One quick thing
No time to write the long response post right now because I’m about to head out to a potluck lunch for SPARK. But I do want to say, some of the comments kind of irritate me because it sounds like people think I have trouble talking about the fact that I have dealt with depression for years and take medication for it. That, I have no qualms whatsoever about mentioning, and in fact sometimes I can be rather aggressive about inserting it into conversations when I perceive the discussion is veering toward “judgmental, ignorant, and assholish regarding mental illness.”
It’s probably not fair of me to be irritated but I just wanted to draw the distinction. I’m not writing about coming to terms with “admitting” that I have depression or how awful it is to “admit” that I take meds. Fuck that. This is something I deal with, the meds are necessary and I would not be alive without them, people can either believe me or blow it out their ass. The stuff I’ve written about so far and intend to write more about, either here or in another space, is more of a higher level thing of confronting my own internalized prejudices/stigma about the concept of disability, and how society in general perceives disability, including a lot of the language around it (e.g., the idea that a person w/ a disability is “damaged” – you would not believe the back and forth I was having w/ myself in the shower this morning over that concept!)
Fragments: Fear
Last night I was thinking about the fact that fear has been a theme throughout my life. It kept me in a state of inertia during my teen years when I was still living at home; I was being harmed but trying to take any sort of action was too risky because if the outcome wasn’t perfectly in my favor then I would be in trouble; I’d be harmed further. The same thing was repeated in my marriage (though ultimately I broke the pattern, in that case; yay for personal growth!). It’s also what stopped me from ever taking the step over the line and actually going into sex work. There are other examples. Is it what stops me from calling my health issues what they are?
Tonight, on the way home from Manuel’s, I was thinking again about all the considerations about whether depression should be called a disability. (I even have a hard time calling it a mental illness – hey, I grew up in the same society as everyone else, and we’ve all internalized the stigma to an extent.) I was having the usual back and forth in my head. I wondered what other people think of people who have mental health issues and identify as disabled. I wondered what my closest friends really think about my struggle with depression and my questions about whether or not it is a disability. I wondered how much it really matters what it’s called and why I’m so preoccupied with that question lately. I wondered if Rusty feels burdened or irritated or manipulated or limited or frustrated or exasperated or thinks I blow shit out of proportion or thinks I make shit up or thinks I do things just to get attention or rolls his eyes at all my ponderings on identity. But maybe that’s just because I roll my eyes at myself, a little (or a lot) and maybe I should stop that. I wondered how much of this comes from internalizing of the societal stigmas and how much is me being a responsible person who thinks of others instead of being too self-absorbed.
I wondered what it would be like if I could wipe the slate clean and not have all that baggage and all those wonderings.
Do other people think about this stuff, in the way I do? I often think about how we can never really know if the way we experience the world is “the norm” or if it’s an exception. We can never really know what it feels like to be someone else. But because I’m fascinated with people and interactions, and because it comes perhaps too easily to me to think of how I would feel/act if I were in a certain situation that someone else is in, I always wonder.
We hear a lot of messages in the media and pop culture about being an over-medicated society; people talk about kids getting ADHD diagnoses and roll their eyes because that’s just a scapegoat, that’s not a real condition; we get angry at people who can’t pull themselves up by their bootstraps and shake things off. I admit I feel that way sometimes, when I hear about someone filing for disability, and then their disability turns out to be… PTSD. Anxiety. Depression. ADD. Etc. C’mon if I can force myself through the day certainly other people can too! Plus Americans love to focus on individualism (which, let me be clear, I do not think is a bad thing at all) – why should I subsidize someone else just because they have depression, right? Not on the tax payer’s dime, etc.; all the Libertarian/Republican talking points. And even as I push back and say, that’s spoken as someone who has never dealt with mental illness, sometimes those thoughts go through my head too.
LiveJournal, maybe?
Once again, and more and more, I am considering starting a friends-locked LiveJournal. Yes, LiveJournal! Why not continue to do password-protected blog posts on here, you might ask? Well, I have to send out the password each time and that feels dramatic. People who don’t have the password can see that the post is there and that has led to stupid drama in the past. And somehow I feel like it would be comforting to steal away somewhere that’s on a completely different system, totally third-party managed, not a domain I own and a platform I manage myself. Might not make much sense but for some reason it appeals to me in a way that doing password-protected posts here doesn’t, at the moment.
I won’t abandon this blog (and hell, I might not even start that LJ at all, I might just talk about it forever and never do it) and I actually hate blog posts where the blogger talks about how they don’t feel comfortable posting anymore because of what people might think. But that’s my situation and it’s not as simple as “what people might think” in the reductive sense of, OMG I base my entire self-worth on the approval and validation of strangers. No, it’s just, like Mary J. Blige, I too do not want drama in my life. And I’m sick of feeling eyes on me, of people who have their own expectations of what I should write or should do. Or people who have just decided I’m The Enemy and no matter what I say, they’re going to pounce on it and tell me how wrong I am. Or my mom will read my posts and call me up and say she doesn’t want me to get mad but am I okay, really, am I, can I please take care of HER needs by NOT working shit out in a way that’s helpful for me? For some people, I’m not enough of an activist w/ my blogging – it’s too personal, everyone hates navel-gazing, I mean no one CARES, get over yourself, geez. For others I am not personal enough, they want to know more, they feel entitled to every detail. And for still others I’m just doin’ it wrong, no matter what.
Some things I’ve had on my mind and wanted to write about are:
- My experiences w/ depression – past, present, possibly future. Musings of all manner along those lines. In particular I keep thinking about something mentioned on BADD – like Melissa at Shakesville, I wonder, should I call myself a person w/ a disability? Whenever I try that on for size, it feels wrong, like I’m appropriating, or trying to give myself a label to get attention, or making a mountain out of a mole hill, I mean I’m not REALLY disabled, and wouldn’t the REAL disabled people get pissed off if every person who just has DEPRESSION starts calling themselves “disabled?” -But that’s the problem, right, the “just” – JUST depression.
Is the whole identity thing getting out of hand, anyway? Sometimes I see people with so many comma-delimited self-descriptors that it makes me roll my eyes. But I think it’s important for people to self-identify and name who and what they are. But I’ve also seen people abuse it, as a way to manipulate. They had ISSUES but they cloaked it in identity. I don’t want to look like one of those people. And the eye-rolling, too, well maybe that’s just knee-jerk from growing up in a culture saturated w/ Fox News type media, where “political correctness” is a big joke… look at those silly people making up terminology! Woman of color? Person of size? Sex worker? Haw haw haw, come on now, we’re the WASPy upper-middle-class straight dudes and we set the terms, not you, silly Others!
And on and on along those lines.
- How sick I am of people misusing the word privilege. Hint: If you put the word “unearned” in front of it, you are talking about something totally different.
- More about my history of wanting to go into sex work but never doing it.
- Sex 2.0 anxiety and how I am really worried that once again I’ll end up doing everything even though it’s supposed to be a committee, but I can’t write about that because I have to be all diplomatic because I’m the founder and there are certain things I can’t say because I’m a figurehead, or something. And, more generally, how people drop the ball and let me down a lot and have done so throughout my life, and it’s a pattern, and I hate it.
- Kind of along the same lines as the disability thing, calling myself an abuse survivor. I know that’s what I am but since I didn’t have physical bruises it’s not REALLY abuse, and it would be disrespectful to REAL abuse survivors to try to appropriate that, wouldn’t it? Etc.
- Posting old written journal entries for reflection. Sometimes it helps to see things typed out on the screen in a nice CMS interface, don’t ask. It just does, for me.
- How I don’t trust people who don’t share certain beliefs, because it’s not just theoretical nebulous “beliefs,” it’s the knowledge that if given the chance they would take control of my life away from me, and indeed they work every day to do so. Basically the same thing Apostate’s commenter says here.
- I mentioned this on Twitter the other day, but I am SO sick of whenever you bring up some instance of sexism, some dude is so quick to point out that that doesn’t happen JUST along gender lines! Some dude who is TOTALLY NOT SEXIST, btw. And don’t you forget it. He’s so not sexist, that he gets squeamish if you even mention sexism, and goes out of his way to show that it’s not “just” discrimination based on gender. Because that’s how we know it’s important, see? If it were JUST affecting women, JUST along gender lines, then it’s not a big deal, but once it affects men, well that’s a whole other story!
But don’t mention this to him, because he is NOT SEXIST, and you’re a feminist who looks for reasons to get offended and sees things that aren’t there and you probably don’t shave your legs, either. Smile!
- I hate when men describe me as “angry.” Go fuck yourself. I need to be able to say my piece and not get pigeonholed in that oh so typically sexist way. And hey here’s a thought: if I do happen to be angry about something (different from ANGRY as my ENTIRE BEING) – maybe there’s a REASON for it, have you thought of that??
- I hate when people make jokes that are so old and have been said a million times and weren’t funny the first million times anyway. I should put “jokes” in snark quotes, to be more accurate. Do they really think they’re the first person to think of that? Do they really think they’re a laff riot?
- Can I tell you how little I care about social media marketing, personal branding, and all that other crap? Can I tell you how absolutely bored I am of conversations about strategies for viral marketing and being transparent?
- Work stuff that might get me dooced, but I probably wouldn’t even mention that on a friends-locked LiveJournal. That’s always been beyond the pale. -Well, except for that secret sex and job hunting Blogspot blog I used to have. But that’s another story.
There’s more but I’m forgetting it.
And to be fair part of why I haven’t written as much is time, but that’s also a cop-out as a full excuse, because if I didn’t feel so inhibited I would find the time. I would write this stuff instead of clicking around on Twitter and Tumblr and shit.