Vulnerability time again.
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Vulnerability time again.
So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.
Why? Well strap in...
All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.
¹ not that kind of plan B
And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".
I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)
I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"
So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.
I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.
Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.
I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.
@alice
if wanted. -
@alice
Testing out my script to detect AI I noticed the subscript you missed I need to add 
"¹ not "
@operat0r ? did I miss something?
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@alice
if wanted.@kirtai I'm always down for 🫂s.
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Vulnerability time again.
So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.
Why? Well strap in...
All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.
¹ not that kind of plan B
And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".
I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)
I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"
So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.
I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.
Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.
I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.
@alice *hugs* if you need one. Brains are fucked up.
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Vulnerability time again.
So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.
Why? Well strap in...
All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.
¹ not that kind of plan B
And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".
I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)
I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"
So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.
I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.
Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.
I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.
On a semi-related note, I met one of my girlfriend's relatives for the first time today. They seem nice enough, but in our couple hours or so of talking, they haven't asked me a single thing about myself. However, they did guess my age (they were a decade low, but
️), and they did take me aside to tell me I was "very pretty" while I was in the kitchen. They've also made several comments about me being on my phone when they've walked into the room, including asking if I was texting "one of my admirers". After like the fourth comment, I spoke up (loud enough for everyone nearby to hear), saying "this is a part of me that everyone in my life gets to accept—I know a lot of people, and I talk to them. I try to always prioritize people in the room, but—" and there they cut me off to say it wasn't a problem and that I'd been respectful so far.
I'm sure they only have the best intentions, but it does leave me with the impression that I'm a pleasant object to talk at.
Though credit where due, they haven't used feminine pronouns for me yet
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On a semi-related note, I met one of my girlfriend's relatives for the first time today. They seem nice enough, but in our couple hours or so of talking, they haven't asked me a single thing about myself. However, they did guess my age (they were a decade low, but
️), and they did take me aside to tell me I was "very pretty" while I was in the kitchen. They've also made several comments about me being on my phone when they've walked into the room, including asking if I was texting "one of my admirers". After like the fourth comment, I spoke up (loud enough for everyone nearby to hear), saying "this is a part of me that everyone in my life gets to accept—I know a lot of people, and I talk to them. I try to always prioritize people in the room, but—" and there they cut me off to say it wasn't a problem and that I'd been respectful so far.
I'm sure they only have the best intentions, but it does leave me with the impression that I'm a pleasant object to talk at.
Though credit where due, they haven't used feminine pronouns for me yet
@alice Have they asked for a lockpicking lesson yet? I would.
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@alice Have they asked for a lockpicking lesson yet? I would.
@aly I did mention that I was a professional lockpicker at one point. They kinda went "oh" and then continued talking about themselves.
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@aly I did mention that I was a professional lockpicker at one point. They kinda went "oh" and then continued talking about themselves.
@alice I am deeply dissapointed in them.
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On a semi-related note, I met one of my girlfriend's relatives for the first time today. They seem nice enough, but in our couple hours or so of talking, they haven't asked me a single thing about myself. However, they did guess my age (they were a decade low, but
️), and they did take me aside to tell me I was "very pretty" while I was in the kitchen. They've also made several comments about me being on my phone when they've walked into the room, including asking if I was texting "one of my admirers". After like the fourth comment, I spoke up (loud enough for everyone nearby to hear), saying "this is a part of me that everyone in my life gets to accept—I know a lot of people, and I talk to them. I try to always prioritize people in the room, but—" and there they cut me off to say it wasn't a problem and that I'd been respectful so far.
I'm sure they only have the best intentions, but it does leave me with the impression that I'm a pleasant object to talk at.
Though credit where due, they haven't used feminine pronouns for me yet
@alice They seem to have lots of opinions.
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@aly I did mention that I was a professional lockpicker at one point. They kinda went "oh" and then continued talking about themselves.
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@michaelgemar "professional" may be a bit of a stretch, but I have taught at a few conferences, and I'm scheduled to do another one in a couple months. I'm Red Team Tools' brand ambassador, in early talks about designing my own tool set for them, and I've been paid for my services as a lockpicker. So I feel like "professional" is a reasonable label at this point.
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@michaelgemar "professional" may be a bit of a stretch, but I have taught at a few conferences, and I'm scheduled to do another one in a couple months. I'm Red Team Tools' brand ambassador, in early talks about designing my own tool set for them, and I've been paid for my services as a lockpicker. So I feel like "professional" is a reasonable label at this point.
-
On a semi-related note, I met one of my girlfriend's relatives for the first time today. They seem nice enough, but in our couple hours or so of talking, they haven't asked me a single thing about myself. However, they did guess my age (they were a decade low, but
️), and they did take me aside to tell me I was "very pretty" while I was in the kitchen. They've also made several comments about me being on my phone when they've walked into the room, including asking if I was texting "one of my admirers". After like the fourth comment, I spoke up (loud enough for everyone nearby to hear), saying "this is a part of me that everyone in my life gets to accept—I know a lot of people, and I talk to them. I try to always prioritize people in the room, but—" and there they cut me off to say it wasn't a problem and that I'd been respectful so far.
I'm sure they only have the best intentions, but it does leave me with the impression that I'm a pleasant object to talk at.
Though credit where due, they haven't used feminine pronouns for me yet
@alice why, though? I mean seriously. I know, that women (and I assume on this stretch everybody that 'looks' female to those people) generally run a considerable risk of being belittled, especially when looking good (I always assume it's a petty reaction on the belittling person's own envy and feeling of inadequacy), but this is the first time I hear that about someone that is not in a cis/'classical' relationship.
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@alice why, though? I mean seriously. I know, that women (and I assume on this stretch everybody that 'looks' female to those people) generally run a considerable risk of being belittled, especially when looking good (I always assume it's a petty reaction on the belittling person's own envy and feeling of inadequacy), but this is the first time I hear that about someone that is not in a cis/'classical' relationship.
@alice that being said, you own every right to use your looks in every way imaginable that feels comfortable to you and would be stupid not to!
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Vulnerability time again.
So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.
Why? Well strap in...
All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.
¹ not that kind of plan B
And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".
I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)
I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"
So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.
I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.
Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.
I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.
-
On a semi-related note, I met one of my girlfriend's relatives for the first time today. They seem nice enough, but in our couple hours or so of talking, they haven't asked me a single thing about myself. However, they did guess my age (they were a decade low, but
️), and they did take me aside to tell me I was "very pretty" while I was in the kitchen. They've also made several comments about me being on my phone when they've walked into the room, including asking if I was texting "one of my admirers". After like the fourth comment, I spoke up (loud enough for everyone nearby to hear), saying "this is a part of me that everyone in my life gets to accept—I know a lot of people, and I talk to them. I try to always prioritize people in the room, but—" and there they cut me off to say it wasn't a problem and that I'd been respectful so far.
I'm sure they only have the best intentions, but it does leave me with the impression that I'm a pleasant object to talk at.
Though credit where due, they haven't used feminine pronouns for me yet
@alice
🫂🫂🫂I dislike your ex a bit more everytime I read about them :x (even when I already knew about what I read)
For what it's worth, while I think you look great and would be glad if you agree to a hug should we ever meet, I don't want to fuck you, and still think you are one of the most interesting and kind persons I know
> if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it
🤭
Although, maybe they want a cuddleable heat source in their bed, in which case they did a great job
> I was the pretty one with no substance.
Your brain is lying! You are pretty *and* have substance! 🫂
> they were a decade low, but
️I can't fault them for that, I keep doing that to people of Fedi
(I still can't believe some people I saw pictures of are over 40, I'm so bad at guessing ages x_x (please, don't tell me you are over 40 as well ))> they did take me aside to tell me I was "very pretty" while I was in the kitchen.
Talking only about themself and being bitter because you're on your phone instead of waiting for them to talk is one thing (still not ok) but this is so gross
I hope that's not someone you'll have to see often 🫂
And I hope you'll have better dreams tonight
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Agreed. A lot of people just get told to not even try unless you do/are perfect at it from the first go.
Which is just bonkers. You do not have to be the best, you can be quite horrible at something - as long as you learn or have fun. I am horrible at singing, but that won't stop me from humming or singing along.
And making mistakes is how you learn. You didn't fail, you found a method that didn't work. Attempt again with new information and insight.
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Vulnerability time again.
So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.
Why? Well strap in...
All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.
¹ not that kind of plan B
And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".
I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)
I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"
So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.
I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.
Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.
I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.
@alice You always remind me of the old 90s rave song (Move Your Ass https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2RneoccuJwY) where it drops the line: "It's nice to be important but it's more important to be nice."
Your kindness is beautiful and durable.
-
Vulnerability time again.
So, in the bucket of "semi-innocuous things that can fuck you up for life", I cried this morning after waking from a stupid anxiety dream.
Why? Well strap in...
All my life people have told me I'm attractive (boo-hoo, right?). Which also means, all my life I've had people tell me I'm vain, or shallow, or that I'm using my looks manipulatively. People have also informed me that looks don't last, and that I'd "better have a plan B"¹ for when they inevitably fade.
¹ not that kind of plan B
And, with brains being the lovely little pattern-seeking machines they are, mine condensed this down to "People like/hate you for your looks. If you're not pretty enough, you're worthless; if you're too pretty you're a bad person".
I've written before about my ex-spouse who told me, in a crowded cafe, "people only listen to you because you're fuckable" (this was in response to telling them that two psychologists had favorably reviewed my paper on autism self-diagnostic criteria)
I've also written about how I never really found myself attractive until just recently (thanks therapy, healthy relationships, and Fedi). I recognized that other folx did—or at least said they did, but—with my lifelong history of abuse—I didn't see it. I think it took, at least in part, having a healthy, loving, asexual partner for me to start liking myself in new ways. And, as she said after I told her about the dream this morning, "if I'm using you for your body, I'm doing a really bad job of it"
So what was the dream? It was a pretty basic theater anxiety dream.
I was in a play (playing the male lead, I think), and I'd spent the morning doing my costume and makeup for the part. Someone ran by and let me know I was on in 7 minutes. It was then I realized no one had given me a script, and I didn't know anything about my lines or the play. A perfectly reasonable panic attack ensued, and then I woke up.
Now, I don't usually read into dreams; dreams are my brain's equivalent of DOS6 running defrag. But this one was pretty on the nose.
I had spent all my time trying to look the role, and had completely failed to do the part that matters...and now it was too late—I was the pretty one with no substance.
