When I was a growing up, I went to the Catholic church in my town. The ritual of the service was wonderful to me. Singing the songs and partaking of Holy Communion was the highlight for me.
One thing I had wanted to do was be an altar server. Since I went to a Catholic grade school, my fellow classmates took turns to serve at mass. I wanted to do that, too. They got to wear long robes and carry candles and the book that the priest read from, and even helped with the bread and wine at Communion. How awesome was that??
Except, of course, that all my classmates who helped out were boys. This was back in the day before it became altar servers and was altar *boys*.
Me, being who I am, went to the priest I liked and pleaded my case. Surely God and Jesus would understand that I wanted to help out just like my friends got to. I was a good girl in class and my behavior in church was pretty good. (except, for that part where you had to hold hands during the 'Our Father' and I'd giggle a little with my guy friends while we held hands)
To his credit, the priest said he'd look into it. And he did. And the final verdict was that the bishop of our area said that girls couldn't be altar servers. Because, you know, it's altar *boys* and because Jesus had 12 MALE apostles.
No, seriously. This was the logic that was given to me. I couldn't be part of the mass because I am a girl. I'm not even going to get into the whole Eve and Garden of Eden thing and whatnot.
I was crushed. I had tears in my eyes. I couldn't understand why I was denied this just cos I didn't have a penis. I didn't say that, of course. I thanked the priest for his help and that's when the beginning of my break with the Catholic church began. (the coup de grace was the whole GLBTQ thing...you know, where people like ME are abominations and deviants and whatnot and are not welcome as real sexual human beings) But I digress.
I wandered a spiritual path that has included paganism and wicca (not necessarily the same, ya'll). I have studied some buddhism and taoism. I've looked at shamanism and in the end, I've called myself spiritual. Not necessarily religious. But spiritual? Yeah, no doubt about that.
A couple of months ago, I joined a church here in the Cities. It is the first GLBTQA church that was founded by GLBTQA people, here in the Twin Cities. It is a warm, loving, close knit community and I have felt welcome from the very first day. My spirituality is what matters and if it's a combination of this and that and whatever...who cares? Not the other church members. And not Pastor James.
Pastor James called me this past week to ask me if I'd be a co-celebrant with him at a service. At THIS church, the members help in every part of the service. Not only as communion servers and readers but also to celebrate the mass along with Pastor James. Me, remembering that crushed girl of 12 years old, was thrilled to see this. Women in this church are honoured and asked to be part of the service and the community and to be more than just the usual 'foundation' that the Catholic church allows. So much more.
I am deeply honoured to have been asked this. I accepted and this Sunday, I will co-celebrate mass with a man who I've come to admire deeply and respect greatly. I'll be in front of a community who cares about me and accepts me as I am.
Honoured and a little terrified (it's a little intimidating to do that sort of thing the first time around and the wonder involved will never wear off, no matter how many times I'm asked)....and also, I feel vindicated.
One church told me I couldn't because I am a woman. THIS church tells me I CAN because I am me....a woman. a queer asian activist who has felt something heal that has hurt inside for all these years.
It's especially fitting that we're celebrating the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. at our service. He was a man, a human being with faults, just like the rest of us...but he was an activist, an African American who was murdered because he dared to dream for all of us.
Pastor James thought it was fitting for me to do this because of what I'm doing in the queer community as well as throughout the Twin Cities. I'm just blown away with the comparison.
So, this feels like coming home to me. I have a home now....a place where I can grow in my spirituality. A place that feels safe.
I am blessed in so many ways. I have an embarrassment of riches in my life with my sons, with my husband, with my Chosen family and with my friends.
This is just the icing on the cake.
If I could have told my 12 year old self who was wiping at her tears that this would be my future...if I could tell her, 'it's OK. Because in the end, you WILL be validated', I would.
It does get better. In so many ways.
K.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Faux friends and all that jazz
*jazz hands*
Or not.
I admit to being a suspicious sort. And once my mind starts ticking and the Darkness throws in some more thoughts for good measure, the party won't stop.
I think I know, though, why it's been a rough few days. I've been triggered and the trigger has been constant, and now that I understand what's going through my head, I can say, 'ok. Fun and games is over.'
I'm caught between faux friends and a hard place. I'm caught with the sneaking suspicion that I'm just not as useful/meaningful/worthy when I'm not as damaged as I used to be. I feel (and I may be wrong, but I might as well toss it out there) that to some people I know, it was a lot more satisfying to see me tossed like a leaf in the storm.
It's like it was ok when I was afraid and when I was weak and when I was more broken than I am now. It was ok cos it made people feel big and strong and better....but now that I'm not that person anymore....the communication and the contact has dwindled to almost nothing or nothing.
It's like I want to have friends who contact me instead of me contacting them all the freaking time. Tagging after them like a lost little puppy. Spend time with me....hang out with me....don't walk away and not ever call or anything cos that hurts me so much....ohhhh...so I guess I'll give in AGAIN and call or email or text or whatever and say, 'hey, haven't seen you in a long time! Let's get together!'
What's really precious is when I do that and I get white noise back. Static. No response whatsoever, and it takes a lot for me to go, 'it's NOT me. NOT NOT NOT.'
BOOM! Trigger alert! And it's like me wanting always to be Loved and accepted for who I am. It's me hoping and dreaming and wishing that I'll have friends who'll be there for me...cos damn it...I want to be there for MY friends.
I want to see my friends and do things with them. I want to laugh over coffee and share inside jokes, and go to places together. I want to store up these memories for me to take out when I feel cold inside, and the Darkness is howling. I want something to fuel those firefly days....
But I haven't had a firefly day in a week or two, and instead, I have the steady breath of the Darkness against my neck, and I am too aware of the sharp, cutting things in my house, and I do not feel safe...not all the time.
I cry at night. I try to circumvent the tapes in my head that tell me I'm not good enough, not worthy enough, just too much trouble and bother and it's better this way. I'm not going to disappoint anyone. I'm not going to make them feel obligated.
And sometimes, I just sit on my hands cos if I could, I'd tear myself apart with them. I feel like nothing.
So I have to make tough decisions. I have to decide what's more important to me. My inner health or me clinging to people I should let go.
I think they made their decision by their silence and by the way it's always me who initiates contact and time.
I can't do it anymore. It hurts too much. And it triggers too much. And I simply can't afford to give the Darkness any more weapons. It has more than enough all ready.
It's so hard, though. I'm the kind of person who would be friends forever, if I could. I'd want to know you for years upon years...I'd want to keep the friendship alive and nurturing and growing cos those are the best friendships to have.
Bear tells me that it's healthy to do this. Bear says that sometimes, things happen, and it's nothing to do with me or with the other person....life shifts, ice cracks, ties unbind. I'm to just be aware when it's time to move on.
But, ah. Aren't I someone to be proud of, now that I'm stronger and more assured and more....more than you ever dreamed I could be?
This maybe doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and I know my thoughts are all tangled right now...
I just write this out...write it out and think my thinks....and let go.
K.
Or not.
I admit to being a suspicious sort. And once my mind starts ticking and the Darkness throws in some more thoughts for good measure, the party won't stop.
I think I know, though, why it's been a rough few days. I've been triggered and the trigger has been constant, and now that I understand what's going through my head, I can say, 'ok. Fun and games is over.'
I'm caught between faux friends and a hard place. I'm caught with the sneaking suspicion that I'm just not as useful/meaningful/worthy when I'm not as damaged as I used to be. I feel (and I may be wrong, but I might as well toss it out there) that to some people I know, it was a lot more satisfying to see me tossed like a leaf in the storm.
It's like it was ok when I was afraid and when I was weak and when I was more broken than I am now. It was ok cos it made people feel big and strong and better....but now that I'm not that person anymore....the communication and the contact has dwindled to almost nothing or nothing.
It's like I want to have friends who contact me instead of me contacting them all the freaking time. Tagging after them like a lost little puppy. Spend time with me....hang out with me....don't walk away and not ever call or anything cos that hurts me so much....ohhhh...so I guess I'll give in AGAIN and call or email or text or whatever and say, 'hey, haven't seen you in a long time! Let's get together!'
What's really precious is when I do that and I get white noise back. Static. No response whatsoever, and it takes a lot for me to go, 'it's NOT me. NOT NOT NOT.'
BOOM! Trigger alert! And it's like me wanting always to be Loved and accepted for who I am. It's me hoping and dreaming and wishing that I'll have friends who'll be there for me...cos damn it...I want to be there for MY friends.
I want to see my friends and do things with them. I want to laugh over coffee and share inside jokes, and go to places together. I want to store up these memories for me to take out when I feel cold inside, and the Darkness is howling. I want something to fuel those firefly days....
But I haven't had a firefly day in a week or two, and instead, I have the steady breath of the Darkness against my neck, and I am too aware of the sharp, cutting things in my house, and I do not feel safe...not all the time.
I cry at night. I try to circumvent the tapes in my head that tell me I'm not good enough, not worthy enough, just too much trouble and bother and it's better this way. I'm not going to disappoint anyone. I'm not going to make them feel obligated.
And sometimes, I just sit on my hands cos if I could, I'd tear myself apart with them. I feel like nothing.
So I have to make tough decisions. I have to decide what's more important to me. My inner health or me clinging to people I should let go.
I think they made their decision by their silence and by the way it's always me who initiates contact and time.
I can't do it anymore. It hurts too much. And it triggers too much. And I simply can't afford to give the Darkness any more weapons. It has more than enough all ready.
It's so hard, though. I'm the kind of person who would be friends forever, if I could. I'd want to know you for years upon years...I'd want to keep the friendship alive and nurturing and growing cos those are the best friendships to have.
Bear tells me that it's healthy to do this. Bear says that sometimes, things happen, and it's nothing to do with me or with the other person....life shifts, ice cracks, ties unbind. I'm to just be aware when it's time to move on.
But, ah. Aren't I someone to be proud of, now that I'm stronger and more assured and more....more than you ever dreamed I could be?
This maybe doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and I know my thoughts are all tangled right now...
I just write this out...write it out and think my thinks....and let go.
K.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Why I Came Out of the Closet...and other Musings
October 11th is a big day in the Queer Community.
That's National Coming Out Day and for some of us, it's turning the page on a whole new life. It's scary it's exhilerating...it's heartbreaking it's triumphant...there are so many emotions.
Most of all, it's intensely personal. And people 'come out' when they are ready to do so.
Personally, I find it bitterly amusing that it has to be such a Big Deal. Meaning that why should it be such a Big Deal when a person's sexuality is just a part of who that person is?
I have learned that it's really offensive to say 'that person's gay' as if that's their defining feature. Really? Cos you know, there's more to a person than their sexuality. Or their gender.
But there are people who are threatened and unsettled by the whole idea that what is just one part of a person's wholeness is alien to them.
I say, 'get over it.'
And after some deep thought, I decided to come out of the closet myself and wave my Queer flag. Not that I wasn't afraid. I wanted to throw up. But. I'm done with having the door half open and peeking out and going, 'hmmm...now?'
Here's the thing, lads.
I've known about my own sexuality since I was young. I've known for SURE since I was 20. I'm 40 now, and have been half in the closet and half out the closet for 20 years. That's a long time to play peek a boo.
I was afraid of letting people know I am Queer. Afraid that they would judge me. Afraid that they'd turn their backs and walk away. Afraid that they'd say hurtful things to me, and that they'd tell me I am a degenerate a freak a bad person.
Mostly, afraid that they'd try to hurt me by taking away my sons or by telling me I am a bad example as a parent cos I am raising them to be comfortable with Queer people and to even Love and care for them. Mercy me, how radical is that??
But I'm 40 years old now. My sons are old enough to tell people to fuck off if they want, and I'm just done with wanting other peoples' approval, especially for something that isn't their damn business in the first place.
A couple of weeks ago, I went through training through NAMI MN to become a facilitator. NAMI is a wonderful organization that helps people and those who Love them deal with a mental illness. NAMI MN is based here in the Twin Cities but reaches out to all of Minnesotans who live with a mental illness. Awesome organization. And they trained me to be a co-facilitator for the first ever GLBTQA Connection Group. A peer support group for Queer people and their allies who are living with a mental illness.
My co-facilitator and I meet up with others in the basement of the Spirit of the Lakes church. We just started, and we hope to have others join us. We are committed to walking that path with others who need the understanding and support.
I figured that since I am going to be a facilitator, it's time to set aside my own fears and be as open and honest as I can. I'm pretty damn open about my own mental illnesses. I am more than willing to share my own experiences and ups and downs with my bipolar and depression and suicidal thoughts and all of that stuff. But for me to truly be part of this, I need to be Out. And being Out means coming out.
So I did. I posted a status in Facebook (cos, of course, that's where you post all the Big Doings) and waited for responses. I didn't receive one bad comment. Only support and Love and a bunch of 'Likes'. The feeling of wanting to throw up passed, and I felt vindicated--the people who care about me and Love me for me....they didn't give a damn.
So I'm Queer? So what.
I'm open about it now, to everyone. I'll let people know when it's appropriate, especially if a topic comes up like gay marriage or bisexuality where I can give a very personal viewpoint.
I've had some great conversations with classmates. I've found that people who are respectful can ask open ended questions, and I can answer them, and they can go, 'oh, I didn't think of it that way', and ask more questions and we all come away with this feeling of new understanding and support. It's a pretty awesome feeling.
I know I can tell people that just cos I'm Queer doesn't explain my mental illnesses and just cos I have mental illnesses doesn't mean they 'happened' cos of me being Queer. One does not cause the other in any way, shape or form.
I know that there will be people out there who will dislike me for my sexuality. I know that there will be people who will say hurtful things. I get that by continuing to speak up and not back down, I'm going to be a target for homophobic remarks.
Bring it, I say.
The people who Love me for me don't give a damn. My sons, my husband, my Chosen Family, my friends....their Love me for hasn't diminished one bit.
As for me, I'm going to stand up to the bullies and the homophobes and all that jazz. I want to stand up for those who have to stay silent for fear of harm to themselves. It's how I'm built. I've never been good with staying silent when others are being hurt.
So that's it. Me feeling as though I don't have anything to hide. What you see is what you get...and in the end, if I'd introduce myself to you, I'd tell you my name and that I'm going to college, and that I am a mom of two awesome boys. I'd tell you my favourite colour is red, and that I am a huge Harry Potter fan and a big ol' geek who reads and dreams and writes poetry and short stories. I like all sorts of music and I like to hang out with my friends, and Fall is my favourite season and I have a weakness for babies and Irish Wolfhounds. And I Love my husband and my sons and I am Queer. And really, out of all of that, why should Queer stand out when it's just a part of who I am? The whole package is all those bits and pieces of me, including my sexuality. Don't make my Queerness bigger than anything else cos really?? It isn't. It's a part of me that makes up the whole me. And don't we all have bits and pieces that make us all unique and fascinating individuals?
I think so....and I hope you do, too.
K.
That's National Coming Out Day and for some of us, it's turning the page on a whole new life. It's scary it's exhilerating...it's heartbreaking it's triumphant...there are so many emotions.
Most of all, it's intensely personal. And people 'come out' when they are ready to do so.
Personally, I find it bitterly amusing that it has to be such a Big Deal. Meaning that why should it be such a Big Deal when a person's sexuality is just a part of who that person is?
I have learned that it's really offensive to say 'that person's gay' as if that's their defining feature. Really? Cos you know, there's more to a person than their sexuality. Or their gender.
But there are people who are threatened and unsettled by the whole idea that what is just one part of a person's wholeness is alien to them.
I say, 'get over it.'
And after some deep thought, I decided to come out of the closet myself and wave my Queer flag. Not that I wasn't afraid. I wanted to throw up. But. I'm done with having the door half open and peeking out and going, 'hmmm...now?'
Here's the thing, lads.
I've known about my own sexuality since I was young. I've known for SURE since I was 20. I'm 40 now, and have been half in the closet and half out the closet for 20 years. That's a long time to play peek a boo.
I was afraid of letting people know I am Queer. Afraid that they would judge me. Afraid that they'd turn their backs and walk away. Afraid that they'd say hurtful things to me, and that they'd tell me I am a degenerate a freak a bad person.
Mostly, afraid that they'd try to hurt me by taking away my sons or by telling me I am a bad example as a parent cos I am raising them to be comfortable with Queer people and to even Love and care for them. Mercy me, how radical is that??
But I'm 40 years old now. My sons are old enough to tell people to fuck off if they want, and I'm just done with wanting other peoples' approval, especially for something that isn't their damn business in the first place.
A couple of weeks ago, I went through training through NAMI MN to become a facilitator. NAMI is a wonderful organization that helps people and those who Love them deal with a mental illness. NAMI MN is based here in the Twin Cities but reaches out to all of Minnesotans who live with a mental illness. Awesome organization. And they trained me to be a co-facilitator for the first ever GLBTQA Connection Group. A peer support group for Queer people and their allies who are living with a mental illness.
My co-facilitator and I meet up with others in the basement of the Spirit of the Lakes church. We just started, and we hope to have others join us. We are committed to walking that path with others who need the understanding and support.
I figured that since I am going to be a facilitator, it's time to set aside my own fears and be as open and honest as I can. I'm pretty damn open about my own mental illnesses. I am more than willing to share my own experiences and ups and downs with my bipolar and depression and suicidal thoughts and all of that stuff. But for me to truly be part of this, I need to be Out. And being Out means coming out.
So I did. I posted a status in Facebook (cos, of course, that's where you post all the Big Doings) and waited for responses. I didn't receive one bad comment. Only support and Love and a bunch of 'Likes'. The feeling of wanting to throw up passed, and I felt vindicated--the people who care about me and Love me for me....they didn't give a damn.
So I'm Queer? So what.
I'm open about it now, to everyone. I'll let people know when it's appropriate, especially if a topic comes up like gay marriage or bisexuality where I can give a very personal viewpoint.
I've had some great conversations with classmates. I've found that people who are respectful can ask open ended questions, and I can answer them, and they can go, 'oh, I didn't think of it that way', and ask more questions and we all come away with this feeling of new understanding and support. It's a pretty awesome feeling.
I know I can tell people that just cos I'm Queer doesn't explain my mental illnesses and just cos I have mental illnesses doesn't mean they 'happened' cos of me being Queer. One does not cause the other in any way, shape or form.
I know that there will be people out there who will dislike me for my sexuality. I know that there will be people who will say hurtful things. I get that by continuing to speak up and not back down, I'm going to be a target for homophobic remarks.
Bring it, I say.
The people who Love me for me don't give a damn. My sons, my husband, my Chosen Family, my friends....their Love me for hasn't diminished one bit.
As for me, I'm going to stand up to the bullies and the homophobes and all that jazz. I want to stand up for those who have to stay silent for fear of harm to themselves. It's how I'm built. I've never been good with staying silent when others are being hurt.
So that's it. Me feeling as though I don't have anything to hide. What you see is what you get...and in the end, if I'd introduce myself to you, I'd tell you my name and that I'm going to college, and that I am a mom of two awesome boys. I'd tell you my favourite colour is red, and that I am a huge Harry Potter fan and a big ol' geek who reads and dreams and writes poetry and short stories. I like all sorts of music and I like to hang out with my friends, and Fall is my favourite season and I have a weakness for babies and Irish Wolfhounds. And I Love my husband and my sons and I am Queer. And really, out of all of that, why should Queer stand out when it's just a part of who I am? The whole package is all those bits and pieces of me, including my sexuality. Don't make my Queerness bigger than anything else cos really?? It isn't. It's a part of me that makes up the whole me. And don't we all have bits and pieces that make us all unique and fascinating individuals?
I think so....and I hope you do, too.
K.
It's been a while...
I haven't written in here in quite some time.
Life has been busy. I've been involved in some really awesome big sparkly things. School has consumed a great deal of my time and attention. My sons are always the number one priority and my husband as well.
But it's time again to write. Cos I find that writing helps a lot. And writing in *here* helps me keep the courage.
I'm gonna do another post...but I'll be back more often. The door has always been open. I just haven't been able to walk through as often as I'd like.
K.
Life has been busy. I've been involved in some really awesome big sparkly things. School has consumed a great deal of my time and attention. My sons are always the number one priority and my husband as well.
But it's time again to write. Cos I find that writing helps a lot. And writing in *here* helps me keep the courage.
I'm gonna do another post...but I'll be back more often. The door has always been open. I just haven't been able to walk through as often as I'd like.
K.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
For me, it's when I fight in the Darkness...
Last night, things were...difficult.
As most of you know, I have dealt with bipolar most of my life.
As some of you know, I have fought against suicide ever since I was 12. That's over half my life now, and for those of you who have served in the armed forces, you know what it's like to fight against an enemy that never sleeps.
I am...tired. At any time, the Darkness can flare and envelop me. Sometimes, I have a little warning. Sometimes, I do not.
Last night, I did not, and so I was surprised and could barely launch a counteract before things got dicey.
I don't know what it's like for other people who fight suicidal thoughts. I don't want to say, 'this is what it feels like' cos it might not feel that way to them...I certainly don't want to put words into any one else's mouth, so I can only speak for me. Perhaps I share traits with others. Perhaps it's just me. I can say this with certainty though: it's an isolating thing, fighting the Darkness. And the best weapon of all is someone or a bunch of someones helping to tip the scales.
For me, I have an inner strength, a subconscious and not so subconscious part of me I have named Bear. Bear is stronger than I, smarter than I, wiser than I. Bear gives me Bear dreams that are portents and signs that I pay attention to, and Bear has fought this Darkness all by Himself at times.
I have my husband who held me tight, kept me anchored *physically*, and who walked with me through the worst of it. He was terrified of losing me last night, and even though a good part of me didn't particularly wish to be here, there was enough of me who wanted to stay.
I have friends who Love me for me...people who I've called Chosen Family who Love me and care for me and who I Love back fiercely. I don't really understand why they choose to call me their Sister or some other Family name, some Love name that they make up...but they do...and I am happy about it.
I have friends who care for me, and who I spend time with when I can. They're lovely and fantastic, and I think would be horrified by how much I keep from them, when it comes to this. I have this urge to protect the people I care about...it's only when I trust someone, can I let them inside.
And I have my sons, my two Loves of my life, my two best guys who are so breathtakingly wonderful and funny and smart and wise and *real*. I think of them when the Darkness comes a calling, and I tell myself that they would not want me to go. I know they wouldn't understand why I left them, when I tell them that I Love them so much...and it's the one thing the Darkness can't get around.
So last night, I felt as though I was being pulled away. I felt as though the knives and the razors were singing my name, and it would be a simple matter to take them up on what they were telling me: to use them and to slip away, and not come back. I tried to keep one foot here whilst the other one was trying to go on. I cried out of exhaustion and pain and grief. I didn't know how I was going to get through this without help.
But I have my husband, and I have Bear, and between the two, I was able to pull back and to breathe again...to quiet the voices in my head, and to Remember that I must stay Here.
I don't talk too much of other Things here...as in, what's going on in my life...that is usually reserved in another Journal where I can pour out my hurts and sorrows, and know that those words will stay there.
But I will say this: the time will come when I will watch the movie, 'Precious.' My Sistah has told me that I do not need to see it, that it will tear me apart, reminding me too much of things in the past. I told her that Bear told me that when we are ready to let go, to cut the ties and walk away and not come back, then I will watch the movie, and will cry and will grieve.
I have grieved so much over the past months for what will never be. I am not ever going to be the daughter or the cousin or the relative that people want me to be. I have resigned myself to being the shame, the embarrassment, the laughing stock, and the one people in my family point to when they want to say: Look at her. She just doesn't belong.
They're right. I don't. My sister has cut ties with me. My parents are no longer speaking to me, and won't tell me what is going on. I have cried almost every day for the past 7 months. Last night, I about fell apart inside and out as I cried and cried. I fight the feeling that it would only bring relief to my parents and sister. They could forget all about me and how much I embarrass them and shame them. At least, that's what the Darkness tells me, when I'm fighting the urge to kill myself.
So. So it is and so it goes. I'm not ever going to give up. I have to fight cos I don't want my boys to grow up without their mom and I don't want to leave them or my husband or my Chosen Family or friends. I know that I am Loved and Wanted.
At least, I do when I'm not in the depths of the Darkness or my Illness.
I am exhausted today. I am tired of fighting but I know I have to continue to do so. I have school work to study and I have work tomorrow and I have a birthday party to go to...just proves that life does roll on and life has the sweet as well as the bitter.
I will probably take a nap at some point and time. Lack of sleep doesn't help at all. And I will take careful care of myself and make sure I eat. I'm still not out of the danger zone, just yet, and I know that I need to do things to help push me back into a stronger way of thinking.
In the meantime, I think about what needs to be done, and I think about being strong, and I try to remind myself that this will pass and life will feel good again.
Until then, I tread carefully. I do not want to trigger another episode. I'm not sure I have the strength needed to deal with it...although Bear assures me I do.
K.
As most of you know, I have dealt with bipolar most of my life.
As some of you know, I have fought against suicide ever since I was 12. That's over half my life now, and for those of you who have served in the armed forces, you know what it's like to fight against an enemy that never sleeps.
I am...tired. At any time, the Darkness can flare and envelop me. Sometimes, I have a little warning. Sometimes, I do not.
Last night, I did not, and so I was surprised and could barely launch a counteract before things got dicey.
I don't know what it's like for other people who fight suicidal thoughts. I don't want to say, 'this is what it feels like' cos it might not feel that way to them...I certainly don't want to put words into any one else's mouth, so I can only speak for me. Perhaps I share traits with others. Perhaps it's just me. I can say this with certainty though: it's an isolating thing, fighting the Darkness. And the best weapon of all is someone or a bunch of someones helping to tip the scales.
For me, I have an inner strength, a subconscious and not so subconscious part of me I have named Bear. Bear is stronger than I, smarter than I, wiser than I. Bear gives me Bear dreams that are portents and signs that I pay attention to, and Bear has fought this Darkness all by Himself at times.
I have my husband who held me tight, kept me anchored *physically*, and who walked with me through the worst of it. He was terrified of losing me last night, and even though a good part of me didn't particularly wish to be here, there was enough of me who wanted to stay.
I have friends who Love me for me...people who I've called Chosen Family who Love me and care for me and who I Love back fiercely. I don't really understand why they choose to call me their Sister or some other Family name, some Love name that they make up...but they do...and I am happy about it.
I have friends who care for me, and who I spend time with when I can. They're lovely and fantastic, and I think would be horrified by how much I keep from them, when it comes to this. I have this urge to protect the people I care about...it's only when I trust someone, can I let them inside.
And I have my sons, my two Loves of my life, my two best guys who are so breathtakingly wonderful and funny and smart and wise and *real*. I think of them when the Darkness comes a calling, and I tell myself that they would not want me to go. I know they wouldn't understand why I left them, when I tell them that I Love them so much...and it's the one thing the Darkness can't get around.
So last night, I felt as though I was being pulled away. I felt as though the knives and the razors were singing my name, and it would be a simple matter to take them up on what they were telling me: to use them and to slip away, and not come back. I tried to keep one foot here whilst the other one was trying to go on. I cried out of exhaustion and pain and grief. I didn't know how I was going to get through this without help.
But I have my husband, and I have Bear, and between the two, I was able to pull back and to breathe again...to quiet the voices in my head, and to Remember that I must stay Here.
I don't talk too much of other Things here...as in, what's going on in my life...that is usually reserved in another Journal where I can pour out my hurts and sorrows, and know that those words will stay there.
But I will say this: the time will come when I will watch the movie, 'Precious.' My Sistah has told me that I do not need to see it, that it will tear me apart, reminding me too much of things in the past. I told her that Bear told me that when we are ready to let go, to cut the ties and walk away and not come back, then I will watch the movie, and will cry and will grieve.
I have grieved so much over the past months for what will never be. I am not ever going to be the daughter or the cousin or the relative that people want me to be. I have resigned myself to being the shame, the embarrassment, the laughing stock, and the one people in my family point to when they want to say: Look at her. She just doesn't belong.
They're right. I don't. My sister has cut ties with me. My parents are no longer speaking to me, and won't tell me what is going on. I have cried almost every day for the past 7 months. Last night, I about fell apart inside and out as I cried and cried. I fight the feeling that it would only bring relief to my parents and sister. They could forget all about me and how much I embarrass them and shame them. At least, that's what the Darkness tells me, when I'm fighting the urge to kill myself.
So. So it is and so it goes. I'm not ever going to give up. I have to fight cos I don't want my boys to grow up without their mom and I don't want to leave them or my husband or my Chosen Family or friends. I know that I am Loved and Wanted.
At least, I do when I'm not in the depths of the Darkness or my Illness.
I am exhausted today. I am tired of fighting but I know I have to continue to do so. I have school work to study and I have work tomorrow and I have a birthday party to go to...just proves that life does roll on and life has the sweet as well as the bitter.
I will probably take a nap at some point and time. Lack of sleep doesn't help at all. And I will take careful care of myself and make sure I eat. I'm still not out of the danger zone, just yet, and I know that I need to do things to help push me back into a stronger way of thinking.
In the meantime, I think about what needs to be done, and I think about being strong, and I try to remind myself that this will pass and life will feel good again.
Until then, I tread carefully. I do not want to trigger another episode. I'm not sure I have the strength needed to deal with it...although Bear assures me I do.
K.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
I should be studying, but first...
I think a transformation is taking place.
Last night, I had the pleasure and honour of spending time in the company of some women who, if their energy were harnessed, would take care of all the world's problems, and still have time left over for a glass of wine.
It was...odd, to me. I am used to being the outsider (cos god knows, I didn't kowtow to normal conventions), so I was gearing up to just sit on the sidelines, and smile a lot.
I should have known better.
Stepping through the door, I was enthusiastically greeted, hugged, and then passed to another lady for a hug. There were smiles and conversations that went from the serious to the silly.
I indulged myself by drinking a bit, and as I sat there, half cocked in my alcohol splendour, my Sister of the Heart told me some lovely, lovely things. Yes, those are tears in my eyes.
I have never thought about being a 'feminist.' To me, if something was unjust, it needed to be pointed out, and changed. To me, if the way of thinking and behaving was racist/sexist/homophobic/just plain crazy wrong, I'd be the first person to say, 'what in the ever living world is your problem?' It's just the way I work, just the way I tick.
Yet, talking to these fine women (and one awesome feminist man), it became clear to me that I've been a feminist all along. Or a humanist. Or an every person. I don't think I need to find the right wording, cos I have the right ideas.
My grandmother was heavily involved in the DFL party. She was also involved with the VFW. I never was able to talk to her about what she did, but I found out last night that she contributed quite a bit...and was recognized.
Then there's me, just finding my way, here. I'm organizing the SlutWalk Minneapolis, and I've found it to be as intuitive as breathing. I am happy to acknowledge my gaps of knowledge, and seek out people who can best instruct me on contacts, and give suggestions, and add to the ideas that percolate in my brain from morning to night.
Is it scary? Mmmm...a little. This is going to be a big ol' juggernaut, and I'm going to be spinning along with it, like one of those stars that you see, in the pinwheel of the Milky Way. See? That's me, second star to the left... :)
But is it exciting and wonderful and grand and...life changing? Yes, yes it is. It's opened doors for me. It's allowed me to stretch my wings. It's let me see how strong I really am, and how much strength I have inside.
The Bear side of me smiles. He knew. This wasn't a surprise to Him, even though it was a little, to me.
My grandmother would approve. She spoke about the fight for the working poor, she talked about the rights and dignities of human beings...she had a picture of Hubert Humphrey on her wall as well as Walter Mondale...she was a wonder, herself.
My grandmother died when I was 17. I barely got to know her, and I find that incredibly unfair. I smiled last night, sitting, talking to these wonderful people, thinking that she'd fit right in.
So. Onto the next step. In the meantime, I best crack open my Espanol book. I have some learning to do.
K.
Last night, I had the pleasure and honour of spending time in the company of some women who, if their energy were harnessed, would take care of all the world's problems, and still have time left over for a glass of wine.
It was...odd, to me. I am used to being the outsider (cos god knows, I didn't kowtow to normal conventions), so I was gearing up to just sit on the sidelines, and smile a lot.
I should have known better.
Stepping through the door, I was enthusiastically greeted, hugged, and then passed to another lady for a hug. There were smiles and conversations that went from the serious to the silly.
I indulged myself by drinking a bit, and as I sat there, half cocked in my alcohol splendour, my Sister of the Heart told me some lovely, lovely things. Yes, those are tears in my eyes.
I have never thought about being a 'feminist.' To me, if something was unjust, it needed to be pointed out, and changed. To me, if the way of thinking and behaving was racist/sexist/homophobic/just plain crazy wrong, I'd be the first person to say, 'what in the ever living world is your problem?' It's just the way I work, just the way I tick.
Yet, talking to these fine women (and one awesome feminist man), it became clear to me that I've been a feminist all along. Or a humanist. Or an every person. I don't think I need to find the right wording, cos I have the right ideas.
My grandmother was heavily involved in the DFL party. She was also involved with the VFW. I never was able to talk to her about what she did, but I found out last night that she contributed quite a bit...and was recognized.
Then there's me, just finding my way, here. I'm organizing the SlutWalk Minneapolis, and I've found it to be as intuitive as breathing. I am happy to acknowledge my gaps of knowledge, and seek out people who can best instruct me on contacts, and give suggestions, and add to the ideas that percolate in my brain from morning to night.
Is it scary? Mmmm...a little. This is going to be a big ol' juggernaut, and I'm going to be spinning along with it, like one of those stars that you see, in the pinwheel of the Milky Way. See? That's me, second star to the left... :)
But is it exciting and wonderful and grand and...life changing? Yes, yes it is. It's opened doors for me. It's allowed me to stretch my wings. It's let me see how strong I really am, and how much strength I have inside.
The Bear side of me smiles. He knew. This wasn't a surprise to Him, even though it was a little, to me.
My grandmother would approve. She spoke about the fight for the working poor, she talked about the rights and dignities of human beings...she had a picture of Hubert Humphrey on her wall as well as Walter Mondale...she was a wonder, herself.
My grandmother died when I was 17. I barely got to know her, and I find that incredibly unfair. I smiled last night, sitting, talking to these wonderful people, thinking that she'd fit right in.
So. Onto the next step. In the meantime, I best crack open my Espanol book. I have some learning to do.
K.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Why I do this...and why I'm saying we're all jackasses...
A little update about my life.
School went extremely well. I ended up with 3 A's and one B. I was deliriously happy. If I had any doubts that I couldn't go to school, after not being in school for 20 years, this erased them. Me, with almost a 4.0 GPA. Look at that!
I am pushing on through with summer school. I will take Spanish I and II. I have plans.
In other news, I took a deep breath, and jumped off the deep end. I am still trying to touch the bottom.
On Facebook (where else? heh), I read about an event called the SlutWalk. Really? I read the article covering it, and thought...I want to be part of this.
After mulling it over, and then putting out an initial inquiry amongst friends to see if they'd like to organize it with me, I thought, hell with it, looked up the original website, and contacted the original city, Toronto, to apply as a Satellite city. I wanted our fine metro area to have our own SlutWalk, and I wanted to link it to the ones going on in sister cities all over the United States.
After getting the green light, I asked some people I knew to help me get this off the ground. And, we're making it happen!
I've discovered that I can push myself far more than I ever thought. The very topic of sexual assault/rape resonates with me, deeply. Because I've been through multiple rapes and sexual assaults, I am aware of the effect it has on a person's physical, mental, and emotional senses. It has been 17 years since the last time I was raped, but if I go through certain triggers, those years are like nothing, and I'm in that headspace again.
I have been triggered, somewhat, from the research I've done for this SlutWalk. The blog posts I've written have been pulled from deep inside of me. I'm not going to pull punches, nor am I going to compartmentalize myself. I'm going to be careful, of course...I need to stay healthy to do this, but I'm not going to say, 'oh, I can't relate to this because it might hurt too much.'
Hell, *breathing* can hurt too much, sometimes. I get over it, although it might take me longer.
So why do I do this?
Because it's needed. Because what I want to address (I'm focusing on ME, here, cos this is my personal blog, not the one I contribute in) is the bullshit of the blame the victim mentality. I want to call out the jackass behavior of the rape culture believers. The men who defend it, and the women who have fallen for it (although, I wouldn't call them jackasses, they're being victimized *twice*).
Most men don't like being called jackasses. I'm not particularly fond of being called a jackass, but if I'm buying into something or defending something that is illogical, hurtful, and what I call "ist-ist" i.e. racist, sexist, and homophobic (OK, I should expand that to ic-ist as well), then I need to be called on it.
If anyone is defending ANY part of blame the victim for a rape/sexual assault, they're being a jackass.
Are there such things as an ignorant jackass? Yup. I've been one. It's taken some reading (as well as some wincing), for me to go, wow. I'm a jackass.
As for my women friends who have bought into the patriarchal bullshit hook, line, and sinker, it's time to swim away from the bait. You are NOT responsible for what happened to you. Period.
The idea that a person is asked what they're wearing when they're the victim of such a horrific crime is beyond my ability to comprehend. Do we ask what people are wearing if they're robbed? Or if their identity has been stolen over the internet? No. Because that's just ten different ways of stupid. So why do we ask what a person is wearing when they've been sexually assaulted/raped?
And don't even get me going on Ben Stein's pathetic remarks. So if a maid has stolen your things and whatnot, another maid deserved to be raped? So because she didn't cry out or make a scene, she's lying about what happened to her?
What fucking universe do you live on? Oh, right. The Patriarchal one, where the Man Rules.
All I'm going to say on this is that I'd rather listen to Charlie Sheen go on about his own cracked self, than listen to this man and men like him, go on and try to erase the very essence of this woman.
Try being the operative word.
and then we have the people coming out saying that the SlutWalks are made of white privilege and supremacy and all that. Excuse me? I wrote about it...politely...in the SlutWalk blog, but this is my personal space, so I'm going to be a little more...blunt.
Walk away from the self righteous kool-aid, folks. I'm sure you're all enjoying beating your breast over another slight against People of Colour, but I'm going to call you on "kettle pot black" (no pun intended).
In every article I've read, it's WE. WE as people of colour are....WE are not going to...WE...ummm...you speaking for ALL of us? Because, see, you're doing the *same thing* that you're accusing the organizers of the SlutWalks doing.
*I* am NOT *WE*. Do NOT presume to speak for me. Do NOT tell me I'm "currying favour" for the white people. Do NOT say that I don't "get it" and that I am a "tool of the white people."
There's a tool here, all right, but it's not me.
There are salient points in the articles, of course, and that's what I look for. Include the silent people in the community. Ask, do not presume (ahem) what is best in representation. Make sure that not only dressing how one wishes is stressed, but also bucking against the Rape Culture, kicking the shit out of Victim Blaming, fostering Inclusivity, and making people stand up, take notice, PAY ATTENTION, and *think*.
The problem is that the SlutWalks were started to address a few key issues, and then it's like, nooooo...you HAVE to say *this* and *that* and...and....ALL THE THINGS!!! And if I say, wait...I can address only this part and this part *right now*, I'm being labeled as being a traitor to People of Colour and I'm dancing to the White People's tune and and...
Wow. Talk about divisiveness. That sort of bullshit isn't going to foster anything but resentment, anger, and hurt. How about saying, 'OK. This is a great start. Now, can we also put this and this into the mix as time passes....'
Gah.
But that isn't why I'm doing the SlutWalk, isn't why I'm organizing it, isn't why I'm willing to stand on the front lines.
I don't want another friend sexually assaulted/raped, and blamed for it.
I don't want another friend to go to the police and be told that what they're saying is a *lie*.
I don't want another friend to be afraid to report it, because s/he doesn't think s/he will be believed.
I want people to reject the Rape Culture.
I want people to not buy into the Blame the Victim mentality.
I want people to see that ALL races are vulnerable to sexual assault/rape, and some more than others.
I want people to not dismiss others as invisible. They cannot close their eyes to the fact that the sex trade happens in their own cities. They cannot close their eyes to the fact that prostitution and working in the sex industry makes a person extremely vulnerable to sexual assault/rape.
I want a Change, mon chats. And I'm not going to pretty it up and package it for easy consumption. This is something that's hard to swallow, that has people uncomfortable, and it sits in the gut like a rock. Good.
Tell you what....being raped isn't exactly a pretty experience. And it sits in the gut for a long time.
So to my friends who I've called jackasses...well, there it is. I'm sure you'll call me a jackass back. So it goes. I have not been known for my subtlety, and when it comes to this sort of thing, the stakes are too high to coddle your feelings.
I imagine there are some issues on which I'm a total jackass, too. I'm sure people will point them out to me. I'll research, I'll learn, I'll concede to ignorance...and change my position.
But. Do me a favour. Do the same. Read. Learn. Think.
And Change.
Sexual assault/rape is NEVER the victim's fault. Period.
K.
School went extremely well. I ended up with 3 A's and one B. I was deliriously happy. If I had any doubts that I couldn't go to school, after not being in school for 20 years, this erased them. Me, with almost a 4.0 GPA. Look at that!
I am pushing on through with summer school. I will take Spanish I and II. I have plans.
In other news, I took a deep breath, and jumped off the deep end. I am still trying to touch the bottom.
On Facebook (where else? heh), I read about an event called the SlutWalk. Really? I read the article covering it, and thought...I want to be part of this.
After mulling it over, and then putting out an initial inquiry amongst friends to see if they'd like to organize it with me, I thought, hell with it, looked up the original website, and contacted the original city, Toronto, to apply as a Satellite city. I wanted our fine metro area to have our own SlutWalk, and I wanted to link it to the ones going on in sister cities all over the United States.
After getting the green light, I asked some people I knew to help me get this off the ground. And, we're making it happen!
I've discovered that I can push myself far more than I ever thought. The very topic of sexual assault/rape resonates with me, deeply. Because I've been through multiple rapes and sexual assaults, I am aware of the effect it has on a person's physical, mental, and emotional senses. It has been 17 years since the last time I was raped, but if I go through certain triggers, those years are like nothing, and I'm in that headspace again.
I have been triggered, somewhat, from the research I've done for this SlutWalk. The blog posts I've written have been pulled from deep inside of me. I'm not going to pull punches, nor am I going to compartmentalize myself. I'm going to be careful, of course...I need to stay healthy to do this, but I'm not going to say, 'oh, I can't relate to this because it might hurt too much.'
Hell, *breathing* can hurt too much, sometimes. I get over it, although it might take me longer.
So why do I do this?
Because it's needed. Because what I want to address (I'm focusing on ME, here, cos this is my personal blog, not the one I contribute in) is the bullshit of the blame the victim mentality. I want to call out the jackass behavior of the rape culture believers. The men who defend it, and the women who have fallen for it (although, I wouldn't call them jackasses, they're being victimized *twice*).
Most men don't like being called jackasses. I'm not particularly fond of being called a jackass, but if I'm buying into something or defending something that is illogical, hurtful, and what I call "ist-ist" i.e. racist, sexist, and homophobic (OK, I should expand that to ic-ist as well), then I need to be called on it.
If anyone is defending ANY part of blame the victim for a rape/sexual assault, they're being a jackass.
Are there such things as an ignorant jackass? Yup. I've been one. It's taken some reading (as well as some wincing), for me to go, wow. I'm a jackass.
As for my women friends who have bought into the patriarchal bullshit hook, line, and sinker, it's time to swim away from the bait. You are NOT responsible for what happened to you. Period.
The idea that a person is asked what they're wearing when they're the victim of such a horrific crime is beyond my ability to comprehend. Do we ask what people are wearing if they're robbed? Or if their identity has been stolen over the internet? No. Because that's just ten different ways of stupid. So why do we ask what a person is wearing when they've been sexually assaulted/raped?
And don't even get me going on Ben Stein's pathetic remarks. So if a maid has stolen your things and whatnot, another maid deserved to be raped? So because she didn't cry out or make a scene, she's lying about what happened to her?
What fucking universe do you live on? Oh, right. The Patriarchal one, where the Man Rules.
All I'm going to say on this is that I'd rather listen to Charlie Sheen go on about his own cracked self, than listen to this man and men like him, go on and try to erase the very essence of this woman.
Try being the operative word.
and then we have the people coming out saying that the SlutWalks are made of white privilege and supremacy and all that. Excuse me? I wrote about it...politely...in the SlutWalk blog, but this is my personal space, so I'm going to be a little more...blunt.
Walk away from the self righteous kool-aid, folks. I'm sure you're all enjoying beating your breast over another slight against People of Colour, but I'm going to call you on "kettle pot black" (no pun intended).
In every article I've read, it's WE. WE as people of colour are....WE are not going to...WE...ummm...you speaking for ALL of us? Because, see, you're doing the *same thing* that you're accusing the organizers of the SlutWalks doing.
*I* am NOT *WE*. Do NOT presume to speak for me. Do NOT tell me I'm "currying favour" for the white people. Do NOT say that I don't "get it" and that I am a "tool of the white people."
There's a tool here, all right, but it's not me.
There are salient points in the articles, of course, and that's what I look for. Include the silent people in the community. Ask, do not presume (ahem) what is best in representation. Make sure that not only dressing how one wishes is stressed, but also bucking against the Rape Culture, kicking the shit out of Victim Blaming, fostering Inclusivity, and making people stand up, take notice, PAY ATTENTION, and *think*.
The problem is that the SlutWalks were started to address a few key issues, and then it's like, nooooo...you HAVE to say *this* and *that* and...and....ALL THE THINGS!!! And if I say, wait...I can address only this part and this part *right now*, I'm being labeled as being a traitor to People of Colour and I'm dancing to the White People's tune and and...
Wow. Talk about divisiveness. That sort of bullshit isn't going to foster anything but resentment, anger, and hurt. How about saying, 'OK. This is a great start. Now, can we also put this and this into the mix as time passes....'
Gah.
But that isn't why I'm doing the SlutWalk, isn't why I'm organizing it, isn't why I'm willing to stand on the front lines.
I don't want another friend sexually assaulted/raped, and blamed for it.
I don't want another friend to go to the police and be told that what they're saying is a *lie*.
I don't want another friend to be afraid to report it, because s/he doesn't think s/he will be believed.
I want people to reject the Rape Culture.
I want people to not buy into the Blame the Victim mentality.
I want people to see that ALL races are vulnerable to sexual assault/rape, and some more than others.
I want people to not dismiss others as invisible. They cannot close their eyes to the fact that the sex trade happens in their own cities. They cannot close their eyes to the fact that prostitution and working in the sex industry makes a person extremely vulnerable to sexual assault/rape.
I want a Change, mon chats. And I'm not going to pretty it up and package it for easy consumption. This is something that's hard to swallow, that has people uncomfortable, and it sits in the gut like a rock. Good.
Tell you what....being raped isn't exactly a pretty experience. And it sits in the gut for a long time.
So to my friends who I've called jackasses...well, there it is. I'm sure you'll call me a jackass back. So it goes. I have not been known for my subtlety, and when it comes to this sort of thing, the stakes are too high to coddle your feelings.
I imagine there are some issues on which I'm a total jackass, too. I'm sure people will point them out to me. I'll research, I'll learn, I'll concede to ignorance...and change my position.
But. Do me a favour. Do the same. Read. Learn. Think.
And Change.
Sexual assault/rape is NEVER the victim's fault. Period.
K.
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