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Letter sent on Oct 12, 2018

A Fleeting Kind Of Madness

This week — October 7–13 — marks Mental Illness Awareness Week.

For me, it marks 18 years of elusive but persistent depression. And anxiety.
Throughout my life, since I was about 17, it has crept into my mind’s field of vision like black ink or a very feral, frightened dog — wet, miserable, howling, its eyes red and leaking.

I can always see it coming. My sadness — whether it drifts into my throat like Indigo dye or a lonely wolf — is kind enough to flash its teeth and signal its arrival before it descends upon me, giving me a few days to brace myself for days of terrible, terrible thoughts.

Every time I tell strangers or new friends — I’ve wrestled with depression since I was a teenager — they scoff a little, unbelieving. I’m loud, sunny, brimming with stories; I’m a giantly friendly extrovert with a huge capacity for joy.

I do not seem capable of such sadness.

I suppose the way I’ve always framed it to myself is that this is the price I pay for the joy I experience. If I believe in anything it is, perhaps, in balance, so why should my heart get to soar and not also be torn asunder?

No one is that lucky, are they?

Last night I tasted my fleeting madness as it settled on my tongue and start to brim behind my eyes; my new boyfriend was upset and a little frightened, which only made me sob harder because I feel so goddamn ugly and lost and irrational when my cries start to barrel through my chest.

This is all to say — maybe you know what I’m talking about? Maybe your brain is a bit of an enemy too or maybe someone you love suffers at the hand of their own wiring.

I have a village of humans who I feel safe enough to explode in front of — they hold my hands and make me dinner and go on runs and play me music and love me very very hard — until I can scoop my guts up back inside my body and get on with it.

I hope you have someone you trust like that — I hope you have 50. Or I hope you’re the person who is helping to scoop. And I thank you because I know all that blood is hot and heavy to maneuver.

Thank you for being part of my village.

With love + rage,
Katie Tandy
Co-founder | Creative Director

Yes, Kavanaugh, We’re Living In ‘The Twilight Zone’

By Imran Siddiquee

That is the lie — the binary of “good” and “bad” masculinity — that men so often hide behind. The same illusion, compounded and mirrored by the lie of white innocence, which carried a racist misogynist to the presidency two years ago even after he admitted to sexual assault.

The fear men have to speak the truth about power in this country, who has it and how they got it, ultimately bolstered Kavanaugh’s “twilight zone” case for the Supreme Court. He knew it and Trump knew it.

Misogyny is at the very least as American as beer and baseball.

An Interview With Phyllis Chesler: On Female Violence And Feminist Revenge

By Bronwyn Isaac

If you wouldn’t dream of coercing a dude against his will to hang out with you and still call it a ‘fun hang-out session,’ why would you coerce a woman to sleep with you and still call it consensual sex? Why don’t women get the same basic respect in sexual intimacy that you afford your bros while watching the game?

Is that the type of man you want to be?”

A man who thinks that spending an evening feeling sexually frustrated over being aroused by a woman while not being able to have sex is the worst possible outcome for a sexual encounter.

A man who would settle for a woman leaving a sexual encounter with them feeling violated, hurt, and betrayed, rather than have no sexual encounter with that woman at all.

9 Tips For Transgirls Dealing With Cisgendereds In Public Bathrooms

By Juniper Timmons

  1. Keep your business within the stall under two and a half minutes. Any longer and the Cisgendered person becomes suspicious. If you still need to go, use a different bathroom.
  2. Be as quiet or still as possible. They can’t see movement.
  3. Use as little toilet paper as possible.They don’t want their taxpayer money going to a Transgirl’s ass.






We love you and need your support.

My Disability Story Isn’t For Your Catharsis

By Katie Rose Guest Pryal

Memoirs of disability are often studies in suffering.
But what I’ve found in my research is that normate readers don’t actually want to read stories of suffering — not by itself, at least.

They want suffering-plus.

They want some form of Aristotelian catharsis — a release.

Welcome To The Club: How Women Are Changing Tattoo Culture

By Katy Harnett

“I want people to know when they come to my shop they’re getting a safe experience, a pleasant experience, and a comfortable experience. I want them to have the experience I wish I had had.”

Tattoos represent a choice, something we can put on ourselves that express our own ideas about who we are.

What’s The Future Of Gay Slang?

By Chelsea Paisley

If you’ve ever looked into the history of queer vernacular English, you’ve probably stumbled across Polari. It was a British vernacular used by performers, thieves, people of color, and, in particular, gay men. It’s also the darling of Lavender linguistics, as one of the best-known instances of queer anti-language.

Anti-languages like Polari fulfill two purposes: creating a community of people in the know, and keeping out people who threaten that community.