I don’t remember the last time I had a week like this one. It must be because good things don’t usually happen one after the other.
Other then a few things making me agitated this has so far been amazing!
I Monday I received a job offer for a camp director position for the summer (this will be my first staff supervisory job)!
- I found out that I have been accepted to George Brown College for their Fast Track Early Childhood Education program (although I’m waiting for the offer to show up on my online account before I get too excited)!
- I received my complimentary copy of Mad Matters sent to me by the publisher so I can review it on Pride in Madness
- Two of my girls at work gave me a thank you gift for helping them with their dance for this Friday’s talent show <3
And I’m still waiting for my other free book to come! I’ll be reviewing that one as well!
This weekend I’m also going to visit my parents and my bestie
“Having spent 40 years hiding the fact that I heard voices, now I’m talking about it openly … I accept my voices as real,” says Healey. “The positive response I get gives me energy. When you’re hiding something … those are the things that make you ill.”- Kevin Healey
“I didn’t try to kill myself…I was trying to make the shit stop.” -Girl, Interrupted
I began cutting, everyday…to try and make the shit stop.
I began smoking cigarettes…to try and make the shit stop.
I began smoking so much pot I couldn’t see straight or walk home…to try and make the shit stop.
I began drinking until I blacked out…to try and make the shit stop.
I began overdosing on prescription and over the counter pills…to try and make the shit stop.
I began having sex…to try and make the shit stop.
I began burning myself…to try and make the shit stop.
I began mixing pills and alcohol…to try and make the shit stop.
I began to withhold food…to try and make the shit stop.
I finally attempted suicide…to try and make the shit stop.
None of this made the shit stop.
Love…made the shit stop.
Acceptance…made the shit stop.
Hard work…made the shit stop.
Beauty…made the shit stop.
Education…made the shit stop.
Support…made the shit stop.
Understanding…made the shit stop.
Purpose…made the shit stop.
Change…made the shit stop.
I made the shit stop.
I wish people would stop lying to me and tell me they can’t notice my scars.
I’ve had two people (friends) within the last 5 months point scars out to me. They drag their finger across it/them and ask, “When is that from?” or “Did you do that?” There are very few scars on my body that I can say are not from me so I think it should just be assumed that I put them all on my skin.
I try and ignore my scars because they do influence a lot, from how I feel about myself to what I wear. I regret the scars, I
can’t take it back, I’m stuck with them.
I don’t think we’ve gotten to the point of where people can understand why and how my scars got on my body. It’s strange how there are certain parts of mental health I feel I can’t talk about yet. I can say I self harm but I can’t bear it all it (not that I have too). I’m afraid of what people will say.
I have had people say, “Ew!” when they saw my scars but then I’ve also had people say that my scars make me beautiful.
It still comes down to what I think and if all I see when I look down at my body is how I’ve failed to cope “appropriately”, I remember the pain that put them there and the consequences, how am I supposed to be ok with it?
I wanted to do do a nude photoshoot for awhile now. I wanted it to represent how I’m ok with my body now. I haven’t done it because I was trying to make my more visible scars go away. Some of them wont so I guess no photoshoot, I guess I’m not ok with my body.
I’ve always figured that I would accept my scars once I stopped self harming. It’s not happening. Acceptance needs to happen because I deserve it.
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” -Khalil Gibran
When I saw J on Tuesday I told her that I messaged B and she wanted me to address why his response made me feel guilty. I stumbled over my words and held back emotion as I tried to explain that I hated that he remembers me as being “so sad”. Those words are just ringing in my head. “so sad”. I was “so sad”.
B’s not wrong to say that but I hate remembering how sad I was back when I was a teenager. So sad.
After a spat with Michael I began to realize how my past intimate relationships were dictating my current relationship. I am essentially punishing Michael for what my ex’s did because I can’t go back to them and say, “fuck you”. So sad.
And then it crashed, but a good crash, and I realized that I live in denial about how much pain I’ve experienced and what caused that pain. I think I see that as being weak. I feel like if I’m sad then I’m a fake. So sad.
Rationally, I know all of that is not true. In the words of Linkin Park, “even the people who never frown eventually break down.” I’ve had this conversation with some of my Mad colleagues about how we go around presenting, training and sharing about recovery but then we’ll go home and self harm, or purge, or think about suicide. It’s about living though, pushing yourself through the hard times, not about forgetting everything, or trying to forget.
I’ll have to admit/accept that I was “so sad” and that what got me there was bullying, abuse, self hate and finding myself in less then desirable situations.
I still need to focus and be proud of who I am now, which is happy for the most part.
Bourbon’s recent post Multiple Personalities Doesn’t Exist: a reply reminded me of when people would tell me that my depression wasn’t real or that I was cutting for attention.
I used to believe that DID wasn’t real or that it was at least suspicious. I never stated this opinion though because I knew I was in no place to say it. My own experience with an alter changed my belief in DID but I am careful with who I mention this too because of the people who Bourdon has mentioned in her post.
I have two things to say about this.
An outsider does not get to decide if a person’s experience is real! End of story, that’s it, face it!
If someone is “faking” then that is still a problem that needs to be addressed. I know this thought doesn’t support the validity of any mental health issue but I would say that to people when they accused me of faking or wanting attention. Even if I was cutting for attention (and to some extent I was) then someone should find out why I feel I need to go to such drastic measures! If I was faking depression then it should be important to know why I feel acting sad all the time will give me something that I feel I’m not getting.
Bottom line, stay out of it. I really don’t need to hear your opinion on my issues unless they are going to help me, not demean me.
The Transgender Day of Remembrance was set aside to memorialize those who were killed due to anti-transgender hatred or prejudice. The event is held in November to honor Rita Hester, whose murder in 1998 kicked off the “Remembering Our Dead” web project and a San Francisco candlelight vigil in 1999. Since then, the event has grown to encompass memorials in dozens of cities across the world.
For a list of events: http://www.transgenderdor.org/
My partner’s sister posted this article on her Facebook and it’s worth a share!
But first, a little off topic but still related, a few months back a homophobic hashtag was trending. #ToMyUnbornChild was used by too many people to talk about how they would beat their hypothetical gay children, disown them, hate them and even wish death upon. I was horrified when I saw that this was going on and I responded using The Madvocates twitter using the same hashtag but instead saying that I will love my child no matter what! I then went online and urged others to take the hashtag from those homophobic idiots and turn it into something supportive!
Anyways, the article Dear Hypothetically Gay Son is a father’s letter to his unborn child who may or may not be gay.
Dear hypothetically gay son,
You’re gay. Obviously you already know that, because you told us at the dinner table last night. I apologize for the awkward silence afterwards, but I was chewing. It was like when we’re at a restaurant and the waiter comes up mid-bite and asks how the meal is, only in this metaphor you are the waiter, and instead of asking me about my meal, you said you were gay. I don’t know why I needed to explain that. I think I needed to find a funny way to repeat the fact that you’re gay… because that is what it sounds like in my head right now: “My son is gay. My son is gay. My son is gay.”
Let me be perfectly clear: I love you. I will always love you. Since being gay is part of who you are, I love that you’re gay. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the idea. If you sensed any sadness in my silence last night, it was because I was surprised that I was surprised. Ideally, I would have already known. Since you were an embryo, my intent has always been to really know you for who you are and not who I expect you to be. And yet, I was taken by surprise at last night’s dinner. Have I said “surprise” enough in this paragraph? One more time: Surprise!
OK. Let’s get a few things straight about how things are going to be.
- Our home is a place of safety and love. The world has dealt you a difficult card. While LGBT people are becoming more accepted, it is still a difficult path to walk. You’re going to experience hate and anger and misunderstandings about who you are out in the world. That will not happen here. You need to know with every fiber of who you are that when you walk in the front door of your home, you are safe, and you are loved. Your mother is in complete agreement with me on this.
- I am still, as always, your biggest defender. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re any less capable of taking care of and defending yourself. That said, if you need me to stand next to you or in front of you, write letters, sign petitions, advocate, or anything else, I am here. I would go to war for you.
- If you’re going to have boys over, you now need to leave your bedroom door open. Sorry, kiddo. Them’s the breaks. I couldn’t have girls in my room with the door shut, so you don’t get to have boys.
- You and I are going to revisit that talk we had about safe sex. I know it’s going to be awkward for both of us, but it is important. I need to do some research first, so let’s give it a few weeks. If you have questions or concerns before then, let me know.
That’s enough for now. Feel free to view this letter as a contract. If I ever fail to meet any of the commitments made herein, pull it out and hold me to account. I’ll end with this: You are not broken. You are whole, and beautiful. You are capable and compassionate. You and your sister are the best things I have ever done with my life, and I couldn’t be prouder of the people you’ve become.
P.S. Thanks to a few key Supreme Court decisions and the Marriage Equality Act of 2020, you’re legally able to get married. When I was your age, that was just an idea. Pretty cool, huh?
I’m trying to think of what exactly I would say in a letter and I think the fact I need to explain to my hypothetical LGBT child that I’ll still love them is a problem! I would NEVER have to explain that to a straight child. My over all response would just be an unphased, “ok”. Which would be the same respond I would give to a straight child.
There are many things that I would hope for my future child and a specific sexual orientation is not one of them. They’ll be whoever they want to be and I just hope that they are safe, supported, loved, happy, successful and do something good with their lives. I would love an LGBT child, this white heterosexual couple could use some diversity!