Theyre Adding A New Piece To The Chess Board Its Called The Mage And Basically They Fag It Up Out There

There are many points in my readings of Jung where he will describe a theory of the mind or society, and I will go "hey wait a minute, this is the medieval doctrine of signatures. Jung clearly also knows this is the medieval doctrine of signatures, so why isn't he mentioning that to the audience?" It begs a lot of questions!

由于中国世纪已经到来，我现在只会用（可能写得不太好的）简化汉语来发帖。

You just wrought a giggle from my body lol

"ohh 00s diet culture isn't back because of ozempic, you're overreacting"

idk i keep seeing previously size-inclusive brands remove plus-sized versions of their clothes from their catalogues entirely, even lines specifically aimed at bigger sizes are cutting their size range down and chopping the bigger ones. i keep seeing mean skinny tiktokers get famous because they said something rude about fat people. when i ask my doctor about weight loss (which my country's gender treatment clinic requires before i can access even preliminary talks about hrt), i'm immediately offered drugs about it - drugs which, according to the doctor, we don't know the long-term effects of. but surely! surely it can't be worse than being fat!

like why are people acting surprised? we've made being extremely wealthy the aspirational aesthetic to strive for, made 'being skinny and having a lot of time and money to stay beautiful' a not only viable but lucrative carreer for people, and then released a drug that is wildly expensive and will make people thin.

of course people are gonna make being thin the ultimate status symbol again - it more than ever before signals wealth and leisure-time.

like, do you think it's a coincidence that people are back to constantly spouting 'nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' again? and pretending being fat is a matter of lacking self-control around cake or whatever? as if people haven't spent decades trying to get these fucks to understand that actually healthy produce and the time to maintain your body are extreme luxuries in our society?

anyway my broke fat ass can't find pants i like and can afford because the size-inclusive lines i'd have shopped at previously have axed anything over a size xl

and like. i'm not even that fat. what the fuck do people bigger than me do. it's really heinous right now for fat peeps.

"Trapped Dreams"

.help me family🍉🍉

https://gofund.me/409f63bb

In a small corner of Gaza, where the lights fade and darkness falls, Mahmoud sat alone, thinking. He was a young man like any other, dreaming of a better future, a safe home, and a job that would provide him and his family with a decent life. But the dream turned into a nightmare, and life into a daily struggle for survival.

Mahmoud's family, which includes 43 members, lived under the burden of siege and war. They lost their homes, and watched their dreams fade before their eyes. Every day was a new challenge, searching for a living amidst the lack of water and electricity, and the fear of bombing that could come at any moment.

"I saw hope in the eyes of my children, but the siege was taking it away from them little by little," Mahmoud says sadly. "They wanted to play in the streets, and go to school, but all that surrounded them was destruction and fear."

Mahmoud's dream now is simple, to get his family out of this hell, and to start a new life in a safe place. But the costs of migration are high, and far beyond their means.

Noha is a story of courage and determination. She reminds us that disability is not a barrier, and that anything is possible if you are determined enough.

“We need your help,” Mahmoud says, his voice trembling. “We need a chance to build a better future for our children.”

Certified and accredited by

@90-ghost

@bilal-salah0

forgot about gaza

ever since thanksgiving i've been completely and helplessly out of drugs and i'm pretty sure it's the worst thing to ever happen to anyone ever

if Raoul Duke had witnessed the Las Vegas sphere it would've put the fear of God into him

TW: self-harm / suicide

I recently experienced my 3rd psychiatric hospitalization in 4 years and my first involuntary one. Well, partially involuntary. I wanna discuss this one for a couple reasons; firstly because it's the first one that's happened since I started this blog and second because it's the first one where I attempted to document my thoughts during my stay.

I started out with a wide-ruled notebook, but was later offered a pocket-sized college ruled one that I vastly preferred, so I copied everything I'd written up to that point including ripping out some of my doodles that were small enough to fit.

It started at noon on July 3rd. I had a scheduled therapy appointment during which I confessed to thoughts of self-harm. My therapist and my caseworker arranged for me to be transported to an emergency room and from there I would be taken to the first open bed they could find in a psychiatric institution. All of this I agreed to voluntarily.

I've censored the location and the doctor's name for privacy reasons. The "crying, slobbering fit" was so severe I was physically incapable of forming intelligible words. Every single time I write the name of a specific drug I spell it incorrectly because I was told the names out loud but not given anything with a label to read.

Some doodles I did post anxiety attack. I think that's the correct term for what happened. I'm still trying to find the appropriate terminology for whatever it is that's wrong with me.

I hope you're all prepared for many more 12 Monkeys references. Also just wanted to share the story of "Book Club Guy." There are several phrases I will never pronounce the same again thanks to him. He was discharged relatively quickly and I miss him every day.

The old man in question was barely capable of even standing and had apparently been in this hospital for close to a year. Incidents like the one described in the second paragraph happened more frequently as my stay went on as that particular patient grew more and more frustrated.

Also "Vitamin H" is a term for haldol that I heard somewhere once and I've been using it ever since.

At this point, my stay had boiled down to taking drugs and then sitting in front of the tv for hours. I felt that if that was all that was neccessary to keep me safe I could easily do that at home. I was told if I kept requesting to go home they would hold me involuntarily and so I pressed the issue really just to prove a point about how a "voluntary" status was bullshit. They essentially told me to put a pin in it and talk to the doctor again when he came back. Talks with the doctor rarely lasted more than a minute or two and I did not feel like waiting all night just to speak with someone for 60 seconds.

When the shift changed and the new nurses arrived I pressed the issue again and that's when they put me under the 96 hour hold. I requested a bible because I was bored and copied down a few verses that I liked. The hospital was a catholic institution so they had plenty of bibles lying around but only with the new testament and psalms. We also had prayers over the intercom every morning and night.

The thing that frustrated me most is that I was given very little time to talk to a professional of any kind. So one of the nurses offered to let me vent to them, which I did.

I was in the grip of another anxiety attack at the time. I was raising my voice, banging my head against the wall, pulling at my hair, etc. Me and the nurse were pacing back and forth down the hallway the whole time. At some point when I reached the end of the hallway, I turned around and a second nurse had arrived with syringe in hand and told me I needed something to calm me down.

We ended up compromising and just giving me a dose of clonazepam and sleeping in the quiet room so they could keep a closer eye on me, but I don't think I'll ever be able to fully trust nurses ever again.

If it wasn't obvious the book my parents had brought for me was Fear And Loathing in Las Vegas.

The last page or so was pretty all over the place. "The Corner Where You Can Hear God" was a corner where you could hear some type of machinery running 24/7 but only if you wedged yourself in with both shoulders against the wall. The patient who first pointed it out was half joking when he said it, but at some point I had taken to crawling into that corner to "pray." It brought some sort of comfort that I couldn't really explain.

Also fuck Wendy's and their stupid fucking ads.

I was released on July 11th at 11:52 am. As I was leaving the patient who had the outburst I wrote about on July 6th was melting down again. He insisted on leaving, and I quote, "TO-FUCKING-DAY!" He must have repeated that phrase at least a dozen times at the very top of his lungs. The image of him with half the nursing staff backed up against a wall, leaning further and further forward with each shout hasn't left my mind.

They insisted I not worry about it as they shoved me out the door.

As I write this now I don't really understand why I felt the need to write all this. I'm still not entirely sure what I've gained (or lost) from this experience.

As a child I was given a diagnosis that technically no longer exists. Our understanding of psychology changes every day. Our mental healthcare system doesn't.

I can't tell you how many times I've been told by a nurse that they just straight up don't know when one thing or another is supposed to happen. Nurses and patients alike are left hopelessly uninformed about decisions that affect the lives of countless people. If my 96 hour hold had ended on a weekend, I would have been forced to stay up to an additional 48 hours because hospitals can't be fucked to discharge people on weekends or holidays.

People who are less coherent than me, less capable of masking than me, less capable of controlling their emotions than me are trapped by the thousands in shoddy institutions run by emotionally disconnected bean counters kept alive by a dying backwater religion that steals billions from us every year.

I don't even know what to do anymore.