to deal with mental health issues, you need to challenge yourself. you need to push through your anxiety and do the thing that scares you. you need to get up and do things, even if you're so depressed it all seems pointless. it'll be easier and less scary next time. maybe.
a sick brain needs to be stretched towards health.
what about a neurodivergent brain?
well, just doing the hard thing doesn't work. a thousand empty promises to be better, to try harder, made to get out of the office of every head teacher I've had? nothing. I don't know how to be "better", I just know I'm not good enough.
acceptance works better. if I accept the way I am, I can tinker around the edges. I can stick to one bag, attach my keys, oyster card and pen to it. I'm no "better", but as long as I have that bag I can communicate in an emergency and don't have to stress about lost keys. if I can learn what foods are still likely to be edible when my senses go apeshit, I have an option that isn't Live On Coke And Hope You Don't Break for conferences.
but that doesn't fix the big things. the things I don't want to accept.
living alone & unemployed, I would literally starve to death because I'd forget to feed myself. I don't have an eating disorder, there isn't an underlying drive to gain control or lose weight, I just won't reliably eat without being prompted.
I can't imagine ever getting a job. so much of that process is outside my control, and there will always be someone better. every tiny step in the application process is terrifying. just fill out the form and send us your CV that has nothing on it. write a cover letter that convinces us you're the best person for the job when you've got literally nothing to offer.
just pushing through the fear doesn't fix it. I'm not just scared, I'm confused. I don't know how to be better, I just know I'm not good enough. but accepting it is too much. accepting that I'm never going to get a job, while accepting that it's not safe to move out unless I have a job, means never moving out of my parent's house. never having a life where I can shut the door on my mum's endless chatter on the latest thing I wish she'd shut up about. never spending more than 1 night with my girlfriend. never having kids.
I can almost see them. my babies. I've wanted them longer than I can remember and was prepared for their inevitably wonky brains since before puberty. they don't exist, they might never exist, but I love them anyway.
I don't want to die, but I don't see a way forward.
Tuesday 14 November 2017
I'm not a unicorn, I'm a werewolf.
in the fifth elephant, Angua tells Carrot the wolves don't trust her. he's surprised, he assumes they see her as a wolf. she explains that she can pass for a human among humans, or as a wolf among humans, but not with wolves. she looks like a human, or she looks like a wolf, but she always smells like a werewolf.
I am a werewolf.
I mention my girlfriend, and straight people see a gay wolf, draped in rainbows & howling at the moon.
...or I don't say anything. I'm femme, or sometimes too lazy to have a style, but never butch. I only look queer if you really know what you're looking for. so, they see a straight human.
I am werewolf. hear me howl.
I'm never gay enough for the wolves, though. at a gay club or at pride, it's "are you a real lesbian?" (no. not a fake one either. HOWOOOOO!) or "what the fuck is that?" (you what?! I'm not a "that". I'm not much of a "fuck" either...).
...or maybe I come out as Autistic. that one's more subtle. allistics generally refuse to see that one while I'm holding it together. I'm in allistic human form, until I'm not. then I'm all wolf, incapable of understanding, dangerous to myself and others.
I haven't found my place in that wolf pack either. I try, but every group has the same thing. a few days after I find that facebook group that I hoped would fit, there is some dude who wants a girlfriend but has no idea that she is not a trophy. she's a Real Human Being (or wolf. or werewolf.) who wants to develop a reciprocal relationship. his moaning about everyone he's ever met being "ablest" by refusing to give him a chance? that's showing her she can't get that here so she moves on. even worse, the "how DARE you call it a disability!?" crowd. what, you don't want to talk about the difficult parts? you want to throw away the meagre support available to us? and you want to shut down all conversations on that because you're offended by the word "disability"? wow. a few more like that and I move on. this isn't the place for the big conversations. I can't crowdsource coping strategies for executive functioning, or build a realistic plan for the future in this cesspit.
so I run with the werewolves. neurodivergent purple werewolves under glittering stars. I am werewolf, hear me howl.
I am a werewolf.
I mention my girlfriend, and straight people see a gay wolf, draped in rainbows & howling at the moon.
...or I don't say anything. I'm femme, or sometimes too lazy to have a style, but never butch. I only look queer if you really know what you're looking for. so, they see a straight human.
I am werewolf. hear me howl.
I'm never gay enough for the wolves, though. at a gay club or at pride, it's "are you a real lesbian?" (no. not a fake one either. HOWOOOOO!) or "what the fuck is that?" (you what?! I'm not a "that". I'm not much of a "fuck" either...).
...or maybe I come out as Autistic. that one's more subtle. allistics generally refuse to see that one while I'm holding it together. I'm in allistic human form, until I'm not. then I'm all wolf, incapable of understanding, dangerous to myself and others.
I haven't found my place in that wolf pack either. I try, but every group has the same thing. a few days after I find that facebook group that I hoped would fit, there is some dude who wants a girlfriend but has no idea that she is not a trophy. she's a Real Human Being (or wolf. or werewolf.) who wants to develop a reciprocal relationship. his moaning about everyone he's ever met being "ablest" by refusing to give him a chance? that's showing her she can't get that here so she moves on. even worse, the "how DARE you call it a disability!?" crowd. what, you don't want to talk about the difficult parts? you want to throw away the meagre support available to us? and you want to shut down all conversations on that because you're offended by the word "disability"? wow. a few more like that and I move on. this isn't the place for the big conversations. I can't crowdsource coping strategies for executive functioning, or build a realistic plan for the future in this cesspit.
so I run with the werewolves. neurodivergent purple werewolves under glittering stars. I am werewolf, hear me howl.
Tuesday 15 August 2017
doing it on the kitchen table.
...or not.
I'm a bad asexual. I fuck.
when explaining to muggles why I do this, I ask them to imagine mashed potatoes. I quite like mashed potatoes, but there are other carbohydrates that are less faff to prepare that I prefer. living alone, I'd never bother with mashed potatoes, but if someone I love is really into them? sure, they're tasty and I want you to be happy.
sex is like that. oh, you'll get enthusiastic consent if I love you the right way, and it's good fun, but I don't crave it the way you seem to.
I think maybe the food & sex thing goes further...
....I'm never going to make pinterest-worthy cupcakes. I admire themed party food, but if I made all that I'd want to hide before the guests arrived. an elegant 3 course dinner party isn't going to happen.
because I just don't have that sort of bandwidth. I'll bake, make the kitchen be in a state that is not The Flour-pocalypse Was Here and collapse on the sofa. then I'll try to convince you (or, more realistically, myself) that Wonky Cakes Taste Better and Icing Is Overrated Anyway because in that moment nothing is less appealing than making them look pretty.
I recently read a blogpost on squirting, and had the opportunity to try a tantric exercise. like the exquisitely presented cauldron cakes & home made butter beer, I like that these things exist, but probably shouldn't try to emulate them. they won't look like the pictures and I'll just end up sticky and disappointed. I just don't care enough about having The Most AMAZING orgasms or cooking enough to put in the work, panic, fail, calm down, reassure everyone else and try again. it's not worth it and that's OK.
I'm a bad asexual. I fuck.
when explaining to muggles why I do this, I ask them to imagine mashed potatoes. I quite like mashed potatoes, but there are other carbohydrates that are less faff to prepare that I prefer. living alone, I'd never bother with mashed potatoes, but if someone I love is really into them? sure, they're tasty and I want you to be happy.
sex is like that. oh, you'll get enthusiastic consent if I love you the right way, and it's good fun, but I don't crave it the way you seem to.
I think maybe the food & sex thing goes further...
....I'm never going to make pinterest-worthy cupcakes. I admire themed party food, but if I made all that I'd want to hide before the guests arrived. an elegant 3 course dinner party isn't going to happen.
because I just don't have that sort of bandwidth. I'll bake, make the kitchen be in a state that is not The Flour-pocalypse Was Here and collapse on the sofa. then I'll try to convince you (or, more realistically, myself) that Wonky Cakes Taste Better and Icing Is Overrated Anyway because in that moment nothing is less appealing than making them look pretty.
I recently read a blogpost on squirting, and had the opportunity to try a tantric exercise. like the exquisitely presented cauldron cakes & home made butter beer, I like that these things exist, but probably shouldn't try to emulate them. they won't look like the pictures and I'll just end up sticky and disappointed. I just don't care enough about having The Most AMAZING orgasms or cooking enough to put in the work, panic, fail, calm down, reassure everyone else and try again. it's not worth it and that's OK.
Monday 14 August 2017
what I learned at BiCon
- Friday was the day of cat herding. Saturday was the day of rope. rope is more fun than cat herding.
- Sunday was the barefoot day. when you have blisters and your feet are telling you "for the love of clean socks, stop moving!" you probably shouldn't keep dancing.
- I don't regret dancing anyway.
- 6 people across 2 flats is too much cat herding for dinner. foods that can be cooked separately next year (tomato & chorizo pasta? cheesy jacket potato? what else?)
- snack box is genius. always use snack box.
- pack.less.stuff. I miss my early BiCons, where I'd turn up with my (admittedly high-density packed) little red rucksack and a handbag. leave Thud at home and ignore the clothes swaps.
- I'm maybe-not-useless on BiCon teams. someone else on the team that year said I was good *at* BiCon, even if I was more of a liability than an asset before the event (my words, not hers). I trust people I was on the team with far more than my metamor. I love them, but know they'll take my side, right or wrong, especially when I won't.
- group travel is more intense than solo travel. not better or worse, just more intense.
- there won't be much time for sex.
- tantric exercises + my brain = bad. don't do that again without a lot of research first. if I was choosing again, I'd go to the mixed orientation session at that time. ironically, I've never felt more like I was in a mixed orientation relationship than I did then.
- the Irish queer community is apparently the size of a small village. I "found" an Irish guy, and was excited to introduce him to my girlfriend. he was not a new Irish guy. oops.
- he thought it was funny, so no harm done(?)
- not all of the decorative hip harnesses on youtube can stand up to my dancing style.
- based on leftovers, flat 3 like mocha cookies more than mint choc chip cookies. they have a point.
in conclusion, I'm making progress on the Self Care at BiCon Thing. my only wobbles were the tantric session (unavoidable, previously unknown issue), blisters (take plasters next time) and dinner time cat herding. I've solved half the food issue and have thoughts on dinner. as I progress towards being an old timer (this was UK BiCon number 7 for me) I don't want to go to every session on the timetable, even if I do still want to go to one in most time slots.
- Sunday was the barefoot day. when you have blisters and your feet are telling you "for the love of clean socks, stop moving!" you probably shouldn't keep dancing.
- I don't regret dancing anyway.
- 6 people across 2 flats is too much cat herding for dinner. foods that can be cooked separately next year (tomato & chorizo pasta? cheesy jacket potato? what else?)
- snack box is genius. always use snack box.
- pack.less.stuff. I miss my early BiCons, where I'd turn up with my (admittedly high-density packed) little red rucksack and a handbag. leave Thud at home and ignore the clothes swaps.
- I'm maybe-not-useless on BiCon teams. someone else on the team that year said I was good *at* BiCon, even if I was more of a liability than an asset before the event (my words, not hers). I trust people I was on the team with far more than my metamor. I love them, but know they'll take my side, right or wrong, especially when I won't.
- group travel is more intense than solo travel. not better or worse, just more intense.
- there won't be much time for sex.
- tantric exercises + my brain = bad. don't do that again without a lot of research first. if I was choosing again, I'd go to the mixed orientation session at that time. ironically, I've never felt more like I was in a mixed orientation relationship than I did then.
- the Irish queer community is apparently the size of a small village. I "found" an Irish guy, and was excited to introduce him to my girlfriend. he was not a new Irish guy. oops.
- he thought it was funny, so no harm done(?)
- not all of the decorative hip harnesses on youtube can stand up to my dancing style.
- based on leftovers, flat 3 like mocha cookies more than mint choc chip cookies. they have a point.
in conclusion, I'm making progress on the Self Care at BiCon Thing. my only wobbles were the tantric session (unavoidable, previously unknown issue), blisters (take plasters next time) and dinner time cat herding. I've solved half the food issue and have thoughts on dinner. as I progress towards being an old timer (this was UK BiCon number 7 for me) I don't want to go to every session on the timetable, even if I do still want to go to one in most time slots.
Monday 20 March 2017
"it's complicated"
if I ever describe my relationship outside of queer circles, I'm told it sounds "complicated". like somehow monogamy is simple and obvious. like my girlfriend doesn't have a hand for each of us to hold. like monogamous couples never have to schedule dates around work or doctors appointments or seeing friends. like my metamor is somehow more work than a pet, a child, a long term illness, moving house...
no, poly isn't the complicated part. learning and unlearning what it means to be human is complicated. what do I mean by that word, and what do you hear when I say it? how do we know, and how do we bridge the gap when we find it? does her non-verbal look like ours?
sex. sex. sex. you think who's fucking who is complicated? nah, you've forgotten the how. what do you mean by "sex drive"? it's entirely situational. wait, yours isn't? oh, no, I'm asexual, not sex repulsed. they don't always go together. does this feel good? ah, you're loosing words. you still OK? squeeze my hand. great. ooh, can we try that? mmmn, yes! harder!
our relationship could be summed up by the words "what time is it? fuck! how?". divergent brains so wrapped up in love that we stop time. the world turns around us, but we stay still. hours dissolve into sparkling moments. it feels like bed time.
why is it a numbers game for you? really, the number of people involved is such a small part of why we need to work at our relationship. we might not even think about it if you didn't keep telling us it was "complicated".
no, poly isn't the complicated part. learning and unlearning what it means to be human is complicated. what do I mean by that word, and what do you hear when I say it? how do we know, and how do we bridge the gap when we find it? does her non-verbal look like ours?
sex. sex. sex. you think who's fucking who is complicated? nah, you've forgotten the how. what do you mean by "sex drive"? it's entirely situational. wait, yours isn't? oh, no, I'm asexual, not sex repulsed. they don't always go together. does this feel good? ah, you're loosing words. you still OK? squeeze my hand. great. ooh, can we try that? mmmn, yes! harder!
our relationship could be summed up by the words "what time is it? fuck! how?". divergent brains so wrapped up in love that we stop time. the world turns around us, but we stay still. hours dissolve into sparkling moments. it feels like bed time.
why is it a numbers game for you? really, the number of people involved is such a small part of why we need to work at our relationship. we might not even think about it if you didn't keep telling us it was "complicated".
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