#cw: mentions of ableist language

[ellipse-society]

So I think there may be some misconception about what can be considered ableism. The disorder itself doesn't need to be mentioned for what someone says to be ableist. For example with DID there are many misconceptions that people use to be ableist(cw fakeclaiming). For example it's just demonic possession, it's just a trend you are copying from social media, or it's iatrogenic(your doctor convinced you you have it). Any of those misconceptions can be used against you without the disorder being mentioned and still be ableism. If it is a common misconception about a disorder that is similar to what you are talking about experiencing there is a good chance that the way the person came to that conclusion is by thinking about the disorder making it still ableism.

[slugass]

the severe normalization of ableism against mental disability as long as it isn’t calling people the r-slur or “autistic” fucks me up

even if it isn’t towards a disability i have

a tumblr user rightfully calls out ableist language yet in the same breath calls a bigot “a stu pid idi ot”, claiming them to be “less intelligent than all mentally disabled people ever”.

nevermind the fact that anyone of any level of intelligence can be bigoted.

describing their ableist characters as “psy co” for being a bad person. and then claiming not to be ableist themselves.

genuinely makes me sad, ACTUALLY FUCKING CRYING, seeing disabilites get disregarded and indirectly insulted in spaces THAT ARE SUPPOSED TO INCLUDE THEM for the sake of insulting bad people.

people need to learn from their mistakes.

please stop using disabilites as insults. there’s other ableist insults beyond the r-slur or using “autistic” as an insult. please look out for them.

[fictionkinfessions]

I can't handle being in the fandom I'm from. I have memories that don't portray "source" and common fan interpretations. For context, one of my "sources" has "me" flirt openly with another who gets slapped the label of being "my parental figure" when he was 3 years older than me in some source information about him and "I". It's so frustrating because I drew porn and got attacked for making "incest". Of what? Two queer men in a cult and get forced to call each other brother? I wasn't raised by him. I raised myself, even in "source". Let me draw my partner and I and don't call me a freak for drawing what YOU think is incest.

- A. Skywalker Fictive who read source by writers and was shown his sourceself is flirting with someone people claim is his "brother" or "father" in grossly queerphobic ways

x

[hexagonopus]

CW: discussion of slurs, uncensored use of the r slur and the f slur

i wanted to talk about the way people use the R slur and are like, "no uwu its ok im reclaiming it"

like, just as a disclaimer (i consider this basically unrelated to my actual point):

but like, if someone tells me they arent comfortable with me using the r slur when around them, obviously im gonna not use it around them.

thats not really related to the topic at hand imo, though. id do the same thing with words like queer which have been unambiguously reclaimed but do still make some people feel targeted or upset.

if someone asked me not to talk about dogs when around them because their dog passed away id think about it the same way, and its not super about the semiotics of the word dog or smth

but we can observe that the word "retarded" used to describe neurodivergent people comes from a medical field that was, at its base, hostile to a vulnerable minority population. the inception of the word was not neutral, it was aggressive. it was also imposed from above onto that same minority group, and used to discriminate them out from the in group.

thats the historical basis of the word being a slur. as the medical field has advanced over time, we've shed that term in an academic context, because our treatment of and understanding of neurodivergent people has advanced to a point where "mentally slow or halted in mental progression" is not an accurate description of how the medical field understands neurodivergent people as a group.

ill admit, we can also observe that terms like "stupid, lame, moronic, imbecile, idiot", etc also have similar roots and an argument can be made that they also used to be slurs, even if they aren't used in that way anymore. so like theres a path that i think a lot of people want to take the word retarded down, and a lot of people also relate to having used it in that sense basically their whole life. i dont super want to discount that

but

so many people who use the r slur posture so much about "oh im reclaiming it", and i guess i find that pretty absurd.

like. "queer" is reclaimed bc we use queer as a neutral, descriptive word. the n word is reclaimed as a display of comradery. sometimes people will call themselves like the f slur or the d slur to say just, "im so gay" in a positive way. these are words who have a tangibly different use than they had as slurs, they are not being used to slur people.

but ive never actually seen someone use the r slur that way? its always being used derogatorily. it is fundamentally still being used as a slur. and we agree that slurs are bad. so why doesnt that compute?

you cant just continue to call things the r slur as an insult to say its stupid as hell and consider that reclamation bc its like, identical to how the slur has been used for decades

like if i say "im such a fag" im not rly saying "im degenerate and not masculine" im saying like. god i like boys and im gay and im gay. yknow??

this isnt like the word retard. ive LITERALLY never in my entire life seen someone use the word retard to mean smth other than an insult. if someone used "retard" in a like self affectionate sense to evoke comradery w/ other neurodivergent people. thats groovy imo that would be a case of trying to "reclaim" it.

my beef is with people who use the word "retard" in a way indistinguishable from how people have use it for decades, just to say "thats stupid, thats low, i dont like that" and then are like "no u dont get it; im neurodivergent so its reclaimation"

finally, a note addressed to the people who want to use the r slur as a word for "stupid" not directed at neurodivergent people:

if someone is using the r slur they should be honest about why they're saying it. and that is, always:

because its an insult, they're trying to insult something by calling it stupid.

they're trying to neutrally describe a neurodivergent people bc they think its still the 1960s

they're specifically trying to insult neurodivergent people

and like, HOPEFULLY we can agree that 3 is just bad.

2 is also bad, if arguably well intentioned. its smth to be corrected, and thats what things like Rosa's Law was passed for.

and ig in that context, i dont personally see the appeal of using it in the case of 1.

why would u want to share that kind of linguistic company w/ 2 and 3, yknow???

[selectivechaos]

cw: slurs ⚠️⚠️⚠️

quit using insecure as an insult.

quit using desperate as an insult.

quit using ‘needs therapy’ as an insult.

quit using psychotic as an insult.

quit using pathetic as an insult.

quit using clingy as an insult.

quit using sociopath as an insult.

quit using narcissist as an insult.

quit using dumb as an insult.

quit using slow as an insult.

quit using autistic as an insult.

quit using psychopath as an insult.

quit using insane as an insult.

“but sometimes they are these things.” an accurate label used as an insult is a mirror shard used as a knife.

you’re hurting real people. people who don’t deserve to believe they’re bad or flawed or wrong.

🌹🌹

[forget-meabh-not]

we r soooo bored ,,,,, plus we have *shivers* FOOD THERAPY today

fuck u dad for forcing us into food therapy. We are going to dieeeeee/exag but not rlly

Off the minute our dad actually excepts we have ARFID(we have been diagnosed since age 2) he’s m like “ ok well then you need to get food therapy and if u don’t want it then you don’t want help”

ok maybe I don’t want to “recover” or get “help” rn,,, that’s not a fucking bad thing ?!? It’s not like I’m tryna get worse geez

>.> I feel like our dad just doesn’t understand shit,,

[octisticsopinions]

CW: R-slur, ableism

Medical Community: here is a neutral word for mentally disabled with no negative connotations

Non disabled people: I'm going to give it negative connotations

Medical Community+mentally disabled people: this word has evolved into a slur due to people giving it negative connotations, so we are no longer using it

Non disabled people: WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT HAS NEGATIVE CONNOTATIONS??

[scoop-lookatpinpeopleneedhelp]

Tell me I’m not alone on this..

Okay. So there's a page on The Spriter's Resource that I left a comment on where I asked if anyone else thought the proportions of the characters were weird because the game and character design was overtly sexual and even the game had sex in the title. I'm not saying the game because I don't want to give it attention but with that being said here is my interpretation of what the characters looked like + the comments I received in response.

You could make the argument that they had to make the characters small due to it being easier or them still wanting to use low-res pixel art, but they could've just made the bodies taller and the head a bit bigger to compensate for the eyes. And in the game there's a boss character with much higher resolution, more detailed art. So these people were clearly capable of making the characters simple but in proportion, but they chose not to. Even if making the characters look like adults would've been too daunting, too fucking bad. If you're making a porn game, suck it up and use more pixels because making characters like these and sexualizing them is flagrantly approving of the sexualization of young people whether they realize it or not. Not to mention the guy who responded with such a horrible word to use in really any context. Even aside from the use of that word, his argument falls flat. If you photoshop a 9 year old to have thicker thighs, they will still look like a 9 year old because big boob and big thigh doesn't change the proportions of the head, the eyes and the body. Call me an uncultured snowflake but this genuinely pisses me off. This problem barely scratches the surface of the awful shit hentai artists do like disregarding female or submissive character's consent, enjoyment or dignity, fetishizing LGBTQ+ people or entire races or aging up child characters (which is a whole other can of worms) among many other things. These people get so successful too and can make lots of money and gain a huge following from making somewhat normal porn alongside at best questionable and at worst horrific shit. I have zero qualms with wanting to draw porn, but like… have some humanity.

Please tell me I'm not alone in thinking drawing characters like that is fucked up.

[im-just-a-br0adway-baby]

Hey Pepa have you ever been called the “r word” because of your Autism? If so how did you manage to deal with that?

All the time. Bruno and I were always called the r-word in school, and even Julieta was subject to a lot of bullying because a lot of kids knew her as "the girl with the r-word brother and sister." It was extremely difficult for us to deal with, but especially me because of how often my weather would fluctuate if I was called that. When we got older, we got so desensitized to it that it didn't really affect us anymore. Also, it happened much less when we became adults because everyone knows they'll get zapped they call Bruno or me that.

[shiutsu]

"Being misanthrope isn't good for you!!"

And letting people walk over me is? Lmao

[just-antithings]

Somebody in the replies to that diss track tweet was kind enough to puzzle out the lyrics so here you go

Racism, ableism, masochism, narcissism

Too bad there ain't no word for incest-ism

In a show with only two kids, that's sick!

Why do you prefer to see a 14 year old - "WHAT THE FUCK?"

Proshippers can you really use 'professional'

"With a criminal record I don't think I'd get a job?"

Oh mic drop, report em, move along DNI

Hide behind the screen while talking to a minor

"That's him! That's the freak officer! Get his ass right now!"

(note that there's a police siren in the background the entire time, almost overpowering the vocals so a lot is hard to make out)

[kert-rats]

i'm not "crazy". my feelings are not a problem to be "therapised" away, or rationalized away. i've been having regular human reactions to being abused and neglected. there was and is nothing wrong with me.

[sagethegayyyy]

heard someone use the word acoustic when their friend didn’t understand something please fill my ears with rubbing alcohol

[empyllon]

Around the Bureaucracy in +80 Days: 5 Weeks in Hell — Where is Em?

TW unaliving, self harm, harmful thoughts, domestic violence, depression, systemic abuse and the factors that drive/prevent it systematically in Sweden, from one perspective

Part I, the Austerity Measures

Foreword

Today is March 26th as I start writing this, but I am doubtful I'll finish this draft tonight, or this week. When I publish, it might be tomorrow, or the week after, or never. I won't know until this is formulated and I hit post.

The title is a reference to the book "Around the world in 80 days", but the similarities ends there. I just needed a witty title to my experiences, at the expense of a preexisting work.

The State, the Laws, the System

So let me begin as far as I can go back. Because this story is not about me, but about the system around me. The attitudes, the support, and the erosion of it that caused such a thing as mass suicides among vulnerable citizens.

It begins in 2010, our government has become moderate. Some quiet changes has been made to the welfare and benefits system. There is a 180 day cap introduced to the sick pay. And 2012, a specific kind of sick pay (sjukpenning, SP) is created for individuals who has never had a job. The catch?

This is a bottleneck, specifically designed to make it as hard as possible for people entitled to "disability reimbursement" (sjukersättning, SE), formerly called early retirement (förtidspension). If you are below 30, you'd have "activity reimbursement" (aktivitetsersättning, AE).

It's about saving money either way.

The idea is that you would go from AE to SE if your rehabilitation hasn't been fruitful, but you might be placed on SP until you have done your trials. However, while AE & SE have about the same pay (it's adjusted for inflation), SP is not. In the later years, SP has been used to deny people AE as well, due to the 180 day limitation, causing people to become "uninsured", as a way to lower the statistic for people on benefits.

The Numbers

SP, 100% disability is fixed 160 sek/day, no adjustment for inflation

SP has a housing benefit with a cap of 7000 sek, that supposedly is paid the month after (this is what I'm told)

AE, 100% disability in 2023 was 568 sek/day, adjusted for inflation

AE has a housing benefit with a percentile coverage based on cost between 90-75% of your max rent, and is paid the same month

AE also comes with expanded rights to activities that promote rehabilitation, I'm unsure if SE includes this, SP does not. But realistically, with the crashed housing market, and increased rental costs, not even the smallest benefit can cover comfortable living for a disabled person. As in, assistive fitted tools, medication or adjustments. My own numbers were abysmally small by themselves; SP alone was 2560sek (due to delayed/refused housing benefit) and supposedly, at full reimbursement only yields 3712kr, and AE was 11928 (plus a housing benefit of 75% coverage in June 2023) allowed for a much better living standard. The issue lies in the daily allowance; AE is 350% times higher than SP, and SP is well below the minimum existence level. The system is designed to be punishing and harsh, so that people stop being "lazy" and go to work. I'll get back to this in a bit.

Too Sick to work, Too Healthy to be Sick

There is a saying here in Sweden that "you have to be healthy enough to be sick". Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Along with these statements each state agency behind this has their own derogatory names; Försäkringskassan "Förskräcklingskassan" (akin to "antisocial nonsurance system", more literally "horrible insurance") and Arbetsförmedlingen "Arbetsförnedringen" (Public Humiliation Service, or literally "work humiliation"). I'll just refer to them as FK and AF from now on though, but there is a reason for their "names".

The purpose of these bottlenecks is that our government has since the new financial policies from 1993 that decentralized some institutions (read privatized), decided we need to cut spending on welfare. It's only in 2010 that our government realized the plans, and we now in 2024 have record low reports of people living on welfare.

There is a reason for every number, and the bad math is on full display (this is the so called "9. 0 goal", referring to the median days of sick pay being paid out). Post 2010, there have been reports of people either dying from cut assistance, or simply choosing to end their lives when they have nowhere to go.

Erland, 55 (2018)

Johan 35, (2021) (Source #2)

Sara, 33 (2019)

Linnéa, 22 (2020)

These are only a few names and articles I could pull under the search query "självmord försäkringskassan" on google (these are complete separate instances of welfare from the entire chaos that are the migration policies, although sometimes they overlap). There is a staggering amount of articles, that again and again state that a stable income is one of the foundations to improve mental wellbeing. And that the government knew that cutting welfare came with this risk. And... only in 2022 have they as much lifted the issue in the riksdag.

So why the hubbub? Why raise a fuss? Because aptly put — Sweden has invented a suicide machine, and I'm one causality.

News outlets are reporting of elevated suicide threats to FK staff (source #1, #2, #3, #4, #5, #6) and that the insurance system FK is disregarding the red flags. It's been reported that the case managers are actively encouraged to, or sometimes gets a bonus based on how many people they reject (#2), and has made it a competition in their office. They have also been documented as being callous, derogatory and outright ableist. They will even override doctors medical expertise to pull benefits and sometimes override their NDAs. Due to the toxic work environment, the government agency also has a high turnover.

As of today, Sweden has no legal clause to hold state workers accountable for such grave errors. It was scrapped in 1976, and replaced with a law that has less legal effect. You can report agencies to Justitieombudsmannen (justice ombudsman department), but it often has little effect. Even if you pull FK to court, and you win, they might totally disregard your case. In some cases they might demand a new court trial, in order to make you pay back.

What used to be jokingly memed about, "svensk välfärd" has become somewhat of a zeitgeist of a bygone era, where swedes took pride in sayings like "arrived like a letter in the mail"("som ett brev på posten"), "smooth as the train" ("går som loket/på räls") and so on. All of these referenced phenomena have since become privatized or decentralized with negative effects (#1, #2, #3).

Part II, The Time Frame to Disintegrate a Human

The Basic Understanding of Needs

It doesn't take much to totally annihilate a human and make them be void of any positive feelings of the self.

We can talk about it in terms of psychology, and use something simple like Maslow's pyramid.

The levels are (from bottom to top);

Pysiological Needs (Breathing, Food, Water, Shelter, Clothing, Sleep)

Safety & Security (Health, Employment, Property, Family, Social Ability)

Love & Belonging (Friendship, Family, Intimacy, Sense of Connection)

Self-Esteem (Confidence, Achievement, Respect of Others, the need to be a unique individual)

Self-Actualization (morality, creativity, spontaneity, acceptance, experience purpose, meaning and inner potential)

If we are talking about an already lesser-abled/differently-abled person — because let's be frank — without tools or assistance, some of us are unable to function, rendering us partially or fully disabled. This pyramid becomes the easiest way to explain the ableist droning of "why can't you just...", this is why.

A lot of neurotypical and/or ablebodied seem to lack the architectural skill of designing inclusive systems and societies that promote healthy growth, instead opting for some sort of stick. Usually in a similar fashion to people who say "my parents hit me and I came out fine", but reality is, you get a better growth curve with positive reinforcements and constructive negative reinforcement. Heck, even after owning only one elderly dog of 14 years, I've encountered these preconceived notions that "you can't teach an old dog to sit", mind you, he (the dog was untrained when I got him). Since then, he now knows a bunch of commands, and can almost perfectly heel off-leash. This is with a mostly positive reinforcement regimen, where negative reinforcement has only been used to teach him to avoid danger.

Enough side tracking, back to the main point.

The Calm Before the Storm

So how many days does it take to destroy a human through bureaucratic means?

About 90 days, if you count from my experience. I'll explain it.

It starts with being put on AE, because I was lucky to get on it before the 2012 reform. In Sweden, you also have something called LSS, which is summarized an anti-discrimination law of disabled individuals that includes neurodivergencies. This has mostly shielded me from most bullshit, until now, and allowed me quite a lot of support, which might be why I'm still alive.

Today it's March 27th. 90 days ago it would've been November 22nd, it's actually not that far from reality.

As I mentioned AE only covers you until you turn 30, and then you either have to

a) go into work rehabilitation programs or,

b) apply for SE, which with the new rules is increasingly hard to get.

Even though I could technically and legally qualify for it, my casemanager has told me that she will deny any applications I make. (I'll try to explain this later.)

Timeline Begin!

So in mid December I was scheduled for a "handover meeting", where my AE case manager gave me to a manager overseeing SP and a manager overseeing my case at AF. I had an assistive person attend from the LSS network, that helps specifically with work rehabilitation/education/occupation, abbreviated as EFA.

I was told the following;

My reimbursement would be less than now, but it shouldn't be a problem...

I'll be put on a work training program with AF to be an intern in active training...

I would get some paperwork sent to my home regarding rehabilitation reimbursement, RE ("rehab ersättning"), and was supposed to fill it in. However, I've forgotten the rest of the details, because despite my best efforts being neurodivergent, ND often means information overloading, despite keeping notes. (This will be relevant later.)

All government agencies will work together...

What I wasn't told;

But my reimbursement would be below poverty level, to the degree I could not afford any amenities, including medication to attend "training".

But I would have to apply to any programs/workplaces myself, while my case manager at AF does nothing but criticizes my efforts.

But my case manager at FK overseeing the SP would constantly use veiled legal terms and difficult words to delay or prevent me from applying to the right aid. She would sometimes flat out lie about papers sent, and misinform my social workers calling for clarification, causing paperwork to go missing.

But only in a way that would erode my energy, and in a way to deny me my legally approved LSS services. Claiming that I don't have the right to them and so on.

I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, so let's pull back a bit.

It's January now, so me and EFA draws a battle plan with AF, following the guidelines of FK. My month is mostly normal, I contact my doctor, apply for a new ID, take out my medications, work out, care for the dog.

Mid month, I talk with FK and get told what is going to happen. The only reason I know this is because my external memory is a notebook and a paper calendar with color coding. My notes from December-January state I was supposed to apply for;

a) SP with housing benefits

b) apply for SE if I can't work

c) fill in a form for RE and send it in

Don't report later than February 1st, and there will be a meeting with the case managers. To summarize, my notes are twice the size in bullets and span pages per meeting and task, each page with stick-ns and post-its (so you can see how easily someone gets overwhelmed).

Somehow I managed to get this step done, minus RE, because I forgot what the one prior case manager said (but it's still relevant to the story).

It's already just barely 4 weeks in, and we are already tangenting level #2 of Maslow's famous pyramid.

Oblivious to my abysmal future, I carry on, doing my best, trying to ignore the gut feeling (always trust it).

It rolls over to February, I send in the some papers, because I am not sure about what they mean. I couldn't apply in the end of January, and only in early February I understood it as.

Attend my doctors meeting to get the evaluation, and the eerie thing is this guy tells me "Em, from experience I don't think it will work, but they usually don't deny my extended applications for SP". I know he has his reasons of clinical expertise to make a judgement, and in hindsight, guy was right. I wasn't too invested in trying to understand the bureaucratic lingo, as I was in the middle of trying to combat a shortage on one of my daily medications, and I was more focused on solving that issue.

One problem less right?

Dead wrong. So from this day onward, in a picturesque description; it's like you start observing seismic activity on the radar, and you get concerned over the readings, before the actual catastrophe hits.

I keep going though, I wanna be good, I want to show I am a citizen of good standing. My performance anxiety kicks in. I'm placed at a dog daycare, and I make sure to be good with my boss. I never ask for accommodations other than asking that nobody eats peanuts in the kitchen, I use all my assistive tools (corset, orthoses, pain relief, psychotherapeutic medications, planners, custom shoes, etc.). I bring my dog with me initially to work, along with my gear. And I do good, at least I try. I make sure my dog behaves with their pups and help them organize/discuss stuff. Mostly I'm helping with the dog walks (relevant). This is from the 18th onward.

However second week, I'm told that my dog is no longer welcome due to new regulations, and that I need to start taking more/other dogs. Most of their clients are bully-type dogs, which is by no means something bad, but they are strong and have bullish willpower that requires a strong handler with the right physique. Just by comparison — I own a 3,4kg senior toypoodle that has been leash trained, and mostly walks off-leash as part of his training. The dog I was given to walk was a small French bulldog that was used to flexi-leashes and would run into oncoming car traffic any chance she could. I would describe her posture as frog-like due to the sheer pulling. She had a good nature, but horrible leash manners. It seemed she got worse when she was given shorter leads, which could be a sign of frustration.

Imagine handling that daily, intensively for 30-45 minutes. I think anyone would be sore.

On the 23rd FK finally responded to my claim. After being radio silent for a week. On the 24th they approved it, a text stated I'd be entitled to 2560 sek. So I logged into my e-services to make sure it was real, because like I said AE was much higher. In December 2023 they sent a sms statement saying they will be paying me 17589 sek. Anyone with at least one point in logic skill can see there is a huge gap of 15029 sek, you can sort of explain some of it away, but the more you stare, the more of an offensive austerity measure it becomes.

AE broken down looked like;

13036 + 6549 (housing allowance) - 1996 (tax)

Remember how I talked about flexibility and percentages earlier? This is where that stuff matters.

The daily reimbursement is closer to a very low wage job, that can allow you some flexibility. It also comes with a beneficiary card for 25% discounts.

SP broken down;

3200 + (no housing allowance) - 640 (tax)

When the daily allowance is fixed, you get no wiggle room for errors, or extras.

I might have dyscalulia, but I can still use markers, tools and excel sheets to sort my own finances, so I did. I thought there must be some grave mistake. You know, the oblivious to the fact, believing it was a simple solution. DEAD WRONG.

Regardless, I checked my medication stock. I'm running low. Made a journey into town on my way to work between my doctors appointments for newer orthoses and my internship. I showed a clerk at the office my paperslip with the math and said "can you make this work?" I think this was on the 26th or the 27th. She called my case manager, saying I might not even be entitled to SP. My case manager at FK had changed, you know, like that story of Jekyll and Hyde. She became cold, callous.

I had entered a state of panic.

I had friends run my numbers too. And it was all the same, after rent I'd have around 397 sek left. If you ever seen the memes that say "I finally paid rent, now I have a place to starve and freeze in", this is exactly it. I used my adaptive excel sheet to calculate my finances, and cut off anything that isn't essential (not that I had any to begin with). I had so many suggestions as well, I could move theoretically (but rent is still due), I could give up/surrender/sell my dog (and suffer alone).

Regardless of how these numbers went I'd be -4023 every month. Half is just the cost of utilities, you know, heat, water, internet and so on. Half is groceries and medical expenses. I had with assistive tools set up a frugal lifestyle that allowed me some savings. But if you are constantly reliant on new assistive tools, your savings can vanish just like so (a set of shoes with custom soles are usually 3600 sek, my much needed orthoses are 900 sek).

I'm not writing this to e-beg, I'm writing this for you to see, to understand how financially crippling it is to be disabled and in need of tools you can't afford.

And we are still only in February.

So I asked my social workers to help me locate the contacts and numbers for each case manager to rectify this problem. Because I've never been late with rent and it's honestly one of the most stressful situations to be in.

So we called the case manager for SP, and asked, and sought clarification. Did I send in all my papers right? Will I be able to pay my rent? What about RE, because I need to afford my medications. Yes the papers came in. Rent next month, it will be a delay. RE is irrelevant and you won't be reimbursed for your days in training.

Meanwhile me and EFA have weekly meetings, AF decided I should only contact them every 6 weeks for a follow up. I started lifting the fact I will have issues to go to work, both because of my ticket expiring and my lack of access to affordable medication. My casemanager at AF said that any financial questions are to be forwarded to FK. (So I brought them there.) EFA was keen on still hounding them down for me.

It's not like I didn't try, I did. On the 26th(?) I applied for municipal welfare, after being heckled by FK; "if you can't afford anything, apply for welfare". I sat through 1 e-application, 1 phone meeting, 1 physical meeting and at least 2 complementary paperworks, either with a parent and/or social workers. Trying to note down what I needed to do. My welfare, "WF" manager, has been away from work since mid-February. Despite calling weekly to ask who is overseeing my case, so I can pay rent, I never got full answers.

I couldn't sleep, nor afford my meds. I had to chose between my sleep aid, or my daily tablets, so I chose my dailies.

On the 29th I physically broke down, unable to work. My hands stopped functioning. I dropped a mug due to a failing grip, and I recall vividly that day. I let the last of my spotify premium play podcasts run on autoplay sometime during the week, and P3 Dystopia aired an episode on suicides and what drives them.

The three factors mentioned

Economic crisis — I can't afford my living

Isolation — I can't travel freely

Feeling like a burden — Shamed for being less abled

There are a few more, but the short summary gave only 3.

The podcast was more about the statistics, and trends within the genders, than the actual act of it. It also went over preventative measures and buffering effects. Regardless, after hearing that, and glancing over my own situation. I turned to my contact at EFA and said "put me on suicide watch and don't let me go".

The Beginning of the End

It's now March, I've called my landlord and pleaded for help. Asked to postpone my billing, just tried to put out any fire possible while balancing trying to not stress my dog and keeping up with the good girl image. Just trying to survive. I got no good graces left, my landlord won't push anything past March. The welfare system bans you from receiving payments, so I am forced to wait for their evaluations. I feel like I'm standing before the executioner.

I recall the podcast, and the time process it takes to go from just an intrusive thought, to real actionable plans. I cracked a joke at my peers, to synchronize their death watches, nobody would suspect a harmless TF2 meme as my way to say "I'm dying soon, it was nice to know you". A meme is a meme after all.

I think I set it to 2 weeks. That's when my expiry date as a passable good is over. I'm just another carcass thrown to the biowastage grinder, perhaps to end up as fuel somewhere, or just as pure filth.

I thought I wasn't good for anything. A failure. Just a waste of space. That I was better off dead.

I went as far as considering the comfort of my peers, to simply vanish. I won't say how, or with what, as that is how someone else might end up hurting themselves. I imagined remaining gone forever would be better than finding my remains. I also considered my dog, how he's my child, and that he deserved someone better than me.

If you have read this far, you can see how the pyramid of needs have eroded, and it didn't take that long either. You can also see given the sources, that I'm fitting all the criteria for becoming suicidal.

Did you try...x?

It's not like I didn't try. I really did.

At every instance where there was a snag, I referred to my health network. I talked to my occupational therapist about the hands and the internship, and was recommended to ask for help finding an office job because they were mortified regarding the laboring tasks. AF told me I have no redeeming qualifications for that. When I asked in forums for my disabilities what people worked with, I requested to be put on a training program that suit my abilities, again AF said no, I'm not entitled to it. I also asked a friend that works as a job coach what is going wrong, explaining my situation, only to be turned down when I asked AF for an evaluation of my competencies (on their suggestion as this would enable me to find internships faster and enter programs more tailored to me). This past week I learned AF also has something called SIUS consultants, which is a specifically appointed consultant with competencies tailored to disabled individuals. I asked EFA to find out if my AF contact was one, the answer no.

Ground 0

After exhausting all my ideas, all my possible solutions. I had none left, even with LSS at my back, the system won. Last Wednesday I had my final call with FK and AF with EFA.

I once more asked "realistically, how do you think I will manage work, without my assistive tools? Without medication?"

FK replied "seek welfare then"

I replied "I did in February, it's at least 3 weeks waiting time, I can't afford to maintain my health"

Radio silence.

AF chimes in "Em forget the money"

I again reiterated my needs, and asked about RE.

I questioned her on it asking why one is called rehab and the other is called sick in title.

FK then started citing some legal paper, without explaining the differences or why I was sent this paper to begin with. She just kept repeating that they are the same. And I'm wrong and won't get any more money.

They are not the same. They are two different economic programs for different activities and purposes. You can read about them here and here. My issue is I need to verify I do things correct, due to my disability.

After that call I decided, I didn't want to live anymore.

Disability Bingo

So how many conditions qualify for a humane insurance system?

It's individual, and regional. Randomly based on the case manager you get.

I won't state my full medical history because I'm not some zoo animal to watch, but I'll say this.

I have more than 3. The ones that impact my day the most are Ehler-Danlos (hypermobile), AD(H)D (I think it's type C nowadays), and Autism Spectrum Disorder.

When I'm medicated, I'm slightly more prominent on the spectrum, but it's manageable, ASD comes with perks too. EDS require a strict regimen of rest, and regular exercise. I used to lift weight machines to prevent my physical pain and subluxations. Despite the best of efforts, I'm still very limited. I rely on cars and buses, but I'm very much self reliant.

With the right supports I'm a star model for rehabilitation and upward mobility, but denied my basic needs, I'm like a fish out of water, forced to climb a tree.

Due to my severe counts of subluxations, I'm always careful with how I use my body. (I've dislocated my elbow by lifting a phone and opening a car door.)

You hopefully understand my predicament now, and the true scope of my limitations.

Part III — Where are you now?

Inside You There Are Two Beasts

That's how the meme goes.

Inside me,

there's the dark overwhelming monster that wants to kill myself,

and then there is the side that wants to live.

The side that wants lo live has won, for now.

Before I acted on my plans, and undo myself forever, I called 112.

I cried on the phone, told them how I felt. An ambulance came, and they took down my story.

I got placed in urgent psychiatric care with supervision and has mostly slept.

What I told you here is only really the short, and tailored version of actual events. There is so much more I wish I could talk about, but I need you to know.

I. Am. Safe.

My dog, Robin is safe. A friend that knows me has his full care sheet and is updating me.

The hospital knows about my situation, so does my network. Most of them.

I hate opening up to people about myself, to show myself at my most delicate, but maybe this post will stand as a beacon to someone in the dark.

I tried, and I tried real damn hard to get everyone to see and hear me. I shouted on top of my lungs, and only now has I arrived in a place where my weary voice is tuned into.

There was this quote from the Netflix series Midnight Club, it goes something like;

"Here but not here. Gone but not forgotten."

I'm still here, I hope you haven't forgotten me.

And I hope anyone out there, reading and identifying with this, will keep trying.

Someone will hear you.

Today it's the 27th as I write this. I've been hospitalized for about 5 days, and I've slept most of it. I feel like I still have to justify my own existence, even though I don't have to.

Call the hotline, tell your story.

The most disgusting part was that FK still tried to call me, to make sure I was actually sick. Had I not had EFA or LSS... I don't even wanna think about it.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 10

Prior and future chapters here.

A visitor in the park.

CW: domestic violence, rape, ableist language, homophobic slurs (f-word), internalized ableism, suicidal ideation, mention of burning.

-

It seems cruel that such terrible things must happen at moments when you are your happiest. There’s logic in it, sure—there can be no joy without pain, and happiness is bracketed on either side by sadness—but logic and cruelty don’t have to live apart from each other. In fact, you would often say they are married. 

Your boyfriend stands over you, blotting out the sun like a raincloud come to pour down on the briefest moment of peace you have felt in the last several days. Everything about him is innocuous: his clothes, his posture, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stares down at you with unspeakable fondness in his eyes. 

“Hi honey,” he says. “How was work?” 

Johnny goes to stand, but your boyfriend is quicker, banging his shin violently against Johnny’s knee. Johnny sucks in a breath as the pain winds him, body bowing over to protect his most vulnerable areas. 

“Don’t stand on my account,” your boyfriend says to his crumpled figure. “Did I get the right knee? I did, didn’t I? I wasn’t sure if it was the right or the left—“

“Hey!” you bellow, the volume of your own voice surprising you. You stand between them, put both hands against your boyfriend’s chest, and push. He nearly goes sprawling on the sidewalk, only barely managing to get his feet under him in time. You point a shaking finger in his face. “You don’t fucking touch him!”

“An accident,” he laughs, lifting his hands. “I stumbled into him. It could have happened to anybody.” 

“Yer a fucking cunt,” Johnny groans, both hands gripping his thigh above his knee, knuckles pale. “And so’s yer mother. Syphilis-infected-cocksucking bitch.”

“Not nice,” your boyfriend says mildly, shoving his hands back into his pocket. “Do you kiss my fiancé with that mouth?” 

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” you hiss. All three of you quiet down as an older couple inches by, hand in weathered hand. When they are a safe distance away, you ask: “How did you know I was here? Were you following me?”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” he says, lowering his voice to a dangerous timber, one that promises violence. “The same way you’re not willing to give up all of yours. You thought I wouldn’t notice you coming home late all the time? Do I look stupid?” 

Johnny makes a sound, some kind of wounded laugh that only serves to put you on edge even more. You can imagine his answer—but he doesn’t know your boyfriend. He doesn’t know the kind of grim, intelligent cruelty that is wielded against you every day. Johnny is hot headed and craving violence, but he’s in no condition to experience it. 

You have to protect him. 

“We can talk about it at home,” you mutter, making sure to keep between the two men who seem eager for each other’s blood. Your boyfriend tongues his cheek, eyeing Johnny, weighing his options. 

“Come on,” you say, louder. Reaching out, you grip his arm, nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t even flinch. But after an endless moment of waiting for further provocation from Johnny, he decides Johnny isn’t worth his time. He laces his fingers in yours and pulls you along, further away from the bench, from Johnny, from the sunlight. 

“Get in the car,” he says, walking to the driver’s side. 

“You’re not supposed to drive.” 

“I won’t say it again.” 

He won’t, either. You know him. So instead you slip into the passenger seat. There’s no worse feeling than being in an enclosed space with him. The air feels heavy and oppressive, weighing you down. At the same time, your body buzzes with adrenalin, preparing for pain. You numbly buckle your seatbelt while he starts the car. 

“How long have you been cheating on me with that cripple next door?” he asks calmly. 

“I’m not.”

The calm snaps, nothing but a thin sheet of icy veneer over a deep, dark lake of fury. 

“Don’t—lie—to—me,” he says through his teeth. He holds out a hand and wiggles his fingers. “Phone. Hand it over. You’ve lost your privileges.” 

“I don’t have it,” you lie. “It’s at work.” 

“You really do,” he says, staring at you with borderline awe. “You think I’m a fucking idiot, don’t you? Oh, baby. Oh, honey. You’re in for it. How do you think I fucking found you? Give me the goddamn phone.” 

You shake your head. You can’t give it up. Not when it’s the only safe way for Simon to contact you. 

He reaches for your hand. The two of you struggle as you try to avoid his touch, briefly banging your knuckles on the car window, but then he has your hand in his grasp, and he takes your smallest finger and wrenches it back, back—you feel the pop, pain lancing through your hand all the way to your wrist. 

You screech. 

“Give me the phone,” he says, letting you cradle the misshapen hand against your breast. You grit your teeth, tears dripping off your chin. When he reaches for your hand again, you break and turn out your pockets, handing over your last lifeline. He takes the phone and beats it against the dashboard, again and again and again until the screen is a spider’s web of cracks, glass littering your knees. 

He hands you back the broken phone. 

“You broke my fucking finger,” you cry, voice warbling embarrassingly. 

“You broke your own finger by not listening to me the first time,” he says, tossing the phone in your lap when you don’t take it. He puts the car in reverse. “Don’t blame me for your mistakes, baby.” 

-

The two of you spend five hours in the emergency room together. This is an integral part of the experience; when he hurts you, he has to heal you. 

Your pinky isn’t broken, only dislocated. They set it and splint it and warn you that it could take months to feel normal again, like you know at all what that word means. Beneath the tinny lights of the exam room, your makeup job must be failing, because the nurse asks your boyfriend to step out so that she can ask you a few questions alone. 

This isn’t your first time in the emergency room, and you know the rules. You stick to your story (the one he had stitched together on the drive to the ER) even without your boyfriend’s oppressive presence looming over your shoulder. The nurse gives you a look that is both professional and pitying. You spend the rest of the visit refusing to meet her eyes, chewing on the nails of your good hand. 

“Could you be any more suspicious?” your boyfriend asks mildly while the two of you leave. He waves to one of the nurses, who gives back a cheerful little salute. 

Making friends wherever he goes; that’s your boyfriend. 

-

Walking into your apartment is like walking into another world. 

Everything has been upended: the couch cushions, the silverware drawers, the chairs at the table. DVD’s have been removed from their boxes. Even the fucking lamps have had their lampshades removed. The bathroom and bedroom doors have been taken off their hinges and laid neatly against one another in the bedroom. 

“You weren’t the only one busy today,” he says, relishing in your grim expression. “You know the drill. Clean up. Then we’ll go to bed.” 

This is an old trick of his that you know well. He tore the place apart searching for contraband—but he knows that even he isn’t all-powerful. Now he waits to see where you will rush to clean up first, where your anxious mind will take you, desperate to find out if he’s found whatever you’ve been hiding. Once it was money. Another time, a business card for a lawyer. 

This time, a lighter that’s not your own. 

You’re smarter now, though. You don’t go straight for your sock drawer where the lighter is hidden. You begin at the northernmost point of the apartment and clean north to south, east to west, methodical, your hand throbbing as the anesthetic wears off. 

It is deeply late by the time you make it to the bedroom to find your clothes strewn across the bed. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, body aching from a long day at work (and a longer day after work). You can’t help but think of Johnny as you clean, tucking clothes back into their drawers, putting clothes back on their hangers. Did he make it home safely? Did he finally message Simon? Did he try to walk home? Thinking about Johnny out alone in the dark makes your stomach turn unpleasantly. 

Sock drawer now. Most of these are still in the dresser, though some have been pushed out into the floor in your boyfriend’s search for ammunition to use against you. You pick up the few outliers and stuff them back into the drawer. 

No lighter. 

It’s not there. You know even as you continue to search without hope, rifling through your paired socks as subtly as you can. This is all just another game. He’s found the lighter and has just been waiting for you to notice it’s gone so that he can torment you with it. Maybe he’ll flick the spark wheel (the way Johnny can’t—God, Johnny, please be okay—) and hold the flame to your skin or your hair—

You touch something hard, plastic. Your breath catches. It’s there. It’s still there, tucked inside a pair of socks. He hadn’t found it. Relief rises up in you so poignantly that tears fill your eyes, even as you force yourself to shut the drawer and move on to another part of the room, feeling your boyfriend’s presence at the door, watching. 

The lighter was so little, but it meant so much. You couldn’t even put into words why. Because it was Johnny’s, maybe. Because it was yours, now. Because it was one thing your boyfriend hadn’t put his hands on and destroyed or claimed as his own. Nothing belonged to you—not your money, not your body, nothing. Except maybe that silly lighter. 

You wait until after he fucks you to speak, stubbornly maintaining your silence even through the pain and humiliation he inflicts on you. There’s something even worse about the way he draws your body against his afterwards, an arm looped possessively over your waist, the imitation of a loving cuddle. 

“I want to break up,” you say. 

He gives a long-suffering sigh, breath rustling your hair. “Keep dreaming, baby.” 

The words won’t stop tripping out of your mouth. 

“I mean it. I hate you—and you hate me. All we do is fight and hurt each other. Why…” you get choked up, swallow past the lump in your throat. “We don’t have to do this anymore. You can’t possibly be happy. Is this really how you want to live the rest of your life? Tormenting me?” 

He is quiet for longer than you expect. You hold your breath, tears dripping from your eyes and over the bridge of your nose, down into your pillowcase. Maybe he’s thinking about it. Maybe he’s really considering it. 

At last, he says: “Don’t ever think that there’s anywhere else in the world…anything else I’d rather be, than right where I am.”

Your heart plummets.

“Now go to sleep,” he says, kissing your neck. “You work in the morning.”

-

The sun goes down before Simon finds him. Johnny sits shivering on the bench where you left him, his eyes red rimmed and unseeing even when he hears the familiar footsteps of his lover against the pavement. 

Simon sits next to him where you once sat, and for a long time, neither of them speaks. When Johnny finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough from hours of crying and disuse. 

“I brought her here,” he says. 

Simon nods. He knows. Of course he knows. 

“I think she liked it,” Johnny adds, trying to find any brightness in the dark that encompasses him. 

But all at once the tears come back, his throat burning, head throbbing. He bends at the waist, elbow on his thigh, and shakes, trying to keep his crying quiet, still clinging to the remnants of a dignity that God tears more from his grasp every day. When Simon’s warm arm wraps around him, it just makes him cry harder, even as he leans into the heat of the other man like a flower bends toward the sun. 

“I’m useless,” Johnny weeps. “Fuckin’ useless. He showed up and just—took her, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop him. Even you think I’m useless—druggin’ me to keep me from getting in your way. I can’t dress myself, can’t tie my own shoes. What fucking good am I, as a human being? What’s the good in being alive if I have to live like this?”

Simon says nothing. Johnny leans up, letting the moonlight wash over his tear-soaked face. He wipes at his cheeks. 

“You can’t be happy, either,” he says, taking in the solemn lines of Simon’s face, the shadows under his eyes. Simon looks older than his age, and Johnny knows who is responsible, who has aged him. Terrified to know the answer, he asks: “Is this how you want to live? With an overgrown child as your lover? One who can’t remember where he took off his shoes? Who needs you to, to cut up his food and button his shirts?” 

“If that’s how it’s going to be,” says Simon simply. “If that’s how I get to be with you. Then yeah, Johnny. I’m solid.” 

Johnny shakes his head. He can’t even find the energy within him to be angry. All that’s left is disbelief. “You can’t mean that.” 

“I mean it. I—“ Simon ducks his head. “—I never should have put those pills in your juice. I should have trusted you. I wish I could take that back.” 

Johnny sniffs wetly. It’s as close to an apology as he’s ever heard Simon give, and it makes no small amount of guilt bloom in Johnny’s aching chest. 

“You were right not to trust me,” says Johnny. “I was lying.”

“I know,” says Simon. He reaches down and laces his fingers with Johnny’s one hand. “But I want to be a man who trusts you, even if I’m wrong.” 

Johnny is quiet for a long time, turning those words over in his head. A painful longing rises up in his chest, one he hasn’t felt since the days when he was still in the 141, days when he could barely breathe for wanting the man beside him so badly. When they’d had to love each other in secret, and it felt like he would happily have given anything if it meant they didn’t have to hide anymore. 

I miss you, he thinks. I miss myself. Leaning in, he lays his cheek against Simon’s shoulder. 

“Are we gonna make it?” he wonders quietly, watching the last of the fireflies twinkle around the dim park. Soon it will be too cold for them. Soon it will be too cold for Johnny. 

“Whatever we do, we’ll do it together,” Simon promises, laying his temple against Johnny’s head. 

-

He waits until you are asleep to creep out of the bed. There is no rest for him—not when he gets in these restless, paranoid moods. Not when he has a hunch to follow. 

Quietly, he drifts through the apartment like a ghost. Everything is back in its place, but he tries to think of anywhere he might have missed to search. You are hiding something; he knows it. He knows you. You’re see-through to him, predictable in a way that used to thrill him but now just irritates. 

“Where is it?” he mutters, standing in the living room, turning a slow circle. 

Was the lighter really all you’d been hiding? That stupid piece of plastic and metal? He’d found it easily and decided it served him better left in its place. Let you think that he had missed it. Let you think that he was slipping. 

“I’m sharper than ever, baby,” he mutters to himself in the darkness. 

Halfheartedly, he searches a few places that he had already gone through: checking some of the mugs on the top shelf in the kitchen, feeling beneath the table in the foyer for anything taped beneath it. 

He thinks about the cripple next door while he does it. Johnny. A problem, if he’s ever seen one. Him and his boyfriend both. What two faggots want with you, he can’t imagine—good Samaritans, perhaps? Well they would find out in good time what happened to people who put their noses where they didn’t belong. 

Regardless, he doesn’t like it. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

Sighing, he braces his hands against the table, resting his weight against it. If he’d known that this building would cause so much trouble, he never would have moved you in here. Not that the two of you had been swimming in options. 

Your keys on the table catch his eye, but he doesn’t know why. He nudges them with his hand, metal dragging over the wood. On a whim, he counts them. 

There is an extra key. 

His brows lift. He picks up the keys and goes through them one by one, wracking his brain to remember what each one is for. At last he’s left with a single unfamiliar key. One that looks identical to the key to their apartment. A duplicate? he wonders. For when she’s locked out? 

But no, the keys are different. Just similar. 

An idea tickles at the back of his brain, but he’s never been the kind of man to ignore his instincts. He goes to the door without bothering to slip on his shoes, and steps silently out into the hallway. At this time of night, there is no one out and about, no one peeking at him from their doors.  On silent feet, he pads to his neighbor’s door and grips the knob. Locked. 

He slips the key into the lock—and it opens. 

Oh that little bitch. Fury rises up in him until he can taste it in the back of his throat. He wants to go and wake you, take a fistful of your hair and drag you out into the hallway for all your nosy neighbors to see, wants to hear that shriek of pain you give when he hurts you so unexpectedly—

But no. He has to be smart. 

He locks 5C’s door again, checks the handle, then slips back into his apartment. There will be no rest for him tonight. Not when there is so much to think about. 

[pinkiepartypopper]

As well as that has nothing to with "wanting to go after" anyone.

Thats just like saying "Oh you have intrusive thoughts?! You're a murderer!"

No. You're not.

I once had a talk with a Supervisor in the Youth-Group I lived in. There was a Child that was super annoying and had their own Problems, so obviously he didn't deserve the way he was treated by everyone.

He has been bullied for having been making photos of girls underwear and touching people inappropriately, wanting to sexually overpower a classmate.

As well as being rude and offensive, unable to control his anger and attacking people.. being Racist, Homophobic, Transphobic... throwing around with anything he could find...

He was only 10 years old.

The amount of horrific things this child must've witnessed is sickening.

I had a talk with the Supervisor and they said sometime they thought about just giving this child a smack in the face for being so incredibly disrespectful and horrible towards anyone. Harassing people for no reason.

But they said that, of course, they would never ever in the whole World do it.

He was a Child. Especially a mislead, wrongly treated one.

They would never even do it if he wouldn't have been a Child.

They learned not to follow their actions, they learned to have control over their actions. They had the privilege to learn to have control over their actions, something that the poor child didn't.

So who would be the Culprit in this case?

The child? For having no control of his actions and being abusive?

Or the supervisor? For having control of their actions and deciding not to follow their "intrusive" thought.

The answer is clear. It's noone.

There is no Culprit.-

*(At least none of these People. If you go deeper into it, the Culprit would've been the people that hurt the Child and traumatised him to behave that way.)

-Because nothing happened, except for the actions of an unknowning, helpless child.

Of course it is a different thing with uncontrolling Adults.

They should've been able to learn to control their actions.

And these, that have no Control, they need to be locked in an Asylum. To be treated, to help them have Control.

And if they do not coorperate, do not wish to learn to control themselves. Do not wish to be helped.

Then they deserve to be locked up forever.

Back to the main point:

Having such thoughts is normal psychological human behaviour. It is unavoidable. Intrusive thoughts are normal to a specific point, to an extent.

If they become more, unable to get rid of these thoughts. Then it will be defined under the Symptoms of "Intrusive Thoughts"

Pedophiles are not Normal. Pedophiles are Ill. They show Symptoms of Intrusive Thoughts. That is the Illness: Pedophilia.

Pedophilia is the Illness they carry with them. That is obviously something else than just having the urge to slap someone.

They have Intrusive Thoughts in a disordered way.

Pedophilia contains of Intrusive Thoughts.

Intrusive Thoughts in the form of a Attraction towards someone or something specific.

That's what a Paraphilia is.

A Mental Illness. A Disorder.

You can argue with me about that but that is just the factual truth. Every Paraphilia is a Disorder. Some are just not as Harmful in their core as others.

So, I have a Borderline Personality Disorder, PTSD as well. It is not a Paraphilia obviously, it is something else. But as well as I have an Disorder, I am still in Possession of COMMON SENSE.

And most Pedophiles are as well.

It's having Control over your actions that count.

Having control over your actions is common sense everyone should have. Otherwise, you are in need of Help.

If you do not have control over your actions, you NEED to get help.

And if you did something to someone, if you hurt someone, abused someone. You are a Monster.

You have to better your way, learn and change. Coorperate, heal. Become a Human again.

But if you are not willing to learn, what is the only thing that makes us Human. Learning from our mistakes...

If you do not learn, the what you deserve is being locked up forever. Rot in hell.

Frankly, I don't even care, I would wish death apon you.

Go fucking die in hell.

And you know why it is okay to wish death apon you then?

Because I have control over my actions and/or because I try to get better.

Because I know I wouldn't be the one killing you. Because I can hold myself back.

Because then, I am better than you.

I choose to be Human.

I apologise, I got a little off Topic but this was inside my Brain the whole day and this just made it all come out. I had to get it out.

It's hard, I am stressed.

I learn in School all this, just to get called Sick Online for spreading awareness of what I literally just learned.

People are just Uneducated but its hard to not feel bad about it...

Excuse me for the Rant / Vent .