You’re not less deserving of rest if you didn’t have a productive day. It’s okay to be just tired. You don’t even need to be having a pain flare up, or a relapse, or chronic fatigue, or to have slept poorly last night to validate your exhaustion. You don’t need to justify feeling tired to anyone. You are human and you deserve rest no matter what. Don’t beat yourself up for not being as productive as you wished you were, for being tired and burned out. Take care of yourself, and do it unashamedly because rest shouldn’t be earned, neither should any of your needs. That’s all they are: your body is signaling to you that it is tired, or hungry, or thirsty or sleepy. Your body is not worse than others for needing those things, even if you think it needs more rest than other people do. It’s not broken, it’s not bad, it’s just telling you what needs so it can keep going. Take care of those needs, don’t blame it on yourself, please don’t let guilt make you feel ashamed of needing anything. 🌱

YOU'RE GUILTY OF A CRIME YOUR FATHER COMMITTED; ON SHAME & GUILT

sierra demulder // james baldwin // the mountain goats // dragan bibin // safia elhillo // ursula k. le guin // cynthia cruz

I WISH THAT I’D BEEN BRAVE.

richard siken, crush // christopher healy, a hero’s guide to saving your kingdom // the amazing devil, ruin // j.d. salinger, raise the high roof beam // susan sontag, as consciousness is harnessed to flesh: journals and notebooks // claudia rankine, don’t let me be lonely: an american lyric // the avett brothers, i wish i was // frank bidart, the war of vaslav nijinsky // nicola toon, everything, everything

10.3.23

On guilt, deserved and undeserved

You, the Living (Roy Andersson, 2007)//2. Sister - Rosamund Lupton//3. The Trial (Orson Welles, 1962)//4. Everything, Everything - Nicola Yoon

if you're reading this because you're scrolling to get out of a guilt spiral, imagine me in a sexy priest outfit absolving you of your "sins." now go drink some fucking water, take a walk, maybe get laid if that's your thing and move on with your life.

a little life, hanya yanagihara

For many years I have used a specific meditative technique: I close my eyes and imagine a space to explore. Predictably, one of these spaces is Arthur's apartment. I enter through different avenues - sometimes through the door, sometimes through a window via the fire escape, and sometimes I sink directly into the living room from somewhere above the ceiling. It may be nighttime when I enter or day, I will not know until I'm there.

Once inside I begin to narrow the world down into sensory experiences. I know the feeling of the carpet, the couch, the static cling of the television's dark screen, the cool, squared tile in the bathroom and the soft fabric of the bedsheets. His keys are always on the table by the door and I often squeeze them in my palm, feeling the cold bite of their metal teeth. I can hear the muffled conversations of neighbors beyond the walls and the faint sounds of the city far below. I can smell stale smoke and, beneath it, the air of an unfamiliar home. Sometimes I begin picking things up and gently turning them in my hands, looking at their colors and patterns. I open drawers and sift through all of the items inside, touching his clothes and a lifetime of little objects hidden away. It's an extremely controlled and very soothing exercise.

But recently, whenever I enter his apartment, I've been overwhelmed by this frantic urge to destroy. I pick the heavy ashtray off the coffee table and fling it into the television, watching sparks fly through billowing ash. I sweep my arm over every surface and smash framed paintings onto the floor. I rip out kitchen drawers and listen to the sound of raining metal. I slam the door of the medicine cabinet until the mirror erupts into fractured glass. I tear the sheets off the bed and use my teeth to pull the buttons off shirts. It's a disturbingly thorough whirlwind of violence.

The subsequent guilt I've felt over this urge - which has been completely beyond my ability to control - caused me to remove the exercise from my toolkit entirely. I tried to place it aside until I believed I was capable of harnessing the destructive feelings that took over when it was utilized. It seemed shameful to me, like an act of evil, to so errantly destroy a space that I saw as belonging to someone important. Far more shameful than the act of having secretly invaded it.

But I've since had a very enlightening conversation.... Arthur's apartment is a sacred space to me because it is where he exists. But to him it is like a cage - there is no warmth there. Perhaps he would not think of its destruction as an entirely unwelcome thing; an untamable desire to rampage and maim is very likely mutual. And, as odd as it may seem, the urge to destroy goes hand in hand with the strongest feelings of love. Through this new perspective I was brought closer to Arthur, but, more importantly, I was forced to look upon my own internalized shame.

There is so much guilt in my heart over the feelings I have for Arthur, looping inward on itself like a multi-knotted string. But tethering oneself to guilt can only stifle one's humanity. Allowing the tide of devotion to take me where it may is a revelatory act and it cannot be allowed to mutate into yet another form of self punishment. Arthur may not exist but my emotions for him do, and if those emotions are doused in shame then having them at all is purposeless torture. The act of passively emoting within one's own mind cannot be looked upon as proof of inherent evil - to live this way is untenable. It should not feel like a punishment to hold fondness, it should not feel monstrous to experience tenderness, and being human should not feel like being clawed to death from within.

I killed the girl in the mirror because you told me to.

You said that her death would be my deliverance. Her sacrifice would cleanse me of my sins.

But, who am I without her? A momentary thought that I willingly ignore. I have been saved.

Her macabre screams fuel my nightmares. They plague my mind for days on end. With tears in her eyes she begged for mercy. I killed her without a moment of hesitation.

You never told me that the guilt would hurt more than the sins. Today I took an innocent life. And yet, by her I am saved.

To those who abuse: the sin is yours, the crime is yours, and the shame is yours. To those who protect the perpetrators: blaming the victims only masks the evil within, making you as guilty as those who abuse. Stand up for the innocent or go down with the rest.

Flora Jessop, Church of Lies

adhd will have you fighting for your life to do beloved hobbies that bring you nothing but joy

Turning off the reblogs on this. At the time I wrote it, it felt like what I needed to say. There's not as much activity on the post now, but when there is, I feel...sort of hollow. We're so far past the point where this even means anything.

Y'all remember "cops aren't supposed to kill guilty people, either", right?

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to die beneath the rubble of their homes.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to be shot with expanding bullets that cause massive tissue damage leading to amputation.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to have their flesh burned away with white phosphorous.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve their fishing boats blown up.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to see their husbands and fathers executed in front of them along evacuation routes.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve an anonymous phone call threatening to destroy their lives and families.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to be detained for years without charges.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to be tortured, starved, and sexually assaulted in prison.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to be deprived of water.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve their olive trees to be uprooted while they look on.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve sixteen years of blockade.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve to be prevented from traveling for lifesaving medical care.

Palestinians who have done something wrong don't deserve this genocide.

you ever get surprised by your own recurring issues. like come on man. I thought we were past this.

MY BROTHER CAN’T BE DEAD

the last of us, “endure and survive” // maurice sendak // erica e. goode // the other boleyn girl // the hollies, “he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother” // j.d. salinger, raise the high roof beam // nicola yoon, everything, everything // richard siken, crush // antigonick, trans. anne carson // seamus heaney, the burial at thebes // antigone // andrew kozma, 'song of the insensible’

@nosebleedclub / sept. #23

women’s flat chests

STOP REBLOGGING THE GUILT TRIP VERSION. THIS POST OFFICIALLY HAS MORE NOTES. YOU GUYS ARE IN TIME OUT AGAIN SMH