taking back control

this leaves out the most crucial tip you'll ever need:

UPDATE:

« A striking number of political prisoners who wrote memoirs attribute their survival to their ability to tell stories […]. In the world of the camps and the prisons, where books were scarce and films were rare, a good storyteller was highly prized.

wokies: you are not immune to propaganda

TIL about female urinary incontinence in China

“He is taking a course on Marxist ideology. He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.” His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen, He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents, Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background. The matte finish is fucking gorgeous. He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars To teach him that the system is unfair. He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves. What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch. Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest. What you can’t tell from Harvard square, Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once, It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs. Tear gas is such a benign term for it, If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience. What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble, Is that when they rush you, survival is to run, I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me. I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet… We still do it. I inherited my communist manifesto, It has no cover— Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote” The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment, Looking for subversive propaganda. She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages, Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read, They never found it. So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber, For wanting her children to have a better life than she did, Don’t talk to me about revolution. I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that. The price of uprise is paid in blood, And not Harvard blood. The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago, The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic. It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library. It is easy to offer flesh to the cause, When it is not yours to give.”

i know it’s easy to look at male suicide statistics and go “wow, toxic masculinity really is killing men” and i have nothing but my own experience to share because as far as i can tell no one collects data on the conditions of people who die by suicide, just the fact that they die by suicide. but i would like to throw out there that the suicide widow facebook group i’m in, that has thousands of members, has so many women whose husbands killed themselves after having abused them for years/decades or being caught with child pornography/having abused a child in their family that i literally do not feel comfortable posting in it because it feels like i’m throwing it in their face that i didn’t have to deal with that. 

A man threatened to kill his wife and his child and made a show out of trying to k** himself in front of the kid, and also went beserk when they were about to leave him/left him, blackmailing with his life