In my freshman year of high school when I was either 14 or 15 years old, my mom found out I had depression. Long story short it was through a situation that happened at school and they had to inform my mom about it. Let’s just say that things didn’t go the best. But for a backstory, I grew up in an Ethiopian household which included my mom, sister, and aunt. It is pretty common for most Ethiopian households to be religious, as religion is deeply rooted in the Ethiopian culture. Although my mom and family have always included me in our religious practices and have taken me to church since I was a kid. I have always felt conflicted when it came to our religion (but that’s a whole other story). But going back to high school, when my mom found out I had depression the school had recommended I get a therapist, which I did. The only thing is that since the second I had gotten the therapist, my mom was against the idea. She kept on telling me that therapy would not help me and would say something along the lines of “Just pray and you will feel better” or “Jesus will help you”. This honestly made me feel more of a burden and I felt that something was wrong with me and that I was causing my mom stress and suffering. So after a while of doing therapy and my mom’s persistence, I finally gave up on therapy.
Continue readingmental health
I wish I could give myself a lobotomy
This is gonna be a word salad but it’s actually crazy navigating this world as a person with anger issues, bpd, anemia and autism. I know, girl pick a struggle. To give you a little glimpse into my life. Being anemic is weird. As stated in class, people only think disabilities you can see are valid. And don’t get me wrong if I’m being honest I don’t consider being anemic disabling but maybe I don’t consider it disabling because of that subconscious bias as well. As someone with anemia one thing I do ( as well as others) is when I get up too fast my vision gets fuzzy like I’m seeing circles and static and I have to lean over and sit sometimes even lay down. One could argue that that is disabling. And I could see why because that affects me when I’m working (as a receptionist I’ve had to do that sometimes) when I’m at a conference or meeting or babysitting just anything in life.
Read more: I wish I could give myself a lobotomyDon’t get me started on having bpd- I sorry un-medicated and untreated bpd. And yes you guessed it ( that is because of finding a psychiatrist and therapist that will take our parent’s insurance). It affects every aspect of my life as well but especially my relationships with other human beings. People think they are accepting and “woke” until your friend goes off and becomes satans right hand man in an argument and then 25 minutes later is like “bro remember this lmfaooooo” like NOTHING happened. I’ve lost friends over it. And I’m not okay with it. I’m not. I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you guys and be like it’s whatever it’s there loss. No my feelings are hurt and I wish I didn’t have this in my brain. It’s almost kinda debilitating. But idk it feels wrong to call it debilitating because that feels reserved for things like schizophrenia, Down syndrome, paralysis etc… I wish I could just take a pick and fix my brain and be normal. Yes I said it. Don’t believe these people- having mental illnesses is not normal and that’s okay. It’s not a bad word.
And to TOP IT ALL OFF god just had to make me neurodivergent as the final touch. Everyone in my family is neurodivergent. From my mom to my dad to me and my little sister. Shit we think the dog is too 💀. But it’s so crazy cuz the reason my parents (mainly my dad) never had anything done about it was because not just because they didn’t have the money, but also the community they’re in. It’s already bad enough society is so 👀 about being autistic and then you have the black community which is like worse towards people who are different. For lots of black people who have autism/neurodivergent or physical disabilities, our first and main bullies are the people who look like us, talk like us, dress like us, worship like us. It’s so alienating. Don’t worry it’s gotten better because of the newer generations but it’s just like damn can we catch a break . It’s a good thing this is not an on paper assignment cuz there’d be tears stains all along the page😹.
GAD and Emotional Labor — A Full-Time Job
Earlier today, I had to go grocery shopping. I was missing a few things around my apartment, and naturally had to make a quick stop at the Giant near campus to grab a couple of things. The trip itself didn’t take more than 30 minutes, and despite the crowds in the store, I had no issue finding and purchasing everything I needed.
By the time I returned to my apartment, my heart rate was averaging 120, I was covered in stress sweat, and I felt like my brain was scrambled eggs, just like the one “Your Brain on Drugs” ad — except my brain was just on tons of stress hormones.
Continue readingHidden disabilities tend to stay hidden (TW!! mental health, issues with healthcare, descriptions of dissociation, family issues, brief mention of fatphobia)
I’ve spent the majority of my life disabled, but no one would ever know it. Except, maybe, if the way I twist and writhe around trying to soothe my pain has been a bother to you. Maybe my dead stares and sudden confusion about what is happening around me have been weird to you. But would these even be clocked as me being someone who is disabled, or just as someone who is a nuisance to those around me?
Read more: Hidden disabilities tend to stay hidden (TW!! mental health, issues with healthcare, descriptions of dissociation, family issues, brief mention of fatphobia)I had horrible back pain as a kid. Doctors eventually took me seriously and said that I, a 13-year-old, would have to undergo major surgery to correct a 50+ degree curvature of my spine. This is done so with metal rods and screws put into my back. Yes, I can usually feel them.
Did this help the pain though? Absolutely not. The amount of time I have suffered with debilitating chronic pain and all the doctors and specialists I’ve seen have had no success in relieving my pain.
Would people know it? Absolutely not. My parents raised me to shut my mouth and deal with it. To push on no matter how bad it hurt. So I did, and I did, and I did. Dear god, my body is so sad about that.
Years go by, each adding new things. Your insane muscle tension from your surgery is causing you severe migraines? Sorry hun, good luck, and take some Tylenol (that’s hilarious) You’ve had weird severe migraines your whole life too?? We aren’t really gonna look into that at all actually. Your retina is detached, and you need to have surgery to insert a scleral buckle in your eye to reattach it but we also have no clue what caused it so good luck. You’re autoimmune. You have fibromyalgia, you have rheumatoid arthritis. Oh, this medicine isn’t helping your pain??? Wow, that’s weird. Let’s raise your dose (spoiler alert: that won’t help either). It hurts, but it’s invisible. No one knows. But it brings me shame. I hate telling people I have physical limitations, especially as a fat person. People usually give me that once over, like yeah. sureeee. you’re just a lazy bitch. So guess what I do!!! Exactly what my parents raised me to do. Fuck it hurts.
Did I mention these are only the physical ones?
Plethora of mental illnesses I could list on and on, but I’ll focus on the most stigmatized one. I struggle so badly with dissociative identity disorder (DID). Yes. I am ACTUALLY diagnosed. TikTok has absolutely just taken DID and ran with it. So much fake-claiming etc etc etc. I hate telling people I’m a system, I always feel insane and stupid and like I’m lying!! Really though, I can’t make up how terrifying and debilitating it is. I can’t make up how it feels to wake up and realize we are driving and to not have a single clue where we’re going or that we even left the house. I can’t describe how hard it is to deal with the episodes of no escape. I stay trapped, only heavily emotional parts fronting. Scout is causing us to only feel like a vessel. Nothing is real, you’re not real, this is a dream. Max is angry and we need him to not lash out, Ace is hysterically crying, Remy is having insane sensory overload, and Shiloh and Sadie are scared and are having flashbacks, triggering Ace to be hysterical again. Others are desperately trying to help, but get so drained and dissociative. Minutes. Hours. Days. I don’t really ever know how much time passes. I never know who I am. My brain literally feels like it’s buzzing with how much we switch and how much people are opinionated and talking over one another. We have meltdowns picking out clothes, music, makeup, ANYTHING because it is so hard to satisfy everyone and if someone is upset, Max will front and be mean. We don’t want that. Anxiety. Who can front? No one. Everyone is so burnt out. The body is tired. What the fuck do we do?
I keep my mouth shut.
So how do I take care of myself if no one really tends to know the extent of the shit I deal with?
I don’t.
My parents raised me to shut my mouth and deal with it. To push on no matter how bad it hurt. So I did, and I did, and I did.
Dear god, my body, and my mind, is so fucked because of that.
Smile for the customers
After learning what emotional labor is from Julie Beck It really made me think about all of the times I had to be at work with the heaviest heart from my personal problems but I had to show up and be happy for a person I have never met before.
Honestly I think the idea of emotional labor is a two way street it’s good but bad all at the same time. Because it puts so much strain on a worker’s mindset to show up for their job when they have a lot of things going on in their head and then don’t let there be a rude customer because it just makes it ten times worse.
This relates to my story very well recently with my server job. About three weeks ago I was going through something that really broke my mental down and everyone knows when your mental isn’t up to par you won’t be up to par. So I had this one guy who wanted more water so of course me doing my job I was going to refill his drink regardless but the man kept using his fingers in a come here motion every time he needed water and of course I let it slide when I first saw it because I just thought that maybe he’s doing it because he thought we didn’t notice his cup but after filling up the cup the man had the nerve to shoo me away and not say a word to me not even a thank you and that really annoyed me. It got to the point I had to stop serving him all together just because of it but I couldn’t do that all night because the requirements of a customer service type worker is to make sure the customer is happy and it is always said that we need to keep a smile on our face.
I guess the point of this blog is that if you need a break try to find a way to take that break because if not you just gonna blow up on a person that didn’t deserve it or maybe they did. Also employers should stop putting the customer is always right rule on their employees and should pay attention to how badly we can be treated just because the customer thinks they have the right.
Medical Terminology and the Patriarchy
I learned about this in another class and found it to be very relevant to this class. In general, Emily Martin’s The Egg and the Sperm: How Science Has Constructed a Romance Based on Stereotypical Male-Female Roles, talks about how the language in medical textbooks reinforces patriarchal views of men’s and women’s roles in reproduction. Enjoy!
In Emily Martin’s The Egg and the Sperm, she asserts that even when we learn about basic biology, such as eggs and sperm, these notions from the patriarchy are reinforced. This subtle but very deliberate assertion is intentional. It reinforces gender norms and says that the sperm is dominant while the egg is submissive. The sperm travels through the female reproductive system and penetrates the egg. This is very much a Western idea. Now, modern research has found that the egg is the dominant one. Instead of the sperm penetrating the egg, the egg, “traps the sperm and prevents their escape.” (Martin, pg. 493)
The reason these narratives are so problematic is because it devalues the egg’s role in reproduction and, in doing so, reduces the whole female reproductive system and women in general and vice versa. Other things also reinforce this. Like how menstruation is viewed as a failure. The language medical textbooks show menstruation, “as a chaotic disintegration of form, complementing the many texts that describe it as “ceasing,” “dying,” “losing,” “denuding, “expelling. ” (Martin, pg. 486) As if a women’s role is purely reproductive and she is deemed useless or otherized when she is dealing with a completely normal biological function.
Reference
Martin, Emily. “The egg and the sperm: How science has constructed a romance based on stereotypical male-female roles.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, vol. 16, no. 3, Apr. 1991, pp. 485–501, https://doi.org/10.1086/494680.
What Were You Wearing
“I was seven,
Wearing play clothes,
When he decided,
I was his experiment
I was seven,
Playing in my home,
When he decided to
Claim my innocence”
“I was eight,
Wearing a black shirt,
And pj pants with pink stars
When it all started
I was eight,
In the trusting lap
Of my uncle,
Too young to question,
Too young to debate”
“I was three,
Or possibly five,
When it became,
A monthly encounter,
I think I was three,
Sometimes in a sundress,
Others in pajamas,
When he decided
He had the right to me”
This poem was inspired by an exhibit called What Were You Wearing. The title of the exhibit is a question commonly asked to victims of rape/sexual assault, implying that what happened to them was somehow their own fault. The exhibit proves that clothing is irrelevant when it comes to sexual assault, and that we should stop victim-blaming by asking this question.
Music has kept me alive
Since I was in middle school I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety. I had to find ways to keep myself from going over the edge because sadly during that time I didn’t really feel like I had someone to talk to. Both of my parents are immigrants and if you know, you know. Mental health isn’t a very big thing to them because they grew up being told to get over things and that they’re fine. So they only passed on what they were taught, which is fine I can’t really blame them too much. That only meant that I had to figure it out on my own, so I indulged in music. Mostly Jhene Aiko, she brought me a sense of peace, the beats were soothing, her voice was calm and gentle so honestly she was my escape for a while. Since she helped me so much, whenever I would be sad or in my head I would play her music and it would help me get out of my head. A song by her that has helped me a lot is called W.A.Y.S. Which stands for “why aren’t you smiling”, this song would help me realize that although I’m sad and how I’m feeling is valid, there’s so much to be grateful for.
Now realizing how much music helps me, I try to listen to more upbeat music when I am feeling sad or anxious because it can completely change your mood and vibrations. Honestly, before i used to listen to sad music which would make me sadder. I feel like we’ve all done it before because sometimes you just want to listen to how you feel, but i realized that for me i need to try to get out of the mood as soon as possible before it gets worse. Don’t get me wrong though, i still very much enjoy my “sad” music because alot of the time i can relate to what they’re saying and going through and it’s nice to know that I’m not the only person that feels a specific way. Music can make you realize that we as humans are so much alike.
Music has such a huge influence on people, it can simply be someone’s escape and that’s what it was for me. Unfortunately i don’t have a nice singing voice so i couldn’t really “do” music. But i will always enjoy it, sing other songs, dance to it, just be free when music is on. Thats what it’s about right? Being free and being able to express yourself in a healthy way.
my new diagnosis
I remember a little while ago we talked about what getting a diagnosis means to us, up until yesterday getting a diagnosis was just something that happened when I was sick or went to the doctor so it didn’t mean anything to me. But the other day i was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and 2nd stage mania, i guess at first it didn’t mean anything to me but as the day went on i started to realize some of the things that comes with diagnosis like this; even though i am the same person i was before i was given a label, a name to the things that i had be experiencing. society is going to view and label me as damaged goods, unable to regulate myself without outside help and i don’t know why that scares me so much because i haven’t changed i just have a better sense of direction when it comes to treatment for myself. but im so scared of being treated differently that i haven’t even told or talked to my parents or family about it. personally i don’t like to be the center of attention and knowing my parents that’s exactly whats going to happen, i recognize that i am taking the choice away from them about how they are going to respond but i just scared of the possibility of what could be that i don’t want to take that risk. just sitting here now writing this out im realizing that i don’t even know what i would tell them because i don’t really understand it myself and i know that they’ll have questions that i don’t have the answer too. im really trying not to fall down the internet rabbit hole of information because a lot of it could be false, i did talk to my therapist and my psychologist but it still a lot for me and feelings mixed with information never was a good mix for me so im trying to find a god balance but its hard.
My Reflection
Who am I?
I,
I’m my thoughts,
My dreams,
My aspirations.
I’m my name,
My looks,
My imagination.
That’s what I see,
When I stare,
Into my reflection.
My reflection,
Ripples in the river of life,
The shallow,
Shallow river of life.
To the world,
I am my reflection:
I am only what the world sees,
Only what the world decides I am.
My body is but a vessel;
Why must the world ignore me,
But acknowledge the vessel?!
Books, merely objects
Are still judged
By only their covers,
So who am I to demand
They not judge me
By only what they can see.
The inside of a book
Is where the value lies
But most people don’t bother;
It’s easier to judge
From the outside
My body is a part of me,
It embodies my soul
My personality,
But it is not all I am.
I am not my scars,
My disability,
I am me,
A completely separate entity.
I, Me,
Not just what you see
Unruly Bodies 