It may look like a forest, but this actually an aquarium. Check out the rest of these mind-blowing aquascapes from a recent competition.
The percentage of American babies born to unmarried mothers has more than doubled since 1980. That year, only 18.4 percent of the babies born in the United States were born to unmarried mothers.
What is this nation coming to where nearly half of babies are born illegitimately? A decline in parenting and moral decay can easily be attributed to this huge rise. You can already see the effects at these public schools. Despicable.
What is this shit? Seriously, overgeneralizing much?
I’m a natural child, what you would call “illegitimate”.The fruit of moral decay. Fuck you. I’m very legitimate.
My parents were 33 (dad) and 39 (mom) when I was born. They’d been together for years. They are not 61 and 67, still going strong. My mother is retired after decades of working in a hospital. My father is an archivist in a city hall.
They drink twice a day on weekends and never during weekdays. They don’t smoke. They pay their taxes. They’ve been faithful to each other. They help their neighbours when they can. They never drive more than 5 miles over the speed limit. This year, my mother has celebrated her 40 years of owning the family home.
But they had sex outside of wedlock. Repeatedly. Hell, they even had a kid! What immoral scum!
Really, it’s a miracle I’m still alive at this point. You’d think a kid who grew up in that kind of “family”, in that den of “moral decay” (your words) would have been whipped away by social workers, shipped from foster home to foster home, would have dabbed in drugs and alcohol, possibly prostitution. I should have AIDS right now, or maybe have ODed once or twice. It’s a wonder I haven’t had several “illegitimate” kids yet.
Instead, here I am. 27, working as a highschool teacher. Not smoking. Drinking socially. Never done drugs, not even marijuana. Graduated early from highschool. Finished in the top 10% of the teacher’s certification. Good social circle of friends. Two well-fed and vaccinated cats.
I am a miracle, aren’t I? I mean, why hasn’t a journalist written an uplifiting article about me “overcoming the odds” already?
Oh, wait. Probably because I had sex out of wedlock. My parents did ruin me, after all.
I need intensive treatment and do not have the funds to make this happen. I want to have a life again. I want to fight, but I can’t do this alone.
Please take the time to read this. This girl needs our help as the caring Tumblr community we are. Fitblrs, Eating Disorder Recovery people, anyone. If this gets reblogged enough and if it gets reblogged 30,000 times, and everyone donates 2 dollars, she will be saved. Her LIFE will be saved.
I never post things asking for donations, but this hits so close to home, I feel compelled to help this girl.
Her life is being taken away from her by her eating disorder. It is so severe that the hospital she’s at can’t help her anymore. She needs special treatment, more help, that’s not covered by her medical plan.
We need to help. This community is the kind of community that bonds together and helps these kind of people.
Even if you don’t donate, reblog this so it gets around and gains awareness.
Ingrid I’m praying for you and will do anything I can with my power to help her get the help she needs to live her life again.
Hi guys, I haven’t posted in a while but this girl needs our help. Please read and donate if you are able. Thanks so much!
what i mean when i say “i can’t do that” - the depression edition
- i am unable to do that
- i don’t have the energy to do that
- i cannot wrap my head around what you’re asking me to do
- there is too much in my head right now
- i can not do that
what people hear:
- i am unwilling to do that
- i am being stubborn for no reason
- i am being dramatic
- i am lazy
- i need you to repeat that only louder
- i need a push
- i don’t want to do that
I was browsing through pictures taken at a demonstration I took part in this morning, and when this one showed up it took me half a minute to realize I was the smiling girl under the purple umbrella.
This photo won’t mean anything to anyone who hasn’t met me, but to me it’s a mile stone.
I look happy and I’m slimmer than I was a year ago, and for the first time in my entire life, the word beautiful crossed my mind in regards to myself. I’ve - I had - never thought of myself as beautiful, not once in 28 years. I’ve been called fat a lot when I was younger, and I’ve been called beautiful more than once, but it never registered.
I think I’ve made a lot of progress in the last months/2 years.
Maybe this recovery is due to my new medication. I was able at last, last Thursday, to meet a new psychiatrist. He diagnosed me as having Panic Disorder, which led to Social Phobia, which led to Depression. (my previous diagnosis wasn’t far off: Depression with phobic neurosis)
He also changed my medication, so I quit Paxil/Paroxetine and started Seroplex/Escitalopram/Lexapro, with some regular intake of Lexomil/Bromazepam to help with Paxil withdrawal.
It may be a bit early to tell, but I like Seroplex. I think without it I wouldn’t have been able to bear the twelve-hour long strike days, the tempestuous union meetings. I don’t think I would even have been motivated enough to get up in the morning.
The first demonstration was before my psychiatric appointment, and I had a panic attack near the end when guys started banging on bins right next to me while others were booing and talking in a microphone.
The other demonstrations (after starting Escitalopram) were bearable. Hell, look at my face this morning!
I had another near breakdown this afternoon, but I blame it on being in such a hurry that I forgot to take my meds this morning and at lunch. Some woman I hardly know responded aggressively to my asking her to be less loud, and despite my apology she was a douche. She nearly made me cry, then I remembered I had my first aid kit (in case of overzealous police) and popped half a bromazepam. Plus my period started today, so hormones. Otherwise I have been much more stable.
I read about escitalopram side effects:
I hope things will keep getting better. I hope my employer will find my medical file that they’ve lost and tell me whether I’ll go back to work or be put on long sick leave. I hope my employer will give me the €41.000 it owes me.
I can’t find it in me to write these days. I’m babysitting for a friend who’s in dire straits. Just my friend’s situation is stressing me out, which seems silly compared to how stressed out she must be.
She was sharing a house with her childhood best friend. The friend has a husband and 4 children aged 6-18, my friend has a 7-month old baby. Her friends are sort of hippy and really lax on cleanliness, and very noisy, which was a problem for her. She works 10 hours a day and was exhausted physically and mentally. Although she paid her share of the rent, she was made to feel like she should be grateful and not have any demands.
She spent hours just telling me her troubles, and as much as I like her it’s exhausting ME now. She’s been kicked out of the house - because she complained of the smells, dirt and noise.
Since yesterday she’s house-sitting, so at least she’s got a quiet place to stay for the next two weeks. But her friend was also her nanny, so she has nobody to watch her son while she’s at work. That’s where I come in. I felt obliged to offer to babysit, and of course she took me on my offer. So I had to get up at 5:30 to take baby in.
The first three hours were hard, then he took a nap and it’s been better.(he’s teething) I managed to dress, brush my teeth and even eat a bite!
I don’t know how single mums do. One thing is certain, I want even less to have kids now. As much as I like it, it monopolises my time.
I’m so stressed out. I spent Saturday with a friend, Nat, who suffers from worse depression than I do. It made me feel better and also worse. Since then I’ve been feeling down. She encouraged me to see a psychiatrist rather than a GP for my depression, but for that I have to go to the mental health centre and I’m afraid of the stigma. Plus I’m so stressed out about meeting strangers!
I’m afraid of breaking down in the centre in front of other people. But it’s hard to be in the limbo like I am.
When it comes to work, I’m waiting for an answer from the medical committee in Paris to decide whether or not I’m fit to work (I don’t feel like I am) but my employer claimed there was no psychiatrist for the expertise, and I had to see a GP. Turns out there IS a psychiatrist with the required agreement - Nat met him. So why did my employer lie?
My school principal has been harassing my other colleagues. Because I’m in a union, I know about all the stuff she’s been doing, despite not being there. Once more, hearing what she’s putting my colleagues through is stressing me out. It’s like she’s still harassing me despite me not being at work.
I’m expected at the Union’s office this afternoon, which means I have to leave the baby with my older housemate. He’s had three kids, so I think he’ll be alright! But at the Union I’ll meet the baby’s mother’s former friend… with whom I was friends too. Still am. Awkward. This was really awkward, and maybe this is why I’m stressed, feeling torn between my two friends, not seeing that any of them is right or wrong exactly.
At this point I’m just writing to fill my daily quota of 750 words. I had started writing again. I had, what 19.000 words of my novel written down? I was making myself write everyday. Now I don’t want to do it, and I hardly feel bad about it. I feel bad, in fact, about not feeling bad about quitting. Because writing this was pulling me up a little. It used to feel important. I was thinking of taking part in NaNoWriMo, but I’m not sure now.
Like defending my friend. She wanted to quit her job here and take a flight back to Paris, and I used to try and make her stay. Now, I’m encouraging her to leave, because once she’s far from me, her problems will be far too and I’ll feel better.
Even the baby doesn’t distract me. It likes me, but I don’t like it back. It smells of baby sweat and drool, it smiles at me and laughs and I DON’T CARE FOR IT.
i stole a few of my mom’s paroxetine tablets (10mg each) and kinda wanna take one cuz my anxiety and panic has been bad but i’m gonna drink moderately tonight and i don’t know if that’s a bad idea
Paroxetine isn’t for anxiety primarily, it’s for depression, so it wouldn’t help you any way (in the short term). Paroxetine is only effective on the long term (it takes 2 weeks for the effects to appear). If your anxiety is a handicap, ask your doctor to prescribe you anti-anxiety medication such as Bromazepam.
I’m wondering about the effectiveness of my medication on my depression. But then, I’ve also been told that the medication wouldn’t cure me - that it would only diminish the symptoms while I get psychological/psychiatric treatment.
But there aren’t enough therapists on this damn island! My former therapist said she was booked for months - and the psychiatrists at the Mental Health Center say the same thing, and that I should see a therapist on my own time and funds.
I don’t mind paying, but I’m fed up with waiting.
I still have the anxiety. The loss of control of my own body - the fidgeting, burning, difficulty to breathe - makes me very embarrassed. I have a second housemate now, but I haven’t told him the gist of my “illness” yet. I’ll probably have to, because he finds it weird that I seek solitude so much, or that I don’t get out of the house.
I’ve also recently realized I can’t sleep without tranquilizers, which is weird, because I’m not that stressed at night. It’s just, I lay in bed, and I’m not tired, and I keep thinking about stuff - not necessarily anxious stuff - and when I look at the time it’s one in the morning. So I take the lexomyl, and I wake up at 10 feeling lazy and feeling bad for getting up 4 hours later than my housemates. They must think I’m so lazy.
I still hear stuff - not so much voices like before, but noises that I know aren’t there. I hear someone breathing in my bedroom. It would freak me out if I wasn’t so used to it, and it freaks me out that I’ve become used to it. I hear footsteps outside my bedroom, like someone is lurking outside.
Real noises though - they actually scare me. Someone’s walking up the stairs to my flat? Oh my god! A human is coming! I will have to interact! Quick, find a hiding place!
A car is driving down my street? Same drill.
The phone rings? (semi-heart attack) I’ll be in the bathroom. Or in the shower. Sorry, I couldn’t take the call. You should have sent me a text. (I’ve told people to text me. Some don’t get it.)