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Marriage equality will, in time, fundamentally destroy “traditional marriage,” and I, for one, will dance on its grave.

It’s not a terribly difficult conclusion to draw.

As same-sex couples marry, they will be forced to re-imagine many tenets of your “traditional marriage.” In doing so, they will face a series of complicated questions:

Should one of us change our last name? And if so, who?

Should we have kids? Do we want to have kids? How do we want to have kids? Whose last name do our kids take?

How about housework, work-work, childcare? How do we assign these roles equitably? How do we cultivate a partnership that honors each of our professional and personal ambitions?

As questions continually arise, heterosexual couples will take notice — and be forced to address how much “traditional marriage” is built on gender roles and perpetuates a nauseating inequality that has no place in 2014.

Marriage Equality Is Destroying “Traditional Marriage,” And Why That’s A Good Thing (An Open Letter) | Carina Kolodny for the Huffington Post Gay Voices (via samtarly)

Word.

(Source: gaywrites)

She falls again. And again. And again.

It’s not always and it’s not often, but this big, dark fucker of a wave sporadically crashes into me, and holds me under until I’m pretty sure I’ll suffocate.

It’s depression, this little echo from 8th grade that sometimes likes to scream until my ears ring. Nothing new, nothing to really be worried about…just remnants of a decade ago, when everything was AMPLIFIED and HORRIBLE and I wanted to DIE EVERY DAMN DAY. I’m not meaning to downplay my younger and suicidal self; yeah, there was teenage angst, but that was also paired with PTSD and maybe being somewhere on the bipolar spectrum…who the fuck knows. Always fooling myself into thinking the last time will be the last time.

I’ve communicated a little with some people. My mom, for example, since I’m kinda under her roof right now, and it’s hard to avoid her. Others somewhat get it, have maybe even been there (here?), but it’s a different battle for everyone. This weekend has just been one sad sack of shit, of self-pity and self-disgust, of being caught between the desire of being held, or to lash out. So, mostly kept to my room. If I can’t communicate nicely, this is best, because hurting those closest to the one that’s hurt is an old and evil formula. Doing my best to refrain.

Lost count of how many times I’ve cried today, screamed in to my pillow, or quietly clung to a dog’s neck (that’s probably the most helpful thing I’ve done, other than look into local counselors).

Listen to Ms. Little Bo Weep. Jesus, this is ridiculous. 27 years old, and flailing about emotionally like a 15 year old.

It’s not funny. I shouldn’t goad myself, nor mock the pain of others, however adolescently charming. Humor’s just a coping mechanism, however much in bad taste.

Funny, how easy it is to send this into the atmosphere of familiar strangers, but I choke if I even attempt to tell my boyfriend, or even my mom.

Humans and they’re funky, fantastic selves.

thymegatampon:

rivarnnerae:

if a guy stares at ur boobs 

just stare at his dick

maybe squint a little bit

One time I was at the grocery store with my mom when an older man starts staring at my ass and the worst part was that he was standing next to his wife and kids so I start staring at his crotch and squinting really hard even tilted my head to the side a little and let me tell you I have never seen anyone look more embarrassed in my life and I have never felt more accomplished it was fantastic

Role model.

(Source: vulnereble)

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