Sebastian Stan Is The First Male Actor To Be Nominated For Both Best Leading Actor Categories At The

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

Fuck off🖕

The worst thing is that there is so much potential for exploring the horror of psych wards from the angle of medical abuse, ableism, forced treatment/drugging, loss of autonomy, power imbalance, demonization, dehumanization, etc, and YET the horror genre keeps defaulting to "insane asylums and psych wards are scary because there are mentally ill people in there"

I’ve been thinking so hard about Stucky recently (and of course I live in this beautiful la la land where Bucky comes back to Steve after CA:TWS and CA:CW never happens) but like, every time Bucky remembers something, it’s something he’s already lost. Everyone focuses on his relationship with Steve which is like, why we’re all here obviously. But like, the pain of realizing the last time you saw your mother was 70 years ago. The last thing your sister ever said to you was “See you soon!” and then she lived her whole life without you. You missed everything. The guilt, the grief. Steve had no siblings, never knew his father, and his mother died when he was 18 so he had already learned to carry it by the time he went under the ice at 26. He knew how to get by on his own, but Bucky never did. Steve tries his best to be there for Bucky when he wakes up one day and remembers that he had a family. Sometimes being there for him means taking him to the cemetery, finding his parents graves and letting him sob over them, like Steve had done over Buck’s empty grave in Arlington when his feet took him there on the nights he couldn’t sleep.

reblog if you’re NOT tumblr famous, but you ARE tired and kinda gay

i love lesbians