Read more: http://imgur.com/gallery/286p0
Read more: http://imgur.com/gallery/286p0
Whether it’s because they feel pressure to appear a certain way in public or they don’t want to burden others with their inner turmoil, the fact is that we don’t always know what depression looks like.
That’s why people on social media are raising awareness by sharing photos with the hashtag #facesofdepression. Just a warning: some of these stories are graphic and involve death. If they may upset you, please protect yourself by not reading.
If you’re in a relationship, you probably don’t think much about what it sounds like to kiss your partner. But for one deaf woman, it meant the world to finally be able to hear it. After receiving a cochlear implant, she visited her doctor to make sure the device was working as it was supposed to.
(via Daily Mail)
Wow — a very strong and explicit statement by the
We sort of knew some type of major protests were coming today after Trump’s insane and inappropriate comments over the past few days, but this one was particularly poignant and we’re proud of the Steelers for exercising their Constitutional rights to protest non-violently!
The Steelers were not on the sidelines during the national anthem. LT Alejandro Villanueva, who served in the Army, stood by the tunnel pic.twitter.com/teTCoJ3vFx
— Master Tesfatsion (@MasterTes) September 24, 2017
National Anthem taking place in Chicago. Steelers sideline. On the other sideline Bears players standing in with arms locked hands on hearts pic.twitter.com/M7deTBF1Me
— StaceyDales (@StaceyDales) September 24, 2017
Obviously, as you can see, one single Steelers player — military veteran Alejandro Villanueva — opted to stand for the anthem itself, but in the tunnel near the locker room rather than on the field.
Steelers coach Mike Tomlin had this to say about it before the game (below):
“We’re not participating in the anthem today. Not to be disrespectful to the anthem, to remove ourselves from the circumstance. People shouldn’t have to choose. If a guy wants to go about his normal business and participate in the anthem, he shouldn’t be forced to choose sides. If a guy feels the need to do something, he shouldn’t be separated from his teammate who chooses not to. So we’re not participating today. That’s our decision. We’re gonna be 100 percent.”
Of course, Trump won’t bother to understand the nuances and thoughts behind all that… he’ll just flame the Steelers and Tomlin for the decision. Wonder why…
Meanwhile, the Denver Broncos apparently had their own incredible Trump protest today, too (below):
The Broncos are blasting “F*** Donald Trump” by YG in the locker room pregame right now
— Andrew Ferrelli (@Andrew_Ferrelli) September 24, 2017
That’s the best!!!
[Image via CBS.]
Hillary Clinton could be headed to Columbia University.
The former secretary of state and first lady is reportedly in talks with the Ivy League school to both take on a formal role with the university and to keep her archives there, according to the New York Daily News.
“It’s all fluid. It could be a number of things. No decisions have been made, but there are talks,” a source familiar with the 2016 presidential candidate told The News.
“She’s trying to figure out what she wants to do. It could end up with the papers at one place and she has some sort of faculty role at another. She hasn’t quite come to a decision,” the source continued.
Clinton could potentially be deemed a “University Professor” at the famed New York institution, a position that would permit her to lecture in multiple departments and schools but without a specific course restriction, a source told The News.
Clinton’s daughter, Chelsea, is an adjunct assistant professor at Columbia’s Mailman School of Public Health. And her old boss, former President Barack Obama, received his bachelor’s degree from the university in 1983.
A timeline on Clinton’s potential decision to teach at the school wasn’t immediately clear. She’s currently on a book tour promoting her tome about the 2016 presidential election, “What Happened.”
“I don’t think it will be two years from now. She gave birth to this book last month. She’s trying to get through that. But it will be a short time table,” a source told The News.
A request for comment from Columbia was not immediately returned.
Surgeons. The masters of the flesh. The gatekeepers of the organs. The doctors who get to shave patients.
These are the green-wearing gods who know that the human body is but a chessboard, and that the nipples are the king and queen, and the belly button is the opposing king or queen.
Today, finally, you are beginning your journey as one of them.
You have already gone through the arduous process of becoming a surgeon. After calling the hospital over and over every day for three weeks straight and praising Tylenol in the deepest voice you could muster to whoever picked up, being hung up on by countless doctors and nurses, you finally hit the big time.
Yesterday, you managed to get the chief of medicine on the line, who offered you a job after a mere 50 minutes of you bellowing to her about the white-and-red pill. Congratulations!
Okay. Being a surgeon is sweet as hell. You get to wear patients’ clothes around a hospital once the chemicals put them to sleep, you can eat as many tortilla chips as you want, and you can hide all of your favorite DVDs and family heirlooms inside toxic waste bins, the one place thieving pricks are too grossed out by to steal from.
Cool. But the best part of being a surgeon, bar none, is that incredible surgeon paycheck.
It’s no secret that surgeons are paid well, as every single day at 8 p.m., hardworking surgeons all over the world reap the fruits of their labor: a plastic bag filled with $600, given to them by their chief of medicine on their way out the door, in addition to a goodnight kiss on the forehead.
Exactly. So now that you’re a surgeon, you better do everything in your power to make it your $600 payday, because there is one universal stipulation that could jam you up: If a surgeon kills someone, everything completely goes to shit.
1) For starters, once a surgeon kills someone, they are NEVER allowed back in a hospital, ever. Even if you just want to go to hang out or to meet new lovers.
2) Your professional reference completely goes out the window. If a new job calls to ask about you, instead of a recommendation, the HR department hands the phone off to the absolute sickest pervert patient they have, and lets them air out whatever they’ve got kickin’ around up in their minds.
3) Lastly—and this one is the worst of all—you don’t get paid a dime, which would mean all of your efforts to become a surgeon were for NOTHING.
So, if you want to get to that sweet paycheck, you’re going to have to make it through one entire day as a surgeon without killing someone.
The hospital. The place where people come when they are bored to take off their pants and scream. This will be your new surgeon home, and today is your first day of work. As far as anyone inside is concerned, you are now a fully qualified surgeon, so if you want those 600 clams, you’re going to have to hold your own and stay off everyone’s radar.
“Please give me a surgery.”
Ah, shit. A sick kid is waiting for you right inside the lobby, and he looks all kinds of fucked up.
“I need a surgery pronto. I am dying, and it feels like none of my bones are connected to my other bones. I also have a rash that comes and goes. Please do surgery to me with your other doctor friends.”
“If you don’t give me a surgery right now, I will scream. I will scream so loud and for so long, and I will point at you the whole time. It will go on for so long that the rest of the doctors here will have no choice but to send you to jail.”
That was close. You’ve pissed your pants real good, and now you’re in the bathroom splashing your pants with water, the best way to clean pants that you’ve urinated in.
“You sure know your way around cleaning a pair of pissed pants, sport. Not bad at all.”
You look over and see that it’s the hospital’s janitor talking to you. He somehow opened the door in perfect silence while you were inside splashing your pants, and has been watching you for upwards of 90 full seconds.
“I’ve been watching you for upwards of 90 full seconds, and I can tell just by looking at you, you’re no surgeon.”
“Easy, easy. I’m not gonna rat you out. I’m gonna help you.
I take it that you’re in here lying to be a surgeon, hoping to get ‘The $600 Bag Treatment,’ huh? Well, you’ve got a friend in me. I’ve seen it before, and I’ll see it again. All you gotta do is make it until 8 p.m. without killing a soul and you’re in the clear. So whadya say you come lay low with me for the rest of the day, spend some time hanging with a new bud so you don’t end up killin’ no one before you get that money?”
“I, uh, how do you mean?” he says, visibly becoming self-conscious about the entire interaction so far. “I’m just tired today, so if I’m acting weird, that’s what that’s about, probably. Allergies are being weird, too.”
“Follow me!” the janitor says before sprinting down the hallway. You do your best to keep up with him as he weaves in and out of patients and doctors before you finally arrive at a huge metal door. He slides open the rusty door to reveal a set of long, winding stairs that lead to a dark, desolate basement, and turns to you with a half smile.
“It’s not delivery, it’s DiGiorno,” he says before letting out a quick, uncertain laugh, looking over his shoulder at you to kind of check in and see if you’re laughing or anything at what must have been some sort of joke.
“That was dumb, never mind,” the janitor says, shaking his head as his shoulders slump, trying to explain his joke before slowly progressing into full-blown self-deprecation. “I was thinking, like, how in the old commercials, I’d be the delivery guy and you’re the pizza—I don’t know, forget it. It was dumb. Sorry.”
You follow the janitor down the stairs and into the basement of the hospital, and lo and behold, it’s a full-blown bachelor’s pad! The janitor has stocked the place with some of the best things: a ping-pong table, a “Forever 27” poster, an old-timey popcorn machine, and a bunch of orange pill bottles filled with Frosted Cheerios.
“This is my chill zone. I’m down here almost all the time, which is why the hospital is filthy and patients always seem to get sick immediately after they get better.”
“We got all day, brother, so we could either sit down and talk about that important-looking guitar I have mounted on the wall over there, or we could stand near the stairs and wonder if Slash has ever signed a guitar and sold it for $20,000 online before, or maybe we could lay down on the ground and trade stories about the most expensive thing we’ve ever mounted on a wall. Your call.”
“I can’t lift my arms above my waist because of a power-washer accident.”
“You got a good eye, kid,” he says as though you brought it up completely unprompted, proudly looking up at the guitar he somehow mounted unnecessarily high on his wall.
“Believe it or not, Slash signed that guitar, and I was lucky enough to spend all of the money I have on it. I usually don’t do this for anyone, but for you, I’ll climb all the way up there and get it if you want to hold it.”
“I’d climb anywhere for one of my boys.”
“I’ll put a very wet towel over them. I’m sure that will be fine.”
You’ve killed! You’ve killed!
You put the janitor in grave danger by selfishly asking him to grab his Slash guitar off the wall. After the janitor put a soaking-wet towel on top of his countless basement wires in order to walk over to the wall and begin his climb, he was immediately electrocuted and fell crashing to the ground without the ability to raise his arms and break his fall. It’s unclear if it was the electricity surging through his body that did him in, or if it was the way his neck snapped on a nearby stool because of the horrible, unnatural way he fell. But either way, he is definitely dead, and it is your fault.
You’re no longer a surgeon, and you can kiss that bag of $600 goodbye.
As you go back up the stairs and start heading toward the lobby, you can hear that he starts to follow you, but then locks himself in the bathroom you were in earlier and begins screaming at himself in the mirror for messing up what could’ve been a nice day. His screaming gets louder and louder before it comes to a halt after you hear the sound of him snapping his mop over his knee in fury.
“I need you to give me a surgery right now.”
Ah, damn. It’s the sick kid from earlier.
“I feel like I’m on a boat at all hours of the day, and my elbows are dry. I need you to cut me open and drain me out, if that’s what it takes, and to please get me home by later today.”
You pick the kid up, throw him over your shoulder, and walk through the hospital looking for a good room to cut him open in. After 20 minutes, you finally find the room with all of the surgeons in it, and you slam the kid down on the empty table they’re all staring at.
Now all eyes are on you. You’re going to have to step up and say something pretty incredible to get all of these surgeons on your side.
You’ve killed! You’ve killed!
After you said that ridiculous, dumbass comment, every surgeon in the room became furious at you and began hammering you with questions about your qualifications. You tried mumbling through more Tylenol facts, which went much worse in person than it did on the phone, and somewhere during your 25-minute verbal beatdown from the other surgeons, the kid died on the table.
You are no longer a surgeon, and you will never get a plastic bag filled with $600.
Everyone starts nodding and smiling and patting each other on the back. Good shit.
“Ha, nice,” a woman says, whose voice you recognize from the phone as the chief of medicine at the hospital. She quickly anesthetizes the patient to finally stop him from grabbing and clawing at everyone’s surgical masks, and within seconds the little spaz is sleeping.
At that moment, the tallest doctor you’ve ever seen walks into the door wearing a backwards hat and confidently drinking Barq’s Root Beer out of a 2-liter bottle.
“I’ve never seen you around here,” he says after putting the root beer down firmly into the lap of the unconscious kid and eyeing you up and down suspiciously. “Enlighten us, fresh meat. Now, what surgery are we performing on this little man, exactly?”
Ah, this guy is onto you. Need something big here to throw everyone off your tracks.
“Doctors, you two can be mean to each other in the parking lot all day long if you want to, but that’ll be enough fighting in my hospital,” says the chief of medicine after banging her fist down onto the kid’s chest like a gavel to get everyone’s attention.
“This little boy is in dire need of a heart transplant. We need to start immediately.”
“Doctors, that’ll be enough talk about whether or not there are actually types of surgeries or not, because there simply is not a correct answer,” says the chief of medicine after banging her fist down onto the kid’s chest like a gavel to get everyone’s attention.
“This little boy is in dire need of a heart transplant. We need to start immediately.”
“Doctors, please stop winking at each other,” says the chief of medicine after banging her fist down onto the kid’s chest like a gavel to get everyone’s attention.
“This little boy is in dire need of a heart transplant. We need to start immediately.”
After noticing that no one is reacting to you pissing yourself, you look around and realize that every surgeon in the room has also already pissed themselves. Then you remember that surgeons are constantly pissing themselves during surgery, like bicyclists during races, for reasons completely unknown.
The chief of medicine takes out a toolbox from underneath the surgery-room sink and hands each surgeon a tool. She takes each tool out one by one and starts passing them down the line. One doctor gets a small shovel, one gets a large knife, another gets a pickax, and on and on it goes, until you finally end up with the flashlight!
“Um, yeah, that’s my flashlight, pal. I’m always the flashlight man around here,” says the root-beer doctor.
“No,” interjects the chief. “New guy can hold the flashlight today. I have a good feeling about this.”
Your new rival is stunned. He shoots you a dirty look, threateningly crosses his thumb over his neck, and then does it again with his other thumb, but slower. Then he quietly mouths something that you didn’t really get a good read on, but from what you did see, your best guess is that he was saying something like “Fracking mountains,” or “Simply delicious.” Then he is handed the worst tool: the blood napkin, the tool that wipes up all the loose goo and pus.
“Ah, c’mon, man. Quit it. What the hell.”
The surgery is now well under way. The chief is slicing and dicing and moving parts around left and right. It’s pretty much a one-woman show.
Most of the other doctors are using their tools just to kind of scrape some bones and stuff when they feel like they should get in the mix, usually after not doing anything for a couple minutes straight and getting nervous that someone will notice how they’re not really that crucial to the operation.
You’re getting bored by the whole thing at this point, but at least you’re holding your own with these docs and, most importantly, haven’t killed anyone yet.
Surgery still going. Getting kind of repetitive. A couple doctors shuffled out for a minute and came back with crackers, but the crackers are all gone now. You didn’t even notice they had crackers until there were only, like, four left in the sleeve, so at that point, asking for some really wouldn’t have been cool.
Surgery is getting boring.
Surgery is boring as hell.Your arms got tired from holding the flashlight up, so you put it down for a minute and no one seemed to notice. You’re back up now.
Kid woke up and started screaming LOUD, but now he’s sleeping again.
“You were scared!” “No, you were scared!” “I wasn’t scared, you were scared!” The surgeons are all ragging on each other and having fun again. Finally got some juice in the room. Whole crew got a good laugh out of that one.
Woah, wait a minute. Oh, man. You see something inside the kid’s body. Wedged deep in between his rib cage and his liver, there looks to be something shining and throbbing, and you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who sees it.
Two doctors broke away from the surgery about 15 minutes ago to arm wrestle on a nearby stool, and the rest of the surgeons have all one-by-one walked over to form a circle around them so they can gamble. Meanwhile, the chief is still hacking away at this kid’s organs with all of her might, and seems way too dialed-in to notice the game changer you’ve found.
You’ve killed! You’ve killed!
You thought you were being a hero by yanking out what you thought were some sort of wet, shining metals, but were actually the poor kid’s veins. You are no longer a surgeon, and can go ahead and kiss that sweet paycheck goodbye.
“Those are veins. They are not ‘evil copper and metals sticking out of this poor bastard’s guts.’ Do not call them that.”
Damn. Misread that one. The chief is totally onto you now.
“But I appreciate you speaking your mind when you think something is amiss,” she continues, looking up and making eye contact with you for the first time. “That takes a commitment to the job that some of my other doctors lack at times,” she says, motioning to the doctors across the room who are now attempting to disguise their arm-wrestling gambling ring by draping a hospital gown over the two meaty, dueling arms.
The chief reciprocates your unblinking eye contact and begins nodding in perfect unison with your nodding. This goes on for a good 20 seconds or so, the grunts of the two arm wrestlers and the slaps of cold, hard cash hitting the tile becoming the only sounds in the room.
At that moment, you and the chief simultaneously feel a romantic charge between you, and it feels beautiful and right. But that romantic feeling is immediately followed by a simultaneous paternal feeling, but it’s unclear who is the parent and who is the child. Then the two feelings of physical attraction and familial protectiveness fuse together into one singular emotion, and it feels disgusting to both of you.
“Yeah, yeah, go catch up with them. I’ll hold it down over here, cool,” the chief kind of half-mutters to herself and to you while shaking her head and getting back to surgery.
You walk over to the gambling circle and see the two exhausted surgeons pulling and pushing as hard as they can to win. The two doctors are so evenly matched that their arms aren’t moving or shaking in the slightest. If it weren’t for the veins about to explode out of their temples and the tears streaming down their faces, you’d have no idea how intense the duel was.
All of the other surgeons are quietly going apeshit. Almost all of them are either gently pounding their chests, gingerly slapping the ground, or shaking their fists in the air, all the while whispering bad arm-wrestling advice like “Win the skin!” or “Make him smooth!”
It’s definitely a pretty sweet scene, and you decide that you want to get in the mix.
As you go to ask the doctor next to you, your rival doctor steps in front and interrupts:
“Looking to get in on the action but lacking the funds, newbie? Don’t worry, fresh meat. I got you covered. Also, we’re rival doctors, just in case that wasn’t clear.”
Whoa, pretty cool to get a rival doctor on your first day on the job. That probably usually takes years.
“That’s my coat over there,” he says, pointing to a white lab coat being worn by one of the arm-wrestling surgeons. “Go ahead and take my wallet out of the pocket and take out as much money as you want.”
He then lets out a weird little laugh and looks around to see if anyone else is laughing. One other doctor did laugh, but he’s in the middle of a conversation with another surgeon, so you’re pretty sure the laugh had nothing to do with your rival.
“I have coats all over this hospital that you wouldn’t know a thing about,” he says, raising his fist up to your chin real quick, trying to get you to flinch. You stand your ground and don’t flinch at all, though, and he sheepishly brings his fist back down to his side.
You’ve killed! You’ve killed!
In a brilliantly executed scheme, your rival tricked you into reaching into the coat of one of the doctors who is arm wrestling. When the arm wrestler saw you trying to steal his wallet, his mix of adrenaline and dangerously high blood pressure caused his heart to explode.
Your misconduct has resulted in a death, meaning you can no longer be a surgeon, and you will never see that sweet, sweet bag o’ cash.
“I, uh, good then,” he stutters as h
A terminally ill man has lost his High Court challenge against the law on assisted dying.
Noel Conway, 67, from Shrewsbury, who has motor neurone disease, wanted a doctor to be allowed to prescribe a lethal dose when his health deteriorates.
Currently any doctor helping him to die would face up to 14 years in prison.
His lawyers had argued he faced a stark choice, which was unfair and the law needed to change.
They said he could either bring about his own death while still physically able to do so, or await death with no control over how and when it came.
He had previously said he wanted to say goodbye to loved ones “at the right time, not to be in a zombie-like condition suffering both physically and psychologically”.
He argued that when he had less than six months to live and retained the mental capacity to make the decision, he wished to be able to enlist assistance from the medical profession to bring about a “peaceful and dignified” death.
Mr Conway, who was not at London’s High Court on Thursday, wanted a declaration that the Suicide Act 1961, which lays out the law on assisted dying, is incompatible with Article eight of the European Convention on Human Rights, which relates to respect for private and family life, and Article 14, which protects from discrimination.
But Lord Justice Sales, Mrs Justice Whipple and Mr Justice Garnham rejected his case.
It is not the first time the law has been challenged.
A case brought by Tony Nicklinson – who was paralysed after a stroke – was dismissed in 2014 by the Supreme Court, which stated it was important that Parliament debated the issues before any decision was made by the courts.
In 2015 MPs rejected proposals to allow assisted dying in England and Wales, in their first vote on the issue in almost 20 years.
Supporters of the current legislation say it exists to protect the weak and vulnerable from being exploited or coerced.
Mr Conway’s case is different from Mr Nicklinson’s in that he has a terminal illness and his legal team set out strict criteria and clear potential safeguards to protect vulnerable people from any abuse of the system.
Read more: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-41506155
Jupiter mobilizing this week is actually excellent news for you because it’s entering one of your most important houses: your money house. Since Jupiter posts up here for the next 12 months, this is your best year to go for that big job, promotion, or to make that big purchase. Big purchase as in an apartment, not like, a Birkin. I mean, get the bag if you want, but don’t expect it to really benefit your life in a major way.
Jupiter slides out of your DMs this week. Wait, is it possible to slide out of someone’s DMs or only into them? IDK, but what I’m trying to say is Jupiter is directly opposite your sign starting this week. Jupiter not only controls what goes on with your money, but the planet is also tied to happiness or some shit. You would think it being opposite your sign would be a bad thing, but you’d be wrong in assuming that. The next year is one of prosperity and joy for you. You’re welcome.
While most betches are trading bikinis for sweatpants this time of year, you’re actually going to be more focused on your fitness and overall health starting now-ish. Like, thanks Jupiter. Your fitness kick with actually help improve other aspects of your life. You know, because endorphins make you happy and happy people just don’t shoot their husbands. With more focus and energy, you’ll feel more fulfilled at work or with however you’ve chosen to spend your life. Overall, this is an excellent time for you to start working toward some results.
Jupiter in Scorpio is, like, the total best for you. Just buckle the fuck up for a great year ahead, really. You’ve been grinding away for what seems like forever, and now that you’ve set up a really strong and decent foundation for yourself, it’s definitely time to reap those blessings. The year ahead promises adventure, romance, and travel opportunities. Things have felt kinda heavy in your life, but the next year is all about lightening the hell up and enjoying the shit out of being a Cancer betch.
Your life always works better when you work your sign and the planets instead of against them. Normally, you’d scoff at the idea of settling down and letting your nesting instincts kick in, but like, this might actually be a really good year for you to start digging some roots in. It’s important you start laying some foundations for where you want to end up in life, or at least entertaining those kinds of thoughts. By no means do you need to get serious AF and get married and pop out a bunch of babies. Fuck that. No, just like, think about your dream future and work toward that.
Let’s be real, Virgo, you are prone to some negative self-talk. It’s probably because you’re a really analytical and intelligent sign, so you’re more apt to contemplate and think deeply about your life choices—that can often mean you’re really critical of others and yourself, though. The next year is all about a more positive outlook. Like, no, you don’t have to start wearing a color that isn’t black. You’ll just be a little easier on yourself and a little more joyful from within. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.
Not that you’ve ever had a hard time spending money on yourself, but with Jupiter entering your Earnings House, you’ll be more likely to invest in bigger ticket items. Say goodbye to Forever 21 polyester and hello to some J. Crew cotton blends! Over the next 12 months, you’ll be more likely to afford the finer things in life as money-making potential abounds. No more scrimping and saving every last penny so you can look like you have it made; this is the year where you’ll actually have it made. Nice.
Obvi, the sign that benefits the most from Jupiter entering Scorpio is, well, Scorpio. Duh. In case you didn’t already know, you’re a water sign, and this next year is one where your fluidity in all situations will benefit you greatly. You’ll fit in in just about every situation as your ability to adapt will be at an all-time high. Also, you’ll just be overall more likable because everyone else can tell how #blessed you are during the next year and they want some of your luck to rub off on them. Beware of fake friends who want to just bask in your glow and not be a true ride or die.
You’re the investigator of the zodiac, meaning if someone is lying or being shady, you’re most likely to find out. You’ve had some questions about something in your life and over the next 12 months, you’ll finally get your fucking answers. While you might be losing trust in one aspect of your life, you’ll be gaining some faith and understanding in another. Don’t go out and buy a bunch of crystals or some other bullshit; you’ll have all the clarity you need on your own.
Jupiter is making you increasingly popular in the next year. Sure, normally you’re pretty social and have a tight-knit group of friends, but basically everyone you meet is going to want to be bffs with you this year. Don’t shun anyone new who wants to hang out with you; you’re actually looking at a window where new friendships will be mutually beneficial. Like, they get to hang out with you and you get to use whatever connections they have to offer. Of course, you can’t just use people for their cool party invites. C’mon, be a good person. It’s like, the rules of feminism.
Jupiter travels right across the top of your chart like “YASSS BETCH”. Sort of like what happens when the Sun is at the top of your chart, when Jupiter is above you, you experience a big bump in the eyes of others. Anyone in a position of authority is more likely to see you through rose-colored glasses. Expect awards, compliments, promotions and maybe a few new romantic suitors in the year ahead. Life is not bad for the Aquarius betch this year.
Jupiter means knowledge, power, wealth and happiness. In the next year, you’re building toward big awards and accolades. You’ll be #blessed, like all the other water signs, with the power of Jupiter ruling over you over the next 12 months. This of the next year as a time to, unfortunately, keep working hard. But the good news is you’re setting yourself up for one of the most successful years of your life: 2019. Big things are in store for you, Pisces betch!
1. Identify how your pain serves you. Nobody consistently self-sabotages without reason. The patterns and habits that you feel “stuck” in meet some kind of need. If you can’t let go of negativity, it’s because you are secretly using it for something.
2. Work on your ability to visualize. The only way to change your life is to first imagine what the opposite of your pain is. Until you are consciously creating your life, you will be living on the same autopilot that you are right now… and over time, you will begin to think it’s who you really are.
3. Stop believing everything that you feel is real. Experience should have shown you right now that your feelings are not representative of what’s happening in reality, rather, they are a tool for you to see the quality of your thoughts about reality. Use this to your advantage, not your detriment.
4. Be honest about what you really love vs. what you love the idea of. Nobody intentionally chooses a life they don’t really want; they simply confuse what makes them feel good for what the idea of something makes them feel.
5. Do not say anything about yourself that you do not want to be true. “I am” is the most powerful prayer in the universe.
6. Stop judging, criticizing and seeking out fault with people who have the things you want. Doing so is making you associate having those things with being unloved.
7. Stop trying to make things perfect more than you try to find what’s already perfect about the life you have.
8. Find what makes you “flow.” Flow = health, where as stiffness or hardness = death. Do anything that makes your oxygen, blood, thoughts or feelings move again.
9. Memory surf. Trace your feelings back to their source. Figure out what scared you and why you’ve continued to live as though that scary thing is constantly threatening you.
10. Figure out what’s on the other side of your fear. Whatever upsets you most is actually a sign of what you care about most.
11. Figure out what’s on the other side of your pain. Often, the things that we struggle with most are actually our deepest gifts in disguise. Many people who write self-help books begin them by explaining how badly they struggled with their emotions, and then how in the process of learning to deal with them better, they discovered their life purpose.
12. Clean out your space. Your belongings hold as much energetic imprints as anything else. Clutter blocks flow in your space. Some people even say that when there is a disruption or stressor in your life, there is often a corresponding mess in your home.
13. State what’s wrong. “Feelings, once felt, will start to change themselves.”
14. Remember that most of what you fear is an illusion that your subconscious has designed to hold you back and keep you “safe.”
15. Surround yourself with people who you aspire to be like. Their influence will impact you more than you realize.
16. Stop spending so much time scrolling, reading and engaging with things that make you a smaller, more angered, judgmental, scared version of yourself.
17. Follow, read and regularly engage with people and content that inspires you to be your best, most loving and creative self.
18. Get a junk journal, and use it to write down all of your racing, scary feelings. Burn it or throw out each page after you get out whatever you need to.
19. Disrupt your patterns. You cannot build a new life while standing in the ruins of your old one.
20. Give your feelings colors and descriptions. Welcome them into your body when you feel them and then ask them what they are here to tell you. Write the answer down, and then close the journal. Go back when the feeling passes, and decide if the message is one of fear, or one of love.
21. Stop trying to find your happiness – find what’s your happiness. Joy is your natural state.
22. Do yoga, even if all you can manage are a few poses, or just lay in child’s pose for 15 minutes. Go for a walk, even if it’s just around the block. Drink water, even if it’s only one glass. Do not underestimate the power of small actions, and how they will build over time.
23. Make a playlist that makes you feel nostalgic or sad or inspired. Clean the kitchen. Eat something cheap and delicious for dinner. Do anything that grounds you and reminds you that life is both simple, and to be enjoyed.
24. Give yourself credit. You are doing so much better than you think you are. You are so much more accomplished than you know. Make a list of everything you have now that you didn’t have before. Realizing what you’ve done and what you’re still capable of is the greatest motivation there is.
25. Imagine the exact life you want, down to the detail. Imagine who you are when you are your best self. That is who you really are, and that is the life that you’re meant to create. Do not let any thoughts, fears, or other people tell you otherwise.
Hey, did you know that your thoughts can make brain tumors grow faster? Your mind is made of meat that is arranged in precisely such a way as to not know it is meat. This is why so much of your personality is dictated by seemingly random nonsense you’re not even aware of. Such as …
Whispering: Hey, David Wong’s new novel — the third in the NYT bestselling John Dies At The End series — is FINALLY OUT NOW.
Your Fear Of Germs Determines Your Politics (And Maybe Everything Else)
Go listen to literally anyone talk about the dangers of foreigners, minorities, or gays, and count the seconds until they either compare them to a disease or simply accuse them all of having/spreading diseases.
This is going to be one of those “Now that you see it, you can’t unsee it” situations. It sounds ridiculous at first, then starts to become grossly obvious the more you look around. We referenced a study a while back in which scientists could get people to be less racist merely by washing their hands first. At the time, that seemed to me like one of those oddball results, like the one that found you can make a person smarter by having them wear a lab coat. But no, it turns out it was but a glimpse into the dark, swirling demon lurking within the soul of humanity: our primitive fear of germs.
The theory says that over the centuries, certain people and groups evolved with a higher paranoia toward infections, due to living in regions/climates where that sort of thing was more of a threat. Meeting another tribe thus meant encountering diseases you had no immunity to, and to this day, their descendants will instinctively be more untrustworthy of other cultures and tightly regulate “unclean” behavior. In groups, they form societies that are fiercely nationalistic and insist on flamboyant outward displays of such (like, say, Confederate flags on pickup trucks) to signal to one another that they’re “safe.” They also enforce strict sexual morality (to prevent the spread of STDs). Over time, they tend to gravitate toward dictatorships, submitting to the strongman promising to protect them from the contaminated outside world.
Hey, did you know Hitler’s rise occurred right after the Spanish flu ravaged Europe? And that he was comparing the Jews to disease pretty much from Day One?
Experts say that the rise of democracy and progressive ideas in general can be attributed to science conquering many of the infectious diseases that were dominating our decision-making up to then. Still, those habits are passed down through both genes and culture (particularly in warmer climates), and it’s easy to see it today. You can hook conservatives and liberals up to a brain scan, and the conservatives react more strongly to disgusting images, even if they insist that stuff doesn’t bother them. Other studies show that right-wingers tend to be more obsessive-compulsive, feeling a unending urge to purge their surroundings of disorder.
But wait, there’s more! A recent study found that belief in a vengeful god tends to make people more cooperative toward strangers. This, they theorize, helped primitive societies expand, overcoming the natural mistrust they had for one another. Now open up your Bible and count the number of times God punishes a society of unbelievers by unleashing a plague. (“We must cooperate under the same rules, or else we both will get infected!”)
Now check out how we remain obsessed with the concept of an apocalyptic world-ending plague to this day, even though such a thing would be all but impossible in reality. (Note how everyone shat their pants at the mere mention of the word “Ebola.”) In pop culture, it usually comes in the form of post-apocalyptic fiction like The Walking Dead. You know, that show in which our heroic tribe of survivors continually runs from the infected, until they meet another tribe and find out they can’t trust them? A show that exploded in popularity right when America was in the middle of a panic about globalization?
That’s right, the fear of germs dominates our entire culture from the ground up, but people still don’t think twice about eating at buffets. THAT SNEEZE GUARD ISN’T GUARDING SHIT.
Lead Destroys Your Sense Of Morality (And Lithium Might Improve It)
Hey, remember how in Batman Begins, the villains’ plan was to release a fear toxin in Gotham City that would turn the populace into a violent, mindless horde? And how Batman had a flock of bats he could summon when he needed them, but then completely forgot about in future movies? Well, that first one really happened! Only the effect was global and happened over the course of decades. What follows may be one of the most terrifying cautionary tales in the history of technology, and we still don’t fully grasp the scale of how badly we may have fucked up here.
The unpronounceable chemical Tetraethyllead is the “lead” they’re leaving out of “unleaded” gasoline. When cars were new back in the 1920s, they added it to fuel to help prevent engine wear. They already knew lead did weird things to the human brain at the time (studies had already shown that people getting water from lead pipes were more likely to commit murder), and that these engines would be releasing tiny particles of it into the air everyone breathed. But honestly, how many people would be buying these “automobiles,” anyway?
More than half a century and hundreds of millions of cars later, governments finally started cracking down on lead emissions because they suspected they were, unsurprisingly, messing with people’s brains. As we touched on here, in one city and country after another, as unleaded fuel was banned, the violent crime rate started dropping. A lot.
Lead, as it turns out, permanently destroys cells in the brain’s prefrontal cortex, the part responsible for “emotional regulation, impulse control, attention, verbal reasoning, and mental flexibility.” You know, the part you think of as your morality, or soul. Lead kills that. Multiple studies on this keep turning up the same horrifying result.
“Wait,” you say from your mad scientist lab, “is it possible to do the opposite? Is there a chemical that keeps that part of the brain healthy?” Sure! In fact, it’s already happened. You know how some people take lithium as a treatment for bipolar disorder? Well, lithium also occurs naturally in the environment, and places that happen to have more of it in their drinking water have less violent crime. Oh, and their suicide rates are up to 40 percent lower. Holy shit!
So yes, we should start adding lithium to the water supply to create world peace. I mean, I don’t want it in my water. Other people’s.
Your Moods May Be Controlled By Your Shit
There are about 40 trillion microbes in your intestines. That’s far more cells than make up your actual body. If they were people, they’d populate 5,400 Earths. The point is, your body’s shit factory houses an entire galactic federations’ worth of beings, and to an extent that science does not yet fully understand, it appears that they’re the ones running the show. When scientists dug through the turds of dozens of kids, they found that “children with the most genetically diverse types of gut bacteria more frequently exhibited behaviors related with positive mood, curiosity, sociability and impulsivity.” Different gut bacteria = different personalities.
OK, well, there surely are other explanations. Maybe outgoing kids tend to eat different diets, and that changes their gut microbes? Because they’re eating … adventurous party food, I guess? Or maybe they have different hormones or something, and that changes their digestion? Really, anything is better than believing that, for instance, the decision to ask your current partner out on a date was truly made by a pulsing ooze of microscopic blobs swimming in your shit.
Well too bad. Another study found that eating “probiotic” fermented foods decreased social anxiety. Another bunch of researchers found they could make someone give more to charity if they fed them eggs first. An experiment on mice was able to reverse goddamned autism symptoms by adding in a single species of gut bacteria. Someone else followed up by doing fecal transplants on autistic children to fix gastrointestinal issues, and found that it appeared their neurological symptoms improved along the way. Here’s a giant summary of dozens of studies on the “Your shit is controlling your brain” theory which you and your shit can peruse together.
You probably want to dismiss this whole thing. You may even feel a knee-jerk urge to dismiss it out of hand, and not devote any further thought to it. An urge that you can feel … in your gut? Nice try, shit.
You Have Probably Brainwashed Yourself Into A Completely False Idea Of Who You Are
Here’s an important question almost no one thinks to ask: Do cult leaders believe what they’re saying? After all, L. Ron Hubbard clearly knew his new religion was a scam at first — he borrowed its mythology from his own sci-fi stories, which he wrote to make a quick buck. But by all accounts, he later spent endless hours “auditing” himself to try to purge his soul of the evil alien spirits — you know, the ones he had invented years earlier. It’s almost as if by repeating his ludicrous lies, he indoctrinated himself.
That, it appears, is exactly what happened. And almost every deranged cult leader in history followed that exact path. Do you remember that weird terror attack that happened in Tokyo in 1995? A Japanese doomsday cult unleashed nerve gas on a subway, killing a dozen people (which would have been thousands if they hadn’t fucked up the release of the gas). The cult was led by a guy named Shoko Asahara, who had been a small-time con artist going back to his teenage years, running a number of scams which he eventually expanded into lucrative businesses. He sold snake oil cures out of an acupuncture shop for a while, then started putting ads in sci-fi magazines offering to teach mind powers like telepathy and levitation — for a reasonable fee, of course. In less than a decade, he went from telling silly lies to get cash from gullible dupes to unleashing nerve gas in order to trigger Armageddon, believing that he and his followers would then ascend to inherit the Earth.
That’s weird, right? That garden-variety shitheads wind up joining their own cults in suicide pacts to fulfill some “prophecy” that they themselves wrote late at night over a bottle of wine? But that, my friends, is the magic of the human brain. Not only can it be reprogrammed by anyone who knows the method, but it can also reprogram itself, unintentionally, without realizing it. But that could never happen to you and me, right? Haha. Ha.
OK, let’s now think about all of the little self-deceptions we pile up through the day — like how nearly everyone thinks they’re an above-average driver, even though that’s obviously impossible. Well, you remember George Costanza’s rule that the key to lying is making yourself believe it? There’s a theory that humans evolved self-deception specifically because it helps us deceive others. In order to survive, you need other humans to cooperate with you. In order to make sure they do that, you need to be able to convince them you’re great. In order to convincingly tell that outrageous lie, you need to make yourself belief you’re great.
You lie to yourself, then you believe the lie, then you make others believe the lie which you now believe is true. It’s lies all the way down. This is why if you go to a primitive tribe without access to mirrors or clear reflective surfaces of water and show them a reflection of their own faces, they freak the fuck out. (“They were paralyzed; after the first startled response — covering their mouths and ducking their heads — they stood transfixed …”) Living their lives without a clear reflection as a reference, they each had built up in their minds an idea of what they surely must look like. Maybe they always secretly assumed they were among the most attractive, despite their public shows of humility. Then bam, the disgusting reality was suddenly staring back at them. “That’s what I look like?”
Well, if you had a magic mirror that could reflect back upon you exactly how others see your attitudes, mannerisms, emotions, habits, etc, it would be the same, only about a hundred times stronger. A hand clasped over your mouth, feeling sick, staring at the “reflection” of a total stranger. Anyway, buy my book. Oh, wait, one more thing …
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For more from David Wong, check out 6 Reasons Good People Turn Into Monsters and Your Brain Needs Silence (And Probably Isn’t Getting It).
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