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@schizopyke

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web design class assignment to make a bad webpage
web design class unanimously voted to give me an award for this today
so can we start hunting down white liberals now or what
The full picture is even more heart breaking after you open the uncropped version. Just a heads-up, it's rough
āThe Roman Catholic Parish in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan was just grafitted.ā
Nah letās post it. Letās feel it. Donāt look away.
I notice alot of my followers on here skipping these posts just to mess with my lgbt ones, suspiciously the white popular ones.
Heres a not so friendly reminder, as an lgbt metis person, i dont give a single fuck what your blog is themed or if this is too painful for you to look at. Reblog this post. Reblog this post with the sources of the 751 children who were found.
Your compliance and silence as well as the compliance and silence of your ancestors is what allowed these schools to open and kill first nations children. The children of MY people.
Dont follow me if you cant reblog this post or the one with sources to your political blog or your most popular blog. Add trigger warnings if you must but if your political blog is only focused on the harms you personally face like being lgbt then you need to see some bigger pictures and stop being afraid of angering your racist mutural or actually saying some shit about racism. If you can reblog some antifa graphics or add blm to your bio to be a surface level ally, you can reblog some sources on the genocide first nations people faced and still face today.
They were CHILDREN.
They were murdered in cold blood.
Iād like to add this photo I took last night in Victoria of the statue of Captain Cook. Though I myself am not indigenous, I 100% agree that these murderers, kidnappers and rapists shouldnāt have huge statues and plaques that decorate them and say how āgreatā they were.
Hereās another photo of the legislative assembly from yesterday. Later on there were more items, candles and signs at the memorial, as well as a big poster with 1505 painted on it but I didnāt get a picture
People need to see this. Not just quickly glance at the photos and keep on scrolling. They need to see this.
Reblog this or just stop following me
I had seen the first picture of the church, but not the second.
I went to a āCancel Canada Dayā event and burst into tears - not because I was surprised to learn of the unmarked graves (survivors told us they were there. Our government pushed it aside, and we let them), but because seeing all the people gathered in mourning drove it home: They. Were. Children.
This is my countryās legacy - and itās not history. The last schools closed during my lifetime. My Father went to school with students who lived at the local residential school, after it was changed to a boarding house (read: holding centre) for indigenous youth who went to local schools.
They were all children, injured, abused, and killed in my countryās attempt to erase them. I want the world to see this and hold the state accountable to *active* reconciliation> I mean we could at least truly adopt UNDRIP in action instead of words for godās sake.
here you can read an article about a survivor of the church and some of the things he experienced to help put into perspective how awful and just how recent it was
this is the memorial at the vancouver art gallery. 215+ pairs of childrenās shoes (as well as stuffed toys and flowers) cover the stepsā¦
can Tumblr stop telling me to add tags to get my post seen by more people. I don't want more people to see my posts. That's how I get really passive-aggressive anonymous asks from the most insufferable people who assume I know nothing.
Do not show anyone this post I do not want people to know I exist
This is why I almost never post, I have enough problems without random people questioning my existence.
if it sucks hit da bricks <- litany against sunk cost
take it easy but take it <- litany against burnout/apathy cycle
fuck it we ball <- litany against perfectionism
now say something beautiful and true <- litany against irony poisoning
casting these before getting out of bed like buff spells before a raid boss

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Okay okay we all know Johnny cash did his cover of Hurt and we were all like āok he owns that nowā but I watched the music video he made and Iām like āoh he OWNS it owns itā
Itās totally wild to me because most people agree that Trent Reznor is a master of his craft and Hurt is considered one of NINās best songs. Imagine having this great hit and 8 years later a musical legend who hasnāt done anything great in a long time and is ostensibly dying takes your song and fucking. Just fucking obliterates you
Taken from the Wikipedia page. Even Trent Reznor said it's not his song anymore.
in case you hadn't seen
Holy hell that's video isā¦painful and stunning. If you grew up listening to Johnny Cash I think it'll hit even harder. And June Carter Cash is in the video, which takes hard and doubles it.
#i remember my friend vali saying#why is anyone trying to make songvids to this song?#the most emotionally gutting video has already been made#by johnny cash himself (@bossymarmalade)
I'm glad people who didn't know who are discovering it's a cover, not just because Trent Reznor deserves that much, but because I think the fact that Cash did not write it is crucial to the power of his version. This is a young man's song about suffering, about addiction and self-destruction in youth. And Cash is, in the most majestic possible way, taking that and going "oh kid, you have no idea", and changes the meaning without changing the lyrics (except for a single word). In his voice, on his face, in his aged hands on the guitar and piano, it becomes about the agonising brevity of life, the irretrievability of mistakes, and the inevitable loss of everything, including a recognisable self. But the creativity of repurposing only shows if you can still see what was originally there.
Because it is the anniversary of his death, I wanted to share a small story about my grandfather.
Before I knew that I was intersex, I identified as a trans man. And I went the way any trans man has to go if he wants to transition in my country. My parents thankfully were supportive but I was afraid to tell my grandparents. My grandparents were German and lived/were raised during the third reich. While both of them never said or acted in a way that suggested that they had fascist views (my grandfather was until he died part of a leftwing political party), but there still was this fear in me. "They are old, they grew up surrounded by abhorrent beliefs...". And then there was my aunt. Who would constantly claim that my grandfather was homophobic.
The problem was, back then, there were no openly out gay people in our area, so I never got the chance to see my grandfather interact with someone who was queer. So I just believed her. Because she was so insistent on it. And because it confirmed my fears and my brain loves to be constantly afraid.
But I knew I wanted to come out. I had to, eventually, because I had stopped my estrogen treatment (back then, I did not know that I got that because I was intersex) and went on testosterone instead and first physical changes began to show. We all lived in one big house, so my grandparents would eventually notice.
I was so afraid that my father at some point offered to talk to his parents. I waited outside in the hallway that led to their kitchen and listened.
My father explained, easy to understand, that I was going to transition from female to male because I felt terrible in my body. My grandfather asked, "Is that why the child* is so depressed all this time?" I had been in and out of multiple clinics for manic depression at that point. My father gave a yes. And my grandmother made the incredibly selfish comment, "Can't that wait until I am dead?"
Before I even got time to be upset, my grandfather slammed his fist down on the table. I had never seen or heard him do anything like that before. He was a very calm and collected man who preferred to leave the room before he got too angry. "No, it can't wait. The child gets to get well now. And if that is what is going to help, then it needs to be done."
From that day on, he never used my deadname again or used the wrong pronouns for me. Sometimes, he would stop in a sentence to think and remind himself, but he did always address me correctly.
He celebrated with me when my name was legally changed. He built the bed frame for me and my boyfriend's bed when we moved in together, just like he had built the first adult sized bedframe for me when I outgrew my small bed. He drove my boyfriend to his chemo sessions because my grandfather also had cancer and knew how terrifying it was to go alone.
Did he fully understand what it means to be intersex? To transition? No. But he understood that one of his loved ones was suffering and that he could help to alleviate that pain. And so he did.
He taught me calligraphy. He taught me how to sew. He taught me bookbinding. He gave me many gifts.
But the biggest gift he gave me was, that when someone hated me for what I am, I could stomach it. Because this man was willing to unlearn the bigotry he had been taught for decades so he could love me for who I am.
*in my grandpa's dialect it was normal to refer to children as just 'the child' (genderless)
people really love using psychotic disorders as a joke or trope or plot point in fiction, but even other mentally ill people are just fine with stigmatising psychosis. iāve heard so many stories of psychotic ppl being in psych wards and fellow patients have said "at least iām not crazy" or "before coming here, i thought all ppl in a psych ward would be weird and insane". of course, they inevitably slip up and say it to someone who they donāt realise has psychosis. when ppl watch tv and laugh at the "crazy", "nonsensical", "strange" character⦠what they never seem to think about is that someone else in the room might be psychotic and too afraid and upset to speak up. and then thereās all the times where you call someone you donāt like "delusional" or "psychotic" because to *you* it means stupid and evil. to psychotic people it means that their loved ones are scared of them or hate them.
just think before you speak. and no, you probably wouldnāt know whether or not someone has experienced psychosis. so donāt assume.
This very literally happened to me. The NURSES in the ward I went to were telling jokes and stories about "crazy psychotic people" and I'm just sitting there not saying anything. When I see things it doesn't mean I'm evil or bad. I wanted to die because of the things I felt. I hope they learned to be kinder.
Finally finished Chapter Two!
Part one Here
Dear God, what have I done.
I tried to do a quick summary, I really did.
Bright side is that I formatted it for ADHD, and attempted to format it for Dyslexia as well, but I'm not really sure how to do that, so if you see an abundance of bullet points, that's because I was trying to break things up in a way that was easier to read.
If anyone knows how to format things better, pls send help.
Besides that, let me know if this is any help for you guys who are trying to write schizophrenic characters, or characters with a schizophrenic mindset.
@dreambigdreamz, @rupakam, @snowstorage, @schizopyke
I think there are some dyslexic friendly fonts, I would have to research if any are available on Google docs. Great work so far.

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A voice from Gaza needs your attention š¢ā¼ļø
ā ļøVetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #523 )ā ļø
ā ļøVetted by @90-ghost
We don't even know anymore. Khaled, my little one, has started pronouncing the word "bombing," and it terrifies me.
Iām not here to beg or list every detailābecause even an entire newspaper wouldnāt be enough. The images on TV screens and the stories you see online already tell you so much about what we endure. But no matter how much you see, youāll never truly feel what we feel. And I wouldnāt wish this life on anyone.
How you can help my family
In this moment of despair, I reach out to youānot just as a stranger, but as a fellow human being. Our humanity connects us, and compassion knows no boundaries. Your kindness, no matter how small, can bring a glimmer of hope to our lives, shattered by war.
Hereās what weāre trying to rebuild:
š $5,000 for the father.
š $5,000 for the mother.
š $2,500 for Khaled.
š $2,500 for Intesar.
The rest will go toward essential living expensesābecause thereās no safety net here, no hospitals, no medicine, no healthy food.
Our baby has been sick countless times, and every evacuation has only made things worse. We need help to survive, to heal, and to dream of a better tomorrow.
Even a Little Means Everythingā¤ļøā¤ļøš
We appreciate your help, even if itās just a small donation or simply sharing our story. Every bit of support matters. Together, we can rebuild whatās been taken from us and find hope amidst the rubble.
Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts. ā¤ļøJehadā¤ļø
Hello all, my name is Jess Rapoza from the USA. I am raising money on behalf ⦠Jess Rapoza needs your support for Please Save Khaled and Nan
I have been thinking a lot about what a cancer diagnosis used to mean. How in the ā80s and ā90s, when someone was diagnosed, my parents would gently prepare me for their death. That chemo and radiation and surgery just bought time, and over the age of fifty people would sometimes just. Skip it. For cost reasons, and for quality of life reasons. My grandmother was diagnosed in her early seventies and went directly into hospice for just under a year ā palliative care only. And often, after diagnosis people and their families would go away ā theyād cash out retirement or sell the house and go live on a beach for six months. Or theyād pay a charlatan all their savings to buy hope. People would get diagnosed, get very sick, leave, and then weād hear that they died.
And then, at some point, the people who left started coming back.
It was the children first. The March of Dimes and Saint Jude set up programs and my town would do spaghetti fundraisers and raffles and meal trains to support the family and send the child and one parent to a hospital in the city ā and the children came home. Their hair grew back. They went back to school. We were all trained to think of them as the angelic lost and they were turning into asshole teens right in front of our eyes. What a miracle, what a gift, how lucky we are that the odds for several children are in our favor!
Adults started leaving for a specific program to treat their specific cancer at a specific hospital or a specific research group. Theyād stay in that city for 6-12 months and then theyād come home. We fully expected that they were still dying ā or theyād gotten one of the good cancers. What a gift this year is for them, weād think. How lucky they are to be strong enough to ski and swim and run. And then they didnāt stop ā two decades later they havenāt stopped. Not all of them, but most of them.
We bought those extra hours and months and years. We paid for time with our taxes. Scientists found ways for treatment to be less terrible, less poisonous, and a thousand times more effective.
And now, when a friend was diagnosed, the five year survival odds were 95%. My friend is alive, nearly five years later. Those kids who miraculously survived are alive. The adults who beat the odds are still alive. I grew up in a place small enough that you can see the losses. And now, the hospital in my tiny hometown can effectively treat many cancers. Most people donāt have to go away for treatment. They said we could never cure cancer, as it were, but we can cure a lot of cancers. We can diagnose a lot of cancers early enough to treat them with minor interventions. We can prevent a lot of cancers.
We could keep doing that. We could continue to fund research into other heartbreaks ā into Long Covid and MCAS and psych meds with fewer side effects and dementia treatments. We could buy months and years, alleviate the suffering of our neighbors. That is what funding health research buys: time and ease.
Anyway, Iām preaching to the choir here. But it is a quiet miracle whatās happened in my lifetime.
As one of those kids that lived and who has a psychotic disorder, this is tremendously important.
thinking about Elon Musk and his Neuralink.. He says he can "solve autism and schizophrenia" with it (source below).
These feel like lobotomies of the 21st century. The Neuralink procedure had already killed 1500 animals. Some monkeys suffered psychological trauma.
I'd like to reiterate to those unaware ā THERE IS NO CURE FOR AUTISM OR SCHIZOPHRENIA. LOBOTOMIES DO NOT WORK. IT IS TORTURE AND ABUSE. We cannot let Neuralink continue to be tested, or else disabled people WILL be the ones subjected to these "treatments".
Musk said he thinks Neuralink will "solve a lot of brain-related diseases," naming autism and schizophrenia as examples. Autism is not a dis
Unfortunately, they are only accepting disabled patients and have been accepted by the FDA for human trials. Do not allow your loved ones to fall for this. This will end in disaster and harm. He also claims it will cure dementia and alzheimers, which is impossible. The only way to cure all of these conditions with one device is death. This is a horror movie
what it looks like during your first playthrough
playing far cry 5 for the millionth time and going through the whitetails with Jess (who I donāt usually take as a GFH) and Iām surprised by how often she brings up āher purposeā in her dialog lines and it got me thinking
Her life has been greatly affected by the cult, she has an intense hatred of Jacob and the Cook after the things they did to her family, and maybe after all that time spent fighting them, being in contact with them (and Iām sure being inundated with Jacobās many speeches around the region) that maybe a little bit of the indoctrination has gotten to her on a subconscious level because if thereās one person who likes to talk about purpose itās Jacob Seed
I love that too because then in new dawn the arrow character is judgment and is heavily implied to be the deputy from far cry 5. I definitely makes me think his training also got in on a subconscious level. Cull the herd.

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i introduce to you: the good luck lizard
Tumblr text posts + Winnie the Pooh
(4 / ?)