❤️❤️❤️

Source

Here’s an explanation retweeted by the Minnesota Freedom Fund of what’s happening in Minneapolis right now. When it comes to all the voices clamoring to tell you what’s going on in Minneapolis, find the people who are actually IN Minneapolis and listen to what they have to say before you listen to someone five states away who insist, for example, that saying there’s white supremacist groups causing problems in Minneapolis right now is a liberal fantasy. It’s not. There really are white supremacists causing problems in Minneapolis right now and I’ve seen at least half a dozen people who have been verified to live in Minneapolis who have confirmed this and I’ve barely even been looking. This information is easy to find but you have to understand that when you want to find out what’s happening, you have to listen to the people who are living through it.

Sleep doesn’t help if it’s your soul that is tired

(via roberta-ninety-three)

'BUTCH MANIFESTO'

inspired by 'FEMME SHARK MANIFESTO' by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

(ID under cut)

Ko-Fi (Commissions Open!)

[ID: an original poem titled 'BUTCH MANIFESTO'. the stanzas are all on the left side of the page and lineated, except for the first line, and last stanza. Poem begins:

Listen up! Butches hold it down! We don’t spend hundreds of pounds on designer clothes and black and white tuxes – we shop off the charity shop rack, hand-me-downs from our bois, our men, our women. Butch is not a glamour word - Butch is not for the white collars in their 9-5 and their office parties, Butch is not for the woman in a police uniform with short cropped hair, Butch is not for the masc who looks down on our femmes, Butch is not for the dumbass white people who call themselves stud, like our people haven’t taken enough from black lesbians, Butch is not for the politician or the soldier, it’s for those of us who get shit done and don’t throw anyone under the bus; who stand between our loved ones and the white-knuckled fist; it’s for the people who take a breath of relief when they get home and get to lay their head on the shoulder of their baby and say, it’s hard, and I need you right now; it’s for those of us with hard-soled feet, worn by hours of standing, just so people can buy some useless shit on a Sunday. Butch is for the primary school teachers, the neighbour keeping your package safe, the hairstylist, the barber, the youth worker, the locked up, the sectioned, the evicted, the boy on the dole. Butches hold each other up, Butches stand up for communities, no matter how different we might be.

Butches stand up for Butches, because only we know the shit we face, we don’t argue over what butch looks like for someone - their struggle doesn’t counteract ours. We’re brothers, sisters, siblings, lovers, mentors, we don’t fight over femmes or fight each other. We help up our siblings who can’t hold themselves up and shouldn’t have to.

Butch is recognising our hurt, our pain, and making sure nobody has to go through that, in the very least not alone. Butch is not reproducing that hurt, butch isn’t the transfem exclusion, the toxicity, it’s driving our girls and boys to the abortion clinic, it’s holding your femme’s hair back over the toilet bowl, it’s telling your darlin’ to take a deep breath, before you poke the needle into her thigh, it’s holding back on punching the catcaller because you know it’ll put your lover in more danger, it’s fishing in your closet for an old, dusty dress for your questioning girl, it’s never calling the cops, it’s carrying the Narcan, it’s gathering the funds for bail, it’s tipping the waiter, it’s kissing the bruised chin of a fellow butch who’s built like a brick shithouse.

Butch is not all muscle, able-bodied, white Butch is not all skinny and androgynous Butch is care Butch is NURTURE. Butch is a cane and an unsteady step Butch is putting down the ramp Butch is wheeling up it Butch is addict Butch is straight-edge Butch is diaspora Butch is desi Butch is antiracist Butch is socialist Butch is punk Butch is black Butch is brown Butch is fat Butch is fat-loving Butch is mental illness Butch is antipsych Butch is autism Butch is trans Butch is anger Butch is tears Butch is grief Butch is the old bull Butch is the closeted kid in a dress Butch is the baby dyke wearing a rainbow flag cape Butch is smile lines Butch is crinkled eyes Butch is crying in your friend’s beat-up car Butch is foetal position Butch is pink Butch is motherhood Butch is fatherhood Butch is cat-dad Butch is fucking Butch is getting fucked Butch is stone Butch is bashful Butch is humble Butch is cocky Butch is proud Butch is single Butch is uneducated Butch is poet Butch is poetry Butch is council estate Butch is gentleness Butch is bones and spit and the soft curve of our lower backs the clenched jaw under a double chin the hard-eyes that any femme can see right through the estradiol the testosterone the carabiner clink the thick hands the cellulite the bloody pads the tampon string the mood swings the sagging tits the top surgery scars the swinging cock the hairy pussy the protruding t-dick the leather harness.

Butch is eternity Butch is sewn into the fabric of atoms Butch is love and solidarity Butch is never leaving anyone behind and never selling anyone out.

End poem. In the bottom right corner, the poet is signed as 'Ren H.' End ID].

Disabled trans guy escaping abuse

Hi friends! I'll try to keep this short (long version under the cut), but I need help. I may be getting into a housing program soon, made the mistake of telling my parents, and today they've been manipulating me trying to get me to stay. There's a long history of abuse, neglect, transphobia, and ableism - mainly on my dad's part.

I have $24 in my bank account. I can't drive, can't work, and am severely disabled. My mom wants me to make her and my father into healthcare proxies. When I was younger, my dad threatened me with institutionalization and conservatorship. I'm scared for my safety.

I just need some help. I'll apply for assistance when I qualify. I'm gonna need an emotional support animal. I don't know if I'll get the apt yet but see the cut for an explanation.

Venmo: julesfairy

I don't know what goal to set so I'll update this post when I can. Reblogs help a lot, if anything for knowing I'm not alone.

Long version: I'm 23, mentally ill/disabled, have no income, $24 in my bank account, live with my abusive father, and my parents refuse to call me my name/pronouns/etc. I also just left a cult-like group and found out I have a shit ton of nerve damage all over my body. So I'm having a time!

Anyway. I mistakenly told them that I've applied for a housing program and may be getting into a 1 bedroom apartment. They do not want me to leave, and today lovebombed, gaslit, and otherwise manipulated me into staying.

WHY I'M MAKING THIS POST NOW:

They know I'm meeting with the case worker tomorrow.

I don't know how they're going to react once they realize I'm going through with this. I'm worried about my father's reaction specifically - In the past, he's threatened to kick me out, kill himself, throw me in the psych ward, or put me under conservatorship. My mom just told me she wants me to make her and my father my healthcare proxy.

If I get this apartment, I'm going to apply for SNAP and Temporary Assistance as soon as I qualify, and rely on food banks. But if anyone can spare some cash, that'd help a lot too. I just need some help, I'm desperate. I don't know if I can take another failed escape.

Just made an account on Medium so I could read this. Made it about 1/3 through and I'm absolutely hooked and excited to finish it!! But first, time for a nap.

For the longest time, I have had trouble understanding FND - specifically whether it's just a shitty diagnosis made up by the medical system to gaslight people or if it's a genuine medical condition. This essay is rly helpful and has already broadened my understanding. It's incredibly well written, particularly bc of the extremely thorough research it's a result of

Medium

Cadenza for Fractured Consciousness

A Personal History of the World’s Most Misunderstood Illness

I am one of the most medically examined people in North America. For over a decade, no one could explain why I lost my ability to walk, speak, and use my hands. Why the lightning-like headaches? Why the ringing in my ears? Test after test came back negative. Doctors thought I might have a genetic abnormality no one's ever seen before, or a condition so rare that it had previously escaped medical classification. Then I got accepted to the top undiagnosed disease research program in the world, and they told me the only diagnosis I was unprepared to hear: it was Functional Neurological Disorder (FND), a much-misunderstood condition which was once known as Conversion Disorder, and before that, as Hysteria. And that was only the beginning of things getting weird. The essay above is the product of three years of research into the history, neuroscience, and politics of FND. It touches on the many medical failures that define the history of the disorder, the pervasive sexism and lazy mind-body dualism that prevented scholars from seeing it clearly, and why - finally - a better understanding may be at hand, with revolutionary implications for how we understand human consciousness and the experience of having a body.

FND fucked my life up. This is my reply. Thanks for reading.

Maybe in another universe I'm not the sick girl.

"have you learned how to drive yet" i have the spirit of friendship in my heart. the joy of lifes little things in my soul. the whimsy of magic. the beautiful enjoyment of nature. the answer is no though