Humorotica + Patreon

 

So, as Humorotica turned one and is becoming a thing Matt and I thought it would be a good idea to launch a patreon specifically for our comic. We have high hopes and plans and honestly, it’s a really cool patreon, so you should check it out, share it – every little bit helps – my (somewhat) selfish goal is to be able to get Matt a computer that isn’t on it’s last breath so we can hangout and write comics without wondering if it’ll signal an unintentional break because, well, we don’t make the comics together IRL so without a computer we haz nothing.

Anyway, there’s also some really cool rewards that involve Matt writing things and exclusive patron only (and inspired/derived) comics!

Become my patron

Feels

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I feel like the world is falling apart at the seams and going to shit and I’m powerless to do anything about it.

Between police brutality in Ferguson, shit going down in Gaza and Iraq, Robin Williams committing suicide…

It’s all just too many.

It’s too much.

It’s getting to me.

 

I watched the news for the first time in ages on Saturday because it was on at the car place while we were getting our mini inspected.

I was alone for 5 minutes and almost started crying.

It’s too many.

 

I sometimes forget how deeply things can hurt. I can sometimes turn my empathic nature off just enough to get by without feeling everything from everyone.

And sometimes, like the last couple days, I can’t.

Twitter and Facebook and news articles and snippets of conversation…like thousands of needles

and all I can think about is making blanket forts and escaping it all, because the difference between other people’s feelings and my own get blurred and I feel everything.

I can’t sleep well, and wake up stressed out and sad and depressed.

And yet, all I want to do is sleep – sleep and wake up and this will all have been a dream.

Needless violence and systemic racism, and genocide, and suicide, all just figments of my imagination – horrific nightmares.

But no.

It’s reality.

And sleeping won’t make it go away.

And I’m just one person – one person who can barely keep henself together.

But I care, and being powerless and lost inside myself makes me feel weak and useless.

I’m one person, what can I do?

I don’t know.

But I’ll keep trying. I’ll do what I can.

I’ll keep fighting the voices in my head that say you’re worthless, pointless, and don’t matter, and try to latch on to the one that says but you do matter, and you’re not pointless.

And I don’t know if that will matter in the end, but it does right now.

When the world is falling apart and I’m a speck of stardust in one small galaxy…

But I’m alive. And you’re alive. and that matters. And maybe we can make things better together, for the ones who are still alive.

I don’t know, maybe.

And I’m so sorry.

 

Introducing Don’t Panic[k]: Life Beyond The Kitchen Table

I had this idea several months ago, about making a site that’s basically just a compilation of advice, thoughts, and resources for people just leaving/graduating the world of homeschooling and religious fundamentalism.

It takes a lot of work and energy to find resources for life in the real world when you don’t even really know how or where to start, which is kinda why I liked the idea of Don’t Panic[k]. I hope to grow it, with the help of people from similar backgrounds submitting resources and articles and ideas, into something useful for people just leaving their parents kitchen table.

So check it out, share it, submit ideas/resources/etc if you have any, and don’t panic (you’ve got this).

DPbutton

Massages + Disassociation

In July I had this thing where my neck/shoulder muscles didn’t want to move, so I got a massage, and I’ve been getting them every couple weeks since to try and loosen up the (apparently insane levels of) tightness, and I noticed something…and someday I’ll draw something to illustrate this better, but, when I’m on the table, I feel connected to myself and my body.

I can tell how the muscle in my right shoulder impacts my left toes, and how every piece of me is connected to everything else. For an hour, there’s no difference between me and my body, we’re the same, connected, one – I am muscle and flesh and bone and blood, and interestingly, gender doesn’t come into play here. And maybe, it’s because I’m naked in the dark but not seen or judged, maybe it’s because massages go deeper than skin, and reach the core, the ungendered center that everyone shares, so I’m not lost in my parts, because they’re just parts, epidermis that doesn’t really say much about me or who I am…

It’s not something I’m used to experiencing, but I’m trying to find ways to ground myself, to feel less like a floating sentience in a breathing corpse. I realized, while we were checking out the Universalist church last weekend, that, I center myself to the earth, which I think is normal, but what if I centered myself to…myself? maybe if I paid attention to how my skin felt around my bones and listened to my senses, maybe that would help with the generally disconnected feeling I usually have towards my body?

Most days I feel like I’m a sentience walking ghost-hand in hand with my body, or circling around in my skull that from here looks more like a cage. On bad days, or bad nights, really, I feel like I’m a balloon and like I’ll just float away unless I’m held or touching someone to ground me and pull me back down to the earth, to my skin…but, when I’m being massaged, it’s like someone is helping me put my body back on, like a coat, and helping me back to myself.

It’s weird in a good way, but also weird. I don’t know if any of this makes sense, and when she asks me how I’m feeling after (apparently I hold up really well) I want to tell her how much it helps on a psychological level, but I don’t know how to, or if she’d even understand…but it does, it helps a lot in a way I never expected.

 


Then sometimes things happen, and I’m around people who tend to make me question my worth and whether or not I should even bother doing things that actually do help me. Who make me feel like a burden and like I should just suffer and I don’t deserve to try and have a healthy relationship with myself-body – who leave me reeling for days re-evaluating whether or not I’m a decent human.

Being triggered leaves me feeling like the pile of dirt I was told I was worth growing up, and it makes me feel guilty for getting massages, and taking care of myself. Because who am I to have things, to have value, to have worth, and to be worth caring for?


But I am human, and I have value because I exist, and I’m not just trouble, or burdensome, and I am worth caring for.

So next Friday I get another massage, and it’ll be good for me, because it’s okay to value and take care of myself.

rest != laziness

Blanket Burrito Con!Sometimes I have a hard time resting.

I was never allowed to rest when I was a kid, and remember wishing I would become horribly sick just so I could rest (because if I wasn’t running a fever or vomiting, I could still totally do shit), which means that as an adult, unless I’m physically debilitated, I generally don’t really…rest.

Because rest was lazy and laziness was the epitome of evil. If I was caught taking a break or a breather outside of the 90-minute “free time” window that I had, I was assigned something to do.

I know what it feels like to be headed toward burnout, because all I can think about is “I need to stop. I need to take a break. I need to sleep for days. I need to just shut my mind off for a little while, and then I can get back to it.”

But doing that….is really hard.

If I rest for more than a day when I need to, I’m instantly plagued by just… a lot of guilt.

All of the voices from my childhood come back, thundering: You’re being lazy. You’re doing nothing. You can’t just sit around and do nothing like those lazy people. You have to work. You’re like those people who burden society. You’re not working. You’ve had your 10 minute break, now go get shit done and stop being selfish and irresponsible.

My parents spent a lot of time shitting on people they thought were lazy. Which is why they worked us like slaves while my mom sat in her chair being pregnant.

We were never allowed to rest because resting was lazy, irresponsible, and selfish, and according to mom “in the ‘real world’, you don’t get to”.

So, I worked through abscesses, I worked through periods without ibuprofen, I worked through colds and other not-flu illnesses, I worked through general soreness from being jumped on.

The two times I remember feeling cared for were when I was sick and too young to be able to do anything else. I had the chicken pox and got an oatmeal bath, and the other time, I had the flu and mom bought me a coloring book and rubbed my feet and then let me be by myself to color and sleep.

I have a really giant mental wall that creates itself when I need to take a break and rest and I’m not also violently ill.

It’s almost painful, sometimes, because I know I could relieve the guilt by quitting my mini-cation (which I called blanket burrito con this morning) and getting back to work, and doing all the things instead of forcing myself to just do nothing and try to be okay with letting my brain be quiet (and getting it to be quiet).

I can manage to not do anything during the day, but then while I’m sleeping I get stressed out – almost like I expect to be in trouble the next morning for having done nothing. I wake up exhausted and guilty (because I slept, I slept late, and I haven’t done anything, but…) because of this phantom of disapproval, this overwhelming sense of innate evil in the form of laziness, because everyone but myself deserves to be taken care of.

I know it’s bullshit.

I know, I know, I know it’s bullshit.

But it’s still hard (so I’ve been doing little things that help).

I’m gonna go back and snuggle in my blanket burrito now, maybe tomorrow I’ll have yellow or green nails.