Why The Signs Are Happy:

the only life advice i feel equipped to give:

when you’re young u can only romanticize your pain and hurt for so long. one day you’re going to realize u have to stop sabotaging yourself by assuming your hurt is all that makes you. you have to consider all your good qualities. that u are a bright and creative person who might’ve been dealt a bad hand, and all u can control is how you treat yourself. you have to be kind to yourself to survive. you have to let go of that impulse to treat yourself poorly because u think u deserve it. forgive yourself for whatever makes you feel like you don’t deserve the same love and care as everyone else. please.

This makes me really happy. I hope I can be that for someone.

oh by the way!! yesterday morning i saw someone my age walking with a cane while i was going to school. it was the first time and it was really quite exciting!

i haven't really needed my cane in a while now but seeing other young people using one really makes me feel less alone <3

this is your reminder that if you are young and going out in public with a mobility aid there probably will be some seemingly able-bodied kid watching you and feeling less alone. and just maybe they might try taking their aid outside, someday.

I've been considering shaving my head because of the pain. It's still constant and my hair makes it worse. Is it stupid? Will I regret it? Will I feel like I'm "giving in" to the pain? Does that even make sense? I'm tired of feeling like I have no control over the pain. And this feels like a way I can maybe at least not hurt myself more and gain a little control back? I don't know. I'm tired

'BUTCH MANIFESTO'

inspired by 'FEMME SHARK MANIFESTO' by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha

(ID under cut)

Ko-Fi (Commissions Open!)

[ID: an original poem titled 'BUTCH MANIFESTO'. the stanzas are all on the left side of the page and lineated, except for the first line, and last stanza. Poem begins:

Listen up! Butches hold it down! We don’t spend hundreds of pounds on designer clothes and black and white tuxes – we shop off the charity shop rack, hand-me-downs from our bois, our men, our women. Butch is not a glamour word - Butch is not for the white collars in their 9-5 and their office parties, Butch is not for the woman in a police uniform with short cropped hair, Butch is not for the masc who looks down on our femmes, Butch is not for the dumbass white people who call themselves stud, like our people haven’t taken enough from black lesbians, Butch is not for the politician or the soldier, it’s for those of us who get shit done and don’t throw anyone under the bus; who stand between our loved ones and the white-knuckled fist; it’s for the people who take a breath of relief when they get home and get to lay their head on the shoulder of their baby and say, it’s hard, and I need you right now; it’s for those of us with hard-soled feet, worn by hours of standing, just so people can buy some useless shit on a Sunday. Butch is for the primary school teachers, the neighbour keeping your package safe, the hairstylist, the barber, the youth worker, the locked up, the sectioned, the evicted, the boy on the dole. Butches hold each other up, Butches stand up for communities, no matter how different we might be.

Butches stand up for Butches, because only we know the shit we face, we don’t argue over what butch looks like for someone - their struggle doesn’t counteract ours. We’re brothers, sisters, siblings, lovers, mentors, we don’t fight over femmes or fight each other. We help up our siblings who can’t hold themselves up and shouldn’t have to.

Butch is recognising our hurt, our pain, and making sure nobody has to go through that, in the very least not alone. Butch is not reproducing that hurt, butch isn’t the transfem exclusion, the toxicity, it’s driving our girls and boys to the abortion clinic, it’s holding your femme’s hair back over the toilet bowl, it’s telling your darlin’ to take a deep breath, before you poke the needle into her thigh, it’s holding back on punching the catcaller because you know it’ll put your lover in more danger, it’s fishing in your closet for an old, dusty dress for your questioning girl, it’s never calling the cops, it’s carrying the Narcan, it’s gathering the funds for bail, it’s tipping the waiter, it’s kissing the bruised chin of a fellow butch who’s built like a brick shithouse.

Butch is not all muscle, able-bodied, white Butch is not all skinny and androgynous Butch is care Butch is NURTURE. Butch is a cane and an unsteady step Butch is putting down the ramp Butch is wheeling up it Butch is addict Butch is straight-edge Butch is diaspora Butch is desi Butch is antiracist Butch is socialist Butch is punk Butch is black Butch is brown Butch is fat Butch is fat-loving Butch is mental illness Butch is antipsych Butch is autism Butch is trans Butch is anger Butch is tears Butch is grief Butch is the old bull Butch is the closeted kid in a dress Butch is the baby dyke wearing a rainbow flag cape Butch is smile lines Butch is crinkled eyes Butch is crying in your friend’s beat-up car Butch is foetal position Butch is pink Butch is motherhood Butch is fatherhood Butch is cat-dad Butch is fucking Butch is getting fucked Butch is stone Butch is bashful Butch is humble Butch is cocky Butch is proud Butch is single Butch is uneducated Butch is poet Butch is poetry Butch is council estate Butch is gentleness Butch is bones and spit and the soft curve of our lower backs the clenched jaw under a double chin the hard-eyes that any femme can see right through the estradiol the testosterone the carabiner clink the thick hands the cellulite the bloody pads the tampon string the mood swings the sagging tits the top surgery scars the swinging cock the hairy pussy the protruding t-dick the leather harness.

Butch is eternity Butch is sewn into the fabric of atoms Butch is love and solidarity Butch is never leaving anyone behind and never selling anyone out.

End poem. In the bottom right corner, the poet is signed as 'Ren H.' End ID].

I could not agree more! You get it. Sometimes (often I feel) being disabled does make you a burden and that's okay. There should be nothing wrong or shameful about that - it is simply stating facts and acknowledging reality.

as much as i appreciate the intent of the “being disabled doesn’t make you a burden” type posts, i don’t really agree. a lot of times being disabled DOES make you a burden

& i think that maybe we should try to shift focus to the fact that even if you’re a huge burden on society and can contribute absolutely nothing, you’re still a human being who deserves to exist.

like. there’s nothing morally wrong with being a burden on other people. you aren’t a bad person for needing to rely on others. you’re allowed to be a burden & disabled people who are burdens on others, i love you

Yet another reminder that faking is a conscious choice that you make.

It is not something you can do accidentally, regards of what you're talking about.

You can't accidentally fake depression, or anxiety, or bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia, or any other mental illness.

You can't accidentally fake Borderline Personality Disorder, Histrionic Personality Disorder, personality disorders.

You can't accidentally fake ADHD, autism, Tourette's Syndrome, auditory processing disorder, aphasia or any other neurodivergence

You can't accidentally fake being trans or ace-spec or aro-spec or any other LGBTQIA+ identity.

You can't accidentally fake chronic illnesses like CFS, fibromyalgia or any chronic illness.

You also can't accidentally fake being good/intelligent at something. You didn't fool your peers into reaching your position.

You can't accidentally fake trauma, PTSD/cPTSD, DID/OSDD/DDNOS or any other trauma-based disorder.

Tldr:

Faking is a conscious choice.

You cannot do it by accident.

If you are worried that you are faking, that in itself is proof that you are not.

Sometimes all you can do is try. Even if you succeed or not, trying is already a very brave thing to do. Don't be afraid to be proud of yourself for trying.

this... this is actually really helpful

notes for my impostor syndrome:

• no, it's not painful to walk for abled-bodied people

• no, healthy people don't usually use every chance they get to lean against walls or sit down

• no, ableds don't dream about shower stool

• no, ableds don't celebrate days when they're not in pain. because usually they're not in pain

• no, ableds don't want to stop walking mid-way, lay down on the ground, curl up and cry and whine from pain

• no, ableds aren't exhausted by their own bodies 24/7

I recently started using a cane everyday and so my previously invisible disability is suddenly visible. I also started medschool. It's been a while since I was properly social so I have questions...

People don't walk next to me. And if they accidentally do, they leave to walk next to someone else even if that means squeezing in three people on the sidewalk. No one talks to me if it's not to ask me "what's wrong". I have really tried to make an effort and talk to people but I don't know what to do.

Can it have something to do with my disability and my cane? Like they're scared to say the wrong thing? Or maybe it's because they've sensed the autism?;)