My-ugly-organs - Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!

Nata Sin

Menotaxis, 2022

Oil on canvas

inhale, hold

tumblr is like a psych ward except no one gets better

“It’s okay to not be okay”

Unless it impacts your work performance…

Or your grades

Or how you act

Or if it causes you to say no

Or if you’re harder to be around

Or if you need time alone

Or if you talk about it

Or show symptoms

“It’s okay to not be okay”

Unless you have trauma

Unless you have one of those “scary” mental illnesses

Unless it inconveniences me

Unless you’re undiagnosed

Unless you cry or scream or make a scene

Unless you don’t keep that shit to yourself

Unless you make me uncomfortable

Unless I can’t infantilize or fetishize you

Unless you have hallucinations

Unless you have psychosis

Unless you get angry

Unless I think you’re cringe

Unless you can’t preform hygiene tasks

Unless you’re disabled, or trans, or gay, or not white, or fat, or AFAB, or intersex, or a man… so I guess anyone

“It’s okay to not be okay”

As long as nobody ever finds out.

Our society has a severe issue with performative activism, and mental health is a huge example of this. Every time someone considers reaching out, they run through this list mentally. This is why true activists and resources need to be loudly supportive of all the things on this list. Take the subtext out of your support.

I say this with the utmost sincerity, but I hope you have the courage and space and freedom in the upcoming year to be the nasty little freak that you are. I hope you can find a place to realize that the things you think make you unlovable and disgusting are in fact very lovable and not disgusting in any way. I hope you find sincerity beyond your ability to even comprehend.

I think there's a heartbreaking beauty in not wanting to forget a certain person. Even if they are no longer with you, you want to carry them with you. You want to engrave every detail of them in your heart. You replay the person's voice in your head until it starts to fade away, and there is nothing you can do about it. It hurts to remember them, but it's worth it

Margaret Atwood, from The Door: Poems; “Europe on 5$ a day”

[Text ID: “I’ve cut myself off. / I can feel the place / where I used to be attached. / It’s raw, as when you grate / your finger. It’s a shredded mess / of images. It hurts.”]