“I am intelligent, wise, and called beautiful. All I can see is an ugly blob.”
“I am intelligent, wise, and called beautiful. All I can see is an ugly blob.”
whenever anyone draws anything for me i just
Indigenous Canadian Women Are Suffering a Murder Epidemic
Last week’s discovery of the body of Loretta Saunders, an Inuit student who disappeared while working on a thesis about missing and murdered Native Canadian women, sparked calls across the country for action. NGOs say violence against Aboriginal women and girls is reaching epidemic levels — and around half of the murder cases remain unsolved.
On February 13, NWAC delivered a petition to the House of Commons, signed by over 23,000 Canadians in support of the call for a national inquiry.
Next time you want to say “Canada’s such a nice place! Nothing bad happens in Canada!” please give a thought to this.
Meryl is all of us.
just a reminder if you’re bored you can always answer some simple trivia and give rice to people in need.
and it’s absolutely free
how did i forget about this gem
Anonymous asked you: what is your 2nd favorite thing on the internet
if i ever fail to reblog this please assume im dead and notify the proper authorities
Good gods, where are the Winchesters when you need them?!
Even seals know we’re pathetic LOL
a group of ace/bi/pan bank robbers that have stolen billions thanks to their powers of invisibility
And here’s the MtF version, finally. Sorry if it’s a little bit too caricatural /: (Well, in some ways it has to be, for the clarity of the message) I hope it represents fairly well how you girls feel (:
Once again, it’s royalties-free and you can use it in any way you want !
By the way, for the first time I took a look at the mtf tag, and I was amazed at how pretty all of you look (: And also, here’s my best luck to every trans girl and woman out there !
*whispers* why does the male version has 2.000 notes and this one only 200
Reblog for your sisters, reblog for every trans girl in this world, they’re all perfect and amazing!
*whispers* you know why
*shouts* YES I KNOW THE REASON, THAT’S WHY I WANT IT TO HAVE THOUSANDS OF NOTES!
Alright you can all stop complaining now because they roughly have the same number of notes.
Who knew making something later on would cause it to have fewer notes? The 4th dimension people.
Okay I made this more than a year ago. I posted the FtM one first and it gained 1,000 notes in less than a month. I posted the MtF a few days after and it was stuck at less than 200 notes until yesterday when it boomed to more than 2,000 in less than 24 hours. When I first complained about it having less notes, they had both been online for roughly a year and yet the FtM had 1,800 notes and the MtF had 150. So yeah, that’s quite a big difference.
Now they both have 2,200 notes and I’m very happy about it, but I had to reblog it several times more than the FtM one to boost it before it spread and gained as many notes.
REFUGE restrooms is now live on the web at http://www.refugerestrooms.org. It is viewable on any browser.
REFUGE seeks to provide safe bathroom access for transgender, intersex, and other gender nonconformist individuals. A few months back the valuable safe2pee database stopped working. We present Refuge as a replacement. Starting with the existing database of listings from Safe2Pee, refuge makes the database easily searchable and mappable to allow folks to find the nearest safe restroom.This is very much in its alpha stage and had a lot of growing to do. I started learning how to code not that long ago so I’m still learning how I can make the app better and better. The app is open source so please contribute to the project on github @http://www.github.com/tkwidmer/refugerestroomsstay tuned both here and on twitter @refugerestrooms.
When you are purposefully mean to me, and then imply I’m lying, it shouldn’t come as shocking that I have little to no desire to apologize for your mistaking what emotion I was trying to convey. It is not my fault that you misunderstood me. It is, however, very much your fault that you chose to speak to me in a rude manner. It is your fault for belittling me when my tone did not match how I felt, which you KNOW is a normal issue for bipolar people, doubly so when I am so tired that I passed out on the couch already, so I am not trying to carefully monitor my speech. Do you even understand how exhausting it is every day to pitch your voice in what feels like a very fake manner every time you try to communicate? I feel like I’m on stage constantly. It is utterly ridiculous to have to use acting skills to communicate. You know that voice you have to use in customer service? The one that no matter what mood you’re in, you default to? Yeah. Imagine having to use that every time you want to talk to someone for fear that they will misinterpret you and blow up at you for saying the wrong thing. Now, on top of that, imagine that this is your second language and you’re in a foreign country. Because see, I don’t think you entirely grasp just how differently our brains work. I am constantly evaluating how people speak and act, because my brain could misfire and I end up misinterpreting what they mean. I miss social cues. It’s like living in a different cultural climate, trying to figure out how to fit in. And the one person I trust, the one who should have my back, because they’ve been with me for 14 years and should know me better than anybody, is angry at me because I’m not sorry I was too tired and forgot to use my customer service voice. You tell me that I never think about my actions and how they affect others. While you didn’t say it last night, you’ve also said many times before that I don’t care about anybody else. You have no idea how deep that cuts. You use phrases like “I was just angry. I say stupid shit when I’m angry.” Except you didn’t even say that this time. I walk around daily with this idea in my head, that no matter how hard I have been acting to fit the mold that you need me so badly to be in, because otherwise everybody thinks I’m angry and cruel all the time, I am a horrible person who doesn’t deserve you. I don’t deserve friends. Because I don’t think about other people. I only care about myself. You’ve got me so twisted in on myself that I actually had to ask another person if that was true. If I had lost myself that much, that I didn’t realize I don’t care about anybody else. I live in a world where I do nothing but think about others, about how I have to carefully speak, remember to smile often enough so they don’t think I’m a fucking homicidal psycho who hates them, because I’ve been told I don’t smile. Apparently when I do smile, it’s so small people don’t see it. So I overact and fake smile so that people are reassured I’m a nice person. But you tell me I’ve failed. I don’t think about my actions and how they affect others? Fuck you. You think it’s cute when I pass out on the couch constantly, but you’ve never asked why I can’t sleep. You don’t ask what the nightmares I’ve been having are about. And I don’t tell you. You don’t want to hear they’re about you. The day you screamed at me that I was abandoning my children because I ran out of the house after you threw me across a room. That my brain takes that ridiculous scene that shouldn’t matter and blows it up into this mountain in my dreams where you’re like my ex, and I wake up sweating from a vision where you’re choking me in an attempt at sexual assault, only to realize you’d dropped something in my lap while I had passed out in the chair and that’s why you’re leaning over me. I ended up hyperventilating that night and you never even asked why I looked so frightened. The mark you inadvertently left on my elbow has left a scar because it was infected. My friend got upset at me when I didn’t want it because I was afraid it would remind you of that day and I didn’t want you to suffer that pain. But I’m the one who only thinks of myself. It’s not as though I try to hide all the things you’ve triggered in me because I don’t want you to hurt. I’ve hid it so hard that now I’m in full blown psychosis, kept awake by paranoia about kitchen tools and what function they serve. And your response upon finding that out this morning, when I’m in a crazy fragile state, is to criticize me for preheating the espresso machine for you before you woke up. I do it according to the instructions in the manual, but you insist it’s bad for the machine. I am in the kitchen, trying to make myself espresso, attempting to wrap my brain round what I did wrong in trying to make sure you had better coffee before you went to work. My brain is spiraling out of control, I am wanting to shuffle thru the drawers, to find the tool that kept me awake last night that I can’t remember the name of. My roommate insists it’s a juicer, but I know that’s not right. I want to grab it out of the drawer, to show you, because you know all the answers when I can’t keep it together. But I can’t move away from the espresso machine because it’s holding my attention because I did something horribly wrong. You tell me you’re leaving and I feel like I’m crumbling. You say something, and I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears, so I just nod and kiss you back. You give me an annoyed face and I desperately try to figure out if it’s a real annoyed face or just the face you’ve taught me is the one I misinterpret in the morning when you’re not awake yet, but there isn’t enough time. You walk out the door. It’s then that I realize the words I couldn’t make out that I only responded to with a distracted, “Mmmhmmmm” were that you loved me. And all I can think of is, “But why? You said I don’t care about other people. You said I don’t care about how my actions affect others. How am I worthy of love?” Also, I’m afraid you’re going to stay angry at me for last night for days.
Shut you up real fast.
Psychosis is not your friend. It will keep you from sleep at 2 in the morning, because you’re unsure of the size of the holes in a green walnut crusher you have in the kitchen, but you’re too freaked by the zombie standing in the hall that you know isn’t real to go in there and look at it. Yet NONE OF IT seems strange at all, despite having just used terms like “If you really think that of me, file for a fucking divorce,” before going to sleep on the couch. It would make more sense if that had been what kept you from sleep. Upon waking in the morning after less than 5 hours of sleep and not tired in the slightest (though you know you’ll regret it later), you realize it wasn’t a walnut crusher at all, but in fact an entirely different object altogether. But you don’t remember the name of it. You’re reassured that at least you remembered the color correctly, because you feel silly. Nut crushers don’t have holes, and there aren’t different models for the types of nuts. Hi, bipolar. How are you this week? I’m not so great.