Trying So Hard To Be A Person Who Accepts Other People's (difference In) Pov Without Feeling Ehem, But

how to tell your family you got a boob tattoo :

step #1 - don't.

TW : VIOLENCE AGAINST ANIMALS//DEATH

SPOILER ALERT FOR FLEABAG

I keep thinking about the scene where Fleabag tells Boo about the 11 year old boy who was put in juvie because he inserted the rubber part of the pencil up a hamster's rectum, and instead of making a joke about it or saying something on the lines of how he deserved it, Boo is surprised that they didn't provide him with proper mental health care. She tells Fleabag that he obviously wasn't happy, because "happy" people don't do things like that - he should've been given help instead of a punishment. She says the entire point of pencils having an eraser at the end is cause people make mistakes.

Now flash forward to the future where Fleabag tells people how Boo died - she wanted to make her boyfriend feel guilty for cheating on her by getting admitted to a hospital for light injuries, she did not want die by suicide, but unfortunately that wasn't how it went - and we realise that Boo made a mistake, and it wasn't one that could be corrected using an eraser. That is also when we realise that Boo wasn't a "happy" person either, because "happy" people don't do that.

Instead of demonizing her for emotional manipulation, or blaming her for dying, Fleabag is compassionate and that is one of the million reasons why I love this show.

How many reminders is too many annoying reminders?

I hate it when people do nice things for me on my birthday because I know that I don't deserve any of it and I'm a horrible person and I'm an imposter and I deserve only bad things but then that hurts too, but this hurts also

I have achieved the trifecta of unhealthy coping mechanisms - binge drinking, binge eating and self harm 🫠

how I practice - chewing gum when I feel like binge eating; eating when I feel like drinking; drinking when i feel like self harming; self harming when I feel like dying

alternative coping mechanisms - cutting hair, reading fanfiction, masturbation, sleeping, texting friends/my therapist, waking my mom up and crying to her, and writing in my diary~

adaptive coping mechanisms - safe space imagery, icing, 4-4-4 breaths, texting my therapist/friends, diary writing, chewing gum

people : happy gandhi jaya-

me : no thank you

The day I learnt how to check my pulse, I felt like I was holding my life in my own hand. It took me a long time to find that accurate spot, but once I did, I just couldn't understand how people refrained from checking their pulse all the time. It was evidence that I was alive, that no matter how I felt inside, my body was alive, that it was kicking, and it felt nothing short of a miracle. There seemed to be a certain kind of beauty in having the ability to feel my own heartbeat, in having a part of my heart extending to my wrist - so much so that it took my breath away, made it skip a beat.

I think I understand it better now - why people advise us against wearing our heart on our sleeve. When that very heart on our sleeve is an indication of our existence; when that very heart on our sleeve is the indication of whether we are living; when that pulse we feel is proof of survival - baring that to danger, to vulnerability, to scrutiny, may very well be an invitation to pain, to death. It is a direct route to our softest spot, an easy access to our precious safe. Who in their right mind would make themselves defenceless to threat of exposure?

After all, Achilles never went around flaunting his heel.

Knew Tumblr would not post it again, so I took screenshots like a genius 👀

Warning for mention of abuse and wanting to die :

I used to be an abusive friend when I was in 5th/6th grade. My friends used to always replace me with new friends, I'd always be left being, always the second choice, sometimes never the choice during my younger ages, so when I formed friendships and best friends in 4th/5th/6th and so on, I used to be a bad friend. I would pinch and threaten and hurt my best friend saying that she couldn't be best friends with someone else if she still wanted to be friends with me; I'd throw a tantrum and lose my temper at almost my entire class if they didn't play games the way I wanted during P.E; I used to lose my temper quickly and yell and shout and even get violent when I couldn't deal with my emotions; my memory is so messed up right now, but I remember that my mother used to have issues with my paternal grandma and she would take out her anger and emotions out on me when I was a child. She once destroyed a fancy pen my dad bought for me - who used to be at work a lot of the time - and I screamed and yelled and gosh, it was horrible. My grandparents used to say that I was the most disobedient child they'd ever met and that they wished they were rather dead than see me; my uncle once told me that he'd rather have anyone else as his niece/nephew rather than me. And people used to make all these comments which were super hurtful and I used to be scolded so much by everybody and being a disobedient child, everyone was angry at me at one point or the other. I used to be criticized for my voice, because it's a little high pitched and my family would scold me and mock me and keep telling me to stop speaking like a baby, they'd also scold me for tiny tiny things and make super harsh comments.

I guess everything together, like water droplets forming an ocean, messed up my emotions.

The only reason I'm saying the following is because I'm anonymous and the guilt is killing me, making me feel like I deserve to die and deserve to be abused and deserve nothing good and I feel sick - I used to take my anger out when I was in the first grade, 6 years or so, on my pet dog. I used to pull his tail and ears and sometimes hit him and fuck fuck fuck fuck, I I can't. Ididn't know how to deal with emotions, all I knew was how to explode and I'd take out my emotions on my dog and I've been feeling guilty and sick and absolutely disgusted at myself for the past years and I feel like I should hurt myself to make up for the hurt I caused him and every time anyone mentions him- we were super close otherwise, he was my bestest best friend - I feel like crying and punishing myself. My heart aches and my tummy clenchesclenches and fuck, I can't. Please please please please forgive me, please let me tell me how to atone for this please please please somebody. I wrote a letter apologising and kept in in his grave when he passed away, I still can't help but sob when I think about him and I'm sobbing as I'm typing this because I love him so much so so so so much and I showed him love, but I also hurt him and he must feel so betrayed so confused that somebody who loves him and who he loved hurt him and my heart feels like it's being torn open and hot lava is being poured inside.

Anyway, um, my bpd...

There are so many things, so I'll just type it out in bullet points (warning for mention of self harm and suicidal ideation) :

1. Not being able to express certain emotions properly because they're labeled as "negative/toxic" and are seen as a trademark of people with BPD, such as jealousy or anger. So I have to try extra hard to portray anything close to these emotions because I don't want to be seen as manipulative or toxic.

2. Feeling like having a mental breakdown at the TINIEST things - even a small criticism, or a small, passing harsh comment could ruin my day and make me want to self harm. Sometimes even results in suicidal ideation.

3. Feeling so numb, all the time. Feeling like there's no motivation to do anything. Feeling like I need somebody to tell me what to do, to make me do stuff all the time. The feeling of emptiness, hollowness sucks and I rarely feel any emotion completely.

4. Feeling like I hate somebody and that I don't need them in my life (even if I cognitively know it's untrue) if they say something that wasn't what I wanted to hear, or wasn't the right thing to say, or if it was a passing remark. That feeling of betrayal and that they never loved me or understood in the first place, that they don't care about me. The feeling that people are temporary and replaceable and disposable which has formed as a defense mechanism.

5. Intense emotions, oh gosh, sometimes I "overreact" for the tiniest things and have outbursts which I regret and don't even make sense later on. A deep rage fills me and my head just wipes out and I don't even realise what's coming out of my mouth, I can't think before I speak, or wait before I type.

6. The guilt, fuck, the guilt. It makes me feel like a horrible person and it consumes me and I feel like I need to punish myself, I deserve to not be loved because of the kind of person I am.

7. The jealousy and possessiveness. Not only over people, but over pets and toys and other things too, such as favorite books and actors and characters and songs. I don't know if this possessiveness (this feeling of they're my safe thing/person etec) is a symptom of bpd.

For a long time I've believed that if I were to be pro - sex work/ supportive of sex workers, I had to be pro-porn, I had to think of porn as empowering, instead of oppressive, I had to think of the porn industry as something that allows sex workers to explore their sexuality and empower themselves. It took a lot of learning and unlearning to finally understand that being pro-sex work/ supportive of sex workers and believing that porn empowers certain sex workers can co-exist with the fact that the porn industry is messed up, misogynistic and exploitative. It doesn't exist in dichotomies - both are facts.

The porn industry is exploitative, Pornhub is exploitative and rape apologistic - but acknowledging and criticising the misogyny and abuse in the porn industry does not give you the right to shame sex workers in any way. They're not perpetuating or encouraging any of this, they're not aiding in their own oppression - they're a part of a system which exploits them; shame the system, not the workers.

//

If you don't blame or/and shame the people who're being exploited by capitalism for being exploited by the system, what makes you think you can blame and shame sex workers for the same? Where the fuck does your hypocrisy end?