
[My main Tumblr can be found over at myasphyxiatedmind]
If you want your ask replied to privately, just put '****' before you start typing.
My name is: Michelle, but most people call me Dark online.
My gender-pronouns are: They/them/their.
I am: 26 years old, a feminist, liberal, an atheist, an omnivore, and an ISFJ.
The Feminist: Intersectional, body positive, pro-choice, and sex positive.
My privileged identities include: Female assigned at birth (trans* privilege), white, able-bodied, allistic (?), dyadic, monogamous.
My non-privileged/oppressed identities include: Gender-fluid, fat, gray-a, neuroatypical, and gay.
I have: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Major Depressive Disorder.
I like: Pets & animals, animal welfare, pet care & pet care education, ~*SCIENCE!*~, anatomy & physiology, roleplaying, anime/manga, computer & video games, rock & metal music.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
If a pill can make me not suicidal, I’m going to take it.
I give no fucks about being your stereotypical weak mentally ill person who is dependent on the evil pharmaceutical industry to live. I am far more concerned with being happy about the fact that I can take a pill every morning that makes it possible for me to be alive. Without working meds I can’t go to school. I can’t have a job. I can’t interact with people. I can’t feed myself, I can’t clean up after myself, I can’t take care of myself at all. Without working meds I am so exhausted and in so much pain and so depressed and anxious that I can’t leave my apartment. I can’t leave my room. I can’t get out of bed.
How dare anyone shame me for using a pill that fixes these problems when no other option has ever worked?
How on earth can anyone try to argue to me that taking a pill every morning that makes me functional is a worse fate than debilitating depression and anxiety? That being on pills for the rest of my life is somehow worse than killing myself at 20 years old?
Fucking this. As someone who’s been on the receiving end of an anti-psychiatric medication douchefuck spouting off at the mouth. FUCKING. THIS.
I’m not even allowed to call my medication “medication” in front of my birther. She tells me she doesn’t want me to feel...
See: why I’m still on anti-depressants even though I haven’t considered myself clinically depressed for seventeen months...
I’ve been on the receiving end, more than once. I’d actually been convinced to drop off my meds - not stop, but drop -...