#tw shitty people

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

anyone else have multiple traumatic memories associated specifically with holidays/family vacations? because that is a topic I never see discussed in all the So You Had A Shitty Childhood, Now What? self-help books i've been reading. but for me, it was a significant thing. and the more i think about it the more it seems like this would be an (unfortunately) common experience. would be grateful to hear if this matches other peoples' experiences...

[uncanny-tranny]

It's honestly frustrating that I've seen non-Russian queer people almost bragging about how they would be illegal in Russia, labeled an extremist or terrorist. Russian queers are in danger, their government has made it clear where it stands, and it's made this effort for the better part of a decade (even longer, perhaps). This will kill people, don't mistake this for a quirky little proclamation from a government, akin to somebody saying the sky is pink. Russian queer people were already expressing their fear, and the least we can do now is express our love for them, and advocate with them.

Russian queer people, I love you. I love you all so much. I am so sorry, I cannot begin to express the grief that I feel, and I hope that you are safe. Words cannot encapsulate how I feel as a non-Russian, and I cannot hope to comprehend how it feels to actually be in this situation.

[shiftythrifting]

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny learns a few more words with practice.

Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.

…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.

They don’t even sound all that mean.

It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.

Firstly: horrible.

Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.

So. Uh. That’s…gross.

He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.

God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.

…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.

Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.

…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.

“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”

Anyway.

Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.

None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.

He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.

And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.

For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…

Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.

…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?

(It did, didn’t it?)

(…Didn’t it??)

His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.

It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.

Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.

He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.

...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.

He is sick. He has been sick.

The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.

He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.

And then he feels something weird.

Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.

There is something solid sticking out of him.

Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.

And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.

His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.

People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.

Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.

He doesn’t know what it is.

He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.

They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.

He thinks he’s going to cry.

Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.

It’s the lady. He knows her.

No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.

She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?

She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.

“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”

She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.

Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.

But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.

“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.

There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,

Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.

When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.

Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.

They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.

It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.

The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.

Danny frowns.

The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.

The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.

Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.

The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.

And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.

Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.

Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.

The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.

Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.

She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.

“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.

The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.

It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.

[baejax-the-great]

My brother died very suddenly yesterday.

He was the kind of person who always had dozens and dozens of friends everywhere he went because he was easy to talk to and funny and treated people with respect, and his friends ranged in class, race, age, social ability, introversion and extroversion--no matter who you were, he could and would befriend you.

He would scold me for not asking him for help when I needed it, and he would mean it. He taught me to tip well. He loved helping people. He played practical jokes on the new kids at work, including getting one guy to "chop flour" because the flour they had in the kitchen was "too coarse."

He introduced me to some of the best food I've ever eaten in my life. He would always help with a recipe that wasn't working. He would tell me what to buy my foodie friends for their birthdays, and he never got it wrong. He loved meat and whiskey but also wine and fruit and he got me to eat beets even because he knew how to make anything good.

Mostly, he thought that people were all deserving of respect and decency. He was outspoken on this. For all that his friends ranged across demographics, he didn't tolerate anyone being hateful around him. But even then, he was nice about it. He would try to get people to come around to his side. He saw the good in people.

And he was happy. He had finally quit chewing tobacco and managed to stay off it for three years. He had a girlfriend he really liked. The pandemic had put him out of work for over a year, but he was back at his job and doing well and he liked it. He was good at it. And it's complete bullshit that he's gone.

[brucewaynehater101]

The number of times I've seen people argue that Bruce is a decent father and that he is not abusive absolutely blows my absolute mind.

Yes, you can hc whatever version of Bruce you want. You can even blame it all on bad writers or reject canon. You can claim comic!Bruce isn't your Bruce and main a different version of him. Those are all valid.

However, you can NOT say that he has ever been justified for hitting his kids. There is no excuse for him willingly laying his hands on his kids. It doesn't matter if the person is drunk, drowning in grief, lost in emotions, whatever. Hitting kids is not okay.

Continually, the physical abuse is a very obvious sign of Bruce being a shit dad in the comics. On top of that, there is so much emotional abuse and manipulation as well. He's shitty as fuck to his kids and there's no reason this is okay. He may love those kids, but that doesn't excuse his behaviors.

Anyways, reject canon Bruce all you want. There's certain aspects of other characters I reject, and DC stands for Disregard Canon. Feel free to have whatever version of Bruce you desire.

What is NOT okay is excusing or accepting canon Bruce's actions/behaviors as acceptable.

[jaybybyby]

So anybody gonna talk about how Aiden Hale's pronouns are he/him, and how every article I've read on the shooting says this, and then proceeds to use she/her and his deadname, Audrey? I don't care what a person does, using their correct pronouns is not just a privilege you take away. Use his correct pronouns.

Also hey before you make any comments or send me any asks about this, please read this ask I responded to since I'm tired of clarifying myself

Since this post ended up in radfem spaces no more reblogs ❤️

[utilitycaster]

(this is tagged for it as well, but putting it here: the below involves some non-graphic mention/discussion of suicide in relation to episode 3x78)

I think it's important to keep in mind, regarding the most recent episode, that while Ashton's behavior was extremely dangerous and reckless, it was not suicidal in intent. Ashton thought it would work. They thought that they would fix things, and they ignored all the smart people warning them against it because it would imply a lot of negative things about their parents. That doesn't mean it wasn't an action taken out of a certain lack of self-regard (Ashton's realization of this is what drives much of his conversations in the first half of the episode); but it's much more akin to an accidental overdose, or a drunk/reckless driving, or other dangerous choices. It feels very true to the idea of punk that Taliesin is going for, in which dying young is always very much a possibility, even perhaps an expectation; but not necessarily a goal. Ashton did not expect taking the shard to result in their death, and is incredibly shaken specifically because it did.

With that in mind I think the party's reactions seem very real and very understandable. The fact is, when someone does something very risky and nearly dies (or even is briefly clinically dead, using real-world terms) but ultimately survives it's extremely normal for one of the emotional responses to be anger that they put themselves in such danger. It is not, perhaps, rational, but most emotions aren't. It hurts a lot when someone one is close to does something that harmful to themselves. I don't judge the other members of Bells Hells for expressing those feelings. Frankly, them not expressing similar feelings in the past might very well be why Ashton made the decisions he did: the party lacking trust and walking on eggshells around each other is why he didn't confide in them, and why they fell apart so completely here.

I think it's relevant that Chetney tells Fearne, after stating he likes Ashton, that either she or Ashton can talk to him if they "want out", and he pretty heavily implies that this indicates not just leaving Bells Hells, but suicide, and that he has considered the latter in the past. It's clear that initially Chetney considers that a possible reason for Ashton's actions. He then gives Ashton the "You should leave" speech only after everyone present has been talking at dinner, after Ashton has indicated that he will help find Laudna. It only comes out after Ashton's emotional state is made more clear to him: it's pretty bad, but not actively at risk of self-harm (and indeed, desperately trying to avoid it and to change).

Finally, it's worth considering how important anger is to Ashton. Obviously I don't think having Imogen, FCG, and Chetney yell at them feels good. I also think it's going to feel better than apathy, and more honest than any other option. I don't think a forced gentleness would be better; in fact it might be worse, with them taking a break because clearly Ashton is having a hard time and needs to recover (shades of how Marisha mentioned Laudna feeling like a burden following her resurrection), rather than "we are clearly all in disarray and all have been not dealing with a lot of emotions, and this could have been any of us, and we should all regroup." I mentioned before that ultimately what's important is, angry as they are, Bells Hells undeniably stayed, and FCG and Imogen at least made it clear early on that they would, even if they were angry. Ashton was abandoned in the past by people who weren't even angry, is the thing. I don't think they cared enough to be.

[buddiekinard]

hey maybe celebrating cancer and moralizing it so that it sounds like ‘bad’ people deserve it is not a good thing when millions of people are suffering with it world wide and people have to constantly watch family members and close friends waste away and die a terrible death. like sure it’s great when bad people die but haha that person suffered from cancer and they deserved it is just fucking shitty bc they won’t see it but your friends and mutuals who are affected by it will and moralizing health and especially random diseases that can impact anyone and everyone isn’t a great look

[jorrated]

quickie 40min doodle

[trans-androgyne]

Telling people to kill themselves (or is it detransition?) for a criticism of a book are we. What a normal take, aren’t you such a good person. For context I had pointed out the ways Serano almost exclusively brings up transmasc & genderqueer people to be critical or wrong about them.

One for the blocklist. Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays.

[ihhfhonao3]

Look, I love a good media theory as much as the next guy, but so many of them, especially theories for kids shows, are lowkey ableist.

“Dark things you never knew about Fairly OddParents! Number one: Timmy is schizophrenic!”

“Dark fact: Owl from Winnie the Pooh has NPD!!”

“Scary theory says that Sandy from SpongeBob has Borderline Personality Disorder!”

Like I’m sorry if you maybe overlooked the implications of what you were saying, but are you implying that disorders, disabilities and divergences are “scary” and “dark?” Because I’m not sure that’s a hill you want to die on.

[uncanny-tranny]

At some point, I think people have to contend with the fact that misgendering isn't a completely a universally agreed upon concept in the specific sense that misgendering can be very personal.

What may be misgendering to you will not be to other trans people - even if they have the same gender as you. You may be misgendered if somebody used the wrong label to describe you (e.g., somebody calling you "girl," even if it is slang), but that does not mean that that will apply to everybody.

It's important to recognize this because so often, people will say things like, "you can't use this label/phrase/term for any trans person who is a [gender]! And if any trans person who is a [gender] uses those labels/phrases/terms, they're wrong and bad!" and that is simply too broad a generalization.

It's fine to be uncomfortable with certain things like this. It is fine if you don't want to be misgendered, and indeed, I share in that sentiment. However, that does not mean that your comforts and discomforts apply to all trans people or all trans people who share your gender. There's a difference in that, I think.

[haewangsong]

About this whole situation

i feel like the least you can do

is to just... not say you're going to keep enjoying the game.

Enjoy the game, no one can hold you accountable for that, but the moment you're posting on social media about the fact you're going to just ignore everything and support or say that project moon did their best you're just harming the artist they unfairly fired. I know it's hard. I know how devastating it is but at least,

the best thing you can do if you cannot bring yourself to stop playing- is to stay silent.

Also just for some context: (it gets kind of long but long story short. PJ Moon did not make this choice to protect the artist, but they did it because it is the easiest thing.)

Korean women that are angry are angry because this has happened before- in 2016, a VA that wore a t-shirt that was associated with feminism went under attack to the same group of DC incels claiming she's a feminist and should be fired for that.

What the company did- was to fire her, creating a whole whirlpool of situation that got other women targeted and fired. I'm pretty sure the VA here in question got blacklisted from the gaming company.

There are sources revealing that from 2016 to 2020, over 14 women got fired because of similar accusation, and I'm not even sure it counts freelancers that were just silently put off to work.

The National Human Rights Commission of Korea, for fucks sake, has made a testament on 2020 in how the censorship on feminism happening in the gaming industry is a hate crime.

So what Project Moon did here was, it was to do the easiest and most inhumane choice possible, which was to fire a female artist over a similar controversy, bringing the nightmare-ish situation that happened in 2016 back all over again. In 2023. That's why people are disappointed. That's why Korean women feel threatened by this situation. Saying that this was all to protect Vellmori is an insult to her, and to the other female workers who wrongly loose their jobs over situations like these.

The hilarious thing over this whole situation? Every single company that has fired their workers like that has fumbled over themselves! The company and the game that fired the VA got ultimately labeled as a feminist game and lost its male customers too- because they had to keep firing people the moment incels didn't like them, until they couldn't. So incels are saying the game went down because of feminism. Another game? The representative is on fire because to no one's (except for the incels) surprise they fired all of the workers in the project because the game wasn't making any money anymore- making these fired workers reveal the fact that they've been mistreated, overworked, and abused over years. That is two example of many! But what about the games that did the extremely brave and difficult decision to just ignore the incels and go on with their game?

They're fine. They're okay. They had their lows just when the incels attacked, but Korean chauvinist pigs are just so childish that either they decide that it isn't fun to dox people anymore, or comfort themselves saying that oh well, they aren't that feminist after all or, well it's too fun so I don't care it's feminist! This are the pigs PJ Moon cave in. There are games that are boring as hell from smaller companies that survived and are still surviving because their customers are loyal, because the customers know that at least they won't fire their workers over stupid reasonings, the bare minimum!

So just- stop saying you're going to support the game- at least please don't for a while. I can't stop you from playing, but this is something PJ Moon has to take on themselves or this will create the same nightmare-ish situation that happened in 2016 all over again. Don't enable them. Stop giving them the message this is okay. Stop saying it was to support Vellmori, because ruining a young artist's career by telling her she's fired in a phone call after 11pm is not protection. It will never be.

[jakowskis]

"i hated owen for all/most of s1 i only started liking him in s2" weak. i liked owen since he got choked against a wall by an angry woman and then told her he wanted to shag her immediately afterwards. and then even more when he spent ep3 trying to intimidate and murder a rapist

[anaalnathrakhs]

oh god ed reddit is having the “uwu anorexia isn’t rooted in fatphobia my mental illness is not abt you” talk again please god help me

fatphobia doesn’t mean “being a meanie to fat ppl” i’m begging you to use critical thinking skills for five seconds and apply what you know about literally any other form of oppression to this situation.

people’s point isn’t that you having anorexia makes them feel bad and therefore you’re a bad fatphobic person.

they’re pointing out how the deeply ingrained fatphobia our society upholds, from misconceptions about health to moralization of looks and weight, including yes being jerks to fat ppl’s faces bc they’re fat, is affecting what you think about your own looks, weight, health, body, clothes, eating habits, etc.

the logic isn’t “you became anorexic because you hate fat people so much you never wanted to be fat yourself (and that makes you a bad person)” it’s “fatphobia is a prism that transforms the root cause of your ed into disordered thoughts, behaviors, and patterns (and unlearning fatphobia will help you with recovery and harm-reduction)”

like. it’s not for no reason that anorexia is a disorder that disproportionatedly affects women. it’s not for no reason that there’s sky high comorbidity rates for eds and ocd. it’s not for no reason that people who need control in their lives so badly that they develop a mental disorder abt it get obssessed with being skinny and not with being a sumo. it’s not for no reason that ppl who feel the need to retract to childhood due to trauma envy things like being skinny light and frail, instead of being a tubby baby. it’s not for no reason that there is an incredibly common anorexic thought pattern (internal and self-directed, don’t make me say what i didn’t say) that associaties restriction and weight loss with moral goodness.

for each of these there IS a number of exceptions, but you can see case by case how the root cause (trauma, need for control, for self-destruction, growing up poor, whatever you think is “unrelated to fatphobia” basically) is processed through the prism of the fatphobic culture we’ve all been raised in. some people just, voluntarily or not, deal with those root causes in different way, which might or might not be healthy. but it’s a consequence of ambiant fatphobia that “i should starve and be skinny about it” is a statistically pretty common response to this distress.

the point isn’t “it’s fatphobic that you don’t deal with your neuroses in a body positive way uwu” the point is that no matter how cool you are with fat people on like, a personal level, you’ve been (like the rest of us) bombarded with fatphobic thought patterns your entire life basically, both directly fatphobic things and reactions to this fatphobia. maybe spoken to you directly, maybe not. maybe about you maybe about other people. you live in a society that places moral values into looks and health, and also pushes some deeply rooted falsehoods about how those things tie into each other. you have a disorder defined by obsessive behaviors. maybe, just maybe, deconstructing the logic that those obsessives behaviors are based upon will help you deal with this disorder. and recover or reduce harm.

basically, anorexia isn’t “getting skinny disorder” it’s “obsession disorder”, obsession with looking attractive, or pleasing your family, or going back to being a kid, or being healthy, or being fit, or being driven and capable, or being worth saving, or having your suffering known, or having control over something, or whatever. the fatphobia that is omnipresent (and i repeat, omnipresent, nobody is singling you out as a bad fatphobic meanie, or even talking about your behavior towards other people around you) in our society picks the direction in which many many people will express that disorder.

of course if you live in a society that tells you “being fat is morally bad” at every turn, when you start developping an obssessive pathological need to control things, without another factor weighting in, most people’s default reaction will be anorexia. food is a regular fixture of everybody’s life, everyone wants to be morally good, and even if we know/understand/believe to an extent the flaws of that “fat = bad” logic we know the world around us still believes it, and nobody wants to be treated like shit. we can think it’s stupid and fight against fatphobia and work to treat fat ppl better in our lives and support body positivity, but in any case, one always judges oneself on different metrics than they judge others, cuz we control our self-improvement. that’s natural. just it doesn’t mesh well with a pathologically obssessive need for control above self-preservation.