hipsterpuppies:

cosmo says “komische” and never “krautrock”

[via cass w]

the comments are good too.

i’ve been feeling “homeless” - but not in a literal way, i would not compare myself to truly homeless people. i am talking about the home defined as “the focus of one’s domestic attention”, or “ the social unit formed by a family living together”, or something in between those. 

we were never a “normal” family, or at least we never felt like one. we didn’t have a house - we had social “housing”. we didn’t have the father figure, and it felt like it was missing because we were constantly reminded of it. after i was born my mom never had a real job ; she had some disability income with the occasional odd job when she could handle it. we felt like something was missing, that we weren’t good enough or complete enough.

but we had each other, and that was comforting. 

in her sick moments, my mom would say that if she died then i would end up homeless… she meant that in a literal way though. ironically she was half-way right.

i am scared. i’ve known for a long time that there aren’t any guaranties on anything. this is the root of my anxieties, really. there were some heavy promises made, that only she could fulfill. she was my guarantee, my safety net, my security, my lighthouse that stood through the storm. she was my home.

wakingupnexttoyou:

pansexualflag:

(via queersecrets)

 I think the word we are looking for here is Polysexual.

“Polysexuality should not be confused with pansexuality; pan meaning all, and poly meaning many, though not necessarily all. Polysexuality is a self-identifying term that is somewhat amorphous, as there is a wide variety of different people who use the term to describe themselves.” - Taken from Wikipedia.

fuckyeahlgbt:

lgbtlaughs:

(Submitted by wildmountainthyme)

This is my favorite thing to bring up when people ask me what they should be labeled as. 

I heard there are five stages of grieving. I don’t believe in those.

The first few months were different then the last few weeks. I would cry every day for hours without even thinking about it. I would dream of her every night ; in my dreams she was always sick, and I knew she was already dead, but in the dreams I would be like “you’re dead but now you’re sick again and this time we’ll save you”. I was not functional, my ills (mostly mental) really aggravated to a very scary point. I kind of shut out entirely from life. All the time I wished to get cancer so I could die. I experienced her death in an intense yet slightly detached way - I’ve only realized this recently.

The last few weeks have been a bit different. But they’re not much better, or easier.

I get crying fits. Her image will pop up in my head and I will start bailing in the middle of whatever. I am more functional (knock on wood) ; but I feel like if I stopped being busy, then everything would fall apart (and I mean that in a very literal way). I still have moments where I want to have cancer too. The dreams are different ; now she’s alive and well, and we have good times together - we go shopping, go visit family, do whatever we did when she was still there.

I still don’t understand what happened. I mean, it’s what we’re told in the books - you get sick, you stop breathing, your heart stops, your brain activity ceases, you die. But are you still you? I can’t wrap my head around this : the ashes in the little box in the ground. I put them there myself, but I don’t get it. I understand when it’s a stranger ; they burn your deceased body, they collect your ashes. But when I think about this with her in mind it makes no sense.

This week something else is going on… I freak out and panic momentarily (again, knock on wood) ; because it’s like I am understanding the whole thing for a few seconds. “Oh my she IS dead!” I get it and run the other way in a big hurry.

kitchenknivesandcherrybombs:

brave-slut:

loverwife:

indiansuperhero:

tonguelikeanightmare:

howfuckingcuteisourignorance:

fuckyeahyouhippie:

twizzlersandcameras:

(via starshinestatic)

Lesbian

Straight as fuck.

Bisexual.

Confused/Straight.

lebanese.

Ellen Page.

 

autoerotic

androgynosexual/heteroflexible/questioning/queer

fuckyeahinsanitywolf:

aristocreep:

iseesongsinshapesandcolours:

sarah-nade:

beansonfuckingtoast:

theuglybarnacle:

edgeclectic:

vontenko:

lgbtlaughs:

girlvanized:

darkmovesoflove:

(via rahari)

Best Insanity Wolf ever.

kitchenknivesandcherrybombs:

pigisapig:

hikingmetalpunk:

azul:

companionablesniffles:

Dear pop stars and trendy tumblrites: STOP diagnosing yourselves with OCD, ADD, Asperger’s, BPD, etc. It is not cool, it is not cute, and “but I hate writing with any pen but my special purple one” does NOT make you OCD. If you insist on self-diagnosing, here’s a handy guide:

1.) Understand what a diagnosis means. In the world of psychiatric medicine, to be diagnosed means ONLY that the list of criteria in the most recent edition of the DSM apply to you. What we call “mental illnesses” are not broad general categories of “lol I’m so random and weird and quirky,” they are very specific. Find the DSM criteria and if they don’t apply to you, shut the fuck up. I don’t care if “my friends always say I’m like sooo ADD.” Everyone gets distracted, everyone procrastinates. The world is not divided between totally focused workhorses and a bunch of people with ADD. If you feel in control of your focus or your own ability to get work done, even if you would rather do something else or may not be good at time management, you do not have ADD.

2.) Understand what that letter “D” after all of those means. It means “disorder.” That means that these symptoms/characteristics seriously interfere with your ability to live the life you want to live or that others want you to live. It means it may damage your personal relationships, affect your ability to maintain your grades, hurt your self image or level of joy, etc. Disorders make certain things a struggle. If you think you have bipolar disorder just because “sometimes I’m sad and sometimes I’m not,” you don’t, not unless those “sad times” are not so much “sad” as they are a constant struggle that makes you exhausted by your own existence. Everyone has bad days, not everyone has bpd. Everyone has a preferred pen or likes their food a certain way; not everyone has OCD. Everyone feels awkward sometimes; not everyone has Asperger’s. See where I’m going with this?

3.) Understand what that label really, really means. Now, I’m loath to tell someone that they can or cannot label themselves a certain way, and this whole argument feels almost hypocritical for me to make since I think the DSM is pretty much bullshit - but there are types of people whose experiences of the world are reflected by DSM labels and criteria, even if the practice that applies and uses those labels totally misuses them to a damaging degree. The DSM is a tool, and it could be a very useful one. Since we live in a world that uses its labels as the be-all-and-end-all of mental illness understanding, we need to not abuse them for the sake of people who need the DSM to work for them.

Anyway. If you’ve done your homework and now honestly believe that you have whatever you’re self diagnosing with, that’s fine. But I find it very difficult to believe that people who experience and struggle with what we call mental illnesses find that the best way to deal with this is to use it to joke about and attention grab. Understand that people with these labels have historically been and still are oppressed and abused and stereotyped. Most Icaristas I know don’t throw their labels around. Sharing them is a serious and an important thing. They don’t have to be shameful, or hidden, but the attitude with which they are talked about should be very very different from the casual, cute little anecdotes about personal quirks I see all over the place. Most people who really have diagnoses don’t find that comfortable or appropriate, though I can’t speak for everyone.

It’s not for me to say what is appropriate for other people, and if you have a diagnosis that you want to talk about like Megan Fox talks about “having OCD,” fine, do what you want. But honestly, seriously, if you do not have a diagnosis, don’t be disrespectful of those who do by making it about some quirky anecdote. There are people who have lost jobs, relationships, lives, and rights over what you think is a joke.

Read this. Fucking read this.