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would aiming for $1500 - $2000 for appliances and furniture be outrageously insane of me, or does that sound like it would make sense for a first time apartment where we have to acquire everything for the first time?
the closed mouth doesn't get fed, and even the mother forgets the child who doesn't speak up, soooo...lemme try my luck while i've bamboozled myself into feeling i'm worth it/deserve to have a nice home, before i second-guess and talk myself out of it and think i'm not worth the scum on the bottom of a bootlicker's gooch.
$0/$2,000 - P*yP*l - Ko-Fi
This is my first time living on my own (with a roommate) in a place that IS ours, not temporary, so we're building a life from scratch. The place is small, but we're gonna make it feel safe. Anything you can spare, for what I hope sincerely is the last time, will get us sorted and then Life (and Health) and Getting Better can follow from there.
I also just wanted to say...thank you to everyone who's helped us finally come home, whether that's through reblogging my posts, or donating what you could, or even just smiling and wishing us well in your thoughts and prayers. I sincerely, truly, deeply appreciate each and every one of you, and I read and love every note attached to donations or left in tags. Thank you. I love you all so much. 🥹🩷
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Sometimes, I think that if I killed myself, or died, whatever...I'd just wake up from a nap, and everything since 2002, or 2000, or 1996, or 1994 would've been just a scary dream. A terrifying but ultimately meaningless nightmare.
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize there’s nothing in there. Not metaphorically—the armor is literally empty. It doesn’t appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body might’ve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what he’ll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy who’s got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didn’t say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. I’m not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. We’re pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures I’d put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so I’m not sure why I asked.
There’s not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs I’ve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though I’ve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where it’s barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, I’ll never understand. But it’s a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. It’s like he’s watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. I’m careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. There’s no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like he’s looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. There’s nothing there. I ask him what’s wrong, and again he points. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, and it’s barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When I’m finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesn’t put it on right away. I ask him if something’s still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I can’t add anything else. Even if he could ask, there’s no room left.
Next time he comes back, there’s nothing wrong with his armor—he lets me check to make sure. I ask him what he’s doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. It’s in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but I’ll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but I’m not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. It’s candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. It’s flavored with cinnamon. I’m surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but it’s my own fault so I can’t complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him I’ll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave it’s dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where he’s going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when I’ve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesn’t move to leave.
I ask if he’s going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know he’s not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him I’m grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him I’ve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him it’s a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone else’s empty armor with trinkets. I’m not sure if that’s really why he does it. I tell him I don’t have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. I’m not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe it’s nothing at all.
—
I didn’t edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
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I used to hold my breath as long as I could, just to feel some control over my brain and body by denying it oxygen. I guess that was self-harm. I didn't care. It hurts me, i hurt it. If I suffer too, to stick it to my bitch-ass brain and body, so be it.
I still don't care. And I won't whenever I do this again.
I would actually go as far as to say that MOST abuse is unintentional. I think most people will go through their lives without ever experiencing intentional abuse. People are abusive because they're selfish, because they're stressed, because they care more about what society thinks they should do than the impacts of their actions on their children and partners, because they think what they're doing is correct, because they've made it make sense in their own heads, because they think they can fix their victims, they think they can fix their relationships, they think they can stop you from leaving, they think they can make you a better partner to them, they think that means you need to do what they want. We've sort of constructed mental illness in a way that doing this shit to other people counts as a form of mental illness because it is anti social behavior in the literal sense— it is behavior that causes social harm.
I don't say any of this to excuse it. I think everyone needs to be more aware of this because if you think abuse has to be intentional you will never realize you are capable of abusive behavior. You will never realize you are being shitty to the people you love, because YOU know what you mean, YOU know you don't mean any harm. But you're doing harm. You need to pay attention to the impact you have on other people, and you need to do it all the time, Especially when you feel least capable of doing so. Sorry! You live in a society. Get your head out of your ass.
all the highly empathetic people i know in my life have had abusive home lives and that’s because we were trained to read a situation at any given moment in our homes and learn how to react within seconds because if we didn’t and said or did the wrong thing, we’d get fucked up and beat and hurt
but like subconsciously always reading the mood of any atmosphere or space you’re in, always being able to gauge how people feel, it’s not a fucking gift, it’s exhausting. you can’t turn it off, even if you want to. you read the situation and if it’s negative, you freak out because if someone’s angry at you, it’s the end of the world
like we’ve internalized the scars from our childhood when an adult being mad at you was the worst thing ever and it’s carried with us into adulthood. it’s hard to unlearn all that.
so like a lot of us have mental health or anxiety issues because we also start internalizing all the energy from people, be it positive or negative, and so anxiety-inducing and frustrating to the point of tears
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Literally who fuckin threatens to take their young kids to the police to be tortured for being gay and either fakes a phone call in front of you or literally called the police and then gave you an ultimatum to come forward and confess which one of you was gay in one hour or you’d all be taken to the police station to be tortured
You absolutely CAN and SHOULD expect your parents to ‘stray or turn away’ from their homophobic beliefs if and when you come out.
I don’t give a flying FUCK how many years a parent has heard shit like ‘gay people are all sinners and going to hell,’ when we all know DAMN well that every fucking parent in our society has just as many years of hearing ‘you’re supposed to love and protect your kids no matter what, you fuckleheads.’
If a parent has to pick and choose between two conflicting ‘core’ beliefs and they CHOOSE to pick and stick with the belief that says tell your kid he’s going to hell instead of tell your kid you love him no matter what….that’s on THEM. And nobody else.
NOBODY IS ENTITLED TO THEIR HOMOPHOBIC, RACIST, TRANSPHOBIC, MISOGYNISTIC OR ABLEIST BELIEFS OR ANY SIMILAR FUCKING THING.
THEY DO NOT GET TO BE RESPECTED.
THEY DO NOT GET TO BE TOLERATED.
JUST BECAUSE A THING WAS SAID AND HEARD AND INTERNALIZED DOESN’T MAKE THE THING ANY MORE THAN A DUMB FUCKING SHITTY ASS TAKE THAT SHOULD BE TAKEN OUT WITH THE TRASH AND SET ON FIRE.
And listen, trust me, I know this doesn’t do a damn thing about just how many parents out there WILL choose to stick and side with their homophobic beliefs instead of their children. Its a reality and its a fucking sucky one, but this isn’t about pretending that doesn’t happen or pretending that wishing or hoping for otherwise changes a damn thing.
Its simply about saying, internalizing, that the fault and flaw in parent-child relationships where the parent of an LGBTQ+ child prioritizes their homophobic beliefs over their child’s best interests…..the fault and flaw there is in the parents.
Not the child.
NEVER. THE. CHILD.
You are not a TEST of your parents’ faith. You are not some tribulation for their turn starring in the Book of freaking Job. You are not a trick question with no right answer.
You are a person who is supposed to be loved and nurtured and protected and cared for by the people who brought you into this world or else chose to take responsibility for you via adoption or some other means of becoming family.
Anything less than that is a failing on their part, never yours.
Its just that fucking simple and anyone who says otherwise can fucking fight me because they are dead fucking wrong.
First and foremost, it’s important to know that prologued trauma can cause CPTSD (complex post traumatic stress disorder), and this is not the same as PTSD. Symtoms are different, and where PTSD is caused by one single event, CPTSD is caused by prolonged trauma.
What google says about CPTSD
People might struggle with managing their emotions.
Memory repression of the abuse, which can be later recalled after an event that triggered a memory or when the brain is ready to process the trauma.
May experience flashbacks or disassociation.
Feelings of helplessness, shame and/or guilt
Having a sense of not belonging anywhere or with anyone.
Might become preoccupied with the relationship with abuser. An example would be thoughts of revenge
Isolating oneself or not trusting others
More depth on CPTSD that I learned from my own experience and other people’s experiences
It is not recommended to start processing trauma while living with abusers
Some people with CPTSD still have relationships with their parents
They might put a lot of effort into looking as plain as possible
Isolating oneself is tempting and hard to resist, but will only be harmful
Wondering if they were abused at all
Having a very strong sense of not belonging anywhere
Feeling guilty for being abused because the abuser made them feel ashamed about it
Being really mature as a child, and being told you’re really mature, but when you hit adulthood, you realize you’re not that mature anymore
Being a really hard worker at a really young age
People tell victims of abuse to forgive their abuser
Craving intimacy (this does not mean sex) but not knowing how to get it and feeling a strong urge to isolate yourself instead
Fragmented memories of their childhood
Not being believed
Emotional abuse is very real and does count as abuse
Emotional, or psychological abuse, can be just as damaging as physical abuse
Abuse does not always come with bruises
Some will never forgive their abuser
Some will forgive their abuser
Fight or flight are not the only types of response to adrenaline. Fawn and freeze are very real and very problematic
Not knowing how to create boundaries
Writing the parents
They will make their child feel guilty for being abused. They do this by rationalizing their behavior and putting the blame on the child.
When confronted on their behavior, they will most likely deny that were abusive and will probably believe this to be true, especially if there was no physical violence involved. And yes, it is possible to be abused without any bodily harm.
On the contrary, some abusers know exactly what they’re doing, when they did it, how they did it, and why they did it. These people just don’t care.
They’ll act like good parents outside of the house
They might buy something for the kid, then complain about how it was expensive and they shouldn’t have had to buy it, making the kid feel guilty and ashamed that they needed/wanted the thing in the first place
They’ll shame their kid for crying, getting angry, or showing any emotion that the parent doesn’t want to deal with
They’ll deny their kid basic needs
Note: Not everyone has the same symptoms, and you should always do your own research before writing about abuse
do waterproof headhones exist? i think it might be nice to listen to horror podcasts while showering, or music to make me feel stuff. in my childhood, and even now, i'm always hypervigilant and experiencing hyperarousal because i always had to be aware of if my parents were calling for me (or i would be punished if i didn't hear them/come fast enough), and i'm trying to teach myself how to deprogram and that i don't need to be in that flight-or-fight state where i can discern who is coming towards my room by the sound of their footsteps, and that it's okay for me to be NOT "on call" and always paying attention and to block out the world and everyone else and just exist and experience what i'm feeling or thinking in the moment, as opposed to being acutely aware of how i'm perceived (leading to incurable impostor syndrome) and always paranoid that if i don't answer as quickly as possible (even when it's a message or text), then i'm in trouble and the other party hates me because i'm the worst, because i was human and made them wait the way my parents never let me make them wait.
my psychiatrist: do you experienced paranoia, or hear voices, or anything like that?
me, a fool, ignorant to my own experiences: i don't hear voices but i do have Not Great thoughts, and i don't really think i'm paranoid
girl...you're paranoid as fuck. it's just because that's so normal to you, you didn't even clock it as paranoia. always being on the lookout and waiting for the other shoe to drop and feeling obligated to respond to anyone and everyone as soon as possible Or I'll Be In Trouble is paranoia. i'm paranoid as fuck.
fuck.
HELP A DISABLED TRANS GIRL BUY AN ACCOMODATING OFFICE CHAIR?
heya. happy disability pride month! its also my birthday this month, not that we have much planned but hey, im turning the magical 25. quarter of a century. you may know me, you may not, but im a disabled trans woman and i am unable to work. my application for assistance is still under review so i dont get government support beyond the 450 i get on the first which has already gone to rent.
due to my disability, i dont do much besides sit at my desk and blog, or do creative projects like drawing, clay sculpting, and action figure photography. the chair i bought recently didnt work for me, and has gone to my gf who also needed a new chair.
ive found one that will work, but its 400 dollars. ive had it within my reach so many times only for it to slip away. i need this chair, because the only ones we have hurt me and make my disabilities worse. you can help me by helping me get this chair.
i wouldnt normally ask, but it is disability pride and my birthday, so im asking anyway.
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TRAGICALLY, MY BABY QAIS’S HEART STOPPED BEATING TONIGHT SUDDENLY.
I stood there frozen, unable to breathe as I watched my child collapse in front of me, and I will not forgive anyone who sees this post and does not support me with a single word and ignores me.
The doctors said severe bleeding and weakness caused this terrifying moment, and without urgent treatment it could happen again anytime, so I ask, can you help me get treatment for my baby Qais??
I am begging you as a persecuted mother in Gaza, watching my baby bleed in front of me, unable to stop it. Please donate now and help me save his life before it’s too late.
OH MY GOD, I felt my heart break as I saw my baby Qais unable to move or respond, lying there in pain, and I could not help him. Please donate now and save him
