Appendix Has Left The Chat

 

We have all had that paranoia, whether from binge-watching too much Grey’s Anatomy or self-diagnosing after an anatomy lecture, about the ticking time bomb growing in our bodies: the appendix. How can something so small, and arguably useless, create such an urgent and terrifying situation in the case of rupture? How do we know if our appendixes are stick with us to the end, or jump ship as soon as it acknowledges the state of the world?

The often televised or reported form of appendicitis is technically acute appendicitis. Acute appendicitis may be caused by a bacterial infection or a small obstruction in the opening of the appendicitis (commonly referred to as the size of a popcorn kernel). Often the symptoms that accompany this form of appendicitis are sharp pain, fever, sweating, nausea and vomiting, and difficulty walking. If the abdominal pain abruptly ends, it could be a sign that the appendix has burst, which leads to fecal material being spread through the abdominal cavity and could lead to peritonitis. Like I said: ticking time bomb.

The other type of appendicitis that is less commonly discussed is chronic appendicitis. This occurs when the appendix becomes chronically inflamed for weeks, months, or even years, and they symptoms may come and go. Because this only occurs in about 1.5% of appendicitis cases, it is often difficult to diagnose. While patients with this condition may not be experiencing the full blockage that results in rupture, they still experience continuous pain and discomfort that can last for years, so the appendix is still taken out as a result.

In 2012, what I thought was initially a bad bout of food poisoning from Thai food ended up being an agonizing three months of severe pain and stomach issues that had me in and out of the campus health center and hospital multiple times a week. My vitals were normal, so I was continuously prescribed drugs to help with stomach acid and gastrointestinal issues. Further testing was inconclusive, and I was provided the “garbage can” diagnosis of Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I was placed on anti-depressants and referred to mental health counseling as I was probably just stressed from being a college student and I couldn’t manage my anxiety.

Nevertheless, the pain persisted. A sharp pain would stab me in the lower abdomen, to the point that it would feel like a slap in the face in its suddenness. Each time, I would start to sweat and my heart would race; is this the day that I finally die? I would be too afraid to go to sleep, and often would stay up all night telling myself that I could go to the hospital in the morning if it was still bad. I could sense something was wrong, but every time I went to the health center it felt like they were diminishing my concerns and continuously became less helpful over time. This initial flare up severely negatively impacted my academics and mental health at the time.

I went off my anti-depressants and my birth control and changed my eating patterns, and the symptoms slowly decreased. But then, FLARE UP: Junior year, the stabbing returned, and the health center urged me to seek out counseling again. FLARE UP: My semester abroad in Italy, I was referred to the E.R., where they ultimately decided to refer me to gynecology since it seemed like a “female issue,” and one of the counselors insisted I see a therapist there since it seemed like I was just homesick and anxious. In total, I experienced these flare ups for FOUR YEARS.

During 2016, my first semester in grad school, I embarked on my favorite past time of getting some Indian food, clumsily ramming my body into a table returning from the buffet, and then heading out to a concert for the night. Mid-concert, the familiar stab returned. As a continuous bargain that I had with myself, I waited up all night and decided to go to the health center the next day. As my university was connected to a lot of teaching hospitals, they had a tendency to refer students out to E.R.s for anything that had symptoms that could potentially be related to a dire health concern (i.e. $$). After sitting in the E.R. waiting room for 11 HOURS (thanks America), I was finally seen by a doctor. I gave him the story, even throwing in being-jabbed-by-a-table-corner as a symptom, and expected the usual. He laughed regarding the table aspect, but said that they would let me get a CT scan anyways since I had been dealing with chronic pain. One hour later, he returned saying “Well, congrats on being the first person to get appendicitis from running into a table” and confirmed that my appendix was quite inflamed and needed to be removed. 24 hours later, and with three new battle scars on my belly, my appendix had finally left the chat.

Having my appendix removed felt like a pressure was lifted off my chest (well, in this case, my abdomen), but the experience of having to go through those issues for four years still lingered. Was it out of pure benevolence that this doctor decided I finally earned the right to a CT scan? Why was it so easy to dismiss my symptoms and pain before and write them off as being hormonal or psychological? Regardless of the fact that it did not present the imminent danger of acute appendicitis, I was still clearly communicating to the health professionals that I was in a great amount of discomfort and my situation was not being validated. It got to the point where I would experience overwhelming anxiety when I went to the doctor’s, which didn’t help the case that it wasn’t “all in my head,” and I still have to shake that feeling off today when trying to get help for other chronic issues.

My story can resonate with a lot of women who have sought help for medical issues and were turned away or defeated by the assertion that their symptoms are related to their biological structure or mental health. I am grateful that my condition was not fatal and that I have one less body part to worry about now, but that is not always the case. The medical community needs to acknowledge the biases and assumptions that exist regarding a woman’s pain and provide further investigative health services before writing off her concerns.

VDay Rambles

Anytime you try to think about love rationally, that’s when everything comes crashing down.

Love isn’t something that is supposed to be rational. It can’t be measured or quantified. There isn’t a certain threshold you have to meet in order for a relationship to work.

Love is chaotic, and you kinda have to jump into a void not knowing what comes across the end. That requires letting go. I don’t think a lot of people let go. I think they tip their toe in, maybe up to their knee, afraid of what may happen if they completely dive in.

The world works in mysterious ways. The way people meet is pure serendipity. Yeah, sometimes people meet in the workplace, or are childhood friends, but it’s not always that simple. Some connections you have just transcend all time and space barriers. You can be worlds away, but in the moment, it’s only you.

Take chances, jump deep, and embrace the chaos. If you half-ass it, I honestly don’t think you’ll find that kind of love you’re looking for.

And I’m not saying you have to go all Romeo and Juliet. You don’t have to give up your life and move across the world. Obviously something rational needs to happen. But openness, honesty, and communication helps lower those gates. Too many people have barriers, and they think they keep them safe. You wonder why so many people end up disappointed.

Em-pathetic

I fall in love too easily.

And I don’t mean that I fall head over heels for boys and decide that I wanna spend the rest of my life with them after a day.

But I fall in love with the ideas of people. I love discovering the beauty in a person, whether I know them for a day or my whole life. I love listening as someone bears their soul, or even just says a simple statement that reflects the truest form of their character. This happens with men and women, young and old. I get lost in the intensity, and it’s one of my favorite feelings in the world.

But it is also the most painful. The kind of pain that makes your eyes water and scan back and forth when you are listening to someone tell their story. The pain when all you want is to be there for someone, to nurture and care for them, and make everything okay.

And then there’s the pain when you listen with all your heart, but then the session is up and the therapy session is over.

I don’t think anyone does it maliciously. I like to think that people feel like they can open up and share stuff with me, and that maybe that’s my purpose on earth. But sometimes, that is all that results from a transaction. I yearn for any return of love: platonic, romantic, familial. But I have to accept it might not always be there.

It can be a lonely world for someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, but it is the only way that I can see beauty in this fucked up world. But I keep on loving, in hopes that I find the friends and lovers that mirror that same image. I find so much meaning in those relationships, and truly love those people in my life more than anything else in the world.

The Aftershock

I was so fucking certain. I felt this way even before the primary results were released. I just knew that Hillary was going to be the Democratic nominee, and that she was going to be our first female president. There was an overwhelming consensus around me that that was going to be the case. Friends, family, even the people I met while traveling abroad- almost all agreed that this man should not and will not be the President of the United States.

We were wrong. And that security, that stability, that certainty has been stripped away and has left us shocked and distraught.

As I watched Pennsylvania turn red in last night’s coverage, I broke down completely. An unsurmountable wave a fear and despair washed over me, as my emotional break entered panic attack territory. I can be honest and say that few events have had me have such a visceral reaction. In that moment, I felt hopeless.

Eight years ago, we rejoiced. There was partying and fanfare in the streets. This time, there was silence. I, and thousands of people, walked around today in a zombie-like fashion. We bowed our heads and tried to shut out any enthusiastic support for our new dictator. We realized how, in January, this was going to affect our own lives, the lives of people we care about, and millions of other people who may not be in our immediate circle.

We also all asked ourselves, “How the fuck did this happen?!” We searched for people to blame: racist Trump supporters, a rigged system, lack of strategy by the DNC, etc. We felt angry at the people who voted third party, the people who threw their votes away on write-ins like Harambe, and the people who didn’t vote at all. We felt confused and in denial about how hate finally won this election. How did it gain so much momentum in the first place?

Regardless of if you agree with the goals of the movement, you have to admit that Trump supporters had passion. They were frustrated and felt disadvantaged by the current system. Others felt like our growing diversity threatened their own identities and privilege. And yes, some just voted because they are racist, sexist, homophobic assholes. But I have to, and need to, believe that the latter was just a fraction of what caused us to have these results. I need to believe that if frustration and anger can mobilize people into this direction, that there is a certain power to be understood from those emotions.

As painful as this is, we may need to learn from this fervor. Many of us were passionate the entire time about voting for Hillary and keeping a Democratic platform, while others of us were just complacent. Others had no faith in the system at all and felt it just wasn’t worth it. Regardless of our methodology, we failed in the one thing that bonded us together: stopping Donald Trump.

But that doesn’t meant the fight stops. We need to learn, to grow, and to push hard. We can’t let this hopelessness overtake us. In a time of adversity, the rebellion grows stronger. We need to defend the rights we have, and demand the rights we still need. This can only be done in a collective movement, from local communities to states to the country at large. Just because they have taken the thrones does not mean they have silenced the people.

The next four years comes with a lot of uncertainty, and it’s terrifying. But we must not let the fear immobilize us, or make us move backwards as many Americans have chosen to do. We must surround ourselves with the people who want progress, and try to educate as many people as we can around us. We must teach our children that bullying and intimidation are not acceptable qualities of a leader. We must come together as Americans at a time that we are more divided than ever.

For everyone out there who is LGBTQ, a person of color, a woman, an immigrant, a Muslim- I’m sorry this country has let you down. But we are prepared to stand with you. For all you allies out there, our work is needed now more than ever. So today we may grieve, but tomorrow we fight. And come January, we should be at a point that there is no denying what we will or will not accept as the fate of this country. We will be there, passionate, loud, and perseverant. We will stand our ground, united.

A BINARY IS A WONDERFUL THING TO BREAK: NEW STUDY REJECTS THE IDEA OF “MALE” AND “FEMALE” BRAINS

“I Am Dating Myself Right Now”: Why Being Alone Doesn’t Have To Mean Being Lonely

One of the most valuable things anyone has told me in life is: “Your relationship does not define you.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it hit hard in the moment. Sitting on the bench, overwhelmed with emotions after my ultimate breakup from a long term and long distance relationship, I felt lost. All the plans that I had before, everything that I thought I wanted, no longer was relevant. I left the relationship in order to focus on myself, and once I was alone I quickly entered into an identity crisis. As a reflex, I was trying to convince myself I made a mistake and thought that I needed the relationship to survive.

Next to me, my friend was hitting me with therapy like the saint he is. “Your relationship does not define you. You are not defined by being someone’s girlfriend. Just because your relationship ended, it does not define you as a failure. Yes, your relationship has changed and shaped you over the last two years, but it is not the only thing you are.”

As a twenty-three year old grad student, I hit that wall that everyone pretty much hits at this age. What the hell am I doing with my life? Where am I going? How much of this is in my control? And being in a long distance serious relationship terrified me for this reason. Am I doing the right thing? Am I getting everything that I wanted in life? Is this path set in stone already? How can I give myself to someone else when I do not even know who I am myself?

So I left my relationship. I left the relationship for selfish reasons, but also for the sake of my partner. I left because I felt stagnant and unfinished, but at the same time felt like I was growing so quickly away from my boyfriend. I left because my fear and anxiety were taking over and creating self-hatred. I left because this led to me questioning every aspect of my relationship with this person, instead of respecting him for the kind and generous person that he is. I left because I was hurting him, but by doing so I hurt him even more. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Change is inevitable and teaches us many lessons. Sometimes we resist change, and sometimes we have to embrace it as a means to survive. I’ve always considered my life story as broken apart into different chapters, and while I may be the same main character, I have been heavily influenced by the plot and supporting characters. I’ve learned a lot of lessons, good and bad, and while some chapters have had to end, I still consider them as monumental to my development. And while there are a ton of things I didn’t want to end, I had to accept their termination as a form of closure that has propelled me into the next chapter of my life.

But as I mentally reflected on the storyline so far, I had the disheartening realization that my personal story was mostly about others and not about myself. While there were a few exceptions, (i.e. attending college/grad school and studying abroad) many of my most influential lessons revolved around getting invested in other people’s lives and feeling dejected when things didn’t work out. I would endure a period of depression afterward and then move on to the next character. Of course, some of these characters were friends, but many more of them were crushes. I am pretty much 1 for 20 for requited love, but we’ll save that for another time.

Anyways upon reflection I found that I would put everything on hold for the new person of interest. I would develop an emotional connection with someone, whether platonic or romantic, and channel all of my energy into that. I would feel elated when having conversations with that person, and would make myself available at their easiest convenience. I did not ask for much, but I gave a lot, and in instances a lot more than I should. I would prioritize the person before anything else, including family and other friends. This gave me the reputation as someone who is clingy, and while I hate that term I accept that my attachment style can often lean that way. But in that sense it wasn’t that I wanted to be dependent on that person; I wanted them to be depend on me. Being another person’s “person” to go to was the greatest role I could ever play in life, but the repercussions  of being in an one-sided relationship always took their toll in the end.

Being in that role, I never learned how to ask for the things I wanted or, more importantly, needed. I was terrified of being called clingy, and I already felt like a burden upon others. It was my duty to play therapist for my friends and crushes, but I never sought out therapy (informal or formal) for my own vices and insecurities. I would take friendship losses and unrequited love quite personally, and have dealt with a lot of self-disrespect over the years. These patterns have become so engrained that they have impacted my friendships and my relationships, and it is hard for me to feel fulfilled even when the mutual respect is there.

I’ve never known who I truly am without the friends and relationships in my life, and the fear of being alone has always propelled me toward another person. Of course there are stable traits and temperament that reflect me as a human being, but my goals and aspirations have always been motivated by fulfilling the needs of other people. Moving to a new city and starting a new chapter gave me the realization that my entire life is still out there. I have never in my life had so much control over what my future holds. This realization terrified me at first, and I immediately ran to my friends and boyfriend for guidance. I wanted someone to tell me what to do. It took me 23 years to realize how fucked up that was.

Some of you may be wondering why I couldn’t just be independent within my own relationship and make choices for myself with the support of another person. I know my ex wonders that, and I know many guys wonder that when their girlfriends ultimately decide they need to find themselves after being in a long-term relationship during their early-mid twenties. I thoroughly asked myself the same question, criticizing myself for the relationship that I was giving up and the fact that now I would be alone. And therein lies the answer.

Ever since preschool, I have had crushes on boys. From the day we are born, girls are socialized into a heteronormative society that places emphasis on heterosexual relationships as the main goal of our existence. Look at Disney movies and rom-coms. We are told that we deserve love and to seek out relationships with men in order to receive that love. The emphasis is placed on love between partners, while society neglects to acknowledge the strong roles that platonic love and familial love can play. For my whole life I wanted to be in a relationship. I resented being single because it did not fit in with the image of what a girl or woman should be. I wanted a boyfriend, and more importantly I wanted to be someone’s girlfriend. It took me 20 years to get there, and while I can say it was well worth the wait, I invested a lot of time and energy on unworthy men to get there. I sacrificed things that I thought were important in order to please them. I created drama and destroyed friendships in the process, and spent a lot of time in self-loathing states of emptiness. While the relationship I had with my most recent partner was healthy and mostly fulfilling, I still felt like something was missing. And even though my boyfriend did not limit my growth or explicitly judge me for any of my decisions, I created expectations for myself about what it means to be a girlfriend in a committed serious partnership.

It is my opinion that we are all encouraged as children to do what we want with our lives, but men have a much easier road to walk down. They are constantly encouraged to be competitive and earn what they deserve from early on in life. Women on the other hand have to tiptoe on tightropes of contradiction throughout their lives: be modest but sexy, be empowered but submissive, be likeable but reserved. We are taught that one of our biggest goals in life is to find a boyfriend or husband. We are socialized to do everything in our means to achieve that goal: have perfect hair, shave everything else, and be the trifecta of cute smart and funny. But rarely is the mainstream message focused on our own self-development. I was never taught to take care of my mental health and to spend time focusing on loving myself before loving another person. I don’t recall being encouraged to take risks or push myself out of my comfort zone as a girl. I don’t remember being told that I deserve and can work hard for the things I wanted out of life, and I don’t remember spending a lot of time soul searching either. So as a 23 year old woman, I am starting to have these realizations that I need to actually grab hold and focus on these things. I’m scrambling to take charge and make decisions that I might have been able to focus on earlier if I was born with a dick.

Right now, it’s all about the push forward. I have been pushing myself to do things that I need to do for myself right now, and some are easier than others. I am listening to my gut when things don’t feel right anymore and inducing change where I feel like it needs to happen. I am doing many of the things that I always wanted to do but was too immobilized by other people’s judgments. I’m throwing caution into the wind, because I know at least that if I fail it was from my own volition. It is something that feels empowering to me, but it is a shame that I have to be alone to do it.

I understand that being alone is not a viable option in life, and I understand that I am not completely alone right now. I have friends and family who support my decisions, even if they don’t understand them all the time. And when they don’t support my decisions, I’ve learned to not give a fuck if I am doing something that is crucial for my own self development. But being alone and being self-driven is the step that I needed to take after 23 years of being afraid. I realize that sitting with your thoughts is lonely sometimes, but if you give yourself the attention you deserve you will reap the rewards. You will learn a lot about yourself and your life desires separate from the influence of others. But, if you are like me, you might have to sacrifice some comfort to get to that point. Sometimes to break from the mold you have to make an 180 and do some recon of the past. Sometimes you have to go through pain and initially hurt others, but if not doing that means a lifetime of doubt and fear, then I argue that the suffering is worth it.

So yes, right now I am single. I tell people that I am on “Boy Lent” or that “I am dating myself right now.” Those statements usually generate scoffs and sarcasm, which is understandable. But I really don’t care. I spent my whole life not wanting to be single, and ironically that is what I want and need right now. I want to address the things that I have been putting off for all these years, and I want to build myself to be a better person. I want to date myself right now. I want to enthusiastically listen to my thoughts and encourage myself to work on the things that are holding me back. I want to tell myself that I am beautiful even on my worst days, and that I deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. I want to stop criticizing myself for the things that I’ve done wrong and instead reward myself for the things I’ve done right. I’ve always relied on other people’s love for validation and happiness, and now I need to rely on my own love.

I am single, but that does not define who I am. I am not a failure because I am no longer in a relationship; I refuse to acknowledge something as failure when it is something that helped you grow and learn a lot about yourself. I am single because I want to be independent, and more importantly I need to be independent right now. I need this change and hard work to mean something right now, and to mean something in the future. It is my gut feeling and it is my inner drive propelling me through life right now.

Not everyone may understand or agree with the choices I am making right now, but I have spent a lifetime trying to please others and right now I just want to please myself. I am a firm believer in everything happening for a reason, even the shitty stuff. Fate is tricky sometimes, and sometimes you need to look her in the eye and question everything in order to figure out what you want. Hopefully she will reward me for my badassery.

As Ru Paul says, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you going to love somebody else?”

Can I get an Amen?

 

 

No Longer A Beautiful or Unique Snowflake

Recently I had a moment of weakness and downloaded Tinder. Tinder and I have had a love-hate (well mostly hate-hate) relationship for the last three years or so. On one hand, I find the act of scrolling through people like you’re looking for that one ripe avocado in the store is kind of preposterous. That avocado might look ripe, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that it is, and you are never going to know unless you get your hands on it and feel it out (I’m regretting those choice of words there but you catch my drift). On the other hand, as a socially awkward girl who fails quite frequently, it is nice to be able to build a profile the way you want and to hide behind sarcastic humor and gifs when talking to a new person. I can usually come across more as my true self online because I have enough time to process and obsessively think about what I’m going to write as my next message.

I’ve never had much luck on Tinder. For the few days I’ve used in in my lifetime, there were no spectacular matches or conversations that lasted more than a few responses. But this time, I matched with somebody who was attractive and seemed to be just as socially awkward as I was. We had a three hour long conversation the first night, and the interest kept growing for over a week before we even met. He texted me every day, had thorough and thoughtful conversations with me, and expressed that he was very excited to meet me. When we finally met, we packed two dates into one day and had 7 hours of endless conversation with each other and had quite an enjoyable time. There were intentions to spend more time together and an eagerness to get to know each other more.

And then the inevitable Tinder situation happened. Our conversations died down after that date. He was no longer the one texting me, and I would have to reach out to him. I tried to give as much space as I could, but was still trying to make it known that I was available and happy to meet up again whenever he liked. After two days of silence and a text that went unanswered for days, I realized I had been ghosted.

Look, I’m not that naive. I know what Tinder is for, and I know that this shit happens all the time. I knew that he still had a profile upon on Tinder and was probably going on other dates. He probably thought the same of me.

Being ghosted sucks, but that’s not what hurt the most from this. What hurt the most was being treated like I was some great discovery to him and then finding out that was not the case anymore. When someone hears that they are “the most interesting person I’ve ever met” or “the cutest person I’ve ever seen” or “you have a beautiful mind” or “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” you best bet that they are blushing and gleeful at the sound. When someone persistently reaches out to you, expresses their eagerness to spend time with you, and asks when they can see you again, it kinda makes you think that that person is interested in seeing you right? When someone sends heart emojis and kissing emojis constantly, and Snapchats of flowers and other romantic shit, is it foolish to think that that someone likes you?

Apparently it is. Or apparently these words mean nothing in the course of online dating. When discussing this ordeal with friends, they said that similar things had happened to them. There was this intense interest from the boy (and yes, no matter what their age is they are all boys) from the beginning, a wonderful date, promises for the future, and then nothing. Nada. Zilch. Ghosted.

Oh, and if you were wondering what my response to this Tinder boy was after I was ghosted: I sent him a balanced message of honesty and feminist bitchery explaining that if he was no longer interested in seeing me, that he should have been honest about it because we are fucking adults, instead of passively asking when we could hang again but never making an effort to actually go through with it. And spoiler, I got no response. He still watches all my Snapchats though so I know that at least he’s not fucking dead in a ditch somewhere. Good for him.

Recently I had a conversation with a male friend to see what it was like on the other side of the gate. I had explained what had happened with me, and while he sympathized with me for my disappointment, he mentioned that a girl had also called him out for the same reason and he was thrown off by her tone. She called him out on treating her like she was special (see the similarities here) and then just disappearing. His response was that being on dating apps he had assumed that they both were just dating other people and were not that serious. He wondered why she would get attached so easily if she knew what environment she was getting herself into.

Let me break it down for you boys.

For our entire fucking lives, girls are taught that they are supposed to be with boys. From Disney movies to rom-coms, we are taught to find a boy that makes us feel special and wanted. So when a guy enters our lives and treats us like the motherfucking princesses we are, we usually believe in what that guy is saying and are happy that it’s finally happening to us. Even if we are on Tinder or Bumble or whatever, we think that we found the fluke in the system and that this person actually thinks we’re the shit.

So when that gets taken away from us, we wonder what the hell went wrong. Does he not find me attractive enough? Is he dating other people and found someone else? Is he keeping me on the backburner for booty calls and late night Netflix & Chills? What happened to the talk of going to Dave & Busters or trying that new cafè that just opened up? What happened to those enthusiastic conversations we used to have?

So yeah, maybe boys are involved in that socialization too. Maybe that they have also learned that they need to woo and charm girls in order to get them interested. Maybe the boys were really interested in the beginning, but the timing and memento is just not right. Maybe they don’t know that they are doing anything wrong. I mean, I’m sure there are some guys out there who are just assholes, but I gotta have hope that it’s not the whole male population right?

Nevertheless boys, use your fucking brains for once. Are you saying these things as empty compliments, or do you actually mean them? Is that girl only special for the first three days you talk and then she loses that sparkle once you enter her presence? Think about all those things you said to those girls before you get confused or startled when they blow up in your face for not texting them back or ghosting them out. Think about what you really want from this interaction, and be honest about it. Why is it so hard for people to be honest during this age of dating? Your decisions are not set in stone, and people change their minds all the time. But if your change of intentions is affecting somebody else, try to be empathetic and understand their end of the bargain. Everyone hates being ghosted and would prefer to be told the truth, but no one wants to go and tell the truth themselves. It’s time to grab your balls or breasts or whatever you have at your disposal and just communicate.

It seems that I may never know if that guy was really interested or not, and why things fell apart at the end, and that’s something that gets to stay in the part of my brain that anxiety likes to activate at 2am on a Sunday. But this type of situation happens to too many of my friends, and I am sure it has happened to some guys as well. So if you are adult enough to meet a complete stranger and go on a date/do whatever with them, then you should be adult enough to be honest about your intentions with that person and update them if things change. It’s 2016 guys, let’s get our shit together.

 

Panic! At the Discomfort That Keeps Me Up At Night

It always starts with the breathing. For something that is so natural and normally inconspicuous, it sure feels like I’m trying to blow up a balloon that has multiple holes poked in it. My chest fills with hot air and discomfort as my heart beats erratically. The more I pay attention, the worse it gets.

I take a deep breath in, and exhale forcefully.

My mind floods with thoughts. Calm down Erin, you’re fine. You’ve been through this before. You’re not dying. Why do you always act this way? It’s literally 11pm on a Monday and you haven’t done anything all day. There’s nothing that stressful for tomorrow. You’re overreacting. Stop. Stop. STOP.

I take another deep breath in, and expel the hot air.

My vision goes in and out of focus. Sometimes it feels like the room is spinning and I’m about to pass out, and sometimes it just feels like I’m tipsy. The latter always feels light, but in the most unnerving way possible. My limbs feel like they are tingling and I’m not sure if I even inhabit this body anymore. I feel like if I cry I might feel better, but it never happens. My ears ring with static and it’s deafening.

Another breath, this time in for three seconds and out for seven. That’s what all the experts say.

I pace the room. I stretch. I lay down. I flip over. Flip again. Switch my pillow. Put my hair up. Change my clothing. Turn off the light. The darkness only makes it worse. I turn the light back on again.

Breathe. In and Out.

By this point I feel like I’ve been hiking with a 50lb backpack on my shoulder for hours. My muscles ache, and I can’t seem to get comfortable. I feel exhausted yet I can’t sleep. This is the third night in a row.

This time I try to take a deep breathe in, but it shocks my chest and I hyperventilate mildly for a moment.

Oh god what am I doing here? If I can’t handle a normal Monday night, how can I handle school? My job? My relationships? My body, mind, and spirit? Why am I such a failure? I wish I had someone to call, but it’s 3am and everyone’s asle–What was that noise?! Here comes the adrenaline.

In and out.

I’ve tried the body relaxation techniques. The meditation. The deep-breathing exercises. The soothing rainforest sounds and the thunderstorm tracks. They always result in more frustration and exasperation. I put on my headphones and try to listen to an album, but the feeling of falling always sends shockwaves to my system.

One two three, one two three four five six seven.

I turn on the TV. Actions and dramas give me more anxiety. My mind can’t focus on a movie. I settle for something light and comedic, like Family Guy. It eases some of the worrying, but my bodily symptoms persist. Sometimes it tires me out, and I roll over and fall asleep. Sometimes it triggers my OCD and I have to continue watching until the sun comes up. Either way, my incessant worrying and feelings of impending doom tarnish my slumber. I wake up exhausted, or I can’t seem to wake up at all.

When I force myself out of bed, I take in a breath and it feels like I’ve been smoking.

I wonder if today will be the same, or if I will finally get a break from this cycle. The worrying starts again.

Republican’t and Won’t Give a Fuck

Ahh friends, it’s another somber day in America when all I want to do is scream at the screen for the stupidity of politicians in our government.

House of Reps just passed a bill that would defund Planned Parenthood for a year (which is just their way of saying, “Yeah, and then as soon as we get one of our homeboys in there for the next term it will be gone FOREVER.”) Many say that this is just symbolic, and that it’s gonna get shut down as soon as it hits Congress. Yeah, probably, but that’s the point. It’s symbolic of hegemonic masculinity, symbolic of patriarchy, and symbolic of the fact that Republican’s don’t give a fuck about affordable health care for women.

All of the fuss is about abortions. All of us women are just yearning to get accidentally prego, shoot the little one, and sell it off to the highest bidder. It’s bull shit. I respect other people’s views on abortion being negative. But I also respect that idea that women should have the choice to do what they want with their bodies. I highly doubt that anyone actually likes abortions. It’s not a comfortable procedure, there’s a ton of emotion surrounding the choice, and yes, it is the lost of a potential child. But I am pro-choice. I will not get in the way of a woman who decides that, because of the circumstances, she can not have a child at that time. Maybe middle to upper class white families think that, if you get pregnant, it’s your responsibility and you will care for that child (you know, with the help of emotional and economic support of your family and friends). Not everyone is rewarded with such a luxury. Not all women who get abortions are women who are just “promiscuous” and refuse to use a condom. Don’t let your fucking privilege get in the way of seeing that people need to make different choices in their lives, and they may be in incredibly different circumstances than you are.

Oh and anybody can create an “undercover” video and edit it to their favor. Get some media literacy in your lives and be critical of that shit. They’re not selling fucking body parts on the black market. If they harvest a fetus, it is at the permission of the mother, and it is DONATED to medical research. In the same way that you sign that part of your driver’s license that allows your body to be donated once you die. It’s used for the research of healthcare for newborns, to ensure that more children make it past the birthing process. So yeah, you are losing lives in abortions, but at least not all of those lives are wasted.

WHY do we have to focus on abortions so much? We get it, people are always gonna be on one end or the other. But to defund an entire program for something that it spends 3% of its profits on… (I understand this is misleading statistic, since more data shows that 12% of procedures are actually abortions. Yes, I actually read more than one article when informing my opinions about something AMERICA)…and those profits are not federally funded. Title IX prohibits the use of public funds to be used for abortions (although exceptions are made in extreme cases). Even so, people say that any form of funding supporting abortions or the morning after pill are bad. I would just like to point out that all of this hatred is directed at Planned Parenthood, despite the fact that other places provide abortions and drugstores commonly sell morning-after pills. Is it only okay that these exist in places that people of middle to upper classes can access? Oh but we can’t have them available affordably. I never see picketing outside of hospitals or CVS for the transactions that transpire in there.

I also want to point out that the majority of the services Planned Parenthood provide are meant to PREVENT unwanted pregnancies, therefore PREVENTING the need for an abortion. They also allow women to keep their bodies healthy. About 12% of women in the US will develop breast cancer in their lifetime, and thousands of women will contract some sort of uterine, vaginal, or cervical cancer this year. Planned Parenthood provides essential screening processes and pap smears that could help the millions of women at risk each year. Planned Parenthood provides affordable birth control and STI screening/treatment for women AND MEN, and the former acts as a preventative method for the latter.

Planned Parenthood is effective at keeping women healthy and providing them the choice to take care of their body at an affordable cost. Defunding Planned Parenthood would block millions of women and men from receiving care that could protect their bodies. Abortion is a sticky stain on the rather beautiful garment that is Planned Parenthood. Don’t throw it away just because you don’t like the look of imperfection.

Oh and most importantly, CHECK YOUR FACTS. Here’s a good article: http://www.npr.org/sections/itsallpolitics/2015/08/05/429641062/fact-check-how-does-planned-parenthood-spend-that-government-money

Guess Who’s Back, Back Again

It’s been a year since I first created this blog! How time flies…

Don’t know if y’all missed me, but after working full time, quitting, having a summer of travel, and starting graduate school (yes, I finally did it!), it’s good to be back.

Coming back to school and taking courses on gender and sexuality and working on some racial literacy research has reignited my passion to start discussing all the crazy shit that’s going on around us; stuff that we either don’t see or we choose to ignore.

It’s amazing how much self-realization comes from reading one research article. Part of the reason I’m drawn to academia is that feeling when you read something and go “Holy shit!” or “Wow, how did I not realize that before?” Sometimes that realization is inspiring, and sometimes it’s downright haunting.

Today I found myself recapping a situation in my life that I had praised as an achievement in my heterosexuality, only to find myself realizing that what went on wasn’t really consensual. My first hookup was a very public display, with friends even cheering on behind me. What progressed became more private in a secluded area. Telling the story afterward and ever since has always been a joke to me, saying “Oh he pressured me to go have sex with him in the woods but I obviously rejected that.” Like I’m not that foolish and I was in my own control. But what started as excitement for me as a new experience changed into me feeling uncomfortable and not into it anymore, and just wanting to go back inside to the party to find my friends. Honestly I just stood there and let things happen to me because I thought that’s what came with “hooking up” and I wasn’t doing “the sex” so I thought I was still holding myself to my standards.

It makes my stomach hurt to only think about this now, three years afterward. Many of you will say this isn’t a big deal and you weren’t raped and yeah, I understand worse things could have happened. But I wasn’t fully present, I wasn’t into it, and I didn’t really give consent. But I didn’t push him away either. These are the tricky aspects of sexual assault that millions of women are trying to deal with everyday. How are we supposed to define sexual assault? Does it need to be traumatic? Does some sort of sex have to happen? Or do we need to make up a new word for “Hey, I felt uncomfortable and not into it but I didn’t know how to express that without feeling like a loser”? Most women can provide a story like this, and society usually just says hey that’s the way things go and it’s not a big deal. Maybe in your hierarchy this isn’t considered the biggest deal, but if this incident is happening to millions of women, then it’s a problem and it probably should be addressed. Whether that is stressing consent, or encouraging women to speak up about what they want or don’t want, we need to acknowledge the patterns happening in our lives.

Just some food for thought.