#cutting mention

[inaris-pokemon-world]

Hey Inari how would you react to a hyper realistic cake of you?

[theinkbunny]

tw

I’m seriously gunna use my thighs as a cutting board if I don’t calm down soon

[resentful-reads]

The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller

[harlequinhovers]

vent. do not reblog, read at your own discretion.

i don’t think i want to interact with anyone ever again tbh. i don’t know where the “kick me” sign on my back came from, or how to get rid of it. i don’t know why my existence is inherently seen as an inconvenience. i never wished i was born! hey, i’ve been cripplingly suicidal since i was 10! what more do you want from me?!

don’t answer that actually. i know what people want. for me to have gone through with everything. they never say it, but i see it in people’s eyes. i see it in how they treat me compared with others.

burden. inconvenience. undeserving of the air they breathe. should’ve just offed themself when they were 10. before they could’ve insulted you by knowing you.

i’m this close to cutting again. i’m this close to slitting my wrists. or my throat. or taking all my advil and all my benadryl at once. i’ve already done a lot of damage by being here, what more could a simple suicide do?

i’m sorry for having been here this long.

[lunocura]

Ok, he and Kakashi are in competition for who's the coolest.

[page-2-ids]

TW // MENTIONS OF SH

Hi! I wasn't sure who to ask, but you seem like someone who'd be able to help me out here-

Do you know of any genders related to self-harm/cutting/razor blades? I saw that you coined some genders related to some aspects/forms of sh, but I'm looking for genders more specifically related to cutting and blades.

Feel free to ignore if this makes you uncomfy!! /g

Sorry to let down, but I really don’t have the energy right now to do term finding at the moment. /gen If it’s any help, though I know Genderpedia has a list of self harm genders. It’s not really long, ut it’s also the most I’ve found in one place

[kitschywitsch]

Describe what you think an "emo band" is lol

I think you are referring to this post.

I would personally define it as anything I listened to off my iPod in the lunchroom in 2006 while watching my hot(skinny) guy(?) friends make out to each other, getting "glomped," and fending off "preps" who walk by our group pretending to cut themselves with plastic picnic knives.

Even back then, people used to argue over what emo was. It's actually probably more clear now, looking back, and it was definitely bleeding into the mainstream and influencing everything, even Katy Perry. But Cobra Starship fit in well with the other pop-punk emo shit we were listening to. They were emo enough to tour with Fall Out Boy in the 2007 Honda Civic Tour (then again, somehow Paul Wall slipped in there too).

So while you may not define CS (or were you referring to MCR?) as "emo," we did, and that made them emo enough for the weird little emo cult I was in, which was good enough for me.

But you're right. Even Saporta probably doesn't define their music as emo, but his band prior to CS was Midtown which was undoubtedly emo and had a big influence on the music that came after.

[macabrevampire]

keep bleeding through my clothes ummm don't cut yourself guys ! beyond all the usual reasons you shouldn't, it is very embarrassing for your clothes to be bloody and to try to hide it :')

[vent-blog-ignore-me]

yesterday i had a cigarette and today i cut myself, I'm really going back to ALL my old addictions

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[king-of-havoc]

You're really a ~cut~ above the rest.

GHJEDKGRSFDH

YES

THESE ARE THE TYPES OF ANONS I WANT AFTER CUTTING

[mothers-and-fuckers-of-the-jury]

the irony of the fact that i’m having a severe depressive episode on the day that marks one year clean from cutting isn’t lost on me, i’d just really appreciate the universe to stop playing cosmic jokes on me.

[seltzer-tastes-pretty-good]

I really hate having a fear of razors

So here's the thing, I'm genderfluid

and I really hate facial hair on myself. I just feel so gross and 'off' whenever I do have it and my face grows it stupidly fast

and at the same time, I actually can't hold a proper razor for fear of cutting something

So my choices are either just have it taken off with my once every three month haircut or try my hands at a really dull, painful electric razor, that even then I get super nervous using

all just so I can look at my face in a mirror without feeling off!

[chronic-cane]

My psychiatrist is honestly the fucking best.

Like, I'm actually able to report a depressive episode without feeling pressure around my meds being raised. I'm able to say "yeah this is the event that might have caused it" and the response is "okay so not a chemical imbalance" and no other thought of med changes. Even when the stressor wouldn't have been an issue if not for other disabilities. My recent episode was caused by sensory overload and fear it would happen again, and that was taken as a justified environmental factor and not a "we need to change your meds" factor.

There's a genuine focus on changing your environment first and making adaptations instead of going straight to meds.

And I'm writing this now because I felt nervous around sharing that I bit myself, because I know it could count as self injury. And their response to it was "yeah, but was it with the intention to harm or intention to self-soothe?" My self injury has almost always been to self soothe, and when I told them that, they proceeded to question if my past self injury should've been treated as self injury. At the time, it was mostly cutting, so inherently more dangerous. They then went, "Oh yeah, that makes sense."

I fucking wish I had them as a teen though because it would've helped so much. I would punch walls without any intent for harm to self but it was still counted as self harm. I was warned to not talk about my picking because it could be counted as self harm. I wasn't even allowed to fucking draw on myself because it was stimulation to the skin that could be taken as a substitute for self harm (which is not what I was even using it for).

I lean a lot towards anti-psychiatry as a result of those experiences plus many others. Mind you, the psychiatrist I see works with the same medical group and is in the same building where I dealt with the above mentioned self injury program (insurance doesn’t give many options). The difference is astonishing and I appreciate them a lot for that.

[xxvi0lent-vahlkampfiidaexx]

cutting all by yourself handsome?

[somerandomdudelmao]

Part 1!

..of an episode that reveals that if something looks like a space horror and sounds like a space horror, maybe it is a space horror.

Who would've guessed?~

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