Long Way to Happy

Long way to Happy

I know this is the title to one of my favorite sings from Pink!’s album “I’m Not Dead”  but it poses the question; just how long really? Until happiness?

I have been on antidepressants and anxiety medication for the past six years, after off and on therapy for 3 years before. Now I am not trying to write a sob story here. I am a strong and independent women. I am outgoing and have a bubbly personality, which is what confuses people I think- about these illnesses. Depression does not mean you are always in a bad mood

As the years have gone on, I began to wonder how long I will have to be on prescription medication. How long until my brain and body is able to sustain control on its own? How long until happy?

This is my disability, for I can adamantly see a difference in my mood from when I skip or miss a dosage. The difference is a very uncomfortable feeling that just reminds me that I am strong enough to cope without them…Yet!

Are these medications helping me or disabling me more?

The Fear of Fear Itself

Content warning: Home invasion, home intruders, fear, potentially sensitive topics

Schools are not for the disabled

Our last class discussion really had me thinking about how un-accessible schools really are. Not only in physical lay out but also in policies and attitudes and I wanted to talk about it a little more. For students with mental disabilities there’s the issue of “proving” that you have an issue that could affect you in class, going to the doctor’s, reporting it with the school where it is then on file, then outing yourself to your professors which can be very stressful for someone. Also once you talk with a professor it is a guessing game on whether they will be accommodating or act like you are taking away from others. For those with physical disabilities our campus is not designed for easy access while getting around, our desks are small and uncomfortable and overall there is just so many obstacles to overcome.

Class also made me think about things we don’t often attribute to this issue. Bigger individuals, whether it be height or weight, have a hard time fitting into the desks and yet it is not thought of as an issue. The same goes for pregnant women who are not given appropriate accommodations, they face a variety of issues such as discomfort/ pain, fatigue, doctor’s appointments, sickness etc. and teachers often don’t think of them as needing any help.

The school as a whole is often set up to work best for someone who can afford tuition, is young, able bodied, can live on campus, doesn’t have to work, and takes the classes their adviser tells them to. But what about the people who don’t fit into this. I’m young and luckily I’ve gotten through college without much trouble but thinking about it critically I can find times where I was seen as a nuisance because I didn’t fit into the appropriate mode. I am on scholarship so I have to take a certain amount of credits and get a certain GPA, also I take more than the needed amount of credits because my scholarship only lasts until the end of this year. I also have to work in order to get through college and I’ve been told many times I should quit my job, or I need to just stay in school longer and take more classes even though that’s not a possibility for me. Commuting also opens up problems that students face. There’s only a small number of students who fit into the accepted form and yet nothing is being done to change how we deal with all of the others.

I don’t know if we have one already but if not I think we should have a group or panel that discusses these topics and try to make change.

Dodging Glances on the Train

So today we’re going to talk about my fun times with mental illness, since it’s the reason this blog post is late. Yay.

I didn’t plan on getting too personal for this blog; my list of topic ideas is mostly cultural critique. I’m sure I’ll come back to that list for later posts and even save some of them to put up on my own blog(s) eventually. Right now I need to process some meta before I can get back to doing the thing.

Shallowness, Not Happiness

Throughout my twenty two years on this planet, weight and food has been a majority fixture and topic of social life. There are so many diet ads that promise the key to a happy and healthy life. They insinuate that when you lose weight, you will become a totally different person.

During my eighth grade year of middle school, I lost a lot of my baby fat and experienced just how true this insinuation was. I find it sad and shallow, that it’s true. The majority of societies really do treat you differently once you look different, in their opinion, “a good way”. As soon as I went through this transformation, everyone at my school suddenly wanted to be my friend. I do not exaggerate that over the duration of two days, half my school started adding me on xanga and tagged ( social media sites that were popular in 2005 , especially for young people). It seemed as if I had become a different person or something, because I was not only accepted into the “cool crowd”, but wanted! And I could never feel very comfortable with myself, because I could not forget the fact that  my personality had not changed, only my body. Each new “friendship” that was beginning always had a sense of fakeness; the pressure to be a certain way and act a certain way. Which just made it harder to find and create genuine connections.

I don’t feel that having a desirable body is the key to happiness, but I do believe society’s shallow behavior and actions do support and shore up the social and class roles regarding fat and beauty/happiness. Unfortunately I am quite aware that with the career path I have chosen, I will be forced to come across these ideas and views constantly. As an actor, you are required to be fit (not just for scenes, but also for the strenuous exercises and movement involved).

Smiling

After some careful thought, I’ve decided to release my deepest body-related secret onto our class blog.  By now I don’t mind that my anonymity is basically gone, unless you haven’t connected the dots between the girl who complains about her knee problems on the blog and the girl who complains about her knee problems in class.  (There, I just did it for you.)

It’s something I’ve never discussed with anyone, and my hands feel weak and jittery as I write this.

Coping with Anxiety

I have suffered from anxiety for as long as I can remember. The telltale tightening of my chest and racing of my heart are a part of my life that I have come to accept. I have grown used to the fact that new situations will seem terrifying and I will constantly have to replay every aspect of what could possibly go wrong before I do anything new. But I have also been able to come up with certain coping strategies to deal with this anxiety.

Comic by Natalie Dee

**Disclaimer: These suggestions are short-term solutions, and should not be taken in lieu of doctor’s orders or prescriptions**

Should I go on a run today?

I haven’t been feeling great about my body lately.  It’s because I’ve been spending so much time at my desk or hunched over a book (thanks, finals).  But it’s also because I haven’t been able to wear my favorite pair of jeans since I got back from my time abroad (where I ate everything I wanted because cultural experience!).  I’m telling myself not to let a pair of pants make me feel this way about my body, but I’m feeling it.

Re: “Hypochondriasis”

It’s odd because thinking I have hypochondriasis is part of the problem, right? I assume that’s more serious (and medicalization erects another border), that’s a defined condition, that’s a condition. Something for which I must qualify.

Long Hair Don’t Care

I have a confession to make.  I do not shave my arm pits.  Hell, I only shave my legs if I’m feeling saucy and have clean sheets because nothing is better than smooth legs in clean sheets.  (That’s a lie, a lot of things are better than that.)

While I like to think of myself as a badass feminist who says fuck you to anyone and everyone who tries to tell me what to do with my body – especially in regards to body hair—I am not.  That’s my second confession.  I wish it was that simple.

I don’t think it’s ever that simple.