I had a dream that I was talking about healthy sexuality on college campuses (so topics like consent, sexual assault policies, and safer sex) and someone asked me about the “Consensual Sex is Hot” shirts. I talked about how sex sells in US colleges and although we shouldn’t have to market consent as being sexy it’s effective for getting to message across to folks who wouldn’t normally stop to think about what consent means. I used the term “college arena” and when I woke up, I felt stressed. I’m super anti academia because it so often excludes POC and/or low income people in discussions. What is my subconscious even doing thinking about terms like “college arena” that I’d only write in academic papers but never say out loud?
My first year of college, I was told by an intimate partner that I make people miserable. I stayed away from close relationships after that.
My third year of college, I was in an emotionally abusive relationship that left me believing I was inherently toxic and unlovable because my partner told me so.
I’ve always had an intense fear of abandonment that I compensated for with my friendliness to the point of being annoying and going out of my way to do nice things for people, including trying to organize a day to celebrate their awesomeness and randomly bringing them food or medicine.
I just want to be somebody someone wants to keep around
- my mom went she found out I walked .75 miles to a busy restaurant on a busy street at 8:30 pm.
Going from my house to the restaurant is such a small thing. I live in a part of town full of young professionals, college students, and professors. I saw people jogging and walking their dogs last night. The most theft over here is bicycle theft.
Though I’m not happy with my mother’s concern (and victim blaming), it makes sense. Being perceived as female is a risk factor for sexual violence.
It’s been over 12 hours and my anxiety hasn’t gotten better. I had to turn down an opportunity to perform because I wasn’t sure I could be in front of a crowd. I love performing! And I was gonna be singing and rhyming about sex! With women! While wearing a corset! And a bow tie!
Anxiety definitely lowers the quality of my life. And since transparency is one of my values (I never hide that I have mental illnesses, been sexually assaulted, and abused by multiple partners), I’m not going to hide this either.
I recognize that descriptions of anxiety can be triggering, so here are the tags I’m using: tw: anxiety, anxiety, trigger warning.
If I mention medications, therapy, self harm, abuse, or depression in any posts, I’ll tag those too.
If you have any other tags you’d like me to use, send me a message. Anon is on!
I want folks to feel comfortable and not alone.
I finally calmed down enough to go downstairs and get food. I should feel better now that my headache is gone. But I feel bad because I don’t feel like I deserved to eat. What is causing all this negativity? I don’t like it. Go away.
On the bright side, I could look in the mirror without wanting to cry. That’s an improvement!
I’ve been here for two and a half hours.
When I got in the apartment, I went straight to my room. I felt like something bad was going to happen if I couldn’t get there quickly.
I’ve been hungry since I got in, but I couldn’t move until now. I wanted to go to the kitchen, but I heard voices coming from downstairs and I couldn’t go. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and freak out. After obsessing over my facial features in the mirror for about 5 minutes, I ran back into my room to silently scream.
I need to find a support system. I don’t know how to do that
I was gonna masturbate last night cuz I hadn’t done it in a while and then when I touched my vulva it burned!
Turns out some of the oil from the scotch bonnet peppers I cooked last night was still on my hands.
24 hours later, I sucked my thumb because it hurt and guess what? Now my lips are burning.
Remember kids, never touch hot peppers without gloves on
I had an anxiety attack and had to leave the march for Mike Brown.
I just want to be able to function
I’m afraid it’ll get to the point like it was last year where I could barely leave my room.
I have a job now. I have to go or I’ll get fired and lose my chance to get the education award I need so I can finish college
It’s really annoying how people look down on folks who use food stamps. And classist. And racist.
In my hometown, about half of the city is eligible for EBT. And most people I’ve encountered in Gary who use EBT have jobs. I visited my family last week, and when I went to one of the very few grocery stores in my hometown and paid with a card, the cashier asked “debit, credit, or EBT?” It’s such a normal occurrence that it’s not really thought of there.
Today, I went into the Department of Human Services to apply for food stamps. I stood in line for three hours. If you want an appointment, you must come into the department between 9-2 Monday through Friday. Now, these are regular work hours. If you’re working, you’d lose an entire day’s pay (if not your job). There are phone interviews available, but they’re scheduled between 9-5, so the person applying would still have to leave their job for a bit to get food stamps.
Food is a basic human right, and it irritates the hell out of me when people get upset that others have EBT cards. Those who are unemployed are told to get a job and stop wasting the hard earned money of taxpayers. Those who have jobs are told to get better jobs, sell their valued possessions, and eat ramen. This obvious classism is coupled with racism, particularly targeting women of color even though white people make of the highest percentage of welfare recipients.
Today, I swiped my EBT card and bought fruit, cheese, granola bars, english muffins, and gelato. Yes, gelato. Because I deserve it.
And it was fuckin good gelato
*this is really dark cuz I took it at 4:30 AM and I can’t turn on the light b/c I have a roommate*
This morning, I thought I lost my pink frog, Squishy. I never fly without it. I quietly searched the room before realizing it was on my bed the whole time. Squishy was given to me for my 18th birthday by my then boo thang Polaris. He came into our physics class pretending to forget that it was my birthday then whipped out this bundle of joy. It was a perfect gift, especially since we hadn’t extensive discussed my love for stuffed animals.
I think Squishy means so much to me because he’s a symbol of romantic love. Polaris loved me for who I was. He wasn’t abusive like my first boyfriend or college girlfriend. He wasn’t using my affection as a means of control. My former best friend turned girlfriend loved the idea of loving me. She loved writing poems about love. She still loves writing articles for autostraddle about how brave it was that she loved a person with depression and anxiety. She also loved being abusive and manipulative. She loved so much, but she said never loved me and thought it was laughable that I thought I was lovable.Squishy reminds me that I’m worth loving.