Things To Talk To My Therapist About :

something I'm proud of myself for : I have learned to ask for the things I need. A person to sit with when I study. Words of support when I'm freaking out over public speaking. Words of reassurance when I feel alone. Without shame, without guilt, without self criticism. and that's something.

things allies can do this pride month to show their support instead of just "happy pride" posts/messages :

casually mention queer stuff around children instead of censoring it.

make your language more inclusive.

stop perpetuating gender essentialism. especially when it comes to periods, sex and so on (eg. "things only women will understand about periods" / "all men are sexual, it's in their nature" etcetc are huge ass no no's).

normalise asexuality and aromanticism - stop placing so much emphasis on "finding the perfect partner", toxic monogamy culture, placing romantic relationships highest on a relationship hierarchy, making sex out to be a "natural need" that no human can resist etcetc.

watch media/read books or works/listen to music featuring queer characters or by queer people.

spread awareness and call in people when you witness them being queerphobic, exclusionary or ignorant; yes, even your family.

support queer activism and activists.

if women's day is more than just "appreciate and respect your sister/mother/daughter", pride month is more than just acceptance for a few loved ones who're queer (however important that may be).

I feel so bored and lonely and empty and I want to meet someone new and form a connection and go through the getting to know them process again, but I until and unless I feel an instant "click" with someone, I feel bored if I'm talking to them online - do you see my frigging dilemma

privileged people really do be petty and ignorant, honesty though. there's some message going around about how the farmers protesting are rich and now people are pissed off that they're protesting, as if being rich somehow negates their social standing; same can be applied for Savarnas who're pissed that rich marginalised caste ka people avail caste based reservations: as if people who are marginalised should stay marginalised and even the tiniest hint of not suffering as much as they expected them to be suffering warrants backlash and finger pointing. being rich is in no way related to how they still face prejudice and unfair treatment because of which group they belong to. and why the fuck do they care that the farmers are rich???? so fucking what???? how does that negate their right to protest against something that's going to affect them, that's going to overturn their means of livelihood? what makes them think that they get to have a say in matters which are none of their business? quite literally so. why do privileged people think that rights and concessions for one particular marginalised group is somehow going to affect their privileged social standing? it makes absolutely no sense. URGH

you think that someone understands you, that someone in your family finally gets you, but then it turns out that - nope, not really. it was all pretend, all fake, nothing deep, nothing genuine. they never understood, they tried to, maybe pretended to, but they never truly did. I opened up to my uncle about how I couldn't commit to anything and about me having no motivation and even sent him snippets from my diary about how guilty I felt that I'm wasting my family's money and effort and stuff like that, and he used it against me. He fucking used it against. He tried to get me to rejoin this online yoga class but I didn't want to, so he threatened me. He said that he'd pay for an entire year's worth of classes and I'll have to attend it then. Said that I wouldn't be able to stop in the middle cause I'd feel guilty/then it would mean I had no value for his money. I confronted him a few days after, asking him why he did that and he explained that he was concerned about my health, really, genuinely terrified because he knew how horrible bad physical health was because he, himself suffered a lot and he didn't want that for me - so even though he didn't know the impact that would have on my mental health, he knew the impact bad physical health would have on me, he kind of risked the unknown for the known (mental health for physical health). I don't agree with what he did, nor will I ever be able to open up to him again, but I understood where he was coming from and I striked a deal with him. Anyway, that's that. Then he continued proving that he doesn't truly get it. He tried to tell my mom to control me and take away my phone/laptop so that I would be forced to sleep early cause I wouldn't have anything else to do. Bear in mind that he's there's a lot of family dynamic that I'm not mentioning, so he's not the worst, or even bad, per say. But I guess I kinda jinxed it when I told my mom that he's the only one who understands me in the family a long time ago, I guess that's biting me in the ass. I don't know if I can ever open up to him or show vulnerability to anyone again - family I mean. I had told him I get bad thoughts at night, intrusive, dark thought long ago and he pointed that out today too, in front of my mom - though she was on her phone and prolly didn't hear, but still. I hate adults. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. They're never transparent, never straight with you. They could use anything you tell them against you when they feel like they're at their wit's end. And I fucking can't. I'm fragile okay, I'm fragile and sensitive and I can't handle all this. I just want to not exist anymore - I'm NOT going to kill myself, but I just want to die.

zlibrary gone... FUCK TIKTOK FUCK BOOKTOK I hope that app burns in hell

petition to cancel people who straightwash Achilles and Patroclus' relationship 🙂

(jk, jk...

...or am I?)

The first time I read Ursula Le Guin’s The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, my chest constricted with the passionate onslaught of too many thoughts, too many emotions, too many opinions. No matter how many perspectives I could logically think from, my brain circled back to the outcry of why no one spoke up, why no one resisted, revolted. How strong could be the ones who walked away? After all, walking away is the easiest thing one could do. It didn’t take much for me to unlearn that; just Louis’ outburst of leaving being the hardest thing to do, as he says so in COAGDP, was all it took. And when I tried that angle, I understood. I understood what Le Guin was trying to convey, what she wanted to make us see. It was a statement; it was saying: “this world was built for me. This suffering is meant for my happiness. This is all I’m aware of. I choose to not be happy. I would rather leave to a place I know nothing about, a place I don’t even know exists, than be happy at the cost of a child, of someone being collateral damage, for my happiness. If this torture is for me, for my sake, I would rather live a miserable life in the unknown.” It was not just brave, it was revolutionary.

Staying there, fighting for change, would lead to: “do you want us all to suffer just because of your selfish ideology?” / “do you want our lives to collapse just to save one child?” / “does this strange child mean more to you than your loved ones’ happiness?”. The age-old argument of collective good versus the wellbeing of an individual is one with an answer that’s a double-edged sword. There is no end, no solution; strength comes in many forms, many faces, and sometimes turning your back on all you’ve known your entire life is the strongest thing one can do to make a point.  

We see this in all the people who’re the black sheep of their family; the leftist, the feminist, the divorcee, the queer one, the atheist and the agnostic, the free-thinkers, the child rebels, the child who questions; we don’t see much of them, because they’re forced to hide underneath cloaks saying something different – “anti-national”, “violator of culture, of family values”, “the reject”, “the one with conduct issues”, “the heathen”.

Walking away is many a time metaphorical, and it doesn’t always mean the same thing; but when one has lived their whole life as a frog in a well, jumping out isn’t escapism, it is resistance.

-kpm

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.

I don't feel completely fine inside but I feel fine on a surface level and I know I'm not supposed and this is just me repressing my emotions unconsciously but I don't fucking know what to dooo

It's like my body is a laptop and I have a virus which isn't outwardly harming or affecting the system, but still there's something amiss inside, I just want to find my anti-virus ffs is that too much to ask for