Often, I have tried to figure out the moment I decided I was gay, or I first knew I had a girl crush, or I knew I was attracted to girls, at least sexually because I fantasized about them while I made out with my boyfriends - going back in time to try to understand why I never knew I was gay.
And then I met someone. I stopped asking. It didn't matter anymore why I hadn't known at 13 or 15 or 17, because I met my love and that was all that mattered. Her friends accepted me in a way that I had never known before, because all they saw was my out and comfortable side. Over the past months I've settled into a beautiful serenity with myself that I've never felt before.
And then last night I had this dream. It came out of nowhere, my last thoughts of the night solely focused on British TV show Doctor Who, and somehow answered all the thoughts I'd left alone all those months ago:
We arrived in New Zealand, my lovely boi and I, and were driving to a little vacation spot, eager to see the exotic animals and the rainforest. The water was pouring down and the road was narrow, slicing a thin path between two vast bodies of water, but we were so happy just to be together.
We arrived at the camp to see a few others, a man and his girlfriend or wife, and another girl with them, mingling in the main kitchen. They greeted us and helped us with our bags. Before I knew it I had been dragged off by the separate girl, who was offering dry clothes and towels. She brought me into a bedroom where I gratefully took a towel from her to help with my hair.
And then she started pushing, asking about having sex with men and why shouldn't I just try it? She kept talking about how much she enjoyed it, how much she enjoyed the taste of men and I couldn't handle it. I wanted to find my boi. I stalked into the kitchen where my boi was wrapped in a towel at the table, and clambered to sit at the tabletop where I felt safe.
"Why are you in a towel?" I asked.
"My bag fell in the river and everything is wet," she responded and I laughed, heart relaxing.
"Sorry. I stole a shirt and underwear to sleep in. I'll get them, they're in my bag," I offered with a smile and a kiss. The lighthearted moment faded as I pulled away because the girl was in the doorway again.
"I don't understand why you won't just try it. You'll like it," she promised. I wanted to rip my hair out, I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her about the time I was almost raped in high school, or when I was molested in college, but I knew I'd only be proving her point by showing her my bad experiences.
"I have tried it," I insisted. "I have had it sweet and nice, I have had normal relationships with men, but it was never right. It was always wrong, so inherently wrong, and no matter if I gave consent to them I wasn't giving consent to myself because it was never what I wanted. It always felt like being molested, and I can't even blame anyone but myself because it was me who allowed it to happen," by now I was shaking and crying, but I could feel their eyes burning me.
"So can we drop the subject now, please?!" I slammed my fist on the table and turned into my lover's side, not wanting to hear what anyone had to say. What I felt mattered, and I had said my piece.
I was worried about my boi's reaction, but I shouldn't have been, as I felt an arm protectively curl around my back and I cried into her shoulder.
When I woke up, I realized that maybe the moment doesn't matter, maybe I don't need to know exactly when I figured it out, or why I didn't realize it earlier. All those years of discomfort still take a toll on me occasionally, still sneak up on me when I don't expect it.
When I think about girls who are coming out later, I can't help but wonder at the sneers they endure from lesbians, at what other pain they must have to face. Do they also have years of giving consent to others without giving self consent burdening their backs? Though I'm now part of the "always been gay" club when I go out, I have to remember never to pass judgement. It wasn't that long ago that I wouldn't have been accepted.
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label compassion. Show all posts
Nov 17, 2013
Dec 26, 2012
Heavy
When Christmas gets heavy:
I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.
She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.
She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.
I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?
Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.
I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.
I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.
She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.
She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.
I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?
Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.
I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.
Dec 12, 2012
Screaming
I want to talk honestly. On four different websites this past week, the topic of anorexia has come up, and I've tried to throw my two cents in because hey, I've been there for a good part of my life. Instead of opening any sort of dialogue, I feel like I've been ignored, condescended to, and viewed as a fuck up all because of my anorexia. Now I just feel like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and no one is listening. Good thing I have a blog :/
Let's start with the myths: 1. I'm fat-phobic. My anorexia didn't start because I wanted to be thin, and that's true of more than half of people with eating disorders. 2. I wasn't raised with loving parents. My family always told me I was pretty. In fact, they built up my self-confidence and independence so much that I consider myself to be a fairly vain person. I've mentioned this before. I love how I look. I love my eyes and my nose and my smile and my laugh and how smart and funny I am. Not an issue. 3. I need attention. No one in my personal life ever found out about my anorexia except for my drama teacher, so I think the attention thing is out. 4. It's a phase. I started food refusal in high school and I've been out for years. My life has stabilized, I'm more comfortable with myself and my paradigms and my world, but I still struggle with my anorexia.
One of the reasons I stopped eating was because my dad has a neurological disease. He regressed and started behaving like a raging alcoholic by the time I was seven (sweet one minute and would smack you the next) and morphed into a toddler by the time I was 19, and he actively pushed to instill in me this phobia that I was going to inherit his disease. My mother tried to keep me away from him as much as possible, and it's because of her and my other family members that I am so self-assured. But, this fear ate at me, and I felt helpless, powerless against my fate. I began failing out of school, falling into depression, writing poems about death and perfect suicides.
Then, I started restricting and refusing food and everything changed. Not eating gave me something else to think about, because hunger was always on my mind, and all my other worries went out the window. I finally had absolute control over something - over myself and my body and my fate. I finally felt free. I finally felt amazing. The depression stopped, my grades picked up, I was more social and exercising all the time.
It only takes a few days of me not eating to have a positive effect on my emotional climate, which is why it's so hard for me not to go back. It allows me to not worry about anything. It allows me to be in control. It's not that way for everyone with an eating disorder, but it's not just about looking thin. There's always something under the surface, so please don't brush it off like someone needs to be told they're pretty twice a day and their anorexia will clear up. It's hurtful and offensive, and eating disorders are about so much more than that.
Let's start with the myths: 1. I'm fat-phobic. My anorexia didn't start because I wanted to be thin, and that's true of more than half of people with eating disorders. 2. I wasn't raised with loving parents. My family always told me I was pretty. In fact, they built up my self-confidence and independence so much that I consider myself to be a fairly vain person. I've mentioned this before. I love how I look. I love my eyes and my nose and my smile and my laugh and how smart and funny I am. Not an issue. 3. I need attention. No one in my personal life ever found out about my anorexia except for my drama teacher, so I think the attention thing is out. 4. It's a phase. I started food refusal in high school and I've been out for years. My life has stabilized, I'm more comfortable with myself and my paradigms and my world, but I still struggle with my anorexia.
One of the reasons I stopped eating was because my dad has a neurological disease. He regressed and started behaving like a raging alcoholic by the time I was seven (sweet one minute and would smack you the next) and morphed into a toddler by the time I was 19, and he actively pushed to instill in me this phobia that I was going to inherit his disease. My mother tried to keep me away from him as much as possible, and it's because of her and my other family members that I am so self-assured. But, this fear ate at me, and I felt helpless, powerless against my fate. I began failing out of school, falling into depression, writing poems about death and perfect suicides.
Then, I started restricting and refusing food and everything changed. Not eating gave me something else to think about, because hunger was always on my mind, and all my other worries went out the window. I finally had absolute control over something - over myself and my body and my fate. I finally felt free. I finally felt amazing. The depression stopped, my grades picked up, I was more social and exercising all the time.
It only takes a few days of me not eating to have a positive effect on my emotional climate, which is why it's so hard for me not to go back. It allows me to not worry about anything. It allows me to be in control. It's not that way for everyone with an eating disorder, but it's not just about looking thin. There's always something under the surface, so please don't brush it off like someone needs to be told they're pretty twice a day and their anorexia will clear up. It's hurtful and offensive, and eating disorders are about so much more than that.
Dec 1, 2012
Biphobia
This is going to be uncomfortable no matter what, just because of the topic. I read this paper recently on feminist lesbians and the proclivity of thought that lesbians and lesbian relationships are "morally pure" compared to the "deviant bisexual." It was very condescending toward bisexuals in general, and it made me uncomfortable.
I'm not bisexual. I dated boys until I realized that gross feeling wasn't normal. I date, love and am attracted to women exclusively, so I can really only understand the lesbian point of view. I understand being wary and unsettled when it comes to dating a bisexual woman but I think this comes from my own insecurities rather than anything she does. (With exception to the Redhead.)
Is biphobia okay? Is biphobia okay from a group of individuals who have been discriminated against for our gender identity and/or sexual orientation? I admit, it's hard for me to understand how the bisexual orientation works. It's hard for me not to feel threatened by it, or to feel like in a bisexual world I will never be enough. But should that keep me from calling it a legitimate orientation? No. Should that allow me to condescend to those who believe that gender plays no part in attraction or love? No. Should it allow me to call bisexuals "greedy" or "indecisive?" Absolutely not. But I've heard it all said.
It's sort of like how some butches and femmes I meet condescend to me because I'm just "middle of the road." Like, I'm not good enough because I haven't picked a side and don't know where I fit in their dynamic. I'm not "lesbian enough." Bisexual people don't feel "lesbian enough" or "gay enough" or "straight enough" and they shouldn't have to.
It's time we stop being so exclusive and let the bisexuals in, because a lady who likes other ladies is awesome, and if there are boys here and there, so what? If you want to judge her because she's crazy, that's a totally different story. I mean, c'mon, we judge cray-cray lesbians all the time :)
Update: It has just been brought to my attention that I wrote about Biphobia years ago. How interesting to see the difference/similarities in my posts.
I'm not bisexual. I dated boys until I realized that gross feeling wasn't normal. I date, love and am attracted to women exclusively, so I can really only understand the lesbian point of view. I understand being wary and unsettled when it comes to dating a bisexual woman but I think this comes from my own insecurities rather than anything she does. (With exception to the Redhead.)
Is biphobia okay? Is biphobia okay from a group of individuals who have been discriminated against for our gender identity and/or sexual orientation? I admit, it's hard for me to understand how the bisexual orientation works. It's hard for me not to feel threatened by it, or to feel like in a bisexual world I will never be enough. But should that keep me from calling it a legitimate orientation? No. Should that allow me to condescend to those who believe that gender plays no part in attraction or love? No. Should it allow me to call bisexuals "greedy" or "indecisive?" Absolutely not. But I've heard it all said.
It's sort of like how some butches and femmes I meet condescend to me because I'm just "middle of the road." Like, I'm not good enough because I haven't picked a side and don't know where I fit in their dynamic. I'm not "lesbian enough." Bisexual people don't feel "lesbian enough" or "gay enough" or "straight enough" and they shouldn't have to.
It's time we stop being so exclusive and let the bisexuals in, because a lady who likes other ladies is awesome, and if there are boys here and there, so what? If you want to judge her because she's crazy, that's a totally different story. I mean, c'mon, we judge cray-cray lesbians all the time :)
Update: It has just been brought to my attention that I wrote about Biphobia years ago. How interesting to see the difference/similarities in my posts.
Feb 22, 2010
Bitter/Compassion
I used to be the most compassionate person that people knew. An old lady trying to water her flowers would bring out the best in me. I would offer to help her, strike up a conversation, and spend the afternoon looking at old photo albums of her with her late husband.
Where did I go? Somewhere along the lines of jesting about being bitter and jokingly telling people to suck it up, I lost all of my compassion. Has my life gotten so bad that I really think everyone's life is easier, or have I had the strength to stand alone and think of other people as weak? Or am I jealous that other people are used to having support systems while I have stood alone since kindergarten? Or do I just not respect anyone anymore?
My life is not that bad. It's not ideal, but whose is? So why have I become this bitter old hag? My god, I'm barely an adult. I've barely made it past puberty and being a teenager. How did I become this angry, cranky, awful old lady who wears all black and lives in the shady looking house on the corner surrounded by 72 black cats?
I can't go around telling people that they are weak if they cry. I can't tell people that it's not okay to lean on anyone else or be emotionally needy for 5 minutes. That's really not okay (as I am beginning to see).
Maybe somewhere along the way my hatred for emotionally clingy women got to me, and now I take it out on everyone. Maybe I tried to rescue too many people who shattered me over and over again. Maybe I got tired of being the one everyone leaned on for support. Maybe I was upset that I am always the rock of the family, and I am not allowed to lean on any of my family members in return. Maybe too many people invited me to their pity parties and took advantage of my compassion. Maybe too many people asked it of me, whereas I feel most compassionate for those who do not seek pity. Maybe it's that too many people are fake, and I only want to see truth.
Point is, I have to find that little girl that can't resist mending someone's broken heart.
I'm going to blame the tears here on lack of sleep and emotional overload. And who is here to see me shed them? The interwebs. Who will hold me as I cry myself to sleep? My own arms.
Maybe if I can find that compassion again I'll let someone lean on me, and maybe she hold me as I fall asleep.
Where did I go? Somewhere along the lines of jesting about being bitter and jokingly telling people to suck it up, I lost all of my compassion. Has my life gotten so bad that I really think everyone's life is easier, or have I had the strength to stand alone and think of other people as weak? Or am I jealous that other people are used to having support systems while I have stood alone since kindergarten? Or do I just not respect anyone anymore?
My life is not that bad. It's not ideal, but whose is? So why have I become this bitter old hag? My god, I'm barely an adult. I've barely made it past puberty and being a teenager. How did I become this angry, cranky, awful old lady who wears all black and lives in the shady looking house on the corner surrounded by 72 black cats?
I can't go around telling people that they are weak if they cry. I can't tell people that it's not okay to lean on anyone else or be emotionally needy for 5 minutes. That's really not okay (as I am beginning to see).
Maybe somewhere along the way my hatred for emotionally clingy women got to me, and now I take it out on everyone. Maybe I tried to rescue too many people who shattered me over and over again. Maybe I got tired of being the one everyone leaned on for support. Maybe I was upset that I am always the rock of the family, and I am not allowed to lean on any of my family members in return. Maybe too many people invited me to their pity parties and took advantage of my compassion. Maybe too many people asked it of me, whereas I feel most compassionate for those who do not seek pity. Maybe it's that too many people are fake, and I only want to see truth.
Point is, I have to find that little girl that can't resist mending someone's broken heart.
I'm going to blame the tears here on lack of sleep and emotional overload. And who is here to see me shed them? The interwebs. Who will hold me as I cry myself to sleep? My own arms.
Maybe if I can find that compassion again I'll let someone lean on me, and maybe she hold me as I fall asleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)