I'm getting ready for big change. That's scary. This is more like a series of changes, culminating in relocation and a completely new life and career path. It's not the farthest move I've ever made, but it is certainly among the most significant.
Packing up this apartment is going to be incredibly strange. I've lived here for three years now. That's the longest time I've ever lived in an apartment. This is the first place that was ever just mine, and I arrived here at such a critical moment. I feel like the entire time I've been here has been one huge purging process, and it's time to begin the final stage. There are pieces of my life I want to lose, pieces I want to destroy, and pieces I can't let go yet. Yesterday, I brought a trunkload to goodwill, and I can only hope that some young drag king loses his breath over Christopher Crash's very first pair of shitkicker boots. It stings to cull my keepsakes to What I Want to Carry Again.
There are different ground rules at every move. This time,
1. If it doesn't fit me, it will fit someone else.
2. I never want to see his handwriting again.
3. If I don't know why I have it, I don't need it.
4. "It once belonged to Peter" is no longer sufficient.
This time, I get to move twice instead of once. I can't stay in my apartment for as long as I need to be in town, so I'm moving in with my person for two months of the summer. I'm excited to live together, and I hope they find a job that will let them join me in my new place this fall. It's becoming less and less surprising to remember that our relationship is healthy. I want this supportive relationship in the next part of my life.
What can I live without for the summer? What can I live without? What do I need for a temporary place to feel like home? What will I need to find immediately once I get where I'm ultimately going?
Lists, calendars, and countdowns.
Showing posts with label specific. Show all posts
Showing posts with label specific. Show all posts
04 March 2018
05 September 2015
evolving views on childbearing
I'm surrounded by pregnant women at work. I am fascinated, occasionally disgusted, and above all, deeply respectful. I honor the courage and the strength that it takes to use your body to bring a new life into the world.
Two women have accepted my hand on their bellies this year. The first was a peer, pregnant with her first child. I watched others touch her to feel her baby move for months before shyly asking, at the baby shower the day before she went on maternity leave, if I could feel the baby, because I hadn't yet. The baby fluttered just the tiniest bit. It was the first time I can remember feeling an infant before it was born. When I held her in my arms later, I sat in awe of this tiny life.
The second was a woman in her early forties who was pregnant with her third. At the impromptu cake send-off we had for her, she saw me standing in a corner, said, "You haven't felt her yet. Here," and placed both my hands on her belly. She then proceeded to shake it with her own hands to rouse the baby, who responded by squirming--not much, but definitely moving limbs. I have learned so much from her mother's openness.
In a way, I feel fortunate that I have frequent cause to consider my decisions about children. This way, I know that my choices are my own, and I feel confident in them. I used to be certain that I wanted to raise children, and now I'm not so sure. I have no interest in parenting alone. If I build a life with a partner who wants children, I am open to sharing parenthood. At this point, I feel no desire to carry and birth a baby. There are plenty of children in the world who need homes. I am committed to adopting rather than reproducing.
All things may change.
Two women have accepted my hand on their bellies this year. The first was a peer, pregnant with her first child. I watched others touch her to feel her baby move for months before shyly asking, at the baby shower the day before she went on maternity leave, if I could feel the baby, because I hadn't yet. The baby fluttered just the tiniest bit. It was the first time I can remember feeling an infant before it was born. When I held her in my arms later, I sat in awe of this tiny life.
The second was a woman in her early forties who was pregnant with her third. At the impromptu cake send-off we had for her, she saw me standing in a corner, said, "You haven't felt her yet. Here," and placed both my hands on her belly. She then proceeded to shake it with her own hands to rouse the baby, who responded by squirming--not much, but definitely moving limbs. I have learned so much from her mother's openness.
In a way, I feel fortunate that I have frequent cause to consider my decisions about children. This way, I know that my choices are my own, and I feel confident in them. I used to be certain that I wanted to raise children, and now I'm not so sure. I have no interest in parenting alone. If I build a life with a partner who wants children, I am open to sharing parenthood. At this point, I feel no desire to carry and birth a baby. There are plenty of children in the world who need homes. I am committed to adopting rather than reproducing.
All things may change.
12 August 2015
Good weather days
Today was a perfect weather day in Pittsburgh. Sunny, upper 70s, low humidity. I decided early on not to take those for granted. In college, that translated to a lot of time spent outside. I remember when S* and I used to read on Schenley Plaza and watch dads play with their kids.
The last few days have all been relatively good, for weather, and I have spent most of my time inside. By choice. The truth is, today was a perfect weather day, and while that made it pleasant for being outside, it also made it enjoyable to be in my living room. The afternoon sun streamed in the back window, with an occasional breeze blowing through. The thermostat peaked at 80 degrees (low, since June). I wanted to be in my home. I even wanted to be in my kitchen! (I made hummus with a potato masher. It wasn't bad, for my first go at making hummus! Now I know how easy it is and how I want to season it.) I did spend some time sitting out on the fire escape, wearing sunglasses and drinking a beer.
Even though I didn't spend much time outside, I'm sure I didn't take this good weather day for granted. I enjoyed being in my home. I felt safe and comfortable in my nest. It feels good to be here. That is important time to have.
The last few days have all been relatively good, for weather, and I have spent most of my time inside. By choice. The truth is, today was a perfect weather day, and while that made it pleasant for being outside, it also made it enjoyable to be in my living room. The afternoon sun streamed in the back window, with an occasional breeze blowing through. The thermostat peaked at 80 degrees (low, since June). I wanted to be in my home. I even wanted to be in my kitchen! (I made hummus with a potato masher. It wasn't bad, for my first go at making hummus! Now I know how easy it is and how I want to season it.) I did spend some time sitting out on the fire escape, wearing sunglasses and drinking a beer.
Even though I didn't spend much time outside, I'm sure I didn't take this good weather day for granted. I enjoyed being in my home. I felt safe and comfortable in my nest. It feels good to be here. That is important time to have.
29 March 2014
Pitt Drag Show.
Wow. fragmented thoughts. incomplete thinking. moving by sense. everything just happened.
dressing room with strangers and some friends. coloring a sign on the floor, signing a waiver not to fall off the stage, so many things have changed and so many are still the same. I had to keep reminding myself: "This is not my job."
Putting on face. Binding my breasts with Gorilla Tape. Borrowing a packer from my husband (what?). I couldn't keep the smile off my face when I listened to my song for the last time, backstage while Marsha began to introduce the show.
My brain was so disorganized. I kept putting things down and then losing them when they were right in front of me. I got cranky with C and that's not fair. I pulled it together.
Watching baby queens and "try anything once" kings and my brothers asked me to join them on stage. Not gonna lie, it felt really good to be the first person who appeared on stage as Marsha announced "Hot Metal Hardware." The boys who put that number together did an incredible job. I experienced a new side of each of five kings I know, some of whom I've known for a long time. It was an honor to be included.
I can't wait to see the video.
I'm not sure how to write about my number. There's a very pretty page in a very playful new journal about it. I don't think I want to give you the plot summary, or talk about how it went, because some of you will see it and I want you to experience it the way you need to, without my bias. I am proud of what I made, and so grateful to the people who helped me make it. This was a life-changing performance for me.
Oh, and I really enjoyed being in drag and not being an asshole. This new Christopher Crash might just work out.
dressing room with strangers and some friends. coloring a sign on the floor, signing a waiver not to fall off the stage, so many things have changed and so many are still the same. I had to keep reminding myself: "This is not my job."
Putting on face. Binding my breasts with Gorilla Tape. Borrowing a packer from my husband (what?). I couldn't keep the smile off my face when I listened to my song for the last time, backstage while Marsha began to introduce the show.
My brain was so disorganized. I kept putting things down and then losing them when they were right in front of me. I got cranky with C and that's not fair. I pulled it together.
Watching baby queens and "try anything once" kings and my brothers asked me to join them on stage. Not gonna lie, it felt really good to be the first person who appeared on stage as Marsha announced "Hot Metal Hardware." The boys who put that number together did an incredible job. I experienced a new side of each of five kings I know, some of whom I've known for a long time. It was an honor to be included.
I can't wait to see the video.
I'm not sure how to write about my number. There's a very pretty page in a very playful new journal about it. I don't think I want to give you the plot summary, or talk about how it went, because some of you will see it and I want you to experience it the way you need to, without my bias. I am proud of what I made, and so grateful to the people who helped me make it. This was a life-changing performance for me.
Oh, and I really enjoyed being in drag and not being an asshole. This new Christopher Crash might just work out.
04 January 2014
2013
2013 was supposed to be our year. And it was, in many ways. 2013 was the year we became us, or started becoming us. I probably won't know which is true for a long time.
2013 started with a journey from Boston to Florida for C's top surgery. That was an incredibly powerful experience, on so many levels. I feel as if that trip was the first big life thing we did together, bigger than moving and buying furniture and getting engaged. It affirmed him, and because we did it together, it affirmed us.
In February, we got the news that we could move back to Pittsburgh. Three weeks later, in early March, we left Boston and arrived back home. It's been a rocky adjustment period, and one that I don't feel is complete. There are still occasionally days that I find myself confused to be here.
Three months after moving, in June, we got married. We had a beautiful day, surrounded by close family & friends who made sure we didn't need to worry about a thing. We had deeply spiritual moments, and deeply silly moments, and about as perfect a wedding as we could have hoped for. We finally hung the prayer flags on which our guests wrote their hopes for our marriage, and it feels empowering to have their positive energies present in our home.
I struggled during summer vacation. The lack of routine was very difficult for me, which contributed to the summer being challenging for us. When I went back to work in August, I was faced with a lot of work-related stress, which is slowly starting to improve as I get more comfortable with my role and my caseload.
At the beginning of December, my best friend died in a car crash. 2013 ended in the most acute grief I have ever experienced. It's been interesting to learn through the experience of grief. What a strange thing human emotions are.
I spent much of 2013 in a relatively dark place. We have experienced a lot of change, and a lot of big changes, in the past year, and I have not adjusted well to most of them. I'm trying to find resolve to make 2014 so much better.
2013 started with a journey from Boston to Florida for C's top surgery. That was an incredibly powerful experience, on so many levels. I feel as if that trip was the first big life thing we did together, bigger than moving and buying furniture and getting engaged. It affirmed him, and because we did it together, it affirmed us.
In February, we got the news that we could move back to Pittsburgh. Three weeks later, in early March, we left Boston and arrived back home. It's been a rocky adjustment period, and one that I don't feel is complete. There are still occasionally days that I find myself confused to be here.
Three months after moving, in June, we got married. We had a beautiful day, surrounded by close family & friends who made sure we didn't need to worry about a thing. We had deeply spiritual moments, and deeply silly moments, and about as perfect a wedding as we could have hoped for. We finally hung the prayer flags on which our guests wrote their hopes for our marriage, and it feels empowering to have their positive energies present in our home.
I struggled during summer vacation. The lack of routine was very difficult for me, which contributed to the summer being challenging for us. When I went back to work in August, I was faced with a lot of work-related stress, which is slowly starting to improve as I get more comfortable with my role and my caseload.
At the beginning of December, my best friend died in a car crash. 2013 ended in the most acute grief I have ever experienced. It's been interesting to learn through the experience of grief. What a strange thing human emotions are.
I spent much of 2013 in a relatively dark place. We have experienced a lot of change, and a lot of big changes, in the past year, and I have not adjusted well to most of them. I'm trying to find resolve to make 2014 so much better.
02 April 2013
coming home
so we're back in pittsburgh.
that was really just a matter of time. it ended up happening much more quickly than we anticipated. we had been talking about moving back to pittsburgh in a year or two, if the right opportunity presented itself (and maybe if one didn't). i got a call mid-february about a potential job in a place i did an internship in grad school, and three weeks later we were here. it took us one week to find and move into a new place, and i started work two days later. that was two weeks ago.
boston sent us off with a raging blizzard. exactly the goodbye we would have expected.
i'm not going to pretend that i've been able to process everything that's happening. i don't think it's likely to happen while i'm writing this post. we are home, surrounded by family. that's really all that matters.
that was really just a matter of time. it ended up happening much more quickly than we anticipated. we had been talking about moving back to pittsburgh in a year or two, if the right opportunity presented itself (and maybe if one didn't). i got a call mid-february about a potential job in a place i did an internship in grad school, and three weeks later we were here. it took us one week to find and move into a new place, and i started work two days later. that was two weeks ago.
boston sent us off with a raging blizzard. exactly the goodbye we would have expected.
i'm not going to pretend that i've been able to process everything that's happening. i don't think it's likely to happen while i'm writing this post. we are home, surrounded by family. that's really all that matters.
06 February 2013
2012/2013
opened up the laptop for the first time in months. all of january went by without a blog post. priorities shift.
i haven't written any sort of a reflection on 2012. the beginning of 2013 just held so much.
2012 was the first year i spent on a calendar year instead of an academic one. the academic year still held sway in my life, but i didn't get three months off work and i had students for the entire month of july. i worked in the same position at the same job from january through december. we moved to a new apartment in august. we adopted a cat in september. changes happened. maybe one of the biggest is that i started to really think of us as "we."
when we moved into our first apartment together, it was filled with my things and his things. now that we are in our second home, it is filled with our things. it just feels perfectly natural. more things are shared than are not.
2013 is our year. we have already made one tremendous journey together--not only to a different part of the country, but through top surgery. i didn't even know it was possible to feel this happy for another person. i feel so blessed to see him recognize himself. i am honored to be the partner he chose to see him through this. i have learned so much through this process already about what it means to be his partner, and we are continuing to learn.
i feel a shift in my life. i like the direction i am moving.
i haven't written any sort of a reflection on 2012. the beginning of 2013 just held so much.
2012 was the first year i spent on a calendar year instead of an academic one. the academic year still held sway in my life, but i didn't get three months off work and i had students for the entire month of july. i worked in the same position at the same job from january through december. we moved to a new apartment in august. we adopted a cat in september. changes happened. maybe one of the biggest is that i started to really think of us as "we."
when we moved into our first apartment together, it was filled with my things and his things. now that we are in our second home, it is filled with our things. it just feels perfectly natural. more things are shared than are not.
2013 is our year. we have already made one tremendous journey together--not only to a different part of the country, but through top surgery. i didn't even know it was possible to feel this happy for another person. i feel so blessed to see him recognize himself. i am honored to be the partner he chose to see him through this. i have learned so much through this process already about what it means to be his partner, and we are continuing to learn.
i feel a shift in my life. i like the direction i am moving.
05 October 2012
on neighbours
today i was reminded to pay attention to my neighbors. the people in closest proximity to me, who are experiencing the same things as i am on a moment-to-moment basis. today my neighbors included:
-the non-heteronormative appearing Black woman who sat across from me on the T and made faces at a toddler whose mama was more interested in her phone than in her child.
-Dave, the working-class man with a strong Boston accent (which neighborhood, i could still not tell you) who struck up a conversation with me at the trolley stop by asking about my hair (buzzed again, surprise!) and proceeded to carry a conversation with me for at least 45 minutes until i got off the train. he was super friendly and really interesting to listen to and connect with. he has a daughter about my age. and he told me he'll give me a copy of his demo cd the next time we see each other.
-the two young Asian women who said "excuse me" while i was talking with a friend on a street corner and asked me to take their picture...how do you say no to that?
-the Latino family taking wedding pictures...the bride and the little girl were both in elaborate dresses. the flower girl looked like she was thoroughly enjoying poofing her big skirt.
-the employees at the liquor store and the chain burrito place where we stopped on the way home. who looked me in the eyes, and who didn't.
-the boy (college-aged?) who thanked me as he moved past me to get out of the crowded train, and the way i thanked him for making it so convenient for me to sit down. (lessons in femme courtesy only ever happen naturally and by accident.)
-the gaggle of irish students staying in boston for a 7-week term, especially the girl sitting on the end of the row with her bright red hair who sang, "i cannot wait to go back to ireland!" the others asked her why, and she told them she misses her good friends and her good family and a gestural expression of frustration with people from here that i would do a disservice by describing. i asked her how long she's staying here, and she told me five more weeks. she asked me where i'm from. i only thought about it for a moment before saying, "pittsburgh." she repeated it, "pittsburgh," with an unmistakably knowing nod. "do you like it here?"
"not as much as i liked it there."
"so are you often making long trips?"
"not often enough."
"ah, because of like work stuff?"
"yeah, stuff like that."
as i got off the train i made sure to tell them to have fun and enjoy their stay. there's so much cool stuff to explore.
-the non-heteronormative appearing Black woman who sat across from me on the T and made faces at a toddler whose mama was more interested in her phone than in her child.
-Dave, the working-class man with a strong Boston accent (which neighborhood, i could still not tell you) who struck up a conversation with me at the trolley stop by asking about my hair (buzzed again, surprise!) and proceeded to carry a conversation with me for at least 45 minutes until i got off the train. he was super friendly and really interesting to listen to and connect with. he has a daughter about my age. and he told me he'll give me a copy of his demo cd the next time we see each other.
-the two young Asian women who said "excuse me" while i was talking with a friend on a street corner and asked me to take their picture...how do you say no to that?
-the Latino family taking wedding pictures...the bride and the little girl were both in elaborate dresses. the flower girl looked like she was thoroughly enjoying poofing her big skirt.
-the employees at the liquor store and the chain burrito place where we stopped on the way home. who looked me in the eyes, and who didn't.
-the boy (college-aged?) who thanked me as he moved past me to get out of the crowded train, and the way i thanked him for making it so convenient for me to sit down. (lessons in femme courtesy only ever happen naturally and by accident.)
-the gaggle of irish students staying in boston for a 7-week term, especially the girl sitting on the end of the row with her bright red hair who sang, "i cannot wait to go back to ireland!" the others asked her why, and she told them she misses her good friends and her good family and a gestural expression of frustration with people from here that i would do a disservice by describing. i asked her how long she's staying here, and she told me five more weeks. she asked me where i'm from. i only thought about it for a moment before saying, "pittsburgh." she repeated it, "pittsburgh," with an unmistakably knowing nod. "do you like it here?"
"not as much as i liked it there."
"so are you often making long trips?"
"not often enough."
"ah, because of like work stuff?"
"yeah, stuff like that."
as i got off the train i made sure to tell them to have fun and enjoy their stay. there's so much cool stuff to explore.
07 September 2012
Trans* inmates should not receive SRS until we all can.
Federal judge rules state must provide sex reassignment surgery for Michelle Kosilek, who was convicted as a man of murdering his wife (Boston.com)
i support the right of transgender people to medically alter their bodies. i support the right of prisoners to obtain necessary and appropriate medical care. however, i am disgusted by Judge Mark Wolf's ruling that the Massachusetts Department of Corrections must provide sex reassignment surgery for an inmate who is serving a life sentence for the murder of her wife.
the judge ruled that preventing Michelle Lynn Kosilek from undergoing this surgery constitutes "cruel and unusual punishment." i beg to differ. countless transgender people who have never murdered anyone are denied this life-saving medical treatment every day. is that cruel? yes, but it is hardly unusual. gender confirmation surgery can cost upwards of $20,000 and is covered by no major medical insurance plan that i am aware of. some corporations do cover various gender-related surgical procedures for their employees, and some insurance plans cover hormone therapy and other related treatments. it is unconscionable to me that we do not make such treatments accessible to all innocent transgender citizens, but taxpayers are forced to fund them for criminals.
i do believe that transgender inmates should be treated with respect and dignity, and that prisoners generally should receive medical care. house trans* inmates in facilities that correspond with their identities. give prisoners flu vaccines, insulin, and pain relief. i would even feel comfortable funding hormone therapy for trans* prisoners. but there is absolutely no reason why convicted criminals should receive, free of charge, medical treatment that is denied to the general public. that extends far beyond trans*-related medical care: while there are children dying on transplant wait lists, why has any criminal ever received an organ transplant?
refer to Ms Kosilek by her preferred name and pronouns. house her in a women's prison. give her a private cell and washroom if it's necessary to keep her (or other inmates) safe. but while innocent American citizens who pay for their own healthcare--or work three jobs and still can't afford more than Medicaid--are living without access to this potentially life-saving medical treatment, do not provide this convicted murderer with a sex change operation, at the expense of everyone but herself.
i support the right of transgender people to medically alter their bodies. i support the right of prisoners to obtain necessary and appropriate medical care. however, i am disgusted by Judge Mark Wolf's ruling that the Massachusetts Department of Corrections must provide sex reassignment surgery for an inmate who is serving a life sentence for the murder of her wife.
the judge ruled that preventing Michelle Lynn Kosilek from undergoing this surgery constitutes "cruel and unusual punishment." i beg to differ. countless transgender people who have never murdered anyone are denied this life-saving medical treatment every day. is that cruel? yes, but it is hardly unusual. gender confirmation surgery can cost upwards of $20,000 and is covered by no major medical insurance plan that i am aware of. some corporations do cover various gender-related surgical procedures for their employees, and some insurance plans cover hormone therapy and other related treatments. it is unconscionable to me that we do not make such treatments accessible to all innocent transgender citizens, but taxpayers are forced to fund them for criminals.
i do believe that transgender inmates should be treated with respect and dignity, and that prisoners generally should receive medical care. house trans* inmates in facilities that correspond with their identities. give prisoners flu vaccines, insulin, and pain relief. i would even feel comfortable funding hormone therapy for trans* prisoners. but there is absolutely no reason why convicted criminals should receive, free of charge, medical treatment that is denied to the general public. that extends far beyond trans*-related medical care: while there are children dying on transplant wait lists, why has any criminal ever received an organ transplant?
refer to Ms Kosilek by her preferred name and pronouns. house her in a women's prison. give her a private cell and washroom if it's necessary to keep her (or other inmates) safe. but while innocent American citizens who pay for their own healthcare--or work three jobs and still can't afford more than Medicaid--are living without access to this potentially life-saving medical treatment, do not provide this convicted murderer with a sex change operation, at the expense of everyone but herself.
29 July 2012
on language evolution:
as recently as 10-15 years ago, i was taught that "disrespect" was a noun, but not a verb. you could not disrespect someone, but you could show disrespect to someone. even so, everybody used "disrespect" as a verb--"yo, why you disrespectin' me?"--and now, "disrespect" is widely accepted as a verb, and hardly ever used as a noun. i just think it's interesting that i can measure syntactic change in my native language in such a short period of time.
15 December 2011
on, in, and out of iraq
i have always been anti-war, and as my life develops, i find only more reasons to hold that belief.
02 November 2011
Autism DOES speak, but not through neurotypical lobbyists.
When necessary, I will count myself as a neurodiversity activist.
Every now and then, something pops up in my digital universe from Autism Speaks, a national organization whose mission statement reads:
Even more troubling to me is the portion of their current "Founders' Message" that reads:
I have known many people with autism spectrum disorders, and I expect to come to know many more. The ones who thrive have families who accept and understand their differences and support them through the challenges those differences create. People with autism can express themselves and build relationships when they are provided with the tools they need to do so--see also, the reason i became a speech-language pathologist. Everyone uses different means to communicate, and it is my firm belief that everyone has that right. That means that if someone communicates in a different way than you do, you're not off the hook for trying to understand them, and it is NOT your responsibility to try to "fix" the way they communicate, because there is nothing wrong with them.
The reason Autism Speaks appeared in my life again today is because New York state just passed a new law regarding insurance for treatment for autism. On its face, this is a great thing. Tucked inside the article is the following: "[t]he new law will provide coverage of evidence-based, medically necessary autism therapies, such as applied behavior analysis (ABA). It will . . . allow up to $45,000 a year in ABA treatments with no limits on age or number of visits." There is no discussion of other "evidence-based, medically necessary autism therapies."
For those of you who don't know about ABA, it's a cognitive-behavioral therapy system based on Skinnerian psychology. It is the most basic form of behavior modification. Reward desirable behaviors; redirect and/or ignore undesirable ones. Basically, ABA involves training children with autism much the same way you train a dog.
As a clinician who works with people on the autism spectrum (and people with other cognitive differences), I know that behavior modification strategies work. Sometimes, you need to use them. But in my perception, the reality of ABA is that it dehumanizes the people on whom it is used, reducing them to "trainable" creatures who can complete tasks on demand, but not helping them to learn the generalizable skills they will need to succeed in society.
While I was poking around to further justify my frustration, I learned about the Combating Autism Act, which was passed in 2006 by then-President Bush, and the Combating Autism Reauthorization Act, signed into law on September 30 of this year by President Obama. First red flag: "Combating"? Red flag confirmed: Wikipedia quotes the founder of an organization called Cure Autism Now as saying, "This bill is a federal declaration of war on the epidemic of autism . . . It creates a congressionally mandated roadmap for a federal assault on autism . . ." Cure Autism Now is a now-defunct organization that merged with Autism Speaks in 2007.
Why are we treating a biological difference as an object of war, one that requires "federal assault" instead of understanding and support? This is more than unethical; it's downright scary. If our government can declare war on one mental disorder, then they can declare war on all mental disorders: depression, substance abuse, schizophrenia, PTSD.... If they declare war on those biological differences, who's to say they can't declare war on physical disabilities, sexual orientations, races & ethnicities? It's a slippery slope, and the governmental course is driven not by the people who face these challenges themselves, but by people who feel so slighted by a genetic improbability that they refuse to understand those challenges.
If you love your children, don't try to cure them. Try to see the world through their eyes, and I promise you will love them even more.
Advocacy for people with autism and their family members is incredibly important, especially while groups like Autism Speaks have enormous platforms to promote misguided information and agendas. I understand that the families of people with autism need support--I'm part of one. I implore you, if you need support or just want to know how you can help, please check out the Autism Society of America. You won't be disappointed.
Every now and then, something pops up in my digital universe from Autism Speaks, a national organization whose mission statement reads:
The most troubling part of this to me is the use of the word "cure." I do not believe that autism should be cured. I believe the disorder should be understood, and its symptoms treated only as much as they need to be for a person with autism to live a fulfilling life, whatever that means to them. I believe that all ways of experiencing the world are good ones, and we should strive to understand and facilitate as many different ones as we can.At Autism Speaks, our goal is to change the future for all who struggle with autism spectrum disorders.
We are dedicated to funding global biomedical research into the causes, prevention, treatments, and cure for autism; to raising public awareness about autism and its effects on individuals, families, and society; and to bringing hope to all who deal with the hardships of this disorder. We are committed to raising the funds necessary to support these goals.
Even more troubling to me is the portion of their current "Founders' Message" that reads:
"This disorder has taken our children away.NO. This disorder has not taken your children away. This disorder has given you a child who is different from the one you expected. That happens to parents who expect a girl and get a boy, who expect a straight child and get a gay one, who expect a star athlete and get a brilliant astronomer, or who expect one baby and get twins. This child is still your child, is still a human being, and still deserves to be treated like any other child who experiences the challenges of growing up in a society where not everyone understands that everyone--EVERYONE--is different from each other. If you truly believe that a disorder like autism can take your children away from you, then you probably should not accept the commitment to raise a child in the first place.
It's time to get them back."
I have known many people with autism spectrum disorders, and I expect to come to know many more. The ones who thrive have families who accept and understand their differences and support them through the challenges those differences create. People with autism can express themselves and build relationships when they are provided with the tools they need to do so--see also, the reason i became a speech-language pathologist. Everyone uses different means to communicate, and it is my firm belief that everyone has that right. That means that if someone communicates in a different way than you do, you're not off the hook for trying to understand them, and it is NOT your responsibility to try to "fix" the way they communicate, because there is nothing wrong with them.
The reason Autism Speaks appeared in my life again today is because New York state just passed a new law regarding insurance for treatment for autism. On its face, this is a great thing. Tucked inside the article is the following: "[t]he new law will provide coverage of evidence-based, medically necessary autism therapies, such as applied behavior analysis (ABA). It will . . . allow up to $45,000 a year in ABA treatments with no limits on age or number of visits." There is no discussion of other "evidence-based, medically necessary autism therapies."
For those of you who don't know about ABA, it's a cognitive-behavioral therapy system based on Skinnerian psychology. It is the most basic form of behavior modification. Reward desirable behaviors; redirect and/or ignore undesirable ones. Basically, ABA involves training children with autism much the same way you train a dog.
As a clinician who works with people on the autism spectrum (and people with other cognitive differences), I know that behavior modification strategies work. Sometimes, you need to use them. But in my perception, the reality of ABA is that it dehumanizes the people on whom it is used, reducing them to "trainable" creatures who can complete tasks on demand, but not helping them to learn the generalizable skills they will need to succeed in society.
While I was poking around to further justify my frustration, I learned about the Combating Autism Act, which was passed in 2006 by then-President Bush, and the Combating Autism Reauthorization Act, signed into law on September 30 of this year by President Obama. First red flag: "Combating"? Red flag confirmed: Wikipedia quotes the founder of an organization called Cure Autism Now as saying, "This bill is a federal declaration of war on the epidemic of autism . . . It creates a congressionally mandated roadmap for a federal assault on autism . . ." Cure Autism Now is a now-defunct organization that merged with Autism Speaks in 2007.
Why are we treating a biological difference as an object of war, one that requires "federal assault" instead of understanding and support? This is more than unethical; it's downright scary. If our government can declare war on one mental disorder, then they can declare war on all mental disorders: depression, substance abuse, schizophrenia, PTSD.... If they declare war on those biological differences, who's to say they can't declare war on physical disabilities, sexual orientations, races & ethnicities? It's a slippery slope, and the governmental course is driven not by the people who face these challenges themselves, but by people who feel so slighted by a genetic improbability that they refuse to understand those challenges.
If you love your children, don't try to cure them. Try to see the world through their eyes, and I promise you will love them even more.
Advocacy for people with autism and their family members is incredibly important, especially while groups like Autism Speaks have enormous platforms to promote misguided information and agendas. I understand that the families of people with autism need support--I'm part of one. I implore you, if you need support or just want to know how you can help, please check out the Autism Society of America. You won't be disappointed.
29 August 2011
on chivalry
there are a few things in Boston that are going to take some getting used to after living in Pittsburgh. i've thought to write about them, but one in particular has grabbed my attention lately.
it's so great to live in a city with functional mass transit. they have the T system really well worked out here: trains run frequently, fares are reasonable, and you can use them to get pretty much everywhere. but the subway cars are always crowded. the seats are arranged like a cross between the D.C. metro and the NYC subway, with some facing forward/backward and a fair number along the sides of the car. there's plenty of room for standers as well.
here's what i've noticed: the only people who offer to give up their seats to anyone are women. one man did offer his seat to me last week, but he was middle-aged and clearly from out of town (visiting his college-aged daughter and her boyfriend, who were both seated near him and his wife), and only after i offered my seat to an elderly woman who got on the train a few stops after us. outwardly-appearing male people under the age of 40 never offer their seats to anyone. not all outwardly-appearing female people do, but with that one exception, all the people i've seen do so have been women or girls.
this gets me thinking. ever since i figured out that gender roles are not black-and-white, i've tried to be chivalrous. that is, i try to treat people with respect, and i try to treat women with a special level of it. part of this is the lesbian in me, hoping she will notice, and part of this is the gender rebel in me, trying to make people go what-the-fuck. but i never expect other women to behave this way; i always expect that men should.
if there is one seat left on the train and Chance and i are together, i always get to sit down.
the conclusion i'm drawing is, chivalry is not dead. chivalry will not die as long as there are butches.
the subsequent question: how does this relate to the still-foreign concept of outwardly heteronormative women performing chivalrous acts that their masculine counterparts do not?
it's so great to live in a city with functional mass transit. they have the T system really well worked out here: trains run frequently, fares are reasonable, and you can use them to get pretty much everywhere. but the subway cars are always crowded. the seats are arranged like a cross between the D.C. metro and the NYC subway, with some facing forward/backward and a fair number along the sides of the car. there's plenty of room for standers as well.
here's what i've noticed: the only people who offer to give up their seats to anyone are women. one man did offer his seat to me last week, but he was middle-aged and clearly from out of town (visiting his college-aged daughter and her boyfriend, who were both seated near him and his wife), and only after i offered my seat to an elderly woman who got on the train a few stops after us. outwardly-appearing male people under the age of 40 never offer their seats to anyone. not all outwardly-appearing female people do, but with that one exception, all the people i've seen do so have been women or girls.
this gets me thinking. ever since i figured out that gender roles are not black-and-white, i've tried to be chivalrous. that is, i try to treat people with respect, and i try to treat women with a special level of it. part of this is the lesbian in me, hoping she will notice, and part of this is the gender rebel in me, trying to make people go what-the-fuck. but i never expect other women to behave this way; i always expect that men should.
if there is one seat left on the train and Chance and i are together, i always get to sit down.
the conclusion i'm drawing is, chivalry is not dead. chivalry will not die as long as there are butches.
the subsequent question: how does this relate to the still-foreign concept of outwardly heteronormative women performing chivalrous acts that their masculine counterparts do not?
16 August 2011
on emotional misconduct
i started writing this months ago about one emotion. then when i picked it up again, that one turned into two. the two are so closely related that i feel no need to adjust my use of nouns.
i'm glad i know what pure, all-consuming hatred feels like. it's not a comfortable feeling; i don't like it. i'm glad that i am able to experience the full range of human emotions in all their depth, and i like learning about them. i believe it is my purpose as a human being to live the fullest human experience i can, and emotional experience is a big part of that.
i'm glad i know what pure, all-consuming hatred feels like. it's not a comfortable feeling; i don't like it. i'm glad that i am able to experience the full range of human emotions in all their depth, and i like learning about them. i believe it is my purpose as a human being to live the fullest human experience i can, and emotional experience is a big part of that.
hate is ugly. it makes me an ugly person, and i don't want it in me. and the truth is, i don't know why it's in me. i've heard it said--mostly by religious people, which always makes me suspicious (even though in this case i suspect it's true)--that forgiveness is the cure. but forgiveness is hard, especially when you can't identify what it is you need to forgive a person for. or when it's so many things that it seems impossible, or their behavior is so consistent that it seems the person will never change and it won't be worth the effort.
it's not always possible to deal with anger productively. edit: it may not always be simple to do so. what if the person or people with whom you are angry is/are not receptive to anything you have to say? yelling doesn't work. even in writing--i've written pages i can't even flip past anymore without feeling heat bubble into my face.
so my response, at least recently, has been to leave it behind. this may or may not be the same as ignoring it. i can admit that i'm angry, i can admit that i feel hatred, but it seems to me that there's no need to invest energy in those negative emotions. so i don't. the problem is that this leaves a lot of things unresolved. it would be much easier if letting go meant letting go, but anger is a stubborn beast. if there is no resolution, no explanation of what made me angry and no indication that the situation will change (or, at the worst case, absolutely nothing i can do about it), the slightest thing can trigger a descent right back down that slippery slope. stupid facebook with its old pictures in the right-hand column. a shared name on a television show. someone of similar stature or bearing seen from behind. adrenaline, heat, and frustration. what do you do? what am i supposed to do?
i don't think that experiencing anger, or even hate, is in itself somehow unenlightened. but i think this lack of understanding of how to deal with it, this uncertainty that my method will work, shows there is a lot i have left to learn. and i think it's terribly unfortunate that there are people who want to keep me in those emotions--even moreso that in so doing, those people are keeping themselves there. (what's really funny is, in so doing, they've accused me of the same.)
i hope this is a conversation i can continue to have with myself. it needs to be.
09 August 2011
wedding
i've been meaning to write some thoughts on the wedding i went to as part of the Epic Road Trip, and here i sit having found about 2 dozen jobs to apply for and wanting to submit nothing until my signature is on a piece of paper that confirms i will have a Boston address, so i might as well.
it's interesting to find yourself in a collision of people you knew well a number of years ago, whether that number is few or many--it's all relative. some of those people have clearly kept in better touch than others. it's always interesting to take a field trip to your past.
the wedding ceremony itself was probably my favorite that i've ever been to. admittedly, that number is small. i loved the combination of "christian and pre-christian traditions" that resulted in some of the most honest & meaningful promises i've ever witnessed. i felt privileged to be there. particularly striking:
"will you burden her?" "i may." "is that your intention?" "no."
"will you anger him?" "i may." "is that your intention?" "no."
"you cannot possess me, for i belong to myself, but while we are living, i will give you that which is mine to give."
i wonder what it's like to be someone to whom the words "husband" and "wife" have meaning. they don't to me, really.
when he approached me at the reception and asked, "what did you think of the ceremony?" i believed that it mattered.
the moment of pride upon learning--and sharing--that the three of us were the reason there were no titles (mr., ms, mrs.) on anyone's placecards. there is still work to be done in this circle (to anyone who may wonder whether it's appropriate to invite a transwoman to a bachelor party, or whether she "disqualified [her]self": the answer is to treat her like every other woman you know, because she is one.), but we have already made such a difference. (memory: "so, you swing?" "...sit down. we are having this conversation right. now.")
and of the woman mentioned above: i have so much admiration and respect for the strength and resilience it must have taken to walk into that place, completely yourself, and surround yourself with the boys who knew you as he, the ones you shared living space with in a college dorm, the ones who knew you when.
it's interesting to find yourself in a collision of people you knew well a number of years ago, whether that number is few or many--it's all relative. some of those people have clearly kept in better touch than others. it's always interesting to take a field trip to your past.
the wedding ceremony itself was probably my favorite that i've ever been to. admittedly, that number is small. i loved the combination of "christian and pre-christian traditions" that resulted in some of the most honest & meaningful promises i've ever witnessed. i felt privileged to be there. particularly striking:
"will you burden her?" "i may." "is that your intention?" "no."
"will you anger him?" "i may." "is that your intention?" "no."
"you cannot possess me, for i belong to myself, but while we are living, i will give you that which is mine to give."
i wonder what it's like to be someone to whom the words "husband" and "wife" have meaning. they don't to me, really.
when he approached me at the reception and asked, "what did you think of the ceremony?" i believed that it mattered.
the moment of pride upon learning--and sharing--that the three of us were the reason there were no titles (mr., ms, mrs.) on anyone's placecards. there is still work to be done in this circle (to anyone who may wonder whether it's appropriate to invite a transwoman to a bachelor party, or whether she "disqualified [her]self": the answer is to treat her like every other woman you know, because she is one.), but we have already made such a difference. (memory: "so, you swing?" "...sit down. we are having this conversation right. now.")
and of the woman mentioned above: i have so much admiration and respect for the strength and resilience it must have taken to walk into that place, completely yourself, and surround yourself with the boys who knew you as he, the ones you shared living space with in a college dorm, the ones who knew you when.
18 July 2011
on mobility
i've never understood the impulse to stay in one place. i understand that some people possess it, that there are those who are perfectly content to graduate from high school, go to college close to home (or not go to college at all), come back to town with a degree, get a job, marry their high school sweetheart, raise their children in the place where they were raised, live, retire, and die all within a 5-mile radius. i also understand that there are people who like to put penises in their mouths; i don't get that one either. it really does take all kinds, and as far as i can figure, the impulse to move or the impulse to stay in one place is no different.
i was raised by people who did not stay in the same place. both of my parents went away to college, and after they got married, they moved even farther away from home. neither of them ever suggested to me that this was the "right" way to do it, and every time i try to move farther away, my mother threatens to cry. but that's where i come from, and implicit lessons can be some of the strongest ones.
i get these incredible bouts of wanderlust. i get restless if i stay in one place for too long. i've never traveled as much as i would like, but sometimes it's just time for a new city. frankly, i'm surprised i've stayed in pittsburgh for as long as i have.
i just don't get how, in a world this wide, a person can be content to stay in the same place and limit their experience that way. there's something to be said for a sense of home--i want to find it. (i wonder if i will ever feel that need to "settle down," to buy a house, plant a garden, and let my children complete their entire education in a single school district. part of me hopes that i will; it seems unfair to do otherwise. but i'm still waiting. i have yet to find a place i'd be willing to sit still.) but there are so many different kinds of home: the house where my parents live, the town where i grew up, the campus where i went to college, the haus my college friends lived in where i learned all the most important lessons, the comfort in a circle of people who honor each other with mutual respect and affection, the passenger seat of my best friend's car, the sound of my partner's heartbeat when i lay my head on his chest. home is not a place so much as a feeling for me, and it's one i can find anywhere given the right circumstance. and if i can find home anywhere, why should i not try to find it in as many different places as possible, and learn the many ways people in different places make it for themselves?
sidenote: i'm postponing writing a piece about anger, for reasons i will address when i finally get around to it, which are the same reasons i need to write the piece in the first place. my life is in chaos given the upcoming move, and i'm not writing nearly enough (theme for the year). counting my days left in Pittsburgh in single digits.
i was raised by people who did not stay in the same place. both of my parents went away to college, and after they got married, they moved even farther away from home. neither of them ever suggested to me that this was the "right" way to do it, and every time i try to move farther away, my mother threatens to cry. but that's where i come from, and implicit lessons can be some of the strongest ones.
i get these incredible bouts of wanderlust. i get restless if i stay in one place for too long. i've never traveled as much as i would like, but sometimes it's just time for a new city. frankly, i'm surprised i've stayed in pittsburgh for as long as i have.
i just don't get how, in a world this wide, a person can be content to stay in the same place and limit their experience that way. there's something to be said for a sense of home--i want to find it. (i wonder if i will ever feel that need to "settle down," to buy a house, plant a garden, and let my children complete their entire education in a single school district. part of me hopes that i will; it seems unfair to do otherwise. but i'm still waiting. i have yet to find a place i'd be willing to sit still.) but there are so many different kinds of home: the house where my parents live, the town where i grew up, the campus where i went to college, the haus my college friends lived in where i learned all the most important lessons, the comfort in a circle of people who honor each other with mutual respect and affection, the passenger seat of my best friend's car, the sound of my partner's heartbeat when i lay my head on his chest. home is not a place so much as a feeling for me, and it's one i can find anywhere given the right circumstance. and if i can find home anywhere, why should i not try to find it in as many different places as possible, and learn the many ways people in different places make it for themselves?
sidenote: i'm postponing writing a piece about anger, for reasons i will address when i finally get around to it, which are the same reasons i need to write the piece in the first place. my life is in chaos given the upcoming move, and i'm not writing nearly enough (theme for the year). counting my days left in Pittsburgh in single digits.
05 May 2011
Graduation, again
i feel the need to excuse my absence from the blogosphere,
my unannounced sabbatical, as it were.
i had to go finish grad school.
(i can't decide if this would be better as poetry or as verse. it's been so long.)
my life has been caught up in the chaos of finishing what was without knowing what will be. i'm pretty good on "what is," especially in the very short term.
i'm looking forward to a summer off, and deciding what comes next! in the meantime, i'm hoping i'll write more, but my development there has taken an interesting turn. i don't seem to write as much anywhere as i once used to, and i think i know why, but i'm curious to see where that goes.
on my last day of grad school, i spiked out my hair and wore grey skinny jeans, skater shoes, a cowrie shell necklace, and the blazer from my power-lesbian suit. my boyfriend and my gay husband stood on a street corner with signs that said "FREE HUGS" and came back with amazing stories. i went out with a small group of close friends and enjoyed myself.
then a bunch of other things happened, and that's just this past week.
my unannounced sabbatical, as it were.
i had to go finish grad school.
(i can't decide if this would be better as poetry or as verse. it's been so long.)
my life has been caught up in the chaos of finishing what was without knowing what will be. i'm pretty good on "what is," especially in the very short term.
i'm looking forward to a summer off, and deciding what comes next! in the meantime, i'm hoping i'll write more, but my development there has taken an interesting turn. i don't seem to write as much anywhere as i once used to, and i think i know why, but i'm curious to see where that goes.
on my last day of grad school, i spiked out my hair and wore grey skinny jeans, skater shoes, a cowrie shell necklace, and the blazer from my power-lesbian suit. my boyfriend and my gay husband stood on a street corner with signs that said "FREE HUGS" and came back with amazing stories. i went out with a small group of close friends and enjoyed myself.
then a bunch of other things happened, and that's just this past week.
03 September 2010
Credo
I believe in Science,
in learning about the world through direct experience. I believe in the value of experimentation, of trying new things and seeing what happens. I recognize the importance of learning that your hypothesis can fail.
I believe this is the [best/only] way to live [fully], because I believe all human life is an experiment. If you are not running your own experiments . . . are you really content to blindly accept whatever someone else tells you?
We are experimental machines, a finely calibrated apparatus for testing the principles of the universe.
in learning about the world through direct experience. I believe in the value of experimentation, of trying new things and seeing what happens. I recognize the importance of learning that your hypothesis can fail.
I believe this is the [best/only] way to live [fully], because I believe all human life is an experiment. If you are not running your own experiments . . . are you really content to blindly accept whatever someone else tells you?
We are experimental machines, a finely calibrated apparatus for testing the principles of the universe.
12 January 2010
self-realization in progress
i'm describing this as a "semi-existential process." it's not a crisis, just a reorganization of thought. and it's not really existential at all.
it started with a comment the professor made in my afternoon class: "don't tell my colleagues...but i'm a speech therapist."
there is some controversy in my profession over how important it is to correct/adjust the perception of ourselves as "speech therapists" among the general public. this is how we've been known for decades, but in recent years many have come to assert that we should encourage others to know us as we know ourselves. in our graduate programs and professional organizations, we are speech-language pathologists (or SLPs, because even those of us who live for speech still like to abbreviate). the idea is that we do a lot more than therapy--and a lot more than speech, for that matter. we evaluate, diagnose, and treat all sorts of communication disorders, both speech- and language-based, and we also evaluate and treat swallowing disorders. for this reason, many SLPs, believe that "speech-language pathologist" is a more accurate and less stereotyped description of the members of our profession.
i don't really care. i believe that my goal is to help people communicate more effectively, so if i can use fewer syllables to more easily convey what i'm going to do for a living, that shouldn't be a problem. you speak to people in the language they understand.
my professor this afternoon spent a lot of time talking about how the disruptions to speech are not foremost for people who stutter--the experience of stuttering is. there is no cure for stuttering: a person who stutters will always be a person who stutters, more or less often. our role as SLPs, then, is not [only] to treat the dysfluency, but to act as a coach, a counselor, a therapist, who helps the person cope with their stuttering. this kind of treatment is not medical so much as it is psychological, and it is very, very human.
it was about this time i started thinking about what i really want to do with my life. i still haven't decided exactly what kind of SLP i want to be when i grow up, but i've got a pretty good idea. i got into the field because i wanted to work with youth who have autism. i'm also very interested in aphasia. in the first half-hour of my fluency class, i knew it was something i was going to care deeply about and want to get more involved in. i've never been terribly interested in traditional articulation therapy, where you meet a kid who can't say /s/ or /r/ and help them learn the sound. i've said for a few years that i want to experience a hospice setting, where i know all my clients are going to die. then my diagnostic brain kicked in: what's the pattern here?
i am interested in treating the people you can't cure. i am interested in treating the people you help to cope.
i'm curious to see where this line of thinking leads me. learning what you want to do is way more fun than learning what you don't want to do.
it started with a comment the professor made in my afternoon class: "don't tell my colleagues...but i'm a speech therapist."
there is some controversy in my profession over how important it is to correct/adjust the perception of ourselves as "speech therapists" among the general public. this is how we've been known for decades, but in recent years many have come to assert that we should encourage others to know us as we know ourselves. in our graduate programs and professional organizations, we are speech-language pathologists (or SLPs, because even those of us who live for speech still like to abbreviate). the idea is that we do a lot more than therapy--and a lot more than speech, for that matter. we evaluate, diagnose, and treat all sorts of communication disorders, both speech- and language-based, and we also evaluate and treat swallowing disorders. for this reason, many SLPs, believe that "speech-language pathologist" is a more accurate and less stereotyped description of the members of our profession.
i don't really care. i believe that my goal is to help people communicate more effectively, so if i can use fewer syllables to more easily convey what i'm going to do for a living, that shouldn't be a problem. you speak to people in the language they understand.
my professor this afternoon spent a lot of time talking about how the disruptions to speech are not foremost for people who stutter--the experience of stuttering is. there is no cure for stuttering: a person who stutters will always be a person who stutters, more or less often. our role as SLPs, then, is not [only] to treat the dysfluency, but to act as a coach, a counselor, a therapist, who helps the person cope with their stuttering. this kind of treatment is not medical so much as it is psychological, and it is very, very human.
it was about this time i started thinking about what i really want to do with my life. i still haven't decided exactly what kind of SLP i want to be when i grow up, but i've got a pretty good idea. i got into the field because i wanted to work with youth who have autism. i'm also very interested in aphasia. in the first half-hour of my fluency class, i knew it was something i was going to care deeply about and want to get more involved in. i've never been terribly interested in traditional articulation therapy, where you meet a kid who can't say /s/ or /r/ and help them learn the sound. i've said for a few years that i want to experience a hospice setting, where i know all my clients are going to die. then my diagnostic brain kicked in: what's the pattern here?
i am interested in treating the people you can't cure. i am interested in treating the people you help to cope.
i'm curious to see where this line of thinking leads me. learning what you want to do is way more fun than learning what you don't want to do.
06 January 2010
and acceptance
this has been bothering me a lot since a few days after Christmas.
in November 2008, a very close friend of mine killed himself. i never wrote about it--at least not here. my hard drive is home to any number of angry letters to him; i'm sure my paper journals have their say as well.
the thing about most suicides--and i would go so far as to say, most stories in which a person does nothing to prevent their own death--is that nobody wants to talk about it. nobody has ever said out loud to me, "he killed himself." i got left at, "we're waiting for the results" of whatever they do when someone dies. many of the people who were close to this person believe his death was an accident. that was how my mother framed it to me the night she called. i am certain that my mother still believes this, and that's probably better for her. the most i got in the days following his death was a, "you know he was really depressed, right?" from a person who was closer to him than i was.
i'm having the kind of day where i question how close to him i really was to begin with. actually, that's been happening for over a year.
i'd had no idea.
how can we possibly come to grips with suicide if we won't even acknowledge that it's suicide? how can we properly grieve?
the friend with whom i shared him most--the same one who told me about his depression--essentially stopped talking to me for several months. we'd been calling each other weekly for months before that. and i know we associate each other with him, and i won't fault him for it. but i still can't help thinking that we should have been helping each other instead of avoiding each other, whether we were doing it consciously or not.
the fact of the matter is, suicide is something that affects real people. it's something real people do, and it's something that causes real people to suffer. i'm never going to stop missing him. i still get pissed off sometimes that he never saw me graduate from college, never even heard where i got accepted for grad school, never met Dylan, and is never going to see me get excited about a real job, or meet my children. there is shit i'm going through now that i would love his advice on more than anyone else's. i am still hurt that although he knew more of me than almost anyone, he didn't feel he could tell me about such an important part of himself. and i am both sad and fortunate that i don't even have a voicemail from him.
suicide is not taking your life into your own hands. i've heard arguments that it is the greatest act of agency. but what could be more literally self-effacing? giving up your life is not a way to assert control over it--it is surrendering all control.
maybe i only feel this way because i believe that life is the greatest and most precious opportunity we are given. you can make literally anything of a human life. it displays far more courage and agency to make something from nothing than nothing from something.
if you or anyone you know is considering suicide, please be aware that there is a 24-hour helpline at 1-800-SUICIDE and resources available at www.hopeline.com. depression is real, and just like any other disease, it is treatable. there are tons of people out there who want to help you....please let us in.
i'm not trying to be an after-school special. i'm trying to be a real person who is honest about my hurt.
in November 2008, a very close friend of mine killed himself. i never wrote about it--at least not here. my hard drive is home to any number of angry letters to him; i'm sure my paper journals have their say as well.
the thing about most suicides--and i would go so far as to say, most stories in which a person does nothing to prevent their own death--is that nobody wants to talk about it. nobody has ever said out loud to me, "he killed himself." i got left at, "we're waiting for the results" of whatever they do when someone dies. many of the people who were close to this person believe his death was an accident. that was how my mother framed it to me the night she called. i am certain that my mother still believes this, and that's probably better for her. the most i got in the days following his death was a, "you know he was really depressed, right?" from a person who was closer to him than i was.
i'm having the kind of day where i question how close to him i really was to begin with. actually, that's been happening for over a year.
i'd had no idea.
how can we possibly come to grips with suicide if we won't even acknowledge that it's suicide? how can we properly grieve?
the friend with whom i shared him most--the same one who told me about his depression--essentially stopped talking to me for several months. we'd been calling each other weekly for months before that. and i know we associate each other with him, and i won't fault him for it. but i still can't help thinking that we should have been helping each other instead of avoiding each other, whether we were doing it consciously or not.
the fact of the matter is, suicide is something that affects real people. it's something real people do, and it's something that causes real people to suffer. i'm never going to stop missing him. i still get pissed off sometimes that he never saw me graduate from college, never even heard where i got accepted for grad school, never met Dylan, and is never going to see me get excited about a real job, or meet my children. there is shit i'm going through now that i would love his advice on more than anyone else's. i am still hurt that although he knew more of me than almost anyone, he didn't feel he could tell me about such an important part of himself. and i am both sad and fortunate that i don't even have a voicemail from him.
suicide is not taking your life into your own hands. i've heard arguments that it is the greatest act of agency. but what could be more literally self-effacing? giving up your life is not a way to assert control over it--it is surrendering all control.
maybe i only feel this way because i believe that life is the greatest and most precious opportunity we are given. you can make literally anything of a human life. it displays far more courage and agency to make something from nothing than nothing from something.
if you or anyone you know is considering suicide, please be aware that there is a 24-hour helpline at 1-800-SUICIDE and resources available at www.hopeline.com. depression is real, and just like any other disease, it is treatable. there are tons of people out there who want to help you....please let us in.
i'm not trying to be an after-school special. i'm trying to be a real person who is honest about my hurt.
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