This post is for all of you who have survived the urge to end your life, either coming out the other side or still fighting to stay alive.
I noticed how when someone has a physical illness such as cancer, and they come out the other side or even remission, they are able to celebrate surviving. I think all of the survivors of being suicidal should too.
Congratulations, and keep on fighting.
what a beautiful person
And to the introverted theatre kids, public speakers with social anxiety, and florists with allergies.
Somewhere in the distance, Beethoven’s ghost is applauding.
my love for this post reaches no limits
if anybody asks me why i hate men, i’m just gonna redirect them to this post.
it’s pretty fucking obvious that men only want to invest in breast cancer research to further degrade, objectify, and jerk off to body parts they already feel 100% entitled to. that’s what is at stake for them.
what about the women whose “tatas” weren’t saved? how must they feel being surrounded by awareness ads that focus more on keeping women’s sexy-sexy-titties-to-continue-titillating-the-males than saving real life human beings and helping survivors?
If anyone’s wondering, those posts came from here. It’s a forum for breast cancer support. Give it a read, and you’ll see how many women are outright abandoned by their husbands, sometimes after being married for decades, because their “tatas” couldn’t be saved.
This culture of “save the tatas” even goes as far as the doctor’s offices themselves. Most doctors request that the husband be present during surgical consultations, as though he has an equal say in the patient-professional discussion.
If the woman is single, as was my case, doctors have actually recommended postponing surgery until she finds a relationship, because “it could be nearly impossible to find someone who accepts it [your unnatural tatas] in years to come”.
I’m 15 months post-mastectomy, and the date I had this past week was the first time since then that a guy hadn’t reacted negatively to my scars. The relief was so overwhelming that I was fighting back tears. When I told him —essentially warning him that my body wasn’t what he must be expecting — I felt so guilty; it seemed to have the same weight and shame as telling someone I had some sort of an incurable STI or a felony record.
I shouldn’t have felt that way. I should not be ashamed of choosing to live.
Thank you for your important commentary! I hope you find someone who can love you for who you are and admire your strength as a survivor.
holy shit this just makes me so immensely disgusted and i actually feel sick to the core??? just. holy shit.
when my mother was getting a surgery consult for the lumpectomy, the surgeon actually insisted i was in the room with her and kept asking my opinion ABOUT MY MOTHER’S BOOB even though we were both visibly uncomfortable with the situation
i mean for fuck’s sake i’m her son, that’s a: awkward as hell and b: it’s just a fucking TIT, who cares if it “looks good” as long as she fucking LIVES, jesus god damn christ, why is it that doctors think a man has to sign off on a fucking tit???
anyhow fuck “save the tatas” campaigns
I love everything about Scully and Mulder’s first kiss—how it happens at the most ordinary time, but on the edge of an extraordinary beginning. They’re just standing there in an empty hallway, watching the ball drop on New Year’s Eve, listening to Dick Clark’s countdown. It’s all familiar, but the whole point of our New Year’s Eve routine is that we do the same thing every year to ring in the hope of doing something NEW next year. We’re waiting for change. That was never more true than in 2000, when for all we knew we were headed for a meltdown. Mulder looks at Scully and figures that there’s no better time to tell her that whether they’re headed for something great or about to crash, he wants to be with her. It’s just a confirmation, really; they both already know what they are to each other. He doesn’t have to say anything, and she isn’t surprised. She’s just pleased. Even with her eyes on the TV, she’s waiting for him; she can feel him thinking about it.
these are pure gold
I SAW DRAGO’S POST AND I CHOCKED
MY GOD THE LAST ONE
"Bewilderbeast likes this"
i love sir patrick stewart more with each passing day.
See, guys. This is how you do it. Notice the words “Not all men are like that” are never spoken.
He knows men are like that
his father was like that to his mother
he has experienced the pain firsthand, of what it’s like when men are like that
and he never wants men to be like that again and he fights tooth and nail against the men who are still like that
And moreover, he acknowledges his privilege [as an older white male who is famous/well known] and uses it to speak up. He knows what he is, and he never has to say he’s not like those men he fights against—he never says it, his actions speak loud enough for everyone else to see it.
Sir Patrick Stewart, everyone.
Hold fast, Abigail Mills. I’m on my way.
Mads bewildered by Canadian cuisine