1600s: most witch-hunts ended in this century. no witches were burned in North America; they were hanged or in one case pressed to death
1700s: the American Revolution. Marie Antoinette. the French Revolution. the crazy King George. most pirate movies
1800-1830: Jane Austen! Pride and Prejudice! those dresses where the waist is right under one’s boobs and men have a crapton of facial hair inside high collars
1830-1900: Victorian. Les Miserables is at the beginning, the Civil War is in the middle, and Dracula is at the end
1900-1920: Edwardian. Titanic, World War I, the Samantha books from American Girl, Art Nouveau
1920s: Great Gatsby. Jazz Age. Flappers and all that. most people get this right but IT IS NOT VICTORIAN. STUFF FROM THIS ERA IS NOT VICTORIAN. DO NOT CALL IT VICTORIAN OR LIST IT ON EBAY AS VICTORIAN. THAT HAPPENS SURPRISINGLY OFTEN GIVEN HOW STAGGERING THE VISUAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ERAS IS. also not 100 years ago yet, glamour.com “100 years of X” videos. you’re lazy, glamour.com. you’re lazy and I demand my late Edwardian styles
I just saw people referencing witch burning and Marie Antoinette on a post about something happening in 1878. 1878. when there were like trains and flush toilets and early plastic and stuff. if you guys learn nothing else about history, you should at least have vague mental images for each era
it really bothers me that so many people on this site treat ableism like it’s black and white.
just now i saw a post where op was like “i’m glad that spinners are popular because it normalizes fidgets and decreases stigma” and someone replied like “no!! it’s absolutely TERRIBLE that neurotypicals are using these fidgets because when they get in trouble they make things harder for mentally ill kids!!” and like you guys do realize that? you’re both right? it isn’t a decisive fact that neurotypicals using fidgets is either good or bad, there are both benefits and consequences that need to be taken into consideration.
a few months ago there was a post going around that was like, *neurotypical voice* why are you bouncing your leg, and somebody reblogged it saying that the post was ableist because autistic kids can get overstimulated by leg bouncing. i go to a school for the mentally disabled, and i’ve been in this exact scenario, my classmate wasn’t able to focus because i was bouncing my leg and although i felt bad i told him that i wouldn’t be able to stop for long because i do it subconsciously due to my adhd. he wasn’t being ableist for asking me to stop, and i wasn’t being ableist for saying i couldn’t, we just both had different needs. in the end, our compromise was that i went to work in the computer lab.
you have to understand that there is always more than one side to issues like these, and that we should be striving for understanding and balance over demonization of one side and blind support of the other. this is especially relevant when people on both sides are mentally ill or disabled, because sometimes symptoms will clash and you just need to deal with it.
why does tumblr always talk about “scary” mental illnesses but then waters down the symptoms? my intrusive thoughts aren’t “uwu eat cardboard”? they’re things that can ruin friendships or horrible disgusting things that, if I posted them on here would probably get my called out. my impulses aren’t to go eat dirt, I get impulses to stab my eyes out. sure people can get things like eat cardboard but that’s not what a lot of ppl have to deal with?
how about a shout out to the people who have the “ugly” symptoms like obsessing over others, having fits of rage, idolizing people, debating their validity constantly, crying over the tiniest things, depending on others for validation. shout out to the people who are frustrated with not being able to control their own mind. you guys rock! i understand that feeling and i’m here for you!
Why do you guys crave western validation so much?? A group can have had incredible achievements in Asia but oh no they aren’t popular in the west therefore non of that stuff matters. A lot of you guys have the mentality that if a group isn’t popular internationally then they aren’t popular at all.
In light of news that some popular MM blogs here are spreading misinformation regarding mental illness, I felt the need to make a post.
Someone who is mentally ill and/or has experience in the field in psychology or medicine have more legitimacy in their information over someone who doesn’t. This shouldn’t even be an issue, but apparently it is.
I’m seeing people misdiagnose R*ka as someone with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and a mountain of other buzzwords without truly understanding what these disorders entail. The fact of the matter is, nobody is qualified to make that kind of diagnosis unless they
1. have a degree in psychiatry
2. have a degree in clinical psychology
Another thing to recognize is that nobody can go up to a therapist and say “read this fictional story and tell me what illness this character has!!”. I’m sorry, but that is simply making a joke out of the field and is a blatant lie.
No psychiatrist or clinical psychologist worth their salt will do this. If you ever come across a professional willing to do this, you need to report them to the APA or your country’s equivalent of a Psychological Board of Ethics because they are in violation.
Anyone claiming they know what mental illness R*ka has is wrong unless they are Cheritz themselves. I’m sorry, but none of you are qualified to make a post claiming to be an expert or that you’ve spoken to professionals when you clearly haven’t.
Current mood. Lately my life has been in such a pleasant flurry in the best way. Things have just been falling into place simply from me keeping a positive mindset, speaking things into the universe and manifesting the things that I want. I’ve been so unbothered and just happy it almost feels too good to be true, but I’m grateful for what’s happening now. Also, I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever looked.. photographically at least. lol what was even going on? Also ..how are you guys?! Are you all well? How are you guys mentally? I love you all🌻
Do you guys not realize/remember that Daryl was FUCKING TORTURED last season??? Mentally, physically, they stripped him naked and fed him dog food. Shut the fuck up, he knows how dangerous these people are and what they are capable of, he’s not going to have a shred of mercy for them nor should he. Eat my damn ass.
In the middle of everything, i dont want to lose myself, but i also dont want to lose you guys morally and mentally in a way; i dont want it to just be a cycle, i want it to still feel engaging. I wanted to still feel involving. I wanted to still feel like its something cool and something fun to do and inspire other people to get up and do it and do that stuff that when i watch youtube before i started, to try and like get that sort of reaction out of people and get them to actually feel like theyre actually there with someone playing a game like a friend playing a game or interacting and not just some person whos unreachable.
Today, I will not restrict my food because of what I ate last night.
I will not over-exercise.
I will not hate myself.
I will give my body the love nourishment it deserves.
I am not a failure.
It’s time to end this war inside my head.
Maybe, if I post every time this happens, abled people will stop thinking that this sort of thing is rare.
A while back I was sitting by the restaurant in Ikea and using my phone while I waited for Marvin to buy some things.
I was seated at one of four high-backed chairs arranged around a low coffee table. Across the table from me was a stranger, his young son sat in the chair to the right of me, and his daughter, who was about nine-years-old, sat on the floor at the coffee table. She was colouring and her brother was playing on a DS.
Their father stared at me while pretending he wasn’t. It’s pretty obvious when someone is watching you from eight feet away, though. I didn’t get angry vibes so I wasn’t concerned and just pointedly ignored him while catching Pidgey after Pidgey.
My phone had a semi-transparent, soft plastic case on it. I usually covered it with cute stickers. At that time, it had large words written in sharpie on the back that said, “It’s rude to stare”.
I was absorbed in my game when the stranger across from me laughed suddenly, loudly, and pointed me out to his daughter.
“Her phone says, ‘It’s rude to stare’,” he said.
He chuckled and looked at my face, expecting an explanation.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
“Oh, yeah. People stare at me a lot,” Just like you were, I thought. I waved my phone to show off the words. “So I wrote that on there. So, yeah.”
I went back to my game. Guy chuckled again.
“Really, people stare at you? Why?” He asked.
I looked up from my phone. I stared at him.
He stared back. I raised my eyebrows. He kept waiting for an answer.
I held up the butterfly-printed cane that had been leaning against my legs by way of explanation. “Sometimes I use a walker or wheelchair, too.”
“And people stare?” He pressed.
“Yep,” I said shortly.
“Wow. Well, you know, I think it’s probably because of their own personal fear.”
I seriously bristled at that. The tone was awful, really patronizing.
“Yeah. Seeing disabled people in public is a real shock. We remind people of their own mortality,” I said humourlessly, adding in some sarcastic laughter for good measure. I tried to signal my disinterest by lowering my head and leaning over my phone screen.
“Yeah-” he said, charging full speed ahead like he didn’t even need me for this conversation. He clearly had something to say all prepared.
"And you know, it’s funny. But I used to be scared of- people- people with disabilities,” he said, with a smile and lean-in, touching his fingertips together, making me want to punch his face.
I was in a bit of social shock. I just kept thinking, are you kidding me? This Ikea food court confession is happening right now, huh?
“Not physical disabilities, but mental disabilities.”
He was so smarmy, you guys. When he said that, I think my soul left my body. And I had no idea how to either respond or extricate myself reasonably.
I hesitated, looked from this guy to his children, who were watching the exchange with awkward interest.
“Oh. Uh. Well, I’m autistic, so…” I let my words trail off. To this day I have no idea where that sentence would have gone.
“Oh. Oh! But I mean, you can’t tell,” he turned tomato red. “You’re so well-spoken and- I guess you could say that you have really overcome.”
As he was fumbling, I was giving him an exaggerated but sincerely felt grimace and an unimpressed "ehhh”.
At his pronouncement of my overcoming, I sat up straight and said, loudly and pissed enough that his children started looking worried, “Uh, yikes. No.”
Guy’s daughter looked like she would rather he did anything but continue talking, but that’s what he did. Like any allistic abled white dude worth his salt /s, he powered through, ignoring my obvious and projected displeasure.
“But, I mean. In school, it’s funny, because it ended up that most of my friends were handicapped. I guess I kind of protected them-” His voice took on an artificially soft, sticky quality. It was at this moment that I snapped.
“Okay. I’m going to cut you off there,” I said. I put my hand up. His tomato face spoiled.
“What? Why?” He seemed torn between expressing frustration and wanting to appear kind-hearted and open-minded in front of his children.
“Well. Uh. Ugh,“ I looked at his kids, wondering how harsh or how kind I should be. I hated that he put me in this spot. In that moment I hated him so much.
"Well, you’re saying a lot of stuff that non-disabled people think is nice to hear, but it’s not. It’s just- it’s just not.” I knew it was pointless to try to explain. My words were failing fast. He didn’t really care, anyway.
“I wouldn’t even be able to explain it to you,” I shrugged.
He gaped at me. Now he was angry. This wasn’t going how he had wanted it to.
“I know you’re coming from a good place. But it’s not nice. It’s just not… yeah.” I gripped the handle of my cane in one hand and my phone, Pokémon Go forgotten, in the other. I fought the urge to literally run away. I felt the surreal pressure of my behaviour being one of these kids’ formative disability-related experiences.
“Oh. Uh. Well. Okay. Sorry,” he said, embarrassed, not sorry. “And uh, thanks for saying that,” he said, trying to get me back. I looked away.
“I just-” he started. Even his children looked unhappily surprised that he was trying for that last word.
“I just want to say that you’re great.”
I didn’t look at him. I smiled at his daughter, who smiled back out of habit, more confused than anything. His son looked down at his DS, secondhand embarrassment turning him red too.
“Hmm. Well, your kids seem nice,” I offered breezily.
After that, I moved away from the circle of green chairs and sat in an uncomfortably high stool in the corner. I hid there, head down, my hands shaking very slightly, feeling paranoid. Like I failed. And that my friends, is ableism.