vizthedatum
Rose's Personal Blog
"Rose the artist formerly known as she her Pri" (yes the whole thing). 34. queer. trans. AuDHD. poly.they/them always if you're cis. we'll negotiate pronouns if you're trans. engineer. epidemiologist. informatician. data scientist. The Future is Trans, is that clear?
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I think I am noticing more about how my body feels and how new friendships and situations are making me feel more acutely.
I still have so much to learn about myself.
I find myself activated and needing to re-evaluate my perspective all the time.
It’s okay, I suppose, to grieve how I am/was wired knowing that I can keep making different choices that may be better for me in the future.
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Brought to you by my realization that "Yorick" rhymes with "dysphoric"
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I do wonder if it will ever happen?
Happy pride y'all.
I'm a femboy with dysphoria who wants to be pregnant one day.
Welcome to my series: "So you wanna talk about genitals?!" (In this episode, we talk about an 18-year-old egg who wanted to auto-fellate)
In my freshman year of undergrad, I constantly talked about having a 10-inch penis.
Not that I wanted the whole "10 inches."
But because I needed to make the desire a little outlandish. I lived in an all-girls dorm... and I was just a quirky, 18-year-old bi-girl nerd.
I desperately wanted to perform autofellatio, and I made it known.
I'd practice my own flexibility.
Show my roommate how I would do it, while clothed.
Measure out how large my dick needed to be.
But also took into consideration that I didn't want to just reach the tip.
How girthy did I want it to be?
How would it move with me?
Would I finally be able to orgasm more if I had one? I was pretty sure I would get myself off *every single time* if I did!
What kind of pants or skirts or bottoms would I need to accommodate it?
Could I still wear really lacy panties with it?
Would it feel real? Like a part of me?
Could it feel so real that I could ignore it, knowing in the back of my mind it'd be there?
... when would I actually have it? *dissociates*
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On my 19th birthday, my friends got me a huge dog stuffie (who I named Pierre) with a huge tail (my penis) in a bag that had 19 post-it notes that all had a phallic message on them.
Did they know?
Or was it all part of my elaborate "joke?"
#once a femboy always a femboy#femboy#trans#egg#egg shit#gender euphoria#gender stuff#body stuff#trans stuff#genitals#bottom surgery#i've been doing all sorts of egg shit for most of my life#lgbtq#non binary#genderfluid#phalloplasty#phallic#penis#queer#prose#queer stories#pride#trans pride
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i dont care about validity i care about my civil rights
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What if it’s not my attachment to material things or even to the people I love that’s the problem?
What if it’s attachment to particular outcomes that prevent me from being open to moving with the uncertainty of life?
I can’t do anything about how people behave, other than share how I feel and what my boundaries are (and then enforce consequences once those are irretrievably broken (yet another choice that’s on me)).
And I can’t predict what is to come, even if I’m making strides to reach my goals. Even if I mess up, I can’t predict with certainty.
It’s all given me anxiety for so long. I have kept betraying myself and my own advocacy by continuing to attach to outcomes instead of making decisions based on my perception of what is…
And now I’m more self-aware of it than ever.
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Reblog to have something lgbt happen to you this summer
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age-34-another-late-night-sad-boi-post: (I wrote a horrible and self-deprecating poem... deleted it.
It's just that I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be as selfish and inconsiderate as the people of my past—was it worth it?
Are they happy? Did they get all that they wanted?
Do they stay up at 4 am? Are they wondering why it all had to happen the way it did?)
#it's a vent#what should i name this one?#doomed to be ridiculed forever until I truly become selfish?#i suppose i'm hurting really bad tonight
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late night sad vent post:
sometimes, I feel like absolutely no one cares
and I have to keep on going
because I must
I have to keep on going
just as much as those who've hurt me have to keep on going
and no one cares
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I am choosing to believe that I can change/shift my perspective on my various situations and not mask while I’m doing it.
Method: start where I’m at, then work incrementally from there.
Current status: sick and sad, but I have an awesome weekend ahead of me where I’ll see friends and feel love. And I genuinely need rest so I’ll keep doing that.
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I’ve been more quiet than usual on here mainly because I’m healing from physical illness. I’m still doing things like work and stuff, but the meds I’m on have severely affected my energy.
And I’m still really sad. It’s not like I want to be. And I tell myself (and journal) how grateful I am every day.
I’m so grateful for my community, access to healthcare, resources, etc.
But I’m still in the energy of “I don’t have this yet” with regards to finances and a loving relationship(s).
And I hate being in that energy… but all I know how to deal with that lack is to work harder to get all that.
And I don’t want to anymore. I can’t. I am burnt out.
Like yes, I’ll devote my time and energy into a job and a relationship if it’s right for me… that’s different.
I just don’t want things to be hard. I don’t want to force anything.
I don’t want to just go back to meaningless hookups or flings either just to feel something.
Or do side hustles to earn more money (which I suppose I am doing and will continue to do this summer 😭).
—
I want things to be easy. And for my body and health to be more stable.
#healing#neurodivergence#trauma#love#self love#queer#prose#disabled#disability#pretty sad#but I’m out here living
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award-winning palestinian children's illustrator baraa awoor writes:
"what use is it to be an illustrator of children's books when the world has sentenced the children of your country to the death penalty, to vanish, to genocide?"
some of baraa's illustrations:
this is an illustration for youssef, whose mother is remembered running desperately into the hospital asking if anyone had seen a "small white boy with beautiful curly hair, his name is youssef," a description which was remembered by millions when she finally identified his body:
this illustration is for young omar, who was hugging his little brother and teaching him how to repeat the shahada after him (a prayer spoken by muslims before their death) as he lay on his hospital bed:
"we want a new year that doesn't kill us or our children, we want it a year without blood, without screaming, without pain, we want a new attempt to get our lives back, or something that resembled our life, even if life is a lie we still cling to it, return life to us—a new year's card unlike any other year:"
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Shoutout to the folks who wish they could be feminine the way men are feminine, and shoutout to the folks who wish they could be masculine the way women are masculine.
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It’s been a hard week already (but with some nice moments too!!). Mostly hard health wise.
Today I woke up with the intention: how will I radically choose myself today?
Then I drove to the pharmacy and thought: it’s insane that people expect someone with developmental disabilities, chronic health issues, and childhood/adult trauma to drudge through life with just community support.
I mean, I have. I’m doing that.
I am beyond grateful for my community support AND I do feel privileged to be where I am. It’s still hard.
#healing#neurodivergence#trauma#love#self love#prose#literally zero in my checking account but I persist#but yeah I will rise back
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horrible news: you have to practice to level up your skills because it's unrealistic to think you'll be good at everything first try
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All my labs came back fine (what a fucking meme) except for elevated WBC counts and my bladder being “angry” on the CT (direct quote). My urine came back fine but I’ve been taking a lot of antibiotics lately plus flushing with D-mannose and water.
They’re doubling my antibiotic dose and increasing the course (treating as if I do have a kidney infection even though they didn’t see that). And they put me on more painkillers in the ER.
And now I’m home and showered and feeling better mainly bc my friend came and comforted me. (Friendship really does soothe chronic pain)
But bleh.
I’m home. Alone. In pain (with some decrease). And no guarantee that even if it’s not sepsis now that it might not be later.
#healing#chronic illness#autoimmune#neurodivergence#trauma#healthcare#health update#I’m on a very high dose of cipro sigh#interstitial cystitis#there is more context to the whole story#but yeah#disability
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