I have no right to be body positive. it doesn't really count for me anyway. in the campaigns for "real", "naturally beautiful" bodies, mine is the one used to oppress yours. it's a white size 10 with long legs. a boob job and a few makeup lessons away from being as close to "magazine hot" as anyone can get without photoshop. I know this, and I resent it.
not that I don't enjoy this body, you understand. I love how it's stunning height draws attention, it's hair so thick its almost waterproof, its long, dexterous fingers...no, the problem is the expectation that other people should aspire to conform to a body shape that is, to most people, unnatural and unhealthy. I am painfully aware that by the simple fact of my existence I am hurting other peoples self esteem.
not that it's always been easy. for me, the challenge was never weight, it was hight. as a small child, mum was very careful to give me only hight positive messages. I remember her bragging about my big growth spurt (1 foot in 2 years, around the top end of primary school) and feeling proud. I was big and beautiful. but not everyone agreed. I also remember my aunt telling me about an operation where they could take chunks out of my femurs to make me more normal looking when I was about 9. I was also offered hormonal growth stunting at about the same time. read those last two sentences carefully; as a child, it was recommended by both a doctor and a member of my own family that I take drastic steps to reduce a natural, non harmful trait. does that sound a bit fucked up to you? yeah, me too. I didn't do that.
fast forward a few years, to the start of secondary school. I hated that place. I was bullied to the point where I was too anxious to eat. at lunch time, every mouthful was a struggle, but I didn't have the words to explain what I was feeling. I just said that the lunch break was too short. eventually, I gave up. I didn't even try to eat on school grounds. I made up for it at home, but this decision meant the bullies had something new to call me; now I was "anorexic" too. the scary thing is, I remember that now every time I'm with a friend and they're eating while I'm not. it doesn't matter if I've just eaten, or I'm anxious about something, I worry that maybe I'm scaring them. maybe they think my reason is an excuse.
anyway, I left that school. I healed and I grew up. I went to university. mostly, my body was a non issue in the circles I chose to move in. it was just a convenient physical portal through which to view the world. then, one day I walked past primark. I glanced at the window, then stopped, horrified. the manikins. they were probably the same ones that had always been there, but they were wearing bikinis. I'm not a prude, the issue was not the naked glossy white plastic. the issue was that I could see their ribs, the contours amplified by the high shine finish. I have the questionable privilege of living in a body that looks like that. mine is a stone underweight according to the BMI scale. now, I know that a lot of people question the significance of the BMI scale, but most of the criticism comes from labelling otherwise healthy people as overweight, I have never heard anyone claim that such a low weight is ideal for health.
so, where do I go from here? I don't want to perpetuate a system that hurts others, but I'm not sure how to change that. as my weight has been fairly constant since I stopped growing a decade ago, this is clearly the size I'm supposed to be. if I can't change me, that leaves changing the system. of course, that's not a one person job. I'll try to dismantle these ideas. I'll try to ignore the suggestions, both internal and external, that my body somehow invalidates that message. I'll raise my hypothetical future children to think they're beautiful, not because they're tall like mummy, but because they're real, living humans and that's enough.
I am body positive. not because of my fashionable skinny body, but in spite of it. I wear this skin with pride, decorated however I please, with a two fingered salute to the beauty industry.
Friday, 18 January 2013
Thursday, 3 January 2013
diet swearing.
I hate americanisms, but today I'm going to talk about the second most annoying (incase you're interested, my top 3 are "could care less", "ass" and "color" in that order).
If you want to swear, swear. As loud as you like. The more creative and passionate the better.
If you want to describe that piece of anatomy, you have a whole list; bum, bottom, backside, rear, posterior, or, if you really want, ARSE. Just stop watering down our authentic, earthy arses to their sugar free, disneyfied, slightly plastic-sounding asses. It's not a real swear word but, if you didn't want to swear, you could have taken your pick from the list.
Beyond the obvious americanisation issue, this donkey/backside combination word allows for an internet meme that hurts/annoys/demonises/oppresses people like me. As anyone who knows me irl or reads this blog (if there is anyone who bothers to do that) will know, I am autistic. Specifically, I have the soon to be obsolete diagnosis of asperger syndrome. I have heard several variations on the pronunciation of this, but the most common sounds like donkey/backside-burger. This leads to my diagnosis being deliberately misspelled to exaggerate this "joke" whenever someone wants to dismiss an autistic perspective or troll an article on autism. No, this is not the biggest issue autistics face in the NT world, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't mention it. OK, here endeth the lecture. I will now end with some examples of creative swearing.
Go swivel on a pineapple, you LFNT arsewipe of an excuse for a human being.
Croydon sucks. It sucks it's own arse. Croydons arse is West Croydon bus garage...
You want me to tell you where you can stick that idea?....
What you are expressing there, is fractal bullshit. each element of that speech contains an amount of bullshit equal to the amount of bullshittery in the speech as a whole.
(but, having said all that, the literal image of an "asshat" is still kinda funny)
If you want to swear, swear. As loud as you like. The more creative and passionate the better.
If you want to describe that piece of anatomy, you have a whole list; bum, bottom, backside, rear, posterior, or, if you really want, ARSE. Just stop watering down our authentic, earthy arses to their sugar free, disneyfied, slightly plastic-sounding asses. It's not a real swear word but, if you didn't want to swear, you could have taken your pick from the list.
Beyond the obvious americanisation issue, this donkey/backside combination word allows for an internet meme that hurts/annoys/demonises/oppresses people like me. As anyone who knows me irl or reads this blog (if there is anyone who bothers to do that) will know, I am autistic. Specifically, I have the soon to be obsolete diagnosis of asperger syndrome. I have heard several variations on the pronunciation of this, but the most common sounds like donkey/backside-burger. This leads to my diagnosis being deliberately misspelled to exaggerate this "joke" whenever someone wants to dismiss an autistic perspective or troll an article on autism. No, this is not the biggest issue autistics face in the NT world, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't mention it. OK, here endeth the lecture. I will now end with some examples of creative swearing.
Go swivel on a pineapple, you LFNT arsewipe of an excuse for a human being.
Croydon sucks. It sucks it's own arse. Croydons arse is West Croydon bus garage...
You want me to tell you where you can stick that idea?....
What you are expressing there, is fractal bullshit. each element of that speech contains an amount of bullshit equal to the amount of bullshittery in the speech as a whole.
(but, having said all that, the literal image of an "asshat" is still kinda funny)
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Very British Anger/Autism in the media
I wrote an email today. it took several hours and ate many head spoons, but hopefully it makes sense and shows the powers that be an alternative perspective. maybe they'll even do something about it...
Dear BBC Newswatch,
I am a 24 year old autistic woman who enjoys watching documentaries. because of this, I have watched the majority of documentaries featuring this condition that have been broadcast in the last decade. I have noticed a certain lack of variety in the portrayal of the autistic community in these programmes, and there are several potentially harmful stereotypes perpetuated that I would like to bring to your attention, as well as some underepresented groups
Firstly, gender. While I am aware that around 80% of those with an autistic spectrum diagnosis are male (although many in the neurodiversity movement believe this is due to diagnostic bias) I can only remember seeing 1 autistic female portrayed on TV. not only that, but she wasn't even one of the featured autistics. the documentary team followed 3 adolescent autistic BOYS as they tackled the issues of growing up and one of them went on one or two dates with a girl, who happened to also be on the spectrum.
the vast majority of autistics featured in documentaries are children. thinking back over the programmes I've seen, I can't remember seeing any autistics older than the typical university age. while I do understand that diagnosis is much easier with children, there are many people living with an autistic diagnosis and identity in their 30s, 40s and beyond. a more varied portrayal with respect to age would help tackle the steriotype of autism as a disorder primarily affecting children far better than the familiar voice-over telling us that "autism is a life long, developmental disability". seeing positive but realistic portrayal of adults on the spectrum would also reassure parents of autistic children who, both in documentaries and real life, often express concerns for their children's uncertain future.
when adolescent or university aged boys are shown, they are usually either "low functioning" individuals intended to inspire pity or highly intelligent geeks, studying maths, science or computers. this reinforces stereotypes both in the minds of the young autistic community and in society generally. I have heard a lot of people (tragically both on and off the autistic spectrum) express the view that it is ok to be autistic, but only because we have "special skills" in these areas. this view is damaging to autistics who don't fulfil the stereotype, by implying that they are somehow failing at being acceptably autistic, as well as those who do, by implying that their intelligence and hard work are just a symptom of their autism.
there is also a strong focus on the ways in which parents are affected by having autistic children, to the exclusion of the experience of autistics. this is unfortunately reflected in the attitude of many larger autistic organisations towards autistic people who attempt to self advocate. further, by encouraging the view of autism as the demon responsible for parents misery, you are denying a truth that autistic people know instinctively; autism is not separable from the autistic person. knowing this, while hearing that autism is responsible for all the problems our family might be experiencing, can be very damaging to a young autistic, preventing them from accepting their diagnosis and themselves for years.
in addition to all this, there are many other minority groups not represented in these programmes, such as ethnic minorities and sexual minorities. while I cannot comment on the specific experience of black autistics (as a white person) I am a neurodiverse queer. intersectionality (where someone belongs to more than one minority group) often leads to feelings of isolation far more acute than those who belong to a single minority group. I have met several autistics (and other disabled people) who's sexuality was dismissed because society views us as inherently non sexual and unable to know our own minds (possibly, in the case of autism, this is linked to the practise of focussing on children in the media, which infantalises everyone on the spectrum). in addition to this, many LGBT spaces and events are not autism friendly and the negative views present in society at large are often reflected in the LGBT community.
I understand that this issue is not unique to the BBC, and will be contacting the other channels in due course. I also appreciate that it is difficult for the (I'm assuming) majority NT (neurotypical) programme makers to see where they may be reinforcing stereotypes, and I'm grateful that our British TV seems to take a more progressive view than our US counterparts. however, there is definitely room for improvement. I have a few suggestions for future documentaries.
1. A documentary about autistic parents (as opposed to parents of autistic children). there are a lot of members of the apsies for freedom forums who are raising children of various neurotypes, often in neurologically mixed marriages (most commonly NT/HFA or NT/Aspergers) which presents a unique and interesting set of challenges (negotiating different communication styles within a couple, for example). while parents don't have favourites, it is interesting to note that autistic parents seem to see a lot of their younger selves in their autistic kids. this could be part of a larger series on different parenting challenges (for example, an episode on polyamourous families could explore similar communication difficulties between parents)
2. as a way to introduce the neurodiversity movement, a documentary team could follow several autistics, but focus on their opinion of the diagnosis, rather than the practical issues. the team could look at the way a recently diagnosed autistic is affected by their families views, and contrast that with an autistic self advocate (who could probably describe their own journey towards self acceptance). they could also compare the views of those diagnosed in very early childhood to those diagnosed much later.
I hope to hear from you soon,
[name]
Monday, 1 October 2012
Out and Proud (but only if you know the code)
I wear my asexual loopy scarf most of the time. it's maybe 9 or 10 feet long, made of a chain of "loops" knitted in black, grey, white and purple (the colours of the asexual pride flag) and gets comments fairly often from a surprising variety of people. I'm very comfortable with being asexual, and yet...I never seem able to "out" myself when people ask about the scarf.
well, I say I'm very comfortable with my (a)sexuality. the truth is always more complicated, and this is definitely the most awkward sexual identity I've ever claimed. it's harder to explain to outsiders and can be very isolating, particularly when dealing with prejudice.
so, what prejudice exists against asexuals? well, to start with, this question is usually followed up with a statement about a subject like same sex marriage. this is aimed at dismissing any claims of prejudice by showing that the asexual community is not fighting for it's legal rights, and therefore we just need to get a sense of humour about it, or avoid lap dancing clubs or something (in exactly the same way that the current campaigners against page 3 are told that sexism doesn't exist). we know that in the eyes of the law asexuals (or women) are equal, but we want more. yes, the fight for legal rights like marriage equality is important, but the soft stuff still hurts when it's there every day.
but what "soft stuff"? I thought you said you weren't out? no, I'm not comfortable coming out. I generally out myself as "bi" if anyone asks. the usual reply is "so, you're a slut?". the real question is, why would an asexual rather be called a slut than come out as ase? the truth is probably that it hurts less dealing with prejudice directed at someone else's identity. I know how to challenge the slut lable, but not the asexual equivalents. if I came out properly, the responses would range from "you're just saying that to get attention" (the reaction I actually got when I first came out) to men threatening to "fix" me with their super powered genitals (yes, a lot of asexual women really do hear that). where do I start when trying to tackle the idea that my life is so empty, I need to attention seek with a fictional sexuality? what about the suggested rape therapy? or other questions on my physical health ("have you had your hormones checked?"), my past ("did your uncle, you know, "touch" you?") or my appearance ("but aren't asexuals just people who can't get any action? I'm sure with a bit of make up..."). I know the only way to make it better is to challenge the idiots, but most of the time I just don't have the head spoons.
so, the asexual community must be very important to you? well, no, actually. I'm much more comfortable in queer space. part of this was that I found it difficult to come to terms with being asexual and autistic. not with either identity, but with their coexistence. autistics are almost always infantilised in the media which, combined with their difficulties forming romantic relationships, causes them to be perceived as non sexual beings. asexuals are often dismissed by claims that they just can't get laid, and if this can't be put down to looks, some people will claim that they must be "a bit autistic". obviously, neither group likes this situation and, being a proud autistic woman, I resented the fact that I was reinforcing the stereotype by my existence. I'm also sex positive, which doesn't sit well in parts of the asexual community. in addition to this, when I eventually decided to try, I had a bad experience in an asexual forum.
so I wear a symbol of the identity that I wouldn't dare speak of. I wish of higher visibility for a community I'll probably never call my own, so that teenagers like I used to be might feel like they belong. I'm a coward and a hypocrite, too weak to stand up and be counted. I'm out and proud, but only if you really know what you're looking for.
as a side note, I eventually managed to write one of the 3 messages I mentioned in the last post and now have a phone number that will hopefully allow me to sort out the epic passport fail.
well, I say I'm very comfortable with my (a)sexuality. the truth is always more complicated, and this is definitely the most awkward sexual identity I've ever claimed. it's harder to explain to outsiders and can be very isolating, particularly when dealing with prejudice.
so, what prejudice exists against asexuals? well, to start with, this question is usually followed up with a statement about a subject like same sex marriage. this is aimed at dismissing any claims of prejudice by showing that the asexual community is not fighting for it's legal rights, and therefore we just need to get a sense of humour about it, or avoid lap dancing clubs or something (in exactly the same way that the current campaigners against page 3 are told that sexism doesn't exist). we know that in the eyes of the law asexuals (or women) are equal, but we want more. yes, the fight for legal rights like marriage equality is important, but the soft stuff still hurts when it's there every day.
but what "soft stuff"? I thought you said you weren't out? no, I'm not comfortable coming out. I generally out myself as "bi" if anyone asks. the usual reply is "so, you're a slut?". the real question is, why would an asexual rather be called a slut than come out as ase? the truth is probably that it hurts less dealing with prejudice directed at someone else's identity. I know how to challenge the slut lable, but not the asexual equivalents. if I came out properly, the responses would range from "you're just saying that to get attention" (the reaction I actually got when I first came out) to men threatening to "fix" me with their super powered genitals (yes, a lot of asexual women really do hear that). where do I start when trying to tackle the idea that my life is so empty, I need to attention seek with a fictional sexuality? what about the suggested rape therapy? or other questions on my physical health ("have you had your hormones checked?"), my past ("did your uncle, you know, "touch" you?") or my appearance ("but aren't asexuals just people who can't get any action? I'm sure with a bit of make up..."). I know the only way to make it better is to challenge the idiots, but most of the time I just don't have the head spoons.
so, the asexual community must be very important to you? well, no, actually. I'm much more comfortable in queer space. part of this was that I found it difficult to come to terms with being asexual and autistic. not with either identity, but with their coexistence. autistics are almost always infantilised in the media which, combined with their difficulties forming romantic relationships, causes them to be perceived as non sexual beings. asexuals are often dismissed by claims that they just can't get laid, and if this can't be put down to looks, some people will claim that they must be "a bit autistic". obviously, neither group likes this situation and, being a proud autistic woman, I resented the fact that I was reinforcing the stereotype by my existence. I'm also sex positive, which doesn't sit well in parts of the asexual community. in addition to this, when I eventually decided to try, I had a bad experience in an asexual forum.
so I wear a symbol of the identity that I wouldn't dare speak of. I wish of higher visibility for a community I'll probably never call my own, so that teenagers like I used to be might feel like they belong. I'm a coward and a hypocrite, too weak to stand up and be counted. I'm out and proud, but only if you really know what you're looking for.
as a side note, I eventually managed to write one of the 3 messages I mentioned in the last post and now have a phone number that will hopefully allow me to sort out the epic passport fail.
Thursday, 6 September 2012
the problem with haircuts...
...is that they're not permanent.
OK, no. that's not exactly true, but they can be difficult in ways that are hard to explain in the "real" world. so, as part of my (apparently never ending) quest to find words to explain and organise all the mess inside my head, and inspired by several other blog posts I've read recently, I'm going to tackle haircuts.
well, what's so hard about getting a haircut?
I'll take this backwards, the process of booking is probably the hardest to explain.
lastly, we have the physical process of the haircut itself.most of my major sensory issues are hair related; I hate the sensation of other people touching my hair in any way, I never use any hairstyling products, I won't open the car window while its moving. basically, the only things I do to my hair are wash it, brush it and take it for the occasional cut. I also wear glasses, which have to be removed meaning I can't see what's going on which, with the sensory stuff means I need to really trust the hairdresser (as this is the only time I can make a conscious choice about the way it looks).
previously, there's the communication issue. this can be split into 2 parts; the brief and the chat. loyalty to a single hairdresser generally makes it easier to explain what you want to look like afterwards (it's amazing how many ways there are to make hair look "a bit like it is, but shorter"), but there is a downside when it comes to the chat. the chat always begins in the same way, with generic "so, what do you do?" type questions. I know that these chats are annoying for people of all neurotypes, I'm fairly sure they're for the hairdressers benefit, not mine. I'm willing to play along most of the time, and even try to do it back ("so, what made you choose to be a hairdresser?"). my real problem with the chat isn't that I'm annoyed at the small talk, it's that I'm failing spectacularly at becoming a functioning adult. the fact that I have a regular hairdresser means that, as I'm fairly distinctive, I get remembered. this means I don't get asked "so, what do you do?" but "so, hows the job hunt going/did you get a place on that course?", which changes the generic, mildly annoying hairdresser chatter into a stark reminder of all my major failures.
and firstly, there's the big one. the booking.the problem with the booking is the hardest to explain because it's linked to all the reasons I'm failing to become a productive member of society, and also because I'm not sure I understand why its so hard.
I have an...issue? a phobia? something with making phone calls, filling out forms or writing emails. I know it sounds like a really pathetic excuse for not doing things (it sounds even more pathetic from the inside), but every time I have to do one of these things I start to get anxious. I worry about what I'm going to say or write, then I tell myself "I'll do it later", then it's too late to call or I need some more information so I say "I'll do it tomorrow". eventually, I start feeling guilty for letting other people down. the guilt makes me feel even more anxious about getting it right (especially if there's a deadline). I need to get a job. any minimum wage, dead end, doesn't-even-need-to-be-full-time job would do, but I don't fill out the forms. I've given up even trying. I want to be an occupational therapist, but I didn't get a place on a course this year because of lack of experience. I need to get some voluntary work and arrange to shaddow some more OT sessions. I don't know why I haven't done that yet. as I'm writing this, there are 2 emails I should be answering; one from a university friend I haven't talked to since I graduated and one from someone impossibly awesome I met at bicon.
I don't know how common this issue is, but I have one friend at least who gets it completely. we don't have any contact for weeks or months, then one of us will get over our guilt at not making contact before, work out what to say and send the email.
OK, no. that's not exactly true, but they can be difficult in ways that are hard to explain in the "real" world. so, as part of my (apparently never ending) quest to find words to explain and organise all the mess inside my head, and inspired by several other blog posts I've read recently, I'm going to tackle haircuts.
well, what's so hard about getting a haircut?
I'll take this backwards, the process of booking is probably the hardest to explain.
lastly, we have the physical process of the haircut itself.most of my major sensory issues are hair related; I hate the sensation of other people touching my hair in any way, I never use any hairstyling products, I won't open the car window while its moving. basically, the only things I do to my hair are wash it, brush it and take it for the occasional cut. I also wear glasses, which have to be removed meaning I can't see what's going on which, with the sensory stuff means I need to really trust the hairdresser (as this is the only time I can make a conscious choice about the way it looks).
previously, there's the communication issue. this can be split into 2 parts; the brief and the chat. loyalty to a single hairdresser generally makes it easier to explain what you want to look like afterwards (it's amazing how many ways there are to make hair look "a bit like it is, but shorter"), but there is a downside when it comes to the chat. the chat always begins in the same way, with generic "so, what do you do?" type questions. I know that these chats are annoying for people of all neurotypes, I'm fairly sure they're for the hairdressers benefit, not mine. I'm willing to play along most of the time, and even try to do it back ("so, what made you choose to be a hairdresser?"). my real problem with the chat isn't that I'm annoyed at the small talk, it's that I'm failing spectacularly at becoming a functioning adult. the fact that I have a regular hairdresser means that, as I'm fairly distinctive, I get remembered. this means I don't get asked "so, what do you do?" but "so, hows the job hunt going/did you get a place on that course?", which changes the generic, mildly annoying hairdresser chatter into a stark reminder of all my major failures.
and firstly, there's the big one. the booking.the problem with the booking is the hardest to explain because it's linked to all the reasons I'm failing to become a productive member of society, and also because I'm not sure I understand why its so hard.
I have an...issue? a phobia? something with making phone calls, filling out forms or writing emails. I know it sounds like a really pathetic excuse for not doing things (it sounds even more pathetic from the inside), but every time I have to do one of these things I start to get anxious. I worry about what I'm going to say or write, then I tell myself "I'll do it later", then it's too late to call or I need some more information so I say "I'll do it tomorrow". eventually, I start feeling guilty for letting other people down. the guilt makes me feel even more anxious about getting it right (especially if there's a deadline). I need to get a job. any minimum wage, dead end, doesn't-even-need-to-be-full-time job would do, but I don't fill out the forms. I've given up even trying. I want to be an occupational therapist, but I didn't get a place on a course this year because of lack of experience. I need to get some voluntary work and arrange to shaddow some more OT sessions. I don't know why I haven't done that yet. as I'm writing this, there are 2 emails I should be answering; one from a university friend I haven't talked to since I graduated and one from someone impossibly awesome I met at bicon.
I don't know how common this issue is, but I have one friend at least who gets it completely. we don't have any contact for weeks or months, then one of us will get over our guilt at not making contact before, work out what to say and send the email.
Saturday, 4 August 2012
on finding love...
this post is not about my failure to find a romantic partner, although that might make an interesting post (you'd be amazed at how many ways there are to fuck up a first message in online dating. so far I've had someone ask how I chose my sexuality, what do my genitals look like and will I marry them as, erm, they're "really into tall girls" as well as a few of the usual "hey, your hot! want 2 get 2 no me between the sheets" and the slightly confusing "where are you from? I mean originally?").
no, this is about a different kind of love and the unspoken insecurities that come with it.
the people who know me really well irl will know that I have some sensory issues, sensory processing issues, a needle phobia and a history of panic attacks. a few even know what the sensory issues are. luckily, these issues don't have a major affect on my life; I'm working hard on the sensory processing, needles and the triggers for my sensory issues are easy to avoid and the panic attacks are rare. still, I'm sometimes concerned about being a burden.
the problem is, I need help getting out of the panic attacks. I mean I really need help. if I don't have that help, the attack will just continue.
my worst ever panic attack happened at brighton pride a few years back. I'd just come out and a certain LFNT was messing with my head. I'm still not sure what happened there; he might've thought he was being helpful or he might have been hurting me for his own entertainment. it doesn't matter, anyway. I ended up on my own in walkabout and I started to hyperventilate. I couldn't stop. I couldn't call anyone because the phone networks always crash at pride (and anyway, the LFNT was the only one in my phonebook I was sure was in brighton). I was scared to get up incase I collapsed. I started getting pins & needles. I felt lightheadded and unreal. I couldn't move. I couldn't stay there forever. I needed to pee. I was scared I'd wet myself if it didn't end soon. I couldn't talk because I was hyperventilating. this went on for over an hour.
eventually, a group of straight women came in. they were celebrating a 30th birthday. one of them came over to help me. her name was lyndsay. she asked what was wrong and, with her talking and me writing my response in a text on my phone, she managed to calm me down. I know nothing about this woman, I never knew her surname or the name of her friend the birthday girl, but I don't know what would've happened to me without her help that day. thankyou lyndsay.
so, the point is "help" is really important during panic attacks, even though "help" really means something very simple. I just need to believe that whoever is helping me will stay there, by my side until it's over. if we're good friends, that just means a hug. that seems ridiculus. an hour hyperventilating because I didn't get a hug.
and thats where the insecurities come in. you see, to my friends who "have to deal with" my dysfunctional brain, it's no big deal. we hug as a greeting, to say goodbye, because one of us said something funny or sad, to say thankyou for a birthday present...
...but I know that this hug is a big deal. this hug stops me from getting trapped in a moment of desperation and fear. for this hug, I owe my sanity. we always make sure the small, tangible things balance out. if one of us buys a drink, the other one returns the favour later or next time. but I can never repay the real debt. the one that has nothing to do with money.
or can I? you see, the friend who helped me out of my last panic attack, the one who probably would be my best friend if that term didn't reek of bitchy tween girls? I know they've got their own dysfunctional brain to deal with. maybe I do some of the little, just-part-of-our-friendship things that have the potential to save them from their psycological emergencies. maybe.
if I do, then maybe they feel the same. thats why this is probably the last taboo of our relationship. theres just no point discussing it; we both know what the other one would say if we brought it up, and in the moments we doubt that truth we'd just think they were saying what we wanted to hear. so, here on the internet I'm going to say it anyway.
you bring joy to my life. I want to help you be as happy as possible. you don't owe me anything. I love you.
no, this is about a different kind of love and the unspoken insecurities that come with it.
the people who know me really well irl will know that I have some sensory issues, sensory processing issues, a needle phobia and a history of panic attacks. a few even know what the sensory issues are. luckily, these issues don't have a major affect on my life; I'm working hard on the sensory processing, needles and the triggers for my sensory issues are easy to avoid and the panic attacks are rare. still, I'm sometimes concerned about being a burden.
the problem is, I need help getting out of the panic attacks. I mean I really need help. if I don't have that help, the attack will just continue.
my worst ever panic attack happened at brighton pride a few years back. I'd just come out and a certain LFNT was messing with my head. I'm still not sure what happened there; he might've thought he was being helpful or he might have been hurting me for his own entertainment. it doesn't matter, anyway. I ended up on my own in walkabout and I started to hyperventilate. I couldn't stop. I couldn't call anyone because the phone networks always crash at pride (and anyway, the LFNT was the only one in my phonebook I was sure was in brighton). I was scared to get up incase I collapsed. I started getting pins & needles. I felt lightheadded and unreal. I couldn't move. I couldn't stay there forever. I needed to pee. I was scared I'd wet myself if it didn't end soon. I couldn't talk because I was hyperventilating. this went on for over an hour.
eventually, a group of straight women came in. they were celebrating a 30th birthday. one of them came over to help me. her name was lyndsay. she asked what was wrong and, with her talking and me writing my response in a text on my phone, she managed to calm me down. I know nothing about this woman, I never knew her surname or the name of her friend the birthday girl, but I don't know what would've happened to me without her help that day. thankyou lyndsay.
so, the point is "help" is really important during panic attacks, even though "help" really means something very simple. I just need to believe that whoever is helping me will stay there, by my side until it's over. if we're good friends, that just means a hug. that seems ridiculus. an hour hyperventilating because I didn't get a hug.
and thats where the insecurities come in. you see, to my friends who "have to deal with" my dysfunctional brain, it's no big deal. we hug as a greeting, to say goodbye, because one of us said something funny or sad, to say thankyou for a birthday present...
...but I know that this hug is a big deal. this hug stops me from getting trapped in a moment of desperation and fear. for this hug, I owe my sanity. we always make sure the small, tangible things balance out. if one of us buys a drink, the other one returns the favour later or next time. but I can never repay the real debt. the one that has nothing to do with money.
or can I? you see, the friend who helped me out of my last panic attack, the one who probably would be my best friend if that term didn't reek of bitchy tween girls? I know they've got their own dysfunctional brain to deal with. maybe I do some of the little, just-part-of-our-friendship things that have the potential to save them from their psycological emergencies. maybe.
if I do, then maybe they feel the same. thats why this is probably the last taboo of our relationship. theres just no point discussing it; we both know what the other one would say if we brought it up, and in the moments we doubt that truth we'd just think they were saying what we wanted to hear. so, here on the internet I'm going to say it anyway.
you bring joy to my life. I want to help you be as happy as possible. you don't owe me anything. I love you.
"you can't call her that! it sounds like that old boat."
if it were possible to live without a name, I'd do it tomorrow without hesitation.
I have many lables that I identify with very strongly, but I've never felt my name was part of that identity.
it's not about the name; no part of my name is offensive to me and I can't think of any that I might prefer, it's more the concept of names that bothers me.
my mum has explained how it was chosen. my last name is the name of all my male line ancestors, in the way that is customary in our culture. my first and middle names a result of a few strange ideas....
mum liked Harriet, but my dads name is harry. his brother is George and they had a dad George, a grandad George, an uncle George, a grandad harry, 3 uncles harry and a cousin harry. dad didn't want any more Harry's or George's.
so mum had to pick a different name. she wanted something that wouldn't get in the way, and that I might "look like". apparently names like Melissa or Jessica were "to pretty" for someone of my expected size. mum picked a traditional girls name that she thought was unusual. when I started school there were 3 of us in my year with the same name, so clearly not that unusual.
mum liked rose as a middle name, but dad and my aunt Ivy thought that with my 1st name that sounded too much like "Mary Rose", the Tudor shipwreck raised not long before (hence the title of this post - I can almost hear Ivy saying that). so she picked a new middle name.
apparently none of this could be decided before I was born; apparently they had to see me to make sure I looked like the chosen name. this seems quite bizarre to me. babies look like babies. specifically, new born babies look like the offspring of Winston Churchill and some sort of reptile (they also scream like they know they look like this, and are very angry about it). yes, I know the hormones kick in and when the time comes I'm going to fall madly in love with my screaming Churchill lizard creature, I just don't see how they might look more like one name than another.
so there we have it. before I was even really me, I was assigned a 3 part lable based on compromises, daft assumptions and my male line ancestry. I don't like or hate it, I just feel it's irrelevant to who I am. I have a name and I have a national insurance number. both are useful to have, neither mean me.
so, what about my own reptilian wartime prime ministers? how will I choose their arbitrary social admin lables? well, the surname depends on my partner. if they especially want theirs to continue, fine. ideally, I'd like us both to pick 2 other surnames from our recent ancestry, assign each of the 6 names a number (my current surname, theirs + the 2 we each chose) and roll a dice.
as for first & middle names, I want to minimise any difficulties in the social admin and, if possible, give them a sense of belonging. in my family, we have a history of specific learning difficulties, so this means short names with no lower case b,d,p or q. I think Nina or Amy for girl lizards, Luke or Jack for boy lizards. I like the weird relatives idea of using the grandparents names as middle names.
I have many lables that I identify with very strongly, but I've never felt my name was part of that identity.
it's not about the name; no part of my name is offensive to me and I can't think of any that I might prefer, it's more the concept of names that bothers me.
my mum has explained how it was chosen. my last name is the name of all my male line ancestors, in the way that is customary in our culture. my first and middle names a result of a few strange ideas....
mum liked Harriet, but my dads name is harry. his brother is George and they had a dad George, a grandad George, an uncle George, a grandad harry, 3 uncles harry and a cousin harry. dad didn't want any more Harry's or George's.
so mum had to pick a different name. she wanted something that wouldn't get in the way, and that I might "look like". apparently names like Melissa or Jessica were "to pretty" for someone of my expected size. mum picked a traditional girls name that she thought was unusual. when I started school there were 3 of us in my year with the same name, so clearly not that unusual.
mum liked rose as a middle name, but dad and my aunt Ivy thought that with my 1st name that sounded too much like "Mary Rose", the Tudor shipwreck raised not long before (hence the title of this post - I can almost hear Ivy saying that). so she picked a new middle name.
apparently none of this could be decided before I was born; apparently they had to see me to make sure I looked like the chosen name. this seems quite bizarre to me. babies look like babies. specifically, new born babies look like the offspring of Winston Churchill and some sort of reptile (they also scream like they know they look like this, and are very angry about it). yes, I know the hormones kick in and when the time comes I'm going to fall madly in love with my screaming Churchill lizard creature, I just don't see how they might look more like one name than another.
so there we have it. before I was even really me, I was assigned a 3 part lable based on compromises, daft assumptions and my male line ancestry. I don't like or hate it, I just feel it's irrelevant to who I am. I have a name and I have a national insurance number. both are useful to have, neither mean me.
so, what about my own reptilian wartime prime ministers? how will I choose their arbitrary social admin lables? well, the surname depends on my partner. if they especially want theirs to continue, fine. ideally, I'd like us both to pick 2 other surnames from our recent ancestry, assign each of the 6 names a number (my current surname, theirs + the 2 we each chose) and roll a dice.
as for first & middle names, I want to minimise any difficulties in the social admin and, if possible, give them a sense of belonging. in my family, we have a history of specific learning difficulties, so this means short names with no lower case b,d,p or q. I think Nina or Amy for girl lizards, Luke or Jack for boy lizards. I like the weird relatives idea of using the grandparents names as middle names.
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