#btw this post was going to be overwhelmingly pissed off but before I posted: I stopped myself and considered (1/2)

[poolboyservice]

what I think would happen to Tumblr if users would stop going "you have to reblog this, you have no choice" or "if you don't reblog this you are clearly a horrible person/I will find you"

just a thought, you don't have to. could ygs stop that? please, with a cherry on top?? I'd really appreciate it, thank you !!!

[marc--chilton]

cameron is SO FAR FROM NORMAL. but in a neurotypical way imo. like. i'm sorry but. she is the MOST "i accept autistic people! but i'm totally going to judge you for your autistic traits" kinda neurotypical in my opinion. house's speech in Lines in the Sand is SO accurate. hit me right in the feels.

kutner and chase i both hc as adhd but in different ways. chase is not as impulsive as kutner. chase is the "i am incredibly fidgety and also not paying attention to you" type. kutner is the "i will do anything on a dare, you don't even need to dare me out loud, i will just do it, i have zero impulse control and i need dopamine" type. (i am both of them at different times, i got the trifecta).

i completely understand the lack of desire to detail with specifics each how each medication interacts with mgv cycling. that would take an eternity. i am a major medical nerd, and that is too big of an endeavor for even me to take on.

does wilson get the same protective/parental instincts around his ruts that house gets around his heats? if so are they directed towards the same people? if no and their cycles sync so house is feeling motherly while wilson is nearing rut does wilson view the Chosen Ducklings as a threat?

also. alpha rumbles/purrs? are they like cat purrs where the cat heals quicker when purring. is it controllable or does it just happen or is it like sneezing where you can push it away but it will come back? does it annoy betas

-🎸 (i am not a fish) (i am a large, terrestrial ape) (i have no gills)

"cameron is so far from normal in a neurotypical way" nothing more to say there

in a way, wilson does get some protective instincts, but. those instincts have been there for a while. he gets overwhelmingly overprotective of house sometimes pre-rut. to the point that even house has to correct him for being Too Much. when he gets like that it's usually the last day he's in before he goes on rut leave as he doesn't get much work done and impedes house's methods (those times where house aggravates a patient so they'll get pissed off and go into [medical emergency] to test a theory. but this time the patient is put off because wilson's hovering behind house, exuding intimidation in every inch of body language, just daring them to try something.)

when it comes to the Chosen Ducklings as you put it, wilson doesn't consciously think of them as "his pups" the same way house subconsciously thinks of them as (house referring to them as such out loud came from an acceptance of his hindbrain taking to them when he never made an effort to open his heart to them or whatever it just. happened. they're kinda like oopsie babies) yet once they're together, she shows them affection automatically and without thought, rut or not.

when in rut and prior to hilson canonization (and post-pup-actualization on house's end. so many steps. "when the stars align" headass) he doesn't view them as a threat so much as like. jealousy, in a weird way. even if he's rankled and grumbles some corrective noise at house for trying to tease him to get him to back off, he'll get huffy when he sees house bother chase and thirteen instead. but because he doesn't doubt the sincerity of house adopting them, informal as it is, he doesn't get between them either. rut makes you stupid, but wilson's smart enough to remember not to intrude on an omega and their pups.

btw. house totally mothers chase and thirteen in his houseian way, but refers to himself as their dad. but when he and wilson have giselle, house is 'mom'. doesn't elaborate.

[shiphitsthefan]

Hi! Just wanted to pop in and say hi and introduce myself. Obsessively stalk your blog (I LOVE your writing, btw) - I just recently began to consider myself ace/aro, and I was wondering if you could share a bit more about your experience? No pressure there, ofc, just wanted to give you a hug for all the hate you've been getting. :)

Hello! Welcome aboard, citizen. (And thank you so much–I’m glad my writing makes you happy!) And I’m absolutely okay with sharing my aro experience. I can’t remember if I’ve ever talked about it here or not.

For the vast majority of my life, I had no idea that there was even a word for how I felt. It never occurred to me that people didn’t feel the same way as I did when it came to love. I always heard that women and men married their best friend; since I grew up in an overwhelmingly straight community, once I started dating, I basically lost touch with all of my other friends. My real best friends. It sucked, but I thought that was how it was supposed to be.

The problem was that the people I loved most were other girls. (I thought I was a girl, too, and that, again, everyone felt the same way I did. Autism makes life very interesting.) Still, I wanted to get married–I was supposed to, after all–so I stayed focused on boys, though I did ask a girl to my junior prom, because I’d finally come out as bisexual.

People called me boy-crazy, and oversexed, and obsessive. In actuality, I was trying my best to fit into a worldview I didn’t understand. Being in love didn’t feel any more important than being a good friend; when exes got pissed off that I moved on so quickly, it hurt. I got so much shit dumped on me in high school. College was worse, though, for basically the same reasons.

I finally started realizing that something about my view of relationships was different in my sophomore/junior year of college. When I was distracting myself from being incapable of focusing on my work (undiagnosed autism, ahoy!) I would lurk on news-aggregate forums.

The rest of this is going under a cut because of sensitive subjects. Trigger warnings for child death, sexual coercion, and spousal abuse.

Someone on the forum posted an article about a husband, wife, and their toddler who were involved in a crash and wound up going over a bridge. The wife and child were knocked unconscious. It was impossible for the husband to save them both; he chose his wife. His reasoning was that he couldn’t live without her, and almost all of the commenters on both the article and the forum agreed that he made the right choice, as terrible as it was.

I was horrified, because it made no sense to me. A spouse or partner could be replaced, after all. A child couldn’t. That relationship, to me, was sacred. I couldn’t–and still can’t–imagine any love greater than that of a parent to their child.

The more I thought about it, the more sense all of my previous romantic relationships made. I considered marriage sacred, but I never thought that a partner was irreplaceable. I felt so heartless, because I wanted someone to spend my life with. But I knew, deep down, that I could never love a spouse the way they apparently deserved to be loved. The line between best friend and life partner was blurred for me; paternal love made perfect sense, but romantic love was suddenly more confusing than it had ever been before.

I thought maybe, once I found the right person, it would change. I started dating someone I’d always considered a great friend, a confidante that I’d had since high school. It never meant more than friendship to me–best friends, and I did love him, even though it wasn’t the “right” way.

Once we were engaged, however, it quickly became apparent that I was supposed to change the way I acted around him. Dividing time equally among friends suddenly wasn’t okay. He wanted me to depend on him, on his friendship, then berated me when I didn’t ask friends for help when I needed it. I was constantly confused and bewildered, anxious and scared. Soon enough, I was dependent on him, because he knew how love was supposed to work, or so I thought.

Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. I married him, anyway.

The more emotionally abusive he became, the less sexually attracted to him I was, but he always made me feel horrible for not wanting to have sex, that I wasn’t taking care of his needs, that I didn’t really love him. And I knew my love wasn’t what it was supposed to be, so I always caved in, even when I didn’t want to. He decided we needed to have a baby, so. Well. He made sure that happened. I didn’t know what to do, because I knew that when I had that child, that my husband was going to immediately take second place in my heart, which is exactly what happened.

He became physically abusive then (though I suppose there’s an argument to be made for spousal rape also being physical abuse). I knew I deserved it, because I was failing him as a wife. (Never mind that, by this point, I’d realized I wasn’t a woman.) When he scared my baby one night, I knew we had to get out. Within a week, we’d escaped. I still haven’t gotten a divorce, but that’s definitely my intention.

So when people say that aromantics don’t experience discrimination, that they don’t suffer “enough” or even at all? I get really fucking pissed off. I tried so, so hard to make myself feel romantic love, and I was hurt irreparably in the process, exposing myself again and again to abusive people and situations, all in the name of trying to be normal. If that isn’t queer trauma, then I don’t fucking know what is.

Long story short, if you don’t feel a difference between friend love and lovefriend love, there’s nothing wrong with you. Not one goddamn thing. Your feelings are valid; your experience is valid; your journey is valid. You are queer, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.

I still consider myself bisexual, because I still experience sexual attraction to more than one gender. (Not to all genders, which is why I’m not pan. Also because I’ve identified as bi for so long; I’m kind of fond of the label, not to mention attached.) However, I am celibate, both out of practicality and the metric fuckton of baggage that I bring with me into the bedroom. The asexual experience is never going to be one that I innately “get”, since celibacy and asexuality aren’t the same thing. I like to think that I understand it, though, or that I at least make a definitive effort.

Asexuals are exposed to the same kind of trauma as the rest of us queers. I’m not one to play oppression Olympics; it isn’t my job or business to assign one hurt as more important or greater than another. That being said, I 9000% believe that trans women get the worst kind of phobia and abuse. They’re exposed to the most adversity and danger and violence, especially trans women of color. It is our duty to protect and support trans women in all ways possible and by any means available. We must uplift their voices and make them feel accepted and safe within queer spaces.

But I think asexuals deserve protection, too, and acceptance, and understanding. I don’t think that should be a radical idea. It’s bullshit that people want to gatekeep–and yes, I am going to use the word gatekeep; it may not be the best term to explain community policing, but the concept and rationale behind it is similar. Asexual and aromantic persons are queer enough because they need to be, because they force themselves into the same kinds of molds and masks as other queer persons do to try and belong.

I’m tired of seeing y’all get shit when I understand how fucking hard it is out here, and it’s sickening that the only people who stand up for you are other acespec and arospec individuals. You matter, and I’m never going to stop saying that. You are here, you are queer, and folks need to get used to it.

Anyway. Even with all of the hate I’m getting (which doesn’t bother me, by the by), my inbox is always open to both identified asks and anons. If you need to vent or feel validated, and you don’t want to identify yourselves for painfully obvious reasons, I’ve got you covered.

This got really, really long. I hope it’s cool that I used your question to clarify my position. It was perfect impetus for me to do so. Again, thank you so much for your support. Feel free to keep lurking or to drop me a line any time. :D

[fitnessqveen]

Whelp I just had a full-blown emotional flashback that led to a panic attack and some realization. Feeling better now. I was, some time ago, dismissive towards my therapist’s recommendation (which was counter to my psychiatrist… yes I have both… a bowl of crazy soup and I ain’t getting any younger so I decided to jump in with both feet) …recommendation against starting antidepressants. She warned me that they could keep me from feeling the full weight of the pain I’ve carried with me since childhood, therefore blunting my ability to work through it. At the time, I was in a very deep hole and the symptoms of my depression were preventing me from crawling out of it. I just couldn’t make it to work on time and I was put on a 5-day probation at work - as a server in a restaurant, with an M.D. - but I was unable to do anything more cerebral or use any of the knowledge I’d gained from my degrees because I could barely even finish a simple thought. Going from literally performing compex surgical maneuvers and overseeing complicated patients’ ICU care and having what it takes to be a great doctor to barely holding on to a waitressing job, the first job I’d even had for 2 years other than super bs part time sit there with your thumb up your ass get paid under the table work, which itself was infrequent… that made me really lose hope. I thought, whelp if this is my life I really don’t want to be here for it. I guess offing myself would be a bigger burden to my family than having to support me or else I’d gone through with it. This was the second hard wave of suicidality I’d had to endure and I knew I needed medication to get through it this time and my week of forced vacation, I went and picked up a script and started it. 

There are large chunks of time missing from my memory of about 3-4 years: starting from the time that memories from my childhood that came back to me due to circumstances outside of the scope of this post but that i’ve written about before. I know the memories are real, because they took place in a house I’d only seen as a very young child (4) and suddenly I could describe exactly how the house looked and how the furniture was arranged and where the windows were and I asked my mom if I was right and she confirmed that I was… that was a huge breakthrough she finally admitted that some of what I was saying MIGHT be true as opposed to me just going through a hard time personally and wanting to bring her down with me so I had “made it all up.” “it all” being things she wouldn’t even let me finish saying before completely losing it on me with aforementioned accusations… evidence in my “favor” I’d say. 

At any rate, I did the right thing by going on antidepressants. I’m a tutor now and I’ve even worked up the cojones to START my application to be a professor at a nearby university teaching genetics. I have hope now and I’m not trying to milk bricks to find it. Hope and suicidal thoughts do this fun routine where the one disappears while the other, in its absence, steps in. But the thoughts are gone and they’ve mostly stayed that way. I can handle the random wave that passes like a wave in the sea but I cannot withstand the prolonged incessant storm.

But today…. I had skipped a couple days of antidepressants because I lost my health insurance and getting it back is going to be complicated. I don’t know how I’ll pay for them and I was in the mood to just sleep for a few days anyway so I figured I’d just skip taking them. Maybe that was depression talking, in retrospect. Yep it sounds like something she’d say.

My boyfriend has been extremely stressed and trying to find a place to move into and the stress has been keeping him from really having an active role in the process, which I understand completely, so I’ve been spending a lot of time trying to find a place for him. Finally I had a breakthrough and found the more or less perfect place for him, and its with a long-time friend of mine who I know he will get along with very well. I was so damn excited it put me in a glorious mood and I called him to tell him the great news but he had just woken up and instead of being happy about it, he was pretty blasse and I tried and tried to throw more reasons to get excited and he poked holes in them but told me that he just needed to wake up some more and that he just couldn’t feel excited about it. 

I took it very personally. I felt hugely unappreciated. It triggered a very upsetting emotional flashback for me and I had half a mind to call my friend back and tell him to forget about it and find another roommate. I said some things to my boyfriend that weren’t fair and I thought even worse things. I came completely unraveled. I convinced myself that he didn’t care about me. I wanted to sabotage everything. 

But I realized that the strength of my emotions were out of proportion to the situation by quite a bit, and that’s when I realized I was having an emotional flashback. 

You see, I have repeatedly invited people into my life that - due to their own fucked up shit, no doubt - really only wanted to keep me close for the things I could do for them. Not out of flagrant masochism, just out of not knowing any better because how was I supposed to know how I should be treated when I wasn’t being treated that way at home? I had some really shit friends over the years who I’ve done a lot of really big favors for repeatedly. Favors aplenty, but never appreciated. Only accusations against my character if and when I wasn’t available to them. I can say that for the way my mother has treated me not all the time but enough of the time. 

So the people who are truly my friends and who truly do care for me: god damnit I appreciate the ever living fuck out of them! I realized today that scarcity of being appreciated makes it so that if I consider someone to be in that very special circle of dear ones… and especially (!!!) as a romantic partner… a whiff of unappreciation perceived by me feels like a betrayal. I wonder if I’ve been duped again by some user. Thoughts rush into my head and make a seemingly solid case for having been duped once more. It makes me want to sabotage the entire relationship and it makes me feel like I must not matter to them at all. 

*Cue panic attack.* 

Thank GOD I know enough about my emotional… ways…yes, wiley ways at times… that I was able to see the forest from the trees in a pretty reasonable amount of time and explain what was happening and apologize for throwing daggers because really I was responding to another time and place and series of events. Actually, a whole host of them. Deep down at the very center of my heart, past all the layers of bullshit and layers of happiness and layers of suffering a few more happiness throw in the existential dread layers.... is something I've only truly seen and felt through therapy: overwhelmingly painful emptiness. I have to suppose that meeting this quite excruciating emotional pain is what keeps most people from seeking therapy. I welcome it because I know feeling it is therapeutic, and the only thing more horrifying than that, is the thought of having to endure this loveless mediocre and melancholic life forever. That is what really scares me, and I'll run from it in any direction I can, even if that direction is a panic attack while sitting down during a shower.

As for my boyfriend, I really upset my boyfriend pretty badly too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so upset before. I hate that that had to be a casualty of the war I’m fighting in my head, but he is understanding. And I, apologetic.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF TUMBLR, THIS IS WHAT A TRIGGER ACTUALLY IS. NOT LIKING WHAT SOMEONE SAYS DOES NOT IN ITSELF CONSTITUTE A DAMN TRIGGER #DIETTALK, UNLESS YOUR PARENTS ABUSED YOU BY STARVING YOU (making you eat healthier btw is not what I’m referring to here), IS NOT A TRIGGER DO NOT BASTARDIZE THIS WORD JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT TO FEEL LIKE YOUR SUFFERING IS AS LEGITIMATE AS ANYONE ELSE’S YOU’RE AN ASS FOR MAKING THIS INTO A SPORT OF THE SUFFERING OLYMPICS FOR EXAMPLE THE WAY I GET PISSED OFF ABOUT THE BASTARDIZATION OF THE WORD TRIGGER HERE ON THIS SITE IS NOT IN ITSELF TRIGGERING IT IS MADDENING THERE’S A WORLD OF A DIFFERENCE

Had to get that off my chest and provide a lil all caps public service announcement @ the end give it some spice