seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from T1
seen from China
seen from Australia
This is what it could look like for people with dyslexia when they try read. Just be kind. #dyslexia #dyslexic #adhd #dyscalculia #dysgraphia #dyspraxia #processingissues #learningdifficulty #1in5 #OneInFive #bekindtooneanother #neurodiversity #inclusion (at Ireland (country)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVk7FOcsgfC/?utm_medium=tumblr
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
iDyslexic is connecting everyone involved with dyslexia, adhd, dyscalculia, dysgraphia, dyspraxia, processing issues and all learning difficulties together A social network for over a billion people Support, mentor, give advice, get advice, share your story, connect with us today on iDyslexic Just download the app it's FREE on The App Store or Google Play Store or at www.idyslexic.com #iDyslexic #idyslexicapp #dyslexic #dyslexia #adhd #dyscalculia #dysgraphia #dyspraxia #processingissues #learningdifficulty #1in5 #learadifferentway #oneinfive #neurodiversity #support #togetherwearestronger (at Kilkenny, Ireland) https://www.instagram.com/p/CPWq3X3s0FE/?utm_medium=tumblr
Be part of something special at iDyslexic A social network connect a billion people together to support one another With built-in secure virtual classrooms where students, parents, teachers, caseworkers and mentors interact with one another on IEP's or homework or workbooks or just putting together work schedules #support #inclusion #creating #1In5 #OneInFive #idyslexicapp #dyslexic #dyslexia #adhd #dubai #ieps #learningdifficultycommunity #african #europeaeducation #americaneducation #africaneducationprogram #classrooms #asianeducation #australianeducation #southamericaneducation #learnonline #globalconnections #Support1Another (at Ireland (country)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CGvbTHyBVcc/?igshid=10uv2ryq9fa0y
Be part of something special at iDyslexic A social network connect a billion people together to support one another #support #inclusion #creating #1In5 #OneInFive #idyslexicapp #dyslexic #dyslexia #adhd #dubai #learningdifficultycommunity #african #europeaeducation #americaneducation #africaneducationprogram #asianeducation #australianeducation #southamericaneducation #globalconnections #Support1Another (at Ireland (country)) https://www.instagram.com/p/CGvaur4BRKB/?igshid=dyvicwqh8q89
Get together one more time🎵🎶 ~ Frankfurt Kongresshalle, Pfaffenwiese 301, Frankfurt, Germany, September 14th, 1968 #thedoors #jimmorrison #powerpoet #fivetoone #oneinfive #nooneheregetsoutalive #germany #frankfurt #1968 (at Jahrhunderthalle Frankfurt) https://www.instagram.com/p/CEnQlegsKg0/?igshid=13syfmivn70m7
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Look at this....It's freeeee! Just by signing up to Polishedman.com, and pledging to paint one nail to raise awareness, you'll be thanked with a free burger every day until October 12th! On a serious note, one in five children experience violence before they turn 18. That's far too many. Make it stop. #grilld #polishedman #endvoilence #polished #burger #oneinfive @grilld @polishedman (at Toowong Village)
I am the One in Five(trigger warning: rape)
One in five college aged women will be sexually assaulted or raped by our graduation date. One in five women will have their lives irrevocably altered, often times by someone we know and trust. One in five women will lose their sense of personal safety and security, in addition to our naturally given sexual liberation.
66 percent of the one in five will choose not to report their assault, to suffer and recover silently. To spare themselves any potential re-vicimization.
34 percent will make the choice to report their assault, 7 percent of us will get a day in court, and only 2 percent of us will see justice served to our attackers in the form of a prison sentence. Those 34 percenters will have to deal with the general public questioning their trauma, their truthfulness, and even digging into their personal sexual history prior to their assault. We will be swabbed, poked, probed, prodded, and photographed in the name of evidence and an “examination”. We will sit there, silent, terrified, unmoving, and in shock. We will want to run, but will have no idea where we want to run to. We will be forced to sit in a court room, in a witness stand, across the room from our attacker, while an attorney who knows absolutely nothing about us asks whatever questions he or she deems necessary in order to make us look dirty and unreliable before a jury— while they protect the very person who destroyed us. We will be forced to sit there, and speak with our trembling voices. To answer “yes”, “no”, or to not answer at all. Our blood will run cold. Our hearts will feel as though they are beating out of our chests. Our stomachs will be in our tightened throats…none of this seems real. This is a new hell. And for what, honestly? Are we trying to be vigilantes for social justice? Do we just want attention? If you can’t read the sarcasm in those questions, I don’t know how you’ve made it this far. The 2 percent chance of justice is what keeps us going…maybe he’ll pay, he’ll think twice before he hurts another woman. Or, maybe, he won’t. But at least we did something.
Rape is a unique crime in the aspect that, much like murder, the victim’s life is being taken away. But, unlike murder, the victim is forced to march forward and live on. The victim’s life of joy, wonder, and free spirited discoveries is suddenly snatched away and is replaced with a life full of unrelenting anxiety, fear, regret, and an immersion into the world of rape culture— where everything is our own fault, and we’re liars. Our society forces fresh and lifeless victims into a world where they are blamed for their own undoing.
When a person is murdered, many people mourn and unify around the loss of that individual. Murder is a moment— or maybe several—of terror and pain, followed by a rather prompt ending to the pain, and deathly peace. The murderer is found as quickly as forensics and evidence allows, and is punished to the fullest extent of the law. When a person is raped, no one mourns. No one unifies. No one understands. There is no prompt ending, there is no relief from the inflicted pain. Time lessens it, but it never goes away. Our rapists are not found as quickly as evidence allows; and while it makes absolutely no sense, often times they are not punished to the fullest extent of the law— the victim is physically alive, with irreparable invisible damages, and they get to walk about as if they’ve done nothing…changed nothing…altered no one. They get to walk about society freely, pleased with the control they’ve gained over their victims at no personal cost to themselves. They walk about with a piece of OUR soul in their clenched fists; a piece that they forcibly ripped from our very being the day that they murdered a part of us, while their own soul remains— blackened, but intact.
I may have been YOUR victim, but I am not A victim. I will make sure no woman ever feels alone, and never suffers in silence. I will make sure you at least think twice before ever breaking another woman the way that you broke me. I do not fear you anymore, I pity you— because you felt so little control over your own life, that you deliberately sought to take control of mine. You set me on fire, and watched as burned to ashes. You laughed as I burned and crumbled, and even dared to play with the remains of who I used to be. Out of those ashes, I rose— like some sort of mythical phoenix— bigger, stronger, smarter, and with a thirst for not only MY vengeance, but for the vengeance of the every woman who has been silenced. Our testimonials will be vindicated. Your disavowals will be controverted, and later invalidated.
I am the twenty percent. I am the silenced. I am “the girl that never happens to”
I am the girl who sits at the front of your class, smiling, and attentively taking color coded notes.
I am the girl who sits in her shower, crying, and rubbing my skin raw in a vain attempt to feel clean again.
I am the role model, and I am the model university student
I am the “slut” who was asking for it, I am the “liar without proof”
I am studying in order to make the world better, to help innocent victims of war torn countries reclaim their lives and their livelihoods.
I am “ruining” his life over “one moment”
I am a risk taker, a world changer, a shaker and breaker of chains and societal norms— I am celebrated.
I “knew drinking was risky”, I should have “played it safe”, I should have stayed home like society would like me to— the only way for a woman to “be responsible” and “protect herself” is to stay home and stay sober.
I am a model of grace, class, and a sort of effervescence that is hard to find.
I am a flirtatious tease, and I need to wear more clothes.
I am all of this. WE are all of this.
We are the one in five. We are everywhere if you are willing to see us. We are the bubbly sorority girl; we are the overachieving type A brainiacs. We are the presidents of organizations; we are hourly wage paid workers. We are your sisters, daughters, cousins, friends, grandchildren, and peers. We are the one in five, and we are through with letting you silence us.
Intro to a f***** up individual
Before you read this, know this is NOT a tale of personal hardship and misfortune, aimed at gaining the pity of others. If I can change the outlook of life for one individual, this would all be worth it. It took me five years of going back and forth to gain the courage to share my story. So, here goes. It took me a long time to accept the fact that I had a mental illness, although it all started when I was in the fifth grade. Up until that point, I have no memories at all. If you've ever seen the movie Inside Out, you're probably aware of what a core memory is- a key moment that defines a persons life. Those for me aren't very happy. They're driving my mom home at the age of 8 because she was drunk, my dad throwing my suitcase on the concrete and all of my clothes painting the sidewalk, sheets surrounding the kitchen because my step-dad manufactured meth, watching my mom drink her life away one beer at a time, raising my brother at the age of 7, and eventually admitting myself to a mental hospital because feared myself at 12 years old. I was one fucked up individual. Here's what fucked up means to me- I begged my dad to place me into foster care because I knew I'd be happier, self-harmed, attempted to overdose, tried to run away on a fucking bike, walking into the Principles office in middle school and seeing social workers waiting to take me somewhere that I mattered. I remember the first day of first grade, but I try not to. Same with birthdays, holidays, and school events. Those were the times my mom promised to show but never did because she was too strung out on a piece of shit that raped her and beat her and threatened to take her life, the bedroom over from mine. There are more unhappy and unfortunately defining memories, but I'm sure you get the point. The worst feeling in the world is being fucked up but not because of yourself, but because of the fucked up individuals who were supposed to shield you from that shit... but chose not too. When I finished eighth grade, I wanted to go somewhere where no one would remember me, so I could start over. I had been to three elementary schools, and three middle schools and all I ultimately wanted was to be grounded for once in my life. I didn't want to be remembered for the social workers and everything else, so I chose a school that 90% of all my middle school classmates wouldn't go to. Despite trying, shit still followed. I thought starting over would change my life. But the moment life theoretically started over for me, shit hit the fan again. I literally felt my heart stop beating when the woman that had saved me throughout my life couldn't even save herself. She was handed a death diagnosis. So, my second semester of high school, all I did was cry and write letters and on Christmas Day 2007, as I held her hand and witnessed her last breath, half of me went with her. So after her funeral, I slipped away and slipped all those letters I had been writing into her pockets and closed her casket for the last time. For years after, I was alive but I was not living. In my mind, I wanted to be dead too. So, for the next few years the cycles of self-harm, and overdosing, and sometimes voluntary and sometimes involuntary trips to the psych ward continued. Yet again, I was a fucked up individual. No medications helped me. No therapy made me feel any different. I couldn't even help myself, so how could someone else? But I went anyways and I was given a diagnosis for myself- mixed anxiety and depressive disorder, accompanied by multiple personality disorder. Now before you exit this link and are afraid to ever talk to me again, let me tell you exactly what my diagnosis meant. Mixed- depressive disorder is a diagnostic category defining individuals who suffer from anxiety and depressive symptoms of limited and equal intensity accompanied by at least some autonomic features. I was literally MADD. I was MADD because of my defining diagnosis but fucking mad because I didn't want to be any of those things. But what about the multiple personality disorder? When I first heard those words, I was a freak of nature. Someone who morphed into someone else any given second. But here's what it really meant- usually a reaction to trauma as a way to help a person avoid bad memories. Yep, that's me. Acting happy to avoid being fucking angry and sad all the time. Sounds about right. For me, I'm just me with different emotions and that's usually normal. People experience joy, and heartbreak, and profound happiness, and anger and all emotions but I was sad and angry all the time, so I had to cover those unforgiving emotions somehow. So I became someone I wasn't. All the time. Today, I still suffer from the anxiety and depression because of all those unhappy core memories. I still cover up my real emotions. And I'm still one fucked up individual. But I'm getting better and because of that, all of you suffering from any mental disorder I want you to know that you are not alone. One in every five individuals will suffer from a mental illness during their lifetime. You aren't alone in the way you act or feel, or don't feel at all. Today, I realize that I'll always have a mental illness but I've learnt how to cope with my diagnosis. I'm still depressed about some aspects of my life and still have anxiety attacks daily. Things get better. I should know- I haven't been in the hospital, or overdosed, or self-harmed, or any of that shit in 5 years. Shit gets better, slowly but surely.
