if i ever met satan the first thing i would say is “did it hurt…when you fell from heaven??” It would be hilarious. The next thing I would do is probably burst into flame and get impaled dozens of times but it would still be hilarious
When I was 10 years old, my family and I were taken to Auschwitz. My twin sister Miriam and I were separated from my mother, father, and two older sis…
An interview with a Holocaust survivor on Reddit is simply amazing, if you have time to read it’s worth it. Here’s a question and answer I particular was moved by:
Q: I have anger. I wish I could learn to forgive and let it go. My experience is nothing compared to what you endured, and yet you are able to find forgiveness in your heart. How do you get to a point where you truly let it go? I’ve tried and it always resurfaces. I’m so tired of being angry, I feel it is making me old before my time.
Take a piece of paper and start writing a letter to the person or people who caused you all that pain and anger. It took me four months to write mine. Don’t stop until you finish, and at the bottom write “I forgive you” when you feel it in your heart. You have to feel the physical freedom from that pain and anger.
When my museum was firebombed in 2003, I asked myself, “Why would anyone want to do that to me?” First is shock, second is disbelief, and then you ask yourself, “Am I going to hate these people?” If I let anger take over, I am going to become a victim again. And even as the flames were still burning the building, I could see it was an easy way of slipping back into that victim mentality. Now I said I was very sad, and I was. But I would not let them win by becoming a victim.
My husband’s psychology research and dissertation is on the phenomenology of slash fiction. It will be looked at through a queer and feminist perspective. He is looking for people (18 and over) who enjoy slash who might be interested in being interviewed (completely…
(trigger warning for talk of blood and self harm/cutting below)
All right, so I was gonna reblog this with some sarcastic/witty comment in my tags along the lines of “damn right my blood is gold.”
But then I let it sink in. Like, really sink in.
I know what my own blood looks like. Believe me when I say this. I have gone out of my way in the past to see my own blood and take pictures of it and all that other slightly horrific stuff that comes with self harm. I know it is not literally pure liquid gold. I know it is red and gooey and made of cells and plasma and other science-y shit. I know this for a fact.
But my blood is just as precious as gold. It’s priceless and needs to be kept in the only place it is safe; my body. It makes me think back to all the times I wasted this liquid gold. All the times I washed it down the drain or wiped it away to hide at the bottom of my trash can. It was liquid gold, and I stole it from myself.
I know this post was meant to be funny, and it really is. But it also made me think a little deeper about myself. Not to mention that it gave me one more reason to never do that to myself again.
So my mum likes to tell this story of when I played the angel Gabriel in a nativity play. Apparently I was about 7 and while I was meant to be standing all serene and angelic in the background, I got into some kind of fist fight with another angel.
when ur parents say something really racist/sexist/misogynistic/ableist/queerphobic and you just laugh like “h a ha h aa yeahhh” cuz u don’t wanna start drama but it makes ur skin crawl for the rest of the week