naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)

Hmm . . . this sounds familiar. And not in a good way.

I figured it out! I figured it out!

Okay, the big thing that upsets me about the inspirational meme stuff like the one above is that pairing images of disabled people with messages like "It's all in your attitude" or "think positive and you can do anything" and "there are no disabilities, only bad attitudes" is basically pairing images of us, people with disabilities, with the sort of trite crap that is used to deny us when we ask for help and shove us down when we try to explain that there is a problem and something is wrong.

See, when a depressed teenager is failing at school, she is told to study harder, try harder, that she's got a "bad attitude." When a person with chronic pain is told that there are no excuses for not exercising every day and keeping a perfectly tidy house, and they react by getting justifiably angry, they have a "bad attitude", a "chip on their shoulder", they're "too sensitive", and they're "lazy" to boot. When a poor disabled person who cannot afford a wheelchair is told that the only disability is a bad attitude, and this is illustrated with pictures of $15,000 prosthetic legs*, and they don't happen to feel inspired by this, they just aren't grateful enough for what they do have. Telling someone to "think positive" when they are in the pits of bipolar despair is not just mean, it's indicative of grave ignorance and a sad disregard for the person's basic humanity.

All this stuff is doing is perpetuating the myth that leads to the stereotypes that lead to the neglect, bullying and abuse that make our lives much harder than they have to be . . . and it's perpetuating it using pictures of us.

And it is doing all of that in order to motivate and cheer up people who are not disabled.

And that is just messed.  Do you see how awful that is?

The messages alone are harmful and frustrating, even when pasted over pictures of sunsets and flowers. When put over images of us, when those words, OTHER PEOPLE'S WORDS, are literally written over our bodies and faces, that is really hurtful.** It silences us. It uses us as symbols of something that often doesn't even apply to us.

Don't erase us like that, okay? Those aren't our words. Those aren't our voices.

Don't use us to make yourself feel better about your odds of making it if you just try harder.  Don't use us to point out to your underachieving friends that they could try harder.  Because we try as hard as we can, we do, and it is often not enough.  Do you know how many of us live below the poverty line, struggling to survive because we cannot get help from state agencies without years-long battles that we are often too sick or too tired to fight, or won't live long enough to win?

This is not a game to us.  This is not a joke.  This is not a teachable moment.  This is not a moral to some inspirational story.  This is our life.  I can't be sure I will be able to afford to go to the doctor this month and buy the medication he will prescribe me.  I mean, I could wring it out of the budget, sure, but that's going to cut somewhere else.  I have no savings.  I take money from my father, from friends, because the state is dragging its heels in acknowledging how very, very sick I am.  Do you think that the low-income health programs cover my health care?  They don't.  All they will take care of is my baby-making parts, because that's all I am to them, and the rest of me is just so much defective meat.  And until I am declared officially disabled, and given a piece of paper and a number and an official designation to tell everyone else what I already know because I live it every damn day, it won't cover my medical care.  So I hurt more.  I get sicker.  Don't ignore the unpleasant reality of many of our lives to capitalize on the inspiration value of the things we do manage to accomplish.  Our adversity is not something for you to use to prop up your self-esteem.

You can have your inspiration. Nothing wrong with that. You can even find our stories inspirational; it's not the main reason I blog about disability sometimes, but I certainly don't mind if someone who is not mentally ill finds my occasional victory inspiring, or takes heart from my supposed strength or stubbornness. I don't begrudge you that.  I don't.  The fact that I can help other people by talking about this?  That is, about 75% of the time, the only thing that makes the thought that this is forever and ever until I die tolerable.  I don't care who it touches.  If I am alleviating pain, I'm happy.

Don't use us, though, to talk about yourselves, or other people.  Especially not to other people. We -- in our identity as disabled people -- shouldn't be used to represent or illustrate or talk about anything in a way that does not directly center us and our perception of our experiences.

We don't belong to you. Our lives don't belong to you.  Our bodies don't belong to you.  Our experiences don't belong to you. We aren't your inspiration. We don't deserve to be "that guy" you are glad you aren't, and we aren't brave saints who have navigated the minefield of life and emerged on the other side, triumphant, smiling, and with the wings of eagles.

Here is what we are: we are struggling, hurting people who navigate the shit life throws at us with varying degrees of success, battling all the way. We never win. We just hold it off a little longer. Life is wonderful and amazing, but it is also very, very hard. There is no finish line, not for anyone, except the big black. And the days we don't win that fight, those aren't failures that happen because we didn't keep our chin up. Those are failures that happen because the world is a hard place, and being disabled in one way doesn't come with built in compensations that make us better at dealing with the hard things, or confer advantages in another area. We are as shitty at life as anyone else. And that doesn't mean we aren't trying as hard, or make us less deserving.  It makes us human.

We are warriors in a war story that never ends.  There is no happily ever after. There is just the fight. Every. Day. For the rest of our lives.

Respect us. Please.

We don't get to look at pictures of you and feel hope. We don't get to look at pictures of you and feel good about ourselves. So don't make us look at pictures of ourselves while you tell yourselves how much you can achieve, because hey, life is so easy even disabled people can do it and smile, right?

Well, no. It's really, really not.

* Let me just talk about those cheetah legs. They are made of carbon fiber, engineered to replicate the spring action of the world's fastest land predator. They are so incredibly effective that South African Olympic sprinter Oscar Pistorious, pictured with that cute little girl above, was barred from competing in the 2008 Olympics because his cheetah legs were found by a committee to bestow upon him advantages that non-amputee runners could not match. That makes using this picture kind of inappropriate. The fact that the legs cost $12,000-15,000 combined with the caption make the pairing actively revolting. Those legs represent the absolute pinnacle of prosthetic technology, and they are extremely expensive and thus accessible to very, very few people.  You not only have to be rich, you have to be the right kind of amputee. Not everyone can afford them, and not everyone can use them. Those two people, that amazing athlete and that precious little child who is obviously having a grand adventure, are very, very lucky, and with all my heart I wish them the very best in the world, but there is no comparing that kind of luck with a good attitude. A good attitude will not buy you the world's most incredible legs.

Also, there is no prosthetic for mental illness.  Many people barely even acknowledge that it exists as a legitimate thing, not just a cluster of inconveniences and lies and concocted justifications to be browbeaten out of anyone who claims to be mentally ill.

** Yes, at least one of those quotes WAS from a guy with no legs. He doesn't speak for all of us, or even most of us. And it is super-important that you realize that.

FINAL NOTE: YES, YOU MAY LINK TO THIS, OR QUOTE FROM IT IF YOU CREDIT AND HOPEFULLY LINK BACK HERE.
naamah_darling: The Punisher skull with a red ribbon barrette. (Punisher Ribbon)
I just wanna rant for a minute here.

So, what with the whole kerfuffle about Papa John's and Hostess and, a while back, Chik-Fil-A, there's been a lot of food-related assholery going around. Corporate douchebags doing what they do best: acting like total pricks.

And people justifiably protesting this stuff are becoming part of a different problem: food-shaming. Y'all, I can barely read a Facebook post or a Tumblr reblog or comments to something on LJ that doesn't eventually – or immediately – degenerate into food shaming. Which rapidly degenerates into body shaming.

"OMG that stuff is disgusting/bad for you/why Baby Jesus cried." "You shouldn't eat that crap anyway! You should eat healthier!" "That stuff contains pellets of arsenic/baby brains/cat poop dirt from an old woman's garden!" "Why don't you just cook? It's easier/better/healthier/cheaper/more fun to make your own!" "It makes you fat anyhow. Calories calories fat fat fat OMFG CANCER." "Maybe Americans wouldn't be so fat and unhealthy if they quit eating this stuff anyway. CHILDHOOD OBESITY EPIDEMIC! TAXPAYER MONEY! LARD-RELATED FINANCIAL RUIN!" And so on.

Can we not? Can we just . . . not? Okay? Because people are gonna eat what people are gonna eat, and I don't think that anyone is laboring under the misconception that Twinkies, Ding Dongs, chicken nuggets fried in crack, and that delicious cinnamon dessert pizza is good for us on a nutritional level. I mean, maybe there are some benighted souls who have not yet been exposed to enough health fearmongering that they aren't yet aware that eating anything but fat-free organic produce watered with unicorn tears, fertilized with fairy dust, and picked fresh by virgins bathed daily in the milk of flying white horses will make them fat and then kill them. But odds are, you are not friends with them on Facebook, Livejournal, Tumblr, or anywhere else. Odds are, they cannot read. And frankly, I think we should leave them comfortably languishing in ignorance for as long as possible, because honestly, that fearmongering hateful bullshit is far more harmful than a handful of Little Debbies.

So on a bigger level, just don't give people shit for eating "unhealthy" food.

Food deserts are real. I once lived in a neighborhood where the nearest supermarket with produce was . . . Jesus . . . six, seven miles away? Across a huge highway, through a series of really, really bad neighborhoods. You could not walk there. Bus routes in this city are a joke, and buses stop running at night, so you're fucked anyway if you have a job with weird hours. Not everyone can bike, or hike, especially in the boiling heat or deathly cold, which describes Oklahoma nine months out of the year, or if they have allergies, which is a problem for about the same amount of time. Or if they have small children.

Some stores have horrible food, period. The nearest store to us has a produce section. The stuff I bring home from it sometimes goes bad within hours of coming in the door. I should take a camera down there and just take a picture of the apples, then do the same for the apples at the good store, across the river where the rich people live. Sure, the apples at the "good" place are sometimes second-rate. But the apples at the Poverty Mart a mile away are bruised, dented, mushy, puckered, have slashes in them, are misshapen and often really small, or they are just plain unripe and give me the shits. Sometimes they are unripe AND bruised and mushy. It's fucked. They are certainly not organic -- not that I care, although I've had people hollering down my neck that I should for many years now. But the shitty apples are cheap. So I eat them if that's all we can afford that week. Unless they are unripe. Then I have some cookies. The broccoli at that place sometimes bends almost 90 degrees before it snaps. The carrots are leathery. The lettuce is all iceberg, and it's sweet because it's already going over. Berries? They have 'em, but they are fuckass expensive. I don't know if they're good, I can't afford to try them. Stores in poor areas get horrible produce. Rich people who shop at high-line stores don't realize this, I think, or they don't realize the scope of the problem, but it's true.

Don't start with me on farmer's markets. Don't. It's not happening. Too much walking, too many people, incompatible hours, too much being out of the house, too much of an anxiety disorder.

I realize this is sometimes super-hard for people who love cooking to grok, but some folks hate cooking. I mean, it makes us miserable to do it, actually sad. Some of us can't handle doing it every day. Some of us don't have the fridge space to store adequate fresh food, or frozen pre-made healthy meals. Some of us don't have fridges that work at all. Some of us have no kitchen space to prepare food. Some of us would rather spend time doing other stuff than cooking. Some of us have no time to prepare or plan meals. Or we don't have the mental or emotional energy to do it. Sometimes, on a party day or game day, you don't want to have to cook, because you've got nine other things going on and you're doing them all with one hand.

Some of us don't know how to cook. "It's not hard" doesn't help anyone; unless you are willing to come and teach in person, or offer detailed advice, don't go there. I appreciate that some people like it, and that it's easier than it looks, but I'm not learning before I am ready, period, thanks. And I won't be ready until I am not so fucking tired and batshit crazy that I'll often wait three hours to take my meds in the morning because I am too fucked to get up and get a drink of goddamn water because the cats knocked over the one I leave standing next to my meds basket.

Grow your own? I'd LOVE to have a garden, but that is not happening. I'm sun-sensitive, I have allergies, I don't have the energy for upkeep, let alone getting it started.

Some of us like shitty food. We find it comforting. It's filling. It's satisfying. It's sweet. It's got that slippery mouth-feel from all the fat that people love to scream and shit themselves about. It's crappy in a way that a lot of folks find enjoyable. And those are all legitimate things to like about things like Twinkies and those "chocolate" donuts that taste like candle wax and sweetened paper pulp. Yes, other foods are satisfying and happy-making as well, but, oh, hey, I just got a bulletin from Under A Rock University's Center for the Study of Really Obvious Things:

NOBODY HAS TO FUCKING JUSTIFY OR DEFEND THEIR FOOD CHOICES TO YOU, EVER. It really is that simple.

Some of us don't do our own shopping. Some of us don't have time or energy to argue with the other people in the household about what gets bought. That sounds lazy, like a cop-out, but it's not. When you live a rough life, and you don't have many emotional resources, and you live with people with totally different food tastes than yours, sometimes it's easier – and cheaper – to compromise and get the fucking Little Debbies that you both like, rather than get more expensive stuff for two people.

Some of us genuinely, for-real, put our "health" second, behind our emotional well-being. The fact that people get all het up about physical health, and think that emotional health should come second, is a seriously fucked-up manifestation of ableism, and a seriously fucked-up manifestation of just how deeply we equate "healthy" with "looking fuckable" (i.e. thin). If you start up with that shit to my face, it makes me want to puke Twinkie goo all over your sandals. Food, and how we acquire, prepare, store, and eat it, is actually a huge part of our emotional well-being. As far as I am concerned, my mental health is all I have, because if I lose the delicate balance on that, then I commit suicide, and if I do that, all those petty concerns about trans fats and empty calories and just have a fucking celery stick and some peanut butter go straight out the window. Giving me hack about how/what I eat? Not cool. At all. Because it is basically attacking my coping mechanisms and how I administer emotional care to myself. Do I have to explain, really, how not-okay that is?

As a sub-point of the above, some of us are recovering from ugly food issues. Shut up about us eating Twinkies. There was a time when I was so mentally fucked I would have had a breakdown if you'd made me eat one. The fact that I can eat them without blinking now is a fucking victory, fuck you. They are little golden trophies of I AM NOT STARVING MYSELF ANYMORE. Every bite is a raised middle finger to that skinny cunt inside me who WANTED ME TO KILL MYSELF because I was so fat I deserved it. So, you know, leave off.

And, finally, anyone who resorts to fat-shaming on the topic needs to have their head surgically extracted from their rectal cavity before they asphyxiate.

You may have YOUR reasons for not eating that stuff, and that's actually cool. I'm down with that. But don't you give people shit about THEIR reasons for eating it. You are not them. You do not know their deal. And even if they are a lazy-ass slovenly bastard who is too stupid not to be fat, or whatever dumb-shit thing you are thinking, that is none of your business, either. You can't shame someone out of being unhealthy, unsightly, or just generally not to your liking. Shocking, I know, but it's true. Otherwise, I would be a very different and much less entertaining person. Or I wouldn't exist. I can't quite tell. And pardon me, but I think that not having me in it would actually make the world a worse place. Not by much, maybe, but I do good things for people and animals, I make my friends laugh, I help people find things in the craft store I don't even work at, and I sometimes tell people they look beautiful if it seems unlikely to me that they realize it.

Also, don't fucking let these corporate assholes off the hook. At all. Okay? They are greedy shitheads. We don't need to talk about how shitty the food is, or how bad it is for you. That's shifting the point. We need to focus on their behavior, because they are slime-sucking bastards. It wouldn't make a fucking difference if they were purveying five-star cuisine made of stardust and unicorn butter. They would still be pricks.

So hold them accountable for that. Don't slag off the food choices people make. It's fucking annoying, and missing the point.

Here endeth the lesson.
naamah_darling: Spotted hyena teeth. (Teeth)
This will be long, and for that I apologize. It will be angry and profanity-laden, and for that I will not apologize. I'll also say that you can link to this if you want to, no problem.

In comments to a post by [profile] gaaneden, rather a long time ago, I said: I often feel shit out of luck in that I can't really do anything every day except the bare needs of life itself – eat, sleep, etc. – and sometimes I don't even do that very well, as my lengthy bouts with insomnia prove. I have gone through periods where I write every day, but it's not consistent. It's part of what sucks tremendously about being bipolar and having issues getting properly treated and medicated.

Then, quite recently, I read a post from a multiply-published, award-winning writer talking about how people who don't work every day are not and never will be "real writers." (No, I am not naming names. This isn't about them.)

The "you MUST write every day or you will never be a Real Writer" assertion really irritates the shit out of me.

See, I can't always write every day. I go through months where I can't write. Years. And to way, way too many people who should know better, that means that I am not now and never will be a Real Writer.

You know, I don't want to do this job any less just because I'm fuckin' crazy. That's not how that shit works.

I am still a Real Writer, thank you very goddamned much. I dare you to read my work and tell me that I am "not a real writer." I dare you to look at what I do and have done and tell me that I am "not a real writer." Because pretty much the only ways in which I am "not a real writer" are:

I am only sparsely published with short stories, and have no books out that were not put out by myself. Since writers are always talking about how publication is not what makes a writer, so that argument can end right here.

I cannot reliably support myself with my writing. That is true of almost every writer, ever, so we can ignore that, too.

I write erotica. Some people regard erotica as a redheaded stepgenre not worthy of their attention. Some people think erotica writers are writers who couldn't hack it anywhere else. Some think erotica writers are just pathetic losers in general, probably perverts too. If you are one of those people, kindly fuck off. Nothing you say matters. Erotica is a real genre, plagued with problems and terrible writing though it may be, and shunting it aside as unworthy of better treatment sure doesn't help things any.

The last way in which I am not a real writer is this: I don't write every day. I don't even write regularly. And that is what I am attacking here.

There's a lot of talk about being a highly-functional mentally ill person and still being a happy, functional artist, but there's not a whole lot that addresses the feelings of those for whom consistent artistic functionality is just a daydream, but who still love their art, and pursue it as hard as they can.

We judge people according to how functional they are. We judge people who cannot keep a regular job. Writing is a job. We judge writers who cannot write. If you're going to argue that writing is a "real job" because you quite fairly want credit for doing a "real job", you have to accept that blaming a depressed person for not being able to write is no different from blaming a mentally ill person for being unable to hold down a 40-hour-a-week clerical job. (Unless you are the kind of person who would blame a mentally ill person for that, in which case, again, there's an off you should be fucking, somewhere in the vicinity of your mom.)

Writing is a complicated and difficult task. A symptom of many forms of mental illness is the inability to deal with complicated and difficult tasks.

Writing is in many ways a decision-making/problem solving process. It has been proven – and mentally ill folks all know this firsthand – that many forms of mental illness impair the decision-making/problem solving process. Meds can do that, too.

While writing, writers make many necessary decisions instinctively, without thinking about it on a conscious level, as the flow of words unspools. It's hard work but it's part of the background process, the behind the scenes stuff. Still takes energy, but it's not what's on stage.

Writers learn to problem-solve, mostly in the editing process, but often while the writing is happening. It's pretty difficult for a healthy person even on a good day. That's why we call it "revision hell."

Mental illness takes all those background processes and drags them under the spotlight. It makes solving problems incredibly difficult. Suddenly, writing is a lot harder. So imagine that your ability to solve those problems and make those decisions was reduced 50%. Now imagine it at only 25%. How much would you be able to get done in a day? Would you even be able to work? Because that percentage does sometimes hit zero. And sometimes it stays there for days. Weeks. Months. Years.

Humans only have so much mental energy to expend each day. Mentally ill people have less, and they have to spend a lot of it forcing themselves to do things that their illness makes really difficult. They use up the energy they'd use for problem solving and decision-making faster than non-mentally-ill folks. They have to use it on everyday things that would not ordinarily tax their resources. Not big decisions, but an endless nickel and diming over these tiny, bullshit, fucking embarrassing things that normal people – even you on a good day – take completely for granted.

After the cost of real-life living comes out, sometimes there isn't much left for writing. It's not a matter of making writing a priority. By the time you get done with the non-negotiable basics, the stuff everyone absolutely has to do, no exception, there's sometimes nothing left for writing. Sometimes, it's not hard to do simple things like put pants on or brush your teeth, but more complicated tasks are impossible. I call it the three-step problem. Things that take more than three steps to solve become almost impossible when I am in a really bad place.

Writing? It's way more than a three-step process. It is incredibly complicated and at least a little difficult for everyone who does it. If it was easy, everyone would be able to do it. Not everyone can. And not everyone who can is able to do it all the time.

Some people do have problems with laziness and not making ass-in-chair time a priority or wanting the fame but not wanting to do the work. Yes. Absolutely. Laziness, not prioritizing, and wanting all the fun parts of fame without all the bad parts of having an actual career are very human problems and at some time or another, every single human being has problems with one or all of those things.

Those are not the people I am talking about when I talk about mentally ill people having difficulty writing, but mentally ill folks get lumped in with them, and I think that is unfair. Not because I'm judging lazy people with poor time management skills and a sweet tooth for validation, I am totally sympathetic to those people, but because it is unfair to treat one like the other.

Treating people with a poor writing work ethic like mentally ill people is unfair because it doesn't teach not-crazy people the very important skill of how to manage themselves. Treating mentally ill folks like folks with a poor work ethic is unfair because it blames them for something they literally cannot change. (If they fucking could, they would.)

It's not an issue of laziness or not making it a priority. It's a matter of being unable to do an incredibly complicated and difficult thing because your brain is honest-to-goodness unable to sustain that level of coordination. I'm not fucking around, here. I'm not making excuses, I am telling you the truth, spot-on, from someone with firsthand experience. In other words, if anyone is qualified to tell you that this is true, I am. Sometimes, when you are crazy, it is literally impossible to make fiction happen. You, personally, may have horrendous mental health issues even worse than mine – I am sorry if you do, that shit sucks and I feel you on that – and still be able to write. That's you, dude. That's not something everyone can do. It's admirable, sure, but you shouldn't hold everyone to that standard. Not everyone's crazy works the same way!

Sigh.

I am making an issue out of this because I think it is unfair and damaging. I am raising a stink, and it will probably piss a few people off, and . . . you know, I honestly hope it does, because I have had about enough of this dismissive shit.

I think it discourages people – especially young people – from doing something that is difficult and sometimes maddening, but is also rewarding beyond any price and beyond the understanding of most people. These people still have valuable things to say, beautiful stories to tell, and they may have quite a future ahead of them. Do not, for fuck's sake, tell them they have already fucking failed.

I think it makes people who work very hard and still can't do it every day feel even more horrible for not "doing it right," or not doing what they "should" be doing. We are shamed so much for the ways mental illness fucks us up. It hurts even more when it affects something we truly do wish we could do.

I think it is extremely disrespectful to the people who can't do it every day, but come back to it again and again and again, wearing away at that stone, not knowing if they will ever be able to make anything of it, but trying as often as they can and as hard as they can because it is a fucking amazing thing to be able to do and nothing else in the world, not even unicorn sex, feels this good.

I am reminded of what little Gaelic I managed to learn years and years ago. If I am remembering it correctly, Gaelic grammar does not say "I am a harper." It says "It is the harper that is in me." Go ahead and get that one good snicker out of your system. I did it, too. Now really think about it. It's beautiful. The harper is in me. The singer is in me. The sculptor is in me. The writer is in me. In a very small and roundabout way, it says that we do is inside of us, a part of us. That it's not an identity we assume, but something that comes from within. From our hearts.

If you can write every day, if you have iron discipline, if you are a workaholic who never misses a deadline, that is amazing and I congratulate you. I love a prolific, hardworking witer! It doesn't mean, though, that people who are not Super-Writer are not real writers. Acknowledging that they are real writers because writing is something that they do, something that is inside them, does not cheapen your accomplishment or your status as a writer. It doesn't cheapen anything.

There are jerks that call themselves writers without having that inside them, people who put that identity on like a fancy shirt, hoping it will get them attention and validation. Absolutely, there are, and I loathe those people too. They are not writers, because the writer is not in them. Bullshit is in them.

There are lazy folks who want it but don't have the dedication, and I don't loathe them because at least they want the thing itself, and not the approval they think it will get them. They are not writers because they don't do the writing, even though they could.

And there are people who are fucking crazy, who sometimes cannot even manage to relibably obtain food on their own, and yet they write every moment they are able to. Who work hard when they can work. Who never let go. Who love that place inside all writers go to, that place that is also outside, in every drop of ink and every pixel, between every word and every line and the pages of every book. Who are every bit as dedicated as you, and just don't have the capacity to do it as much as you do. People who have that inside them. And if you have any respect for your craft at all, you should respect that. You should not judge.

I am not trying to evoke pity, but I am going to ask you to imagine that you literally cannot do the only thing in the world you want to do. Maybe you already know that feeling. Picture it now. Feel it in your bones. That feeling is where people like me spend a hell of a lot of time. We're stuck tasting it and then starving, not knowing how long either will last. We don't know if the next time it leaves us will be the last, leaving the husks of stories we still want to tell dead in the fields. We are stuck knowing what we are missing. We love our characters and we want to tell our stories and we feel the need to make things out of words and pretty lies every bit as keenly as you do.

Picture that feeling, picture how we go back to it again and again, trying like hell, until we are able to climb that never-ending wall a little further.

If you are a writer, imagine the stories inside you, the ones you want to tell. You probably know there will never be enough time to tell them all, and that probably causes you very real pain. How many will you have time to tell? Twenty more? Ten? Imagine having your hundred stories inside you, and knowing that you might only get one more. Or two. Because something in you is broken. Not your fault, but broken just the same.

Imagine being desperately poor, but loving something so goddamn much that you spend your time and effort, what little you have to spare, doing that, instead of doing things that might make you money for food and housing, because feeding your spirit is more important. Imagine being judged by ignorant assholes for doing something "frivolous" when you should be working a "real job," and still being told that you aren't a "real writer" by other writers because you can't do it every day. Or most days.

Are those feelings familiar to you already, maybe?

Look at all that common ground, that common love, that common struggle, that common fear, and then look me in the eye and tell me I am not a real writer.

I am a real writer. And goddamn to hell anyone who tries to tell me otherwise and spits on all the effort it took to kick ass and take names and go hungry and sleep scared and endure scorn for being "lazy" and "not working" a "real job" just to be able to do the one thing worth doing – if you're a writer you know what I mean by that. It spits on everything I have managed to accomplish in the face of an illness that has tried to kill me, and might.

If you are a writer, I do not want your fucking pity. I want your fucking respect. I may not be as good as you are line by line, I may not ever have a bestseller, I may have no critical acclaim, I may never publish an actual book, I may swear a lot more than you think is appropriate, I may not look the part, I may not work every day, I may utterly suck at self-promotion, I may be fucking terrible at this in every way, but everything I have to give, I give to this one thing that I love.

In any way that matters, how are we different?

I am every inch as much a writer as you.
naamah_darling: Intentionally hilarious cutesy illustration of a super-adorable anime girl with blood pouring from her crotch. (Menstrual)
Hey! It's been a while since I got really pissed off, hasn't it? I should probably do some of that soon, shouldn't I? How about now? Is now good for you?

I thought that since we are dirt-scraping poor and totally, totally unemployed, we'd be eligible for Medicaid under our state's much-vaunted "Soonercare" program. Nope. Why? Because I'm not fucking pregnant or trying to get pregnant, I don't have fucking kids, I'm not under 19 or over 65, and I have not been certified as fucking disabled yet.

Fuck everything. Just fucking fuck it.

Fucking fuck.

I've had, like, three people (professionals) ask me why I'm not on Medicaid lately when they knew I didn't fucking have kids. Fuck them for fucking asking. Fuck them, fuck them, fuck them. They deal with poor people every cocksucking day, they should fucking know. Fuck them.

I've spent my life very fucking carefully not having children I can't afford and which would only cost the state money. My reward for this? A fuck you very much and a boot on the ass on the way out. There's my thanks for being smart and careful. Thanks, Oklahoma, for reminding me that I'm not important because I am not reproducing, and that "families" means "babies."

I can get fucking nothing until I am certified as disabled or until I whelp.

I need medical care. Like, right now I kind of urgently need testing to make sure I don't have something bad. I doubt I'm in any trouble here, I do, but I would really like to be sure instead of letting something potentially nasty just slide. I deserve to be safe, to feel safe, and to have basic medical care. And I can't fucking get it.

Fucking lovely.

I am not fucking kidding when I say my pets get shit-tons better health care than I do.

Best line from The Ghost and the Darkness:

"Welcome to Tsavo. My advice to you is don't get sick."

Yeah. Welcome to fucking Oklahoma.

Golly, I think I've ranted this rant before. Six years, and nothing has changed.

If I can get the wherewithal to do it, I'm going to call around and see if the website is maybe wrong, I'm going to make someone say it to me personally, but I really don't think I'm going to get anywhere with that.

I think they'd probably love to be able to help me but can't because rich fucking assholes can't part with a tiny fraction of their millions in order to help out people who are fucking sick. Fucking parasites. Worthless dogfucking shitbags. I hope they choke to death on a camel semen and pig vomit ice dildo in a room wallpapered with child porn, while sodomizing the corpse of a first-degree relative who died of ebola and was then stuffed full of aspic and cheap heroin, and then I hope feral cats eat their faces off and piss all over everything they have ever owned or loved, and crows peck out their eyes, and rats gnaw them hollow starting with their testicles. Televised. Live. To America. Why? Because horse semen is too goddamn good for these walking shit containers.

(Also, if you're inclined to turn the comments into an argument about the recent USA health care act stuff, pro or con, just don't.)

(And if you're offended by my strong language, suck troll shit off Satan's cock in hell, you worthless fuck.)

(Aside from that, I am feeling loads better today.)
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
The problem with the myth of the socially-inept gamer/internet user who allows their social skills to atrophy because they spend too much time in a fantasy world is that it is a PILE OF SHIT.

Look, with as many human beings as we've crammed onto the planet, I'm sure these people do exist. Though seldom articulated, there's an asshole corollary to Rule 34. If you can think of a way to be an asshole, there is someone who is already doing it just as hard as they can. I am also aware that games, especially player to player interactive games (WoW, etc.), can be addictive, which leads people to neglect other concerns. I mean, I can tell you right now that every time an Assassin's Creed game comes out, I get nothing done for a week. Social games can also be hotbeds of cliqueishness and bullying; the way woman gamers are treated is deplorable; and they serve as both time sucks and frustration sinks for people whose lives are not so great, often leading to further decay of quality of life. All of these things are truly less than ideal.

I'm also aware that there are a lot of losers and jerkfaces who are into gaming or fucking off online . . . just like there are lots of losers and jerkfaces who go to football games and to the gym and to church and to the zoo with their families and on vacations to Arizona and write their memoirs from cabins in British Columbia and attend political rallies and volunteer at the ASPCA . . . you get the idea, right? That there is nothing wrong with these things, unless it's that assholes sometimes do them? That any act or hobby can be a negative one if it is used to avoid obligations to other sentient beings?

Yes, marvel at it: ASSHOLES! A constant across every demographic, they inhabit the mainstream culture and every subculture in startling variety, not unlike the impassable can't-read-past-it Wall of Fish in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Geek assholes are no more common or loathsome than religious assholes or vegan assholes or political assholes or film school assholes or music snob assholes. Geek assholes don't have a monopoly on being disgusting motherfuckers.

Using the negatives to define and dismiss an entire class of person and their interests is flat-out stupid, not to mention insulting. The fact that there are problems with games and gamers and game culture, and with the internet and with internet culture in general, does not mean that the problem is that games or the internet exist.

The problem is people.

Dudes? Newsflash. People can really suck. And they would still suck even if they no longer had WoW or 4chan or YouTube comments or whatever. Yes, there's a particular kind of nastiness bred by anonymity, but again, that's not a problem with the internet, it's a problem with human beings, who are often cowardly and cruel, and can only draw their balls up for a fight either at a safe distance or in a group of like-minded assholes.

Anonymity on the net doesn't make people into bigger assholes than the pack of homo hatin' sign-waving hatemongering good ol' boys. It just gives the assholes different tools, and makes it easier for them to find you and shit on you. But believe me, internet bullies and stalkers aren't somehow magically meaner than the assholes who beat people to death for being black or trans or whatever other excuse they seize upon. They are just more visible to most people, and more vocal.

And it doesn't help that admonitions against internet socialization are often chased with a heavy shot of "how dare you."

The perceived wrongdoing of these people is not that they are assholes who go onto YouTube and call that nice lady who spends all her time and money rescuing abandoned kittens a fat slut who needs to be raped and how does Thursday sound to you and how dare they?!

No.

The perceived wrongdoing of these people is that they waste time on the internet, period. They go onto YouTube and watch humorous accident videos and people lighting their farts and 80's music video literal versions and My Little Pony: Friendship is Fuckin' Magic episodes instead of doing whatever self-righteous little assholes think they should be doing. How dare you turn your back on real life? How dare you find things to do that don't involve interacting with other people face to face? What, are you some kind of loser freak? You're probably fat, and a chronic masturbator, and a goddamn furry, you probably drink gravy out of a Na'vi fleshlight with a crazy straw, and all of these are THINGS WE WOULDN'T HAVE IF NOT FOR THE INTARTUBEZ!

Yeah. I'm not exaggerating. I hear this shit all the time. (Ironically, I actually read it . . . on the internet.) "Get a life." "What kind of loser cares about the internet?" "God, why would you play video games when you could go outside and get stung by bees, step in dog shit, and die of heatstroke?"

Truefax: I didn't have the internet for a very long time. Before that time, did I have more friends? Did I have a more fulfilling family life? Did I spend more time doing interesting and important things in the real world? Did I accomplish more?

Guess. Go on. I'll wait. Just take a flying stab in the dark.

I'll even give you a little hint:

No.



I was fucking miserable. I had very, very few friends. I didn't see my family any more often than I do now. I didn't go out and do more things. I was, I say again, fucking miserable. I was having panic attacks all the time, I had very little emotional support, I thought I was crazy and fat and disgusting and deserved to rot in misery (first two parts true, second two parts not so much), and I was, in general, so fucked up that I couldn't even see how fucked up I was, because fucked up was all I knew.

I had no access to any model of life that worked for me. The only other life I knew was the school/job/kids life which I have known since before I knew what nipples were for was not for me. I didn't see that there was any way to not be that, and still be healthy and functional. I mean, intellectually, I knew, but I had nothing on which to pattern my life. It was like taking some cloth and some random bits of metal and trying to come up with a garment to hold up your tits and squish in your waist when you have never been introduced to a corset. There was this tremendously complicated thing I had to not only do, but build from scratch, and I didn't even know what one looked like. I had no access to anything to help me define what is normal for me. I thought that if I was unhappy and miserable, that was my fault for not fitting, not just an unavoidable mismatch between what I was and what I knew, and which was nobody's fault at all.

Also, in the interests of self-disclosure, I think I jerked off more when I didn't have the internet. Because yes, sometimes watching YouTube videos of explosions truly is more fun than having an orgasm. And that doesn't mean I have my priorities fucked up. It just means that I suddenly had another option to choose sometimes, the same way that choosing a cheeseburger over a five-star steak is not fucked up if what you really want right then is a goddamn cheeseburger. Sometimes you don't want to have a deep, meaningful conversation with your beloved. Sometimes you want to tell dick jokes.

And then the internet – specifically, LiveJournal – hit me like a beautiful gay unicorn semen bukkake rainbow, and I saw the light (albeit refracted through a haze of spooge). It was like turning on the floodlights in a dark room and discovering that I was surrounded by fuckups of every shape, size, and color, many of them fat, masturbating perverts. Holy shit, I was not alone! I had found my people at last!

I am very shy, meeting and befriending new people is very, very hard for me, and because I am crazy, I have very few emotional resources to spend on going out to spend time with friends in meatspace, or do the sorts of "more important" things that fans of "real life" would have me do (I don't know what these things are, I've never gotten a straight answer that included anything that I was interested in doing that I didn't already do).

Sometimes I have panic attacks, and these are often triggered by stressful social situations, and "stressful" can, on really bad days, mean "there's, like, air."

I'm also poor, which means doing things like traveling to "see the world" or taking up expensive or boring hobbies to prove how fucking fulfilling my life is are right out. Taking up a "healthy" hobby has no appeal for me. I'm not interested in learning to play tennis or going to the gym or running a goddamn marathon; I danced for a while and may someday go back to it, but while I loved the people, toward the end it didn't make me that happy to do it (granted, that may have been the pressure to perform, and the eating/exercise disorder, but still).

Real life interaction is hard. Sometimes, for me, unbearably so. And when this happens, I just fuck off from real life for a while. I didn't have more strength to deal with it when I was without the internet. I didn't interact with people more. I had fewer ways to interact pleasurably and safely with other people, and consequently, I was unhappier. And because I was unhappier and had less contact with people, I was more awkward, and had even fewer emotional resources.

Amazingly enough, things have improved since I started connecting with people online and was finally able to see that I was not alone, and that I could get help and support without having to jump through all those hoops that, when you have a panic disorder and a mental illness, make doing things like nipping over to see someone or taking somebody broke out to a movie nearly fucking impossible, let alone something like "getting help."

If you took away my internet access now, I wouldn't suddenly find all this energy I didn't know I had and then go running right out to work for Habitat For Humanity, start taking tae kwon do classes, attend cooking school, or develop the perfect anal-retentively maintained front yard. I would sit in my corner and masturbate joylessly and read books. Not even, like, Paradise Lost and Moby Dick and Nabokov and fucking Ernest Hemingway -- books that, if you were a pretentious asshole, you might contend would improve my character -- but shitty pulp novels about, like, the Three Musketeers IN SPAAAAAACE . . . shit that is in no way more defensible than Wikipedia, or even TV Tropes. And then, when I got bored with that, I would write porn, which I could only share with, like, maybe four people, tops, before someone called the cops on me.

So, yeah, some people become dependent on the internet for their social interaction. Maybe that's because those people are more comfortable, and sometimes ONLY comfortable, interacting online. Not because they are sad and pathetic but because they are human, and flawed, and living in a world that absolutely does not respect people who are not extroverts.

Just to pull two examples from thin air, because I love these guys but they were kind of fuckups, Lovecraft and Howard might have done really well online, where they could correspond with people in a controlled setting. Because they lived before the internet, the fact that they were isolated, unhappy people is romanticized (and the fact that they had some questionable views about some things is often sort of ignored, because the evidence of this was not blogged). If they lived now, and had LiveJournals, and were still reclusive and difficult, people would think they were pathetic. But given that they were both letter-writers, if they'd had the internet, I think they might have been happier people. (And maybe Robert might not have killed himself.)

Are the people who use the internet as their primary filter for the world addicted to the internet? Maybe. You can become addicted to pretty much anything that rewards you with feelings of pleasure or power, or even, if you have a hard inner life, anything which just blocks feelings of fear, powerlessness, restlessness, or despair. (Although I think that people who regard all addiction as a major character flaw and think that beating it is just a matter of bucking up and choosing your attitude are assholes anyway, so it's probably best to just not speculate about why other people do what they do unless you are willing to actually listen to what those same people – not other people – say about their own lives.)

But I really think that a surprising number of folks could only be described as "addicted" if you describe the human urge to seek out and interact with other people as "addiction" only when it takes any form that doesn't look like the sun-drenched, healthy, physically vigorous, radiantly-smiling, happy family and lots of nearby friends, baking cookies but not getting fat from eating them because you can afford a gym membership and the mental tax of worrying about your weight, affluent enough to have hobbies, walking the dogs every day down a safe suburban street full of nice little houses and picket fences, living in a place where it's possible to spend time doing things outdoors without dying of heatstroke or freezing to death (i.e. not Oklahoma -- get a clue, rest of the country, the weather sucks here and nobody wants to spend time outside), DIY home improvement, let's build a snowman and make him our best friend, smiling sunbeams out your asshole ideal that mainstream-sucking dickheads try to force on everyone else.

Hey. You don't become a shut-in because you just can't resist another goddamn game of Bejeweled. You become a shut-in and play Bejeweled obsessively because you have fucking problems which, it is more likely than not, goddamn nobody in meatspace is helping you to solve, and which all of the goddamn Pollyanna "you can do anything if you really want to" "you make your own luck" "good people are rewarded with good things, so if you have shitty things, you must be a shitty person" bootstrapping cockshit we teach people as though it were the truth will do not a thing to alleviate.

And when your life is such a screamingly sensitive mess of nerves and failures and fear and things you can't do because you're damaged and meaningful things you can't afford because you're poor because you can't work because you're damaged and dreams you will never see come true and help you cannot get because you cannot afford to dream or need help, sometimes the only thing you have the strength to do is go click on some goddamn dragon eggs or play Tetris.

I suck at life. I do. Some of that's my fault, some of it's someone else's fault, and a great deal of it is nobody's fault at all, any more than it's a wolf's fault that it's not a carp.

Whatever the causes, I do my best to manage my life while trying to get better at living it and becoming a better person. My best may not be great, but here's what people don't seem to understand, the thing that I would like to etch onto the toe of my boot and kick into their asses: My best is my best. It is the best I can do. It is not what other people think I am capable of. It is not what other people think I should be capable of. It is not what other people would be capable of if they had my skill. It is not even what I wish I could do, or feel that I should be able to do.

It. Is. My. Best.

I am not slacking off or being lazy because I am 34 and have not yet figured out how to live the perfect life. I am making progress. But my best is still my best, and on some days, that is not so great.

Maybe to some people I am a loser. But it's not fucking affecting anyone else when I stay home and pop in Ass:Bro and kill everyone in Forlì with a fishing pole, so why the fucking judgment? Why the bad attitude about how my life is not only not good enough for them, but shouldn't even be good enough for me?

Motherfuckers, don't judge how I live my reality until you've shut your goddamn mouth and tried to live it with the same resources I have. And since that's not possible, since you can never actually live my life or experience my reality, I recommend you shut the flying fuck up altogether about how I live my life and go have a sandwich.

I recommend ducklings and pussy. GTFO.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Death Ray)
Jesus God. It's fine if you come onto my favorite obscure answers community wanting to pester us about medieval hats/falconry/cooking/architecture/medicine. Ask away! But for the love of all that's footnoted, and for the sake of my fragile sanity, do not ask about diseases/food/brothels/inheritance customs/punishments for bestiality "in ancient times." That's about as vague as "in medieval times."

No, wait. It's even more vague!

"In medieval times" is a pretty useless term, but it at least refers to a relatively narrow timespan. "In ancient times" could refer to Paleolithic France, 3rd Century BCE Ireland, 2nd Century Rome, 5th Century Denmark, 11th Century Japan . . . you get the idea. At least give us a hundred-year window and a specific country to work with.

It occurs to me that these people probably use "in ancient times" for anything that predates "in medieval times." Evil and wrong. Hate.

In casual conversation, I will let it slide, but if you are asking a question, this simply will not do.

More nitpicks? I got 'em! Let us move on to the differences between "ravage" and "ravish."

Ravage, according to Merriam-Webster online, means to wreak havoc on or affect destructively; to commit destructive actions. It implies "violent and often cumulative degradation and destruction."

Ravish means to seize or take away by violence, to overcome with emotion (as joy or delight); also to rob, plunder, or rape. It is most often encountered in the softer senses of the word; ravishment is what happens to plucky heroines in romance novels and entertaining porn.

A scent or a sight cannot "ravage your senses," unless it is causing permanent damage to your eyes, skin, nasal passages, etc. A woman does not look "ravaging" in a clingy black dress, unless she is covered in blood and gobbets of flesh. You do not want your lover to pin you down and "ravage" you. Well, maybe you do want to be degraded and destroyed. I mean, that's cool. Go for it if that's your kink. I totally get the appeal. Still, this word should be used with great caution. If you mean "ravish," by all the gods that ever were, please just say ravish. If you mean "ravage," and I mean really mean it, then use it. Using "ravage" when you mean "ravish" makes you look ignorant. "Ravage" is not a stepped-up version of "ravish." It is not ravishment plus. It is not ravishment with a vibrating bed and room service. It is not the ravishment bonus plan, with unlimited minutes and free long distance. It is not ravishment, only more ravish-y. So don't use it that way. They sound similar, but are not interchangeable.

Having covered that, let's discuss the word "definitely."

It contains within it another word: the word "finite," which is the amount of patience I have with this error.

It is not spelled "definATEly."

Let me restate that.

It is NOT. SPELLED. "DEFINATELY."

Are we perfectly clear on this? Because "definately" needs to die a much-needed death. The proper appearance of the word (again, it's "definitely" . . . "finite" is a word, and "finate" isn't) has begun to startle me when I see it, because most people misspell it. It is such a common spelling error that I have begun to make it, which, pre-internet (shakes cane) I never used to do.

And no, the fact that most people misspell it does not mean that the spelling should be altered, any more than mathematics should be altered to compensate for an individual's inability to add three and five together in a consistent fashion. Like me. I cannot reliably perform basic math. I do not, however, believe that those rules should be altered because I am bad at them.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Death Ray)
Jesus God. It's fine if you come onto my favorite obscure answers community wanting to pester us about medieval hats/falconry/cooking/architecture/medicine. Ask away! But for the love of all that's footnoted, and for the sake of my fragile sanity, do not ask about diseases/food/brothels/inheritance customs/punishments for bestiality "in ancient times." That's about as vague as "in medieval times."

No, wait. It's even more vague!

"In medieval times" is a pretty useless term, but it at least refers to a relatively narrow timespan. "In ancient times" could refer to Paleolithic France, 3rd Century BCE Ireland, 2nd Century Rome, 5th Century Denmark, 11th Century Japan . . . you get the idea. At least give us a hundred-year window and a specific country to work with.

It occurs to me that these people probably use "in ancient times" for anything that predates "in medieval times." Evil and wrong. Hate.

In casual conversation, I will let it slide, but if you are asking a question, this simply will not do.

More nitpicks? I got 'em! Let us move on to the differences between "ravage" and "ravish."

Ravage, according to Merriam-Webster online, means to wreak havoc on or affect destructively; to commit destructive actions. It implies "violent and often cumulative degradation and destruction."

Ravish means to seize or take away by violence, to overcome with emotion (as joy or delight); also to rob, plunder, or rape. It is most often encountered in the softer senses of the word; ravishment is what happens to plucky heroines in romance novels and entertaining porn.

A scent or a sight cannot "ravage your senses," unless it is causing permanent damage to your eyes, skin, nasal passages, etc. A woman does not look "ravaging" in a clingy black dress, unless she is covered in blood and gobbets of flesh. You do not want your lover to pin you down and "ravage" you. Well, maybe you do want to be degraded and destroyed. I mean, that's cool. Go for it if that's your kink. I totally get the appeal. Still, this word should be used with great caution. If you mean "ravish," by all the gods that ever were, please just say ravish. If you mean "ravage," and I mean really mean it, then use it. Using "ravage" when you mean "ravish" makes you look ignorant. "Ravage" is not a stepped-up version of "ravish." It is not ravishment plus. It is not ravishment with a vibrating bed and room service. It is not the ravishment bonus plan, with unlimited minutes and free long distance. It is not ravishment, only more ravish-y. So don't use it that way. They sound similar, but are not interchangeable.

Having covered that, let's discuss the word "definitely."

It contains within it another word: the word "finite," which is the amount of patience I have with this error.

It is not spelled "definATEly."

Let me restate that.

It is NOT. SPELLED. "DEFINATELY."

Are we perfectly clear on this? Because "definately" needs to die a much-needed death. The proper appearance of the word (again, it's "definitely" . . . "finite" is a word, and "finate" isn't) has begun to startle me when I see it, because most people misspell it. It is such a common spelling error that I have begun to make it, which, pre-internet (shakes cane) I never used to do.

And no, the fact that most people misspell it does not mean that the spelling should be altered, any more than mathematics should be altered to compensate for an individual's inability to add three and five together in a consistent fashion. Like me. I cannot reliably perform basic math. I do not, however, believe that those rules should be altered because I am bad at them.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Cruel Intentions Asshole Day)
This is just tremendously depressing to me. And this.

I don't understand why people think bullying is just part of life. Everyone experiences being pushed around, but the way we as a culture just accept this kind of thing to the point that children are committing suicide because of it . . . that's sick.

It's sick the way that the victims are blamed by teachers and by the bullies' parents for bringing it on themselves, for not standing up to the bullies, for being too sensitive; and it's sick the way they are punished if they fight back.

It's sick the way that people can hear about something like these dead children -- dead -- and say that there must have been something wrong with them. That they should've been the ones to change, and that if they didn't, that's their fault.

And it is fucking sick the way people – from children to grown adults – will defend the use of the word "gay" as a pejorative. It really isn't defensible. Humor does not excuse everything, nor does meaning well. It just reveals that you are too lazy to find some other descriptor.

It is using that word negatively in any way other than as a totally neutral categorization of someone's sexual orientation that has given it such terrible weight that children who are not gay are killing themselves. Mindless little shits are using that word -- a perfectly good word that describes so many lovely people I know -- to hurt.

I don't care if there are no kids around to hear, I don't care if you're with someone who doesn't care if you use it that way, I don't care if you are gay, yourself, and are trying to assert that "That's so gay!" is a perfectly okay thing to say because you are the Big Gay Representative of Gaydonia and you said so. I'm sick of it, I've had enough. Pick some other word. There's 171,476 entries for full words in the OED, a conservative estimate. You have 171,475 other words to choose from. This one has as of right now today completely ceased to amuse me.

And while we are at it, let's pile on a "fuck you, you fucking fuck" to anyone who has ever pulled out the old "other people's words can't hurt you; you can only let them" canard in order to forestall someone else's entirely appropriate response, instead of trying to fucking help. There is a time and a place for that psychobabble crap, and that time and place is rare as hen's teeth. Most of the time, it is harmful, hateful bullshit.

I am willing to bet anything, anything you care to name, that both of those children, and the others who have killed themselves this year alone, were each and every one told that sticks and stones might break their bones, but words could never hurt them. I am willing to bet my house that those children were repeatedly told to just ignore what was being done to them. At eleven. When we are all so incredibly capable of ignoring things like daily pain.

Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover's mother found his lifeless body hanging from an extension cord minutes before she was due to confront school officials yet again over the bullying her son faced every day. They'd had every chance to listen, and had not.

I was bullied, and my parents and teachers didn't do much of anything about it, so I can tell you that when you tell a kid to just ignore it, that cruel words mean nothing, you aren't saying what you think you're saying. You are turning the kid loose to deal with his own pain at an age when he is not capable of doing that. You're telling them that they just don't matter enough to you for you to care. You're telling him that it's all right that the world is this way, and that they are the one who is fucked up for not being able to adjust to it. You're saying the bullies are right to pick on them.

I have a nice long rant about turning the other cheek in general coming, but I wanted to keep it separate from this discussion of bullying out of respect for those kids. So I will leave it at this: Don't say that shit to kids. And don't say that shit to grownups, either. It's shitty.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Cruel Intentions Asshole Day)
This is just tremendously depressing to me. And this.

I don't understand why people think bullying is just part of life. Everyone experiences being pushed around, but the way we as a culture just accept this kind of thing to the point that children are committing suicide because of it . . . that's sick.

It's sick the way that the victims are blamed by teachers and by the bullies' parents for bringing it on themselves, for not standing up to the bullies, for being too sensitive; and it's sick the way they are punished if they fight back.

It's sick the way that people can hear about something like these dead children -- dead -- and say that there must have been something wrong with them. That they should've been the ones to change, and that if they didn't, that's their fault.

And it is fucking sick the way people – from children to grown adults – will defend the use of the word "gay" as a pejorative. It really isn't defensible. Humor does not excuse everything, nor does meaning well. It just reveals that you are too lazy to find some other descriptor.

It is using that word negatively in any way other than as a totally neutral categorization of someone's sexual orientation that has given it such terrible weight that children who are not gay are killing themselves. Mindless little shits are using that word -- a perfectly good word that describes so many lovely people I know -- to hurt.

I don't care if there are no kids around to hear, I don't care if you're with someone who doesn't care if you use it that way, I don't care if you are gay, yourself, and are trying to assert that "That's so gay!" is a perfectly okay thing to say because you are the Big Gay Representative of Gaydonia and you said so. I'm sick of it, I've had enough. Pick some other word. There's 171,476 entries for full words in the OED, a conservative estimate. You have 171,475 other words to choose from. This one has as of right now today completely ceased to amuse me.

And while we are at it, let's pile on a "fuck you, you fucking fuck" to anyone who has ever pulled out the old "other people's words can't hurt you; you can only let them" canard in order to forestall someone else's entirely appropriate response, instead of trying to fucking help. There is a time and a place for that psychobabble crap, and that time and place is rare as hen's teeth. Most of the time, it is harmful, hateful bullshit.

I am willing to bet anything, anything you care to name, that both of those children, and the others who have killed themselves this year alone, were each and every one told that sticks and stones might break their bones, but words could never hurt them. I am willing to bet my house that those children were repeatedly told to just ignore what was being done to them. At eleven. When we are all so incredibly capable of ignoring things like daily pain.

Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover's mother found his lifeless body hanging from an extension cord minutes before she was due to confront school officials yet again over the bullying her son faced every day. They'd had every chance to listen, and had not.

I was bullied, and my parents and teachers didn't do much of anything about it, so I can tell you that when you tell a kid to just ignore it, that cruel words mean nothing, you aren't saying what you think you're saying. You are turning the kid loose to deal with his own pain at an age when he is not capable of doing that. You're telling them that they just don't matter enough to you for you to care. You're telling him that it's all right that the world is this way, and that they are the one who is fucked up for not being able to adjust to it. You're saying the bullies are right to pick on them.

I have a nice long rant about turning the other cheek in general coming, but I wanted to keep it separate from this discussion of bullying out of respect for those kids. So I will leave it at this: Don't say that shit to kids. And don't say that shit to grownups, either. It's shitty.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Feminazi)
I haven't been much with the talky feminist shit lately, I've been too tired to deal with the fallout, but I got accused of being "politically correct" recently.

You know what? I don't even know what the fuck that means. I honestly don't. Clearly, that person felt persecuted and threatened, which is pretty goddamn ironic when you think about it, because they were buying into some detailed upfuckery re: sexism and fatphobia (it's only Tuesday and its already been an especially fatty-hating week on the internet).

Personally, I don't use that term, ever, because people hate it so much, and because it's used as an insult more often than as a descriptor. I hate the way it's often used to dismiss the entirety of what a person is saying. I also think it's inadequate, distant, and unnecessarily sanitary.

But, yeah, I guess I'm "politically correct" to the extent that if a woman says that something is sexist, I expect people to listen, because I know that woman is probably primed to see sexism in a way that most men and even many women are not.

If a person of color says that something is racist, I listen to what they have to say, because I don't share that culture, and so I trust that person to see bias against their own group better than I.

If a queer person says that something is homophobic, I pay attention, because I assume that they know homophobia when they see it far better than I do.

If a fat person says that something is offensive, obnoxious, or is in some way a stereotypically unpleasant utterance, I listen up, because this, too, is a thing we are not culturally taught to see.

And, to the left of all of that, if any one of those people fails to say anything about a questionable thing, I don't assume it's automatically okay. Hell, even having them back me up, while nice, is not infallible. Plenty of women laugh at sexist jokes. Plenty of fat people hate fat people. One person cannot give the permission of a whole group. I don't assume that because I have one person's approval, I have everyone's. I try not to mistake an individual for a group.

What fucking infuriates me the most is when people who speak out against stupid, biased bullshit are told they are imagining things, overreacting, or being too emotional. I am sick of being told that I am oversensitive or that I am just looking for something at which to take offense. I'm sick of being told I'm too close to the issue to judge, and I'm sick of being told that I'm taking things out of context.

Let me explain something. I don't need context to know that certain things are not okay, because certain things cannot be made okay by context.

This is why, the longer I live, the more uncomfortable I become with what most people consider to be funny, and even things that people consider to be heartwarming. This is why mainstream media and commercials literally make me want to ralph. This is why, as I get older, I suddenly wonder why I ever thought such-and-so a thing was funny, and what I got out of it in the first place.

Folks, a lot of the time it just doesn't matter how things are meant. You still need to be careful how you say things, context be hanged. Why? Because the most patronizing, pigfucking, snotlicking piles of horsefuck you can possibly imagine will look you dead in the eye and tell you that they didn't mean anything by the hateful generalization they just made. And they truly believe that.

In fact, because they don't perceive anything harmful in the words, they are perplexed as to why anyone would, and when someone attempts to correct or educate them, they often react as though they have been attacked. To them, what they said was harmless, or meant in fun, or not really serious. Why, then, this blind-side assault on their self-expression?

If you look at it that way, it's no wonder they feel oppressed!

So when you say something others think is sexist or racist or whatever, and they call you on it, and you come back with immediate denial, it's like sphincter-print camoflage. It makes you look just like all the other assholes. And you can't see why.

This is what happens when you have blind spots, folks. People sock you in them. You run afoul of someone who can see what you're doing, even if you don't realize you're doing it, and when they point it out, you will often lunge straight into their outstretched finger and get poked in the eye. Because you are blind. The great irony is that, if you think people are constantly poking you in the eye, you are a lot less likely to open your eye, aren't you? Even though that's the only cure for this sort of blindness: look where the fuck you are going before you go there.

All I can do is to tell people, over and over again, that if you suddenly experience a flood of people telling you that you are wrong about something, if you are pissing people off left and right, then those people are the ones who are best-equipped to perceive hostility directed at their own group, and you probably have some listening to do.

It's a myth that if you lose one physical sense, the others four sharpen to compensate. The same is, alas, true of mental faculties as well. Being ignorant, especially deliberately ignorant, does not grant you any advantages in life whatsoever. A lack of caring about groups not your own does not indicate any strength of character, show force of will, or provide evidence of any justifiable pride in self.

This sort of eager selfishness is the default setting for most of humanity. It means you are not questioning. That you are shut down. It may be easier to get along in your own group if you stick to it, but you're going to stunt yourself as a human being, and people are going to catch on to that and avoid -- or attack -- you because you are probably pretty unpleasant to be around. As in, you probably keep saying fucking stupid shit, and then getting all butthurt when people call you on it.*

I will give you another hint, free of charge. If it is more important to you to emphasize that you are the shining exception to the bigoted rule, if it is more important to you to explain why you are right or why you didn't mean it that way, than it is for you to stop and listen to what the other person is saying, you're basically confirming their worst opinions outright: that you are a person who values your own voice above the informed words of a person from a group over which your own very likely has a significant cultural advantage.

If you are not a racist, sexist, fatphobic, homophobic ape-felcher with all the personal grace of a plug of congealed, bituminous iguana semen, and you don't want to be perceived as one, don't say shit that makes you look like one.

How hard is that? Really? How hard is not looking like a cold lump of lizard jizz?

In other news, my choice of a blindness metaphor is in no way meant to be offensive, and the fact that I'm making that statement pretty much puts the irony cherry on top of the whole sordid sundae.

I swear I didn't mean it like that.

. . . I cannot fucking win today, I swear to god.

* Being an asshole and not getting butthurt when people call you on it is not really any better, despite the fact that it is superficially cooler. It merely reduces your apparent stupidity by about as much as it raises your apparent insufferability. Some people don't care that they are assholes. Surprisingly enough, this does not make them not assholes.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Feminazi)
I haven't been much with the talky feminist shit lately, I've been too tired to deal with the fallout, but I got accused of being "politically correct" recently.

You know what? I don't even know what the fuck that means. I honestly don't. Clearly, that person felt persecuted and threatened, which is pretty goddamn ironic when you think about it, because they were buying into some detailed upfuckery re: sexism and fatphobia (it's only Tuesday and its already been an especially fatty-hating week on the internet).

Personally, I don't use that term, ever, because people hate it so much, and because it's used as an insult more often than as a descriptor. I hate the way it's often used to dismiss the entirety of what a person is saying. I also think it's inadequate, distant, and unnecessarily sanitary.

But, yeah, I guess I'm "politically correct" to the extent that if a woman says that something is sexist, I expect people to listen, because I know that woman is probably primed to see sexism in a way that most men and even many women are not.

If a person of color says that something is racist, I listen to what they have to say, because I don't share that culture, and so I trust that person to see bias against their own group better than I.

If a queer person says that something is homophobic, I pay attention, because I assume that they know homophobia when they see it far better than I do.

If a fat person says that something is offensive, obnoxious, or is in some way a stereotypically unpleasant utterance, I listen up, because this, too, is a thing we are not culturally taught to see.

And, to the left of all of that, if any one of those people fails to say anything about a questionable thing, I don't assume it's automatically okay. Hell, even having them back me up, while nice, is not infallible. Plenty of women laugh at sexist jokes. Plenty of fat people hate fat people. One person cannot give the permission of a whole group. I don't assume that because I have one person's approval, I have everyone's. I try not to mistake an individual for a group.

What fucking infuriates me the most is when people who speak out against stupid, biased bullshit are told they are imagining things, overreacting, or being too emotional. I am sick of being told that I am oversensitive or that I am just looking for something at which to take offense. I'm sick of being told I'm too close to the issue to judge, and I'm sick of being told that I'm taking things out of context.

Let me explain something. I don't need context to know that certain things are not okay, because certain things cannot be made okay by context.

This is why, the longer I live, the more uncomfortable I become with what most people consider to be funny, and even things that people consider to be heartwarming. This is why mainstream media and commercials literally make me want to ralph. This is why, as I get older, I suddenly wonder why I ever thought such-and-so a thing was funny, and what I got out of it in the first place.

Folks, a lot of the time it just doesn't matter how things are meant. You still need to be careful how you say things, context be hanged. Why? Because the most patronizing, pigfucking, snotlicking piles of horsefuck you can possibly imagine will look you dead in the eye and tell you that they didn't mean anything by the hateful generalization they just made. And they truly believe that.

In fact, because they don't perceive anything harmful in the words, they are perplexed as to why anyone would, and when someone attempts to correct or educate them, they often react as though they have been attacked. To them, what they said was harmless, or meant in fun, or not really serious. Why, then, this blind-side assault on their self-expression?

If you look at it that way, it's no wonder they feel oppressed!

So when you say something others think is sexist or racist or whatever, and they call you on it, and you come back with immediate denial, it's like sphincter-print camoflage. It makes you look just like all the other assholes. And you can't see why.

This is what happens when you have blind spots, folks. People sock you in them. You run afoul of someone who can see what you're doing, even if you don't realize you're doing it, and when they point it out, you will often lunge straight into their outstretched finger and get poked in the eye. Because you are blind. The great irony is that, if you think people are constantly poking you in the eye, you are a lot less likely to open your eye, aren't you? Even though that's the only cure for this sort of blindness: look where the fuck you are going before you go there.

All I can do is to tell people, over and over again, that if you suddenly experience a flood of people telling you that you are wrong about something, if you are pissing people off left and right, then those people are the ones who are best-equipped to perceive hostility directed at their own group, and you probably have some listening to do.

It's a myth that if you lose one physical sense, the others four sharpen to compensate. The same is, alas, true of mental faculties as well. Being ignorant, especially deliberately ignorant, does not grant you any advantages in life whatsoever. A lack of caring about groups not your own does not indicate any strength of character, show force of will, or provide evidence of any justifiable pride in self.

This sort of eager selfishness is the default setting for most of humanity. It means you are not questioning. That you are shut down. It may be easier to get along in your own group if you stick to it, but you're going to stunt yourself as a human being, and people are going to catch on to that and avoid -- or attack -- you because you are probably pretty unpleasant to be around. As in, you probably keep saying fucking stupid shit, and then getting all butthurt when people call you on it.*

I will give you another hint, free of charge. If it is more important to you to emphasize that you are the shining exception to the bigoted rule, if it is more important to you to explain why you are right or why you didn't mean it that way, than it is for you to stop and listen to what the other person is saying, you're basically confirming their worst opinions outright: that you are a person who values your own voice above the informed words of a person from a group over which your own very likely has a significant cultural advantage.

If you are not a racist, sexist, fatphobic, homophobic ape-felcher with all the personal grace of a plug of congealed, bituminous iguana semen, and you don't want to be perceived as one, don't say shit that makes you look like one.

How hard is that? Really? How hard is not looking like a cold lump of lizard jizz?

In other news, my choice of a blindness metaphor is in no way meant to be offensive, and the fact that I'm making that statement pretty much puts the irony cherry on top of the whole sordid sundae.

I swear I didn't mean it like that.

. . . I cannot fucking win today, I swear to god.

* Being an asshole and not getting butthurt when people call you on it is not really any better, despite the fact that it is superficially cooler. It merely reduces your apparent stupidity by about as much as it raises your apparent insufferability. Some people don't care that they are assholes. Surprisingly enough, this does not make them not assholes.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Abortion Is Bloody Murder)
Okay, this is a rant, and it got really long, and it probably wandered all over, but I beg of thee, WHAT THE FUCK?

This fundamentalist infestation is getting out of hand. The shit I have read this week has just appalled me, and now this:

United States Department of Health and Human Services proposes classifying contraception as abortion.

Just . . . I am too revolted to sum it up. Just go read.

Yeah, yeah, it may not go through, and I hope that it doesn't, but still. Does the fact that this has been proposed not scare the bleeding fuck out of you?

But remember, folks,

Having kids will make you happy and fix everything. In fact, it's pretty much the greatest thing ever.

FOR EVERYONE.

You don't have to like it, just fucking do it, you stupid, stupid bitches. God knows, you don't know what's fucking good for you.

And anyone who tries the "There, there, pat pat, things aren't so bad!" tactic on me tonight is going to be wearing their ass for a hat. This individual instance may not be that bad. No individual thing is that bad. But it's part of a pattern. What the fuck does it take for people to see what is going on? From where I'm standing, in a backwards state full of poor people who cannot afford to travel, with only one abortion clinic, with mandatory counseling and waiting laws, it looks very fucking bad indeed. They are required to have an ultrasound, often a vaginal ultrasound, even if they are rape victims who might, you know, object to having things shoved into them by people they don't know. They are required to wait 24 hours between "counseling," which is biased against abortion, and abortion itself. Many can't afford the drive, much less the overnight stay.

These amoral fucks do not want women to have control over their own bodies. Period. End of story.

It is exactly. That. Simple. No other explanation fits. They either have to trust women to make their own decisions, even if some might be decisions they don't like, or they decide they don't trust them, in which case they obviously think that they are smarter than all women and believe that nobody should have a choice at all. If you are against it, you are an amoral shit. Period. And I really don't give a flying monkey turd if I have anti-abortion people hanging around here who will start wringing their hands about my having called them amoral shits.

An amazing number are even hypocritical, amoral fucks who think abortion is okay if it's, you know, for them, or for their daughter, or whatever. But not for us irresponsible spraddle-legged fuckslots. Oh, no!

Last week, we learned that Barack Obama is not our friend. He supports tightening restrictions on abortion, and he does not believe that mental distress is serious or life-threatening. Even if he was lying to that Christian magazine, his words are reprehensible, and further, an act of cowardice. I've heard it dismissed as "politics", people have excused it: "Of course he's saying that. He's trying to get votes." It is not politics. It's hundreds of thousands of lives. My life is not a fucking bargaining chip on the table of rich assholes arguing over who gets to be King Shit. He's either someone who either genuinely believes the damnable lies our culture tells about women, or who is too chickenshit to say what he really thinks.

I'm past caring which it is. All I care about is that women's rights are seen as negotiable, something that there should be give and take on, compromise on. Fucking compromise. On our humanity. Our lives. All I care about is that now women's safety is getting narrowed from both ends.

Pharmacists are denying people birth control. Do these smarmy little dog turds get barred forever from practice? No! In fact, the fundie asshole brigade has started their own little fundie pharmacy where you can't buy basic shit like condoms or birth control. Bet they still stock Viagra, because thwarting god's will does not extend to boners.

Ambulance drivers can now refuse to transfer women for lifesaving abortions because these people who deal with decapitations and eviscerations and impalements and amputations think it's icky that a woman might want to save her own life by ditching a baby that's going to fucking kill her. And if she drops dead, can they be held responsible? Not in Mississippi!

And other states are eyeballing similar laws, which would allow small-minded fundie doucherags hiding their bigotry behind the aegis of "conscience" to cast aside their sworn duty and take their moral high horse out for walkies while people suffer and sometimes die. More here, if you can stand to read it. There's some doozies in the comments.

And here, in case you wanted to know all the ways in which an abortion could be needed to save someone's life, which apparently these snotty little shits count more cheaply than tongue-kissing their god's honky ass while rubbing their hard conscience through their bullshit-filled moral diapers until they achieve some kind of transcendent orgasm attainable only by people capable of fitting their entire heads up their self-righteous asses. Every time a fundie fuckwit masturbates his puny little ego, god kills a poor woman. How about that? Oh, that's right. They don't care!

Open letter to you simpleminded, condescending little twits:

What the fuck, people? Your petty grandstanding means fuckall in the face of someone else's life, and if you have sworn to serve, you are flying in the face of your duty to even think twice about doing something that puts the life of a pregnant patient at risk if she consents and wants you to fucking do it. If I want my unborn baby dead and me alive, you had goddamn well better respect my wishes, because I'm the one who can think, reason, remember pain, and feel fear.

Sometimes, you dead-souled, unreasoning fuckwits, a woman actually wants a baby she is forced to abort. But no, you'd have her suffer, and have the baby suffer -- if either lived -- because it tickles your sense of righteousness' dick when innocent people suffer. Suffering, after all, brings us all closer to Jesus! Isn't that right? Letting innocent people suffer, letting them die, that's just like kicking ass for the lord! Let women die, just so you can feel good about not having done anything that goes against that book you've had to have explained to you by people who believe that god created pretty much everything except homos during a week-long manic state.

Fuck. You.

All you vapid, fundamentalist shits. Fuck you and your "The female body is an enemy. It can't be trusted. We need laws to govern it, we need a higher authority to keep it out of trouble."

Fuck you. You actually think you fucking own us? To the point of blaming us for "consequences" that you fucking inflict on us?

Fuck that shit. Fuck it, you moral coprophages. Fuck it, suck it, eat it, and die shitting it again.

And you know what? I've had to listen to your offensive, misogynist shit for so long that I am sick to the point of barfing. Your story has gotten aired so much its nauseating stench is noticeable worldwide, and I really don't give a rat's prolapsed asshole to hear your dick-puke opinion. So go rant on your own little fundie troglodyte corners about what a heinous bitch I am, but don't you fucking bring your "but, but, but" shit here.

That's right. Y'all can just shut up and know how it feels to be denied your voice and to know that nobody gives a lizard-raping fuck what you think.

Hope to find your head in a beehive someday,

Naamah

ETA: Go here. Sign this.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Abortion Is Bloody Murder)
Okay, this is a rant, and it got really long, and it probably wandered all over, but I beg of thee, WHAT THE FUCK?

This fundamentalist infestation is getting out of hand. The shit I have read this week has just appalled me, and now this:

United States Department of Health and Human Services proposes classifying contraception as abortion.

Just . . . I am too revolted to sum it up. Just go read.

Yeah, yeah, it may not go through, and I hope that it doesn't, but still. Does the fact that this has been proposed not scare the bleeding fuck out of you?

But remember, folks,

Having kids will make you happy and fix everything. In fact, it's pretty much the greatest thing ever.

FOR EVERYONE.

You don't have to like it, just fucking do it, you stupid, stupid bitches. God knows, you don't know what's fucking good for you.

And anyone who tries the "There, there, pat pat, things aren't so bad!" tactic on me tonight is going to be wearing their ass for a hat. This individual instance may not be that bad. No individual thing is that bad. But it's part of a pattern. What the fuck does it take for people to see what is going on? From where I'm standing, in a backwards state full of poor people who cannot afford to travel, with only one abortion clinic, with mandatory counseling and waiting laws, it looks very fucking bad indeed. They are required to have an ultrasound, often a vaginal ultrasound, even if they are rape victims who might, you know, object to having things shoved into them by people they don't know. They are required to wait 24 hours between "counseling," which is biased against abortion, and abortion itself. Many can't afford the drive, much less the overnight stay.

These amoral fucks do not want women to have control over their own bodies. Period. End of story.

It is exactly. That. Simple. No other explanation fits. They either have to trust women to make their own decisions, even if some might be decisions they don't like, or they decide they don't trust them, in which case they obviously think that they are smarter than all women and believe that nobody should have a choice at all. If you are against it, you are an amoral shit. Period. And I really don't give a flying monkey turd if I have anti-abortion people hanging around here who will start wringing their hands about my having called them amoral shits.

An amazing number are even hypocritical, amoral fucks who think abortion is okay if it's, you know, for them, or for their daughter, or whatever. But not for us irresponsible spraddle-legged fuckslots. Oh, no!

Last week, we learned that Barack Obama is not our friend. He supports tightening restrictions on abortion, and he does not believe that mental distress is serious or life-threatening. Even if he was lying to that Christian magazine, his words are reprehensible, and further, an act of cowardice. I've heard it dismissed as "politics", people have excused it: "Of course he's saying that. He's trying to get votes." It is not politics. It's hundreds of thousands of lives. My life is not a fucking bargaining chip on the table of rich assholes arguing over who gets to be King Shit. He's either someone who either genuinely believes the damnable lies our culture tells about women, or who is too chickenshit to say what he really thinks.

I'm past caring which it is. All I care about is that women's rights are seen as negotiable, something that there should be give and take on, compromise on. Fucking compromise. On our humanity. Our lives. All I care about is that now women's safety is getting narrowed from both ends.

Pharmacists are denying people birth control. Do these smarmy little dog turds get barred forever from practice? No! In fact, the fundie asshole brigade has started their own little fundie pharmacy where you can't buy basic shit like condoms or birth control. Bet they still stock Viagra, because thwarting god's will does not extend to boners.

Ambulance drivers can now refuse to transfer women for lifesaving abortions because these people who deal with decapitations and eviscerations and impalements and amputations think it's icky that a woman might want to save her own life by ditching a baby that's going to fucking kill her. And if she drops dead, can they be held responsible? Not in Mississippi!

And other states are eyeballing similar laws, which would allow small-minded fundie doucherags hiding their bigotry behind the aegis of "conscience" to cast aside their sworn duty and take their moral high horse out for walkies while people suffer and sometimes die. More here, if you can stand to read it. There's some doozies in the comments.

And here, in case you wanted to know all the ways in which an abortion could be needed to save someone's life, which apparently these snotty little shits count more cheaply than tongue-kissing their god's honky ass while rubbing their hard conscience through their bullshit-filled moral diapers until they achieve some kind of transcendent orgasm attainable only by people capable of fitting their entire heads up their self-righteous asses. Every time a fundie fuckwit masturbates his puny little ego, god kills a poor woman. How about that? Oh, that's right. They don't care!

Open letter to you simpleminded, condescending little twits:

What the fuck, people? Your petty grandstanding means fuckall in the face of someone else's life, and if you have sworn to serve, you are flying in the face of your duty to even think twice about doing something that puts the life of a pregnant patient at risk if she consents and wants you to fucking do it. If I want my unborn baby dead and me alive, you had goddamn well better respect my wishes, because I'm the one who can think, reason, remember pain, and feel fear.

Sometimes, you dead-souled, unreasoning fuckwits, a woman actually wants a baby she is forced to abort. But no, you'd have her suffer, and have the baby suffer -- if either lived -- because it tickles your sense of righteousness' dick when innocent people suffer. Suffering, after all, brings us all closer to Jesus! Isn't that right? Letting innocent people suffer, letting them die, that's just like kicking ass for the lord! Let women die, just so you can feel good about not having done anything that goes against that book you've had to have explained to you by people who believe that god created pretty much everything except homos during a week-long manic state.

Fuck. You.

All you vapid, fundamentalist shits. Fuck you and your "The female body is an enemy. It can't be trusted. We need laws to govern it, we need a higher authority to keep it out of trouble."

Fuck you. You actually think you fucking own us? To the point of blaming us for "consequences" that you fucking inflict on us?

Fuck that shit. Fuck it, you moral coprophages. Fuck it, suck it, eat it, and die shitting it again.

And you know what? I've had to listen to your offensive, misogynist shit for so long that I am sick to the point of barfing. Your story has gotten aired so much its nauseating stench is noticeable worldwide, and I really don't give a rat's prolapsed asshole to hear your dick-puke opinion. So go rant on your own little fundie troglodyte corners about what a heinous bitch I am, but don't you fucking bring your "but, but, but" shit here.

That's right. Y'all can just shut up and know how it feels to be denied your voice and to know that nobody gives a lizard-raping fuck what you think.

Hope to find your head in a beehive someday,

Naamah

ETA: Go here. Sign this.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Abort Born-Again Christians)
This entry contains swearing. You've been alerted.

Follow-ups on the bigoted fanatic, Rep. Sally Kern:

Oklahoma legislator defends leaked anti-gay comments.

Highlights )

Oklahoma legislator's anti-gay comments stir hostile reaction.

Highlights )

She has the right to choose her bass-ackwards sphincter-sniffing lifestyle, but she doesn't have the right to force it down our throats.

Amazing how almost every word out of her mouth is either lies, bullshit, or unintentionally ironic.


Kern cites support from GOP.

Highlights:

A state lawmaker who declared that homosexuality is a greater threat to the United States than terrorism said Monday that she received a standing ovation from her fellow Republican legislators Monday.

Rep. Sally Kern, R-Oklahoma City, said she has been barraged with more than 5,000 e-mails since she made national headlines over the weekend. Most of the communications were critical, and several contained language that Kern said she has never heard before. . . .

Kern said many of those who sent her electronic messages would deny her right to free speech.


Language she'd never heard before, eh? So in her many years of self-righteous bigotry, nobody had ever called her a turgid, bile-soaked shitbag?

Nobody had ever referred to her as a cheese-crusted, horsefucking, yeasty old cunt?

Nobody ever told her to shut her cockholster and get back in the kitchen?

Nobody ever invited her to climb a wall of dicks?*

Nobody ever offered to skullfuck that rancid puree of goat testicle and pig's vomit that she calls a brain right out of her head?

Nobody ever issued her a fuck-yourself invitation to an eat shit and die party, where she could drink a frosty mug of shut the fuck up and have a slice of fuck-you-upside-down-cake?

And nobody ever offered to use the rolled-up New Testament to funnel live spiders up her leathery ass until they came crawling out of her glassy, fanatical eyeballs?

I find that very fucking hard to believe.

I also find it hard to believe she can't understand that this isn't about "free speech," it's about not being a hatemongering, pus-filled douchebag. It's about not using your position of political power to promote lies and hate.


OSBI reading Kern e-mails.

Highlights:

Kern said Monday that she had not received death threats. On Tuesday, she said, "It's changed," but she did not elaborate.

[Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation spokeswoman Jessica] Brown said Tuesday, "There are a lot of e-mails to the representative that say, 'You ought to die,' rather than, 'I am going to kill you.'

"I wouldn't characterize them as death threats," she said.

But Brown said OSBI computer analysts are working to find the senders and that some might be interviewed to assess their intent. She said it's possible that the OSBI will refer some to district attorneys for prosecution.

Three OSBI agents are reviewing the e-mails and listening to telephone calls received by Kern, whose husband is a Baptist minister.


If she has received genuine death threats ("I am going to come to your house and beat you to death with a double-ended dog-dick dildo!") as opposed to helpful suggestions and best wishes ("Why don't you choke to death on mule smegma? I hope you die of an explosive ass prolapse!"), that is unfortunate, because it's only going to play straight into her worst opinions. On the other hand, it's nice to know that she now understands the tiniest bit of how it feels to be fucking hated and loathed, as she seems to have this idea that gay people have so much power and influence that nobody ever gives them any grief at all, and they get everything they want.

A lot of straight fundie Christians have this persecution thing going on, and they really have no fucking idea just how good they have it. I'm glad to know she's getting a taste of her own horseshit flavored medicine.

She has reportedly gotten over 5,000 emails, which I think is far fewer than she deserves. The majority of them, unsurprisingly, have been "critical."

I encourage those of you who have not written to write, even if it's just a one-line email saying that you heard her remarks, and that you think that in her utter, bigoted incompetence, she should be removed from office.

At any rate, think about giving the OSBI folks something interesting to read. I'm sure many of them must find her words just as vile as we do. Why not brighten their day?

I wrote a letter, if you want to read it. )

And this letter has surfaced, supposedly by a teenage boy named Tucker.

I don't know if it's real, if it is, it is absolutely heartbreaking. I think it ought to be read, and it ought to be emailed to Mrs. Kern repeatedly.

Read more below. )

If Tucker is a real boy, and this is a real letter, and his is a real story, I wish him the best in getting the fuck out of here. And I hope his words find whatever shriveled monkey turd Mrs. Kern has for a heart and sink deeply in.

Words have power, and I don't think that reprehensible asswits like her really realize the damage they are capable of doing. Hateful religious choads hardly ever understand the repercussions their words have when filtered through the bullshit-stuffed brains of those even less intelligent than they are. People looking to be led are dangerous, and they will do dangerous things. It's fanaticism. I have seen it at work.

I remember April 19, 1995. I remember the Pulitzer-winning photo, the grief-filled and tender look on the fireman's face as he cradled the dying Baylee Almon. As much as I loathe playing to the "poor little children" angle, that was sincerely one of the most upsetting things I have ever seen in my life. Watching it unfold on the news was like a nightmare.

That was the work of a "Christian." And Mrs. Kern would have us believe that it's those pesky faggots who are the real threat.

If I were running for mayor, would she find my urge to make passionate love to Angelina Jolie's left thigh more horrifying than my occasional urge to throttle mouth-breathing fundamentalist troglodytes? Apparently so, since Mrs. Kern thinks the idea of a homosexual elected to public office is more frightening than the cooling corpse of a child.

A fag in office is scarier than a dead baby.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the priorities of the conservative Christian.

Rep. Sally Kern
Capitol Address:
2300 N. Lincoln Blvd.
Room 332
Oklahoma City, OK 73105
(405) 557-7348

District Address:
2713 Sterling Ave.
Oklahoma City, OK 73127

Email:
sallykern@okhouse.gov

Edit: Apparently her priorities may also include putting fanaticism ahead of her own children. Rumor has it that Mrs. Kern has a gay son. There is some very interesting psychoanalysis going on at the end of the article re: her paranoia about gays. I don't know if any of this is true, but if it is . . . things could get very interesting.

* Can't take credit for that one. Sorry.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Abort Born-Again Christians)
This entry contains swearing. You've been alerted.

Follow-ups on the bigoted fanatic, Rep. Sally Kern:

Oklahoma legislator defends leaked anti-gay comments.

Highlights )

Oklahoma legislator's anti-gay comments stir hostile reaction.

Highlights )

She has the right to choose her bass-ackwards sphincter-sniffing lifestyle, but she doesn't have the right to force it down our throats.

Amazing how almost every word out of her mouth is either lies, bullshit, or unintentionally ironic.


Kern cites support from GOP.

Highlights:

A state lawmaker who declared that homosexuality is a greater threat to the United States than terrorism said Monday that she received a standing ovation from her fellow Republican legislators Monday.

Rep. Sally Kern, R-Oklahoma City, said she has been barraged with more than 5,000 e-mails since she made national headlines over the weekend. Most of the communications were critical, and several contained language that Kern said she has never heard before. . . .

Kern said many of those who sent her electronic messages would deny her right to free speech.


Language she'd never heard before, eh? So in her many years of self-righteous bigotry, nobody had ever called her a turgid, bile-soaked shitbag?

Nobody had ever referred to her as a cheese-crusted, horsefucking, yeasty old cunt?

Nobody ever told her to shut her cockholster and get back in the kitchen?

Nobody ever invited her to climb a wall of dicks?*

Nobody ever offered to skullfuck that rancid puree of goat testicle and pig's vomit that she calls a brain right out of her head?

Nobody ever issued her a fuck-yourself invitation to an eat shit and die party, where she could drink a frosty mug of shut the fuck up and have a slice of fuck-you-upside-down-cake?

And nobody ever offered to use the rolled-up New Testament to funnel live spiders up her leathery ass until they came crawling out of her glassy, fanatical eyeballs?

I find that very fucking hard to believe.

I also find it hard to believe she can't understand that this isn't about "free speech," it's about not being a hatemongering, pus-filled douchebag. It's about not using your position of political power to promote lies and hate.


OSBI reading Kern e-mails.

Highlights:

Kern said Monday that she had not received death threats. On Tuesday, she said, "It's changed," but she did not elaborate.

[Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation spokeswoman Jessica] Brown said Tuesday, "There are a lot of e-mails to the representative that say, 'You ought to die,' rather than, 'I am going to kill you.'

"I wouldn't characterize them as death threats," she said.

But Brown said OSBI computer analysts are working to find the senders and that some might be interviewed to assess their intent. She said it's possible that the OSBI will refer some to district attorneys for prosecution.

Three OSBI agents are reviewing the e-mails and listening to telephone calls received by Kern, whose husband is a Baptist minister.


If she has received genuine death threats ("I am going to come to your house and beat you to death with a double-ended dog-dick dildo!") as opposed to helpful suggestions and best wishes ("Why don't you choke to death on mule smegma? I hope you die of an explosive ass prolapse!"), that is unfortunate, because it's only going to play straight into her worst opinions. On the other hand, it's nice to know that she now understands the tiniest bit of how it feels to be fucking hated and loathed, as she seems to have this idea that gay people have so much power and influence that nobody ever gives them any grief at all, and they get everything they want.

A lot of straight fundie Christians have this persecution thing going on, and they really have no fucking idea just how good they have it. I'm glad to know she's getting a taste of her own horseshit flavored medicine.

She has reportedly gotten over 5,000 emails, which I think is far fewer than she deserves. The majority of them, unsurprisingly, have been "critical."

I encourage those of you who have not written to write, even if it's just a one-line email saying that you heard her remarks, and that you think that in her utter, bigoted incompetence, she should be removed from office.

At any rate, think about giving the OSBI folks something interesting to read. I'm sure many of them must find her words just as vile as we do. Why not brighten their day?

I wrote a letter, if you want to read it. )

And this letter has surfaced, supposedly by a teenage boy named Tucker.

I don't know if it's real, if it is, it is absolutely heartbreaking. I think it ought to be read, and it ought to be emailed to Mrs. Kern repeatedly.

Read more below. )

If Tucker is a real boy, and this is a real letter, and his is a real story, I wish him the best in getting the fuck out of here. And I hope his words find whatever shriveled monkey turd Mrs. Kern has for a heart and sink deeply in.

Words have power, and I don't think that reprehensible asswits like her really realize the damage they are capable of doing. Hateful religious choads hardly ever understand the repercussions their words have when filtered through the bullshit-stuffed brains of those even less intelligent than they are. People looking to be led are dangerous, and they will do dangerous things. It's fanaticism. I have seen it at work.

I remember April 19, 1995. I remember the Pulitzer-winning photo, the grief-filled and tender look on the fireman's face as he cradled the dying Baylee Almon. As much as I loathe playing to the "poor little children" angle, that was sincerely one of the most upsetting things I have ever seen in my life. Watching it unfold on the news was like a nightmare.

That was the work of a "Christian." And Mrs. Kern would have us believe that it's those pesky faggots who are the real threat.

If I were running for mayor, would she find my urge to make passionate love to Angelina Jolie's left thigh more horrifying than my occasional urge to throttle mouth-breathing fundamentalist troglodytes? Apparently so, since Mrs. Kern thinks the idea of a homosexual elected to public office is more frightening than the cooling corpse of a child.

A fag in office is scarier than a dead baby.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the priorities of the conservative Christian.

Rep. Sally Kern
Capitol Address:
2300 N. Lincoln Blvd.
Room 332
Oklahoma City, OK 73105
(405) 557-7348

District Address:
2713 Sterling Ave.
Oklahoma City, OK 73127

Email:
sallykern@okhouse.gov

Edit: Apparently her priorities may also include putting fanaticism ahead of her own children. Rumor has it that Mrs. Kern has a gay son. There is some very interesting psychoanalysis going on at the end of the article re: her paranoia about gays. I don't know if any of this is true, but if it is . . . things could get very interesting.

* Can't take credit for that one. Sorry.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Over the course of reading your comments, I realized that a lot of you aren't aware of the particulars of my bad run-ins with the medical profession, and so I thought I'd delineate them for future reference.

A lot of you recommended I go to Planned Parenthood, and while I would like to say that I am very much behind Planned Parenthood in theory, and while I support their mission of bringing affordable health care to women who really need it, I am very much against going to my local clinics personally.

First of all, Planned Parenthood is divided into regions, and not all regions offer the same services. The one local to me, for example, does not offer vasectomies or abortions (or did not, last I enquired).

Also, the local clinic is staffed by total bastards. More on that in a moment.

First, the beginning of the story.

Cut for those of you who would rather not know, those of you who have heard it already, and those of you who were there. )

So that's my tale of woe. I know it's not as bad as some of yours, for which I feel profoundly grateful, no offense. I nevertheless hope that nobody reading this ever has as much trouble as I have had. If you carry one thing away from this story, learn this: you are the responsible party for your health care. If the professionals you hire do not treat you with respect, go elsewhere (provided you can) and when you leave, make your displeasure known, preferably in print. You don't have to take their shit. You are entitled to be treated like a human being, no matter how fat and multiply pierced and slutty -- or virginal -- you may be.

There's a happy ending to my tale, at least. Sargon stepped up to the plate after the last dose of fuckery and decided to get snipped.

And the doctor? Dr. Clark Tingleaf of Claremore, Oklahoma? Gave us no shit whatsoever. The experience was so different from what I have had to endure when it is my body and my decision about what you get to do with it, or what I want to do with it, that it wasn't even funny.

It's enough to wonder what it is about the sight of my pussy that drives people insane.

Anyway, I won't openly publish the bad doctors' names because that might be a stupid thing to do, legally. It would also be stupid because, well, I don't want them getting hate mail or dog shit or death threats that might ever be traced back to me. I'm over the "actively seeking retaliation" phase. But if you are a woman living in Oklahoma, and you want to know who to avoid, I will point out that someone has given negative reviews to Drs. Bitch, Douchebag, and Fucking-Cunt at RateMDs.com.

I will issue a blanket warning against Tulsa-area Planned Parenthoods. I cannot recommend them for anything more complicated than prescribing birth control and administering STD and pregnancy testing. Anything more complicated than that, and you are probably better off seeking a second opinion with a wino in a gutter. The wino will at least let you share his MD 20/20 before he punches holes in your cervix with a rusty icepick.

And with that image I leave you, my beautiful dreamers, and bring an end to this subject for now. I wish each and every one of you better luck in the trenches than I have had.

* My favorite limerick goes like this:

There once was a woman from Tours
whose cunt was all covered with sores.
The dogs in the street
wouldn't eat the green meat
that hung in festoons from her drawers.


No dinner that incorporates cooked spinach is complete without it.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Over the course of reading your comments, I realized that a lot of you aren't aware of the particulars of my bad run-ins with the medical profession, and so I thought I'd delineate them for future reference.

A lot of you recommended I go to Planned Parenthood, and while I would like to say that I am very much behind Planned Parenthood in theory, and while I support their mission of bringing affordable health care to women who really need it, I am very much against going to my local clinics personally.

First of all, Planned Parenthood is divided into regions, and not all regions offer the same services. The one local to me, for example, does not offer vasectomies or abortions (or did not, last I enquired).

Also, the local clinic is staffed by total bastards. More on that in a moment.

First, the beginning of the story.

Cut for those of you who would rather not know, those of you who have heard it already, and those of you who were there. )

So that's my tale of woe. I know it's not as bad as some of yours, for which I feel profoundly grateful, no offense. I nevertheless hope that nobody reading this ever has as much trouble as I have had. If you carry one thing away from this story, learn this: you are the responsible party for your health care. If the professionals you hire do not treat you with respect, go elsewhere (provided you can) and when you leave, make your displeasure known, preferably in print. You don't have to take their shit. You are entitled to be treated like a human being, no matter how fat and multiply pierced and slutty -- or virginal -- you may be.

There's a happy ending to my tale, at least. Sargon stepped up to the plate after the last dose of fuckery and decided to get snipped.

And the doctor? Dr. Clark Tingleaf of Claremore, Oklahoma? Gave us no shit whatsoever. The experience was so different from what I have had to endure when it is my body and my decision about what you get to do with it, or what I want to do with it, that it wasn't even funny.

It's enough to wonder what it is about the sight of my pussy that drives people insane.

Anyway, I won't openly publish the bad doctors' names because that might be a stupid thing to do, legally. It would also be stupid because, well, I don't want them getting hate mail or dog shit or death threats that might ever be traced back to me. I'm over the "actively seeking retaliation" phase. But if you are a woman living in Oklahoma, and you want to know who to avoid, I will point out that someone has given negative reviews to Drs. Bitch, Douchebag, and Fucking-Cunt at RateMDs.com.

I will issue a blanket warning against Tulsa-area Planned Parenthoods. I cannot recommend them for anything more complicated than prescribing birth control and administering STD and pregnancy testing. Anything more complicated than that, and you are probably better off seeking a second opinion with a wino in a gutter. The wino will at least let you share his MD 20/20 before he punches holes in your cervix with a rusty icepick.

And with that image I leave you, my beautiful dreamers, and bring an end to this subject for now. I wish each and every one of you better luck in the trenches than I have had.

* My favorite limerick goes like this:

There once was a woman from Tours
whose cunt was all covered with sores.
The dogs in the street
wouldn't eat the green meat
that hung in festoons from her drawers.


No dinner that incorporates cooked spinach is complete without it.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (SAMURAI FACE!)
I love you gals, I really do.

I should have realized the last entry would turn into a huge dump for bad gynecologist stories. I'm glad to have them all in one place where I can get to them easily, should my vitriol on the subject start to wane.

I've already replied individually to most of the comments, but I'd like to say again to the lot of you that I am so incredibly sorry that shit happened to you. Some of it is just . . . well, as [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie says, good old-fashioned nightmare fuel. I honestly feel like I should be awarding some sort of prizes to you poor, maligned fuckers.

Short of bludgeoning the bastards who do this shit to death with a sock full of frozen rats and then lighting their corpses on fire, those of us who have been wronged often have little recourse. You can file a complaint with the medical licensing board of your state, but that often comes to very little, as it often takes a truly grievous offense involving bodily harm to force them to take action. However, I believe every little bit counts, and it's worth making the effort.

You can also go to Rate MDs, a site that lets you give your doctor a good or bad review. I've already lit into the jizzrags who've screwed me over and complimented the ones who have not, and you should do the same. The more people who contribute to public databases like this, the more complete they will become.

It's not as good as seeing them choked to death by a hissing swarm of flying attack eels fired from the asses of twin Japanese schoolgirls, but, then, that could be said of most things.

Failing that, there's always mail-order dog turds.

I would also like to say to those who have innocently wandered into the conversation that most doctors are not like the bad ones, and that our collective moan of misery over our shared bad experiences is not to be taken as carte blanche to avoid medical care altogether. It is entirely possible to hire a professional to help one look after one's health without being subjected to nightmarish torment. I realize that is not how it sounds around here the past few days, but it's nevertheless true.

I encourage even the most shy violets among you to go to the girly-doc every couple of years or so, if only so you can get your clean-pussy certification.

I'm gonna get mine!

Thank you, [livejournal.com profile] laturner. As I said, once I have a clean bill of health, I'm sorely tempted to display it in my front window like a liquor license.

My point overall being not that you should avoid gynecology, but that you should simply refuse to take any shit from your doctors. They work for you, not the other way around. Never forget that, even if they seem to have a hard time processing the concept.

I'd also like to say a couple of things to the men reading. If there are men reading, since only a tiny number commented on the last entry.

First, it's experiences like these that explain why women often have little sympathy for you guys when you complain about things like prostate exams. As a whole, dudes have it a whole lot easier, and a lot of the time they are grossly unaware of that fact.* They don't seem to grok that women have vastly different medical experiences from their own. I've talked to a lot of guys, and many of them, especially the younger ones, have a kind of "suck it up and deal" attitude regarding gynecology.

I suppose the rationale (and I am guessing, here, because I've never understood it) is that women are used to having people futz around down there, jamming things into them, and therefore an exam comes as no great violation. I mean, clearly there's no difference between having your boyfriend put his fingers in your pussy, and having some potential nut case do it while you pay for the privilige.

It ain't so. Yes, while women have to endure it if we want to take care of ourselves, that doesn't mean it's any fun to be subjected to the mercies of someone who, for all you know, is secretly a rampaging pro-life homophobe who thinks all women should stay home and raise babies. Patients can lie about their histories. Guess what? Doctors can lie about their beliefs. They can have biases they aren't even aware of. Add the physical indignity of an exam to the blame and shaming that goes on in too many gynecologist's offices, and you begin to see why nine tenths of us fucking hate it with a jet-fueled passion, and the other tenth merely dislikes it.

I'm not saying you guys shouldn't complain, and I'm not saying women shouldn't have sympathy for you. We should all be willing to sympathize with one another over what is a truly near-universal experience: the shittiness of medicine.

What I am saying is that this explains why, when men pout because it's their turn on the table for a vasectomy or a testicular exam or a prostate exam or a battery of STD tests, we kind of shake our heads and mutter something that sounds suspiciously insincere. We've been dealing with this sort of crude, invasive crap for nearly as long as you guys have been jerking off. Just sayin'.

And second, on a larger scale, I sincerely hope these horror stories give you guys a good idea of why it pisses most women off when some men claim that the shitty parts of being female must be directly offset by the benefits of having tits and the potential for multiple orgasms.

Every time we go to a new doctor, and sometimes when we go to ones we've been seeing for years, we run the risk of having something like that happen to us. It's a very real possibility.

And let me tell you, bucko, I have yet to have the orgasm, multiple or otherwise, that is worth having complete strangers maul my nether parts while simultaneously implying that I'm barely qualified to operate them.

In addition to being treated either as sex objects, breeding machines, or invisible butlers; in addition to being pelted constantly by messages telling us that our bodies are inferior and that pleasing people other than ourselves, at the expense of ourselves, is paramount; in addition to the very real possibility of rape and stalking that we live with every day; in addition to all the other indignities our sick society foists upon us, we are also subjected to a medical profession that hates us and our bodies with a passion. That treats our normal states – pregnancy, menstruation, menopause – as pathological. Having tits and getting the occasional free drink out of 'em? Doesn't begin to touch that. You could pour all the free rum in the world down our throats, and it wouldn't take the edge off the insults we suffer nearly every day.

And just for the record? That precious prostate manly men protect with such zeal? Can give some guys multiple orgasms. The only thing we can do with our reproductive parts that you can't do with yours is deliver children.** Just so you know.

Well . . . there's double penetration. But since I've never tried it, I can't say whether it makes up for being subjected to gynecological incompetence.

I think not.

Up next: Stay tuned for an actual account of my misadventures with bad doctors, including the story of why Planned Parenthood can suck my analytical left nut. You've shared your stories, and now it's my turn. I feel I must do this for the good of the republic.

And that'll be the last I post on this subject for a while, I promise.

* Please understand that I hold my readers in the highest respect, and I know full well that 90% of you are already aware of what I'm saying here. This is for the other 10%.

** Which makes the whole thing a pretty raw deal if you don't want children, don't have multiple orgasms, and can't even drink the vodka your tits can buy you. Like, say, me.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (SAMURAI FACE!)
I love you gals, I really do.

I should have realized the last entry would turn into a huge dump for bad gynecologist stories. I'm glad to have them all in one place where I can get to them easily, should my vitriol on the subject start to wane.

I've already replied individually to most of the comments, but I'd like to say again to the lot of you that I am so incredibly sorry that shit happened to you. Some of it is just . . . well, as [livejournal.com profile] spacezombie says, good old-fashioned nightmare fuel. I honestly feel like I should be awarding some sort of prizes to you poor, maligned fuckers.

Short of bludgeoning the bastards who do this shit to death with a sock full of frozen rats and then lighting their corpses on fire, those of us who have been wronged often have little recourse. You can file a complaint with the medical licensing board of your state, but that often comes to very little, as it often takes a truly grievous offense involving bodily harm to force them to take action. However, I believe every little bit counts, and it's worth making the effort.

You can also go to Rate MDs, a site that lets you give your doctor a good or bad review. I've already lit into the jizzrags who've screwed me over and complimented the ones who have not, and you should do the same. The more people who contribute to public databases like this, the more complete they will become.

It's not as good as seeing them choked to death by a hissing swarm of flying attack eels fired from the asses of twin Japanese schoolgirls, but, then, that could be said of most things.

Failing that, there's always mail-order dog turds.

I would also like to say to those who have innocently wandered into the conversation that most doctors are not like the bad ones, and that our collective moan of misery over our shared bad experiences is not to be taken as carte blanche to avoid medical care altogether. It is entirely possible to hire a professional to help one look after one's health without being subjected to nightmarish torment. I realize that is not how it sounds around here the past few days, but it's nevertheless true.

I encourage even the most shy violets among you to go to the girly-doc every couple of years or so, if only so you can get your clean-pussy certification.

I'm gonna get mine!

Thank you, [livejournal.com profile] laturner. As I said, once I have a clean bill of health, I'm sorely tempted to display it in my front window like a liquor license.

My point overall being not that you should avoid gynecology, but that you should simply refuse to take any shit from your doctors. They work for you, not the other way around. Never forget that, even if they seem to have a hard time processing the concept.

I'd also like to say a couple of things to the men reading. If there are men reading, since only a tiny number commented on the last entry.

First, it's experiences like these that explain why women often have little sympathy for you guys when you complain about things like prostate exams. As a whole, dudes have it a whole lot easier, and a lot of the time they are grossly unaware of that fact.* They don't seem to grok that women have vastly different medical experiences from their own. I've talked to a lot of guys, and many of them, especially the younger ones, have a kind of "suck it up and deal" attitude regarding gynecology.

I suppose the rationale (and I am guessing, here, because I've never understood it) is that women are used to having people futz around down there, jamming things into them, and therefore an exam comes as no great violation. I mean, clearly there's no difference between having your boyfriend put his fingers in your pussy, and having some potential nut case do it while you pay for the privilige.

It ain't so. Yes, while women have to endure it if we want to take care of ourselves, that doesn't mean it's any fun to be subjected to the mercies of someone who, for all you know, is secretly a rampaging pro-life homophobe who thinks all women should stay home and raise babies. Patients can lie about their histories. Guess what? Doctors can lie about their beliefs. They can have biases they aren't even aware of. Add the physical indignity of an exam to the blame and shaming that goes on in too many gynecologist's offices, and you begin to see why nine tenths of us fucking hate it with a jet-fueled passion, and the other tenth merely dislikes it.

I'm not saying you guys shouldn't complain, and I'm not saying women shouldn't have sympathy for you. We should all be willing to sympathize with one another over what is a truly near-universal experience: the shittiness of medicine.

What I am saying is that this explains why, when men pout because it's their turn on the table for a vasectomy or a testicular exam or a prostate exam or a battery of STD tests, we kind of shake our heads and mutter something that sounds suspiciously insincere. We've been dealing with this sort of crude, invasive crap for nearly as long as you guys have been jerking off. Just sayin'.

And second, on a larger scale, I sincerely hope these horror stories give you guys a good idea of why it pisses most women off when some men claim that the shitty parts of being female must be directly offset by the benefits of having tits and the potential for multiple orgasms.

Every time we go to a new doctor, and sometimes when we go to ones we've been seeing for years, we run the risk of having something like that happen to us. It's a very real possibility.

And let me tell you, bucko, I have yet to have the orgasm, multiple or otherwise, that is worth having complete strangers maul my nether parts while simultaneously implying that I'm barely qualified to operate them.

In addition to being treated either as sex objects, breeding machines, or invisible butlers; in addition to being pelted constantly by messages telling us that our bodies are inferior and that pleasing people other than ourselves, at the expense of ourselves, is paramount; in addition to the very real possibility of rape and stalking that we live with every day; in addition to all the other indignities our sick society foists upon us, we are also subjected to a medical profession that hates us and our bodies with a passion. That treats our normal states – pregnancy, menstruation, menopause – as pathological. Having tits and getting the occasional free drink out of 'em? Doesn't begin to touch that. You could pour all the free rum in the world down our throats, and it wouldn't take the edge off the insults we suffer nearly every day.

And just for the record? That precious prostate manly men protect with such zeal? Can give some guys multiple orgasms. The only thing we can do with our reproductive parts that you can't do with yours is deliver children.** Just so you know.

Well . . . there's double penetration. But since I've never tried it, I can't say whether it makes up for being subjected to gynecological incompetence.

I think not.

Up next: Stay tuned for an actual account of my misadventures with bad doctors, including the story of why Planned Parenthood can suck my analytical left nut. You've shared your stories, and now it's my turn. I feel I must do this for the good of the republic.

And that'll be the last I post on this subject for a while, I promise.

* Please understand that I hold my readers in the highest respect, and I know full well that 90% of you are already aware of what I'm saying here. This is for the other 10%.

** Which makes the whole thing a pretty raw deal if you don't want children, don't have multiple orgasms, and can't even drink the vodka your tits can buy you. Like, say, me.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Vitriolic)
And now, a tirade.

The best part of going to see a new gynecologist? I'm going to have to have that conversation. You know, the one that, no matter how you play it, winds up with you portrayed as a STUPID, LYING, TOTAL SLUT.

With subtext, it goes a little like this:

Me: Hi, Doc!

Doc: (Looks at file, then glares accusingly.) Am I reading this right? Why the hell did you wait two and a half years to have a pelvic exam? And don't lie, or I'll use the pony-spreader we keep in the freezer.

Me: (Trying for sarcastic humor.) What can I say? Having strangers sticking weird devices into my unmentionables isn't exactly high on my list of recreational activities.

Doc: (Looking at tattoo and piercing scars.) Yet you look like the type to enjoy it. Do you drink? Smoke? Do drugs?

Me: Never.

Doc: (Pursing lips.) Something's got to be wrong with you. There's only one other vice it could be. You're a fucker. Sooo . . . in between bouts of gangbanging the lawn crew, did you at least use those shameful woman parts of yours to make a bunch of babies?

Me: Uh. No. My husband is sterilized.

Doc: (Raises eyebrow.) Mmm-hmm. So you're too busy having recreational sex to support my obstetrics racket. That's okay. There's plenty of other ways to gouge you for money. Hell. One of those disgusting schlubs you're fucking is bound to knock you up eventually after the condom melts from the ram pressure. When did you first become sexually active?

Me: Umm. I was 14.

Doc: Good lord! (Scribbles furiously.) It's probably pointless to ask, since you're most likely a pathological liar, but in the course of merrily screwing away your childbearing years, did you ever pick up any venereal disease?

Me: . . . No.

Doc: Riiight. (To self, writing.) Patient denies venereal disease. Ever have any unusual Pap smears?

Me: Well, yes, I--

Doc: Aha! You know those are all caused by venereal disease, right? You are a liar! I'm going to punish you by ordering a complete battery of STD tests.

Me: But I've only been having sex with my husband.

Doc: He's undoubtedly gifted you with a nice souvenir of his philandering. Besides, I can tell you're lying again. Look at that slutty Brazilian. I bet you're getting banged like a highland drum by everyone and their dog.

Me: No, seriously. He's only been having sex with me, I've only been having sex with him. I've been there for, like, all of it.

Doc: What, does he take his penis off and leave it with you whenever he leaves the house? How can you be sure he's not conducting some elaborate affair behind your back? I mean, no offense, but you don't even look smart enough to keep track of a dead muskrat in a hatbox.

Me: Look, if he'd been having sex with anyone else, I would have been right there. A threesome is not something you can blink and miss.

Doc: . . . I am ordering a complete battery of STD tests because you are clearly the biggest slut I have ever seen in my life. Bring me the hazmat gloves and the pony-spreader!


And then they put it in your file: STUPID, LYING, TOTAL SLUT.

Inevitably, they are shocked when your STD tests come back resoundingly negative. The smart ones shut the fuck up at that point and never speak of it again. The dumb ones squint sourly and try to re-test you in six months, "just to be sure."

Either way, the STUPID, LYING, TOTAL SLUT note stays in your file forever. They are probably working on a microchip of some kind so they can identify you as soon as you walk in. Early warning would allow all office staff to treat you like slime.

Yes, I can't wait to have this conversation. I love meeting new people and being called a lying, stupid slut within the first ten minutes. If I'm lucky, she'll find an opportunity to call me fat, too!

Then I can tell her to eat shit and screw herself, stalk out of the office, and start all over by calling the next hateful bitch with an M.D. and a desire to fuck with my life.

I know I'm going to get people saying "You're overreacting. That's not what they're thinking! That's not what they say!" But I swear to you, after four psycho gynecologists, I know what they are really thinking, because every part of that conversation has happened to me. And then some.

You see, their entire schtick is based on the presupposition that you are a STUPID, LYING, TOTAL SLUT. They are actually trained not to believe patients who claim to be STD-free and use protection every time.

This makes things a hell of a lot harder for us intelligent, honest, and responsible sluts. Seriously, god help you if you admit you have had more than five sexual partners in your life, total, or if you have had more than one at once, ever. If you ever have had a brush with venereal disease, your goose is cooked no matter how ethical and upright you are.

I understand that yes, a lot of people do lie like yellow dogs to cover up genuinely irresponsible, stupid habits, and I get that it's just smart business to treat everyone as though they were a STUPID, LYING, TOTAL SLUT, and it's nothing really personal (except when it oh so obviously is), but I don't care. This is not bill collecting. These are human beings. A doctor who assumes that the patient is lying, or who makes moral judgements based on the patient's sexual history, will never be able to have a doctor/patient relationship based on respect.

We trust these people to help us care for one of the most intimate parts of our lives and bodies, and all too often they spit in our faces, calling us liars and worse. When we can't trust, we allow our health to go to shit because we'd rather suffer through a rampaging case of crotch rot than subject ourselves to the moral bastinado that inevitably occurs when we have the nerve to tell the doctor the truth.

Yeah, I have a chip on my shoulder. And you should, too. Don't take any shit from your gynecologist. And if you have a good one, don't let them go. See, I am aware that there are good gynecologists out there. Some of them probably even take my insurance. But by and large, they are still some of the worst, most disrespectful people with whom I have ever had to deal.

Hate. So much hate.

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