Daily Archives: June 1, 2014

“ The friend zone is very real. We have all had someone we were close to that we realized we were crushing on in a big way – but we hated ourselves for it. As much as we hoped and prayed things would change for the better, many of us acknowledged that our love for the other person was going to be detrimental towards the relationship. The people in this kind of friend zone cry while watching romance movies or go out and get drunk and kiss strangers. We make sure to keep a respectful distance between the person we like and ourselves – we are distinctly afraid of fucking things up because of our shitty heart being a complete dickweed and doing the thumpy thing when it shouldn’t. The Friend Zone is entirely false and is a complete invention made by boys who on one hand get angry if they think you’re soliciting sex by playing video games but on the other hand get angry if you are not soliciting sex just by breathing. The Friend Zone consists rarely of actual friends – instead it’s often people who stare at us in class and make us uncomfortable by constantly trying to talk to us while we’re obviously engaged in something else. These are the people who invade our personal space and aren’t afraid to talk dismissively about the things which we are passionate about – our faith in particular. These are not kind people. Once I was in a hospital’s waiting room and a woman was quietly saying a prayer for her son. After a few minutes, several other people joined in, linking their hands and bowing their heads. The boy next to me began to talk loudly to me about how disgusting and juvenile it was and how amused he happened to be by the behavior of the “sheep.” “I’m Catholic,” I replied, looking into his eyes, “I think what they’re doing is beautiful.” He looked down my shirt. “You seemed more intelligent than that,” he snorted, “I should have known. Are you even reading that book or are you just skimming?” I blinked. I wish I had said something like, “No, I’m just breathing in the words and hoping they stick,” but instead I just gave him a dirty look and tried to tune him out. He kept talking to me for the better part of an hour. Eventually, he got around to asking me out for coffee. I wanted to explain I was waiting for my mother to get out of chemotherapy, that my family was poised on the edge of a terrible end, that I barely knew him and basically already hated him. Instead, I smiled sheepishly and said, “I’d rather not.” “You bitch,” he replied. I watched his face flare hot. “You sluts are all like this. You play hard-to-get faux-intelligent and you lead people on just to hurt them.” “I’m…?” I started. I was scared. He was in my face. His hands were curled into fists. “You’re all like this,” he repeated. At this point, a few of the other people in the room were staring. I was pressed against the side of my chair, trying to get as far from him as I could. He wouldn’t lower his voice. “You fucking friend zone all the nice guys and date shitty asshole men and then come crying to our shoulders when you need someone.” I am not a confrontational person. Panic bubbled in my throat. I felt tears jump into my eyes. I started stuttering again. I was really honestly positive he was going to hurt me – for no other reason than turning down coffee. This is the difference between the friend zone and the Friend Zone: one is hating yourself for liking the other person. The other is hating the other person for not liking you. ” – A nighttime story about why the terrible deep Friend Zone, mostly written because about seventeen boys have asked what I mean when I complain about it. (via inkskinned) holy shit (via infiniteblush) via Tumblr http://ift.tt/1iJwZiZ

(More tweets like this can be found here.) Twitter has become such a drama pit lately. I made the mistake of pointing out to a Men’s Rights person that though suicides by men happen 4x’s as often as suicides by women, the attempt rate by women is actually 3x’s higher.1 This led to her telling me that I hate men and am okay with their deaths.2 When I tried to explain that that wasn’t true, she kept going on and on about how I just didn’t care about men dying. Eventually I had to resort to the tactic that I use when I’m afraid and in an uncomfortable situation, I started just basically smiling and nodding and expressing how I understood her perspective and agreed with it.34 Of course, she had posted that I said I was cool with their deaths, so I was inundated with MRAs calling me names and telling me that women were horrible. I even got one who said that scratching at your wrist shouldn’t be considered a real suicide attempt. This guy went on to ridicule borderlines and say that we5 were all whiny women6 and that the solution was to “just zap them silly and scramble their brains like a soup. Or, do an old fashiond lebotomy [sic] on them.” He said that there was not any other method of treating us.7 When he found out, at the end of all of his borderline ranting, that I had been diagnosed with BPD over a decade ago, he called me a crazy asshole.8 I ended up blocking him.9 I had another guy tell me that women who attempted suicide were drama queens; and a few of the people suggested that women who try suicide or who self-harm were somehow deserving of less respect.10 The female attempts = drama queens guy also said I didn’t understand mental illness, as did a few of the other people.11 The cause of suicide that was listed by the MRAs? Divorce and alimony.12 Part of me wondered if they were including the suicides that are part of a murder-suicide in that, because I’ve seen a lot of “they were getting divorced, so he took matters into his own hands” stories about that has happened.13 Another part wondered why it was okay to call people with BPD and other issues that lead to suicidality in women “drama queens” for their attempts, when their disorders can be caused by abusive childhoods, chemical imbalances in their brains, etc., but that no one recognized how killing oneself as a reaction to a divorce might be considered a bit melodramatic. Before anyone launches into a “how dare you suggest their pain isn’t real” type spiel, I get why they do it. I understand why divorce can lead to suicide. I understand that grieving a loss increases a person’s risk of suicide. I just feel a little odd paying respect to one person’s grief while dismissing the fact that anyone who chooses to harm themselves (in any way) has something that is making them feel like their life is no longer worth living. This is not a game of whose pain is more real. This is talking about a decision that some people make because their pain is so real for them that they see no way out. It is not something where people should be thumbing their noses as other sufferers over. A divorced person’s pain is no greater or less than the pain of someone who was beaten as a child or of someone who saw their friends die in combat or whose beloved family member or friend or pet died or whose business burned down. The hatefulness of some of the people compounded with the fact that I actually went to my Seeking Safety group this week was a bit triggering, but I got through it. By Friday, I was muting most of the users who were sending rude tweets, which made things more tolerable. On Saturday, a troll sent some rather fucked up messages because I posted a link to this post from Tumblr. He was saying things like “all mass murderers/serial killers are homosexual btw. look it up. they probably react that way because they are told to repress homosexual feelings.” I pointed out that I happen to like learning about serial killers, so I knew that claim was bullshit and he told me, “you need to do more studying. repressed sexual instincts and emotions can lead to some serious mental health problems. even in women.” Freud would be so proud of him for spewing that, as would Marvin, the physician’s assistant for a psychiatrist14 I never actually saw, that tried to convince me that my hallucinations and self-injury were part of my being a sexually frustrated sixteen/seventeen year old.15 He also ended up being muted. At some point late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, someone else decided to bring up that feminists were responsible for terrorist threats against men’s rights movement. This led to the first MRA person to end up calling all feminists terrorists.16 I pointed out that this was hypocritical because she (and other MRAs) have said that you can’t link Elliot Rodger to their movement because he held beliefs that were inconsistent with their particular brand of Men’s Rights activism. If all MRAs cannot be held responsible for the action of one guy, then all feminists can’t be held responsible for the acts of some feminists. To believe that one bad apple can’t spoil their movement, but that one bad apple can spoil ours is hypocrisy. She called me a liar for that.17 So I told her how I felt.18 I also told her that I was not amused by some of her other behavior with regard to mental health issues.19 Basically, I told her that she has her own personal double standards when it comes to extremism.20 I have muted her for for now, but I’m now trying to decide if I want to block […]

I’m Your Hell, I’m Your Dream

via Instagram Amy prefers drinking ice water from a cup over water from a bowl. (Even if ice is in the bowl.) She can be on the floor next to her bowl & she will climb her ramp up to get some water from a cup. She isn’t spoiled, she just prefers to drink water the way her people do. This doesn’t make her spoiled. That we let her is what makes her spoiled.1 I have no delusions over who my boss in life is. She may not be tall, but she is not afraid to demand things that she wants. Of course, she isn’t as “bad” as two chihuahuas that my dad and I saw the other day. They were out walking with their owner and there was this huge Hummer that had just parked in front of a house. The dogs honestly looked like they were challenging the Hummer to a fight. It was like, “You wanna go?” Seriously, I would not be surprised if those two chihuahuas tried to take out that Hummer’s tires. See, Amy’s demand of ice water and pillow forts really doesn’t seem so extreme now. At least she doesn’t try to challenge a fucking Hummer.2((BTW – Chrome has issues with the word “Instagram”, but nothing popped up for porn-y. Way to go, Google.)) This is like the Cordelia Chase theory on buying things “not because it’s the most expensive but because it costs more” and I think Amy would be cool applying it to her life. ↩Somehow I know I will end up with lots of porn-y visitors for saying that. ↩

My Baby Isn’t Spoiled

via Instagram The hand is getting better, guys! Happy dance time, yes? Not only is it feeling better, the only real issue with the skin around the incision is that the top layer is still open. Of course, it’s been long enough that it should be scarring over by now. BTW – Does anyone recognize the book in the corner of the picture?

The Betterment of My Hand