#i stalked that horses instagram for this image

[laddersmp3]

you guys know that chibi emo couple that used to be everyones ipod touch background right

[lordheis]

𝐔𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

spice: cloves and ginger; the bitter yet succulent spices you taste with smoked meats, leaving you with a thirst in your mouth. 

weather: much to his dismay, the still winter air speaks familiarities to him. crisp and biting, it’s a proper reflection of everything karl has come to know in this life. jagged metal fragments, heavy tools and instruments, pipes and wheels and cogs, everything is cold to the touch. any warmth comes from an artificial place ; piles of stacked coals are his only weapon against the dreaded silent snowfall. 

primary color: an aged, rusted red.

magical power: other than his recognizable ability to bend and manipulate metal, one might associate karl with the power of supernatural strength. well toned arms and scarred, callused hands tell a story of great and powerful physicality -- he is a man who will try to move the entire earth with his own muscle, if he wishes to do so. 

shoe: a deep brown combat boot covered in straps and buckles to keep them secure. they are old and comfortably worn down, leaving a trail of soot and dried mud behind them wherever they walk. 

plant: tobacco ; or perhaps an old oak tree with thick, chipping bark and roots that were planted deep into the earth’s crust a very long time ago. hardly anyone can remember a time without it’s presence. 

weapon: heisenberg's true companion , the large war hammer he wields at his side at almost all times. it is not much other than an oversized hunk of metal that the engineer welded together in the desperation and fury of an isolated evening many years ago, but it has served him with undeniable loyalty ever since. it flaunts the blood and rust of countless won battles, a constant reminder of all the lives taken in karl’s endless journey to save his own.  

school subject: the obvious statement is engineering, as the man exceeded in craftsmanship and mechanics from a young age -- perhaps in his fleeting youth before miranda ? -- but one subject that is often left unspoken is his medical knowledge and expertise. it takes a complex understanding of such in order to reanimate the corpses that stalk his factory floors at night. a disgusting hybrid of man and machine that still stand as one of lord heisenberg’s greatest achievements. 

social media: in a modern/normal au, i seriously struggle to see him using any kind of social media. he’s just that old guy who takes accidental selfies where you can see all up in his nostrils. if he’s got everyone’s phone number, then what reason does he have to care about social media -- he’ll just text or call you if he wants to talk and he won’t stop yelling at you in your voicemails until you answer. the most i could see is him having is facebook or instagram, possibly because someone bugged him about it until he made an account ? it’s most likely for the best anyways, because if he gets too comfortable using social media he will start comment wars with random people and have absolutely no kind of etiquette. also please don’t let him have access to shitty meme videos. 

makeup product: none. the best you’ll get from him is some kind of cologne , not to mention he coated it on a little too thick. it’s a scent mixed in with the already present muskiness of cigar smoke and oil. 

tangible fear: torture and death at the hands of his wicked mother. 

ice-cube shape: that semicircular cut that most ice dispensers spit out by default. i wouldn’t put it past him to be the type that likes to chew on his ice after finishing a drink. 

method of long distant travel: in the event where karl could travel long distances, he would jump at the opportunity ; gathering what he can in a hastily made pack, slinging it over his shoulder, and collecting the few valuables he has stocked away in a box hidden underneath a loose floorboard. with these valuables -- most likely a mix of scrapped jewelry or an old collection of coins, since monetary value has little significance inside the village -- he would barter for a horse. but such an idea lives only as fantasy, for the lord heisenberg knows he cannot simply run away from his broken family. in a more foolish state of youth, maybe he would have tried it.

art style: a clash that falls somewhere between the bolded edges and strict lines of cubism, but also the bleak ruggedness of realism. the colors are dulled browns, oranges, reds and greys. it does not depict much imagination, nor skillful artistic interpretation, but instead a crude and flat rendition of an image that was already there. it will take some work to make it beautiful. 

historical period: with both his appearance and personality, i would say the late 1800s, crawling into the prime of the old west. his raging independency and ‘ every man for himself ‘ mentality compliments this quite nicely. he would make a good lone ranger. 

mythological creature: the minotaur, a creature that acts on impulses of violence and rage to defend the labyrinth it lives in, despite itself being a punished victim trapped inside of endless twisting walls. it suffers from an endless hunger, devouring any and all who come to face it, or try to stop it.  

piece of stationary: leather-bound notebooks with yellowed pages are laid open on an old metal work desk. they sit and tan under a single lamp bulb, which flickers on it’s last stretch of life. many pages have been ripped or bent from recklessness, and many more have been completely torn out and pinned on the corkboard that covers the wall above. the handwriting fills each page from top to bottom, with little space wasted. the lettering is heavy, pencil pressing harshly into the paper and scraping away with quick strokes. his sentences are long trains of thought, interrupted with mistakes that have been hastily scratched out. 

three emojis: ⚙️📺🚬

rom-com archetype: the jaded and brooding love interest who is a mystery to all. he keeps himself distanced from everyone, probably due to a tragic backstory he cares not to tell, and that uncertainty is exactly what draws people in. some long to get to know him better and uncover all the questions that are left unanswered. many will fail to do so, but he will find himself softening for someone special who dares to approach him -- feeling a kindness he hasn’t felt in ages, and a deep appreciation for the one who takes time to know him for all his darkness. now it’s just them and him, two against the world, and he’ll protect his partner with the same ferocity that he used to protect himself. 

tagged: @lastheiress​ KISS KISS <3 tagging: @doublebladcd , @nightlyvisitor , @antiibow and YOU!

[xxrat--punkxx]

JUMPING ON THIS BAND WAGGON

Ok here’s my 2020, tw//mentions of suicide and abuse

(Strong start lmao) 2020 sucked ass lemmi tell ya. This year was a fucking train wreck from the start, ur hay I got character development so who cares. Well let’s start with a review, bad things first.

Yall remember when everyone was scared shields of COVID?. Lol. But that’s stating the obvious. When we went into lockdown I was first like fuck yeah summer lol, but then the threat of ‘staying home for the rest of the year’ set in, bing in my first year of sixth form I really understand the stakes of exams next year. So having to stay home for the rest of the year freaked me the fuck out. I literally couldent cope, having to do all classes online was fucking hell, they were never zoom classes either, just ‘lmao do the work and hand it in’ which was near impossible for me. I was also in the constant ‘oh no I’m so stressed but I will do NOTHING about this lmao~’. As the days turned to weeks and inevitably MONTHS, my mental health said buckle up bitches. Days were spent sitting in my room on my phone doing NOTHING, meanwhile this perpetual notion of stress played in my head yet there I sat not having the will or motion to move.

Then my parents got involved. Now THATS when shit went from pretty crummy to awful, now I was living with them constantly I was able to see who they really were with no real filter. And oh god do I have issues, I didn’t even fucking know. Every day was an argument, my mom was the worst, the MANIPULATION, the constant ‘you're tearing this family apart’ or ‘so I’m the problem?’ Or the fucking indecent playing the victim. And I all only just realised, that they have been doing this ALL MY LIFE. Dad got involved but he was just physically violent, only twice tho. The worst part was my work, admittedly yes, I didn’t do everything I was given, but I tried, I really did with what little motivation I had. But with just one ‘oh your daughter hasn’t handed in this work’ I was a ‘lazy, good for nothing failure’ to quote ‘who will never go anywhere in life’ so I’d spend the rest of the day crying while they play the victim bury saupying I was abusing their love and just using them for money. But the next day be like ‘oh I’m so proud of you you're doing so well’ having that statement being completely unrelated to the previous events. This was constant. So that’s that story. I won’t talk much about Black Lives Matter because we all know about how that went. But it really affected me, I found myself crying over the victims multiple times. And the lack of support for the movement my peers or family showed made it fucking worse. Crying was a common occurrence for me now, mental health really taking a nosedive, being too scared to call myself ‘depressed’ or ‘mentally ill’ to any extent because I know I’m faking it and just want validation. That was also constant. Fun times huh.

BUT IT GETS WORSE 🥲, then I had to go back to school, awful to fucking abhorrent now. Year two of sixth form fun right? Sure, if u take away the ‘no free time period’ or the wanting to kill mystery for literally a whole 3 weeks. That was my lowest peak. Ever. I’ve never wanted to kill myself before then, don’t like that feeling. Shocker huh. That mixed with the constant anxiety of nothing is right anymore and also needing to succeed at school all made one healthy dose of ‘.exe has stopped working’ juice. Yet I played the fool, acting happy as if nothing had happened, or was happening at least, and venting by imagining scenes in my head with fictional characters lmao. Telling myself ’u can’t kill yourself because u don’t deserve too and ur just asking for attraction’. Then midterms happened blah blah blah, stress but I’m numb to it now that whole story.

But that’s not to say there wasn’t a silver lining.

Onto the good things finally, yes the year was probably one of the worst years I’ve been through in my life it did not go without its positives. For example early this year I got into borderlands properly, I finally explored the fandom and had a look at what it was like. Albeit a slow process considering I was still predominantly on Instagram at the time, and finding a community of a fandom on there is impossible. I started browsing Pinterest or the Internet for images that would link to my favourite characters, Who were to no ones surprise is the calypso twins. Pinterest led me to artworks and artworks led me to the infamous Lazulizard. Who I cherish all my being. Three weeks later after looking at her entire tumblr blog and stalking her of pretty much all her content (sorry for that by the way) I found border-spam. By this point I didn’t have tumblr and I had no intention of getting it seeing as an ongoing war I’ve had with myself since 2012, declaring I will be the bigger man and never get tumblr, which in hindsight was an awful mindset. Seeing as tumblr is probably one of my favourite places on Earth right now. But after also stalking border spams account, again sorry, and starving her of any content she’d ever posted. I was happy that this fandom although as niche as it is was actually getting content. At the time spam and lazu were absolute gods to me. Being the sole producer of a fandom I probably wasn’t even in properly, having both impeccable writing and impeccable art like good God. I would often think ‘wow wouldn’t it be incredible if I actually got to talk to them one day’, now look at me I’m doing commissions for both of them good God. And to be short joining tumblr felt like a fever dream and it’s probably the greatest thing I could’ve done this year, my parents are wrong, talking to strangers is amazing.

Something notable of mention this year as I actually got to figure out who I am as a person, I was able to find my own style and to find my interests, specifically in what I liked in terms of clothing. I thought I was LOL 2012 goth hipster but no apparently I’m manic Pixie dream girl. Going from pink is the ugliest colour in the world to having it be the only colour I will ever wear. I made some pretty big choices this year like cutting pretty much all of my hair off and dying it for the first time. Thanks strict parents for only letting me do that one now. But like I said I went to a character Ark and you know what I like it. I also played BioShock fallout and horizon zero dawn for the first time this year starting to really feel like a proper epic gamer, good lord kill me, and falling in love with all of them almost immediately. I also figured out on a plant mum and I’m into vulture culture although my parents have to disagree with that one. Asking to buy an Horse and fox skull somehow scared them a little bit can’t seem to figure out why lmao.

So a conclusion, Fuck you 2020 you made me miss two comic cons and I will never forgive you for that shit I am SO mad. But I will give you the benefit of the doubt you did make me meet some absolutely incredible people who I consider my friends, despite going against every single Internet safety law I was ever taught as a child. But you know what who gives a flying shit I love you guys. So that’s what I wanted to say. I want to say thank you to everyone on here and everyone is following me or even interacted me with on that matter. You mean the world to me and I really fucking mean it. Are you going to be nothing but amazing ever since I walked onto this fucking hell hole. And what I go through all of this bullshit again if it means I ended up here? You know what I think I just might. So again I thank you and I hope your year didn’t go as badly as mine, and fuck it bring on whatever the fucks next!

Honourable mention of this year was The time Elisa actually complimented me and I cried a little bit and had a panic attack but you know that’s for another day

🥺💕

[scrambledthoughtz]

i’m mad at myself for being so fucking caught up in the feeling that i’ve been robbed of my college experience. i’m mad that i can’t move down to LA to attend the school of my dreams bc of the rise in covid cases. i’m mad that, as a transfer student, i only get two years there (one of which is most likely going to be entirely virtual). i’m mad that my only experience with the campus is through instagram stalking. i’m mad that i don’t get to experience the dining hall food that everyone says is so amazing. i’m mad at the people who are partying and having fun and taking road trips with their friends because they are the people who are spreading this disease, and their recklessness is extending our quarantine (which, by the way, has lasted an entire YEAR and has just continued to get worse and worse). i’m mad that i’m mad that i can’t move down to LA bc i know i’m so, so, so, so lucky that my family and i haven’t been that affected by this disease and there are so many people out there who are doing worse. i’m mad that i’m probably going to be turning 21 in quarantine, while still living at home. i’m mad that i feel left behind and fallen behind in the path of learning to live on my own and become self-sufficient and learn the life skills that i’m going to need to survive in the real world. i’m mad that i’m still so financially dependent on my family. i’m mad that i feel guilty that my parents are paying for my education when in fact, i should be fucking grateful that they have the means to do so. i’m mad that i chose a major that offers me slim job prospects after i graduate, and that i’m only realizing this now, as a third-year college student. i’m mad that i’m regretting my decision bc i thought that once i chose my major, it would get easier from there. i’m mad that i held myself back in fear of doing poorly in subjects (like math + science) instead of just giving it a shot. i’m mad that i don’t have a natural aptitude in those subjects bc that would make things a lot easier. i’m mad that i don’t know what i want to do with my future. i’m mad that i feel stuck when i should be moving forward and taking steps towards making plans for post-grad. i’m mad that i’m too afraid to hear the real truth about how hard things are going to be after i graduate. i’m mad that i’ve been so fucking caught up in my body image. i’m mad that, even back when i was working out regularly and intermittent fasting, i still didn’t see the difference that i wanted. i’m mad that when i time-lapsed myself following YouTube workouts, i still saw the flab and pudge that i was working so hard to tighten up. i’m mad that i’ve fallen off the horse in terms of eating healthy and working out and that i’ve basically entirely let myself go in that respect. i’m mad that i eat whatever i want, whenever i want (especially late at night around midnight or later) and that it gives me gratification. i’m mad that the first thing that i think about when i wake up is food and eating. i’m mad that i’ve been too much of a fucking pussy to weigh myself, just knowing that i’ve gained weight. i’m mad that i can feel the weight that i’ve gained. i’m mad that i can’t even look at myself naked in the mirror anymore bc i know that i’m not going to like what i see. i’m mad that, when i look at my full-body reflection in the mirror, sometimes i like what i see but when i turn around and take another look and fucking loathe the lack of thigh gap and the flab on my arms and my double chin. i’m mad that my study skills are still so shit and that i still procrastinate in turning in my assignments. i’m mad that i once again feel myself getting angry with my friend for no apparent reason. i’m mad that i’m jealous of my sister and my friends in STEM who have a defined career path after they graduate. i’m mad that i’m probably not going to have made any lasting friendships from college by the time i graduate. i’m mad that i still depend on my high school friends when i’m already in my third year of college. i’m mad that i feel lonely when they don’t respond bc i know that they’re busy with their own lives and have had other friends in college. i’m mad that i don’t feel like i’ve been stressed enough. i’m mad that i feel like i don’t deserve a break. i’m mad that i can’t stay up past a certain time and once that clock hits 9 pm, i watch YouTube videos until i fall asleep with the lights on and my contact lenses still in. i’m mad that i keep on picking at my skin until it bleeds and scabs over only for me to start picking at the scabs again until they form a rough scar that i reopen until it bleeds. i’m mad that i’m happy to have found an informal diagnosis bc i needed that validation. i’m mad that my skin picking has been getting worse bc i need to stop bc at this point, it’s become somewhat of an addiction or obsession. i’m mad that we’re in a pandemic and that people have lost so much. i’m mad that this pandemic isn’t going anywhere. 

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

Jill Kargman of ‘Odd Mom Out’: ‘I Do Not Own One Pair of Jeans’

Jill Kargman’s show Odd Mom Out is beginning its third season. (Photo: Getty Images)

To know Jill Kargman is to unabashedly hero-worship her. The deeply unapologetic, piercingly funny writer/actress has her own aesthetic in everything she does. Yes, she’s part of Manhattan’s elite — a world she pokes fun at in her bitingly funny TV show Odd Mom Out — but she has her stilettos planted firmly on the sidewalk. Kargman took the subway to this interview, in a downpour, and arrived alone — no handlers or assistants or hangers-on. She knows who she is, and she owns it. For proof, look no further than her closet. 

“I don’t like pants. I like them on other people, just not on myself. I haven’t worn pants in 25 years,” she tells Yahoo Style. “I wear these Wolford satin tights every single day. I can be spread-eagle and no one sees anything because it’s totally opaque. I have casual skirts or fancy skirts. In the summer, I wear dresses. It’s cute and you throw it on and put on flats and you go. I do not own one pair of jeans.”

Her peers, says Kargman, are bewildered by the fact that she doesn’t have a single set of capris, not even for those faux-casual garden parties where pretty people mill around, sipping frosé. “Not even one white pair for summer. I don’t drink rosé. I’m not a summer person,” she says. 

Why doesn’t she own pants, you might wonder? Kargman gives one of her signature, viscerally visual answers. “Pants make me feel like I have vagina claustrophobia. I can’t handle it. It’s like a chastity belt. I don’t feel comfortable in pants. Even as a kid, I felt like I had permanent camel-toe,” she says. 

The mother of three — daughters Sadie and Ivy, and son Fletch, with ad guru Harry Kargman — also has no aspirations to be a cool mom.

“I never wear short skirts. I don’t want my daughter and I to dress alike. I don’t want people to think we’re sisters. That means she’s dressing inappropriately or I am. I’m not trying to be her best friend. I’m her mother. We have an amazing relationship. We don’t bicker,” she says. 

Fashion has a key role in Kargman’s hit Bravo series, Odd Mom Out.  Kargman’s Jill Weber — a faux version of Kargman, is a New Yorker clinging to her individuality while dealing with the posh mommy set. Weber winds up living with her mother-in-law after difficult economic times, the result of a Bernie Madoff-style Ponzi scheme, hit the 1 percent.

“This season is our best yet by far,” Kargman says. “The network has given me more freedom. Season 3 is the balsamic reduction version of myself and it’s way funnier. The cold open is all these rich people having to make choices and they’re in distress. They have this financial setback. One person is having to choose between the horse farm or the chalet.”

Kargman created the show, and says she and her on-screen persona share surface similarities. “My character is more me when I was 28 and gave more of a s*** what people thought of me. Now, I do not care,” she says. “When you’re a new mom and you feel vulnerable and judged, you become insecure.” 

What’s the one thing that the Jill Weber and Jill Kargman do share? A wardrobe. 

“It’s all my clothes. Still the case. I started collecting harnesses last year. I thought the aesthetic was cool. I’m not into bondage but I love the look of it. So I started buying these things and I wear them over a white J. Crew shirt. I wear a ton of harnesses this year. I wear it in layers over a black dress. I just felt like I was evolving. I love the dichotomy of naughty and nice — a lace dress with a leather harness,” she says. 

The daughter of former Chanel head Arie Kopelman (and sister-in-law of Drew Barrymore) was born and raised in New York, but was never a cosseted, spoiled brat like those you see on her show. 

“I didn’t just get stuff. I had to earn it. Or it was my birthday. I would never want my children to have this insatiable hunger for shopping or newness,” she says. 

She’s always been an iconoclast, staying true to her own edgy, often-austere style. 

“I don’t show my skin. It’s not my thing. I’m personally not comfortable with my boobs out. I just don’t feel relaxed. I dress for myself, not men or women,” she says.

And neither is she a fan of plastic surgery. Like her mother, Coco Kopelman — who has one of the cutest Instagrams on social media, BTW — Kargman aims to age gracefully. 

“I don’t have a secret. My secret, I guess, is that I drink a shit-ton of water. I have so many wrinkles. I’m not trying to look 33. It’s their turn to be 33. I’m happy to be 43,” she says. “My mother is 65 and she’s beautiful. She’s so pretty and she does nothing.”

Read more from Yahoo Style + Beauty:

A Headline Reduced Olympic Cyclist Laura Kenny to a ‘Pregnant Wife,’ and People Are Mad

A Blog Stalking Melania’s and Ivanka’s Style Mysteriously Disappeared — but Why?

Is 4-Year-Old North West Wearing a Corset Sending the Wrong Message?

Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day. For Twitter updates, follow @YahooStyle and@YahooBeauty.

[lesmotsdoux]

Navigating Emotional Abuse as a Young Adult

I guess I should’ve taken the hint when he sent me a screenshot of a tweet his ex-girlfriend made saying that he “ruined her” and proceeded to tell me she was crazy. I wish I knew what gaslighting was, but I didn’t.

I guess I should’ve taken the hint when he told me he stayed away from me when I was seventeen because he had “destroyed everything with every girl he’d ever been with and wanted to protect me”. I wish I should’ve known not to trust, but I did.

I don’t know when the realization of abusive behaviour became clear to me. Abuse can manifest itself in many ways, whether physically or not, and is not always as obvious as it may seem. In fact, it can very subtle. This is the kind of abuse that often sneaks up on you as you become more entrenched in the relationship. This is what is known as psychological, mental or emotional abuse. 

In the context of gendered violence, whether physically or psychologically, these behaviours, normalized and enacted through a culture of patriarchal dominance, often end with the abused internalizing the situation, and feeling as if what is happening in the relationship is their fault. Much of this I can relate to, and in my personal experience, this behaviour was displaced onto me in a very particular, but common way.

Maybe it was every time he spoke negatively of other women. Every time he called an ex “crazy”, “slut”, “bitch”, or “ugly” or every time he compared me to them. Maybe it was every time he coerced me into sleeping with him when we hung out because it was what we “both wanted”. Maybe it was when I stopped eating for him, when I would go into work every day crying hysterically because of our previous texts or hangouts, constantly inducing panic attacks, but not being able to leave him. Maybe it was all of these things, maybe it was more.

I remember all the Snapchats and Instagrams posted with her in which it was explained that they were “only friends” so I couldn’t get mad. I remember moving back to Toronto for him and a couple of weeks later, being lied to and cheated on for the first time. But the explanation for cheating being that it was my fault as I was too clingy and that I wasn’t allowed to get angry because I was never labeled ‘exclusive’ girlfriend, and you know, because “that’s just the way guys are” and especially since they were just friends. But I was so jealous! Looking back, this single experience embodies the effects an abusive person can have on an individual. From projecting forms of internalized misogyny onto me, to controlling me to stay with them, despite the disrespect, lies and manipulation. This is but a minor reflection of the experiences I was subjected to in my six months seeing this person. I haven’t seen them since June, and yet, I cannot forget the abuse. I cannot forget how much hurt I was subjected to, I cannot seem to move on from this experience, from all the blame displaced onto me, the invalidation and internalization of the situation because I am a ‘crazy, obsessive’ girl and so, since we were never even official boyfriend/girlfriend, how can I stay mad?

I will not go too into the specifics, because it is much more grave than this and there are many more elements to this story that I reserve for myself, but as I reflect on my experience, I remember the constant quest for validation and respect, through a form of co-dependence which simply did not exist and was never reciprocated. It is telling in the behaviours enacted upon me that I became a silenced and marginal version of myself, manipulated into a relationship stemming from the quest for power and domination, a result of his toxic masculinity. The only time I was validated was in moments of sexual intimacy. The only time I felt deserving of recognition as a person was when I was submissive to this person. Sexual coercion? Yes. Manipulation? Yes. I just didn’t realize it, or maybe I just didn’t want to see it. It becomes more complicated in that this was the first person I had ever seen seriously, the first person I had been with that lasted more than a couple of months. And so, it becomes increasingly harder to deny that the person you love could ever hurt you, or is doing these things intentionally. In him, I saw an image of perfection, and I guess as the classic saying goes; “love is blind.” Yes. I guess when you’re in love you forgive, you forget, you internalize, you want to fix things, you want them to work, no matter how toxic. Because “love is love” and when you feel it that must mean something right?

No. Hurting the ones you love goes against the basic foundations of love. Although this sentiment seemed to be reciprocated, love is not abusive, love should not be a fight. Love is about respecting the individual, which was never the case.

I still remember the day he told me he loved me clearly, I remember it being the happiest day of my entire summer, only for him to post a Snapchat of him on a date the next day with the second person I was cheated on with, all this in the span of two months back in Toronto. Fast forward, I see on Facebook; ___ is in a relationship with ___. No explanation, no mention of her as I was in his bed the week before. After this public declaration of a relationship, he simply stopped answering my texts, no conversation, nothing. He just stopped talking to me. Even though we were still together when they were. He silenced me when I was with him, by neglecting my constant feelings of hurt and disrespecting me during, and he silenced me even more after the fact. Constantly competing for love and attention by pinning me against other women only for it to mean nothing. All the emotional labour, all the energy I put in was never good enough, because to him I was never pretty enough, too crazy, too clingy, just a ‘meaningless rebound’, and after all, as he puts it; we were just ‘sleeping together’ and so this behaviour has been justified.

I first started expressing my feelings of abuse and my experience with this individual through my poetry, here, on Tumblr. I referred to him as my ex. But it was constantly reinforced that I wasn’t allowed to call him my ex because he never called me that, and that me writing about him was ‘crazy’ and embarrassing and that I wasn’t allowed to be hurt because I was the slut, the one who misinterpreted everything because it never meant anything to him. For someone who was just his ‘sex object’ who was used to get over his previous ex, did it really then make sense for him and other people involved to go on a social media harassment party against me? Especially since he “never cared about me”? Some of the tweets directed directly at me, following a poem I posted included; “You sound pretty bitter over a female when you’re still trying to get at her man though”. Or “Not your ex boo lol. Feelings weren’t mutual. Go back to your barn.” Or even; “You look like a Kardashian. She looks like a horse.”

I have been open about my experience of emotional abuse, sexual coercion, assault and manipulation by this individual. And as I express this, I have further seen the effects of misogyny and internalized misogyny, displaced onto other women in his life. I have been able to overlook this and work through it, but unfortunately, not every person is able to unpack this type of conditioning. Evident in this narrative is not only a sense of internalized misogyny but of the evident abuse, lying, manipulation and constant pining of women against each other for him to feel dominant and in power. 

The reality is, as a result of this treatment, I on multiple occasions, urged him to stay away from me and leave me alone for my own sense of safety and mental health. I guess in me calling him out and holding him accountable, or at least trying to make him recognize the harm he had done and caused me- since I am the first woman he has been with to do so, and somewhat subvert this power dynamic- he lad to lie about me. To, in whatever way, try to the maintain the little power he still had over me. To lie about me, to tell people I wouldn't leave him alone, that I was SO desperate for his attention, that I was a slut, that I slept with him (or tried to) the day he asked his current partner to be his girlfriend, (funny because I later found out the day he asked her to be his girlfriend was the day he told me he was going for ice-cream with some “hip school friends” and invited me over to sleep with him that night, to which I subsequently said no)... all that was said about me was just so completely untrue and all just minor instances of trying to rally together a group of people inherent on silencing the one person who wouldn't stand for this type of behaviour.

It is just confusing as I am exiting a toxic relationship, trying to explain my feelings of hurt from someone who told me they cared for me, to be lied about over and over again and be so powerless in the explanation of this situation as his words hold so much more power over mine, a result of the systemic nature of the patriarchal structures in which we live.

Then it all makes sense, the constant pinning me against other women to fight for him in order for him to control, manipulate and maintain his power. The constant misogynist rhetoric that spewed for his mouth every conversation we ever had. The insecurity, the hatred of women…

He is 21 and has been in 7 longterm relationships since he was 15 that have all ended because he has cheated on all of them but it seems it has always been the woman’s fault because they’ve all gotten too comfortable around him and of course, because they have all been crazy. And me? I am the worst. I am the worst because I am the first one to say no. The first one to make him think of his actions, and the first one to walk away, to have power over him. But the constant antagonizing, stalking, i.e; (lurking on all my social media, me blocking him on social media because he was abusive, him finding out and blocking me back to try and maintain power, having him blocked and him still trying to find ways to traumatize me through using our mutual friend’s social media, finding out our mutual friend was visiting me and booking a trip the exact same weekend in the exact same place with his current girlfriend), the silencing, the lies, all of this simply for explaining how I feel.

This is not okay and emblematic of abusive behaviour. He is a pathological liar, on top of exemplifying a multitude of psychopathic and sociopathic behaviour, with no remorse for what he has done, not just to me, but to any woman he has been with.

This person is insecure, this person is cruel and continues to be for no reason other than his fragile masculinity. Despite it all, I have never done a single thing to him. I know to have been one of the kindest, most caring and giving people he has been with. But a woman calling him out is apparently “too much to handle” and thus justification for these actions. Accountability, responsibility and respect are foreign concepts to this individual.

At this point in my young adult life, I am tired of being blamed and victimized for something that isn't my fault, or for feeling crazy for simply, feeling. Again, abuse can manifest itself in many ways and may be incredibly difficult to recognize until you are physically or emotionally separate from the situation and even then, it may take months to forget or forgive, or months of therapy and unpacking to feel okay again. It is a constant process. It is work.��My experience with emotional abuse is not a singular experience. I have first hand experienced the effects of emotional manipulation, sexual coercion, gaslighting and invalidation. The residual effects of this abuse have manifested themselves in severe PTSD, anxiety and depression. I’m getting better, and every day it hurts less and less and I forget him, slowly, but nevertheless these are things I am constantly trying to overcome, but it is not possible unless I express what I feel and am open with my experience.

Unfortunately, under the dominant hetero-patriarchal social climate, it becomes increasingly harder for women to speak out against their abusers. The serious effects of gaslighting constructs narratives which invalidate and silence the abused. Interlocking structures of domination continue to work against both men and women who internalize and deny the effects of their experiences as a result of constant invalidation and silencing. I refuse to feel guilty or be complicit in forgiving the behaviours of an abuser and not holding him accountable for them.

Just because I am 19 and have never been in a serious committed relationship does not mean I, or anyone else, is too young or old to experience this type of behaviour. It is inherent that we work through unpacking both sides of this spectrum, through the normalization of toxic masculinity, misogyny, internalized misogyny, silencing, victim blaming, etc… We must create better discourses inherent on working through these things and naming the signs of abuse before they are taken too far. Silencing enacted through misogyny of this kind has become normalized both in my personal and online life but is not normal. We must continue to work against it to create safer spaces and relationships built on respect.

[suzie81blog]

The Bloke’s cousin turned 21 this week and we were invited to her birthday party last weekend… in Blackpool. 

It’s been quite a while since I’ve been to the Vegas of the North, but I’ve always had a soft spot for it. We visited many times during my childhood years – on a clear day it was possible to see the famous tower in the far distance from my home and we had a yearly outing to the Illuminations, where my sisters and I would be in competition to win the coveted 20p for being the first person to spot the tower on the way. Of course, my mum felt guilty about giving just one of us money and so we would inevitably each get the money, but it remains as one of my happiest memories. 

We decided to make an extended trip of it and so booked a room at a hotel and added Blackpool Zoo and a wander along the main strip to the itinerary. I’ve never been to that particular zoo before, but it was a nice way to spend the morning. It’s certainly in need of a serious cash injection and a bit of TLC, but the animals were quite happily pottering round doing their animal thing and The Bloke (as always) adopted his inner David Bailey and took a bajillion photos. I did my best to avoid the kids and not outwardly roll my eyes at the people referring to the capybaras as ‘a donkey’ while standing in front of a sign which explains what capybaras are. I’m admittedly an asshole when I go to a zoo – kids banging on the glass of enclosures or screaming at penguins who are minding their own business irritate me to the point where I have to walk away before I start glaring at the parents. 

The penguins

Some hungry pelicans waiting for their breakfast

We drove to the pier and, thanks to the kind person who pointed out what seemed like the last parking space in the whole of Blackpool, managed to park up next to the big arcades and main strip. We walked along to the beach and while The Bloke took photographs of every seagull flying overhead, I sat down and took in the sea air. It isn’t often that we see the coastline – Birmingham’s nearest beach is Weston Super Mare which is at least a two hour drive – and I love how the air changes and smells. We walked along the main pier and sat at the end overlooking the sea in the glorious sunshine and ate handmade fudge. As you do.

On the way back to the car I introduced The Bloke to the arcades – we wasted a lot of money on the horse racing game (I still can’t believe that he has made it to 50 without actually playing this game before) and I was stalked by an elderly woman when I was on the 2p machines, and then won a whole bunch of tickets that could be redeemed at a nearby counter for a prize. I had an fantasy image of reinacting the scene from Deadpool where they get a crappy ring after playing in the arcade, but the number of tickets we had didn’t even cover a tube of sweets, so we gave them to a kid instead. 

That evening we got a taxi to the venue and greeted The Bloke’s family, all of whom we hadn’t seen since our wedding 18 months ago. In comparison to my entire family of 7, his family is massive, and some I was meeting for the first time. They’re an awesome group of people – fun, hilarious, incredibly warm and welcoming – and I always have a blast whenever I’m around them. I first met The Birthday girl when she was 14 and over the years I’ve seen her grow (mainly over Facebook, to be fair) from a smiley and funny teenager into an intelligent and articulate young woman who has just gained her degree and is planning on becoming a teacher. It was nice to see her in her element as she walked round socialising with all the guests. There was an amazing cake, an enormous buffet big enough to feed hundreds of people (I thought I would be super helpful and eat lots of it so they wouldn’t have to take it back home) and a DJ, and we spent the evening having a laugh and catching up. 

We drove home quite early the next day, and successfully managed to make it all the way back to Birmingham without hearing a single spoiler about the Eurovision final that had taken place on the same night as the party. Normally we have our own little party while we watch it, getting in some snacky treats and laughing at the predictable voting tactics, so we did that on the Sunday afternoon instead. I felt sorry for our entry as he ended up in last place, but let’s face it – a fully resurrected and reformed Beatles with a few additional members of One Direction thrown in wouldn’t have done much better in the current political climate.

A fabulous weekend, which we want to do again sooner rather than later. 

Incidentally, The Bloke and I had the same competition about who could spot the Tower first. I won. Here’s my 20p. Yes, I made him give me the 20p. And gloated. A lot.

  What about you guys? What have you been up to over the last few weeks? 

You can find me on Twitter @suzie81blog and you can also find me on my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/suzie81speaks, my Pinterest page http://www.pinterest.com/suzie81speaks and my instagram page http://www.instagram.com/suzie81speaks

Suzie and The Bloke Go to Blackpool The Bloke’s cousin turned 21 this week and we were invited to her birthday party last weekend...

[travelworldnetwork]

By Christopher P Baker

10 December 2018

A decade ago, death stalked my drive to Parque Arqueológico Nacional de Tierradentro. The road from the town of Popayán over Colombia’s Cordillera Central mountain range was infamous for ambush and kidnap. Lonesome military posts hinted ominously at the presence of Farc guerrillas. I gripped the wheel tightly as I negotiated the unpaved road through a bleak, windswept Andean landscape, and cold fog swirled around me like a funeral shroud.

Thankfully, I arrived at one of the world’s largest necropolises alive. Unsurprisingly, I had the vast pre-Columbian hypogea of Tierradentro to myself.

View image of Colombia’s Cordillera Central mountain range was once too dangerous to visit (Credit: Credit: Christopher P Baker)

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South America’s largest trove of religious monuments and megalithic sculptures isn’t on Easter Island, nor even in Peru or Chile, as most travellers might assume. It’s Tierradentro’s 162 underground tombs carved into solid volcanic bedrock, and the more than 500 monolithic stone statues and tumuli (ancient burial mounds) surrounding the nearby town of San Agustín, sprinkled throughout 2,000 sq km of the serried mountains and highland plateaus of the Upper Magdalena Valley in southern Colombia.

These mementoes of an advanced, yet unknown (and unnamed), pre-Columbian, northern Andean culture had largely been off-limits during five decades of civil war. Now that the region is finally safe from Farc guerrilla activity, the awe-inspiring, yet little-known, Unesco World Heritage sites are easily visited and are guaranteed to amaze and inspire.

South America’s largest trove of religious monuments and megalithic sculptures isn’t on Easter Island

Eight years after my initial drive to Tierradentro, I arrived anew in the remote region and centred on the hamlet of San Andrés de Pisimbalá, amid a mountainous knot on the upper slopes of the Inzá Valley, 115km north-east of Popayán. From the twin (and tiny) Museo Etnográfico and Museo Arqueológico below the village, I followed a hilly and muddy trail that looped over surging mountain ridges, linking the five core concentrations of ridgetop tombs.

Staring into a black abyss at Alto de Segovia – the most impressive of the sites – induced lurching vertigo as I descended an elaborate spiral staircase drilling like a nautilus shell into 8m of andesitic tuff. I felt like Indiana Jones entering the Emperor’s Tomb. Below, the vast burial chamber measured some 12m wide. My torch illuminated walls and columns profusely adorned with geometric designs in black, yellow and ochre pigments, and human and animal figures danced in the flickering shadows cast as I roamed.

Another tomb was expertly carved to replicate a slanted roof and other elements of a pre-Hispanic wooden house: an allegory, no doubt, to prepare the deceased for the continuum between life and afterlife that was a sine qua non of the enigmatic society that carved these impressive funerary monuments.

View image of Tierradentro’s 162 underground tombs were carved into solid volcanic bedrock centuries ago (Credit: Credit: Christopher P Baker)

Since the time of the region’s subjugation by Spanish conquistadors in the 1530s, the area has been inhabited by the Nasa, an indigenous group who speak páez (a Chibcha language). Yet little is known about the mysterious culture that flourished throughout the first millennium and then disappeared six centuries before the Spanish and the Nasa arrived on the scene. Although excavations began in the 1930s, archaeologists are still at a loss to explain who settled the region, where they came from or where they went. And no-one knows the relationship between the carvers of Tierradentro’s complex shaft-and-chamber tombs and, a 180km drive to the south-west, San Agustín’s earthen tumuli (burial mounds) and hulking statues.

The drama of the giant stone statue at whose base I stood seemed appropriate to its stupendous setting. It was weatherworn and smothered with blue-green algae. It towered above me some 5m tall – solemn, big-eyed, with a large scowling mouth.

The statue is one of a veritable army of colossuses and totems studding the plateau-like mesetas around San Agustín, a lovely colonial town close to the Ecuadorian border. About one-third are enshrined within Parque Arqueológico de San Agustín, comprising about 50 separate yet more-or-less contiguous ceremonial burial sites centred on the town that lends the entire collection its name.

View image of The Parque Arqueológico de San Agustín protects hulking stone statues hewn from volcanic tuff (Credit: Credit: Christopher P Baker)

The majority of the statues were found within immense tumuli in which the pre-Columbian people buried their chieftains. They contour the meseta like a basket of eggs. My guide, Davido Pérez, knew every detail of every statue and the dolmens – stone sarcophagi topped by huge slabs within the tumuli – that most of them guard. Ferociously expressive and vital, the statues are so refined and well preserved they cut across barriers of culture and time. Pérez chattered away as we followed a trail that wound uphill to Alto de los Ídolos, the largest of the ancient sites.

“What you see is the legacy of an intense funeral cult,” Pérez said. “Death was viewed simply as a transition to another life.”

Death was viewed simply as a transition to another life

Hewn from relatively soft volcanic tuff, the statues – known locally as chinas – range in size from barely 20cm to 7m. Most were rectangular. Some were oval. A few were as hemispherical as if turned with a lathe. And most were etched with abstract motifs or zoomorphic figures, wrapping two-dimensional designs around three-dimensional objects to walk a path between worlds. Sunlight threw into high relief the exotic designs filled with tense, latent energy. Some resembled snakes, frogs and birds of prey – symbols of creation, wealth and power in pre-Columbian culture. Many were warrior figures with jaguar-type fangs – an allusion to chamánes (shamans), spiritual leaders who were thought capable of absorbing the jaguars’ power.

At the top of a large knoll, half screened by masses of overhanging foliage, we came upon a solitary statue – nicknamed Doble Yo (Double Self) – staring dead ahead, a perverse smile carved upon his lips. He wore a carved jaguar fur, its large head resting atop his own head and topped, in turn, by the skin of a crocodile. “This statue fuses male and female,” Pérez said. “It also symbolises the coupling of human and animal spirits upon which shamans relied for sorcery and power.”

“This one is vomiting,” said Pérez, pointing at a bulging-eyed figure. “He depicts the ancient practice of ingesting hallucinogens.”

The symbolic meaning of many other designs can only be guessed at.

View image of Little is known about the pre-Columbian society responsible for Tierradentro and San Agustín (Credit: Credit: Christopher P Baker)

The next day, our horses sure-footedly negotiated the steep trail that led downhill to a site called La Chaquira. Dismounting, we clambered down a staircase carved into the hillside to stand at a rock-strewn precipice overhanging the turbulent Río Magdalena. Waterfalls plunged from the far canyon wall. It was stupendously picturesque.

Pérez turned to point out petroglyphs etched on the massive boulders poised above the canyon rim. The largest displayed a male with hands thrown high, paying homage to Mother Nature's magnificent landscape.

Peering down into the gorge, I envisioned Spanish conquistador Sebastián de Belalcázar and his ruthless army marching up the valley in the late 1530s after conquering the lands of the Inca. The indigenous Nasa put up a brave resistance but were no match for crossbows and muskets. They were driven into remote mountain redoubts. But the statues and tombs remained undiscovered until 1757, when Friar Juan de Santa Gertrudis stumbled upon the vast lithic library and called it “the work of the devil” as “The [natives] did not have iron or implements to produce such a thing.”

View image of Friar Juan de Santa Gertrudis, who came upon the statues and tombs in 1757, described them as “the work of the devil” (Credit: Credit: Christopher P Baker)

The tombs were looted centuries ago for their gold huacas (revered objects) and precious relics. And many of the original statues were lost or dispersed around the world. In 1899, for example, British anthropologists led by Captain H W Dowding loaded several dozen statues onto a boat bound for England. It promptly sank. Only one effigy was retrieved and transported to London, where it stands in the British Museum. Most extant statues are now anchored with concrete and rebar, but they still occasionally get spirited away. They’re in great demand on the illegal antiquities market and are now on the Red List of Latin-American Cultural Objects at Risk.

My only risk was wanting to stay

Despite its remoteness, I found this fertile centre of sculpture so compelling, and the once tense ambiance now so relaxed, my only risk was wanting to stay.

I lingered to enjoy the region’s cornucopia of other attractions: white-water rafting on the Magdalena River; exploring the Tatacoa Desert; a mountain drive to caves inhabited by nocturnal nightjars. As I once again negotiated an unpaved road through a wild, windswept Andean landscape, I found myself musing on how the dangers of guerrilla ambush are a thing of the past, and how San Agustín’s inscrutable statues and Tierradento’s dancing subterranean figures have finally risen from the dead after being off-limits for decades.

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BBC Travel – Adventure Experience

[delightful-mystery]

At the moment, I am locked, dear readers, into a Duolingo streak. It’s only about a week and a half long at the moment but I’m determined to keep it going and revive my Spanish skills from the dusty drawer in my brain marked “GCSE bollocks”. This means, of course, that I spend a lot of time looking at the loading screen for the app since our WiFi is not the best and, while waiting for the lesson to load, a fact pops up which tells me repeatedly that “15 minutes of Duolingo a day can teach you a language. What can 15 minutes of Instagram do?”

Besides the obvious – wasting time, making you jealous of all your friends’ travels, of all the bodies of the models you follow, of the vegan food you can’t be bothered to cook, etc – it is also so much more than that. It has launched people’s careers, it inspires creativity in photography and photo editing (to some extent) and also it’s just fun. And that’s not such a bad thing, right?

My news feed tends to be filled with yummy food, pole dancing videos far beyond my capacity and a few celebrities I like. I’m the first to admit that I sometimes spend far too much time on there, but how else would I be able to drool over pole combos and my friends’ incredible travel photos? I also use Instagram as a photo diary, posting every time something of note happens, and I stalk back through my own profile far more than anyone else’s.

*pauses writing this blog post to do exactly that*

Last weekend, we visited Lake Humantay, one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen thus far in my (relatively short) life. We took a lot of photos. We put those photos on Instagram. One of the reviews of the tour (probably written by a bitter middle-aged mum called Sharon) was ringing in my ears as I did so. They had said they hadn’t had enough time to look at the lake, but that this “works for those who simply want that one photo to put on Instagram…”

Why the need for spite? The Lake was beautiful and I wanted to post a photo of it to commemorate the experience.

The hike to the lake itself was tough. It’s only a two-hour hike, but a three-hour drive away from Cusco in an upwards direction means that it was the highest altitude I had ever experienced and I was incredibly out of breath and light headed at various points. But, despite how tempting it was, I refused to get on a horse, and powered on up the steep incline, to be rewarded by these fantastic views at the top.

Shut up Sharon, as if you wouldn’t want to stick this on social media

Instagram worthy? I think so.

The other trips we went on involved some more incredible views, this time seen from a quad bike. Moras and Moray were picturesque, to say the least, but the thrill of riding at high speed along a near-deserted road was unbeatable.

Moras salt mines

This is pretty much on my door step. Yeah, I know.

Quad biking!

Moray

As my first fortnight abroad draws to a close, I’m looking forward and beginning to plan the next chapter of my adventure. Once the volunteering project in Cusco finishes (more on that next time!), I plan on heading into the jungle for a week, before exploring the volcanoes in Arequipa, the lines in Nazca and the food in Lima. I’ve been flicking feverishly through my travel guides, emailing hostels and just generally getting excited about where to go next.

Before that, though, a week of Halloween celebrations (and the Incan Day of all the Dead Souls), and a trip to Machu Picchu next weekend! Stay tuned by subscribing to email updates, and like and share this blog post with your mates if ya fancy!

Until next time,

The Bechdel Bitch

Just hanging out with some mates xo Safe onward travels, Anik!

Catch up on week 2 of my adventure! At the moment, I am locked, dear readers, into a Duolingo streak. It’s only about a week and a half long at the moment but I’m determined to keep it going and revive my Spanish skills from the dusty drawer in my brain marked “GCSE bollocks”.

[kisses4thewin]

My uncle pretty much just barely avoided getting the bad end of a catphish moment. 

So. To start this off my uncle is an asshole. He just lost his wife to cancer not even a month ago as of me typing this and he’s already out looking for another relationship because as he’s said “He hadn’t had feelings for her for about two years.”  So he’s been chatting to women online.At the beginning we didn’t KNOW this until just yesterday because he’s been using the code of women wanting to help with his horse training business. So last night he sends my grandma a picture of the lady who’s supposed to want to move out to bum fuck no where to help him with his horse training business. Bless I love my mom, but... Her looks or... More her outfits were criticized. They were very skimpy, figure hugging and not what you’d imagine someone wanting to be working around animals. 

So... My mom looks up the name my uncle told her. The account is only two days old. No friends. Just the basic inklings of a profile and sexier pictures. I’m squinting at it like this.... Seems weird. I search her name to see if there are other profiles like maybe she changed them. NOPE. Nothing on google either. With no lead on the name I decided to do a google image search because those pictures looked a bit TOO good for just casual pics you’d show on facebook. Wanna know what I found? Pamela Alexandra.  Someone took pictures of her and was trying to catphish my uncle under a fake name. I told my mom and she told my uncle who blocked the person, but honestly I was sitting there just going “That’s what you get for being a heartless asshole.” I don’t know WHAT the person thought they’d get from him. But, yeah. Lucky him I was suspicious. He’s since blocked her, but I’m still shaking my head like you stupid asshole you need to do a basic check on this shit.

Moral of the story. Google exists so use it. You’re not creepy if you’re just checking to see if the person is legit (you’re only creepy if you stalk their pages and get into info that’s none of your business.)  If they’re REAL you’re likely to find their pictures either only lead back to one place (their account) or across multiple accounts under the same name. HECK if I search my name I can find my facebook, instagram, a place stating the state I’m in, a newspaper mentioning my name from college and even my voter records.  Not a lot, but it’s enough like hey this girl is probably who they say they are. (It’s also kind of like why the fuck is some of this online?) Just... Don’t be stupid like my uncle and be distracted by a pretty face, well placed words and a banging body. Otherwise you’re just gonna be made the fool.