"But a female dummy didn’t become a mandatory part of frontal crash tests until last year. For all this time, the average American guy stood for us all.
That may have had a substantial impact on women’s auto safety. If airbags are designed for the average male, they will strike most men in the upper chest, creating a cushion for their bodies and heads. Yet small women might hit the airbag chin first, snapping their heads back, potentially leading to serious neck and spinal injuries.
In some cases, according to tests with female mannequins, small women were almost three times as likely as their average male counterparts to be seriously injured or killed. A study of actual crashes by the University of Virginia’s Center for Applied Biomechanics found that women wearing seatbelts were 47 percent more likely to be seriously injured than males in similar accidents.”
I really wish there were a single word that meant “disgusted and speechless but also not at all surprised”
Disappointed. The word is disappointed.
I understand that getting lost in an eating disorder and cutting may seem like the only options you have right now, but they are not. I know you are only doing this because life is hard, and it is, you deserve the best in life. You deserve exactly what you need, whatever that is, a stable family life, better job, better friends, you deserve all of that. And I know most of the time, we don’t get that, and it sucks. But it isn’t your fault, so don’t hurt yourself like it is. I want you to eat. I want you to take care of yourself. I want you to understand, that regardless of how sad you are, regardless of how little you do, even if you just lay in bed all day and cry, you are enough, you are perfect, and you are trying your best with what you have and that is all anyone can ever ask of you and if they ask for more then that then they are cruel and shouldn’t be in your life. Everyone has their limits, you understand yours, and it’s perfectly fine to take step back and analyze and find out what needs to be in your life and what doesn’t and the main thing, right now, that needs to be out of your life is any and all self hatred you have. You deserve love, and you deserve to love yourself, even at your lowest, you always deserve it.
Justin Timberlake | What Goes Around… Comes Around
dizzymage said: I feel like persistent thoughts that you’re dying despite logical proof that you’re probably not borders a paranoid delusion at least, though? Either that or it’s INTENSE anxiety which clearly needs to be dealt with beyond breathing exercises…
yeah, i really have no idea. i just… i’ve never felt this helpless before. i feel like medication would help me but i’m really scared to like, ask for it and possibly move psychiatrists to get it, i don’t want to seem like ~oh man i wanna get high~ like…. i’m scared to leave my house
i really need to make an appointment
dizzymage said: I think you could categorize that (the fear that you’re dying when you’re probably not) as a paranoid delusion, which is a whole different ballpark from “”regular”” anxiety…I think that would warrant more suitable medication?
isn’t that a really common thing with panic attacks though? i don’t feel like i’m dying unless i’m having a panic attack, cause i notice the numbing of my hands and my heart racing and i’m having trouble breathing and i’m like THIS SHIT IS SERIOUS, CLEARLY even though like statistically it’s probably not?
Brittany, 28, Colorado
I was 21 when a routine physical showed that I was pregnant. I fainted when I found out. I was on the Depo-Provera shot and in a committed relationship. I was also going to college, working full time and decided to end the pregnancy. I wasn’t ready physically, emotionally or financially to be a parent. I spoke to a woman at the clinic who asked if I needed an escort from my car on the day of my appointment. My aunt and best friend were accompanying me, so I said no. But then she told me to call if I was having trouble. I asked, “Why?” She paused and said, “Just please call if you are having any issues.”
I was the first appointment that day and noticed a few men, all in their 50s or 60s, milling around the parking lot when we pulled in. Once we got out of the car, one made a beeline for us with a fistful of pamphlets. My aunt said, “Thanks, but no thanks,” and he got irate, screaming, “How can you do this? You’re killing your baby to continue on your whore lifestyle, you jezebel!’ Suddenly we were surrounded by five other men — that’s when the baby-doll parts starting hitting us.
They had a box filled with torn apart baby dolls covered with red paint. All three of us were hit — in the head, chest, torso. As they were pelting us, they yelled, “This is what you’re doing to your baby! Look at the street! It’s strewn with the blood of your baby. That’s your baby scattered across the street!” It was surreal and terrifying at once. And we still had to cross a wide street to enter the clinic. Then they shouted at my aunt, “Grandma, why are you letting her do this? Tell her to give her baby up for adoption!” My aunt responded, “First of all, I’m not old enough to be a grandma. Second, come talk to me when you have a uterus and a vagina.”
I thought I’d feel better once inside the clinic. But as I sat in the waiting area, I could hear every single girl get out of her car and do that walk of shame. That was the worst part of the day. When the doctor pulled up later that morning, there was such a frenzy the building almost shook. I heard them shouting, “Murderer!” and “Butcher!” and my heart started racing all over again.
I was the first to see the doctor. After he went over the procedure with me, he asked, “Do you have any questions?” I said, “Are they going to be there when I leave? — not, “Is there any pain?” or “How long will it take to recover?” He said, “No. After I arrive, they disperse.” That was true, and I was grateful. I would have stayed until they left. I couldn’t go through that again.
But there was one good thing the protesters did that morning: They convinced me I was making the right decision. I bet every single woman inside that waiting room felt the same way, even though none of us spoke. We’d all just been through the most heinous experience, but there was a feeling of quiet satisfaction among this group of women amidst the horror. I thought, “If I can make it through that, I can make it through the rest of this day.”
can you imagine Oliver having to show up at quidditch trials and say ‘anyone who’s here to try out for seeker better go back up to the castle because an 11 year old boy rode a broom for the first time today and McGonagall gave him the seeker position before asking me or letting me see him play sorry guys’
I’m literally watching that scene right now and now I can’t stop laughing