“When People Bicker, It Is Said To Arise From The Depths Of Lakes To Becalm Violent Hearts.”

i don't want to make this month about discourse, because most discourse is arbitrary and pointless at best, and self-destructive and dangerous at worst. but happy pride month to all queer people in the community that have been targets of exclusion, abuse, or erasure by certain jerks in the community.

trans people, intersex people, black queers, aces/aros, mspecs, neopronoun users, xenogender people, transhets, gnc queer people, multigender people, people who use microlabels, mspec lesbians/gays, polyamorous people, queers with split attraction, and any other groups who have been targets of abuse, exclusion, or erasure by other queer people who should have had their backs.

i don't need to tell you that you're valid because it's not for me or anyone else to decide that your way of describing yourself is "invalid." you are the only person who can label yourself in a way that is fulfilling to you- and if that means not labelling yourself at all, that's great too! but i love you. i'm proud of you for existing, despite the fact that you have to deal with some queer exclusionists hating you on top of the queermisia from non-queers. your existence is beautiful. your queerness is beautiful. be proud of yourself, because you deserve to be.

love you. have a wonderful month, because you deserve to celebrate it just as much as every other queer person <3

and to the exclusionists in question: you don't get to blame the rest of us for hating you when you help make queer spaces unsafe for queer people. worrying about how other queer people identify is such a waste of time, because they're going to identify that way no matter what you think. your opinions on other peoples' validity means absolutely nothing. you are wasting valuable time that you could be using to be proud of your own queerness instead of reveling in your misery about other queer people daring to exist in a way you don't like. so try changing and growing as a person and stop spending all of your time worrying about what other gay people are doing.

Chapter 7-20

Confessions

Read on Tapas / Read on Webtoon

More info/buy the books: https://aliceoseman.com/

Heartstopper updates three times a month, on the 1st, 11th, and 21st at 11am UK time.

*Trigger Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse, mental abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, PTSD symptoms, anger, and anxiety.*

Saturday, Feb. 11th, 2023

9:55pm

Today has been so difficult. Well, really just the past few hours, but still. My family and I went to the store for shopping and groceries. I had an amazing haul of clothes from Wal-Mart (it was so good!!!), but it was filled with anxiety and self-doubt. It took me a really long time to calm myself down from that, which I am really beating myself up over. However, the main thing that has me upset is after we got home, where my younger siblings and I had to rearrange the room for our other brother, Anthony, to come back home.

My sisters needed to clean out from under their beds in order for me to move them to make space for Anthony’s bed. It took them literally 2 hours to do it, and it was not only frustrating, but unnecessary. I was put in charge of “managing this project”, and they made the process take so much longer than it had to (4 HOURS!!!). Plus, James (my step-father) had to keep receiving “updates” or involving himself every 30 minutes, which made it even more difficult. The girls just kept making excuses, getting distracted, or asking me redundant questions, and I was running out of patience. It takes so much energy to deal with them, and it just has to be my responsibility to micro-manage them.

My problem is that I am constantly the fall-back for James, and my mom supports it. Not only did I have to “run this project”, but James had the audacity to say that he’s “giving” me the responsibility of supervising the kids regularly clean the room. I have raised those kids in his stead. He hasn’t been a parent to them, he’s rather paying child support and free-loading around the house than actually stepping up. He stays in his room, keeps to himself, and uses us as free labor.

I’m not their parent! I shouldn’t have to look after them the way that I do. I am consistently present with them, checking on them, teaching them, helping them, feeding them, and he does none of that. It’s not fair to me, and I can’t even draw a boundary to separate myself from it. I get sucked back into parenting them to where I literally can’t make time or space for myself. 

There’s a reason that I don’t come home that often. This household and this family is a trap.

James and I were talking the other day, about a couple of things. He repeatedly said that he’s an “observer” and “picks up on the things he sees”. It’s so full of shit. He asked me why I never come home and why I’ve been gone for so long (3 years for college), and I had to scramble for a half-truth to save my skin and give him such a vague answer. That it’s because growing up here in this area was rough. He’s so perceptive, but can’t see that the problem stems from HIM. His abuse and how inactive he is as a father and how he walks around as if he’s a king.

I stayed away to avoid him, and being here now is just as hard as I thought it would be. I hate interacting with him, I’m tired of the anxiety from being around him, and I hate how he treats me. You know, he was like, “I can see that you’re pretty responsible, so I wanted to ask if you want to be back on our car insurance?”. Why do you even feel the need to comment on my responsibility? I’ve been responsible for years and it’s not a show for your approval, and has absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s patronizing and belittling. I’m an adult now, I want to be treated like one, and I’m going to treat myself with responsibility. Yes, I’m back living at home, but I’m clearly pulling my own weight by buying the groceries for the whole household each week. And, so much more. So much more!

I’m not your solution to your issues of being a neglectful, abusive parent. I’m not an in-home nanny, a maid, or a butler that caters to your every request. It’s not my responsibility to cover your tracks and then, be a stand-in for you, because you are too tired from work or annoyed or because you want to “watch your football”. Those aren’t my kids, they’re my siblings. And, it’s miserable. I just… can’t take it.

I’m literally draining myself for this family, and I can’t ever have the time or space to myself to recover, because it’s constantly filled with their needs and wants.

I’m exhausted, and I want it to stop. Please.

this tweet hasn't left my mind once in the two years since it's been posted

sharkboy and lavagirl

I hope everyone is having a wonderful beginning of pride month! This is my first pride since coming out and I'd like to share a little bit of my own perspective this pride.

I'm 22 and I only came out a few months ago. I've been super lucky and all of my friends and family have been super accepting. The worst part about coming out has just been me.

My whole life I thought I was straight, I didn't have many crushes (see later learning about demisexuality as well) and any that I did have were very normal cis guys from school. I never had any reason to think I wasn't straight and that was perfectly ok.

My friend group has always leaned on the queerer side. Most of them were out by the time we graduated high school or shortly after and all of them talked about how they always knew that it was always there.

I've known what pansexual is since I was 14 and I'd never thought of it as a label for me, people were pretty but that was it to me, I liked guys.

There's a guilt you feel sometimes when you come out later than your peers. Whether it be like me and you're still young or years down the line. You're still just as valid but there's that part of you that feels guilty for not knowing sooner.

It's my first pride and I feel guilty.

I feel guilty because every year before now pride was for my friends with me as the respectful ally following their lead. I've never even gone to a pride parade, always seeing that as something they got to do, something they deserved to do and I didn't want to intrude.

I know I shouldn't feel guilty but I do.

I hope one day there's a part of me that doesn't feel like I'm just faking these feelings so I can be included, that it's ok I didn't always know but for now there is.

I'm grateful to everyone celebrating pride with me this year, my partner, my friends both here and out in the world and my family.

Thank you for reminding me I'm valid even when I can't always see it.

Happy pride everyone, especially if this is your first one.

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💜

I wanna ruin your days so I wanna point out the painful thing I realised:

when Buck had the pulmonary embolism in the Grant-Nash backyard the doctors said that the reason he survived was because he was surrounded by medical professionals but when we saw Maddie and Chimney at the hospital neither had a single drop of blood on them so the only thing that makes sense is that Hen and Eddie were the ones that got Buck stable 🤧

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of physical abuse, mental abuse, emotional abuse, parental abuse, verbal abuse, child neglect, threats, anxiety, panic attacks, violence towards children.* Monday, June 19th, 2023 Part 2 6:32pm

Now, I introduce you to our new roles. I became the “golden child”; conditioned to get the perfect grades and carry out all orders timely and perfectly. I was the “nanny and pseudo-parent”; directed to take care of my siblings, provide food for them, get them ready for school, help with homework, and handle any misbehaving and report only the extremes. I was the “maid”; the only child in the house with chores, which meant I had all of them, even cleaning up after my “parents”. And, I was the “butler”; I had to deliver everyone their plates, eating last, and take James’ dishes after every meal and bring him a hot cloth to clean his hands. I became depressed, anxious, and extremely hyper-independent, curling in on myself and realizing this is not what “home” should feel like. I was “maturing” fast, and my adults took advantage of it.

Anthony was the “rebellious child”. He was more outwardly angry, picked fights at school, and sought comfort in his friends. He wasn’t trusted with responsibility, so he didn’t receive any. And, eventually, the rules and standards that were established with me, as the oldest, didn’t work with him. He gradually grew more and more distant with the family, as I was becoming the crutch for them.

My two little sisters, and soon-to-be youngest brother, were raised more graciously, still servants to the king and with the same emotional detachment. Thankfully, they never had to experience the abuse that Anthony and I had to endure. So, while they love their father, because that’s all they know, they don’t know the true terrors of that man, and I’m truly grateful that they won’t ever go through that. 

My mother suffered as you put all of the parenting responsibilities onto her, as you forced her to attend to every need and want you spoke of, as you made her shoulder the finances to keep the house fed and taken care of. You, however, would go to your job (I can’t even remember which one because you job-hopped so much), come home, claim and monopolize the washer and the bathroom for hours, shut yourself in your room to watch “your” TV, beg and call for “your wife” to come spend time with you while asking her to do everything for you, ignore your kids and yell at them to stay quiet, and go to sleep. This is your daily routine, even now in the present.

I left my home because of you. I was 10, and my father had reappeared back in my life for the past 2 years. After visiting him twice, he offered me to come live with him, and I took it because anything’s better than here, right? WRONG. My dad is a whole other story, but I came back after a year. You would think that would be enough time for change to take hold, but it didn’t, and how could there when the space is constantly suffocated and stifled with immaturity, unintelligence, and vitriol. 

The standard was to get all the chores done before you got home and without being told, which is normal, if you disregard the fact that you threatened to beat us within an inch of our lives if we didn’t do so. You did plenty of times before. Having to hide bruises with long-sleeved shirts, oversized hoodies, and pants in the summer, and excusing ones on my face with stories of rough-housing or accidental falling against a cabinet. 

The standard was to watch the kids at all times, and make sure that they don’t get into trouble. Once, when Malia was learning to stand up on her own, she fell and hit her forehead on a vent, while I was changing a movie for Anthony and I. I was beat and blamed for that accident, and wasn’t allowed to watch anything because my focus should be on them. Once, Anthony locked both Malia and Jasmyn in the car with the keys as they were still infants, and I was inside putting on my shoes, my “parents” still taking their time to leave for church. After I tried calming Anthony down from a panic attack and telling James, Anthony was stomped in the chest against a fence, my mom barely getting him off, and I was punched in shoulder and shoved against concrete while you spat that I should have never let it happen. We were left at home that day. 

Once, I was riding in the trunk with the top open, as we got home late, and a shooting happened right in front of me in the street, us kids still in the car in the driveway. You and Mom were in the house because we weren’t allowed out of the car until you said so. You were angry that I didn’t do more to protect my siblings, that I confided in my teacher what happened, and that I woke you up when police came banging on the door at 2am. I was 11. And I had nightmares for months.

Once, you threw Anthony against the washer and beat him in front of your two extended family members at Christmas because he took too long to take out the garbage. Then, your family decided to praise you for it and talk about it, as if it wasn’t brutal and my mom didn’t have to pull you off of him.

Things got better in their own way after my youngest brother was born. I was 12, almost 13, at the time. You magically stopped. I still don’t know what changed to make you stop.

But I still wasn’t your kid.

You started to refer to me and Anthony as “boy”, and nothing else. You made sure to tell us and show us that we were separated from our siblings. You would probably say that we had to earn our keep or that we learned some lesson, but that’s not the truth. You have other kids that are much older than us, and you never contact them or tried to do right by them. I think when my mom told me that years ago, I should have realized sooner the type of man you are.

Part 1 -- Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

*Trigger Warnings: Descriptions of su*c*d*l ideations, harassment, trauma, hospitalizations, breakdowns, triggers, depression, PTSD symptoms.* Sunday, May 28th, 2023 Part 3

12:06pm

That incident with the driver triggered me, so badly to the point where for the next week, it was like I was back with Dad and with my step-dad. I couldn’t separate my past reality with my present one. And, 4 days in, I stopped going to classes. I missed 2 weeks by the time that I almost acted on my su*c*d*al ideations. I stopped myself though, and told my therapist. She suggested I go to an in-patient hospital down the road at Emory, and I took it. But, it made everything worse, and I regretted it.

I went without telling anyone, and I thought the school would handle all necessary communications with my teachers, like they said they would, but they didn’t. I was bitter and sad and angry and numb the moment I stepped out of the hospital after almost a week. Then, I spoke to you and the New York Plan started.

You were the first and only person that I told about the hospital. I thought you would be mad at me, at least I made myself believe that. But, you were the opposite, you were mad at Emory like I was, and after you told me what you went through to try to find me, I thought you were finally starting to understand why I didn’t like it at Emory. You were fiercely protective of me like you always have been, and I knew that my big sister had me.

But then, you called back later that day and said that I should fly out to New York the next day, and for the first time, you scared me. Everything was moving too fast all of a sudden, and me, being where I was, just out of the hospital and so ready to die, I was so ready to come to you, but the logical side of me pumped the brakes so hard and so fast.

Of course, I needed the support, I wanted the support, but there was no way that I could just up and leave, but also, leave and then what? We didn’t talk about that first. I had to think about my college trajectory, how things would change, what I would be risking, what and who I would leave behind. Everything was too much to work out to just leave the next day. I processed and understood that enough to take a pause, which in hindsight, I really commend myself for.

The next 2 weeks were awful. I was breaking down crying almost every night, trying to wrestle with the fact of leaving not just just Emory, but the life that I had staked everything and was failing to maintain. I was losing an already lost battle, but it was just catching up to me. When my professors told me that I either would need to leave or fail my classes, when my therapist was pushing for me to go, when my advisor told me leaving would save my full-ride scholarship. The world decided for me what would be next, and I watched my world shatter. It was heartbreaking and frustrating and so filled to the brim with grief that I was drowning, truly, when I already thought I was. But, there was you and there was Gem.

And even though I had a January deadline to meet and the pressure equaled my sorrow, I knew what to be done. So, I filed the medical leave, and jumped on the plane.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7