Oi!

I want a Freedom Tub to soak in. It would be a lovely relief.
http://futurama.wikia.com/wiki/Freedom_Day
http://futurama-stream.com/season-5/episode-4-a-taste-of-freedom
Also, happy freedom, etc.

Oi!

I want a Freedom Tub to soak in. It would be a lovely relief.
http://futurama.wikia.com/wiki/Freedom_Day
http://futurama-stream.com/season-5/episode-4-a-taste-of-freedom
Also, happy freedom, etc.

Oi!

I want a Freedom Tub to soak in. It would be a lovely relief.
http://futurama.wikia.com/wiki/Freedom_Day
http://futurama-stream.com/season-5/episode-4-a-taste-of-freedom
Also, happy freedom, etc.

Oi!

I want a Freedom Tub to soak in. It would be a lovely relief.
http://futurama.wikia.com/wiki/Freedom_Day
http://futurama-stream.com/season-5/episode-4-a-taste-of-freedom
Also, happy freedom, etc.

Cages and Releases

I try. I've tried all my life. It's a lot of life. It's a lot of trying and failing. I say I want to be free, but I've never known that kind of freedom. My own empty spaces frighten me so much more than the wide unknown ever could. They ask me to accept what I am and why I am falling apart. It's time, then. Acceptance. My long walk through my own desert. Eventually I will find my own freedom, and ultimately I will find peace.

It's the way people sometimes talk to me, especially online where they don't have to see me. "Just get over it. It's not so bad. It could be so much worse. Feel lucky. Insert stories about personal human tragedies here. Get over yourself. Deal with it like I do. Stop whining. Stop complaining. I hate to say it, but I'm sure you're hurting because of this or that, so you should stop doing this or start doing that. You'll feel so much better after you've done what I say."

(That phrase. "I hate to say it, but..." It makes me twitch. Teeth grinding. If you hate to say it, don't start with "I hate to say it but..." Just say what you want to say and be brutal already.)

I am so quiet now. It is quiet in my head. I am learning to be silent when they say those things. I let myself agree with them because it is the only thing I can do to maintain my private sanity. "Yes, you are right, it's not so bad. You make such eloquent points that I cannot argue. I won't argue. I'm sure I make things happen to me. It's in my head. I'm a zombie. Of course. Yes, I wanted all of this. Thank you for reminding me that I've wanted to live with chronic pain and disabilities since I was born. Thank you for reminding me that I am not doing enough to work through the disadvantages. I just need to get over it. Wonderful. More, please." And then my sarcasm meter shatters and explodes and becomes fireworks. After a while, I just stop listening.

They mean well. They care deeply. But they are not me. They are not inside my head or my body. Just as I am not them. The moral of the story is this: Unless you have the ability to telepathically put yourself inside our minds and experience our pains and problems... don't tell us how we must live according to your standards. Don't tell us how we must cope according to your standards. Just stop. Think.
Just think.
Please.
Let me think.

Cages and Releases

I try. I've tried all my life. It's a lot of life. It's a lot of trying and failing. I say I want to be free, but I've never known that kind of freedom. My own empty spaces frighten me so much more than the wide unknown ever could. They ask me to accept what I am and why I am falling apart. It's time, then. Acceptance. My long walk through my own desert. Eventually I will find my own freedom, and ultimately I will find peace.

It's the way people sometimes talk to me, especially online where they don't have to see me. "Just get over it. It's not so bad. It could be so much worse. Feel lucky. Insert stories about personal human tragedies here. Get over yourself. Deal with it like I do. Stop whining. Stop complaining. I hate to say it, but I'm sure you're hurting because of this or that, so you should stop doing this or start doing that. You'll feel so much better after you've done what I say."

(That phrase. "I hate to say it, but..." It makes me twitch. Teeth grinding. If you hate to say it, don't start with "I hate to say it but..." Just say what you want to say and be brutal already.)

I am so quiet now. It is quiet in my head. I am learning to be silent when they say those things. I let myself agree with them because it is the only thing I can do to maintain my private sanity. "Yes, you are right, it's not so bad. You make such eloquent points that I cannot argue. I won't argue. I'm sure I make things happen to me. It's in my head. I'm a zombie. Of course. Yes, I wanted all of this. Thank you for reminding me that I've wanted to live with chronic pain and disabilities since I was born. Thank you for reminding me that I am not doing enough to work through the disadvantages. I just need to get over it. Wonderful. More, please." And then my sarcasm meter shatters and explodes and becomes fireworks. After a while, I just stop listening.

They mean well. They care deeply. But they are not me. They are not inside my head or my body. Just as I am not them. The moral of the story is this: Unless you have the ability to telepathically put yourself inside our minds and experience our pains and problems... don't tell us how we must live according to your standards. Don't tell us how we must cope according to your standards. Just stop. Think.
Just think.
Please.
Let me think.

Cages and Releases

I try. I've tried all my life. It's a lot of life. It's a lot of trying and failing. I say I want to be free, but I've never known that kind of freedom. My own empty spaces frighten me so much more than the wide unknown ever could. They ask me to accept what I am and why I am falling apart. It's time, then. Acceptance. My long walk through my own desert. Eventually I will find my own freedom, and ultimately I will find peace.

It's the way people sometimes talk to me, especially online where they don't have to see me. "Just get over it. It's not so bad. It could be so much worse. Feel lucky. Insert stories about personal human tragedies here. Get over yourself. Deal with it like I do. Stop whining. Stop complaining. I hate to say it, but I'm sure you're hurting because of this or that, so you should stop doing this or start doing that. You'll feel so much better after you've done what I say."

(That phrase. "I hate to say it, but..." It makes me twitch. Teeth grinding. If you hate to say it, don't start with "I hate to say it but..." Just say what you want to say and be brutal already.)

I am so quiet now. It is quiet in my head. I am learning to be silent when they say those things. I let myself agree with them because it is the only thing I can do to maintain my private sanity. "Yes, you are right, it's not so bad. You make such eloquent points that I cannot argue. I won't argue. I'm sure I make things happen to me. It's in my head. I'm a zombie. Of course. Yes, I wanted all of this. Thank you for reminding me that I've wanted to live with chronic pain and disabilities since I was born. Thank you for reminding me that I am not doing enough to work through the disadvantages. I just need to get over it. Wonderful. More, please." And then my sarcasm meter shatters and explodes and becomes fireworks. After a while, I just stop listening.

They mean well. They care deeply. But they are not me. They are not inside my head or my body. Just as I am not them. The moral of the story is this: Unless you have the ability to telepathically put yourself inside our minds and experience our pains and problems... don't tell us how we must live according to your standards. Don't tell us how we must cope according to your standards. Just stop. Think.
Just think.
Please.
Let me think.

Cages and Releases

I try. I've tried all my life. It's a lot of life. It's a lot of trying and failing. I say I want to be free, but I've never known that kind of freedom. My own empty spaces frighten me so much more than the wide unknown ever could. They ask me to accept what I am and why I am falling apart. It's time, then. Acceptance. My long walk through my own desert. Eventually I will find my own freedom, and ultimately I will find peace.

It's the way people sometimes talk to me, especially online where they don't have to see me. "Just get over it. It's not so bad. It could be so much worse. Feel lucky. Insert stories about personal human tragedies here. Get over yourself. Deal with it like I do. Stop whining. Stop complaining. I hate to say it, but I'm sure you're hurting because of this or that, so you should stop doing this or start doing that. You'll feel so much better after you've done what I say."

(That phrase. "I hate to say it, but..." It makes me twitch. Teeth grinding. If you hate to say it, don't start with "I hate to say it but..." Just say what you want to say and be brutal already.)

I am so quiet now. It is quiet in my head. I am learning to be silent when they say those things. I let myself agree with them because it is the only thing I can do to maintain my private sanity. "Yes, you are right, it's not so bad. You make such eloquent points that I cannot argue. I won't argue. I'm sure I make things happen to me. It's in my head. I'm a zombie. Of course. Yes, I wanted all of this. Thank you for reminding me that I've wanted to live with chronic pain and disabilities since I was born. Thank you for reminding me that I am not doing enough to work through the disadvantages. I just need to get over it. Wonderful. More, please." And then my sarcasm meter shatters and explodes and becomes fireworks. After a while, I just stop listening.

They mean well. They care deeply. But they are not me. They are not inside my head or my body. Just as I am not them. The moral of the story is this: Unless you have the ability to telepathically put yourself inside our minds and experience our pains and problems... don't tell us how we must live according to your standards. Don't tell us how we must cope according to your standards. Just stop. Think.
Just think.
Please.
Let me think.