goyohany

Latest Posts by goyohany

Guys i don’t want to optimize you if you still care about genocide in gaza .

But the news saying the ceasefire agreement is done and they will maybe tomorrow Announce it .

Best thing is the isareli army will withdraw from all Gaza Strip that’s mean the Rafah border crossing will back to work again so i need your support your help so I could take my brother Mohammed out to be with his Son Zayed and his wife.

And didn’t told you before my brother Omar engaged and His fiancee still in north gaza. He asked me alot to tel you about her so he can also be with the love of his life.

Don’t think your contribution is small even the one dollar helps . Sharing also helping.

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

To be loved is to be known; to be seen.

Excerpts Sources:

Is it okay to say this? - Trista Masteer // Blasted - Sarah Kane // Reassurances to Hades - Kristina Haynes // The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - T.J. Reid // My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man - Georges Bataille //"The Last Poem in the Book," These Days (Alfred A. Knopf, 1989); Over and over again - Frederick Seidel // My Mother/Madame Edwarda/The Dead Man - Georges Bataille // Adult Children of Emotionaly Immature Parents - Lindsay C. Gibson // She Satisfies A Fear with the Rhetoric of Tears - Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz // My Life Is Pathetic! - Heather Havrilesky

Nobody ever talks about how selfless it is to choose, over and over again, to not commit suicide. Nobody ever acknowledges the tremendous sacrifice suicidal people make every time we choose not to kill ourselves. When a person who is suffering so horribly that death seems like their best option decides not to take their one way out, and to instead remain in hell, day after day, month after month, year after year, because they don’t want to hurt the people they love, they are doing something extraordinary. Not killing yourself when it’s all you want to do is the purest act of love I can imagine. Dying for someone is easy - you don’t have to deal with any of the consequences, you have your moment of nobility and then it’s all over. But living for someone, when the simple fact of consciousness is literal torture for you? Every single suicidal person who ever made a choice to not kill themselves in a moment of misery is a goddamn hero in my eyes. Wanting to die and still surviving is an act of titanic courage and self-sacrifice. We deserve more credit for it.

Things no one tells you about when you’ve been mentally ill for years and it won’t get better

— everyone will give up on you. Some will say it upfront, some will have indirect ways of showing it (you’re a lucky mf if you still have someone )

— your symptoms/ breakdowns/ panic attacks are cute for a few months. Everyone wants to help. Later on people find them annoying and inconvenient

— you will be blamed for not getting better. Doesn’t matter if you’re doing therapy, taking meds, exercising, eating well and sleeping. You can do all of it, some of it or none of it. They will find fault in your efforts.

— desensitization to your pain. This one isn’t their fault, it’s human nature. But it happens and yes it hurts cuz you would wish you were desensitized to your own pain but you have to feel it no matter what. Doesn’t matter if it’s the millionth time. It demands to be felt.

— people move on. But you can’t. You see people cope and get over things while you simply can’t. And it’s so much worse if you’ve been mentally ill for years. Even the smallest things break you and trigger you.

— you slowly realize this world isn’t made for mentally ill people in any way

— you’re tired / fatigued all the time. You have been for years now. You simply exist but you aren’t capable of living anymore. Your illnesses have taken everything that made you feel alive. You’re nothing but a shell. A body.

رميت كل قواميس في النار وسميت لغتي.

I threw all of my dictionaries in the fire and named you my language.

I’m trying so fucking hard and no one sees that. I’m trying so fucking hard to stay alive but my breathing is getting shallow and my heart is beating slower and if I don’t wake up tomorrow just fucking forget about me.

too much

@/horrifically //  Igor Shcherbakov, Sinichka. (oil on canvas), 2019,  // Nicole Homer, Underbelly // Daniele Valeriani // @serratedpens // Takehiko Inoue, Vagabond illustration

on being devoured by grief, by sorrow

fyodor dostoevsky, the dream of a ridiculous man // geloy concepcion // georges bataille, "esctacy" from guilty tr. bruce boone // sophocle's electra (tr. peter meineck and paul woodruff // anne sexton, from a letter to anne clarke written october 1964 // image via pinterest // callista buchen, taking care // rainer maria ralke // art by barbara kroll // haruki murakami, 1Q84

Then it comes to me: Yes I’ll die, so will everyone, so has everyone. It’s what we have in common. And for a moment, the sorrow ceased, and I saw that it hadn’t been sorrow after all, but loneliness,

Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “October”

“i looked at everyone and wondered where they came from, and who they missed, and what they were sorry for.”

— jonathan safran foer, extremely loud & incredibly close

I’M NO GOOD

Only Angels Have Wings, Nicole Dollanganger / Jennifer’s Body (2009) / The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, Stephen Adly Guirgis / Cellophane, FKA twigs / You Know I’m No Good, Amy Winehouse / Skeleton & Demon, Brian Luong / The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde / 1x09 “Horse Majeure”, Bojack Horseman / Helter Skelter (2012)

Dear diary... (Trigger warning)

At 13, I hoped I would never turn 15.

At 15, I hoped I would never turn 18.

At 18 I thought that would be it. I thought I would be dead before I got to see another year.

I never wanted to make it this far.

Now I'm about to turn 20...

I hate the fact I'm still alive. I hate that after so many years of wanting to be dead, and actually trying to die, I made it to this point.

I feel so lost now. I never wanted to live this long. But I'm stuck in this world. I could never find a way out in all those years, and now I'm doomed to keep living a life I never wanted.

I wanted to die. But I'm so useless I couldn't even get that right.

Clarice Lispector on the unknowable heaviness of existing 

Quotes: Clarice Lispector

Art: Xi Huang, Su Xinyu, Clarice Lispector 

everyone keeps telling me that i have to stay alive for them, that killing myself would be selfish because they need me and my departure would cause them great pain.

what about MY pain? what about ME? i’m dying inside, falling apart every single night and shoving back my broken pieces inside my chest every morning, bleeding internally. what about MY pain? why can’t i rest easy? isn’t it selfish for you to ask me to stay knowing how badly i’m hurting?

The world is entire, and I am outside of it, crying …  —

katrien de blauwer  /  edith sitwell  /  e. m. forster  /  anaïs nin  /  virginia woolf  /  h. g. wells

I realized today that I have stopped living life. I’m literally just trying to get to the next day, just living in the thought of tomorrow. I‘m not living, I’m waiting. And the problem is, I don’t know what I’m exactly waiting for. I‘m kind of scared for what it might be.

i dont talk anymore. i dont want to. i have nothing to say. i have nothing to contribute to a conversation. words escape me and i dont care that they do. i can go entire days without muttering a word. i just want to be left alone, now. 

i don't think anyone really understands the levels of being passively suicidal like it doesn't matter where i am or what i'm doing i'd still rather be dead and it's so exhausting

Sadness will last forever - I Was Raped as a Child (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1090172529-sadness-will-last-forever-i-was-raped-as-a-child?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=wayechoi&wp_originator=mzQegLyrpSU%2FhB9c6klaLBnnOBU7HA3Tcivx0YazPTT2PYBp1IXQfK7dK5wcqLIPtS4lijL%2BSUvbEE0aO3%2BmT0mwTuadBqH2aREbabu5GfaKV0G7sfPI7waCL8f7O2%2BV I Was Raped as a Child, and There's No Going Back

Your abuser can have depression. They can have a variety of disorders. And you know what? It’s never gonna be an excuse for what they did.

"Don't see yourself as a victim"

Oh, I'm sorry, do you think I was a fucking volunteer?

“what happened to you made you stronger” 

i was a child. i didn’t need to be strong i needed to be safe

A way my therapist has told me to approach childhood trauma is thinking about the child who went through the traumatising ordeal. You may resent yourself for not fighting back, not doing enough, or not running away, but you need to see the young child who was there, the one who needed protection, not persecution

Every time you think “they could have hurt me worse”, remember that you shouldn’t have been hurt at all. You should have received support and help on everything you struggled with. You should never have faced pain from the hands of your loved ones. You should have been safe and happy and without a care in the world as a child. That’s what you compare your abuse to. 

“sometimes I wonder how it would feel to break down. to grab things and smash them to pieces. to scream and show everything I feel inside on the outside instead. and I wonder if it would help. to let go like that. to say, fuck it, and not give a damn whether you’re locked away in some dingy asylum away from all things sane. when you have felt crazy for so long, you wonder why it should matter to finally stop pretending that you were ever okay that you were ever sane or normal that you were ever anything else at all. let. it. breathe. and let them lock you away. let them blot your name from the history books. to finally not exist… perhaps at last you’d feel something close to freedom.”

— broken thoughts

It honestly hurts so bad.

Send in your confessions here, please specify they are confessions.