When [an abusive man] tells me that he became abusive because he lost control of himself, I ask him why he didn’t do something even worse. For example, I might say, “You called her a fucking whore, you grabbed the phone out of her hand and whipped it across the room, and then you gave her a shove and she fell down. There she was at your feet where it would have been easy to kick her in the head. Now, you have just finished telling me that you were ‘totally out of control’ at that time, but you didn’t kick her. What stopped you?” And the client can always give me a reason. Here are some common explanations:

"I wouldn’t want to cause her a serious injury."
“I realized one of the children was watching.”
“I was afraid someone would call the police.”
“I could kill her if I did that.”
“The fight was getting loud, and I was afraid the neighbors would hear.”

And the most frequent response of all:

"Jesus, I wouldn’t do that. I would never do something like that to her.”

The response that I almost never heard — I remember hearing it twice in the fifteen years — was: “I don’t know.”

These ready answers strip the cover off of my clients’ loss of control excuse. While a man is on an abusive rampage, verbally or physically, his mind maintains awareness of a number of questions: “Am I doing something that other people could find out about, so it could make me look bad? Am I doing anything that could get me in legal trouble? Could I get hurt myself? Am I doing anything that I myself consider too cruel, gross, or violent?”

A critical insight seeped into me from working with my first few dozen clients: An abuser almost never does anything that he himself considers morally unacceptable. He may hide what he does because he thinks other people would disagree with it, but he feels justified inside. I can’t remember a client ever having said to me: “There’s no way I can defend what I did. It was just totally wrong.” He invariably has a reason that he considers good enough. In short, an abuser’s core problem is that he has a distorted sense of right and wrong.

I sometimes ask my clients the following question: “How many of you have ever felt angry enough at youer mother to get the urge to call her a bitch?” Typically half or more of the group members raise their hands. Then I ask, “How many of you have ever acted on that urge?” All the hands fly down, and the men cast appalled gazes on me, as if I had just asked whether they sell drugs outside elementary schools. So then I ask, “Well, why haven’t you?” The same answer shoots out from the men each time I do this exercise: “But you can’t treat your mother like that, no matter how angry you are! You just don’t do that!”

The unspoken remainder of this statement, which we can fill in for my clients, is: “But you can treat your wife or girlfriend like that, as long as you have a good enough reason. That’s different.” In other words, the abuser’s problem lies above all in his belief that controlling or abusing his female partner is justifiable….

Lundy Bancroft, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men (via seebster)

littlemissmutant:

manufactured1987:

The subway ride. A few years ago when the NYC MTA started to set up elevators in all the subways I was extremely excited. There’s some sort of freedom take the subway, I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’m getting off. Whereas when I get on the bus I have to let everyone know what stop I’m getting off. And obviously I love the train because it’s faster. 
Don’t get me wrong there’s many things I hate about the subway like it not having enough elevators, but for now if you ever want to catch me I will most likely be riding the subway. 
Outfit: striped T-shirt from H&M, Black jumper from forever 21, Oxford leather shoes from wasted.

Jillian Mercado, accessibility, public transit, AND fashion
this post is perfect I may die
Zoom Info
littlemissmutant:

manufactured1987:

The subway ride. A few years ago when the NYC MTA started to set up elevators in all the subways I was extremely excited. There’s some sort of freedom take the subway, I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’m getting off. Whereas when I get on the bus I have to let everyone know what stop I’m getting off. And obviously I love the train because it’s faster. 
Don’t get me wrong there’s many things I hate about the subway like it not having enough elevators, but for now if you ever want to catch me I will most likely be riding the subway. 
Outfit: striped T-shirt from H&M, Black jumper from forever 21, Oxford leather shoes from wasted.

Jillian Mercado, accessibility, public transit, AND fashion
this post is perfect I may die
Zoom Info
littlemissmutant:

manufactured1987:

The subway ride. A few years ago when the NYC MTA started to set up elevators in all the subways I was extremely excited. There’s some sort of freedom take the subway, I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’m getting off. Whereas when I get on the bus I have to let everyone know what stop I’m getting off. And obviously I love the train because it’s faster. 
Don’t get me wrong there’s many things I hate about the subway like it not having enough elevators, but for now if you ever want to catch me I will most likely be riding the subway. 
Outfit: striped T-shirt from H&M, Black jumper from forever 21, Oxford leather shoes from wasted.

Jillian Mercado, accessibility, public transit, AND fashion
this post is perfect I may die
Zoom Info
littlemissmutant:

manufactured1987:

The subway ride. A few years ago when the NYC MTA started to set up elevators in all the subways I was extremely excited. There’s some sort of freedom take the subway, I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’m getting off. Whereas when I get on the bus I have to let everyone know what stop I’m getting off. And obviously I love the train because it’s faster. 
Don’t get me wrong there’s many things I hate about the subway like it not having enough elevators, but for now if you ever want to catch me I will most likely be riding the subway. 
Outfit: striped T-shirt from H&M, Black jumper from forever 21, Oxford leather shoes from wasted.

Jillian Mercado, accessibility, public transit, AND fashion
this post is perfect I may die
Zoom Info
littlemissmutant:

manufactured1987:

The subway ride. A few years ago when the NYC MTA started to set up elevators in all the subways I was extremely excited. There’s some sort of freedom take the subway, I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’m getting off. Whereas when I get on the bus I have to let everyone know what stop I’m getting off. And obviously I love the train because it’s faster. 
Don’t get me wrong there’s many things I hate about the subway like it not having enough elevators, but for now if you ever want to catch me I will most likely be riding the subway. 
Outfit: striped T-shirt from H&M, Black jumper from forever 21, Oxford leather shoes from wasted.

Jillian Mercado, accessibility, public transit, AND fashion
this post is perfect I may die
Zoom Info

littlemissmutant:

manufactured1987:

The subway ride. A few years ago when the NYC MTA started to set up elevators in all the subways I was extremely excited. There’s some sort of freedom take the subway, I don’t have to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’m getting off. Whereas when I get on the bus I have to let everyone know what stop I’m getting off. And obviously I love the train because it’s faster. 

Don’t get me wrong there’s many things I hate about the subway like it not having enough elevators, but for now if you ever want to catch me I will most likely be riding the subway. 

Outfit: striped T-shirt from H&M, Black jumper from forever 21, Oxford leather shoes from wasted.

Jillian Mercado, accessibility, public transit, AND fashion

this post is perfect I may die

The problem is that white people see racism as conscious hate, when racism is bigger than that. Racism is a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on the behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not. Racism is an insidious cultural disease. It is so insidious that it doesn’t care if you are a white person who likes black people; it’s still going to find a way to infect how you deal with people who don’t look like you. Yes, racism looks like hate, but hate is just one manifestation. Privilege is another. Access is another. Ignorance is another. Apathy is another. And so on. So while I agree with people who say no one is born racist, it remains a powerful system that we’re immediately born into. It’s like being born into air: you take it in as soon as you breathe. It’s not a cold that you can get over. There is no anti-racist certification class. It’s a set of socioeconomic traps and cultural values that are fired up every time we interact with the world. It is a thing you have to keep scooping out of the boat of your life to keep from drowning in it. I know it’s hard work, but it’s the price you pay for owning everything.

Scott Woods (X)

he motherfucking dropped the truth.

(via mesmerisme)

Fast forward ten years. The first thing you will notice is that you are taller. Not necessarily farther from the ground, but closer to the sky. This may at first be dizzying, especially if you never learned how to breathe. Practice. Meet your lungs. Take note of the way your skin fits, how your bones have grown into your skeleton. Your shoulders are perfectly balanced at the top of your spine. Your arms are long enough to reach your hands. This, you will discover, is what people who know anything mean when they say beautiful.

Investigate the body you are in. Reach for both horizons at once and discover your wingspan. Crack your knuckles. Lick the gap between your teeth. Place your fingers against the underside of your wrist and feel for a pulse. If you have one, it means you’re lonely. That’s good. This is a good world to be lonely in. Explore the space you take up, the way your body displaces air in the shape of: calves, hips, belly, chin. Trace the path of tingling from lips to nipples to between your legs. Notice that your skin is the color of new skin after the old skin has peeled away. Feel underneath your sternum: there. A scar. Your body has opened up, allowed egress to something it no longer needed, like an appendix. This was painful once, as doorways always are.

Excavate yourself. Turn inside out like a pocket and examine what falls to the ground. There should be just enough coins to take a bus to anywhere. A pressed flower with a breath of purple left in it, the exact shade of I will always remember you fondly. Keys meant to open something old and worthy. Lint. The lint means you have been places, smelled dust, shaken off dead cells. A piece of paper with a name on it. Nothing sharp: you don’t carry razor blades under your fingernails anymore.

The suitcase you packed before leaving your parents’ house is here, spine-creased books and a one-eyed stuffed dog. The green dress that made your collarbone a lie. Your first lipstick. Jeans that will always have the stain from that night, an empty whiskey bottle. Spread them out like tarot cards on the pavement: the past, the present, the wish. Where the tenth and final card would be, place yourself.

Practice listening to sounds other than the grinding of your teeth. Songs are a good place to start, especially songs with piano accompaniment and lyrics about changing seasons. Listen to crickets. Learn how to divine the temperature from their chirps. Listen to the ground underneath you. Gravity will keep you here until you are ready to leave.

You can still recite those sad poems from memory, but they don’t resonate in your chest the way they used to. You can walk across a bridge without counting the seconds between your bones and the concrete below. There is an ocean, but it is far away, not filling up your mouth. There will be people who want to touch you gently. You know that you can still feel pain, in your eyes and hands especially. But in this moment, all you know of your body is open arms.

"for the queer girls who dream of drowning," lindsay miller (via thoughtsfromsomewhere)

It’s the whiteness and subsequent institutional power of white gay males that enabled marriage equality, not some radical sea change in how power is distributed amongst various groups of Americans

- Yvonne (autostraddle)

I am sorry for filling you with beer and bad thoughts and then asking you why you shook. I am sorry for pinching you, for hitting you, for bruising the thin-skinned parts of you. I am sorry for the names I called you when we were fighting. You are not ugly. You are not useless. You would not be better off gone. I’m sorry for almost throwing you out into the street because my sadness was too much for me. I’m sorry for carving my fingernails into your thigh and then resenting the way people asked, “How’d that happen?” I’m sorry for plucking you and nicking your calves with drugstore razors. I’m sorry I let some people see you in the moonlight. They didn’t deserve to know the color of your hips like I do. I’m sorry for leaving you convulsing over a toilet bowl over some boy. I’m sorry I did not thank you for simply trying to take me where I wanted to go. I’m sorry I screamed at you to shrink, shrink, shrink when all you could do was grow. I’m sorry that this apology is ten years too late. I’m sorry that it will probably come again. I’m sorry that I do not treat anybody else as poorly as I have treated you. I’m sorry that I am constantly learning how to love you, when you have never once doubted how you feel about me. I’m sorry in ways I have not yet learned to communicate.

An Apology to My Body | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)

Wow. Yes.

(via queeringfeministreality)