how I feel when I make a pun…
When you are hurting, there will always be people who find a way to make it about themselves. If you break your wrist, they’ll complain about a sprained ankle. If you are sad, they’re sadder. If you’re asking for help, they’ll demand more attention.
Here is a fact: I was in a hospital and sobbing into my palms when a woman approached me and asked why I was making so much noise and I managed to stutter that my best friend shot himself in the head and now he was 100% certified dead and she made this little grunt and had the nerve to tell me, “Well now you made me sad.”
When you get angry, there are going to be people who ask you to shut up and sit down, and they’re not going to do it nicely. Theirs are the faces that turn bright red before you have a chance to finish your sentence. They won’t ask you to explain yourself. They’ll be mad that you’re mad and that will be their whole reason alone.
Here is a fact: I was in an alleyway a few weeks ago, stroking my friend’s back as she vomited fourteen tequila shots. “I hate men,” she wheezed as her sides heaved, “I hate all of them.”
I braided her hair so it wouldn’t get caught in the mess. I didn’t correct her and reply that she does in fact love her father and her little brother too, that there are strangers she has yet to meet that will be better for her than any of her shitty ex-boyfriends, that half of our group of friends identifies as male - I could hear each of her bruises in those words and I didn’t ask her to soften the blow when she was trying to buff them out of her skin. She doesn’t hate all men. She never did.
She had the misfortune to be overheard by a drunk guy in an ill-fitting suit, a boy trying to look like a man and leering down my dress as he stormed towards us. “Fuck you, lady,” he said, “Fuck you. Not all men are evil, you know.”
“Thanks,” I told him dryly, pulling on her hand, trying to get her inside again, “See you.”
He followed us. Wouldn’t stop shouting. How dare she get mad. How dare she was hurting. “It’s hard for me too!” he yowled after us. “With fuckers like you, how’s a guy supposed to live?”
Here’s a fact: my father is Cuban and my genes repeat his. Once one of my teachers looked at my heritage and said, “Your skin doesn’t look dirty enough to be a Mexican.”
When my cheeks grew pink and my tongue dried up, someone else in the classroom stood up. “You can’t say that,” he said, “That’s fucking racist. We could report you for that.”
Our teacher turned vicious. “You wanna fail this class? Go ahead. Report me. I was joking. It’s my word against yours. I hate kids like you. You think you’ve got all the power - you don’t. I do.”
Later that kid and I became close friends and we skipped class to do anything else and the two of us were lying on our backs staring up at the sky and as we talked about that moment, he sighed, “I hate white people.” His girlfriend is white and so is his mom. I reached out until my fingers were resting in the warmth of his palm.
He spoke up each time our teacher said something shitty. He failed the class. I stayed silent. I got the A but I wish that I didn’t.
Here is a fact: I think gender is a social construct and people that want to tell others what defines it just haven’t done their homework. I personally happen to have the luck of the draw and am the same gender as my sex, which basically just means society leaves me alone about this one particular thing.
Until I met Alex, who said he hated cis people. My throat closed up. I’m not good at confrontation. I avoided him because I didn’t want to bother him.
One day I was going on a walk and I found him behind our school, bleeding out of the side of his mouth. The only thing I really know is how to patch people up. He winced when the antibacterial cream went across his new wounds. “I hate cis people,” he said weakly.
I looked at him and pushed his hair back from his head. “I understand why you do.”
Here is a fact: anger is a secondary emotion. Anger is how people stop themselves from hurting. Anger is how people stop themselves by empathizing.
It is easy for the drunken man to be mad at my friend. If he says “Hey, fuck you, lady,” he doesn’t have to worry about what’s so wrong about men.
It’s easy for my teacher to fail the kids who speak up. If we’re just smart-ass students, it’s not his fault we fuck up.
It’s easy for me to hate Alex for labeling me as dangerous when I’ve never hurt someone a day in my life. But I’m safe in my skin and his life is at risk just by going to the bathroom. I understand why he says things like that. I finally do.
There’s a difference between the spread of hatred and the frustration of people who are hurting. The thing is, when you are broken, there will always be someone who says “I’m worse, stop talking.” There will always be people who are mad you’re trying to steal the attention. There will always be people who get mad at the same time as you do - they hate being challenged. It changes the rules.
I say I hate all Mondays but my sister was born on one and she’s the greatest joy I have ever known. I say I hate brown but it’s really just the word and how it turns your mouth down - the colour is my hair and my eyes and my favorite sweater. I say I hate pineapple but I still try it again every Easter, just to see if it stings less this year. It’s okay to be sad when you hear someone generalize a group you’re in. But instead of assuming they’re evil and filled with hatred, maybe ask them why they think that way - who knows, you might just end up with a new and kind friend.
|—||By telling the oppressed that their anger is unjustified, you allow the oppression to continue. I know it’s hard to stay calm. I know it’s scary. But you’re coming from the safe place and they aren’t. Just please … Try to be more understanding. /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)|
|—||Daniell Koepke (via internal-acceptance-movement)|
do you remember the first time you were called annoying?
how your breath stopped short in your chest
the way the light drained from your eyes, though you knew your cheeks were ablaze
the way your throat tightened as you tried to form an argument that got lost on your tongue.
your eyes never left the floor that day.
you were 13.
you’re 20 now, and i still see the light fade from your eyes when you talk about your interests for “too long,”
apologies littering every other sentence,
words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped from in 7 years.
i could listen to you forever, though i know speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted minutes makes you anxious.
all i want you to know is that you deserve to be heard
for 3 minutes
for 10 minutes
for 2 hours
there will be people who cannot handle your grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your heart;
mostly because they can’t handle their own.
but you will never be
and have never been
"this started as something completely different, but everything comes back to you, doesn’t it?" - tyler ford (via tylerthelatteboy)
Not sure who the fuck decided to crop this,
The original artist of this design is Sarah Andersen.
Please don’t steal other artist’s work!!!!
As the original creator of this piece, let me explain why stuff like this is bad for artists.
When someone edits an illustration, it hurts the artist because they had a specific intention and you took that away from them. A person spent a long time trying to make something look a certain way, and with two clicks in photoshop you can undo all of that work. To put it bluntly, you ruined it. And when someone worked hard to create a very specific image, it’s sort of painful to see it being spread around as a downgrade version.
Some artists allow people to use their work in other media, such as collages or glitch art. Sometimes they want to make minor changes, like cropping. That’s okay! But it’s really as easy as just asking the artist and seeing if it’s alright.
I also see my comics edited a lot. Specifically, people will take out my signature and add a url to their website. Frankly, that’s just selfish. That’s my comic and my idea, so you shouldn’t redirect traffic to your website.
Also, you really shouldn’t be taking traffic away from artists. The starving artists thing isn’t just a cliche; it’s very hard to profit from your work. So you can at least let the artists keep their credit, right?
Regarding credit: Sometimes people don’t take credit away maliciously, they just really don’t know where something came from. So obviously I’m not going to attack those people, but there are ways of finding the original artist.
Here’s a link to a tumblr that explains more of this, and has a post explaining how to find the original creator of a piece.
|—||something lovely my therapist said (via noshameinoursickness)|
Thanks very much :D
This is a great question and I’m really racking my brain for how to answer it.
I think my answer is: I don’t take it personally.
Now, I don’t mean to imply that that’s EASY. It’s not.
It’s probably the biggest obstacle that human beings have to being connected, authentic and vulnerable with one another.
Because when we feel unsafe, we recoil, go into our shells and essentially protect ourselves from being hurt.
But people who are overly critical really only need to be heard, loved and understood. There’s pain behind anger. And it’s a huge gift to relate to someone as a human who needs love when they are being so… UGH.
UGH is a technical term, obviously.
Again, it’s not easy. It’s something I’m trained to do as a coach. It’s something I practice every single day in my personal and professional life.
It will probably take me my entire lifetime to master.
For now… I’ll keep practicing, screwing up, and trying again. I invite you to do the same :)
My Grandmother at Best Buy
Love this guy