When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

r.d. (via vonmoire)

(Source: elferinge, via prettyenoughwordsss)

Exactly. Still mentioning fishnets and tattoos in newspapers like it’s 2008. Please.

Exactly. Still mentioning fishnets and tattoos in newspapers like it’s 2008. Please.

(Source: graceunderpressure14, via brianharveylikespotatoes)

misandry-mermaid:

theuppitynegras:

youcantroamwithoutcaesar:

freshmouthgoddess:

missjia:

lol

white people are fucking monsters ….

As if Annie is not a fictional character smh


so we’re calling little girls racist names over a fucking fictional character smh

My rage has rendered me speechless.  Fuck all these people.  I hope they all get ass cancer.

Holy fucking fuck :(

misandry-mermaid:

theuppitynegras:

youcantroamwithoutcaesar:

freshmouthgoddess:

missjia:

lol

white people are fucking monsters ….

As if Annie is not a fictional character smh

so we’re calling little girls racist names over a fucking fictional character smh

My rage has rendered me speechless. Fuck all these people. I hope they all get ass cancer.

Holy fucking fuck :(

unwoundstar:

much better

True

(via girlswhoarewolves)

grrlyman:

antisocialonsocialnetworks:

iridessence:

parasiteprogram:

mirainomessenger:

becauseloveonlygrows:

boyprincessmanic:

TW: EXTREME RACISM AND SLURS

Alright you guys listen up. This is really REALLY important so just do me a solid here and take a minute to read this okay.

A few years ago, a good friend of mine named Whitney Mitchell became extremely sick and had to have both arms and legs amputated. She was given a 12% chance to live but she fought through it and she’s one of the bravest and most beautiful people I’ve ever met in my life.

Today, her mother sent me a message on Facebook saying that Whitney had been targeted by a website called Chimp Mania. I’d never heard of it, so I did some research, and at just a glance I was immediately disgusted. Just the RULES for the website are awful beyond words.

The forum thread for Whitney is mocking enough, calling her a “shefreak” and saying she “plans to knuckle drag again.” The comments say some pretty stomach-churning things, but I decided to leave a lot of them out. A lot of them were photoshopped pictures of Whitney from when she was in physical rehab, replacing her legs with things like fried chicken legs and a map of Niger. This is the only thread I even bothered looking at and I could barely stomach it.

There is a petition to get this website permanently deleted. I don’t know how much good it will do but it NEEDS signatures. It’s got barely any right now and I don’t want this blatant vomiting on human beings to continue.

Here’s a link to the petition: http://chn.ge/1dectHH

This bullshit has gone on long enough. The fact that it exists in the first place makes me sick to my stomach. Please take a moment to sign this petition.

NOT

ENOUGH 

NOTES

WHY ISN’T THIS AT OVER A MILLION NOTES??!

This website has been up and running for a long time. Much like stormfront it is a hate website, but this website targets individuals, and crosses any line of what should be considered “free speech” and is obviously hate speech. Please. This is too much. This person has gone through so much already. 

This is why when people complain on this site about black even TALKING about racism, and when they complain about white girl Starbucks jokes, I seethe.

This is what WE have to deal with, people creating entire websites dedicated to calling us animals. This is why I laugh at those Starbucks jokes, and literally give negative shits about people who say “well no one should make jokes about ANYONE” because clearly y’all never seem to find the people that run sites like the one mentioned above to call them out, otherwise they wouldn’t exist.

Do you know how this feels? Do you know how this fucking feels? Being viewed as subhuman? That sites like this exist? That they target disabled women of color for no other purpose than having the audacity to be born black in this world AND suffer from terminal illness?

I really don’t know what else to say. I feel sick to my stomach. I feel this shit in my bones.

Every single one of you that can had better sign this fucking petition, or unfollow me.

One thing about most white people, they will never prove you wrong.

tw extreme ableism

Holy fuck :(

(via wherethequeerthingsare)

1. Do not hate them for it. They are on a journey too. 2. Understand that sometimes you will be a bandage caressing a temporary wound or you will be a pinnacle of permanency rooted deeply in their heart. Accept that you do this to people too. 3. Do not step on your feet trying to find a rhythm you are not meant to follow. 4. Do not let it harden you: continue to nurture, continue to love. 5. People use words as anchors to latch onto bits of you and when they leave remind yourself that the sea never bled itself dry because a ship left it. 6. Write the nastiest letter and burn it. 7. Yes, they may have illuminated pieces of you that you were unaware existed. But now you do and they are not the last person to remind you. 8. Dizzy yourself with everything you love, like dancing in the greenhouse to horrid pop songs or reading Haruki Murakami. 9. Set all that anger ablaze, you are wasting your time sifting through it. 10. Internalize the fact that you were still breathing before you met them. 11. Forgive them.

what to do when people leave, Unknown (via wethinkwedream)

This is lovely… especially when you get to that point in life (i.e. too old for tumblr, too young to care) where everyone starts moving away to exciting places

(Source: herscience, via girlswhoarewolves)

Man I was obsessed with her when I was a teenager. And The Craft, obv.

Man I was obsessed with her when I was a teenager. And The Craft, obv.

(Source: waildsweetchild, via puppetcancer)

Dear men children

stfumras:

To the man children complaining that feminists say men instead of some men. Fuck you
Do you think I’m out here whining when WOC complain about white feminists because they didn’t say SOME white feminists?? Do you think I cry when POC speak about the atrocities committed against…

This x100. Tempted to get it on a t-shirt.

She’d better!

She’d better!

(Source: eduardozanre, via daughterofdecadence)

louis-fabulous-ass:

mentalalchemy:

“dis is my lizard”

THEY LOOK SO HAPPY

Oh god this is too much ;_;

(Source: ofelias, via girlswhoarewolves)