It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

— It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via dirtyberd)


Prescribing Anxieties for Anxiety

“Some of the things I’m about to say might not make sense,” began O.M., a 22-year-old cancer survivor. He had the far-off look in his eyes that I recognized from so many of the other study participants. They sound like travelers, struggling to describe exotic foreign lands to the people left back home. That struggle is a sign that the treatment has worked. Ineffability is one of the primary criteria that define a mystical experience.

“I was outside of my body, looking at myself,” O.M. continued, “My body was lying on a stretcher in front of a hospital. I felt an incredible anxiety—the same anxiety I had felt every day since my diagnosis. Then, like a switch went on, I went from being anxious to analyzing my anxiety from the outside. I realized that nothing was actually happening to me objectively. It was real because I let it become real. And, right when I had that thought, I saw a cloud of black smoke come out of my body and float away.”

The encounter with the black smoke was just one of many experiences that O.M. had that day. As his mind, “like a rocket,” traversed vast expanses, his body never left the comfortable and well-worn couch at the Bluestone Center for Clinical Research in Midtown Manhattan. The athletic first-year medical student is one of 32 participants in a New York University study examining the hallucinogen psilocybin as a treatment for cancer-related anxiety.

Read more. [Image: NYU]

I made biblical archaeology trading cards! Aren’t I COOL? (at Mills College)


Anonymous asked:

Sexual attraction patterns are set early in life and are very resistant to change. I'm generally not attracted to black women, and at almost 30, that's really unlikely to change. It doesn't make me racist, it just means I grew up in a racist culture, which affected me when I was a preteen, which I've consciously worked on overcoming. Berating people for being honest about something they have no control doesn't do much to further the goal of equality and just makes people more defensive.



Hey asshole, first of all, if you somehow think all black women are the fucking same, you’re fucking racist as shit, and the fact that you think you have no control over this, or can’t at least find the basic decency to shut the fuck up and be embarrassed about this terrible part of your racist brain, that’s what makes you extra racist. Who the fuck cares if racists get defensive, they fucking should, you idiot.


THE DAILY PIC:  The sculptor Jean-Baptiste Carpeaux painted this wild little image in about 1870, and it’s now one of the most impressive and surprising pieces in the survey of his work at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. The canvas shows his wife giving birth (so I’m not sure why the experts are in doubt about its date). It must be one of the first – and only – Old Master pictures to document that moment. Whatever the drawing’s relationship to an actual scene Carpeaux might have witnessed, it is amazing that he could conceive of birthing in such grandly romantic terms, and that he would want to claim to have made a record of it.

The Daily Pic also appears at For a full inventory of past Daily Pics visit

(via newsweek)

“With bullying, you’re facing basically the same problem you have when it comes to rape culture. Everyone flaps their gums about how bad rape is, but when the rubber hits the road, a whole bunch of people side with rapists against rape victims. With this incident, you even see the same logic that rape and domestic violence victims often hear, that speaking out against abuse somehow deprives their assailant of his privacy.

Beyond that, the problem with bullying is that adults look the other way for exactly the same reasons kids do: They don’t like the victim, they find the whole process amusing or even what the victim deserves, they think the victim is whiny, etc. As long as adults feel this way, bullies will feel free to do their thing, safe in the knowledge that the adults are on their side. To fix bullying, we need to shift some of the efforts away from sending a “message” to kids that bullying is bad and start really tackling the culture of the adults who tolerate or even encourage it.”

My hair fell in the shot



—From a recent study titled Cutaneous Corpuscular Receptors of the Human Glans Clitoris: Descriptive Characteristics and Comparison with the Glans Penis in the Journal of Sexual Medicine. Click here for the abstract.


(via dirtyberd)



Development is superduper interesting. The shape of your body, which is more or less universal across all humans you’ve seen, is clearly laid out in your genes. All organisms have these genes that direct growing cells to become certain types; whether it be leg skin, arm muscle, left kidney or middle slightly-to-the-left lung tissue. This process is a delicate dance of protein recipes (transcription factors, to some folks) that I won’t be going in to depth here, but I suggest you check out.

What I want to talk about, again (not sorry), is genitals. You may think that the penis and the vulva look very different from each other, but both develop from a common structure. This common structure does resemble the female form slightly more, hence why you may have heard that we are all “female first”. This is only slightly accurate.

As cells differentiate, or settle into their fated paths, your genes are continuously being read for clues and signaling for the next step. When the growing baby gets to the point where it dedicates energy into developing sexual organs, the X and Y chromosomes dictate the following steps.

At this point a fetus has neither female nor male sexual organs.

Everyone has a bladder and a peehole (fun fact: the anus and the ureter are not separate at this time, you have a cloaca). In the beginning there is an elevation (the genital tubercle), which later becomes the point of business.

At this point, things get complicated. The anus and the pee-corridor separate. The flappy part (called the labioscrotal folds) either fuses into the scrotum or fills out into labia. A series of tubes will either raise into the body and become the uterus and Fallopian tubes, or lower into the penis and become the Vas Deferens (transport tubes) and seminal vesicle (semen production). The previously undifferentiated gonad will become the ovary or the testes, and both will start within the body cavity. The testes will drop later on.





The clitoris and the penis develop from the same structure. The foreskin is the same as the clitoral hood. The scrotum is fused labia. The system that develops so that you can reproduce and have kids (if you so choose) goes through a series of developmental gymnastics to organize all the tubing and flaps in an effective, sperm-optimizing, baby-protecting, and still somehow feel-good way.

The process of becoming ‘male’ or ‘female’ based on your genital type is a complex dance. The cocktail of hormones present at each step determines what tissues will change and where. There are many hormones involved, but estrogen and testosterone are big players. Put simply, if your testosterone levels are higher than estrogen levels at a particular point, your body will make the motions towards become male. If your body doesn’t get this signal where the hormone scales are tipped, you will remain on the path towards becoming female. If your body, for a variety of reasons, doesn’t get a clear signal, you can get both the signal to be male and to be female! Or slightly more of one. Maybe not enough to notice, or maybe something that requires surgery or hormone therapy to change. This process of balancing hormones only accounts for one thing in this context: the pattern of genital formation you have. It determines nothing else of your gender identification.

Fun fact: don’t like getting kicked in the balls? Feel like you’re about to throw up or your abdomen is literally going to fall out of your mouth? Your testes remain in your abdominal cavity while your nervous system is forming pain networks. Although your testes are in a different part of the body by the time you are likely to get kicked there, the association with that area remains.