What Were You Wearing

“I was seven,
Wearing play clothes,
When he decided,
I was his experiment
I was seven,
Playing in my home,
When he decided to
Claim my innocence”

“I was eight,
Wearing a black shirt,
And pj pants with pink stars
When it all started
I was eight,
In the trusting lap
Of my uncle,
Too young to question,
Too young to debate”

“I was three,
Or possibly five,
When it became,
A monthly encounter,
I think I was three,
Sometimes in a sundress,
Others in pajamas,
When he decided
He had the right to me”

This poem was inspired by an exhibit called What Were You Wearing. The title of the exhibit is a question commonly asked to victims of rape/sexual assault, implying that what happened to them was somehow their own fault. The exhibit proves that clothing is irrelevant when it comes to sexual assault, and that we should stop victim-blaming by asking this question. 

Music has kept me alive

Music has kept me alive

Since I was in middle school I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety. I had to find ways to keep myself from going over the edge because sadly during that time I didn’t really feel like I had someone to talk to. Both of my parents are immigrants and if you know, you know. Mental health isn’t a very big thing to them because they grew up being told to get over things and that they’re fine. So they only passed on what they were taught, which is fine I can’t really blame them too much. That only meant that I had to figure it out on my own, so I indulged in music. Mostly Jhene Aiko, she brought me a sense of peace, the beats were soothing, her voice was calm and gentle so honestly she was my escape for a while. Since she helped me so much, whenever I would be sad or in my head I would play her music and it would help me get out of my head. A song by her that has helped me a lot is called W.A.Y.S. Which stands for “why aren’t you smiling”, this song would help me realize that although I’m sad and how I’m feeling is valid, there’s so much to be grateful for.

Now realizing how much music helps me, I try to listen to more upbeat music when I am feeling sad or anxious because it can completely change your mood and vibrations. Honestly, before i used to listen to sad music which would make me sadder. I feel like we’ve all done it before because sometimes you just want to listen to how you feel, but i realized that for me i need to try to get out of the mood as soon as possible before it gets worse. Don’t get me wrong though, i still very much enjoy my “sad” music because alot of the time i can relate to what they’re saying and going through and it’s nice to know that I’m not the only person that feels a specific way. Music can make you realize that we as humans are so much alike.

Music has such a huge influence on people, it can simply be someone’s escape and that’s what it was for me. Unfortunately i don’t have a nice singing voice so i couldn’t really “do” music. But i will always enjoy it, sing other songs, dance to it, just be free when music is on. Thats what it’s about right? Being free and being able to express yourself in a healthy way.

my new diagnosis

my new diagnosis

I remember a little while ago we talked about what getting a diagnosis means to us, up until yesterday getting a diagnosis was just something that happened when I was sick or went to the doctor so it didn’t mean anything to me. But the other day i was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and 2nd stage mania, i guess at first it didn’t mean anything to me but as the day went on i started to realize some of the things that comes with diagnosis like this; even though i am the same person i was before i was given a label, a name to the things that i had be experiencing. society is going to view and label me as damaged goods, unable to regulate myself without outside help and i don’t know why that scares me so much because i haven’t changed i just have a better sense of direction when it comes to treatment for myself. but im so scared of being treated differently that i haven’t even told or talked to my parents or family about it. personally i don’t like to be the center of attention and knowing my parents that’s exactly whats going to happen, i recognize that i am taking the choice away from them about how they are going to respond but i just scared of the possibility of what could be that i don’t want to take that risk. just sitting here now writing this out im realizing that i don’t even know what i would tell them because i don’t really understand it myself and i know that they’ll have questions that i don’t have the answer too. im really trying not to fall down the internet rabbit hole of information because a lot of it could be false, i did talk to my therapist and my psychologist but it still a lot for me and feelings mixed with information never was a good mix for me so im trying to find a god balance but its hard.

Image of two figures hugging surrounded by tips for supporting someone with bipolar disorder

My Reflection

Who am I?
I,
I’m my thoughts,
My dreams,
My aspirations.
I’m my name,
My looks,
My imagination.
That’s what I see,
When I stare,
Into my reflection.

My reflection,
Ripples in the river of life,
The shallow,
Shallow river of life.
To the world,
I am my reflection:
I am only what the world sees,
Only what the world decides I am.
My body is but a vessel;
Why must the world ignore me,
But acknowledge the vessel?!

Books, merely objects
Are still judged 
By only their covers,
So who am I to demand
They not judge me
By only what they can see.
The inside of a book
Is where the value lies
But most people don’t bother;
It’s easier to judge
From the outside

My body is a part of me,
It embodies my soul
My personality,
But it is not all I am.
I am not my scars,
My disability,
I am me,
A completely separate entity.
I, Me,
Not just what you see

Perception VS Reality

If Life is a marathon,
Not a sprint,
How come then,
Everyone is going,
So, so fast
But I,
I’m already behind,
And while everyone else,
Is having a great day,
I toil away 

My legs,
Slabs beneath me,
Holding me up,
But barely,
My lungs,
Burning with every inhale,
About to burst,
But I cannot stop,
I have to keep going,
To get to the top,
I can’t ever,
Ever stop,
I want to pause
Catch my breath,
But that’s not possible,
Because the world won’t stop,
And the non-existing finish line…
Uncrossable

I see them,
In the distance,
So far,
Way ahead of me,
Doing better,
Crushing this war,
Me, however,
A nonstarter,
I struggle to keep up,
Everyone is running,
Sprinting, 
Me, however,
A slow trot, 
Kinda like,
A tortoise a lot,
In a world full of hares,
Speeding by,
We both mosey about

I turn my head,
I see the hares by me,
Wait!
I’m not so far behind?
I’m actually,
Doing kinda fine?
My eyes,
My mind,
They…
They deceive me?
Why?!
How can they not show me reality,
When it’s right in front of me

I turn, Timidly,
I ask, 
The hare next to me,
How its going,
To try and uncover,
The secret of her,
Great stride,
And to my surprise,
“I’M SO FAR BEHIND,”
She bursts,
Impossible.
My mind told me I’M the worst!
Turns out,
I’m not alone,
In my pain, and,
This hare,
Is not a hare,
Just a person,
And I,
I’m not a tortoise

So, I uncover,
Life isn’t a sprint,
Or a marathon,
I figure,
It’s a heckin’ triathlon,
Ongoing and never-ending
And I,
I’m not the only one,
Who struggles,
Because the hares aren’t hares,
And my eyes,
My eyes lie:
I’m doing just fine,
Jogging,
In my own time

I am medicated for mental illness (and that’s OK)

My entire life I have been hearing a narrative that antidepressants, (a category of drug that includes things like SSRIs, SNRIs, TCAs and MAOIs,) are intrinsically bad or indicate some kind of personal failure. People have used different arguments, saying that antidepressants never work or that they work too well and cause people to become emotionless robots. I’ve heard people imply that it’s insulting to even suggest medication as a treatment for mental health issues. Personally I disagree with these assertions and I would argue that the bad rap mental health medications get is born out of bad personal experiences, ableism and misunderstandings of how psychiatric medications are prescribed. (I am going to mostly talk about antidepressants here because that’s what I have the most experience with and knowledge of, but similar principles apply to other categories of medication as well)

I started taking antidepressants over a decade ago, as a treatment for a laundry list of mental illnesses and neurodivergences that started presenting from the time I could speak. I would have severe panic attacks and meltdowns on a daily basis, each lasting for hours at a time, complete with kicking, screaming, and endless sobbing. Eventually after several failed attempts at holistic treatments I was prescribed Citaloptam, an SSRI (a type of antidepressant), to help me manage my emotions and prevent panic attacks, as well as benzodiazepines to take as needed when my panic attacks became out of control. Prescription medication was not the first choice treatment from my doctors or parents, no one wanted to have to give a 9 year old benzos, but it was necessary in order to keep me safe, stable, and calm when I would otherwise be a non-functional mess. I would go on to try a dozen different meds before the age of 15 before settling on the cocktail of drugs that I’ve been taking for the last 5 years or so, which is a combination of an SSRI, an NDRI, and a medication classified as an antipsychotic that is also used to treat anxiety and depression. 

Of course, meds alone don’t cure mental illness, that’s not how that works. Therapy, in the forms of group therapies, DBT, CBT, and individual talk therapy have all been parts of my treatment regimen over the years, and they have helped me immensely. Gaining accommodations, correct diagnoses, and removal from environments that exacerbated my mental health issues were also important steps in my journey. But the antidepressants and other meds I took were instrumental because they lowered my baseline level of distress and made me capable of participating in my treatments and helped me be able to access the resources at my disposal. I cannot stress enough how much antidepressants have improved my quality of life.

But that’s just my story, and my experiences are not universal. Not everyone needs meds, and meds don’t work for everyone, especially on the first try. If your mental health issues are mild, not severely impacting your day to day functionality, and not causing you significant distress, psychiatric medication may not be right for you. In that case maybe talk or behavioral therapies would be better suited for you. Even if medication is right for you, it’s quite possible or even likely that the first one or two or three that you try won’t be effective. (Often psychiatrists will cycle patients through several different SSRIs, despite the fact that they don’t work for everyone, before trying other forms of psychiatric medication. This is because SSRIs have been found to be the safest and least addictive type, as well as having the least significant side effects compared to the other types of antidepressants. The fact SSRIs have the fewest adverse effects make it an appealing first choice for doctors, but I digress.) Psychiatric medications are unfortunately not an exact science with a one size fits all solution.

But that doesn’t mean that antidepressants don’t work for anyone, in fact, for some people like me they are as necessary as any medication for any other kind of chronic condition. When people imply that the suggestion of antidepressants is bad, or that antidepressants never work and aren’t worth trying, it reinforces the stigma around them and mental illness in general. I fear that this narrative could prevent people from seeking professional mental health treatment, or cause people who are already on medication to feel bad about it, to hide that fact or stop taking their meds altogether. Taking psychiatric medications is not ‘taking the easy way out’ or a sign that someone hasn’t tried hard enough to treat their issues on their own, it’s a morally neutral act. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Pleasure and Correspondence

Image by TIVASEE on Pexels.com

content warning: sex and masturbation

Oddly enough, I remember my first orgasm. And that’s simply because it wasn’t too long ago, about over a year to be exact. It’s aggravating how the shame I felt towards my body kept me from exploring it. The repressed Christian girl is no foreign stereotype to us, but we never seem to focus enough on the shame hoisted upon young girls that makes them conceal any and every part of their sexual nature. Why was “acting your own age” or “not looking too grown” a priority for my middle school self when I had just barely started to develop tweenage crushes on my classmates? The only people who were in touch with these notions I had no idea existed were the adults around me. My body as a child shouldn’t have been a battleground where I had to prioritize mannerisms over my black girl joy.

Looking back now, coming into my body has been a long and tiring journey. My family’s obsession with purity stems from the dominating Christian culture we came from. The ideals instilled into me as a young girl weren’t just the opinions of my aunt who raised me, but that of her mother and her mother’s mother. For generations, no, eras, we were told to protect young girls through forcing them to adhere to paltry rules about how we use the space we take up. But who am I to break the sanctity of these rules? They seemed to do enough for my female ancestors who succeeded in having families of their own.

Don’t think for a second, I didn’t rebel. I wore what I wanted, listened to punk rock music, and tried my best to escape my family’s expectations. I even came out as pansexual in middle school, which my family brushed off as a phase but was still mildly appalled by it, to say the least. Back then, I thought knowing my sexuality meant being comfortable within it. I was pretty far off.

The sin of masturbation was never discussed by my family, but the weight of it was still there. In my late teenage years I explored my body in the few hours I had the house to myself. All I remember was the constant rush of shame every time I attempted to get myself off. I could only ever think of the judging stare of God from above or that my ancestors or guardian angels were disgusted with me. Despite this shame, I never even reached a climax. Maybe it was what I deserved.

Eventually, I entered my first relationship and there went my virginity. Many people were actually surprised I stayed a virgin for so long as I always tried to make myself come off as the raunchy, sex-positive funny girl. Despite wanting to be known as a “sexpert” in my youth, I never took my chances to engage in any sexual acts until I was a legal adult. I convinced myself this was the safest option to avoid being grounded into oblivion. It wasn’t until I bought my first sex toy that I actually learned the extent of my own pleasure. Like a great number of people with vulvas, clitoral stimulation led to my first success.

It was a moment of cathartic relief like no other. Any feeling of my body being broken immediately left me. Is this what my shame kept me from my whole life? Feelings of purity and shame no longer mattered, because I had finally come into my individual pleasure. Shame only held me back, which is why I refuse to give into it any longer. Those moments of fear now correspond to a time long ago where I was afraid of my body.

A Note to My Partner

“When I met you (thanks Tinder), I had no idea you would become so important to me. You have taught me so many things, and helped me grow immensely in the short amount of time I have known you. And I foresee much more growth to come. Not just with myself, but with us. 

I am so excited and fortunate to have you in my life, and to have the opportunity to get to know all of you. It’s easy to see your wit, and kind heart. Do I even have to mention how physically attractive you are? Ugh, and you have the sweetest and most pure soul. You have shocked my unfamiliar system with your support and care, and especially with your patience. All of those amazing things, and yet there is still more to discover. More characteristics and quirks; little details that make you uniquely who you are. I am so lucky.

You have made me feel more loved in six months than I have felt in years. I am so grateful for you, and everything that you are and do. I can only hope that I make you feel as amazing as you are.”

This note was written over a year ago. My partner and I are about to celebrate our two year anniversary in a few months. I thought posting this note and commentary was fitting for my last blog, as I would not be where I am without all of the love and support he has given me. I have suffered with my mental health severely, especially since starting school this fall. He has continuously lifted me out of the darkness and cheered me on in my times of need (which has been often). I never knew something so pure and extraordinary would come out of a dating app like Tinder.

“You’re Really Good At Taking Everyone’s Sh!t”

“You’re Really Good At Taking Everyone’s Sh!t”

Whose Fault Is It?

Emotional labor is the act of “regulating or managing emotional expressions with others as part of one’s professional work role”. For the context of this blog post, I will also be referencing emotional work as well, which is the role people use in any social context.
RANT: Every post, YouTube video, and link that I looked at typically focused on the emphasis of how women have been the brute focus of emotional work and often, labor. WHAT ABOUT THE MEN?!
BLOG: Ideally, men have been the focus, but in our current generation, I am starting to wonder if men are becoming the scapegoat for blame. There are good and bad things to this, but I can only share my experiences. From growing up in a household as an adopted child to working in hospitality at some of the best hotels in the Houston area, to coming home and being expected to “clean up everyone else’s shit” (one of my ex’s fathers literally told me this and suggested I work for some type of plumbing company) to experiencing my own version of emotional labor is…exhausting. As a recommendation, if you’re dealing with being the emotional laborer of your family or workplace, I suggest counseling, good friends, hobbies, and money.
Now that I have your attention, the emphasis on emotional labor during this period of the class was for women. Honestly, I love that. Often, the strongest women in my life have carried the emotional labor of EVERYONE in the family. My Grandmother (capital G, because she truly is a G), and my Aunt (who raised me, God bless her soul) have not only raised multiple members of the family but have guided others and influenced people for generations to come. I can endlessly explain what they have done for everyone, including my impaired brother (this falls into the disability category of the past few weeks, but I decided to not go in-depth with these issues and instead focus on emotional labor…anyway) My Grandmother has done amazing things as a widowed woman, and when my grandfather was alive, what I recall of him, he was a remarkable man, veteran, and overall generally good person. In order for him to be that he needed to have an even stronger woman there to not only support him, but to motivate and guide him. We so often focus on a certain gender, but I think its vital to focus and include everyone because we cannot physically do it all on our own – even if social media suggests that we do.
When it comes to emotional labor for myself, as an older male, I grew up with the family vibe of “you want it? Do it yourself” This mindset has its own version of toxic masculinity and it worked for a time, but as I have grown older and started practicing gratitude, meditation, and fitness, I have learned that kindness is the key to growing. However, that is also the curse of being easily manipulated and being the scapegoat out of a lack of emotion – if you allow yourself to be. When working as a hotel supervisor, I found myself taking on the emotional verbal abuse of people that travelled so far and attempted to check in, but one minor inconvenience (Well…one time there was a major inconvenience, we sold out and by the time they got there…the people didn’t have a room… and they were diamond members which is equivalent to being a traveling version of Karen) set them over the top, and I had to apologize profusely, make up for their issues by giving them a free nights stay at another hotel, etc… all while keeping a smile on my face. So dumb, but it was vital in learning how to maneuver around people when they are angry and teaching myself how to stay calm in the face of disappointment. That’s an invaluable trait and lessons/memories that I am grateful for.
I don’t know, I am a believer in the idea that everything happens for a reason. Maybe I should allow myself to be the gatekeeper of my own “shit”, to be more selfish and selfless at the same time, and to lack the attempt to understand everything and everyone around me but I cant do that shrug. In essence, I think all of us must have some type of role in emotional labor, but please, don’t forget to take care of your mental, physical, and financial well-being. Your family, friends, and pets will thank you for it. (I will always choose to be kind and thank you to all of the people in my life, wouldn’t be me without YOU).