Coming Out of Orlando

I will say up front this is an opinion post and a post that may be triggering for some people.  Please stop reading now if you are concerned.

I have been working on processing what happened in Orlando last weekend since I first heard about it, and I have sat down several times to write this, but it is such a difficult topic for me to unpack.  I sit down and start writing and end up down some rabbit hole, knowing it will take at least a couple of pages to dig myself back out, just to I can fall down the next one.  It's been exhausting.  So.  I'm trying something new, and if you're reading this, I guess that means it worked for me.
 
I am bisexual.  Some of you know this.  I'm not in the closet, but I've never shouted it from the rooftops either.  So, for those of you for whom this is news - hi.  I'm bi.  Or something.  The Kinsey Scale puts me between a 3 and a 4, where 3 is "equally homosexual and heterosexual" and 4 is "predominantly homosexual, but more than incidentally heterosexual."

"But you married a man.  Why do you need to label yourself if you're not dating or starting new relationships?"
Let me ask you this.  Think back, for some of you way back, back before you had your first sexual partner, before you even had a platonic relationship.  Before you had your first "boyfriend" or "girlfriend."  How did you know who you liked?  Did you just roll the dice and decide to go with whatever? I don't think so.  I know what I am the same as you know what you are, and I have every right to identify with that.
And yeah, I married a man, because I met someone who was a perfect match for me, who has grown alongside me and encouraged me in all things, and I was lucky enough to meet that person when I was very young.  And you can bet we had some very long, confusing, enriching conversations as I came to terms with my identity.  I married a man because I fell in love with a man.  Because when you are lucky enough to meet your soulmate for the first time at 17, you don't fuck around.     

I have been so lucky in life and marriage.  We are building a good life together.  We rent a nice house and own two cars and have a savings account and our fridge is never empty.  We overcame the terrors of cancer and weathered the storms of mental illness.  We have a cat that I love like she's my child, and a dog that I love like a less favorite child (kidding!).  In almost every way we are a pretty average, white, middle-class couple.  But me being bisexual has a huge impact on how I see the world, interpret the words and actions of others, form my political decisions, decide how to use my own words and with whom to share them...the list goes on.  Additionally, all of this is happening within the privilege I have of appearing to those who do not know me as a "normal" straight person.  I don't want to gloss over that.
 
When I was at college at WSU I went to the Tabby Kat drag shows every month with my friends who were gay, bisexual, questioning, trans, and our wonderful ally friends.  I learned so much from that family of weirdos and I will never forget them.  When in Seattle I have visited Neighbors on more than one occasion and felt like I was walking into a familiar place each time.  A place where I felt safe.  It's not like I walk in to a gay bar and scream, "MY PEOPLE!!!!" Not at all.  But when you are in one of those safe spaces, a weight is lifted off of your shoulders.  The presumptions are gone and you feel like you are surrounded by people who might not know you, but they understand.

Which brings me back around to Orlando.  One thing I have heard a lot of my friends say is, "that could have been me." And yeah, sure, it could have been.  It could have been a lot of us.  For me, it's the feeling that I can't comprehend our safe spaces of expression being violated in the way that Pulse was.  That we live in a world where we have one place, ONE PLACE, where we are sure to feel that weight lifted so we can just be humans together, and that was ripped away from us.  In the LGBTQ community, we all have one thing in common, no matter how we pass in the outside world, and that is that there are people who would look into our hearts and see us dead over something we cannot control.  There are the violent people who would shoot us, and there are the "peaceful" people would would pray for our salvation and ask us to lead unsatisfying lives of silent shame because they have made an interpretation of an ancient text and used it to place judgement upon us.

A couple of months back, a friend of a friend on Facebook reminded us that the Bible calls for us to stone to death anyone who commits the sin of homosexuality, so we should stop complaining and be grateful.
So I guess I'm supposed to be grateful for the fact that 49 souls were murdered by bullets on Sunday morning.  At least it wasn't stones.

.....I should be grateful that 49 sets of parents and siblings and countless other family members are having to come to terms with the most unimaginably horrific of losses.

.....I'm supposed to be grateful that when I go to a vigil to honor those 49 lives and lament their loss, that I have an escape plan for every room I walk in to, and a corner of my brain will always be occupied by my need to remain vigilant because anything could happen and that awareness could be key to my survival.

.....I guess I should be grateful that high percentages of our LGBTQ youth will be threatened with violence at school this year.  That as many as 30% will report being raped at some point in their lives.  I guess it's better to be threatened or raped instead of stoned, right? So we should just shut up and be grateful.

Our country might not be throwing stones, but we are still doing damage. LQBTQ people are still being forced into shame and silence and death through action and inaction.  They are still being invalidated and ostracized.  We might not be getting hit by rocks, but we are still being hurt.

So why come out and talk explicitly about my own sexuality now? Because it feels like it's time.  Because I owe it to all the people in my life - the non-conforming and conforming, the questioning, the allies, and those who still have some work to do.  How can I support and educate if I'm not even willing to be strong and honest about myself?

So there it is.  I don't know if this will be thought-provoking for anyone or if it's just some good old self-indulgence, but I feel pretty good about it.
Love each other.

Things I'm Excited About Today

Recently, a coworker of mine turned me on to an Instagram account, "Middle Class Fancy."  I relate to this account on so many levels.  It's amazing.  Every once in a while I get excited about things and before it comes out of my mouth I try to stuff it back in because I imagine that for most people, "exciting" means going on vacation or doing extreme sports or getting a new pet.  They do not think "I'm so excited about my new laundry detergent," or "I'm so excited to go buy vegetables today," or "I'm excited to try that thing I found on Pinterest to clean my shower grout."  I guess this is what being a "grown up" is for some of us.  I really take joy in improving the minutia of my life and making mundane tasks a little more enjoyable, because I have to do them anyway.

There's another reason that things excite me.  I really am excited about laundry detergent, because there was a time when I couldn't always afford it.  I really DO get happy when I think about going and picking out produce, because there was a time when I mostly ate out of cans and packages.  The closest I got to "produce" in college was often the Oriental flavor of Top Ramen that had the dried veggies in it (do they even have that flavor anymore? #PCPolice).  I am legit ready to fix the grout in my shower because I'm so excited that I live in a place that has a shower worth cleaning up.  Just a few years ago I was staring at life like it was going to be an endless tunnel of disappointment, and now...guys, now I have a SHOWER.  WITH A TUB.

Part of overcoming my depression and anxiety (other than beautiful, delicious, pharmaceuticals) has been to practice a certain degree of intention in everything I do.  Things like cleaning often calm me down if I can force myself to focus on the movements of my tasks.  I get joy looking at a clean and tidy room and I find that the state of my home is often reflective of how I'm feeling mentally (for example, right now there is SHIT EVERYWHERE.  Make of that what you will).

Yesterday I was really excited about produce.  I've been turned on to a new produce stand called Country Farms.  For my Everett friends, it's on Broadway and - I think - 16th, just north of Safeway.  I have no illusions about the place, as I'm doubtful that anything ACTUALLY came from a country farm ;) But it's good, fresh produce and it's SO CHEAP.  Seriously.  Here's my haul from yesterday:

• 5 onions
• 1 bunch asparagus
• Pineapple
• Mystery melon (it's yellow, I think it's going to be kind of like a cantaloupe, but I do this thing where I like to just pick something and find out what it is.  Adds some mystery to my life! If you're laughing at me, see above.  This is a PERFECT example of my middle class fancy thing)
• Jicama
• 4 red bell peppers
• 4 Fuji apples
• 2 bags of green beans
• 6 red potatoes
• 2 stalks leeks
• 3 yams
• 3 nectarines

I had a picture so that you could see how much food this is, but it keeps turning upside down when I try to post it.  Ruuudddeeeeee.  Anyway, this was $35.  Forreal.  That's unheard of around here.



What else am I excited about today?  I have math class tonight and that's going to be fun.  I don't have to make dinner tonight because of math class, so that's rad.  We're doing some home improvement this weekend, like getting a screen for the back door and framing some of the art that has been sitting in the closet since we moved in last year.  I'm going to weed the garden since the weather will be nice.  I might even RoundUp the weeds in the sidewalk.  Basically, I'm living life at a pretty breakneck speed over here.  Try not to be jealous.

Here's a Thing (#1)

When your friends start asking if you have a blog and seem legitimately disappointed when you say no, you start to think, “I do have a lot on my mind, maybe it would be good for me to start writing.”  When they start requesting that you start a blog?  That’s when things start to feel a little weird.  See, the thing is, I have a lot going on up in my brain. It’s busy up there.  And it comes out in words when I’m with my friends…a LOT of words.  I‘m a thinker and a talker, no two ways about it.  I am so thankful for all of the people in my life (especially my husband), who have had to listen to my many (varied, but endless) diatribes, and more importantly, that they stay my friends.  I like to think that they have an appreciation for my process, and I love that they allow me to do what I have to do in order to mentally get from point A to point B.  Even if that’s long texts, emails that could be the beginning of novels, phone calls where I prattle on and I’m pretty sure you could put the phone down and walk away and I might not even notice (mom, dad, I’m looking at you), or one of the many other ways I manage to corner people with my words.

I remember reading a book when I was younger where there is a bit about a girl’s mother saying that she believes we only have a certain number of words that God gave us when we were born, and when we use those words up, it’s time for us to go.  I don’t remember anything else about the book, not even what the cover looked like, but I remember that part.  I remember that part because it always made me feel like I was in pretty deep shit.  Like, I sure hope God gave me a BUNCH of words, because I am running through these things like they’re going out of style.  It made me think about slowing down for a second, but at a certain point I had to just embrace that I’m a talker.  It’s how I connect with people, how I process my own emotions and the world around me, and how I make sense of the things that other people say and do.  I sure hope that girl’s mom was wrong.  (If she was right, it would be swell if there was a loaner system, because I have some quiet friends and I’m pretty sure you guys could loan me some words and we’d all be fine.)

Another book I remember reading as a kid was called Star Girl.  It was this great YA novel about non-conformity, and also about what giant assholes teenagers can be.  I remember wanting to be more like the main character in the book, wanting so, so badly to not care a whit what other people think of me, and just do whatever it was that made me happy.  But I also remember thinking that it was already so difficult for me to make friends and I was already a little bit of an outsider, and as a kid nothing is scarier or worse than being a weirdo.  I read this book several times and still couldn’t figure out what to do, so one day I was on the Internet, and I found something that said it would allow me to send an email to the author of the book.  I sent him a message about how the book made me feel, but that I was still a little conflicted.  He never wrote back, and I remember that really bothering me (don’t forget, this was late 90s/early 2000s, and I was a kid on the Internet.  I could have sent this message to the University of Texas Astronomy Department for all I know).  If Jerry Spinelli ever comes across this post – dude, hmu.  I’ve got questions.  My words, for as much as I throw them around, are still important to me. 

I’ve decided to take this step and share some of my words because I think it’s something I will enjoy.  A way to pick apart the parts of my life that are worth sharing, and what can get thrown away.  I often think about complaining and telling a story about some long, convoluted thing that happened at work, but I get halfway into the story and think, “is this really worth sharing?  Is there really value in putting this out into the world?”  When the answer is no, it makes it so much easier for me to move on and focus on the things that are really important.  Like my cat, and weightlifting, and cheese.  You know, the big stuff.  Keep on reading if you want to know what else that means (it's probably really, really, weird).

Mental Health

Hey! Did you guys know that May was National Mental Health Month?  I just found out earlier this week and I’m surprised I haven’t heard more people talking about it.  I have struggled with depression and anxiety for a long time, and I’m happy to see that it’s become less taboo to talk about than it was even a few years ago, but we still have a long way to go.

I’ve told people in the past that I feel like I deserve All The Academy Awards Forever, because I am such a good actress.  People in my life always seem to think I’m this great person, and I’m so happy – or if I’m not happy, that I’m just being sarcastic.  I rarely let that guard down because a) you don’t know how people will react if you express how you’re feeling, especially when it’s REALLY NOT GOOD, and b) it’s exhausting.  It’s like how when you come back from vacation 10 different people want to know everything you did and everywhere you went so you have to run through the same story over and over again and you’re just so tired of it by the end.  It’s like that.  Except way shittier because instead of talking about the crystal-blue waters of the Bahamas, you’re telling someone you want to kill yourself.  Guess how well that usually goes down?  So, I’m really good at hiding how I feel and telling people I’m fine or things will get better, even when I really, truly, don’t know if I believe that.

I’m reading this infographic on mentalhealthamerica.net – click here to check it out for yourself. http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/conditions/infographic-life-depression

Did you know that nearly 7% of American adults had a major depressive episode in 2014?  The infographic says that’s enough people to fill every MLB stadium in the U.S. – four and a half times. (Side note: Safeco Field has just over 54,000 seats.  I’m trying to imagine fifty four thousand versions of depressed Sarah all sitting in the same area at the same time and wondering if something supernaturally bad would happen.  Side note over.)

How many friends do you have on your Facebook page?  100? 500?  Seven percent.  Chances are, that’s more than a few of your friends.  I’m one of them.  I’ve been on 5 different psychiatric medications in as many years, and I’m on two right now. I would say I am partially managed at this point, but when stress creeps into my life it makes things WAY more difficult for me.

This year, Mental Health America started a hashtag to bring awareness to Mental Health Awareness Month.  The hashtag is #mentalillnessfeelslike and I encourage everyone to go on Twitter or go to mentalhealthamerica.net/feelslike to see what people are saying.  Depression comes to us in so many different forms, but the one thing we all have in common is that when we are experiencing it, we a never living to our full potential.  I lived for many years without medication or even therapy, and before the naysayers chimed in – yes I exercised, yes I ate well, yes I tried to spend time with my friends and do the things that would normally make me feel happy.  There’s a difference between being in a funk and living with depression.  When I list the things I do now (work, school, music, volunteering, etc), I’m SHOCKED that I have such a long list.  A couple of years ago just getting out of bed felt like a major accomplishment.

Some of what I feel when I’m in a major depressive episode:

I feel absolutely alone.  I am ashamed to tell anybody that something is wrong and if I start to tell them, I start crying which just makes me feel embarrassed.  I feel disgusting and dirty and repulsive.  I can’t believe people even want to look at me, let alone talk to me or spend time with me.  Little things that I wouldn’t normally bother me send me into a spiral of feeling absolutely worthless.  I feel necessary to apologize for pretty much everything, up to and including simply existing.  I get distracted easily.  I have memory problems that go back for years and I can’t answer questions that the doctor might ask regarding how long things have been happening or when it started, because I feel like I’m living in a total fog.  I forget saying that I would do things, I miss deadlines, and I’m easily overwhelmed when I see my pile of work to be accomplished.  When I am having an interaction with a friend – especially at work – part of my brain starts telling me that the person is faking their happiness to see and talk with me.  That they are just waiting for me to walk away so they can roll their eyes or make fun of me.  When someone says I am likeable, or funny, or smart, I don’t know how to accept the compliment because I 1) don’t believe it, and 2) I’m pretty sure they are lying.  On the other hand, I can’t trust myself because I know my perception of the world is skewed.  A part of my brain knows that it’s not true.  People like me.  My friends like me.  But when you are constantly perceiving things one way and trying to convince yourself that what you’re perceiving isn’t true…can you imagine how exhausting that is?

I used to work at an animal clinic.  When I worked there, my depression was BAD, but I loved being around animals and some of my coworkers were good people, so I managed to get through most days without a meltdown.  But there was one coworker who relentlessly picked on me.  She was one of the least genuine, laziest people I have ever known.  I couldn’t do anything right in her eyes and I had a really difficult time working with her.  I found out during my last week that she told everyone I had (I think this is right) schizophrenia (it could have been DID, I don’t remember).  The only reason I can think of for her to spread that rumor is because people with schizophrenia are so stigmatized in the world we live in.  She thought that calling me schizophrenic was the best way for her to express to everyone that I was a crazy person and they should distance themselves from me.  She knew I was in therapy and getting medication for depression, and still chose to spread rumors about my mental health, knowing how it would affect me via the treatment by those around me.  It is, to date, one of the most childish things another “adult” has done to me.  When you know someone is struggling with their mental health, please, for the love of whatever you believe in, don’t be a dick.  It’s the last thing they need. #byefelicia

Do you know someone struggling with a mental illness? Do you struggle?  I encourage you to speak out.  Tell people what it feels like and make a signal with a few trusted friends so they know to just be there and not ask questions when you need them.  And if one of your friends comes to you and tells you that they’re feeling down, the best thing you can do is listen to them.  You can ask them what they need, but they might not know.  They might want you to help them find a counselor.  If they are truly in crisis, they might want you to take them to the hospital.  They might just want you to help them make a blanket fort and watch Netflix all night.  Depression is different for everyone, and so are the things that make people feel safe and secure.  The one steadfast rule is that if someone you know says they want to harm themselves, DO NOT LEAVE THEM ALONE.

If you or a friend are struggling with depression, check out warmline.org.  They are a peer-run network and super helpful, regardless of whether you are feeling like you’re in crisis or just having a shitty day.  Greater Puget Sound call 206-933-7001 or 877-500-9276.  They operate from 5-10 PM.  Other hotlines run 24 hours.  And, fun fact, you do NOT have to be suicidal to call a suicide hotline!  If you think you need to call, then you need to call.

Take care of yourselves, friends, and watch out for each other.