Do you ever wonder why people have such a hard time opening up about stuff?
Let me tell you about my childhood.
Growing up, I got sick. A lot. It got to the point where my dad would come home and ask me why I didn’t go to school and when I told him I was sick, he’d tell me I was faking it. Only if I was throwing up was the illness real.
I played sports. Soccer and softball. So I’d get hurt. As I got older, my mom jumped on the bandwagon and would tell me my injuries were all in my head. Unless I was showing physical signs, the injury wasn’t real. Sometimes even my friends didn’t believe me when I said something hurt.
It got to the point where even if I was sick, I would go to school, because I knew no one would believe me if I stayed home. I went to school with strep, and possibly mono, my freshman year, because despite the sore throat, despite the high fever, despite the body aches and chills, I didn’t think my parents would believe me.
My sophomore year, I had my first panic attack. My mom told me she didn’t believe me until she heard the panic in my voice.
I often got compared to my grandmother, who, after my grandpap passed away, would fake things just to get attention. I was told I was a hypochondriac just like her. I was told I was crying wolf and one day something really would be wrong and no one would believe me.
In college, I finally opened up to my mom about my depression. I did it via text because I couldn’t bring myself to do it in person or over the phone. After two days of no response, I finally said “you think I’m lying, don’t you. You think this is all in my head.”
I’m still damn surprised they believed something was wrong when my immune system started attacking me. I bet had it not been for the visible signs though, they’d still think I’m fine.
I literally have a hard time opening up because I’m afraid I’ll be viewed as an attention seeker or told I’m faking it, that it’s all in my head.
I’m now an adult with an unhealthy coping mechanism of not opening up about my feelings because of my past.
My therapist asked me why I don’t talk to my parents about my depression, self harm, and suicidal thoughts.
It’s hard to open up when you are so used to being told you’re fine. You’re not sick. You’re faking it. It’s all in your head.
Is there anything more nauseating than ‘expensive heterosexual wedding’ culture?
My dream wedding: outside, illegal fireworks, shoes are optional, mostly potluck, someone’s dressed as a wizard, I get to insult my relatives, hopefully some live music.
You want to get married at Bilbo Baggins 111th birthday
liking abba is not your taste in music it’s a way of life and people who don’t like abba can’t reach the ideal world and that is what plato talked about
also yeah the best feature tumblr has (or lacks, i guess) is the inability to see other people’s follower count. not knowing how many followers anyone has makes this site more fun it’s easier to pretend we’re all just like, hanging out in a cave together.
I actually feel sorry for the likely unpaid intern sitting at tumblr HQ dealing with all our bullshit and snark while those actually in charge watch the world burn from a safe distance and blame it on us damn kids not buying more products. Because ultimately this is what this about. Verizon needs to make money from Tumblr, and Verizon can’t make money cause Apple says “no adult content” and Apple has a stranglehold on the app market.
The fact that a lot of us use tumblr to host our own services and products as independent creators, often as our only source of income, is irrelevant to them. The fact that to many of us this is our community is meaningless to them. We’re acceptable collateral damage to furthering corporate greed and that’s the fucking tea on that.
Also to the hypothetical unpaid intern: leave, sweety. You can do better, and you’re worth so much more.
