- I am allowed to be vocal about my pain if it helps me heal
- I am allowed to be sad in places other than my own head
- I am allowed to express my anger/sadness/hurt in ways that do not hurt other people, whether that is in writing or speaking to friends
- I am allowed to speak my truth even when it makes others uncomfortable
- I am allowed to take care of myself, even if it makes people who hurt me uncomfortable
- I am allowed to create my own rules for self-care
Plenty of vitriol has been thrown at Kim Kardashian, most of it snark on how she’s continually shunned by fashion, even more so than her husband. (I particularly find the situation surrounding Kanye’s fashion line — lifestyle line? — funny and terrible, because were it not for him, leather sweatpants would not have been a thing at all. But that is a story for another time.) Kim gets a custom dress by Ricardo Tisci? Everyone screams about how she looks like a couch. Baby clothes from Katie Couric? Only as a guilt-gift after Katie mouthed off about Kim on network television. People don’t get ‘it’ — they don’t get her. They don’t get how she’s made a name for herself despite the fact our culture is set up to shame women in her position to the shadows or a breakdown. Kim has done neither. Instead, she ended up with arguably the most expensive bag ever, and oh yeah, a beautiful child. By all accounts except our own incontrovertible guilt, Kim broke our rules. She’s the sexbomb celebrity, the mother and businesswoman, the Madonna and Madonna. Women aren’t allowed to be all of these things, and so we must punish her.
- it’s okay to be genderfluid but usually a girl
- it’s okay to be genderfluid but usually a boy
- it’s okay to be agender one day and bigender the next
- it’s okay to not identify as any specific gender
- it’s okay to keep your gender to yourself
- your gender is your own goddamn business
The Cannibal of Muensterberg - Thanks to Hannibal Lecter, cannibal killers aren’t all that shocking. In fact, we almost expect it from our psychopathic murderers. However, Karl Denke took things to the next level. He was Lecter meets Mrs. Lovett.
Denke lived in what was then the town of Muensterberg in Germany (today it’s Ziebice, Poland), and he was a beloved figure around town. Everybody called him “Papa Denke,” he was active in church, and was always willing to give a handout to those less fortunate. He even let poor travelers and homeless vagabonds spend the night in his home. When he wasn’t doing good deeds, he was selling suspenders, belts, and scrumptious jars of pickled pork. He was so popular that nobody cared if he regularly dumped buckets of blood outside his home, or that his apartment smelled really weird.
Then on December 21, 1924, a coachman heard screaming coming from Denke’s house. He ran inside to find a young man covered in blood. Denke claimed the man was a thief who he’d fended off with an ax. Following protocol, the police took Denke to the station and locked him up. Later that evening, they found Papa Denke hanging in his cell, having committed suicide with his handkerchief. Suspicious, the police searched his home and found human skin (for those suspenders) and tubs of pickled flesh. They even found a journal full of names, dates, and…weights. In total, authorities suspected Denke of murdering 40 people over a span of four years. Even worse, everybody around Muensterberg had been eating them for dinner. Yum.