Tag: neg

*watches the literal most masculine of body-building dudes sashay down the street in stripper heels, lace, and a thong*

….you remember that Thing. that I posted about. Years ago now…. about how cis dudes can just…. do feminine things. and it’s read exactly right as a dude performing femininity…. and how it’s queering the binary and shit…. you remember that

this is your reminder that I, a transdude, cannot do the thing, because i read as “just another slut girl” doing the Thing. and that pisses me off.

it’s only appropriation if it’s 1: part of sacred culture you’re not in, 2: a closed community/culture/religion, 3: not white people~

….but yanno go right ahead and steal things from the white people. it doesn’t matter what their actual culture or heritage is you just go right on ahead and take whatever the fuck you want. because who’s gonna care? they’re white~ /s

so those “old lesbians do X” videos that keep popping up are triggering af tbh

all the man hating bullshit and the “men ruin everything” comments without a single bit of self awareness or hesitation. like…. i get it. you’re lesbians and you love women and that’s awesome.

you can do that without denigrating bisexuals who also like men, or men in general ffs. transdude here, trying to show some positivity and appreciation towards those who went before…. and I get my nose rubbed in shit that didn’t even come from me. how the fuck am I supposed to respond to that other than “what the actual fuck?” YES there are terrible men out there. YES men can be abusive… I’ve BEEN ABUSED BY THEM MY OWN DAMN SELF.

And I have also been abused by women. women who claimed to love me. women I loved, and women I hated. the fault isn’t strictly men, and it’s not strictly a gendered issue.

so everyone saying “unproblematic fave~” and “we stan unproblematic queens” can get fucked. sideways. by a god damned cactus.

house-of-crows:

pseudo-rant after the cut. you were warned.

Keep reading

…also it came to my attention that I could add some things. Let’s continue. 

My [race] ex-husband literally slammed a war club THROUGH A DESK a foot from my face when he found out that I was “still” poly after all his attempts to gaslight, humiliate, emotionally manipulate, and control me and I DARED to sit next to someone at a vanilla restaurant where no physical touch took place other than very professional handshakes and friendly hugs. 

So like… my experiences are based in real-life shit situations. I do not and will not deny that one of my first abusers was white. I won’t deny that my fellow victims however were ALSO WHITE. I cannot deny that my abusive adoptive PARENTS were white… My most recent ex who blamed ME for what his past partners’ did and took it out on ME was white.

And believe me I am working through that shit. I have some deep abandonment issues over that last one due to our dynamic, and it’s why I’m so quick to preach about CGL NOT being “bdsm lite~” because there IS NO SCRIPT FOR A BREAKUP WITH A PARENTAL FIGURE…

But the truly violent offenders, the one who scarred me deepest, the ones who made me afraid to leave the house, to interact beyond the bare professional courtesy due a customer… were the so-called “people of color” that NO ONE ever stood up to because “that’s fucking racist how dare.” 

The ones who followed me home from the bank.
The ones who followed me home from work.
The ones who threatened physical and sexual violence for being visibly queer.
The ones who yelled out of cars, hung out from their windows in traffic.
The ones who call me fag and dyke in the same breath.
The ones who yell obscenities for DARING to be white on “the wrong side of town.”
The ones who have cumulatively caused me the most damage.

The ones who still preach at me about my “white privilege” and how “it would have been SO MUCH WORSE” if I’d been [x race]…. even though I was: 

  • barely making 20hrs/week
  • working minimum wage without a promotion for THREE YEARS
  • had no transportation of my own
  • living in section 8
  • three/four streets up from gang violence
  • couldn’t get on food stamps or assistance
  • had my bank account closed
  • sent to collections
  • nearly homeless and living paycheck to paycheck until I got married, where I was STILL living paycheck to paycheck, in less danger of being homeless (so long as I followed his orders/”kitty please~”)
  • being preached at by [race] Baptists for HOURS at WORK, for DARING to wear a might-maybe be-pagan pendant instead of a cross

….how, EXACTLY, would that have been different were I [race]? Where, EXACTLY, does “white privilege” enter into it…? Where, EXACTLY, am I being racist for being wary of [race] people in the same way a woman might be wary of men and potential threats after being raped? Where, EXACTLY, is my post traumatic stress less valid and relevant to my daily existence than hers…? 

I’m still out here reminding people that “poc” doesn’t equal a monolithic experience. Still sitting here dismantling my behavior and doing my best. Still working through all this personal-experience negativity and reinforcement and the way I was raised, still muddling through like any human to not be a piece of shit…. AND YET.

I’m fucking racist~ because I’m white~ and I can’t possibly know their struggle~ Can’t possibly know what it’s like to not be upper middle class and Privileged~ as if the color of my fucking SKIN was what got me out of that life.

As if my SKIN was responsible for where I am now. As if my. fucking. race. made my transness, my queerness, my pan-pagan-poly-kinky-ness in fuckin TEXAS any more bearable when I STILL get hate mail from our “local community” and I STILL am persona non grata for DARING to speak out against a known abuser. 

“lol it’d be worse if you were [race].” 
BITCH. WHERE??????????????

i want to put the effort down – i need to put the struggle away and leave it buried where it won’t come up again to haunt me but i can’t.

i’m such a fucking hypocrite and so i’m stuck between my stupid moralistic sense of honor and integrity and my bone-deep need to possess and be possessed. to strip everything down to the root of its existence and love it more. hollow it out to the base elements and love each facet for itself and the whole.

just want to be enough on my own, without the struggling and the biting, tearing desperation to be better, to do everything in my power, to fight until i’m dying of it just so they stay. just want to be accepted, exactly as i come, no need to change… bending and bending and bending until i snap with the effort.

i’m not my ex. i don’t break down existing relationships don’t make demands don’t stamp my feet and slam war clubs through the desk – different to hope those relationships never come up to begin with. different to hope that if i’m good enough, obedient enough – if i obey i won’t get left behind, if i serve i won’t be abandoned, if i empty myself out over and over and over and over they’ll see what i’m worth because i’ll be Good Enough.

if i’m good i won’t be abandoned.

if i obey i won’t be left.

if i keep every promise, and follow through, and uphold the rules and the protocols, if i do everything right… this time i won’t be left alone in the end. they didn’t put this on my shoulders. i picked it up and locked it around my heart – threaded it through my self worth, reinforced with every whisper of problematic and hateful, purity and point of pride. i did this. but i can’t put it down.

gods help me i want this to be the ones to last…. my heart on a wire between my soul and my God, possessive and possessed, but all i am is bleeding out.

he changed the rules on me between one heartbeat and the next because tomorrow never came. because stable doesn’t exist and the right time never is.

my fault. my fault. mine for taking control i wasn’t meant to have. mine for finding stability in transience. mine for looking to that to save me, keep us from falling back into the hole we crawled out of after seven years in the dark, waiting. if i did well enough, protected and shielded, if… counterweight to my whole world.

just want to be held. just want to be loved. just want to be needed and wanted and desired by the only people i care to be desired by – while feeling desperate and not enough to gain that attention. otherwise why would i go begging…?

i want to be loved as hard as i try to give myself away with both hands for just a moment – their eyes on mine, their hands their breath the sound of their heartbeat. screaming silently for more because i can’t be an obligation – can’t exist as a have-to. can’t exist in that space and not crumble from the fear and desperation of it.

i know i’m wrong i know i got put back together in the wrong order – value the wrong things. don’t know the depth of what they did to me – still untying knots and it feels like sawing through my own flesh to escape.

but there isn’t one.

just the rusting metal around my feet and scratches on the walls

just midnight screams and the dawn over the ridge and cold cold wind when i try to run away – to escape for just a day. disappear in loyalty and fade into service.

whatever you want – anything for you – let me be… let me be…. please

just choose me

you want to know what recovery sounds like….? 

It’s wanting a bath because it’s your favorite form of self care… and knowing that since you were spotting the prior evening, you might have torn something healing internally because surgery was only three months ago and it takes much longer to heal completely from a hysterectomy. It’s wondering if epsom salt really does suck out water weight; you know it doesn’t; and if cold water really does burn fat; not appreciably and it might actually make you GAIN weight because your body is trying to warm itself back up….. it’s wanting to go on yet another bike ride because you feel like maybe you shouldn’t be eating so much; less than 900cal for the day; and maybe you should try to burn off more of what you already ate. Even though you went over seven miles on the bike in the gym, and burned just barely less than you would out on the hills.

It’s wishing you hadn’t eaten a protein bar after the gym, even though you know protein helps repair muscle and you won’t build more if you don’t repair what’s already present. It’s wanting to go do more crunches, hidden in the bedroom, even though you’re sore internally and you already bled the evening before doing that, because your stomach isn’t flat yet and you KNOW you have more weight to lose….

It’s disordered thinking, all the time, in the background, because that’s what an ED IS. Body dysmorphia and unhealthy thoughts that crowd in until you’re forced to listen. That’s what I’m dealing with, every fucking day, and have been since fucking 2008 when I was 18. You want to know why I don’t want ED blogs anywhere near me? Because those voices don’t need any fucking help. I don’t need to see your bony avatars, your “skin and bones” references, your Winter Girls romanticization of a disease that kills and causes permanent physical harm. I don’t need to see the encouragement and “tips” aimed at minors who shouldn’t be losing weight, but gaining in preparation for puberty and their next growth spurt.

I shouldn’t have to see that shit, just because some self-entitled asshole thinks anything “low cal” belongs to the ED “community.” I shouldn’t have to scream obscenity to be left alone, after asking nicely for WEEKS and changing my blog description. I shouldn’t have to draw the distinction between healthy weight loss post-op, and an eating disorder just because I posted my goal weights to help motivate myself every time I log in, so I can track my progress. This shit is pervasive, and it’s everywhere because yeah, it’s in my HEAD. That’s how mental disorders WORK, children. 

I’m not a brat for wanting my fucking space, and stating that clearly. And I know what the fuck I’m talking about, and there’s a REASON I’m scared of therapists and psychiatrists, and there’s a REASON I don’t talk about this shit. Because it’s all too easy for someone else to be triggered by it, and all too fucking easy for someone to get the wrong idea. Just because I don’t POST about it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist for me. So you can get the fuck off my blog, and get fucking bent, because I am DONE playing nice.