What is it like living with PTSD? For me, I freeze a lot. Sometimes my body just freezes for hours at a time and I am stuck in a trance-like state doing nothing. This makes it very difficult for me to keep up with everyday life because the smallest trigger can put me in a catatonic state for hours until I feel I can move again. For example a few weeks ago I was having a completely normal day when something so unexpected and niche triggered me into taking a seat and staring at the wall for an hour and 30 minutes straight. I always eventually snap out of it and catch myself like -what am I doing?- and then I have to kind of shake it off and really motivate myself to do some work, self care, or anything really. Most days it is a big feat if I brush my teeth and take the bare minimum care of my body.

TW:

right when you’re developing social skills and learning how to move through the world, I got hit with truckloads of guilt and shame and my little 9 year old body couldn’t handle it. I went into a depression for at least six years, I never made any social media accounts, stopped inviting people over, dropped all my sports and stuff. I just isolated myself for my entire youth, as a college student finally making an Instagram and all that; I can’t help but notice how much of the world passed me by while I was stewing in the darkness. There’s a whole human experience I never got, and now I’m too old for anyone to care and I have to try and catch up with the times alone. I know this stuff sounds stupid but it’s just another thing I took away from myself. I’ve felt grown my whole life and now I just wish I could go back. There’s not really a way for people to see any of that from looking at me. They see an able bodied young person which should allow me to live my life to the fullest. In reality I feel like I have a huge weight on my mind all the time.

End of TW:

The Invisible disability project defines invisible disabilities as any physical, mental, or emotional impairment that goes largely unnoticed by society.

I think society is aware of invisible disabilities such as PTSD but doesn’t really give much wiggle room for the tedious processes involved in living with/healing from trauma.
And I understand, maybe it is just that the current framework of society is solely based on productivity. In my experience, if someone isn’t able to produce and contribute something then they are valued less and often struggle without a support system.

On a lighter note this is an image that I feel my brain would look like, its a fire fortress waffle house.

The COVID-19 pandemic has changed my life forever. After the pandemic, I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression. And the last 3 years have been the worst of my entire life. My senior year of high school was terrible, my freshman year of college was ten times worse and it always feels like nothing ever goes right for me. I’ve done so many things just to feel normal and fit in. I have literally gone to so many different dermatologists and have spent almost $400+ for my skin to get clear and at one point it did. But of course, my ance had to come back and now makes me feel more insecure every time I look in the mirror or even when others look at me. I’ve tried to dress in a certain way, drink, smoke, etc. just because I felt like all of my friends were doing it so if I didn’t I was “boring” or just ruined the mood.

But after being in therapy for a few years now, I’ve recently slowly come to except myself. I think ever since I was young, I tried to fit in no matter what and my anxiety and depression made this even worse. Also when looking at social media, I have always compared myself to people I saw and questioned why I didn’t look or do certain things like them. But I’ve come to learn that there is no such thing as a “perfect” or “normal” person. As humans, we express ourselves in many different ways with the way we dress, talk, and go on with our daily lives. Our differences don’t make us unnatural but are what makes us all special in our own way. While I have improved over the year myself, I still have a long way to go and I hope one day, I won’t give a fuck about what other people think about me and be cunty. :)))

“So tell me what you want, what you really, really want, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want”

First lets define disability and impairment. Susan Wendell uses disability activist’s and United Nations definitions explaining:

For some people the limitations they face in day to day life isn’t based at all on impairment, but rather how society disables them. And even for people who are looking for treatments to make life more livable, society is still a huge disabling presence. Some examples of how society can disable include, uneven sidewalks, broken or lack of elevators or in general poorly made and maintained spaces. Those are some of the more obvious physical barriers. There is a larger social barrier that people with disabilities face and that’s prejudice. Especially for those with invisible disabilities the strain of people assuming they are fine, that they are “faking” and don’t really need the help they are asking for, causes such an intense mental and sometimes physical strain.

From personal experience people don’t trust that you know what’s going on with your body and with what you are able to do. When covid was really bad I got sick, but not in such a way that I needed to go to the doctor. During this time going to a doctor if it wasn’t necessary was not just looked down upon but also dangerous. When I told my professor I couldn’t come to class I was asked to get a doctor’s note, which I was unable to produce and ended up getting points marked off in the course. Another time I was hospitalized and the doctors told me they contacted my professors. Either the professors didn’t care or they weren’t told because when I came back most of the professors said I couldn’t make up the work and should just drop the class and take it next semester. Instead of preparing and trying to figure out a way for me to make up the work. Not only did I lose thousands of dollars in tuition, I ended up going under the credits needed to be full time and I was kicked out of my housing. This whole time disability services didn’t do anything because they said “We can’t do anything retroactively”.

Recently someone asked me if I could change anything about my university to make it more disability friendly what would it be? There’s the obvious: fix the sidewalks, routine maintenance on elevators and doors and changing certain stairs into ramps, but there’s also making professors have recorded lectures or accessible online materials. I’ve had multiple professors that use pre-lecture videos to prepare students for class discussion, and while going to class is important, in times of extremes like hospitalization these pre-lectures are wonderful supplementary materials. I’d also like to see disability talked about more and normalized not just in the university setting but in the work place too. So hopefully that answers the statement: “tell me what you want what you really really want.”

There is such a disparity between Chinese and American culture, in terms of sex and gender embodiment. I lived in China for a few years before moving back to the states, so I was able to experience the social culture of each country. In China, it is very conservative and traditional. Everyone is expected to adhere to ‘traditional’ gender roles, otherwise they are criticized by society. This kind of mindset has been long ingrained into Chinese culture, leading it to become the norm. Whereas, in the US, the culture is different. Although there are still unaccepting individuals, society can be receptive to people defying traditional gender roles. Here, there are numerous settings where individuals are not expected to adhere to ‘traditional’ gender roles and society welcomes those who identify differently than what they were assigned at birth. There are more advocates for gender embodiment and sexuality studies in general, which is rare or unseen in China. 

The culture that I have seen in China has been perpetuated by my parents. Growing up, it was never a question of whether I identified as a woman or if I was cisgender. To them, there was no doubt that a daughter of theirs would be anything other than a cisgender female. I did not know any better so I never questioned their assumptions. Looking back, I realize how limited and confined I was. I was never able to explore my gender identity. It was not until high school that I learned about gender embodiment that extends beyond ‘traditional’ roles. I realized that I did not have to confine myself to that restrictive mindset and that I had the option of identifying as another gender. 

As emphasized by Stryker and Stone, gender is not just a ‘natural’ part of the human body that is apparent just by looking. Stryker describes the relationship between the body and gender identity, where it extends beyond physical appearances. There are performative and dynamic aspects of gender. Stone also emphasizes how the embodiment of gender includes more than physical attributes. It involves subjective experiences, identity formation, and the negotiation of societal norms. Gender embodiment has been largely influenced by social constructs but it differs between every individual. Subjective experiences lend gender to vary amongst people, but gender identity should nonetheless be recognized and respected in all cultures.

I picked up my laptop and walked over to my bed to write this lol. She just looked over at me oh my gosh, how does she know? I really could have picked a more secretive title but nahhhhhh. Honesty is the best policy or something like that. Anyways, yeah this blog is inspired by my overthinking and UMBC dorms, shoutout to you all.

Okay, so I’m quite a curvy woman. What can I say, it’s in my genes. Naturally, this means I take up more space as I have some meat on my bone. Surprisingly, this is something I am still getting used to even though I’ve lived in this body for a while. I digress, my roommate is skinny WHICH ISN’T A PROBLEM but it means we take up space differently. I need to give you guys a visual about what I’m about to get into.

Here is our marvelous bathroom that we share with two other people. Pretty neat right??? Wrong. It’s incredibly small. And yes, I sound ungrateful for having a working bathroom and all but…who the hell were these bathrooms made for? I for sure have gotten used to it as it’s almost the end of this semester and I’ll continue to live here next semester but oh boy… it was an adjustment. You can’t see it in the pictures but we have a shower holder thingy that has all of our soaps and loofahs hanging in the shower. I can’t tell you the number of times, I’ll be showering and I move my arm to wash another part of my body and I accidentally elbow the shower holder and, thus making it fall. Not to mention that it is METAL and loud as fudge.

There are so many unspoken things that go into having a roommate. Of course, we talked about all the usuals at the beginning of the semester: guest policies, renting a minifridge, not having sex in each others’ bed (this is a joke btw). All of those are great and all but no one ever talks about *cues dramatic music*

Where the hell are you going to change? This is something that is inevitable and going to happen every day, probably more than once. I have never liked changing in post-shower bathrooms because it makes me feel sticky with the humidity from the hot water but I would do so if I knew I had a roommate to be courteous. HOWEVER, there is like no room to manuveur into shirts and pants in there without something getting wet and/or banging the doors when you move. There’s even less room when I am avoiding my feet touching the floor mat as it is dirty and wet. I am so squeezed up in there, it’s such a stress-inducing activity.

This is why I change in the room, regardless if she is in there or not. I still am mindful and make sure I have the towel wrapped to cover up my girl parts but I get the sense that she doesn’t like that. Since she changes in the bathroom, I feel like it’s a guide for me to change in the bathroom, but I physically can’t and that kind of sucks.

I am gonna write this post as if you’ve never heard of this lobotomization of a garbage reality TV show. I say that in the best way possible, but also coming from a place of heavy critique. Dr. Nassif and Dr. Dubrow are both A-list plastic surgeons and TV personalities straight out of Beverly Hills, they work, at least in this show, EXCLUSIVELY on people (oftentimes obnoxious) who come in looking for corrective surgery from previous procedures that left them “botched.” And it’s true, some people come in looking like a whole mess, but the extent to which they put plastic surgery on a pedestal is insane to watch.

LOL to this picture, it’s so heavily edited ☠️😭

There are a good amount of episodes of truly the sweetest people who got fucked over and are so desperately seeking care from these doctors so that they aren’t “freaks” or social rejects anymore. I lost track of how many episodes are centered around a timid, wimpy person with a low self esteem who truly wholeheartedly believes that getting surgery will allow them everything being “botched” denied them. Don’t get me wrong these are some DAMN GOOD surgeons and they’re really good with their patients BUTTTT my god the language around every corrective procedure kills me inside. So much talk about making this and that “normal.” Maybe I’m just sensitive and assume the patients would get hurt at comments like “change this to make it NORMAL.” I understand doctors can be cold and oftentimes very blunt, but why is that normalized??????? I get the need to be concise and clear in a field like theirs and patients really do love these doctors, so it’s not like they’re shitheads, but idk I feel bad. There was one episode in specific about a trans female sex worker coming in to get her boob job and vaginoplasty corrected. It’s episode called “Vagina bomb!” please watch it. Anyway, the doctor that initially did her sex changed fucked her UP. I’m talking her labia majora was way too meaty (lack of better word) and for the inner components all she had was a clit, no inner lips. Both doctors brought in another doctor who specializes in genitals and is also a man. This episode bothered me the most. I understand that the initial vaginoplasty was abnormal, but IT SITS WITH ME THE WRONG WAYYYY I CAN’T HELP IT. It hurts my feelings to hear these doctors keep reaffirming that her body is not NORMAL AND THEREFORE NEEDS TO BE MADE NORMAL TO BE ABLE TO BE A NORMAL ACCEPTABLE BODY. Ugh I hate and love this garbage show and I’m only writing this because I’ve been stuck in a weird rut and just need to babble about SOMETHING.

really craving pizza and panera mac, mmmmm…

I feel that being neurodivergent in any and every environment is way harder than it should be, but being in a disciplined environment such as dance, can be excruciating for a neurodivergent person. In that world, it is near impossible to unmask for a minute and express yourself. The fact that dance is an art form makes this fact ironic, but true.

One of the issues I have ran into being both neurodivergent and a dancer is that we are told when we are allowed to step out of the room and/or take a water break. I need to be able to step out of the room, or I run the risk of my emotions becoming something I cannot mask and control. It’s extremely unprofessional to melt down or not giving 100% all of the time. For me being neurodivergent as previously mentioned, if I am told I am not allowed to step out of class, then I will start shutting down, which looks horrible. Even if I am allowed to step out, it is STILL unprofessional because it has been ingrained in everyone’s heads that we shouldn’t step out of class for any reason.

There are multiple traits in neurodivergency that are frowned upon in dance. We have to be able to pick up choreography fast, I need to work at my own pace. We are told to dance freely, except it’s not actually free, but having to interpret what they want you to dance. I do believe that my opportunities in dance (especially in college) were limited due to my disability and the side effects with that. Dance is a prestigious and overly disciplinary sport, but there is no rhyme or reason for that other than that it is encouraged to have that harsh environment. It’s an unfortunate tradition.

That’s what my parents think.

Its hard to understand the mind when there are so many problems that just go unnoticed and uncared for. As I grew up in my household, there was a lot of issues that I had to face alone starting at such a young age. There were things that I did not know how to explain and things I did not know how to fix. A lot of times it was be just thinking I was sad or nervous about certain things that were happening in my life, but when I told my parents about it their only response was for me to pray. They told me to pray and my sadness and fear would go away. They told me I needed to go on walks outside everyday because staying in my room was causing me to feel on edge all the time. What they didn’t know was getting out of my room and out of bed was sometimes the hardest part of my day. No matter how much I prayed to God, it would not fix the problems I was having within myself.

As I grew older, I started to learn words that could help me describe what I was feeling. Words that put a label on my sadness or the nervousness I felt all the time, but I would never want to say it in order to avoid self diagnosing. It was hard because I was having a really hard time with my mental health, but being raised by my parents who thought a prayer was the solution to all my problems I felt like it was not right for me to say I had something without the proper diagnosis. I did not want to use the words lightly and end up downplaying anxiety or depression. When my parents would ask me what was wrong, I could never give them a solid answer. I just knew my mental health was not good, but there was no specific reason why. There were times where I considered getting diagnosed, but I don’t want my parents to feel like it is their fault that I feel this way. I don’t want my parents to feel like they failed raising me because in all honesty they didn’t. There is no specific reason, but I don’t want them to feel like its them. And if there isn’t a specific reason then they are going to think that my issues are fake. That it is all in my head and easily fixable because I did have a good life.

To this day, I still struggle with my mental health. It’s hard because sometimes I feel like I have “no right” to feel the way I feel (as funny as that sounds). I feel like I had good parents, a great life where I didn’t have to worry about much, and I am able to go to school, go out whenever I want, etc. It feels like I am just complaining and its not fair for me to talk about my mental health issues even though my head tells me that shouldn’t be the case. No matter, its an everyday struggle that I am still trying to figure out. It has gotten better over the years, but it is something that still needs to be talked about.

TW//: Borderline ED, Body Dysmorphia

        Welcome one and all to my villain origin story. I’ve spoken frequently on my posts about my vanity and my intense occupation with my appearance and the way I am perceived…Now you will learn where it all began (insert evil laugh). Let’s start with some foundation, I was born to a young woman who was raising me alone, and this woman was beautiful…therefore I had to be beautiful too! We’d be two pretty girls against the world. She dressed in the cutest clothes she could afford, did my hair in adorable pigtails and braids, and I always smelled like sweet perfumes and cleanliness. I was her pride and joy, and I most certainly still am…because once I was old enough to do those things for myself…well, let’s just say old habits never die, in my case. I was your average prissy girl in elementary school, I wanted to look nice, smell nice, be clean and perfect from the inside out; I once threw a fit in the grocery store because my parents didn’t want to buy me mouth wash, “You don’t need that yet!” they told me, but BOY…did I think I needed it. My beauty was first translated to me as my cleanliness, that’s how I understood it at first, the cleaner and prettier I looked, the more people would like me. I thrived on compliments when I was younger, I fucking loved them and I still do, I loved getting affirmations for the things I put so much effort towards…. until one day…those compliments started to change…

                “¡Sos pura muñeca!”, “You’re just like a doll”, “You’re just like a Barbie!”. Yes! I was like a Barbie, because I looked so cute and put together, right? “¡Puro modelo! ¡Mírala!” …Huh? “¡Que cuerpazo!” ….Oh. They aren’t talking about my braids, or the outfit my mami picked out for me, or the way I was sitting so poised and quietly…they talking about my body. This was a thing for me since I was born, mind you, I was always on the smaller side; but it wasn’t until I was in 5^th grade that I noticed this type of language being used around me. I was coming out of that “cute phase” for the adults around me, EVERYBODY GIVE PUBERTY A NICE WARM “FUCK YOU!”, so my appearance was…confounding. Big doe eyes were being replaced with eye bags, my silky straight hair was suddenly becoming curly and unruly, and prissy gracefulness was becoming something more defiant. What was there left to compliment? Because God forbid, they mention my success in school or my efforts in looking pristine, no…compliment the hourglass figure coming in…yeeeeeah! I had always been on the smaller side, thin and almost a bit sickly looking, but had caused my doctor concern was now becoming a hot topic with the tías. In my culture, fatphobia is so real, you even get a nice little nickname that sticks with you til death if you so much as have a little baby fat. My cousins would say I lucked out with getting the nickname “huesitos”, little bones. And let me reiterate for the millionth time, I’m an attention whore, so if everyone was going to take focus on me having a thin body THEN BY GOD…I’m gonna have the thinnest body around. That right there, is the origin, so let’s see where it goes/went.

               I created a routine for myself after this revelation came to light, a very strict routine that was more a set of rules, one that lasted in my head up until now. Here’s how it went:

• Shave my body in its entirety at least once a week (twice during the summer)
• Choose between Breakfast + Lunch, Lunch + Dinner, or Breakfast + Dinner; never have all three meals (only consume 2,000 calories or less daily)
• Snacks must only be fruits or vegetables
• ONLY DRINK WATER
• If I can’t feel the perfume burning my nostrils, put on more (this also applies to deodorant)
• If an activity has the potential to make you sweat in your nice clothes, don’t do it
• Remain consistent with full body skin care routine, nightly and morning regime (must prevent blemishes before they begin)

      There was plenty more to that list but that was what my life consisted around for the longest time. If I strayed from my routine, even just a little bit, I was ugly. No one cared if I was smart, no cared how hard it was for me to get out of bed, no one cared for my talents and desires…If I wanted anyone to look at me…I needed to give them someone worth looking at. And listen, I knew my mother loved me regardless of what I looked like, hell, she would beg me to eat more. I knew what my family loved me for who I was, I knew they cared and actually cared about me, but this notion I had in my mind was like a plague I couldn’t dispel. I talk about now like it was a long time ago, but it was only this year that I started to be what I call “more generous” with myself. I celebrate eating three meals a day, I buy myself treats and I do regular exercise for my health, not my appearance. Yes, I am still very vain, that’s not changing about me but I’m not going to damage myself for the gratification of others. I won’t be their Barbie doll if it means I’m hurting, I want to feel beautiful, not restrained.