I've Been Thinking Over The Shitshow That Was My Adolescence And Wondering How I Can Be Different As

Disabled people deserve government assistance and benefits. Even if they have incomes. Even if their spouses have incomes. Even if both they and their spouses have incomes.

Because being disabled is fucking expensive, even with affordable healthcare, even under the best circumstances and in the most accessible situations.

I just spent three hours writing a 2500 word letter to my stepmom explaining how fucking stupid it is for her to keep insisting I was "spoiled" when I was actually literally trafficked and paid for all of the "things" my mother gave me with my own fucking body. I doubt I'll give it to her. but still. i wrote it.

isn’t it weird how you can just grow up without a single person caring about you or looking out for you and with extra brutalizing on the side and you’re still alive and almost completely coherent but in so much pain and bursting with paranoia and insecurity and self doubt while all the people who did this to you are just. business as regular. where is the karma.

can we like…get rid of the so-called leather and rubber “pride flags” ? it’s honestly ridiculous and offensive to the lgbtq community. those aren’t pride flags. 

Back when I thought my mom loved me, when I was very very small, I remember she would call me "dearheart" like I was the dearest thing to her heart. I barely remember it. It's my only memory of my mother that feels anything close to love. It's not tied to a place or time or specific event, it's barely a memory at all, just the feeling of smallness and trust and love.

It makes me hate her more.

it’s okay to do things that make your symptoms worse (as long as you’ll stay safe)

every once in a while you need to eat something yummy. or go on a walk. or a trip to the zoo. take a hot shower. cry your eyes out. dance. listen to music. draw for way to long. write. laugh. sit in a cafe with a friend. paint your nails. dye your hair. go on a run. pet a cat

sometimes you need to do things that are cathartic or make yourself feel alive. sometimes you need the reminder of why you’re fighting so hard to stay alive

this is your reminder that just because it makes your symptoms worse, it isn’t always the wrong thing to do. there can be value in these actions

My parents: what trauma?

Me: uh-

I was just thinking about how weird it was that my mother never let me have a job, she was so against me working. and then I realized:

I had a job. She didn't want me to waste time flipping burgers when she could be pimping me out. That was my job, to her.

My sense of self and understanding of my own situation is so shattered that it's taken me like 15 years to even put that together.

stress split our brains