darkmus:

tehblackbird:

thatonegirlsierra:

curiousgeorgiana:

babstheartist:

themindislimitless:

tw: abuse, rape, domestic violence

feministblackboard:

A few weeks ago my mom stapled pages of a story in one of her women’s magazines together and handed it to me. She gave it to me pretty much with the tag lines “for your feminist blog” and “something new to consider.” Indeed it was; she knows me well.

The story is titled “I was forced to be pregnant.” With a title like that, reading it was actually not on the top of my to read list. I thought it was about women not exercising their right to choice. I was very, very wrong on that one.

Have you ever heard of Reproductive coercion? It is a term that was quite recently coined by the advocates against domestic violence to describe a certain type of abuse some women face. It occurs when a man pressures their partner to have kids and/or impregnates them against their will. Reproductive coercion comes in three different types:
1. Emotional pressure that turns into verbal and physical abuse.
2. Sabotaging birth control
3. Marital rape
Over 75% of women 19-49 who reported once experiencing domestic violence also endured some type of reproductive control by men. It’s all about control and domination over a woman’s body.

The first story in the magazine is about a woman who got married around 36 years of age. After a few months of dating her boyfriend talked excitedly about having children. After he proposed he began calling her “The Babymaker.” She then confided with him that one of her fallopian tubes was blocked. He in return insisted she see a fertility doctor. She recounts, “I had finally met a great guy who was eager to start a family with me. What woman wouldn’t fall for that?” Soon after her honeymoon he persisted on in an obsessive manner, but his efforts had to be temporarily halted as she had to get emergency back surgery. Alas, 6 months into recovery he was back to pressuring her again. She was in much pain at the time due to her back, but she agreed to In Vitro Fertilization. She then became pregnant, but soon miscarried. In response, her husband grabbed her by the neck, choking her. He apologized, blaming his outburst on his grief and had her sign up for another round of IVF. And then a third round. She tried to put him off with the excuse that she needed to weigh more before she could take treatments, her husband forced her to get on the scale often and filled the fridge with fattening foods. “It hurt that all I was good for was getting pregnant.” She recounts. At the end, he screamed at her, threatening to replace her with a maid if she couldn’t get pregnant and she told him she no longer wanted to have his child. He destroyed bedroom furniture, pushed her down the stairs and threatened her with a gun. She fled to a domestic violence shelter.

The second story was about a woman who faced marital rape. This woman was 40, had a then boyfriend and two children from a previous marriage. After telling her boyfriend she did not want any more children, her boyfriend refused to wear a condom and began to rape her.  She then became pregnant with her third child. Birth control was never an option for her because she couldn’t hide pills anywhere for he went through all of her belongings. Three months after giving birth, he raped her again, impregnating her with twins. She lost the twins in a physical fight with him, but soon became pregnant again. During her recovery she begged her obstetrician to remove her ovaries and devise a lie to tell him; that she had cancer. After a decade of sexual abuse and violence she was able to get a job that kept her out of the house and often times traveling.

One in four callers to the National Domestic Abuse hotline said that their partners had tried to force them to become pregnant. Why? As one woman stated, “Its like he wants to own me from the inside out.”  Having a baby is the perfect tie that binds. These type of abusers want to create a circumstance in which their partner is dependent on him.

WHAT’S THAT HAVE TO DO WITH PLANNED PARENTHOOD?

Many voters never consider how defunding these clinics could hurt victims of domestic violence who turn to them for counseling as well as pregnancy prevention. Abused women will turn to health care providers long before they will turn to domestic abuse hotlines and organizations. Many women in abusive relationships rely on life saving, affordable care programs such as Title X. It is critical that such places are open and operation when women and children need them so desperately.

holy fuck im crying.

I know I’ve told this story before, but my abusive ex refused to let me take birth control.  I was on the pill until he found them in my purse. 

I went to the Student Health Center—they were completely unhelpful, choosing to lecture me about the importance of safe sex (recommending condoms) instead of actually listening to my problem.

Then I went to Planned Parenthood. The Nurse Practitioner took one look at my fading bruises and stopped the exam. She called in the doctor. The doctor came in and simply asked me: “Are you ready to leave him?” When I denied that I was being abused, she didn’t argue with me. She just asked me what I needed. I said I need a birth control method that my boyfriend couldn’t detect. She recommended a few options and we decided on Depo. 

When I told her that my boyfriend read my emails and listened to my phone messages and was known to follow me, she suggested to do the Depo injections at off hours when the clinic was normally closed. She made a note in my chart and instructed the front desk never to leave messages for me—instead, she programmed her personal cell phone number into my phone under the name “Nora”. She told me she would call me to schedule my appointments; she wouldn’t leave a message, but I should call her back when I was able to.

And that was it. No judgment. No lecture. She walked me to the door and told me to call her day or night if I needed anything. That she lived 5 blocks from campus and would come get me. That I wasn’t alone. That she just wanted me to be safe.

I never called her to come to my rescue. But I have no doubt that she would have come if I had called. She kept me on Depo for a year, giving me those monthly injections in secret, helping me prevent a desperately unwanted pregnancy. 

I cannot thank Planned Parenthood enough for the work they do.

SUCH an important consideration. Many people don’t understand how you can be FORCED to carry a child. It’s very real and it’s very possible. And thankfully it is nothing that ever happened in my relationship, but who knows what the future could have held (especially because the main drive behind me finally getting out was fear for any potential future children). 

I don’t have anything to add because I think it’s all been said, but this is some REAL shit that needs to be reblogged as much as possible.

Oh gawd. I’m crying.

Fuck all those damn people who are saying PP is evil.

So many high and mighty politicians (born into perfect households and millions of dollars) and hate groups deride public clinics like PP as “abortion factories,” without any sort of concern or understanding of the real world. I never start to think, or claim, that I understand every person’s life and situation. I believe in choice of everything for all (religion, job, partner, child status, etc.) because I KNOW that I do not understand everything in the world. There are situations beyond everybody’s grasp. That’s why even the Constitution needed amendments.

It’s hard. Really hard. I never knew what it was to be a caretaker before- to have someone entirely dependent on you for 90% of the things in daily life.

I think it’s getting to me, too. My depression has gotten worse- though it wavers. I put on a strong face to most (like FB, family, etc.) and I really TRY… but it’s hard. I don’t want to quit, of course not, but I find it difficult sometimes. No wonder nurses are so bitchy, they deal with less per patient, but more people every day.

It’s also hard to type on this using the app on iPad. It’s only made for iPhone, and is either really pixelated, or really small. Grar.

Shower days are/were the worst. Who thinks showering is difficult? Well, it is if you have only one arm, and everything, including light water pressure, reduces you to tears. The simplest things: Eating; dressing; getting around both in and out of the house; showering… you never understand how difficult they are, and how much you take for granted.

I think I’m just burnt out. I always get burnt out with everything: School; work; music; hobbies. I need a recharge.. but I have no ability for that. It’s kind of sad, and a shitty situation.

All for now. More stream of consciousness. Welcome back, ey, James?

lord-seraphimon:

fuckyeah-nerdery:

latefines:

adriofthedead:

valjeans:

“As people of faith, affirming the Christian teaching that before God all people are equal, we will no longer participate in this discrimination,” the church’s statement says.

The vote was unanimous and brought tears to the eyes of some of the 100 or so members who stood to vote in favor of the “statement on marriage ceremonies.”

Loving thy fellow man and judging not lest ye be judged: YOU’RE DOING IT AWESOME!

Dear other Christian denominations: THIS.

good something good comes from NC
home <3 

fuckyeahillustrativeart:

Jeff Simpson

Wow. Looks like something I’d get tattooed on me.

thisisuncertainty:

Go to Dangodewdrop.webs.com for Black Friday to Cyber Monday sales and another chance to win free Teaveelutions!

We have 3 new charms available!

*There is also another post hanging around that you can like/reblog. You can win another set from that post as well!

Not so much an awkward moment, just playing on the meme while evaluating my life.

I was told years ago; “Don’t get stuck here [on Guam], you’re too good for that” by a friend/coworker at Lonestar. She was from the States, and said she realized my potential, that I saw through the bullshit politics and realized that people here were settling. She thought I was too good to settle. She saw potential, hope, and the energy of youth (or, more a young adult) that wanted to do something. A person who wanted to be someone, even in a minute fashion. Just give me the chance was the feeling. Let me do something.

Well, settle I did.

Bitter might describe the feeling best. How others in even the most rural, podunk areas of the US have infinitely more opportunities than some of the best and most potential-filled people here. Bitter that people who, in my youthful exhuberance, I would say were not as good as me, have done things I will never get the chance to do. Bitter that I gave up. Bitter that I wasted my life. Yes, wasted. The growing, exploratory years are over. The years to do something. I missed them, and they’re never coming back. Bitter that I had to be born on this fucked-up, backwards, piece of shit island.

Because of that fact, anything I wanted in life that didn’t involve planting things, crooked politics, or futile attempts to make things slightly more comfortable for the residents, were all useless struggles. I never tried at school. I was one of the most intelligent people there without trying. Besides the numerous people who cheated their way into the top 10, none of them did anything that explored true mental ability. For the most part, they were book reciters. In fact, that was a common theme; the people who were actually talented, actually smart, were the ones who didn’t care and spent their time indulging in their own talents. Personally, I did NFL. Takes more than fact-vomit to succeed at that.

So I never tried, and knowing that to go to UOG, my grades didn’t mean shit, I never had a reason to try. Sure, I got straight A’s my last semester in school, but it didn’t make my GPA anything magnificent. Without that magnificent GPA, I had no option but to go to UOG. Kind of a self-perpetuating loop there. Because I knew I couldn’t have another option (lack of money to travel, lodge, and attend a true university, etc.), I never strove to even attempt it. Didn’t want the crushing defeat that I, inevitably, feel now. I just put it off, I guess.

Affirmative Action is the… is it a policy? Anyway, the policy (I guess) that affords less-fortunate people the chance to succeed and do the things more-fortunate suburban white kids get to do. Like attend a real university. I’ve never agreed with AA until this point. I always said that if they were able, they didn’t need the crutch. Oh, the wisdom of youth. I understand now. Unfortunately, such things don’t apply to me, being half-caucasian. Oh, to be from the true United States, where even the most impoverished, rural, and ghetto areas/people have the opportunities given to them to become somebody. Who’s the last somebody from Guam? Exactly.

At University.. I, again, didn’t do so well. Personal problems, and then the understanding that, yet again, I didn’t have to try that hard. As they say: “C’s get you degrees!” I knew I could graduate with a bleh GPA. I knew that being stuck here, it didn’t matter. Again, lack of opportunity. Get the degree, nobody will even look at your transcripts, and you can get your GovGuam job at a higher payrate, remain stagnate in life for 30 years, then retire to your mediocre life. That was the option for me. Every attempt I made to leave, and at least be a nobody in the land of opportunity was thwarted. Again, you live in Alabama, no money, no opportunity, no nothing.. you can take the wages made at your job, take your beaten-up 1970’s car (because cars more than 5 years old are still usable out there)and drive yourself to New York. Or California. Or anywhere. It’s possible. It’s not possible here. The sheer amount of money needed to get out of here on anything but a shipping boat, send at least small things (your bed, etc.), and then have enough money to pay rent for a month or so and try to find work? Horrendous. Especially when you’re already draining that money to pay for the atrocious cost of living here. It seems this island, unless you have a well-off family, keeps hooks in you by any means possible. Hell, even some grants and scholarships here have the stipulation that for every thousand you are given, that’s a year of work ON GUAM that you have to do.

My true passion was music, another reason I didn’t care in high school. If music doesn’t work, I go to UOG, get my podunk degree, and… well, didn’t think that far ahead. Oops. But anyway. Music. It may be a tough industry, but when Brett Gurewitz can hear some nobody band’s demo, then fly out to southern California personally and sign them… well, I consider that a better chance than most. There are venues to be heard, recording studios to be utilized with a professional sound for a decent price, and means to travel and spread your music. Here? Uh.. Well.. If you play enough covers that people like, you can play Friday nights at Livehouse. Or just play reggae music. Cause then you’ll get gigs. In other words, pointless. As few people who have come out of here to do anything, none of them have done so musically, without joining established Stateside bands.

Again, thwarted. And I sit here, realizing this, that because of lack of opportunity, I gave up on my life chances for anything. And that thought depresses me. That somebody so full of hope and potential, who had ability to do something or be somebody, was eventually ground down into this useless stump. Thwarted. All because I had the misfortune of being born on fucking rock that cares nothing for progress. On a rock that nobody cares about in the world. To become a person that nobody cares about. How do you go from somebody who has the ability to do anything, to somebody who has done nothing? Call it Guam. Fuck this place. The place that where instead of attempting to better the quality of life and opportunity here, you have an overbearing push to reject America and go backwards in progress.

Bitter… Bitter that I was robbed. Bitter that perhaps I wasn’t, but instead never owned the opportunity. Bitter.. that I was even created at all, if it was a doomed proposition from the start.

Addendum: It also pains me that because of where I am, I can’t get/do/have the things I want. I’ve never been able to watch a real football game. Not College, NFL, or even AFL, etc. People can do this shit for free and not care. Tailgate, party.. things I’m robbed of. People can just pick up and roadtrip to somewhere for a weekend. See friends, have fun, then come back for work Monday. Unless my friends live in Saipan, I ain’t getting shit. Hell, the ticket there is still more expensive than the gas spent getting to wherever. Double hell, Southwest has $49 flights around the US. Me? I’m fucking stuck.

I’ve always loved tattoos, and always wanted full sleeves and backpieces. Something I can’t have here. Oh, sure, I can cover myself in ugly tribal shit, or maybe a koi fish. But fuck that. There are no real artists here, and I refuse to put even more ugly shit in my skin. I made that mistake too many times here, and have colored scars to show for it. The only time I had the chance, in Berkeley, I didn’t have the money… because (yet again) the cost of coming back here, paying rent, food, etc. didn’t allow it.

Guam… just another dirty, ugly, foul four-letter word. Fuck this place. It can rot the way the natives want.

Abbreviated version because I’m going to be needed again in 5 mins.

I always wondered and kind of laughed at those people who absolutely hated their jobs and kept working them. Life is way too short, I thought, to stick around in such a situation long term. Why not find what makes you happier?

Then I got in that situation.

Leaving Fusion was easy, since I was relatively unencumbered at the time. Just go back to being unemployed and living on the couch. But now..it’s a bit different.

I have health insurance with Globe, and a relatively decent paycheck. However, it’s not the “work harder for more money” environment that I prefer. Tips are nil, and you pretty much live off your commission…which is pretty much up to luck, and how many drinks you manage to make.

So..search again for a better job? Or sit here, unhappy, with the decent pay, knowing that I intend to leave soon, and am trying to save for vacation? Looking at my first paragraph, it should be easy.

I guess sone of it comes down to money vs. happiness. You need the money, so work for it. But what’s the point of working so hard, if you don’t enjoy your life? If it actually prevents you from the people/things you love. That’s where I’m at right now.

Still looks like an easy choice.. guess I need to grab my balls and dive.

Story of my life.

I really, really hate this. My brain tears itself apart. I can’t even force myself to stop. I feel like a cutter who just has this compulsion to hurt themself, except mind is mental. I’d almost prefer the physical; I can take the physical.

I just want to be right again. I hate walking around, going through the motions, fake smile plastered on to ward people off, while I suffer. It was almost easier last year just hurting, hanging with friends at different bars every night, drinking it away.

I should be enjoying myself immensely right now. I have the job I’ve “always” wanted (for a few years) at a pretty prestigious place; I have a girlfriend who absolutely loves me and will do anything for me; I have plans for the future now that don’t revolve around me risking being a hobo; and though it’s not as much as other places make, I make enough money to treat myself. Why am I not ecstatic?

…I laugh this constant pain away, so you can’t tell. But there it lies under the smiles, it drains me mile after mile…

I love having the inner child brought out in me, being around somebody who so unabashedly shows hers. The rigors of life, management, responsibility, and my personal trials had buried that in me a long time ago. I love having it brought back.

That’s one of the reasons I love her.