Can you define me?

Most people who follow my blog or know me personally are aware that I recently have been working on coming out and presenting officially as all of my identities. I’m asexual and my good friends know it and acknowledge its existence. I’m starting the transgender thing, and my friends are accepting it, and many of them not only accept it but are encouraging and happy for me. It makes me happy to have such supportive friends.

I however, have a label which describes my romantic attraction that I honestly don’t think very many people can sympathize with. I am plushoromantic. There was no word to describe these feelings, so I’ve made one up. My definition of plushoromanticism is “experiencing intense, strong romantic attractions towards stuffed animals.”

In furry, and elsewhere, there is a kink/label called plushophilia, describing a love for plushies which extends to sexuality. Many plushophiles like to have sex with their plushies with SPHs and such, or ripped seams. Some plushophiles do not do that, and simply just really like their stuffed toys, on a collector or friendly standpoint.

However, I feel like plushoromanticism is different. In my eyes, the plushies with which I have grown very emotionally involved are completely equal in my eyes to a living, breathing person on the same romantic level. Of course, I am under the impression that plush animals have souls of some sort, giving them distinctive personalities and such, so some toys are easier for me to get attracted to than others.

At this moment, I am in love with a pretty kangaroo who I bought not too long ago. Like other relationships, we are similar. We’ve gone on dates before—physical dates to stores, restaurants, etc. On rainy nights, we like to snuggle together and watch a movie on Netflix or play a game. When I shop online, I ask for her opinion on things. We hug and kiss and do everything romantic couples do, just one of us is not as full of life as the other.

In part of my mind, I have to wonder if feeling this way is okay. I wonder if I’m weird or have a personality problem or something. But then I think back over it and realize that I’m in love with the stuffed animal, and she’s in love with me. Our relationship isn’t hurting anyone, or myself personally. Many of my friends find it cute or see it as legitimate and think that there’s nothing wrong. So I can’t say I don’t agree with them.

There are things that a human partner can do that a stuffed animal can’t, and things that a stuffed animal can do that a human can’t. In my opinion, to be perfectly satisfied, I would have to have my plushie girlfriend, and a human partner as well who was there too. So almost like polyamory in a way.

Is it strange? Yes. Is it unusual? Very. Is it legitimate? Of course. I love her, and she loves me. And hopefully my future partner will understand that.

(I like meeting new people and answering questions about it, if anyone’s interested. :P)

So I always tell you how wonderful and beautiful and brilliant you all are, but this is a call for submissions!!!!

Tell me what makes you, well You.

:) 

Also sorry I’ve been gone for a while I’m getting ready to sperate the military and move across the country. 

But this blog is still alive and waiting for your minds.

You don’t know me as well as you think I do. You talk about how you know me better than I know myself. Do you know about the scars I put on my legs? Do you know about the noose I hung from the rafters in the barn? Do you know about how many times I’ve thought about going out that front door and just keep walking without looking back? More importantly, do you really know what I think of you?

Note: This is a further explanation of the post sent to me in anon.

Anonymous asked: Hi. I'm the one who sent in "You don't know me as well as you think you do". The thing is, I put in a little story in the box underneath the title bar. I guess it didn't show up for some reason.

Send it to me in an ask if you can, or send it again. I’d love to post it.

I’m asking you all to send me your story. It doesn’t have to be a text post either, send pictures, videos or what have you.

The only rules I’m making are:

1.) Title the post with one or more labels you use.

2.) Tell my why you use them.

3.) Tell the truth.

Profanity, nudity, or anything considered NSFW will not be blocked or banned. It will be tagged accordingly and placed behind a page break. 

Thanks for the wonderful and quick feedback.

You are all beautiful and lovely people.

<3 Avengent

Honestly, when I walked across the stage I believed what everyone was telling me; that my whole life was ahead of me, that things were going to be so much better than they’d been before. 

Then I went to college, to the university in my home town. I don’t know what went wrong exactly. I was isolated, mostly by my own choices. I was so afraid, all the time. If someone stared at me in the dining hall or class, or whispered to their friend while looking at me, I worried what they were thinking/ saying. I stopped going to class, stopped going out except when absolutely necessary. I ate at times I knew the dining halls would be deserted. 

I tried different schools, but could never figure out who I wanted to be, what life to choose. My therapist tells me this is because I suffer from clinical depression, and that eats away at your ability to function even in the least stressful environment.

I’m still recovering from depression. It’s something that’s been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. The best guess I have for when it started initially was when I began cutting when I was thirteen. But even years before that, I remember obsessing over death, what it meant and would it be better than life. I questioned why I had friends, why anyone would want to be around me until I decided that no one knew me, and that’s why they were my friends. 

Therapists always want to find a defining moment, one thing that makes you ‘depressed’. Because if they can find that, then they can cure you. Maybe it all started when my parents began arguing more than they had normal conversation, or when they got divorced, or when my birth mom left. Blame it on genetics or whatever you want, but to me, the cause is so insignificant compared to how it’s affected my life. 

The thing is depression isn’t what hurts me the most. It’s how everyone, my friends, family, and therapists, all want me to change, to be someone I’m not. And even if I’m complete shit, I would hope that the people who love me would still rather have me be me than someone else. 

They don’t understand, depression is part of who I am, as much as it hurts sometimes or hinders me, I don’t think I can live without it. maybe that sounds fucked up, but what people don’t see is that maybe somedays are horrible but there are other days, days that I’m so happy and alive and truly aware of all that’s good. It’s not like I’m just moping around, unable to enjoy anything. I know it’s that way for some people, but not me. Depression is the flip side for all the beauty I’m lucky enough to be able to see in the world, in my life. 

Three years ago I graduated from high school. And it’s taken me pretty much that long to realize who I want to be. 

Myself; with all the problems, insecurities, and sorrow that comes with being me, there’s also so much joy and beauty. And love. 

Note: This was sent to me by a nontumblr user, and I thought it was pretty cool. 

So hey Ty, here you go.

Strangers at school, see my scars, faded lines on my arms. they’re confused by my bubbly demeanor. They want to ask but don’t know how. They will never be explained to that I’m stronger now. they will never ask. I’m stronger now. that’s all you need to know.

So there are 74 of you in like, no time at all. That’s amazing, thank you so much for being part of this project. You all have my utmost respect and admiration. I’m asking only 2 things of you all.

1.) Send me your submissions. Tell me who you are, and why.

2.)Help spread the word. 

Thank you all again.

<3 Avengent.