Stoically - My Musings

Bold emphasis mine.

“I want to push back on this. I’m assuming we’re only talking about the case where a bi person knows themself to be bi, and doesn’t assume they have to be gay/lesbian because they sure aren’t straight. There are many reasons why, as a bi person experiencing biphobia from both straight and queer communities, to call yourself gay/lesbian. I’m bi. It is most important to me to be understood to be a member of the LGBT+ community - this might sometimes mean calling myself a lesbian to, for example, to a gay man who only accepts my company because I have never dated a man and he can pretend I’m a lesbian, of identifying as lesbian to someone who doesn’t know what bisexuality is and is resistant to learning it. Calling myself lesbian is not a bonus or appropriation, it is a silencing of myself. I can decry bi erasure and still be forced to perpetuate it on myself.”

Um, yes you can but we call that hypocrisy. Because no one is forcing you. You make the choice to call yourself something you know you are not. I know this because you call yourself lesbian. Literally the only time that’s guaranteed to make you safer then calling yourself straight is if you are In lesbian spaces or using it with men to appeal to a fetish. That’s it. 

“don’t complain about bi erasure if you’re bi and call yourself gay/lesbian” because if you do you are a hypocrite knowingly doing damage to others to be in spaces you were not invited or to appeal to male sexual fantasy which leads to actual harm to the women you are stereotyping. I will 100% support complaining about bi erasure if you’re bi and call yourself straight because that comes from a place of genuine self protection.

don’t complain about bi erasure if you’re bi and call yourself gay/lesbian

For only $20 you too can fuck Satan

TAKE A LOOK AT THIS CREAM. TAKE A GOOD LONG LOOK. 

MEMORIZE THE PACKAGING SO YOU MAKE SURE YOU NEVER BUY THIS CREAM FOR YOURSELF OR ANYONE YOU LOVE.

This post is about vaginas. My vagina in particular. I get yeast infections pretty regularly, and until recently I was able to afford to see a doctor who could prescribe me fluconazole.

Fluconazole, a drug also known by the brand name Diflucan, is a small pink pill. You take two pills a few days apart from each other to restore balance and harmony to your bountiful folds. I’ve never ever had a bad side effect from taking this pill.

Cut to November 2016. I’m a recent college grad without reliable health care coverage in the process of finding a job. And I’m dealing with a yeast infection. Before I moved out of state, my previous doctor told me about Miconazole. She said it was as effective as the pill and hallelujah, it’s over the counter! I decided to purchase the cream pictured above. This treatment only lasted 3 days, a convenient time frame for my schedule.

The application process was a little messy, and some of the cream came in contact with my vulva and labia. Within 5 minutes every piece of skin that had come in contact with the cream, excluding my hands, was on fire. I wanted to scream it was so painful. I began frantically searching for what I should do online. 

I found a whole forum of people on drugs.com who had experienced something similar. These comments saved me, and these were just on the first page. There were 33 pages total, the earliest dated July 2009.

I was writhing in pain at 2AM when I found this forum (which I found by searching “my vagina burn itch hurts after miconazole” on Google). As soon as I read these comments I threw the devil cream directly into the trash and jumped in the shower. I didn’t feel any actual relief until I reached in and scraped the cream out of me. I paid $17 plus tax on this bullshit, but I could have just as easily ripped up my money or paid someone to not hurt me. 

The moral of the story is that vaginal health care is is completely fucked up because we don’t have access to an over the counter cure for yeast infections that is safe for our bodies and also YOU SHOULD NEVER BUY THIS CREAM EVER.

Reblog to save a vagina.

i’m gonna make a movie where two normal ladies fall in love. everything’s chill, no age gap, they’re both out of the closet, their families love them, everything’s fine. the catch is that one lady has a cat and the other lady never figured out what the cat’s name was cause the Owner Lesbian ALWAYS uses a dumb nickname and now it’s been three years and they’re getting married and it’s too late to just ask

- My earliest memory is from when I was 4/5. I was sitting on the passenger seat of my mom’s green car and she was driving down the gravel road. I can remember exactly where we were which is odd because my memory doesn’t work like that. I remember turning from looking out the window to tell her that when I was in the other place I was allowed to pick any mommy I wanted and I picked her because I thought she needed me. Then I went back to watching the trees go past. I don’t remember how she responded and I know she’s only brought it up once since then when I was in my late 20′s. I was surprised she even remembered because in my memory it feels just, like, a random day and thing. Not at all important. To the point where I’m always a little surprised to remember something so insignificant. 

- I never had an imaginary friend growing up. I used to pretend I had imaginary friend. And I’d get so jealous that other people could just imagine something that wasn’t there. Occasionally my brother’s imaginary friend would come check in on me and reassure me that it was ok not to be able to imagine a friend. This never felt odd to me. It felt odd for my brother when I described the imaginary friend he had never told me about. 

- I don’t believe in psychics. My mom was seeing one to help with her grief about my brother’s death. I picked her up from the psychic once and the psychic insistent I not leave before she told me some things from a past life. I thought it was hokey but agreed to play along because she was helping my mom grieve. She said in a past life I was shot twice in the back. I nodded along but she must have seen I didn’t believe because she offered to show me where. I turned around and she tapped two places on my back. No more pressure then you’d use to press a button on your phone’s keyboard. I nearly collapsed from the icy burning pain of it. Then she said she wasn’t sure if it was the same life or another but my feet had also been cut off. My feet have always felt disconnected from me. To the point where I’d asked a doctor if I had circulation or nerve issues. Dr said no. I don’t remember ever telling my mom about it. The moment she said that my mind was like “yep, that’s what it is”. I believe now. 

- When I was a young teen and hanging out with a friend we found an ouija board. I don’t remember why but I asked my mom if I could play it. That stands out to me because it was a board game and I’d never asked to play those before. I just knew I could. Except I remember knowing that my mom had to give me permission first. Like, I called her from my friends house to ask if I could play a board game. My mom refused. Adamantly. To the point where she talked to my friends parents and said she’d come get me right that instant if they didn’t guarantee I wouldn’t touch it. They must have because she let me stay the rest of the night but they also took the ouija board away. When I asked her about it (in person) she refused to tell me why. I pestered her for days about it. Finally she said that when she used an ouija board for the first and last time (as a teenager) it said something horrible about me. She refused to say anything more since then. And I’m just now realizing I wasn’t even born then. My older brother and sister weren’t either. Well, that just got a little creepier for me. 

 - My sister has this weird empathy bond with my mom. She knows when my mom’s upset. I remember many many times I’d be hanging out with my sister and she’d just stop what she was doing, pull out her phone, call mom and be like “what’s wrong? No, don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?” It ranges from mom having had a nightmare to someone dying. For the longest time it was the one piece of evidence I believed that people could be psychic. 

i just had the weirdest moment, i was feeling my front teeth with my tongue because they’re the tiniest bit crooked, and then i had the thought “i’ll check if they’re also crooked in my other mouth” and then i realized to my shock and confusion that i have only one mouth, leading me to believe that in a past life i was a terrible monster with two mouths