much easier to be impolite to those in our networks.

There are thousands of examples of how impoliteness has become a common aspect of everyday online interaction. On Twitter we see threads of retaliating comments to both famous and ordinary people’s posts, on Facebook we see necessary negative comments on other’s innocent life updates, and on Instagram we see way too many instances of body shaming.

Take this image, for example. Successful model, Ashley Graham, chose to post a photo of herself in her lounge underwear, glammed up, and posing at the camera (a pretty common theme on Instagram these days). One user then opted to comment on the post “We thought you work out” (ie. indirectly implying that 1. It looks like she doesn’t work out, 2. There are a collection of people who have the same opinion). A person who responds to others content in a way such as this (which aims to offend) is labelled as a ‘Troll’. Equally, the commenter’s user name ‘s0cialmediavsreality’ infers that the creator of this account has the sole intention of targeting instances where presentations on social media and in the real world clash. But does this give he/she the right to respond to Ashely’s photo like this? No, it does not.

No matter what an individual’s personal beliefs are, there is no one who is more entitled than any one else to post rude or offensive comments on someone else’s post. This comment is 100% unnecessary and, regardless of Ashley’s status, is going to offend or upset her one way or another. Additionally, with regards to the politeness theory proposed by Brown and Levinson (1987), the commenter is demonstrating ‘negative politeness’; meaning they are damaging Ashely’s negative face needs (to be respected, and not imposed) by ridiculing her body and implying that she lies about her fitness routine. However, the impact of the comment is arguably mitigated by Ashley’s response to the comment ‘Girls with cellulite and rolls can’t work out also?’ in which Ashley challenges the comment and frames the commenter as the untruthful one, instead of herself.

Strategies for avoiding impolite, offensive comments?

Whilst the act of trolling is unfortunately something which many people have to deal with in their social media lifetimes, social networks have increasingly developed strategies for dealing with this sort of behaviour. Primarily, social media sites offer the option for users to report offensive behaviour at the click of a button. 

Once selecting report, there will often be other options to choose from which narrow down exactly why you are reporting the post. The post is then usually removed immediately or sent for approval, depending on the nature of the incident. Equally, there is also the option to unfriend, unfollow or block users on social media. This can help to prevent the user from performing the same sort of behaviour towards you in the future. This is the best option if you wan’t to completely remove yourself from a threatening situation.

At the same time, there are also hundreds of guides and e-safety videos which offers guides to users on how they should behave online. These rules are occasionally referred to as ‘Netiquette’ and include guidelines such as: Respect others’ privacy;Don’t abuse your power; Adhere to the same standards as in real life.                                                               

Perhaps some users need a refresh?

Biting blind

But what if the trolls are posting from anonymous accounts or ones which prevent you from identifying exactly who they are in the real world?

As we saw above, in the case of the lovely ‘s0cialmediavsreality’ user, many trolls will often post from accounts which hide their identities; meaning they can be as impolite and as horrible as they wish without there being any real repercussions for them. Unfortunately, most trolls actually get a kick out of knocking others down; so when you’re faced with instances involving people such as these, it’s the best idea to ignore their comments and prevent them from obtaining the reaction they want.

Likewise, there are also occasions when trolls are empowered to post harmful comments against others. In instances when their identities are completely anonymous. One platform which allows anonymous posting is Ask.fm.

Asking for it on Ask.fm.

Before I make fun of those who willingly sign up to Ask.fm (and pretty much make themselves victims to trolls), I must admit that I, myself, had an Ask.fm account at the age of 14. However, I didn’t know what I was signing up for and I was merely doing so to follow the crowd and keep up with the everyday classroom chat. And luckily enough for me (being a bit of a goody-two-shoes at school), I didn’t receive any harmful comments and the most personal question I received was probably ‘Are you a virgin?’, which was pretty expected in the social context of an all girls secondary school.

Ask.fm is an online platform which individuals can sign up to use in exchange for an abundance of anonymous questions (from people they know), and the power to ask others questions without the fear of a trail leading back to them. When asked a question, users are alerted and given the option to reply or delete the question (all at the risk of the ‘Asker’ confronting or making assumptions if there’s no reply).

The platform was pretty popular throughout the year and was something which others were encouraged to get and engage with. Some people even took to Facebook to share the links to their account with a caption along the lines of ‘Ask away, I’m bored’. So pretty much encouraging trolling to occur…

Don’t get me wrong, there were a few adorable examples such as ‘Why are you so pretty?’ to which most girls would respond ’Says you! You’re stunning!’, but in most cases the outcome was the opposite. And the worst thing was, there was no way of working out who posted what: so if you happened to be the person who received a slightly upsetting or aggressive question, you’d go to school the next day wondering if the person sitting next to you was the one who thought those things about you.

Here’s an example of the more typical questions you might find…

In this instance, it’s clear that the person/s asking the questions to this particular user are using the anonymity feature to their advantage in order to obtain gossip or a response they’re too afraid to request in the real world. Additionally, by requesting an opinion of five different people, the ‘Asker’ is being quite invasive and threatening the positive face of the ‘Answer’ (ie. they are forced to respond positively, or face the consequences of their response). 

In other instances, however, users are also at risk of receiving much more aggressive questions such as these. The questions asked here are extremely offensive and threatening to the user’s negative face. This exchange is also a huge issue with regards to teenage mental health, particularly with regards to the influence that teenagers allow internet trolls to have over their thoughts and actions. This is a concept which many psychologists, e-safety experts and films have explored: one example being ‘Cyber Bully’ which you can view the trailer for below. 

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Cyberbully (2015) staring Maisie Williams. Film trailer. 

Being impolite online (no matter how serious you consider the comment to be), can have tragic consequences for not only your reputation, but also the feelings of the person who the comment is aimed at. We all respond differently to criticism and offence, and it’s impossible to know exactly what else in going on in someones life which might escalate the effect of your comment for them. Before posting online always remember to consider: What you say this to their face in the real world? If not, press delete. 

References:

Brown, P. & Levinson, S.C. (1987). Politeness. Cambridge. Cambridge University Press. 

Goffman, E. (1967). Interaction ritual: Essays in face-to-face behaviour. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company.

[originaljediinjeans]

I think here on Tumblr is the only place I “could” discuss this. If I brought it up on a Facebook support group my post might not get approved by admins because of how what I am about to describe touches on multiple sensitive issues. Also I have certain friends in those support groups that might not like seeing what I have to reveal. 

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’ve been called “Mormons” in the past but we’re trying to step away from that. Those of you who have heard of the Church know that the Church has come under fire for its policies towards LGBTQ+ people, based on teachings that promote the traditional family and traditional marriage as the center of our lives and the thing for which we are rewarded the most in Time and Eternity for having. For very strong personal reasons I accept the Church’s teachings about the importance of marriage and family.

In the last few years I have added a good number of LGBTQ+ friends into my social circle. A few of them are very vocal about their identity and lifestyle on their online profiles. I have had good experiences with some of these people and I have grown to care about them as peers and as friends. Some of them I have stood by (mostly via internet) as they have struggled with their own mental health problems. I want to have good relationships with people from all backgrounds. There is no reason in my mind that I can’t. 

I am autistic, and I have struggled with mental illness off and on since my teen years and issues about marriage and sexuality and my beliefs about them have been at the center of a good portion of those struggles. My parents and my counselors and doctors would all tell you that I have a very “black and white” way of thinking and they are correct. For me, something either has to be all one way or all another way. I have worked very hard since I was a child to try to understand that things that are different can coexist, and things that are not all one way can be just as they are. 

There is a part of me that is always trying to reconcile having LGBTQ+ friends and associates with my faith. I have done everything I can to study the scriptures and the teachings of church leaders in order to understand the concept that the Savior taught that we must love those who are different from ourselves. He dedicated His life to making a special effort to reaching out to everyone who was outcast, downtrodden, and left behind in any way: He asks as much of me as well as everyone who follows him.  

After this last weekend’s General Conference, I saw the usual backlash on the internet against how certain topics were addressed by the General Authorities. I admit, it was enough to trigger a meltdown. I was able to pull myself out of it. I came to the conclusion that the issue with myself is that I am not ‘homophobic’ as much as I have anxiety about certain topics. I wonder how much homophobia itself is related to actual anxiety etc, but that is not the main issue here. The main issue here is me and how I feel. 

I don’t want to “hate” people for who they are. And I don’t. But I have two seperate lines of thinking when it comes to my LGBTQ+ friends: 

One: I love and respect them and I am so grateful that I can be friends with people who are different from me

Two: I do not approve of the lifestyle choices of people that I am acquainted with because my Church teaches that sexual relations are only legitimate between a man and woman legally married. 

I have to carry those two mindsets in my interactions with certain people--I think it’s partly due to the fact that I’m autistic that sometimes I can’t deal well with the effort of being, in a sense, “double-minded.” It can feel exhausting because I’m trying to resist my natural tendency to think only one way. But I come from a church and a culture that teaches that basic values should not, cannot be compromised, and that only reinforces my mental rigidity, and that makes accepting other ideas harder. I confess sometimes that rigidity lends itself to feelings of anger and hate--but I don’t like to dwell on them. I don’t want to.

I hate reading or hearing that my opinions about anything are wrong, even if it’s not directly addressed to me. But I have a growing paranoia that I’m going to get hate for my opinions anyway (but if it comes because of this post so be it--I have honest concerns and I need to address them and I hope the right people find this post).

A lot of what I see on the internet tells me that my church is wrong about everything: about sexuality, about gender differences, about the leadership, I could go on for quite a while. There are people who question how it is “fair” that the highest rituals of our religion are exclusive to people who do as the Church teaches. There are people who protest that if God’s love is so universal and far-reaching that they should be allowed to have full participation in the Church regardless of their sexual behavior. There are many who claim that the Church wants them to “suffer” rather than have fulfillment from romantic and sexual relations with people they are attracted to. All of those concerns are valid. I don’t know the answers to all of their questions. However, I don’t think that questions or other people’s complaints are a reason to abandon faith. 

My biggest concern is that as much as I “love and respect” my LGBTQ+ friends, I feel hypocritical and evil for associating with them because I have negative feelings towards their way of life. I feel like a bad person because I don’t “love” them unconditionally, or that I have to pick and choose how to love them. I think I am being fake with them. I have always been concerned about these friendships at least in theory but now I am an adult and being able to deal or not deal with them is going to have real consequences. 

(Yeah, it’s Satan, I know).

When I was younger, I had the assumption that I was supposed to not interact with people who were immoral in any way, that it would make me “unclean”. I have since learned, of course, that that attitude is very wrong. I get that there are plenty of people in my church who treat LGBTQ+ people very poorly and I know that that has caused serious problems--some of my LGBTQ+ friends are from that background. I know that Jesus Christ would never condone members of His Church being unkind to others just because of their sexual orientation. 

(Side comment that may hurt the validity of my quandry: I know that it sounds like the General Authorities of my church are talking down about LGBTQ+ people, or at least saying things that sound hurtful or aren’t what people like to hear, but the Church has always taught that we need to show love and kindness to all people, that we are all children of our Heavenly Father, and that being disdainful of others who commit sin is not the right way, even if we aren’t trying to make them “repent.” Those teachings are still valid even if the members don’t always live it. Also, back in 2015 the Church supported legislation in Utah to promote equal housing and employment for LGBTQ+ people, and the Church recently supported a hate crimes bill in Utah that includes protections for LGBTQ+ persons. I feel that the Church is trying to promote peaceful relationships and equal rights for access to basic needs). 

I have a very real paranoia that if my LGBTQ+ friends knew how I “really” felt, they would abandon me. I belong to a church that is actively seeking to put them down, in their minds, and the flawed culture of imperfect members is hard to disentangle from Church policy. I have a very real compulsion to “out” my “problematic” side and just get it over with, to post here on Tumblr or on Facebook that I am a “toxic” person who should be shunned. In fact, since last October I have been tempted to commit suicide over the mere possibility that this ugly beast exists in my soul. 

(Yeah, that’s definitely Satan)

I still believe that homosexual behavior is a sin. I have no intention of leaving the Church or criticizing its leaders, even if they are imperfect. But I accept that same-sex attraction and gender dysphoria is a reality for many people, and there is nothing wrong with those feelings in themselves, even though living in a world dominated by cishet people is very difficult. I also know that Heavenly Father does not approve of homophobia. The “natural man” is the one that gives in to fear, anger, and hatred. 

But there are people who would interpret my religious views as homophobic no matter how I felt about them as individuals. I am afraid that the people that I am actually friends with might think of me as homophobic merely for belonging to this Church and for accepting some of its teachings. And there are people who think that if I don’t unconditionally “accept” and support their sexual lifestyle choices that I don’t truly “accept” them. I’m afraid of my own homophobia and it hurts. I’m afraid of attitudes of hatred and prejudice taking over me and then costing me my relationships with other people. 

I am afraid that as we get closer to the Second Coming that the conflict between people fighting for what they believe are their rights and the Church trying to stand its ground will get very heated. I don’t know how that’s going to affect me but I’m not looking forward to it. However, I don’t want to worry about that now. And I shouldn’t. My life is better for my relationships with people who are different from me, including those of differing sexual orientation. I know that my Savior has commanded me to love other people the way that He loves--loving them for who they are and encouraging them to follow Him--and I want to. 

I just really need help reconciling my feelings, or at least knowing that such reconciliation is possible. I’m not concerned about doing the right thing as much as am I going to be okay and do my LGBTQ+ friends really accept me without me having to compromise my beliefs? These issues put me under a lot of mental and emotional pressure. What is it going to take for me to be strong enough to withstand it?

Sincerely, Me, a person who struggles with mental illness and wants to do right by the people she cares about

Please interact: open-minded people who are religious/spiritual, Members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, people with knowledge or experience of mental illness, LGBTQ+ people who are more tolerant of religious people; people who have struggled with similar thoughts or fears a plus

DO NOT INTERACT: athiests and exmos, antis, etc., anyone who just wants to talk down to me about my beliefs or “educate” me; also far-right religious people who misinterpret religious beliefs to justify homophobia

[star-anise]

OH MY GOD MAGICAL

I JUST GOT DRIVEBY TROLLED BY A RADFEM IRL ABOUT THE BETTER BINDER PROJECT

(Homophobia and transphobia TW)

Mom didn't feel like cooking tonight, so she took her adult children out to a restaurant on Whyte Ave for dinner. On our way home, I started explaining my new thing, the Better Binder Project, to my brother. Partway through the walk my mom decided she wanted to duck into an antique store, so as I was walking through the door I was saying, "They did a study, and 97% of people who bind their chests experienced negative health outcomes—"

"I'm glad to hear you say that," a middle-aged woman said, looking up from a display of rhinestone jewellery. Now, Whyte Ave is kind of Edmonton's LGBT+ district; they paint the crosswalks with rainbows for Pride. So I turned to this woman with a kind of naive assumption that she meant, "I'm so glad this issue is being taken seriously by the medical community since trans health is such an underexplored area.”

“Yeah!” I said, with all the enthusiasm of a nerd who just found a more interested ear than her impassive big brother. “I’m working on a binder design project that should mitigate some of those effects!”

She smiled, in that pitying way white women have when they think you’re really stupid but they also think they’re treating you in a very kind and non-aggressive manner. “I meant that as a radical feminist.”

“Oh,” I said, trying to change mental gears from new friend! to danger danger. “Well I’m a radical, uh...” Oh god, try for dignity here. Chin up. “Intersectional queer.”

As I turned around and stalked into the back of the store after Mom and my brother, I heard her say to her friend, “Really, it stands to reason. You spend years wrecking your boobs, and—”

Like she was fucking glad that binding often hurts trans men, because it was what they deserved for defying nature.

Know what it reminded me of? When I was in my early teens, I had a friend whose father was virulently homophobic, not, he said, because he had a moral objection to homosexuality, but because homosexuality was innately gross and disgusting. His biggest citation for this was the claim that someone once heard a doctor describe elderly gay men who had to wear diapers, because their sphincters were too damaged by years of anal sex to work properly. (Somehow, this served as justification for objecting to his daughter being gay, but hey, he was the only one pretending it was logical)

Apparently incontinence does happen among 11.6% of men who engage in receptive anal intercourse, as opposed to 5.3% of men who do not, but there’s little scientific data on what factors increase or decrease that risk. It’s one of a long list of things the LGBT community has had to generate and disseminate folk knowledge about for decades, because authorities won’t fund or publish that kind of research. The gay community has, for decades, been teaching people about how to have anal sex safely—to use lube and condoms; to ensure the rectum is empty first; to stretch the muscle slowly and be relaxed. Having anal sex with someone you trust, who has the right equipment, and who knows what they’re doing, is an entirely different experience than the alternative, and I strongly suspect the data on lasting damage would, if examined, reflect that.

There are a lot of health risks we had to endure for centuries, until suddenly we didn’t. Doctors didn’t know they ought to wash their hands when going from handling dead bodies to operating on live patients until 18 fucking 47. People with diabetes used to be doomed to blindness and early death until suddenly, they were able to live long and healthy lives. And I’ll say it: one day, people are going to be able to bind their chests without negative health effects. I have that much faith in the progress of medical science.

But I left that interaction like.... how fucking much must that woman hate trans and nb people, that she is pleased that something hugely beneficial to the mental health of a group with extraordinarily high risk for suicide also causes them skin rashes, breathing problems, and pain?

Is she that fucking bitter that her Andrea Dworkin book club isn’t getting as many new young recruits, because people who might have been pressured to identify as lesbians in the 1990s are now more comfortable IDing as transmasc, and therefore don’t qualify for membership?

How fucking sadistic do you have to be?