I'm allergic to latex.
ya I know IT'S FUCKING FUNNY ISN'T IT FDKSOFGHSR~
which means no latex clothes for me!
Never really seen the appeal of latex myself.
I think its sexy, but I hate it how its overdone in latex fetish~ aka full body suits eww.
Simple stuff like latex leggings are sexy. :)
panties are p cool.
panties are awesome
the feeling of latex makes me sick
depends on what type of panties too
its really comfy actually
lol, latex is ridiculous. I would never go out in public with latex-wear.
Latex is really only good when you want to look like catwoman.
I prefer something like leggings
I'm going to change my name and surname as well. Augustine. ~~
( damn, I love this name )
I couldn't change my name. I love it so much and I feel it's respect to my parents...they did make me the person I am today c:
I'm going to change both my name and last name when I start living full-time.
Also, according to law, I can pretty much freely change from a male to female name without listing the reason why I want to do that. They can just let me change it without giving any problems.
I've already chosen the name I am going to change to, but I have to change my passport after the name change and i'm not sure if i can afford that right now, plus I am going on holiday in a months time so I don't want to have the name changed but not the passport by then.
So I am going to wait until after the holiday. (super happy that I can change my title to "Mr" using deed poll as well, even if my passport does still have an F on it xD)
Names you say well mine will properly be Aliice :D.
Haha good lord:
So basically, the gist of it is that this guy randomly adds me and says weird shit.
I closed the chat and blocked + removed so I couldn't get the entire thing. Oh well.
I got added by someone yesterday too, under the alias of Lilly with the drawgirl avatar and all he said was "DOG-GY is a scalie not a furry but that doesn't make him any less of a faggot." That's it, that's all that person added me for. He then proceeded to say a bunch of stupid stuff so I removed him.
Mine might end up being Lucy or something along those lines.
I'm confused what's going on here
Not too keen on latex, too thin and shiny. Now leather? Mmmm. I'd love a black and red leather corset dress.
I bought panties today, didn't know what size to get at all do I got 5 and they fit great. (anyone know US
sizing for girls?)
Lol @ the people who get nervous doing it, you can easily claim they're for your SO. I saw some 40 year old guy looking at bras.
I had an ex-boyfriend buy some panties for me, as a joke. He just brought them up to the counter, looked the cashier in the eye and said "THESE ARE FOR MY GIRLFRIEND. I AM NOT USING THEM.".
that's pretty good
On names, I'm going to be Kairi. :3
So I pretty much answered my own question of what happens if you tell your doctor about suicidal thoughs and self-medicating, and the result of this isn't really what I hoped for, but anyways here's the story;
Me and my supportive went to my doctor, and as we're talking about my self-hate and how I don't want to live if I have to go on like this, she tells me I can get some anti-depressive. Okay I guess, but then I tell her about how I've been smoking weed to ease my self-hate, and how I've also been self-medicating for quite some time now.
The more I tell her, the more I start to hate the world and myself, and she notices this (it was pretty obvious, I was inches away from having a complete breakdown), and she then tells me she can't give me any medicine anyways, but that I should head off to the hospital for some conversations and such.
Okay I think, and we head off to the hospital.
As we enter the hospital, a doctor welcomes us in the door, and we're showed into a small room for conversations and such. We enter, and he mentions that my doctor's called, saying I was pretty emotional about what I had told her and that she had felt I was getting more deperessed the more I told her. She also told him about my suicidal thoughs and even a few previous attempts, and as he's done verifying these things, he leaves.
Afterwards, a horde of female doctors appear, and they all take notes of the things I have to say.
I tell them that I nave no interest in living my life and what I want out of my future, and surprisingly they're all nice and acceptful towards this, and for the first time in ages I actually felt like my life was in good hands.
From there it was all downhill. My supportive started speaking in such a fluent danish that even I didn't understand half of what she were saying, and she pretty much took control of the conversation.
They offered me to stay at the hospital for self-protection, and I accepted it as I though "What the hell, if it makes things go faster".
Briefly after I enter a small room full of zombies and doctors, I realise what's happened. They had me locked up at their mental hospital for people with severe mental illnesses that are harmful towards themselfs and their surroundings.
The day after my arrival, I had another meeting with some doctors. They asked me some questions, some of them completely idiotic such as "Are you sure you're not just gay?" and similiar where I was close to just leaving in rage. I remained calm and answered their many questions.
For the next 3 days there's not really anything to say. I spent most of my time at my room just crying and going completely mental.
The meeting had made me question everything about myself, who I were, what I were, and why I couldn't just live a normal life.
This combined with the constant screaming from the other patients, the alarms going off every other hour, and the entire feeling of being imprisoned for asking for help, it all slowly dug me into a hole of enormous identity problems where I'd rather end my life than find out more.
On the 4th day, one of the people working there came and asked me if I needed someone to talk with. I just wanted to be alone, so we ended up having a small but pleasant small-talk.
She felt I was feeling bad, and asked if she should leave. I asked yes please, and she did so.
Later that day, one of the doctors offered me some stress-reliefing medicine, and I gladly accepted it.
It didn't really do anything but just make me tired, but I found out that two of these mysterious black pills would have a very powerful influence of my way of thinking, and I could finally get some inner peace from the constant worrying and questioning of everything.
After I jumped on this magical medicine, I was able to hang out with the other patients. I just told them I was there because I smoked too much weed in a long period, and they were all very helpful and gave me lots of support to stop this junkie way of living.
I'm just gonna excluse all the things we did, as it was pretty much the same. There were nothing to do except smoke and watch TV. Oh and, this is also how I started smoking again, and my 10 days break from cigarettes turned into a pack a day.
Skipping forward to my last meeting, I just told them I didn't care about anything anymore, and that I'd stop smoking weed + self-medicating, and that I wouldn't kill myself or even threaten to do so.
To help me get through life easier they perscriped me some of the medicine they had given me, and finally they could tell me what they had been giving me for the past couple of days. Apparently it was Truxal, some anti-psycotic stuff. I told her this isn't what I wanted, to just drug myself away so I can enjoy my current life, it's not how I'd have a happy life. My doctor replied to me with "You have to realise that everyone doesn't have a happy life, it's about having a satisfying life". That's when my life pretty much just snapped. I had desperately asked for help, and they had given me a stay at the mental hospital and some anti-psycotic drugs. I'm not gonna dig deeper into it, because it'd require me to drug myself so far that I'd not even be able to write, so let's continue.
Finally released, my family and I go to my apartment. I'd lost it because I'd flopped my education half a year ago. I was too depressed to study something I had no interest in, so I was thrown out.
We pack a ton of stuff, and after half a day of constant working, I slowly have a breakdown because of stress. I hate my neighbours for being disrespective assholes, and I haven't told anyone but my mom about my little secret, so hiding a lot of stuff was required.
When I finally cracked, I just couldn't take it anymore. Simple things would bug me to no end, and a simple box being built wrong would have me hitting the wall in hate.
My mom decided that it'd be best for me if I came with her home, and so we did.
The day after we had moved all the stuff to my new apartment, my mom and I were cleaning up and doing general working. I was sitting at a computer at one point, and out of boredom I started thinking of the things I tought of at the mental hospital.
Slowly I started hating myself as much as I did at the hospital, and I though perhaps some of the medicine would help.
I downed 2x15mg, an average dose, and waited for it to work.
While waiting, I got pretty emotional about myself. I started thinking more and more about it, and just wanted to kill myself. My self-hate was taking over, and for the first time in my life I actually didn't care what would happen to me as long as I could just have my life taken.
After half an hour of crying in my step-dad's bed, trying to convinde my mom into just letting me end it all, the pills finally kicked in. This was a very bad idea.
I went from being very emotional about it, to just not giving a single fuck about anything, and that's where things started to go even more downhill.
I started talking with my mom about how I've felt for ages, why I think I am what I am, and pretty much every other subject there is to talk about it.
I was so drugged that I didn't hear half of what my mom said, but to me it sounded as if my mom had everything against what I was doing, and I started defending my life for a cause that didn't even excist.
After an hour of me being complete hysterical about why my mom wouldn't even support me in this case, I told her I didn't want her as a mom, and that I wanted a lift home.
They drove me to the mental hospital, where her boyfriend pretty much took the word from me, explaining to them the previous situation, so I was once again locked up amonst the screaming ones. This time though, a lot of the "normal" ones had been released because they didn't need to be there, and had been replaced with the stereotypical people you think of when you think "mental hospital", the ones that constantly scream for help, and when they get help they scream for them to be left alone.
I was still very drugged from the medicine, and I had gone back into being completely hysterical and emotional about it. I was confused from the drug and my short memory, I hated myself and the world around me, and I just wanted to go home and sleep it all out so perhaps I'd have a decent day tomorrow.
Just before entering the mental hospital once again, I had a brief talk with my mom, where I found out that it had all been one big misunderstanding from my side. I downed another pill, bringing me up to 45mg. This was simply too much, and I was forced to laying on a sofa just staring blindly into the air. One of my friends from when I had been there previously, she somehow got me relaxed and not worrying about anything (could've been the medicine too though, I don't remember much from that evening), and the next morning I woke up with a muffin on my table, she's such a sweet girl and I was so lucky to have her as a friend.
That morning I was called into yet another meeting. The doctor asked me about lots of stuff from my youth, nothing which has any relavance to any of the problems I had been facing in the previous days, and I replied with "None of the problems I'm facing with is something you can help me with. As you said previously (They had at another meeting), and that I just have to live with it". She agreed and I was released, with a pocket full of anti-psycotic medicine.
Now I daily take 30mg of truxal to just live a normal life. Twice the dose that was previously used to make me relax is now the dose I use to just get out of my apartment and live what my previous doctor refers to as a "satisfying life", and now I'm standing here, an androgyny middle-aged whatever, living one day at a time while worthshipping my "satisfying" life as a druggie, so I suppose you won't be seeing me around anymore as I've been given the only offer I'll ever get without my country turning against me. I'd like to thanks for all the good times though, and I'll still be available through PM if any of you have any questions or need help with something, as I did manage to experience everything while I was still allowed.
My god, Tools. I don't even know what to say after reading all that. :c