wow, I did not expect the flood of emotion that came when I saw the old pet designs are back

my first pet is a gnorbu named Sylfrancesca (I forgot the pain of finding a unique name that isnt hideous lol)

my die for pets so far are nostalgic baby gnorbu, plushie kourga, and baby kourga. I wanted a baby kourga so bad. the GRUNDO. i have a strong bias towards plushies. grey ixi, fairie xweetok. I wonder if draiks are still insanely difficult to get? and krawks!

how easily i fall back into this obsession

be eggsalad to each other

People wear shirts they don’t know much about because they like the color, fit, and/or design. Pretty simple.

My husband is like this, just buys shirts if he likes the color, fit, and/or design. Doesnt care what the subject is. He’s never been interrogated about how much he knows about them

Can you mention some kinds of charity that dont involve increased responsibility? I would like to help people more but don’t feel I have room in my life for more responsibility rn

Your arrogance and projection shines through your comments. Reddit sucks indeed, and you are making lemmy a more toxic and miserable place to be. Blocked

The original comment never said the government was forcing people to have it. Most people need a mortgage to own a home, few are privileged enough to avoid a mortgage by inheriting a home or buying one outright. Less than 25% of homeowners own their home outright. So most are effectively forced to have home insurance

Depends who you ask. Less than 600 at experian, over 750 at equifax. Of course the one everyone uses to give out loans is the shit score 🫠

I’ve had medical debt for a long time. Only recently finished school, got a stable career, and felt responsible enough for a credit card. I’m doing great now but have only been at it a few months.

I understand the connotation, most people only consider things like youtube, tiktok, and facebook social media. but there is an actual definition for social media and even the old chat boards fit that definition

that isnt a requirement for something to be social media. lemmy is definitely social media, it’s better than most but still qualifies

f

snagged some chill games, Sim City 4, Unpacking, and Lego Builders

lmao that second one. oops, dont know how this christian baby ended up in my hand, better pitch it anyway

probably layering a spaghetti strap cami over a tshirt

edit: if you’re also curious about the necklines, the tshirt is crew and the cami is sweetheart

I’m not really into cars. Every time I’ve done a double take on a car it’s been a stingray, absolutely gorgeous car

I had to reset my keyboard once or twice a month for a while. Finally turned it off because it kept learning that words i often started sentences with should always be capitalized, even in the middle of a sentence. Spent a few weeks constantly correcting my spelling because i had grown heavily dependent on autocorrect, but it was worth it

I’m on mobile using voyager, didnt have to download anything

A good combination is to start with the laser pointer then switch to something they can catch, or toss some treats around when done!

(Primary Sources by Corrine Manning, Continued part 3, CW: mentions of assault):’

2. A journal entry for the same date with two sentences: “He turned out to be creepy.” And, “He wouldn’t let me sleep.”

The morning after the assault I left his flat and began to head towards school. It didn’t seem so bad. It was cold outside. My chin, where he hit me, felt chapped and swollen. I walked past a man in a business suit and he looked at my chin, looked at me. I felt filthy. I wrapped my scarf higher so that it covered my chin. At a crosswalk I pulled ginger from my bag (I don’t remember buying this). I peeled back a part of the brown skin and took a bite. It was supposed to be good for indigestion, and I felt nauseous. It was supposed to be good for breath. When I arrived at King’s Cross there were twenty or thirty men in business suits staring at the tube map. I joined them. The train wasn’t running. ​ I don’t remember this. I have constructed this, pieced it together; an effort even to use the word assault. In my primary resource, the Word document, I wrote “we all looked at the map to try to figure the way to go.” The station was closed. I remember I walked to school. I hid in the library for two hours before class started. I didn’t want anything to eat. I don’t remember class or if anyone commented on my face. Susan! Look at Susan!

Dr. Herman is gentle in her approach of dissociation. She makes it clear that it would be surprising if people didn’t use similar techniques to reduce their perception of trauma. ​“This altered state of consciousness,” she says, “might be one of nature’s small mercies. Protection against unbearable pain.” It’s really beautiful. Lots of times I don’t want to come back. When I’ve thought about the assault too much, on days when it’s the only thing on my mind, the moment of disengagement isn’t noticed but welcome. My muscles become loose and heavy. Whatever enables emotion breaks away and drops somewhere toward the bottom of my body. I feel calm and blank. Thoughts are slippery and don’t stay for long. Whatever was upsetting or reminding me is deflected and I can drift easily into a warm and sudden sleep. The downside that Dr. Herman has found is that the more powerful these altered states become, the more difficult it is to process the event preventing the integration necessary for healing. To heal is to bring into words what once existed as non-verbal. ​ Superheroes can’t heal, but can they dissociate? Every day they use the power they have to remember what happened to them. The use of their power alone keeps them present, pushes them back, back, back to that traumatic event. ​The Thing’s physical form is representative of his trauma, his difference, his extraordinary separation from society. Every time he uses his strength, every time the Human Torch converts himself into flame, every time Mr. Fantastic loosens his body, stretches, shrinks, they are reminded of the atomic rays and the crash. Despite the rage the Thing feels, he will still be the Thing. My brother was forced to confront his attack because of the public nature of it. There is a scar on the back of his head where hair won’t grow that everyone asks about. When he walks down the street in a way that assures no one will mess with him, he is reminded of the event. Every time he contorts his face, he does not forget why. ​What is painful to associate we dissociate. We restrict our ability to interpret the experience, thereby limiting the experiences we even allow ourselves to have.

Because when it happens, an uppercut, you apologize for the sound your teeth make against each other, for the fact that you only knew the term uppercut and didn’t know this, that it felt; that you can say the word without mentioning chin, jaw, friction, quiet. And that he thinks your breath is shallow, and so does not let you slip away anymore (Of course you can remember his voice “Your breath is getting shallow”), and wakes you whenever you so blissfully do because he does not want you to die, even though you have decided, just moments ago that it might be preferable. Not self pity, just a simple stirring inside that accepts “I’d rather not” like cheese on top of pasta, a trip to the pool. I’d rather not. ​Just as when walking down the street afterwards everyone who looks at you can see through the knitting of the scarf and can run their tongues along that bruise, that swelling. Every man you see knows what has happened and every man you see is suddenly more likely to do it, quicker than before because you are nothing, you are rotting and spoiled. And like that, you are gone. As if time and space were broken and she went off somewhere else. The first moment of leaving the body comes fast as it always will, but soon you will come to depend on it like water in the glass, your mouth to the tap. Lots of times I don’t want to come back. ​I said, “I’m sorry.” I went to sleep. I waited until he left the room to dress. I waited until he came back to leave. I did not fight. You made your point, take my wallet. I walked to the university, I waited in the library for class to start. I went to class. I do not remember class. I apparently wrote a document on my computer and saved it as “It.” I remember getting into bed and sleeping for a long time.

“Sue! You’ve Done it! You created a shield of invisible energy! The radiation from my nuclear measuring device must have increased your power, Sue! But your shield is still too thin! Try to create a stronger one, hon! A thicker shield of invisible energy! Concentrate! That’s right!! You’re getting it!” “Oh, Reed… This is Wonderful! Your theory was right! My invisibility is a form of energy, and once I learn to control it, I can turn it into a protective screen!” Fantastic Four (Issue #33)

If I were a hero I might approach this differently. If I were a hero, this would be the story, the way a Fanboy might tell it: After her assault her mind began functioning in strange and fantastic ways! Not only were most physical moments of the event concealed to her, but she suddenly had the ability to leave her body whenever something threatened her. These bits of information fueled her on a quest for the truth! She used her ability to move deeply, in and out of situations most humans don’t have the courage to go. ​If I were a hero, that might be how the story would go. The closer I get to the truth, hauling the rock toward the surface, the more I want to pull away from it, drop it. The closer I get to the truth the less I believe it. It’s not so bad, I tell myself. It really isn’t so bad. There is a difference between the ability and the hero. I am not a hero. There are questions I will refuse to answer. ​I have a document entitled “It” that I don’t remember writing. I remember a fist against my jaw. I remember him waking me, just as I would fall asleep. I don’t know how many times. I don’t know what time it was. I don’t know how long it lasted. It is unclear what I can believe— if I am the manifestation of that experience. Dissociation is a passive thing, one of nature’s small mercies. As if time and space were broken. Like a girl in a trance. Prevents the integration necessary for healing. Feeling her plight is helpless, Sue Storm becomes visible again.

(End)

(Primary Sources by Corrine Manning, Continued part 2. CW: mentions of assault)

The Fantastic Four were humans first. They were four humans, Reed, Sue, Johnny and Ben, who were particularly devoted to their country. They took it upon themselves to try to beat the Russians in the space race, but when building the ship they failed to consider the effect the atmosphere’s cosmic rays would have on it, let alone on their own bodies. When the ship crash-landed they all had fantastic abilities: Reed, to stretch (Mr. Fantastic!) and Johnny , to burst into flames (The Human Torch!). It’s the last two, Sue and Ben, that I find particularly interesting. Sue now had the ability to become invisible (Invisible Girl), and Ben was transformed into an orange monster with incredible strength (The Thing). Even though the four pledged to use their power to help mankind, there’s something about Ben and Sue that feels different. Initially, Invisible Girl’s ability is useful for intellectual purposes but also seems like the highest form of self protection—to disappear. And Ben, The Thing, loses all recognizable human features, making him distinctly different from the others. The transformation leaves him frustrated and hostile. Unlike the other three who can blend into the human race, The Thing can’t. He is visibly stuck outside of it, which results in moments of fantastic rage. “Well maybe they’re right! Maybe I am a monster!”

He shouted: told her to leave it alone.

Then people will look at you and think, Oh boy, she’s crazy, I’m not messing with her. No one will mess with you.

Sue’s difference within the group goes beyond gender: her abilities changed and strengthened over time. Initially, her powers were ridiculous, useless. Even when under the protection of invisibility she could be made visible from someone touching her. Her power does very little to deter Miracle Man or the Submariner, villains who use her to get to the others.

“Ah! I thought so!! It’s a human! An invisible Human!”

“Oh!”

“Stop struggling! No one can escape Prince Namor.”

Seeing that her plight is helpless, Sue Storm becomes visible again.

Issue #4 The Sub Mariner.

“Too bad invisible girl!! It won’t work! I know you’re there! Become visible! The Miracle Man commands you!! Ahh! That’s more like it! And you must obey me!! I am your Master!! Signal the other member of the Fantastic Four!! I shall defeat them forever, here and now!!”

Like a girl in a trance, Susan Storm aims her small flare pistol into the sky, And…

Issue #3 Miracle Man

In the Submariner’s case, Sue’s defensive invisibility is active. To be passive, for Sue Storm, is to be visible—to give in to her visibility. Dr. Judith Lewis Herman affirms that though most hypnotic states come about from a place of choice, traumatic trancelike states do not. Celeste, the nun, even in the joy that she experiences within her disassociated states, complained that they were often “inopportune.”

[ T]hey had increased in frequency (occurring about once a week) and duration (lasting anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes) and she felt less able to prevent their onset at inopportune times or to snap herself out of this state when necessary.

​Though a sense of calm can settle on the body, there’s also something frustrating in the acknowledgement that what’s triggering the response doesn’t deserve the response. As in, sometimes it comes from a friendly hand at the center of my back, a misunderstood phrase, or even a moment that requires intense concentration, when I’m just on the brink of figuring something out. In these moments, the more I want the state to end the longer it holds. There is something to be said here about memory— what we can recall and how we can use it. You don’t have to believe me but here’s what I can say, that for most events and situations I have a good memory, an ability to remember what is said in a conversation, the gestures someone else makes. Like anyone, there are places where I fail, moments when my experience does not seem to be chronicled or digested by my consciousness. According to Freudian psychoanalysts, consciousness is something passive. We naturally bring experience into our consciousness. It is an effort to keep consciousness and experience separate. Freud uses the example of a beach ball being held underwater, and that once it’s under, muscular defenses have to remain to maintain it, because naturally, experience and consciousness want to become one. It happened so suddenly, all by itself. Herbert Fingarette and Donnel Stern assert that consciousness might not be as passive as we think. We actually have to coax our consciousness to digest our experience. To, as Stern puts it, “haul up a rock from the bottom.” Dissociation is not, in that sense, defensive. It is the personality’s last resort, when all other defensive measures have been overwhelmed. Seeing that her plight is helpless, Sue Storm becomes visible again. We only know what we can express through language, and its through language that the dissociated pieces can be reconstructed and placed together again, free of trauma and full of a new meaning. Through language we develop the ability to “correctly” process the event, to haul the rock upward. We must, Fingarette says, “conceive consciousness as active, not passive. It is something we ‘do.’ We are ‘doers,’ and consciousness is the exercise of a skill.” ​ Reed: Just as I thought! You have greater powers of invisibility than you suspect, Sue! The problem is… How do you learn to control those powers? Fantastic Four Issue #22

London, January 2004

Dissociation is the inability to reflect on an experience. I am a secondary source. I have two primary sources.

1. A document saved as “It” that is dated, what I assume to be the day after my assault January 27th, 2004 (which I didn’t access until June 28th, 2008). I do not remember writing this despite the fact that I recognize it as my own writing. This document contains physical details that I don’t remember and in some cases do not believe. What I wrote gives the sense of flickering in and out. Even then, the events of the night come in the form of questions:

“Did I choose to sleep through it? Did I really wake up when I felt his fist knock against my jaw? Did I really apologize for the sound my teeth made?” Somehow the cosmic rays have altered your atomic structure…

(Cont.)