You're Never as Alone as You Feel You Are; or, A Lesson in Blogger Creepin'

It's funny.

What should have been a six-month period of adventure and self-discovery turned out to be a drastic reclusion (pretty sure I just made that word up) into myself; my anxiety, my self-loathing, my apathy, my complete and utter untogetherness.

(I guess it's only funny if you appreciate self-deprecating ironic humor.)

A series of events brought me here, spurred upon by my genetics, family history, and penchance for angsty dispositions--a complete and utter desire to remove me from myself in order to gain some much-needed perspective. Perspective did I gain, and in my typical perspective-getting state: fatigued, lonely, bored, longing.

(Apologies for ineloquence; it is four in the morning and my body is tired but my mind cannot rest until it is satisfactorily purged goddamn I sound pretentious.)

Per the creation of this post, I am maddeningly convinced that doing two separate comps is a good idea, as I want the opportunity to focus solely on a topic that has and continues to plague my existence: mental illness. More specifically, women and illness, and how it gets pathologized and even romanticized as a kind of creative rite of passage. Sexton, Plath, Dickens--all tortured and brilliant and tragic. Wurtzel, Baumgardner and Hornbacher--these women have saved my life; they continue to save lives--their stories are my story, their pain is tangible, their message unwavering: you are never as alone as you feel you are.

Through some recent and inadvertent creeping, I came upon the blog of someone I'm acquainted with who struggles with illness and disorder. My heart eagerly devoured her every word, and if I ever have the chance I'll write brave and inspiring on her arms.

In Light of the Arizona Immigration Law SB1070

Leviticus 19:33-34

33 'When an alien lives with you in your land, do not mistreat him.
34 The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native-born. Love him as yourself, for you were aliens in Egypt. I am the LORD your God.

Irreverence

I'll admit that I'm just about the last person in the world to be criticizing the incivility of political discourses--pretty much, I'm one of those people that uses the old "I hate Republicans" line as a valid argument against conservative social policy.

Is this wrong? Absolutely.

Do I care? Ehh.

My experiences abroad have only reinforced my stances on "controversial" (I hate that word) issues like gay marriage, abortion and health care--fairly unapologetically. Brits I've talked to don't understand--like, literally, they fucking don't comprehend--how the US, being as world powery as we are, does not provide a public health care option for its citizens. And abortion? Well, it's better to nip that shit in the bud rather than burden taxpayers with even more unwanted children.

And see? The previous sentence, what with the nipping of buds (come to think of it, is the word I'm looking for 'butt?' I'd always thought it was bud, but that doesn't seem to make sense...) and children as economic liabilities/burdens, it's no wonder I attempt to block this blog from family members and my more conservative friends. I speak to them in a different way, a more respectful and civil way (or attempt to, at least)--but after a well-thought and well-articulated argument is rebutted by "ZOMG IT'S MURDER," I feel I have to blog in my real life voice or else I'd go batshit crazy. Writing is how I deal; I choose to blog rather than journal because yes, I DO want people to read this and engage with me.

I fucking want attention and space to be heard in. 'Cause nice little girls, they're seen and not heard...well, fuck that. I'm going to swear and be irreverent and blog about uncomfortable topics because that's who I am.

Yet, there's a kind of hypocrisy in this, as I expect others to cater to MY beliefs when they constantly bombard my Facebook news feed with biblical quotes along the lines of "'Women are inferior and should be subjugated as such' --God."

If everyone would just think in a socially progressive way like I do, I wouldn't be in this dilemma. :(

Then again, I guess I'd have nothing to sing about...

all in all is all we all are

Creeper mode has been on extreme lately, and I've stumbled upon quite a lot of blogs I didn't know existed. What's particularly interesting for me is that I'm not as alone as I often feel I am in my anxieties and insecurities, nor am I alone in putting on a certain face so as not to worry friends, family, coworkers or perfect strangers.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know people as well as I think I do--but I know exactly how they feel and I wish I could reach out to them in real life how they've reach out to me via the interwebs.

In Transition

Per my last blog, it's become wildly apparent to me that my life is a series of identity crises. I feel like I'm always defining myself and being defined by the actions of others, and what's really made me so homesick lately is that I don't have people to be defined by here.

So here I am, in transition, trying to figure out who the hell I am and coming to terms with who I've been.

It's scary, it's exciting, and it's happening right now. I'm looking forward to the person I'm becoming.

nothing to win and nothing left to lose

Holy fucking balls am I homesick.

Been thinking a lot about my motivation to come here in the first place, and have deduced it's because of my family. Two-foldly: firstly, to make them proud; secondly, to prove that I'm not my father. Turns out, your problems remain the same despite geographical relocation. Bollocks.

I feel I've wasted time and resources on several fronts. It's true that I've learned some, seen sights and absorbed culture. Hell, I even asked a German boy to dance at a traditional Scottish ceilidh.

I've been in a pretty consistent rut and I don't know what the fuck to do about it.

New Life Goal

Reclaim the Virgin Mary as a patriarchally subversive figure in the bible.

Write a book about it.

Rabble-rouse.