Christmas, and the entire holiday season from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, has always been hard. Always has been, probably always will. There’s a lot of reasons for that but those aren’t the focus of this post.

The focus of this post is “people who aren’t willing to accept that certain things are triggering and that the triggered person knows their body/mind and what they need to be safe.” On Christmas Day. Yeeeeah.

[trigger warnings for: references to fundamentalist Christianity, references to abuse, PTSD attacks and triggers, insensitivity to needs, whatever the term is for “non-mentally-ill-‘splaining,” and general ass haberdashery.]

So, this started out with being given “a gift” of a rolled up set of papers entitled [dun dun duuuunnh] “The True Meaning of Christmas.” oh, lovely, do I really have to do this? I was totally wary given just the title, but I knew that if I didn’t get it over with I would be plagued with nerves and general “what if” scenarios. So I read it. And holy shit, do I wish I didn’t.

The diatribe includes such gems as “for most people, this would have been a bad year, but because I have Jesus…” [unwritten “if you don’t have Jesus of course your year will suck,” plus “if you have Jesus and your year sucked, UR DOIN IT RONG!”], blaming his wife for their divorce, “I cannot imagine how people can make it through this life not knowing Jesus, or having a rock to cling to when the storms come their way,” and a list of “ways to change the world” including [but not limited to]:

  • ringing bells for the Salvation Army [yeah, I’d rather not give gifts or my time to a discriminatory and homophobic “charity”]
  • making a deal with the local gas station to fix tires for “needy people” for free
  • providing a week of childcare to a single mother looking for a job
  • “take blind people to the grocery store to help them find stuff and shop”

… and so on. All with the underlying, unsaid implication that if you don’t do these things, you’re not changing the world or being awesome or being a ~true Christian~ [this would be hard, since I’m not a Christian…], with judgment dripping from every word.

And given how … generally drippy this thing was with condescension and ick, I got pretty badly triggered. Apparently that’s how I spend Christmas now, trying to reign in my PTSD attacks. lovely.

Anyway, so I made a post to Facebook saying that
“oh yes, peachy, just what this Pagan who comes from an abusive “Christian” fundamentalist household wanted for Giftmas: a proselytizing letting saying that things have been donated to the gospel mission in my name.”

cue freakout. someone I’ve been having trouble calling “a friend” for a while posted the following:

“Eh, move on. You’ve got bigger shit in your life to deal with.”
“They’re going to keep on pulling this bullshit with you until you either A.) cut them out of your life permly. Or B.) turn the other cheek and realize people won’t change and go on your merry way.
Bullies love when you bitch about them.”

apparently me posting a vent about a serious trigger in my space is “bitching” and something that this person will AUTOMATICALLY know about… since they’re not my “friend” there anyway.

Me: seriously, C?

how the hell do you think you have the right to tell ME, the one impacted, how *I* should be reacting? This is my facebook, a place where I can fucking rant, and I get told off for being hurt over something that ruined a lot of things in my life? yeah.


C: Those things could be helping somebody indirectly. You have every right to rant, but I sometimes worry that some of your health problems are from you worrying a lot about what those folks do.. You have your health, your schooling, your future, your life to worry about. Screw the rest of ’em. I care about you enough to not want to see you go deeper because of someone else’s dickhead move.

Me: I think I, and my doctors, will be the judge of whether or not “worrying a lot about what those folks do” has a negative impact on my health, be it physical or mental.

and this is not just “worrying about those folks,” this was something sent TO ME that triggered MY PTSD, that brought up MY PAST, specifically because of references to the Christian fundamentalist entity.

yeah, so apparently she’s just doing it for “my health,” not taking into account that I really do know my own body and mind, and that sometimes venting really is the best immediate thing to do, and that she [as an outsider] really has no cause to be telling me how to think, feel, or act.

This just ruined my day. Ruined. I don’t know what to do, or where to go from here, because this was someone I thought was a friend. Thought, past tense. Now I just need to relax [hello, Doctor Who Christmas Special!] and calm down. If only I could have some vodka while on the vicodin. If only.


Lady Gaga and homosexual Nazis

Yes, I know exactly how odd that title sounds.  Because yeah, it is.  I mean, hell, the Nazis killed homosexuals. A lot. Happily.  The pink triangle has been, for some time, a symbol [a mostly forgotten symbol at that] of oppression and homophobia and utter hatred.

And now, we have a music video featuring… well, homosexual Nazis.

Wait, what?

Look, a lot of the time I absolutely love Lady Gaga [Bad Romance is currently one of my favorites], but this is ridiculous.  Utterly and totally ridiculous, absurd, and [dare I say] REALLY FUCKING OFFENSIVE.  Nazis, or at least men wearing stereotypical SS/uniform hats… wearing high heels and playing with each other.  Oh, and then apparently trying to gang rape her.

Man, I am so sick of this bullshit.  I know there’s a lot of drama surrounding “retaking” a word: cunt, for example.  Or nigger.  Whatever.  But when you take something that is so utterly horrifying [the systematic planned destruction of the “subhumans” — Jews, Poles, Romani, homosexuals, Jehovah’s Witnesses, sexologists, all of them] and use it… in a music video… I just can’t … I don’t honestly know what to say about it.

Yeah, there’s a time and a place to use history in entertainment [The Longest Day, Stories from Iwo Jima], even something as atrocious as the Holocaust, like in Schindler’s List.  But generally those are done with respect towards the victims, to the dead that did not deserve to die.  Not something glorifying their murderers.

Some would argue that showing them as homosexual men would be to humiliate their memory, thus reducing them to a pitiful pile of rubble.  I call bullshit.  Because according to the Nazis, homosexuals weren’t men at all.  They were … disgusting.

Suprema lex salus populi!

Communal welfare before personal welfare!

Those who are considering love between men or between women are our enemies. Anything that emasculates our people and that makes us fair game for our enemies we reject, because we know that life is a struggle and that it is insanity to believe that all human beings will one day embrace each other as brothers. Natural history teaches us a different lesson. Might makes right. And the stronger will always prevail against the weaker. Today we are the weaker. Let us make sure that we will become the stronger again! This we can do only if we exercise moral restraint. Therefore we reject all immorality, especially love between men, because it deprives us of our last chance to free our people from the chains of slavery which are keeping it fettered today.

That’s the official party line of the National Socialist Party.  As in, the Nazi party.  And in my opinion, glorifying them, their uniform, their … whatever, is absolutely appalling.  It’s disrespectful to those that died, and to those who gave everything they could to stop the murder and torture and rape and war perpetrated by them.

The Nazis weren’t gay.  Or, some of the ranking elite may have been, but it was secret, hidden, never to be spoken of around anybody.  To do so would have been a death sentence.  It was the official line that gay men were … not men, to be eliminated, rejected, “cured.”

I have so much more to say but I’m not sure how to say it right now.  It’s still very new being on “this side” instead of “an ally,” and I’ve got so much to learn.  But I don’t think I could have just stayed silent about this.  It was offensive.  Just utterly offensive, and I’m also not sure how to deal with the people… the gay and bi people that I know who are saying it’s an amazing video!  I just… don’t get it.  ugh.  Still, comments, feedback, whatever, please let me know.

On bras

Yesterday I had occasion to start hunting for new bras again.  All online, all in stores that I’d never heard of, and all because I “don’t fit” into any popular store’s brand.  The reason I’m sitting here writing about my experience buying a bra?

Because there’s something wrong with society and how it treats the mystical process of buying them.

We are told, practically from birth, that having larger breasts is the best thing in the world.  It will make us famous, men will like us, we’ll be loved [and laid!] all by virtue of our breast size.  There is an entire industry around giving women bigger breasts than they can normally have.  And yet, the bigger we go, the more problems there are.

If you are larger than, say, a DD, then you start to experience this phenomenon: pretty bras don’t exist.  They become sailcloths of function only, as if we are to be ashamed of our bodies.  They are ugly.  And if you’re lucky enough to find something that’s in your size that looks good, you run the risk of having “cones” – that special feeling where your bra turns your breasts into missile tops.  If you want to have lingerie that looks nice, fits well, and flatters your figure, you are relegated to buying custom-made items, which starts at around $150, depending on what you need.

Take a look at this list.  Notice anything?  I sure do.  I notice that there’s only six selections, in a shocking variety of colors – white, nude, and black.  Just shocking, I tell you!  Except, what would you think if I told you that is what we have to deal with every time we try to find a bra?  Would you be surprised?  Shocked?  Ashamed?  Sickened?

Personally, I’m sick of it.  I’m tired of being told implicitly and explicitly that I’ll be happier with my F cups, simply because they’re bigger.  I’m tired of the fact that despite people [generally men] assuming I’m thrilled beyond belief to have Fs, I can’t find anything that will fit, much less look good AND make me feel good about myself.  I’m also tired of people [again, generally men] insisting that I can’t possibly want a reduction, because then I won’t be able to breastfeed, SHOCK AND HORROR [that’s a different rant for a different day].

I’m tired of the double standards.  In a community for breast reduction surgery, a young lady told the story of how a relative’s friend, someone she had never met before in her life, when told that she had had breast surgery, assumed that it was an enhancement and congratulated her on it.  When corrected, he got angry with her and said that he was upset that she got them reduced.  She, understandably, got upset with him.

There are multiple problems with this interaction.  First, the assumption that all breast surgery is enhancement, that nobody could want a reduction.  Obviously this is wrong, seeing as there are multiple communities and an industry surrounding the women who go smaller.  Second, the assumption that he had a say in her breasts, in her health.  I think this part is what gets me the most upset.  Once again women are being told that they can’t possibly know what they want, that they need to let The MEN decide what is best for them.  When does it stop?  When do women gain autonomy?

In addition, hiding in the wings are the insurance companies.  I’ve seen any number of requirements for reductions, because they’re a “cosmetic” surgery.  Losing weight.  Going to and paying for physical therapy [how is PT going to help your breasts get smaller?  I mean really, it’s not like you can bench-press with them!], taking any and all medicines that your PCP prescribes for aches and pains.  Having a documented trail of issues over a year’s time, having “trenches” in your shoulders from your bra straps.  Having to have a minimum amount of tissue removed before the insurance will pay out.

And again, we have people presuming to tell women that they don’t know what they want, because they’re “just women,” or “just people, not the insurer.”

In some other parts of society, I’ve been told, flat-out, that I will not get myself a reduction, because the person simply liked my chest too much to part with them.  Never mind the fact that, at the ripe old age of almost-twenty-five, I have a dowager’s hump.  Never mind the fact that I can’t properly exercise.  Never mind the fact that from the base of my skull to my middle back, I’ve had pain since I started to sprout.  Because no, I didn’t matter.  All that mattered was that that person [yes, a man] got their jollies off of me.

To go back to bras, I believe that the dearth of pretty things for larger-breasted women is just a symptom, not the disease.  It ties back into women not being “good enough” to take care of themselves, to know what they themselves want.  It ties back into men controlling our lives [an interesting research project would be to see exactly how many “popular” bra brands are designed by women] by giving us the contradiction: large breasts are the best, but once you have them you can’t look pretty in them, you’re just for my “entertainment.”

Bras are just another straw onto the camel’s back.  One of these days that back will break and I can’t say as I’m not looking forward to it.  Because let me tell you – it’d be lovely to look lovely once again.