My dad's real sick.
He has been, for as long as I've been alive. He had his first heart attack years before I was born--he was 30. A congenital defect in his heart mixed with, well, bad luck, mostly, put him in the hospital for a bypass on his mother's birthday.
As a child, I rarely understood how his "condition" affected him, or my mother, or any of us.
It was the source of funny stories--looking up in the ambulance on the way down to Boston with our family doctor's face all he could see: "Mark, you dead yet?"
The weekly drives to a clinic in Boston, and the Jamaican nurse who once brought out 16 vials for his blood tests: "Ah, I'm just fookin' witcha, man!"
The one time, when I was ten or so, that his doctor wrote a prescription that spend the winter attached to our refridgerator: "Kids must shovel snow. Use as often as needed."
And every February we celebrated, on one day, two events: his mother's birthday, and his "anniversary." I was never entirely sure which one was the most important, though I knew which one he tried to ignore.
But mostly, it didn't affect us too much. Not us kids. We knew, eventually, that money was tight because of all the pills Dad had to take--stacked up on a side of the counter and in the two medicine cabinets, with strange-tasting names like Lipitor, Lysinopril, and Plavix. But for the most part, all we knew was that Dad was sick.
Starting around twelve, when I was rebellious and sick from my own birth defect (this one in the chemicals that create emotional rationality), I'd go with Dad on trips to pick up take-out. We'd listen to NPR and mostly, we'd sit in silence with each other. Dad would sometimes mention about how he and his own father rarely spoke when they were alone--words weren't needed. I learned from my father the joy of comfortable silence, and I felt sincere pride when I thought of how we could be comfortably silent together.
But there was one night, crossing the bridge on Route One, when the report on NPR was about prescription drug coverage, and prices, and how over-medicated our American society has become. Then, we talked. I remember how angry I was at the report; I was just reaching the age where I really understood how much money my parents spent on medication, and felt helpless to stop it, and guilty for contributing to the need. I said as much. "What can you do? You have to take the medication. Pharmaceutical companies know that. You have to take it! You die if you don't! So you have to pay them this money! There isn't any choice!"
"No," said my father. "No. You don't have to take it."
And it was then that I really began to understand that my father really was sick. I remember him telling me that maybe, eventually, when we were all out of school and out on our own, maybe then he'd just stop taking the drugs. "There is a choice. Everyone dies. If you get to choose how..."
When I was just past fourteen, on his fiftieth birthday, my father had another heart attack. I remember seeing him in the hospital bed--sitting up, conscious, smiling wryly and cracking jokes about how he knew how to make a birthday special. But he was, for the first time, someone other than my father. He just didn't look real. His skin was gray. Literally gray. And he looked thinner than he had that morning. Covered in tubes with the "whoosh-tick-ping" of the machines surrounding him, I couldn't be sure who he was.
They put a pacemaker in to his chest. And for a while he joked about him and Dick Cheney--two men with BMWs in their chests, or at least something which cost the same.
I've been noticing, the past two years, as he lost his father and then his mother, that each time I come home from college, he looks older. Paler and thinner. I try to pretend that it's just I haven't seen him in a few months, and the man I'm remembering is from when I was just a child. He's lost a father and a mother in the space of two years. He is fifty-seven, and he has heart disease, a bad back, and diabetes. Of course he looks old.
My dad's real sick.
Even the doctors admit it now. Dad wouldn't have mentioned, but my sister and I both asked how his last appointment went. They're sending him to Boston to talk to some transplant doctors.
There is a part of me, the small bit that always claps for Tinkerbell, the bit that knew the soccer team freshman year would win State Champs, even though we'd never won a season, that says things will be okay. That each thump of his fist, that each early night, that each deep breath, that each pvc, that each electric shock he feels in his chest is okay. We'll take it one day, one night at a time. I will wait for him to go to bed, and then I will go to mine, and when I wake he'll be at work, and when he comes home we will have dinner and watch "Two and a Half Men" and he will take the dog for a walk while I do dishes. And he will make it. That yes, everyone dies, but I don't have to worry, he'll be here for twenty, thirty, forty more years.
There is this other part of me, which I try to keep pushed deep down inside, that my father often called a pessimist, and my pessimist of a grandmother often called a realist.
This part knows that transplant committees follow an inverse age ratio, and my father is fifty-seven. This part knows that transplant committees want hearts to go to healthy patients, and my father has diabetes. This part knows that even if everything goes well on the medical side, this may be the time when my father simply says "Enough."
I've done enough research since I was fourteen, and I've seen enough episodes of "House." Assuming one gets through the surgery and the transplant is never rejected, the average time a person can assume to get from a heart transplant is five to ten years.
If the doctors are pushing him this time, that means they think the risks (and there are so very many) are worth it. That means they think an average of five to ten years is probably more than he's looking at now.
My dad's real sick. And I can't fix it. And I don't know what to do.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Anger (noun): The righteous emotion experienced by a person when their civil rights are denied them.
Somebody today asked me why I was so angry about Proposition 8.
Am I angry? Yes, I'm fucking angry. Am I pissed off? Yes, I'm goddamned pissed off. I might go so far as to say that I'm feeling vengeful, even.
Here's why:
I am a citizen of the United States, of Maine, of Farmington. I have worked every summer from the age of 14 on (that's 8 years) and every school year from the age of 17 on (that's 5 years). I pay my Maine and Federal taxes every year. I vote in every local, state, and national election since I was 18, and I campaigned for the presidential election when I was 17 and couldn't vote. I've attended public schools and did pretty damn well in them. I've volunteered my time for political campaigns, at soup kitchens and car washes and even animal shelters. In short, I've paid my dues.
Do I have all the rights of a citizen? Hell no. Far from it. And the rights I DO have change depending on what state I'm living in.
The man who (kidnapped, beat, and raped more times than I can count) assaulted me, on the other hand--BECAUSE HE IS STRAIGHT--has MORE rights than I do.
Now those of you who think extending civil marriage rights to the LGBT community is wrong, those of YOU out there who count me as your friend, you sit there, and you give me a reason, one goddamned tiny fucking LEGAL reason, as to how this fact even remotely attempts to be close to JUSTICE.
Go ahead. Give me your reason. Give me your reason why I should be given less civil rights than a man who has admitted rape.
Then maybe I might not be so angry.
Am I angry? Yes, I'm fucking angry. Am I pissed off? Yes, I'm goddamned pissed off. I might go so far as to say that I'm feeling vengeful, even.
Here's why:
I am a citizen of the United States, of Maine, of Farmington. I have worked every summer from the age of 14 on (that's 8 years) and every school year from the age of 17 on (that's 5 years). I pay my Maine and Federal taxes every year. I vote in every local, state, and national election since I was 18, and I campaigned for the presidential election when I was 17 and couldn't vote. I've attended public schools and did pretty damn well in them. I've volunteered my time for political campaigns, at soup kitchens and car washes and even animal shelters. In short, I've paid my dues.
Do I have all the rights of a citizen? Hell no. Far from it. And the rights I DO have change depending on what state I'm living in.
The man who (kidnapped, beat, and raped more times than I can count) assaulted me, on the other hand--BECAUSE HE IS STRAIGHT--has MORE rights than I do.
Now those of you who think extending civil marriage rights to the LGBT community is wrong, those of YOU out there who count me as your friend, you sit there, and you give me a reason, one goddamned tiny fucking LEGAL reason, as to how this fact even remotely attempts to be close to JUSTICE.
Go ahead. Give me your reason. Give me your reason why I should be given less civil rights than a man who has admitted rape.
Then maybe I might not be so angry.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Family Conversations: My Anti-Anti-Drug
I'm thinking of writing a play:
Sister: Oh! Periods hurt!
Self: I haven't had one since December.
Sister: What, why? Are you pregnant?
Self: No, the last time I had sex was in October.
Mother: With who?
Self: The person I was dating in October.
Sister: Oh! Him. I mean her. Did you guys have normal sex?
Self: What?
Sister: Like, p to v?
Self: Yes, we had penis to vagina sex.
Sister: Ew! You could just say p to v!
Mother: I thought you didn't like sex?
Self: I have a very high sex drive, actually. I'm pretty much constantly horny.
Sister: why would you not like sex?
Mother: Because of her experiences.
Sister: Oh! ...did you want it this time?
Self: Yes of course.
Sister: Did you like it?
Mother: Yeah, did you?
Self: I spent 2 hours in the shower afterwards, but yeah, at the time. It's cool. She dumped me anyway.
Mother: That's what I figured. You aren't ready to have sex with people.
Sister: Why wouldn't you like sex?
Evenings are interesting...
Sister: Oh! Periods hurt!
Self: I haven't had one since December.
Sister: What, why? Are you pregnant?
Self: No, the last time I had sex was in October.
Mother: With who?
Self: The person I was dating in October.
Sister: Oh! Him. I mean her. Did you guys have normal sex?
Self: What?
Sister: Like, p to v?
Self: Yes, we had penis to vagina sex.
Sister: Ew! You could just say p to v!
Mother: I thought you didn't like sex?
Self: I have a very high sex drive, actually. I'm pretty much constantly horny.
Sister: why would you not like sex?
Mother: Because of her experiences.
Sister: Oh! ...did you want it this time?
Self: Yes of course.
Sister: Did you like it?
Mother: Yeah, did you?
Self: I spent 2 hours in the shower afterwards, but yeah, at the time. It's cool. She dumped me anyway.
Mother: That's what I figured. You aren't ready to have sex with people.
Sister: Why wouldn't you like sex?
Evenings are interesting...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Judgment Day
Today has been a difficult day. The Prop. 8 ruling hit me a lot harder than I had expected.
What has hurt me more are the significant number of people--some of them friends--online today who have managed to vilify me for CARING about Prop. 8. There are people who think that because I care about civil marriage equality, that because I have and will continue to volunteer my free time on Maine's civil marriage equality campaign, that must mean that somehow I DON'T CARE about the thousands of LGBTQQA (and etc, I can't remember all the letters at this time of night/day) who:
Can't afford health care
Can't get a reasonable job at a living wage
Can't afford housing or get denied housing
Are murdered or beaten or raped or otherwise victims of hate crimes
Can't get proper HIV/AIDS education, medication, and research
Try to or "succeed" at committing suicide because they feel no other option is open for them any more.
NEWS FLASH:
I care. I care a whole fucking goddamned lot.
Yes, people are dying. No, civil marriage equality isn't going to save any lives. And yes, UHC, affordable housing, living wages, aids prevention and research, organizations supporting and defending queer and trans youth will all save countless lives. AND I ADVOCATE FOR THESE CAUSES AS WELL.
No, it is not more important for me to have the option of marriage than it is to combat what is basically a government-and-society based systematic mass murder.
Yes, my first girlfriend was raped and brutally murdered by her uncle because she was gay.
Yes, I've been raped and beaten by someone who was trying to make me straight (as if that were possible).
Yes, I know and have known queer people who have tried to commit or "succeeded" at committing suicide.
Yes, I know queer people with HIV/AIDS.
Yes, I've attempted suicide numerous times (so many I've lost count, actually).
YES, I CARE.
I'm not putting gay marriage ABOVE these other causes.
I don't prioritize gay marriage over these causes--yes, it's true, I'm working on a marriage equality campaign.
I'm also working on trying to help queer students at UMF and in the community gain adequate health care, jobs, housing, and feel safe and comfortable on our campus. Have I succeeded? I don't know. We are nowhere near where we need to be. But I think, maybe even just a little bit, we are closer than we were when I first came to Farmington. And that's something.
So stop fucking judging me when you know next to nothing about me. It's hurtful, it's offensive, and it puts you in a damn shitty light. Maybe, just maybe, you should get off your goddamned high horse and actually DO something besides judging people who you think aren't doing enough.
What has hurt me more are the significant number of people--some of them friends--online today who have managed to vilify me for CARING about Prop. 8. There are people who think that because I care about civil marriage equality, that because I have and will continue to volunteer my free time on Maine's civil marriage equality campaign, that must mean that somehow I DON'T CARE about the thousands of LGBTQQA (and etc, I can't remember all the letters at this time of night/day) who:
Can't afford health care
Can't get a reasonable job at a living wage
Can't afford housing or get denied housing
Are murdered or beaten or raped or otherwise victims of hate crimes
Can't get proper HIV/AIDS education, medication, and research
Try to or "succeed" at committing suicide because they feel no other option is open for them any more.
NEWS FLASH:
I care. I care a whole fucking goddamned lot.
Yes, people are dying. No, civil marriage equality isn't going to save any lives. And yes, UHC, affordable housing, living wages, aids prevention and research, organizations supporting and defending queer and trans youth will all save countless lives. AND I ADVOCATE FOR THESE CAUSES AS WELL.
No, it is not more important for me to have the option of marriage than it is to combat what is basically a government-and-society based systematic mass murder.
Yes, my first girlfriend was raped and brutally murdered by her uncle because she was gay.
Yes, I've been raped and beaten by someone who was trying to make me straight (as if that were possible).
Yes, I know and have known queer people who have tried to commit or "succeeded" at committing suicide.
Yes, I know queer people with HIV/AIDS.
Yes, I've attempted suicide numerous times (so many I've lost count, actually).
YES, I CARE.
I'm not putting gay marriage ABOVE these other causes.
I don't prioritize gay marriage over these causes--yes, it's true, I'm working on a marriage equality campaign.
I'm also working on trying to help queer students at UMF and in the community gain adequate health care, jobs, housing, and feel safe and comfortable on our campus. Have I succeeded? I don't know. We are nowhere near where we need to be. But I think, maybe even just a little bit, we are closer than we were when I first came to Farmington. And that's something.
So stop fucking judging me when you know next to nothing about me. It's hurtful, it's offensive, and it puts you in a damn shitty light. Maybe, just maybe, you should get off your goddamned high horse and actually DO something besides judging people who you think aren't doing enough.
Friday, May 15, 2009
You Insinuate, A Snake, Words Falling From Your Lips Like Dying Spiders
I'm not really feeling okay right now. Like, really not okay. I'm feeling really lonely, really down. I'm feeling really hurt by the amount of people not even tangentially connected to me who hate me because they can't believe someone they know would ever do something so horrible.
Well fuck them, and fuck their hate, and fuck the irony of this statement.
Fuck being stuck in this goddamned limbo of a court battle for what is possibly another three years where absolutely nothing will happen. Fuck the system and fuck not standing up for myself when I should have because if I had, none of this would be happening right now.
Fuck you, IFN, and fuck me for ever loving you, and believing you ever loved me.
I am tired.
I don't want to do this anymore. I want to go away.
I really really really really really really really really really really really want to go away.
There is no where to go.
I just don't want to live anymore.
This is not my way of saying I'm going to hurt myself--I highly doubt I am.
But it's a defeat, admitting I don't want to live. I try so hard to "pretend to be normal," like Dad says to. Dad wants me to pretend about everything, it seems sometimes.
I'm not a big fan of pretending to be normal.
I hurt. And I don't want to have to hide it. Most of the time, I'm not even sure I can.
And fuck you, Supposed Best Friend, for when I reach out to you online because I need to talk, saying "Oh dear... don't do this please." When you hurt, I drop everything. I talk to you. I make sure you're okay. When you storm off because you're pissed at your girlfriend, I IM you, and ask if you're okay, despite the fact that you get verbally abusive to me, who had nothing to do with the fight.
I know it's hard to sit there and listen when you want to fix things and can't. I know it's hard and it sucks and you don't want to do it. But I need someone right now, and fuck you for not being willing to be my friend. Friends aren't just about good times. They're about listening when someone's in pain.
I hurt, and I needed to talk. You shut me out because you, apparently, couldn't deal. So fuck you.
Fuck everything.
I'm sick of pretending I'm okay. I'm not. I don't know how I'm going to get through anything, all I know is I don't want to, and I have to try. I have to pretend to be better. I'M NOT. I have to pretend always to be 100% fine because no one can deal with my problems anymore, everyone thinks it's somehow a failure to still be hurting, to still be afraid.
There's no set time-line for getting through abuse, for getting over being raped every goddamned night for 18 months. SO FUCK EVERYONE WHO THINKS I'M NOT DOING THIS QUICK ENOUGH.
Fuck you. Seriously.
And fuck me for being angry, but goddamnit it's the only way to maybe get through without crying, and I really don't want to keep my (perfect) sister awake.
FUCK.
Well fuck them, and fuck their hate, and fuck the irony of this statement.
Fuck being stuck in this goddamned limbo of a court battle for what is possibly another three years where absolutely nothing will happen. Fuck the system and fuck not standing up for myself when I should have because if I had, none of this would be happening right now.
Fuck you, IFN, and fuck me for ever loving you, and believing you ever loved me.
I am tired.
I don't want to do this anymore. I want to go away.
I really really really really really really really really really really really want to go away.
There is no where to go.
I just don't want to live anymore.
This is not my way of saying I'm going to hurt myself--I highly doubt I am.
But it's a defeat, admitting I don't want to live. I try so hard to "pretend to be normal," like Dad says to. Dad wants me to pretend about everything, it seems sometimes.
I'm not a big fan of pretending to be normal.
I hurt. And I don't want to have to hide it. Most of the time, I'm not even sure I can.
And fuck you, Supposed Best Friend, for when I reach out to you online because I need to talk, saying "Oh dear... don't do this please." When you hurt, I drop everything. I talk to you. I make sure you're okay. When you storm off because you're pissed at your girlfriend, I IM you, and ask if you're okay, despite the fact that you get verbally abusive to me, who had nothing to do with the fight.
I know it's hard to sit there and listen when you want to fix things and can't. I know it's hard and it sucks and you don't want to do it. But I need someone right now, and fuck you for not being willing to be my friend. Friends aren't just about good times. They're about listening when someone's in pain.
I hurt, and I needed to talk. You shut me out because you, apparently, couldn't deal. So fuck you.
Fuck everything.
I'm sick of pretending I'm okay. I'm not. I don't know how I'm going to get through anything, all I know is I don't want to, and I have to try. I have to pretend to be better. I'M NOT. I have to pretend always to be 100% fine because no one can deal with my problems anymore, everyone thinks it's somehow a failure to still be hurting, to still be afraid.
There's no set time-line for getting through abuse, for getting over being raped every goddamned night for 18 months. SO FUCK EVERYONE WHO THINKS I'M NOT DOING THIS QUICK ENOUGH.
Fuck you. Seriously.
And fuck me for being angry, but goddamnit it's the only way to maybe get through without crying, and I really don't want to keep my (perfect) sister awake.
FUCK.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Heading Home
As I was leaving Farmington today, I ran into Jude. I yelled, "See you later?" And he yelled back, "You're leaving?" He came over and hugged me. And, in front of Tori and Dad, thanked me. Which was strange. He said, "Thank you for all you've done. I've really learned a lot from you. Thank you."
I don't really know that I've done a lot. Or that I've taught anyone anything. I stood up for myself with this civil marriage bill because if I don't stand up for myself on one thing, no matter how far removed it is from him, I'm terrified that inside my head, I'll stop standing up for myself with Ian.
I know a lot of people won't understand what I mean when I say that. I feel sorrow for the few who do. No, he's not a part of my life anymore, except on the periphery--court dates, victim's statements, staying out of certain towns and away from certain people. But inside my head, in the consciousness that defines me, he is always always always there. Maybe he always will be. I don't know. But I have to stand up for myself all the time, in everything, so that inside my head, I can stand up, too.
So like I said, I'm not sure I've done all that much. Really. It's not like Kylie, who has chosen to fight for something that may never directly affect her. If I ever get married, chances are it'll be to a woman, and so I had to stand up for this bill. How couldn't I? Granted, I know I've asked that question of others time and time again: why aren't you standing up for this? But I've been lucky--I've got family and friends who support me, even when they don't understand me. I didn't have a choice but to stand up for this. And there's a lot more I could have done. A lot.
I'm not so sure I taught anyone anything, either. I certainly didn't mean to.
I'm fairly certain I've got a good chance of passing my classes. It won't have been a stellar semester, by any means, but I feel like both Gretchen and Julianna would have told me by now if I was near the edge of failing. So I'm expecting Cs. Which, honestly, has bothered me a lot. I want to do better in school, and I feel like I haven't done as well as I could have, especially with all the other things going on in the periphery of my life and the centrality of my consciousness.
But right now, that doesn't matter.
Jude, I don't know what I ever said or did to make you thank me. But thank you. Apparently I made a difference. I'm not sure how, but I did. And knowing that is a hell of a lot more important than any grade I could ever get.
Thanks.
I don't really know that I've done a lot. Or that I've taught anyone anything. I stood up for myself with this civil marriage bill because if I don't stand up for myself on one thing, no matter how far removed it is from him, I'm terrified that inside my head, I'll stop standing up for myself with Ian.
I know a lot of people won't understand what I mean when I say that. I feel sorrow for the few who do. No, he's not a part of my life anymore, except on the periphery--court dates, victim's statements, staying out of certain towns and away from certain people. But inside my head, in the consciousness that defines me, he is always always always there. Maybe he always will be. I don't know. But I have to stand up for myself all the time, in everything, so that inside my head, I can stand up, too.
So like I said, I'm not sure I've done all that much. Really. It's not like Kylie, who has chosen to fight for something that may never directly affect her. If I ever get married, chances are it'll be to a woman, and so I had to stand up for this bill. How couldn't I? Granted, I know I've asked that question of others time and time again: why aren't you standing up for this? But I've been lucky--I've got family and friends who support me, even when they don't understand me. I didn't have a choice but to stand up for this. And there's a lot more I could have done. A lot.
I'm not so sure I taught anyone anything, either. I certainly didn't mean to.
I'm fairly certain I've got a good chance of passing my classes. It won't have been a stellar semester, by any means, but I feel like both Gretchen and Julianna would have told me by now if I was near the edge of failing. So I'm expecting Cs. Which, honestly, has bothered me a lot. I want to do better in school, and I feel like I haven't done as well as I could have, especially with all the other things going on in the periphery of my life and the centrality of my consciousness.
But right now, that doesn't matter.
Jude, I don't know what I ever said or did to make you thank me. But thank you. Apparently I made a difference. I'm not sure how, but I did. And knowing that is a hell of a lot more important than any grade I could ever get.
Thanks.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Bias on Internet Encyclopedias: "Homosexuality" According to Conservapedia, Wikipedia, and Liberapedia
Thanks to Cracked.com (that bastion of truth and good-will on the Internet) I found Conservapedia. And then Liberapedia (made solely as a response to Conservapedia, it appears). I thought the best way to consider the bias of each site (including Wiki, which C-pedia says is liberal and L-pedia says is conservative) was to take an article from each discussing the same entry, link it, and maybe leave a few quotes from each. (Warning: Apparently the stuff from C-pedia can not only induce anger, but could possibly be triggering for survivors of abuse/violence. Please please please only read if you are SURE you want to; I don't want to inadvertently hurt or trigger anyone.)
1. Conservapedia:
http://conservapedia.com/Homosexuality
-"Many studies demonstrate a sadly disproportionate extent of sexual abuse in the childhoods of homosexual men, suggesting at the least that both homosexual unhappiness and homosexuality itself derive from common causes..."
-"childhood sexual molestation may not be a causal factor for homosexuality and that the abuse molestation may be occurring after the individual is a homosexual and the medical researchers speculated that the victims of molestation may be engaging in behaviors that put them at greater risk for molestation."
-"The occultist Aleister Crowley was a bisexual and was dubbed in his lifetime the most wicked man on earth"
-"there is a strong argument that one can leave homosexuality. In addition, given that the homosexual population has significantly higher rates of many diseases and the homosexual population also has significantly lower rates of various measures of mental health it can be strongly argued that engaging in homosexual acts is a bad choice for individuals. Another other factor that makes engaging in homosexual acts a bad choice for individuals is the significantly higher rates of domestic violence in homosexual couples. In addition, according to experts homosexual murders are relatively or quite common and often homosexual murders are very brutal. Also, the homosexual population has a greater propensity to engage in illegal drug use."
-"A 53-year-old university professor and campaigner for legalized same-sex marriage in the UK said she was once a married "happy heterosexual" who had no doubts about her sexual orientation, but political activity and involvement in feminist causes "changed" her into a lesbian."
-"In relation to homosexuality and smoking, the recent medical literature states the homosexual men and lesbians in the United States have significantly higher rates of cigarette smoking than heterosexuals."
-"American Lesbian Women More Than Twice as Likely to Be Obese Than All other Female Sexual Orientation Groups"
-"In 2008, conservative groups in the United States had a major victory. Proposition 8 passed in California." (No mention made of any of the more recent VICTORIES for gay rights)
2. Wikipedia This is significantly shorter than the one from C-pedia.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homosexuality
-"Homosexuality refers to attraction and/or sexual behavior between people of the same sex, or to a sexual orientation."
-"The American Psychological Association states that sexual orientation "describes the pattern of sexual attraction, behavior and identity e.g. homosexual (aka gay, lesbian), bisexual and heterosexual (aka straight)."
-"Most lesbian, gay, and bisexual people who seek psychotherapy do so for the same reasons as heterosexuals (stress, relationship difficulties, difficulty adjusting to social or work situations, etc.); their sexual orientation may be of primary, incidental, or no importance to their issues and treatment."
-"the APA also says that "most people experience little or no sense of choice about their sexual orientation"."
-"The American Academy of Pediatrics has stated that "sexual orientation probably is not determined by any one factor but by a combination of genetic, hormonal, and environmental influences"."
-"Sex between men has many health benefits including relieving stress, boosting the immune system, increasing self-esteem, intimacy, and promoting good sleep.[110][111][112][113][114] Same-sex sexual activity between women likely has similar benefits. In contrast to its benefits, sexual behavior can be a disease vector. Safe sex is a relevant harm reduction philosophy.[115] The United States prohibits men who have sex with men from donating blood "because they are, as a group, at increased risk for HIV, hepatitis B and certain other infections that can be transmitted by transfusion."[116] Many European countries have the same prohibition."
-"Most nations do not impede consensual sex between unrelated persons above the local age of consent. Some jurisdictions further recognize identical rights, protections, and privileges for the family structures of same-sex couples, including marriage."
-"In the United States, the FBI reported that 15.6% of hate crimes reported to police in 2004 were based on perceived sexual orientation. "
3. Liberapedia This is the shortest article yet. Here is the entire article (minus the part talking about conservative abuse of GLBT)
http://liberapedia.wikia.com/wiki/Homosexuality
-"Homosexuality (also Gayness, Queerness, LGBTness) is a perfectly natural sexual orientation, wherein a man loves a man, or a woman loves a woman, or a small furry creature from Proxima Centauri loves a small furry creature from Proxima Centauri of the same gender.It is doing everyone a favor, as gays are less likely to reproduce and contribute to overpopulation. Many animals have been shown to have homosexual tendencies, so the religious argument of it not being "natural" makes no sense. But it makes a fair amount of dollars for those using the issue to fatten their right-wing warchests. Churches that accept gays are called Open and affirming.
Since society does not really yet accept homosexuals, one of the things that holds progress back the most are words used as insults that relate to gays. In youth especially, use of the word "gay" as a term to indicate something or someone is bad in some way, is used very often. Again in youth the word "lesbian" is used in excess to show you are not one. If your friend does something that you, in your homophobia, might consider to be homosexual behaviour, you call her a lesbian."
For those of you who stuck with me on this one, good job! Please understand that none of this was an attack by me on any person and ideology (although C-pedia scares me--mostly because as an atheist, queer, Socialist I think some of the writers on there would either kill me or lock me up). I just find bias interesting--I like learning how to read through it. I think it's important to be able to do so, especially on the Internet, where the level of anonymity can make it almost impossible to attribute a piece of writing to an author, and therefore makes it easier to appear as fact, rather than opinion.
It's late and I'm sleepy. Peace!
1. Conservapedia:
http://conservapedia.com/Homosexuality
-"Many studies demonstrate a sadly disproportionate extent of sexual abuse in the childhoods of homosexual men, suggesting at the least that both homosexual unhappiness and homosexuality itself derive from common causes..."
-"childhood sexual molestation may not be a causal factor for homosexuality and that the abuse molestation may be occurring after the individual is a homosexual and the medical researchers speculated that the victims of molestation may be engaging in behaviors that put them at greater risk for molestation."
-"The occultist Aleister Crowley was a bisexual and was dubbed in his lifetime the most wicked man on earth"
-"there is a strong argument that one can leave homosexuality. In addition, given that the homosexual population has significantly higher rates of many diseases and the homosexual population also has significantly lower rates of various measures of mental health it can be strongly argued that engaging in homosexual acts is a bad choice for individuals. Another other factor that makes engaging in homosexual acts a bad choice for individuals is the significantly higher rates of domestic violence in homosexual couples. In addition, according to experts homosexual murders are relatively or quite common and often homosexual murders are very brutal. Also, the homosexual population has a greater propensity to engage in illegal drug use."
-"A 53-year-old university professor and campaigner for legalized same-sex marriage in the UK said she was once a married "happy heterosexual" who had no doubts about her sexual orientation, but political activity and involvement in feminist causes "changed" her into a lesbian."
-"In relation to homosexuality and smoking, the recent medical literature states the homosexual men and lesbians in the United States have significantly higher rates of cigarette smoking than heterosexuals."
-"American Lesbian Women More Than Twice as Likely to Be Obese Than All other Female Sexual Orientation Groups"
-"In 2008, conservative groups in the United States had a major victory. Proposition 8 passed in California." (No mention made of any of the more recent VICTORIES for gay rights)
2. Wikipedia This is significantly shorter than the one from C-pedia.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homosexuality
-"Homosexuality refers to attraction and/or sexual behavior between people of the same sex, or to a sexual orientation."
-"The American Psychological Association states that sexual orientation "describes the pattern of sexual attraction, behavior and identity e.g. homosexual (aka gay, lesbian), bisexual and heterosexual (aka straight)."
-"Most lesbian, gay, and bisexual people who seek psychotherapy do so for the same reasons as heterosexuals (stress, relationship difficulties, difficulty adjusting to social or work situations, etc.); their sexual orientation may be of primary, incidental, or no importance to their issues and treatment."
-"the APA also says that "most people experience little or no sense of choice about their sexual orientation"."
-"The American Academy of Pediatrics has stated that "sexual orientation probably is not determined by any one factor but by a combination of genetic, hormonal, and environmental influences"."
-"Sex between men has many health benefits including relieving stress, boosting the immune system, increasing self-esteem, intimacy, and promoting good sleep.[110][111][112][113][114] Same-sex sexual activity between women likely has similar benefits. In contrast to its benefits, sexual behavior can be a disease vector. Safe sex is a relevant harm reduction philosophy.[115] The United States prohibits men who have sex with men from donating blood "because they are, as a group, at increased risk for HIV, hepatitis B and certain other infections that can be transmitted by transfusion."[116] Many European countries have the same prohibition."
-"Most nations do not impede consensual sex between unrelated persons above the local age of consent. Some jurisdictions further recognize identical rights, protections, and privileges for the family structures of same-sex couples, including marriage."
-"In the United States, the FBI reported that 15.6% of hate crimes reported to police in 2004 were based on perceived sexual orientation. "
3. Liberapedia This is the shortest article yet. Here is the entire article (minus the part talking about conservative abuse of GLBT)
http://liberapedia.wikia.com/wiki/Homosexuality
-"Homosexuality (also Gayness, Queerness, LGBTness) is a perfectly natural sexual orientation, wherein a man loves a man, or a woman loves a woman, or a small furry creature from Proxima Centauri loves a small furry creature from Proxima Centauri of the same gender.It is doing everyone a favor, as gays are less likely to reproduce and contribute to overpopulation. Many animals have been shown to have homosexual tendencies, so the religious argument of it not being "natural" makes no sense. But it makes a fair amount of dollars for those using the issue to fatten their right-wing warchests. Churches that accept gays are called Open and affirming.
Since society does not really yet accept homosexuals, one of the things that holds progress back the most are words used as insults that relate to gays. In youth especially, use of the word "gay" as a term to indicate something or someone is bad in some way, is used very often. Again in youth the word "lesbian" is used in excess to show you are not one. If your friend does something that you, in your homophobia, might consider to be homosexual behaviour, you call her a lesbian."
For those of you who stuck with me on this one, good job! Please understand that none of this was an attack by me on any person and ideology (although C-pedia scares me--mostly because as an atheist, queer, Socialist I think some of the writers on there would either kill me or lock me up). I just find bias interesting--I like learning how to read through it. I think it's important to be able to do so, especially on the Internet, where the level of anonymity can make it almost impossible to attribute a piece of writing to an author, and therefore makes it easier to appear as fact, rather than opinion.
It's late and I'm sleepy. Peace!
A Moderate Overreaction
I have, in the past few months since Draea left me, I have from time to time had crushes on people, even felt in love. Gus and Shelley, especially, have been objects of my secret (and not-so-secret) devotions.
But I really, honestly, can not say I ever really loved them, really truly ached for them. Once or twice, perhaps, but these were both aches for companionship, rather than for a specific person.
I've been in love, though. The whole time. I've been in love.
I know there is no possibility of anything ever happening between me and M. For one thing, I'm a mostly gay girl and he's an almost-completely (except once in a while when he's really drunk) gay guy. And we are friends. We are real friends, companions, in the 5 A.M. semi-drunk semi-conscious "What is life worth?" talk type way.
M. does not get along well with people. That's not quite true. He gets along very well with people, at least those who get to know him. But he very rarely opens up to anyone about anything--which makes it all the more special when he opens up to me. But he doesn't trust people, and he doesn't often really like people, and there are trust issues somewhere there that make me wonder from time to time if someone has hurt him.
I can't describe my feelings for him. I yearn for him. There is not really another way to describe it--or I don't have the words for them.
I think, despite my attempts at keeping my feelings from him (I think because I'm worried that if he knew, our relationship would change), that he knows how I feel. Everyone else seems to think that way, at least. Yet our relationship seems to have remained relatively stable, I think. Which is good.
He IMed me a few minutes ago. He typed this:
"M. hugs back and nuzzles, curls up."
I know that in real life, he would only very rarely hug me (like he used to, when we were roommates, and I'd wake up from a nightmare). I do not think he would ever nuzzle up beside me and curl up.
I want him to.
The lack of him beside me hurts so bad right now that I don't quite remember how to breathe.
I do not want to be in love. I do not want to be in love with a man. But I am.
And he's completely and totally unavailable.
So I suppose it doesn't matter.
I have a feeling I'm going to spend the rest of the night crying oddly and thinking about Ian.
Poo.
But I really, honestly, can not say I ever really loved them, really truly ached for them. Once or twice, perhaps, but these were both aches for companionship, rather than for a specific person.
I've been in love, though. The whole time. I've been in love.
I know there is no possibility of anything ever happening between me and M. For one thing, I'm a mostly gay girl and he's an almost-completely (except once in a while when he's really drunk) gay guy. And we are friends. We are real friends, companions, in the 5 A.M. semi-drunk semi-conscious "What is life worth?" talk type way.
M. does not get along well with people. That's not quite true. He gets along very well with people, at least those who get to know him. But he very rarely opens up to anyone about anything--which makes it all the more special when he opens up to me. But he doesn't trust people, and he doesn't often really like people, and there are trust issues somewhere there that make me wonder from time to time if someone has hurt him.
I can't describe my feelings for him. I yearn for him. There is not really another way to describe it--or I don't have the words for them.
I think, despite my attempts at keeping my feelings from him (I think because I'm worried that if he knew, our relationship would change), that he knows how I feel. Everyone else seems to think that way, at least. Yet our relationship seems to have remained relatively stable, I think. Which is good.
He IMed me a few minutes ago. He typed this:
"M. hugs back and nuzzles, curls up."
I know that in real life, he would only very rarely hug me (like he used to, when we were roommates, and I'd wake up from a nightmare). I do not think he would ever nuzzle up beside me and curl up.
I want him to.
The lack of him beside me hurts so bad right now that I don't quite remember how to breathe.
I do not want to be in love. I do not want to be in love with a man. But I am.
And he's completely and totally unavailable.
So I suppose it doesn't matter.
I have a feeling I'm going to spend the rest of the night crying oddly and thinking about Ian.
Poo.
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Epicurean Fallacy Of God, or, Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God, 'Cause I'm On My Way To See Her
One of several of Epicurus' compelling logical arguments:
Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then He is not omnipotent.
Is He able, but not willing?
Then He is malevolent.
Is He both able, and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is He neither able nor willing?
Then why call Him God?
-Epicurus
I don't believe in God. I haven't since I was a child, and I probably never will. God (of any type) has not stood up to rigorous logical and/or scientific study--at least not to me; even if I did believe, it would not be in a male personification. There is NO way I trust men enough to ever put my soul (if I were to have one) in the hands of a man.
Furthermore, I think it's strange to tether a supposedly supreme being to the same ideology and imagination of his lesser creations. I do not believe Human was created in the image of God, but that, in our somewhat limited imagination, Human created God in OUR image.
There are many logical fallacies in the arguments for God. Every time I have been presented an argument for God, I have presented logical counterargument. This, I should point out, is my own personal experience, and not necessarily the experience of all other people.
Speaking of personal experiences, I dislike even hearing the word God, and dislike even less being asked to believe in one. The last person who asked me to believe in a God was Ian. Specifically, he told me (rather, beat into me) that he WAS God, my Lord and Master. That was how I was to address him and know him within my heart and mind. So I'm not a big fan, anymore, of even the word (although I still love debating religious concepts--I am a personified dichotomy).
If I believe in any representation of God, it is that God exists--so far as any other philosophical belief exists. Some humans believe in a God, and live their life according to that God. Each thing these humans do is based upon the belief that this is what God wants. In that sense, God does exist, as a concept only, that then, as a concept, influences a person's thoughts. Those thoughts, in turn, influence actions. This is the only concept of God that makes sense to me--the conceptual concept only. The closest I ever got to a more-than-conceptual or theoretical idea of God was while reading Richard Preston's essay "The Mountains of Pi" while high (it's available in his book "Panic in Level 4," which is an amazing book. I highly suggest it).
I'm okay with being an atheist. It's worked for me so far. I've had several friends try to "save" me, or otherwise convince me that God (of some form or another) exists. It has not worked. I do not believe it ever will.
I am not saying that God unequivocally does NOT exist. Simply that I don't believe.
I am not saying that I find other people's belief to be wrong ( at least, not for them). I am a big fan of live and let live, and believe and let believe. Whatever works for you WORKS, and I'm not closed-minded or mean enough to try and change what has gotten you through.
These are simply MY beliefs, and I'm fine with them. Just as I'm fine with the beliefs of others, it'd be swell if others were fine with my beliefs.
El Finito.
Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able?
Then He is not omnipotent.
Is He able, but not willing?
Then He is malevolent.
Is He both able, and willing?
Then whence cometh evil?
Is He neither able nor willing?
Then why call Him God?
-Epicurus
I don't believe in God. I haven't since I was a child, and I probably never will. God (of any type) has not stood up to rigorous logical and/or scientific study--at least not to me; even if I did believe, it would not be in a male personification. There is NO way I trust men enough to ever put my soul (if I were to have one) in the hands of a man.
Furthermore, I think it's strange to tether a supposedly supreme being to the same ideology and imagination of his lesser creations. I do not believe Human was created in the image of God, but that, in our somewhat limited imagination, Human created God in OUR image.
There are many logical fallacies in the arguments for God. Every time I have been presented an argument for God, I have presented logical counterargument. This, I should point out, is my own personal experience, and not necessarily the experience of all other people.
Speaking of personal experiences, I dislike even hearing the word God, and dislike even less being asked to believe in one. The last person who asked me to believe in a God was Ian. Specifically, he told me (rather, beat into me) that he WAS God, my Lord and Master. That was how I was to address him and know him within my heart and mind. So I'm not a big fan, anymore, of even the word (although I still love debating religious concepts--I am a personified dichotomy).
If I believe in any representation of God, it is that God exists--so far as any other philosophical belief exists. Some humans believe in a God, and live their life according to that God. Each thing these humans do is based upon the belief that this is what God wants. In that sense, God does exist, as a concept only, that then, as a concept, influences a person's thoughts. Those thoughts, in turn, influence actions. This is the only concept of God that makes sense to me--the conceptual concept only. The closest I ever got to a more-than-conceptual or theoretical idea of God was while reading Richard Preston's essay "The Mountains of Pi" while high (it's available in his book "Panic in Level 4," which is an amazing book. I highly suggest it).
I'm okay with being an atheist. It's worked for me so far. I've had several friends try to "save" me, or otherwise convince me that God (of some form or another) exists. It has not worked. I do not believe it ever will.
I am not saying that God unequivocally does NOT exist. Simply that I don't believe.
I am not saying that I find other people's belief to be wrong ( at least, not for them). I am a big fan of live and let live, and believe and let believe. Whatever works for you WORKS, and I'm not closed-minded or mean enough to try and change what has gotten you through.
These are simply MY beliefs, and I'm fine with them. Just as I'm fine with the beliefs of others, it'd be swell if others were fine with my beliefs.
El Finito.
Politics
I spend a lot of time surfing the internet, particularly political sites. Every time I find something intriguing, I post it on my Facebook to share with people, and hopefully start up some dialogue with my friends, who often have vastly different opinions with me.
A few good friends of mine even get into really intense arguments with me about a lot of the articles. Which I love. I love debates, I love arguing, I love learning about how people feel, think, experience.
A friend of mine just told me as much as I get into politics and drug policy, he'd love to see me get involved with his club next year (it's a politically active national organization based around repealing the drug laws and ending the so-called War on Drugs).
I was pretty excited. It's great to know someone else realizes and respects how passionate I am about politics, and actually thinks that it's a good thing. I feel uplifted to know that someone else understands how important politics is to me, and how honestly completely intrigued I am by it. Politics is my religion, my home, my sanctuary, my sport, my life-partner.
^.^
A few good friends of mine even get into really intense arguments with me about a lot of the articles. Which I love. I love debates, I love arguing, I love learning about how people feel, think, experience.
A friend of mine just told me as much as I get into politics and drug policy, he'd love to see me get involved with his club next year (it's a politically active national organization based around repealing the drug laws and ending the so-called War on Drugs).
I was pretty excited. It's great to know someone else realizes and respects how passionate I am about politics, and actually thinks that it's a good thing. I feel uplifted to know that someone else understands how important politics is to me, and how honestly completely intrigued I am by it. Politics is my religion, my home, my sanctuary, my sport, my life-partner.
^.^
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Being A Christian Means Loving Your Fellow Human, Not Judging Them Because They Have Different Political Opinions
A good friend of mine is involved in an extracurricular religious (Christian) organization (involved in a leadership position). She's a strong, confident Christian who is not afraid to stand up for her values and beliefs. Any of them.
One of these beliefs is that civil marriage, as a civil institution, should be available to all couples who want to get married under the eyes of the government.
That's right, she supports civil marriage equality.
As a person (not as a representative of her organization, understand, but as a representative of herself) she has worked tirelessly as a volunteer for Equality Maine in order to help create equality for citizens in this state. She has given up her free time to support a political campaign that she believes in--time she could have spent doing other things, like homework, relaxing, or spending time with friends. She stood up for rights for her friends, stood up to give voice to those who historically have not had one, stood up to gain equality for human beings. Though I am not a Christian, my understanding is that these are all values Jesus Christ would have shared.
She has since been "asked" to "resign" from her leadership position with this club.
I am shocked, angry, and appalled. This is wrong. This is wrong morally, ethically, and probably legally. I can not imagine how she must be feeling right now--especially since she was standing up for the rights of others. Sticking her neck out on an issue that would not have directly benefited her. And this supposedly Christian organization turned their backs on her as a member and as a person because they did not agree with her personal political opinion and the way she volunteered her personal time.
I spoke just this past week with another person in this organization, another person in a significant leadership position, about bridging the gap between religious clubs on campus and the Alliance. We are all people, all students at this school, and though we may have some significant differences from each other, our similarities far outweigh them.
He told me he agreed. "I know a lot of people have been hurt by the Church in the past. I want them to tell me. I want to be able to apologize for the Church. This hatred is not what we're about."
You have proven otherwise.
I don't know about anyone else, but I am beyond-words-angry at the hypocrisy of this organization. Know that you have done wrong to her, and to yourselves, but refusing to acknowledge and respect her as a person with an opinion different than your own. She has, in the time I have known her, consistently shown the same values that Christ preached. You, on the other hand, are showing values that belong to no part of the Bible or Christ's teachings that I am aware. She is strong, confident, and proud woman who knows what is and is not right. You, on the other hand, as an organization have shown none of those characteristics. I am shocked and appalled by your conduct, and can not honestly understand how you feel you have done right in this situation.
One of these beliefs is that civil marriage, as a civil institution, should be available to all couples who want to get married under the eyes of the government.
That's right, she supports civil marriage equality.
As a person (not as a representative of her organization, understand, but as a representative of herself) she has worked tirelessly as a volunteer for Equality Maine in order to help create equality for citizens in this state. She has given up her free time to support a political campaign that she believes in--time she could have spent doing other things, like homework, relaxing, or spending time with friends. She stood up for rights for her friends, stood up to give voice to those who historically have not had one, stood up to gain equality for human beings. Though I am not a Christian, my understanding is that these are all values Jesus Christ would have shared.
She has since been "asked" to "resign" from her leadership position with this club.
I am shocked, angry, and appalled. This is wrong. This is wrong morally, ethically, and probably legally. I can not imagine how she must be feeling right now--especially since she was standing up for the rights of others. Sticking her neck out on an issue that would not have directly benefited her. And this supposedly Christian organization turned their backs on her as a member and as a person because they did not agree with her personal political opinion and the way she volunteered her personal time.
I spoke just this past week with another person in this organization, another person in a significant leadership position, about bridging the gap between religious clubs on campus and the Alliance. We are all people, all students at this school, and though we may have some significant differences from each other, our similarities far outweigh them.
He told me he agreed. "I know a lot of people have been hurt by the Church in the past. I want them to tell me. I want to be able to apologize for the Church. This hatred is not what we're about."
You have proven otherwise.
I don't know about anyone else, but I am beyond-words-angry at the hypocrisy of this organization. Know that you have done wrong to her, and to yourselves, but refusing to acknowledge and respect her as a person with an opinion different than your own. She has, in the time I have known her, consistently shown the same values that Christ preached. You, on the other hand, are showing values that belong to no part of the Bible or Christ's teachings that I am aware. She is strong, confident, and proud woman who knows what is and is not right. You, on the other hand, as an organization have shown none of those characteristics. I am shocked and appalled by your conduct, and can not honestly understand how you feel you have done right in this situation.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Not a Racist, or a Sexist, Just a Classic Classist
I'm in Orono for my twin sister's graduation. I thought this was going to be a really difficult time for me, but so far it's been very nice--especially hanging out with the whole family. Tonight is the first time I've hung out with the family and Val's fiance and felt like he felt like part of the family. He's a good guy and they have a good relationship, so I'm happy.
Three things that happened that I must just share:
-As we're driving to the hotel (Holiday Inn! Snazzy!), Brian is telling me, Val, and Dad about an issue that occurred at work recently, where someone took an observation of his ("Hey, these hooded towels look like Klan robes") and instead of telling him they found his observation offensive, reported him to management. He's now being "investigated." My father responded thusly:
"I try real hard not to be racist. I try real hard not to be sexist. I try real hard to offend everyone, equally, as often as I can, because it's funny. You've got to wear a cup."
-We went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner (Miguel's). The waitress was a cute, spunky blonde. She put up with my dad's jokes (he likes to give our waiters a hard time... harmless jokes, but sometimes they don't know if he's kidding or not. She responded like a champ) and, when Tori accidentally knocked over her Raspberry Daquiri, brought her a new one, free of charge.
We all started talking about the sort of random things we tend to when we're together: childhood fights, the time we were all sick on Easter, except for Dad (who had Mom and Val on the couch puking, and was holding each twin over the sink with one hand), and possibly (probably not) supernatural experiences that Tori and Val have had since Meme and Buppa died. I started to laugh, because we all were. It was a good time. Especially after Tori accused me of trying to kill her in the womb (we're fraternal twins):
Tori: Oh yeah, and see this (she grabs her left ear, which has a cute little fold in the top of the lobe)? This is where Trix bit me in the womb!
Me: That's not possible.
Tori: You did it! I know!
Dad: There wasn't any way for her to. You were in two separate placental sacs.
Tori: Well yeah, but, once like we grew, and stuff, didn't they pop?
Mom: No... that's not what happens at all.
Tori: So, I was like, a yolk?
Me: That's how eggs work.
Tori: Oh. Well, I'm not a bio major! But anyway, you bit my ear!
Me: I did not! And anyway, you basically blinded me (when I was 6, Tori accidentally dropped a foot-long icicle on my head. That summer, I had to get glasses. I maintain a correlation, if not direct causation)!
Tori: So? This is a permanent disfiguration!
I love these conversations, both absurd and extremely enjoyable, particularly when we all know we're kidding each other.
-We're laughing a lot at the restaurant, and I really have to pee, but I can't stop laughing long enough to ask Brian and Val to let me out of the booth (because of the nerve and muscle damage to certain parts of my body from Freshman year, I often am unable to tell when I need to use the bathroom until it's almost too late). Val says something absolutely hilarious, and, to be frank, I pissed myself. While still laughing, and then crying from the embarrassment. At that point, Dad says, "Well, I mean, your mom and I didn't fuck up that badly. Look where you ended up!" I didn't say it of course, but my answer at that particularly point of time was "Yes, crying and pissing myself in a family restaurant..."
Good thing Mom took me back to the hotel after we ate, and I got to take my first bath in over a year. It felt good. I also realized how incredibly phallus-shaped faucets are.
Three things that happened that I must just share:
-As we're driving to the hotel (Holiday Inn! Snazzy!), Brian is telling me, Val, and Dad about an issue that occurred at work recently, where someone took an observation of his ("Hey, these hooded towels look like Klan robes") and instead of telling him they found his observation offensive, reported him to management. He's now being "investigated." My father responded thusly:
"I try real hard not to be racist. I try real hard not to be sexist. I try real hard to offend everyone, equally, as often as I can, because it's funny. You've got to wear a cup."
-We went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner (Miguel's). The waitress was a cute, spunky blonde. She put up with my dad's jokes (he likes to give our waiters a hard time... harmless jokes, but sometimes they don't know if he's kidding or not. She responded like a champ) and, when Tori accidentally knocked over her Raspberry Daquiri, brought her a new one, free of charge.
We all started talking about the sort of random things we tend to when we're together: childhood fights, the time we were all sick on Easter, except for Dad (who had Mom and Val on the couch puking, and was holding each twin over the sink with one hand), and possibly (probably not) supernatural experiences that Tori and Val have had since Meme and Buppa died. I started to laugh, because we all were. It was a good time. Especially after Tori accused me of trying to kill her in the womb (we're fraternal twins):
Tori: Oh yeah, and see this (she grabs her left ear, which has a cute little fold in the top of the lobe)? This is where Trix bit me in the womb!
Me: That's not possible.
Tori: You did it! I know!
Dad: There wasn't any way for her to. You were in two separate placental sacs.
Tori: Well yeah, but, once like we grew, and stuff, didn't they pop?
Mom: No... that's not what happens at all.
Tori: So, I was like, a yolk?
Me: That's how eggs work.
Tori: Oh. Well, I'm not a bio major! But anyway, you bit my ear!
Me: I did not! And anyway, you basically blinded me (when I was 6, Tori accidentally dropped a foot-long icicle on my head. That summer, I had to get glasses. I maintain a correlation, if not direct causation)!
Tori: So? This is a permanent disfiguration!
I love these conversations, both absurd and extremely enjoyable, particularly when we all know we're kidding each other.
-We're laughing a lot at the restaurant, and I really have to pee, but I can't stop laughing long enough to ask Brian and Val to let me out of the booth (because of the nerve and muscle damage to certain parts of my body from Freshman year, I often am unable to tell when I need to use the bathroom until it's almost too late). Val says something absolutely hilarious, and, to be frank, I pissed myself. While still laughing, and then crying from the embarrassment. At that point, Dad says, "Well, I mean, your mom and I didn't fuck up that badly. Look where you ended up!" I didn't say it of course, but my answer at that particularly point of time was "Yes, crying and pissing myself in a family restaurant..."
Good thing Mom took me back to the hotel after we ate, and I got to take my first bath in over a year. It felt good. I also realized how incredibly phallus-shaped faucets are.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Lesbianism as a Religion
It's been a very interesting few weeks (hence why I haven't updated this since... March, wow). I'll delve into more of that later, but for now, I want to talk about something that's really bothering me.
There's this girl. She has feelings for me, apparently. She's also Christian (not a problem, as long as she's cool with the fact that I'm an atheist, I'm cool with the fact that she's not). But because of her personal view of Christianity and God, she views being a lesbian as a sin.
Sunday evening, she IMs me. We talk. A lot. Mostly about God. Mostly about how she's sinning by having feelings for me. I tell her upfront I don't believe homosexuality is a sin. I tell her that, since I stopped believing in God before I stopped believing in Santa Claus, I'm probably not the best person to try and help her understand her religion. But, in my mind, this is how it goes:
1. God made humans in His image
2. God is responsible for who you are, as a person, because He made you to be that way
3. You are gay
4. God must want you to be gay
5. God would not want you to sin
6. Homosexuality must not be a sin
I think she understood what I was saying. At the very least, by the end of the hours-long conversation, she seemed to be feeling better. Her existential-turning-into-suicidal crisis seemed to be just existential again (which is good, because I can only deal with hearing "I have feelings for you, and that's a sin, so I want to die," so many times before I start hearing the subtle undertone of "It's your fault I'm suicidal"). Yet every night since Sunday, we've talked and discussed and debated and argued. She still believes she's sinning by being herself (a pain I can not imagine).
Last night, she told me she wanted to stop being friends. Not really wanted. The conversation went something along the lines of "Homosexuality is a sin. The temptation of homosexuality is just like the temptation to drink, or any other temptation to sin. I must avoid temptation by any means necessary, including cutting my friends out of my life."
Now don't get me wrong. This girl is cute, and although I barely know her, I'd like to get to know her better, at least as a friend (something I feel almost guilty for, because I think what intrigues me most about her is this spiritual, contradictory dichotomy). But I understand that right now, she needs to do what's best for herself. If that's staying in the closet, that's okay by me. If that's cutting me out of her life so staying in the closet is easier, I'm not going to argue. I've been in my share of closets during my life. They're never permanent, but while they last, they feel pretty damned safe. So I tell her okay. And I sign offline to do some homework.
Cut to this morning (or was it afternoon?). I'm just waking up when there's a knock on my door. Thinking it's Shelley (who I had to wake up this morning to take a mutual friend to the ER) I say, "Hello?" The door opens. It's this girl.
I'm laying in bed, naked except for my underwear. She seems embarrassed, not for me, but for herself. But once I'm dressed, she follows me around campus.
We IM each other throughout the day. We say goodnight fairly early, because after two weeks of not sleeping before sun-up, I'm damned tired. But I'm still awake and online at 2 AM, and she messages me again. It goes something like this (actually, it goes exactly like this, as I'm copy-pasting):
Me: I just read the best comment war EVER about the civil marriage bill being challenged. One person, clearly against civil marriage equality, wrote: "You gays ought to be ashamed! Cats can't mate with dogs! It's unnatural!" The only response: "Cats and dogs are different species." I almost just laughed myself out of bed.
Her: I honestly think it best if I am going to not cut off our friendship we don't talk about orientation (at this point, I should probably have done the Internet-equivalent of smiling and nodding, but damned if I'm going to be ashamed of who I am, or censor myself for a friend. That's not what friendship is about, in my book. Mostly, though, I think I responded the way I did because I'm tired, and cranky).
Me: Well, the marriage equality bill is a huge part of my life. I've given up on sleep, proper eating habits, even classes from time to time to work on getting it passed. And the referendum campaign means that until September, at least, it's going to continue being a huge part of my life. I'm not ashamed of being queer. And I'm not going to hide it.
Her: But for me it hurts, okay? I'm amazed I made it through this past week alive (warning alarms started going off in my head at this point; it's hard enough handling my own suicidal tendencies. I don't need to have another girlfriend with the same problem). If this means I have to cut off our friendship...
Me: I can understand that you're in pain. I know that. But, just as I don't want my friends to have to censor themselves around me, I don't want to censor myself around them. I want to have my friends be completely comfortable with me, and I want to be completely comfortable with them. If you need to not be friends with me, I understand.
Her: It's not to say that I don't want to be friends, just that I need my space.
Me: Then take it. I'm not forcing you to spend time with me or talk to me. I've purposefully tried to make sure you are always the one to start a conversation, so that I know you feel comfortable talking. But I am not going to hide who I am. It's just not something I can do. Just like you would probably be uncomfortable or hurt if a friend asked you to pretend you weren't Christian while you were around them.
Her: I guess this is goodbye.
This conversation, and being apparently cut out of her life, is hurting me a lot more than it should. I mean, I'm not romantically interested in her (I might have been, if I wasn't censoring myself in my own head to keep myself and others safe from my psychoses). And honestly, I barely know her. I basically met her two weeks ago. But damn, it hurts. Am I grieving for a lost friendship? No. There was barely an acquaintance there. I can see myself grieving for whatever friendship might have eventually blossomed, though (despite the fact that I try quite hard to live in the ever-present, ever-changing "NOW," let's face it--humans look either to the past or the future, and my past is so dark I'm not sure I can actually see it anymore).
I thought I was past the point in my life where I allowed myself to feel hurt when someone chose to judge me based on my labels, not on who I actually am. Granted, that's not what she's doing. She's judging anyone who identifies as queer based on her own self-confidence and coming-out (or staying-in, I suppose) issues.
I feel like this shouldn't hurt.
I have a feeling that "should" doesn't matter right now.
Once again, I'm not good enough (was I ever? Except for Ian--who, let's face it, didn't exactly raise the bar too high--if you were alive, had a vagina, and were afraid of him, he'd fuck you--was I ever good enough except for him?).
God. Damn. It.
There's this girl. She has feelings for me, apparently. She's also Christian (not a problem, as long as she's cool with the fact that I'm an atheist, I'm cool with the fact that she's not). But because of her personal view of Christianity and God, she views being a lesbian as a sin.
Sunday evening, she IMs me. We talk. A lot. Mostly about God. Mostly about how she's sinning by having feelings for me. I tell her upfront I don't believe homosexuality is a sin. I tell her that, since I stopped believing in God before I stopped believing in Santa Claus, I'm probably not the best person to try and help her understand her religion. But, in my mind, this is how it goes:
1. God made humans in His image
2. God is responsible for who you are, as a person, because He made you to be that way
3. You are gay
4. God must want you to be gay
5. God would not want you to sin
6. Homosexuality must not be a sin
I think she understood what I was saying. At the very least, by the end of the hours-long conversation, she seemed to be feeling better. Her existential-turning-into-suicidal crisis seemed to be just existential again (which is good, because I can only deal with hearing "I have feelings for you, and that's a sin, so I want to die," so many times before I start hearing the subtle undertone of "It's your fault I'm suicidal"). Yet every night since Sunday, we've talked and discussed and debated and argued. She still believes she's sinning by being herself (a pain I can not imagine).
Last night, she told me she wanted to stop being friends. Not really wanted. The conversation went something along the lines of "Homosexuality is a sin. The temptation of homosexuality is just like the temptation to drink, or any other temptation to sin. I must avoid temptation by any means necessary, including cutting my friends out of my life."
Now don't get me wrong. This girl is cute, and although I barely know her, I'd like to get to know her better, at least as a friend (something I feel almost guilty for, because I think what intrigues me most about her is this spiritual, contradictory dichotomy). But I understand that right now, she needs to do what's best for herself. If that's staying in the closet, that's okay by me. If that's cutting me out of her life so staying in the closet is easier, I'm not going to argue. I've been in my share of closets during my life. They're never permanent, but while they last, they feel pretty damned safe. So I tell her okay. And I sign offline to do some homework.
Cut to this morning (or was it afternoon?). I'm just waking up when there's a knock on my door. Thinking it's Shelley (who I had to wake up this morning to take a mutual friend to the ER) I say, "Hello?" The door opens. It's this girl.
I'm laying in bed, naked except for my underwear. She seems embarrassed, not for me, but for herself. But once I'm dressed, she follows me around campus.
We IM each other throughout the day. We say goodnight fairly early, because after two weeks of not sleeping before sun-up, I'm damned tired. But I'm still awake and online at 2 AM, and she messages me again. It goes something like this (actually, it goes exactly like this, as I'm copy-pasting):
Me: I just read the best comment war EVER about the civil marriage bill being challenged. One person, clearly against civil marriage equality, wrote: "You gays ought to be ashamed! Cats can't mate with dogs! It's unnatural!" The only response: "Cats and dogs are different species." I almost just laughed myself out of bed.
Her: I honestly think it best if I am going to not cut off our friendship we don't talk about orientation (at this point, I should probably have done the Internet-equivalent of smiling and nodding, but damned if I'm going to be ashamed of who I am, or censor myself for a friend. That's not what friendship is about, in my book. Mostly, though, I think I responded the way I did because I'm tired, and cranky).
Me: Well, the marriage equality bill is a huge part of my life. I've given up on sleep, proper eating habits, even classes from time to time to work on getting it passed. And the referendum campaign means that until September, at least, it's going to continue being a huge part of my life. I'm not ashamed of being queer. And I'm not going to hide it.
Her: But for me it hurts, okay? I'm amazed I made it through this past week alive (warning alarms started going off in my head at this point; it's hard enough handling my own suicidal tendencies. I don't need to have another girlfriend with the same problem). If this means I have to cut off our friendship...
Me: I can understand that you're in pain. I know that. But, just as I don't want my friends to have to censor themselves around me, I don't want to censor myself around them. I want to have my friends be completely comfortable with me, and I want to be completely comfortable with them. If you need to not be friends with me, I understand.
Her: It's not to say that I don't want to be friends, just that I need my space.
Me: Then take it. I'm not forcing you to spend time with me or talk to me. I've purposefully tried to make sure you are always the one to start a conversation, so that I know you feel comfortable talking. But I am not going to hide who I am. It's just not something I can do. Just like you would probably be uncomfortable or hurt if a friend asked you to pretend you weren't Christian while you were around them.
Her: I guess this is goodbye.
This conversation, and being apparently cut out of her life, is hurting me a lot more than it should. I mean, I'm not romantically interested in her (I might have been, if I wasn't censoring myself in my own head to keep myself and others safe from my psychoses). And honestly, I barely know her. I basically met her two weeks ago. But damn, it hurts. Am I grieving for a lost friendship? No. There was barely an acquaintance there. I can see myself grieving for whatever friendship might have eventually blossomed, though (despite the fact that I try quite hard to live in the ever-present, ever-changing "NOW," let's face it--humans look either to the past or the future, and my past is so dark I'm not sure I can actually see it anymore).
I thought I was past the point in my life where I allowed myself to feel hurt when someone chose to judge me based on my labels, not on who I actually am. Granted, that's not what she's doing. She's judging anyone who identifies as queer based on her own self-confidence and coming-out (or staying-in, I suppose) issues.
I feel like this shouldn't hurt.
I have a feeling that "should" doesn't matter right now.
Once again, I'm not good enough (was I ever? Except for Ian--who, let's face it, didn't exactly raise the bar too high--if you were alive, had a vagina, and were afraid of him, he'd fuck you--was I ever good enough except for him?).
God. Damn. It.
Friday, March 27, 2009
[Insert Pithy Title Here]
This is something I have not felt before. This soft, gentle love. A need not to belong but to be with. This is not young, this is not lust, this is not even a fast sexual thrill. This is slow, patient and kind. There is no desire; just longing.
I walk down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. The stairs take longer, give me more time to think. More time to convince myself that at the very next step, I'm going to turn around. But I get there, to her door, and walk past, just a bit--who knows why. Maybe to prove that I could.
I don't want to knock. If I knock, and she answers, then suddenly I need a reason to be there. I can not imagine her opening the door and myself saying, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see you." And if she doesn't answer, if she's not there, somehow that is so much worse.
I do knock. Three times in rapid succession. I listen, intent, while edging slowly from the door, afraid that when she opens it I will seem too eager, too close. There is no noise inside. She is not there. But I knock again, twice, not even certain if it's loud enough to hear. My throat closes, and my heart beats faster. My eyes burn and water.
I take the elevator back.
I want to spend my life with her. Her life with mine. It's only 8 more months.
Somehow that makes it all the more important.
I walk down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. The stairs take longer, give me more time to think. More time to convince myself that at the very next step, I'm going to turn around. But I get there, to her door, and walk past, just a bit--who knows why. Maybe to prove that I could.
I don't want to knock. If I knock, and she answers, then suddenly I need a reason to be there. I can not imagine her opening the door and myself saying, "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see you." And if she doesn't answer, if she's not there, somehow that is so much worse.
I do knock. Three times in rapid succession. I listen, intent, while edging slowly from the door, afraid that when she opens it I will seem too eager, too close. There is no noise inside. She is not there. But I knock again, twice, not even certain if it's loud enough to hear. My throat closes, and my heart beats faster. My eyes burn and water.
I take the elevator back.
I want to spend my life with her. Her life with mine. It's only 8 more months.
Somehow that makes it all the more important.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Taco Day
Sometimes, the cafeteria at school does themed meals. Every Sunday evening, for instance, is chicken nugget day. I'm not a big fan of chicken nuggets, personally. But every Wednesday at lunch is Taco Day: a plate piled high with brown rice, re-fried beans, lettuce, tomatoes, shredded cheese, spicy ground beef, and salsa, all mixed up into a feast of epic proportions. Taco Day is a good day.
Nothing changes on Taco Day. I am still the same person with the same problems. I am still the same overweight, badly dressed, butch dyke with bad acne that I have always been. The girl I am in love with is still dating one of my male friends, and she is still dying of AIDS. I still wake up at nights screaming and crying from nightmares and flashbacks. I still question in the darkness whether I am attracted to women primarily because I'm a lesbian, or because from the age of three my life has been one episode of sexual abuse and assault by men after another. I still am involved with a ongoing-for-the-past-four-years criminal court case with my ex-fiance and father of my dead daughter. I still have bipolar disorder. I still dissociate to the point of black outs when stressed, over-tired, scared, or excited. I still have to go to my therapist today and explain that Saturday I began cutting again, and Monday evening I overdosed on sleeping pills with the express intent of killing myself. And I still have to admit to her that nothing has changed in the past week or so; that for the past four years I have wanted to die, because I do not wish to live with these memories.
But today is Taco Day. Taco Day is good.
I don't know if this happiness at the thought of tasty tacos will last. I don't know if it will be enough to see me through the day. But for now, it is enough. It's enough to get up and get dressed, to grab a book and head over to the Alliance office while waiting for people to eat with.
If I manage to live past this current suicidal period, I am going to eat tacos more often.
Nothing changes on Taco Day. I am still the same person with the same problems. I am still the same overweight, badly dressed, butch dyke with bad acne that I have always been. The girl I am in love with is still dating one of my male friends, and she is still dying of AIDS. I still wake up at nights screaming and crying from nightmares and flashbacks. I still question in the darkness whether I am attracted to women primarily because I'm a lesbian, or because from the age of three my life has been one episode of sexual abuse and assault by men after another. I still am involved with a ongoing-for-the-past-four-years criminal court case with my ex-fiance and father of my dead daughter. I still have bipolar disorder. I still dissociate to the point of black outs when stressed, over-tired, scared, or excited. I still have to go to my therapist today and explain that Saturday I began cutting again, and Monday evening I overdosed on sleeping pills with the express intent of killing myself. And I still have to admit to her that nothing has changed in the past week or so; that for the past four years I have wanted to die, because I do not wish to live with these memories.
But today is Taco Day. Taco Day is good.
I don't know if this happiness at the thought of tasty tacos will last. I don't know if it will be enough to see me through the day. But for now, it is enough. It's enough to get up and get dressed, to grab a book and head over to the Alliance office while waiting for people to eat with.
If I manage to live past this current suicidal period, I am going to eat tacos more often.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
03-01-2009: Gay Marriage
People in Maine who can get married by the state:
Christians
Muslims
Hindus
Buddhists
Jews
Zoroastrians
Pantheists
Agnostics
Atheists
Divorcees
Widows/Widowers
Convicted Felons
Teenagers
Parents
The Elderly
Schizophrenics
Immigrants
Veterans
Public Servants
House Servants
College Professors
The Illiterate
Women
Men
Hermaphrodites
Movie Stars
Porn Stars...
People in Maine who, currently, can not under any circumstances get married by the state:
Gays.
If you think homosexuality is a choice, and a bad one, than I'd like to point out in the CAN column: Convicted Felons.
If you think homosexuality is an illness, a disease, then I'd like to point out all the mentally ill people who are married and have families.
I am a gay woman. I am also a citizen of Maine. I work in this state. I go to school in this state. I pay my taxes, I vote, and I live my life in this state. Yet as a gay woman, I can not get married in this state. I can not gain the same rights that other citizens of Maine share, yet I share all of the responsibilities that other citizens do.
I am a gay woman.
Because I am gay, I am a second-class citizen of Maine.
For those of you who already support Sen. Damon's bill to allow civil marriage to all citizens of Maine, regardless of the biological sex of the couple, thank you.
To those of you who don't, why? Please, tell me. Tell me why you believe that because of my sexual orientation, I do not have all the rights other citizens of my state do. I want to understand your points of view, but I don't. So please, explain it to me, as I and the rest of my community are trying to explain to you.
CIVIL MARRIAGE IS A CIVIL RIGHT.
Christians
Muslims
Hindus
Buddhists
Jews
Zoroastrians
Pantheists
Agnostics
Atheists
Divorcees
Widows/Widowers
Convicted Felons
Teenagers
Parents
The Elderly
Schizophrenics
Immigrants
Veterans
Public Servants
House Servants
College Professors
The Illiterate
Women
Men
Hermaphrodites
Movie Stars
Porn Stars...
People in Maine who, currently, can not under any circumstances get married by the state:
Gays.
If you think homosexuality is a choice, and a bad one, than I'd like to point out in the CAN column: Convicted Felons.
If you think homosexuality is an illness, a disease, then I'd like to point out all the mentally ill people who are married and have families.
I am a gay woman. I am also a citizen of Maine. I work in this state. I go to school in this state. I pay my taxes, I vote, and I live my life in this state. Yet as a gay woman, I can not get married in this state. I can not gain the same rights that other citizens of Maine share, yet I share all of the responsibilities that other citizens do.
I am a gay woman.
Because I am gay, I am a second-class citizen of Maine.
For those of you who already support Sen. Damon's bill to allow civil marriage to all citizens of Maine, regardless of the biological sex of the couple, thank you.
To those of you who don't, why? Please, tell me. Tell me why you believe that because of my sexual orientation, I do not have all the rights other citizens of my state do. I want to understand your points of view, but I don't. So please, explain it to me, as I and the rest of my community are trying to explain to you.
CIVIL MARRIAGE IS A CIVIL RIGHT.
02-14-2009: "What Flavor of Man is He?" (Past Post)
I was talking to my parents today about recent events at UMF. I mentioned how the Spring Fling theme is "Show Me the Beaver" but on the T-shirts people are designing, they aren't allowed to reference UMF because of the "sexual" nature of the slogan. I also told them how student groups were not allowed to use the word "beaver" or a depiction of it, as it was too sexual (despite the fact that the University store can). I think this arose from the "There's Nothing Sweeter Than A Healthy Beaver" shirts from a while back.
My mother shared my feeling, that if the Spring Fling theme is too sexual to be associated with the university hosting it, perhaps it should not be the theme.
My father's response was as follows:
"What a bunch of Puritanical, Fundamentalist tight-asses!
I think that someone, maybe an active, community-minded student, a leader in an organization, perhaps, ought to get together with some people and write a letter to the administration.
Maybe the Alliance could get involved? You could write a letter to the President.
'We, the Alliance, wish to change the school mascot from the beaver, which is a highly suggestive sexual term, to the vagina, which is of course a scientific term and therefore not suggestive in the least.
Oh, by the way, you're all acting like c*nts.'"
I love my family.
My mother shared my feeling, that if the Spring Fling theme is too sexual to be associated with the university hosting it, perhaps it should not be the theme.
My father's response was as follows:
"What a bunch of Puritanical, Fundamentalist tight-asses!
I think that someone, maybe an active, community-minded student, a leader in an organization, perhaps, ought to get together with some people and write a letter to the administration.
Maybe the Alliance could get involved? You could write a letter to the President.
'We, the Alliance, wish to change the school mascot from the beaver, which is a highly suggestive sexual term, to the vagina, which is of course a scientific term and therefore not suggestive in the least.
Oh, by the way, you're all acting like c*nts.'"
I love my family.
01-21-2009: Women's Studies (Past Post)
I picked up the book Listen Up for my Intro to Women and Gender Studies today. Flipping through the book, I found an essay titled "Don't Call Me a Survivor." I was compelled to read it, as I so often am with things that I suspect will trigger memories and feelings I would rather forget and not have.
Our stories were so similar. It was not the action of rape itself that I believe got to me. But the pain, the betrayal, the fear was all the same. The realization that as a woman, we have only the power that the men in this world allow us, was the same.
I came to Women and Gender Studies because I was powerless. As a woman, I was powerless. I had been told all my life that I was equal, that I had every right and every power and every ability that men did, while at the same time being bombarded and invaded every day by the subliminal and overt messages that in fact, women were nothing compared to men. We should be seen, not heard. We were trophies, we were models, we were accessories. We were adorable, we became cute, then hot, then sexy. We were valued not by our contributions to the world but by our contributions to the lives of the men in the world. We are expected to submit, to be retiring and accommodating. And though our bodies belong to us and us alone, a man has if not the right than the ability to take even that from us and make it nothing but a tool for himself.
We are told that we should stand up for ourselves. That our body is our temple. That our body is ours. But so many times we are told that if we are attacked, if we are molested, mugged, or raped, that fighting is dangerous! That our lives are worth more than our ownership of ourselves. So many times, in emergency rooms, in therapist's offices, in psychiatric wards across the state I have been told that I did the right thing. That giving up the fight while still alive and allowing myself to be raped was right. That letting him have his way with my body was the right thing to do!
I came to Women and Gender Studies for power. To be able to stand up for myself again. To take back my life, my body, my world. I came to this major to stop myself from being raped again. To keep myself from being attacked again every night within my dreams, and every day within my memories. I want to help myself be a woman, and to help every woman and girl have the power that we were promised as children.
Ownership of our own mind, heart, soul and body is our right.
Power is our right.
Our stories were so similar. It was not the action of rape itself that I believe got to me. But the pain, the betrayal, the fear was all the same. The realization that as a woman, we have only the power that the men in this world allow us, was the same.
I came to Women and Gender Studies because I was powerless. As a woman, I was powerless. I had been told all my life that I was equal, that I had every right and every power and every ability that men did, while at the same time being bombarded and invaded every day by the subliminal and overt messages that in fact, women were nothing compared to men. We should be seen, not heard. We were trophies, we were models, we were accessories. We were adorable, we became cute, then hot, then sexy. We were valued not by our contributions to the world but by our contributions to the lives of the men in the world. We are expected to submit, to be retiring and accommodating. And though our bodies belong to us and us alone, a man has if not the right than the ability to take even that from us and make it nothing but a tool for himself.
We are told that we should stand up for ourselves. That our body is our temple. That our body is ours. But so many times we are told that if we are attacked, if we are molested, mugged, or raped, that fighting is dangerous! That our lives are worth more than our ownership of ourselves. So many times, in emergency rooms, in therapist's offices, in psychiatric wards across the state I have been told that I did the right thing. That giving up the fight while still alive and allowing myself to be raped was right. That letting him have his way with my body was the right thing to do!
I came to Women and Gender Studies for power. To be able to stand up for myself again. To take back my life, my body, my world. I came to this major to stop myself from being raped again. To keep myself from being attacked again every night within my dreams, and every day within my memories. I want to help myself be a woman, and to help every woman and girl have the power that we were promised as children.
Ownership of our own mind, heart, soul and body is our right.
Power is our right.
01-20-2009: Gay, Homosexual, or Queer? (Past Post)
So in my Gay and Lesbian Literature class today, one of the girls spoke about how she was unsure of the sense of using the word "queer" to describe a person, a piece of work, or part or all of the queer sociopolitical movement, as for many people both in and out of the community, it has extreme negative connotations and is sometimes used as an insult.
I use the word all the time, and describe myself, my gender, my sexuality, and my gender representation as "queer." But it got me to thinking, particularly as she made an important connection between "queer" in the gay community and "n*gger" in the African-American community.
I can understand that for many people, "queer" is a negative word, and one to be avoided. But for myself, it seems to be the best label to put on a person (myself) and a movement that contains a varied and diverse group of people.
Towards myself, I use the word "queer" as it's the only label out there that I feel really fits. I've been attracted to and been in relationships with males, females, transgendered persons, and people who do not fit into the binary or tertiary gender construct that our society currently tends to use. Therefore, I'm neither gay, nor straight, nor bi, nor tri. As well, I don't think of myself as female. Nor do I think of myself as male. I am certainly not transgendered, either; I think I was born into the right body and gender, just that there isn't a word for the gender I was born to. For myself and I think for many others, gender and gender representation is far more fluid than people are willing to admit. So the terms female, male, trans, or even androgyne do not fit me as well as I would like, and therefore I don't use them as labels.
Humans use labels all the time. It's how our brains connect things, and make sense of things. I've spent far too long letting others assign my identity and label. So I choose the label "queer," because it's the best one I've found that fits. I would much rather have a label that means diverse, confused, or ambiguous rather than one that simply does not fit me. A nondescriptive label fits quite well, seeing as I refuse or am unable to describe myself.
For the queer community, I think queer is the best term as well. We are more than gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgendered people. We are more than homosexuals. But we are less than the full sum of all humanity. We can't be the "gay" movement and we can't be the "human" movement. We are neither one nor the other. We are a varied and diverse group with as many sexualities and genders as the amount of individuals in the community. We, as a group, can not be defined with one or two terms. And yet if we attempt to define ourselves by all the labels of all the people in our community, we end up with an unwieldy phrase that would never fit on a placard or poster: The "Gay-Lesbian-Bi-Trans-Queer-Questioning-Allied-Homo-Hetero-Tri-Pan-Omni..." Movement. The acronyms that we've used and have been used in politics and media also suffer from this same problem. GLBT, the one most often used, only accounts for a fraction of our community; only the gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transexuals are represented. If we attempted to represent everyone through an acronym, we'd end up with something beyond "GLBTQQAHHTPO..." Which no one would ever remember or be able to make sense of. So a small word that is (currently) able to encompass all of us, such as "queer", makes the most sense to me.
I use the word all the time, and describe myself, my gender, my sexuality, and my gender representation as "queer." But it got me to thinking, particularly as she made an important connection between "queer" in the gay community and "n*gger" in the African-American community.
I can understand that for many people, "queer" is a negative word, and one to be avoided. But for myself, it seems to be the best label to put on a person (myself) and a movement that contains a varied and diverse group of people.
Towards myself, I use the word "queer" as it's the only label out there that I feel really fits. I've been attracted to and been in relationships with males, females, transgendered persons, and people who do not fit into the binary or tertiary gender construct that our society currently tends to use. Therefore, I'm neither gay, nor straight, nor bi, nor tri. As well, I don't think of myself as female. Nor do I think of myself as male. I am certainly not transgendered, either; I think I was born into the right body and gender, just that there isn't a word for the gender I was born to. For myself and I think for many others, gender and gender representation is far more fluid than people are willing to admit. So the terms female, male, trans, or even androgyne do not fit me as well as I would like, and therefore I don't use them as labels.
Humans use labels all the time. It's how our brains connect things, and make sense of things. I've spent far too long letting others assign my identity and label. So I choose the label "queer," because it's the best one I've found that fits. I would much rather have a label that means diverse, confused, or ambiguous rather than one that simply does not fit me. A nondescriptive label fits quite well, seeing as I refuse or am unable to describe myself.
For the queer community, I think queer is the best term as well. We are more than gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgendered people. We are more than homosexuals. But we are less than the full sum of all humanity. We can't be the "gay" movement and we can't be the "human" movement. We are neither one nor the other. We are a varied and diverse group with as many sexualities and genders as the amount of individuals in the community. We, as a group, can not be defined with one or two terms. And yet if we attempt to define ourselves by all the labels of all the people in our community, we end up with an unwieldy phrase that would never fit on a placard or poster: The "Gay-Lesbian-Bi-Trans-Quee
11-10-2008: Mortality (Past Post)
When I was younger, I'd spend a lot of evenings with my father, driving around in the van and listening to NPR. My father and I have always been lucky enough to be able to subsist on a comfortable silence; we rarely feel the need to feel a space with words, when the space itself is enough. We'd often listen to programs like "Fresh Air," "All Things Considered," or the "BBC World News." I learned a lot about politics, about geography, history, society, and ethics.
There were many times when a program would begin to talk about new drug trials, or the rising cost of health care. My father and I would both become animated during these programs, both arguing with the radio about the social systems of our country that allowed people a basic human right, life, based upon their income.
I would often make the argument that "Well, what can you do?" After all, a person with a chronic, debilitating, or terminal illness needs the medication to stay healthy, or even alive. No matter what the price is, it has to be paid. My father would invariably disagree. I remember once he told me quite bluntly, "You know I'm sick. And my medication is expensive. I've lived a good life, I think. And I don't know, I'll keep taking it for now, but maybe one day, once you kids have all graduated and are out of the house..." He stopped there, and silence settled down again between us. But my father and I, both experts at reading silence, knew what he meant. It is my life, and my choice.
In high school, a friend who had been battling a rare form of cancer died our sophomore year. At our Senior Candlelight, his sister read an essay she had written about his death. More specifically, about how he decided he was going to die. The family had known for a long time that the expensive, time-consuming, and painful treatments were only doing so much. The cancer was not going away. One day he told them, "I'm done." There was too much pain, both for him physically, as his body succumbed to both the cancer and the ravages of the chemotherapy, and psychically, watching his family and friends suffer, watching himself suffer. He died shortly after.
Dylan Thomas once wrote:
"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
And it does appear to be human nature, and an evolutionary imperative, to fight against death. Recent research has shown that human beings are unable to imagine a time when they are no longer here. We can not picture our own deaths, and believe death to be possible for ourselves, no matter how much we see it happen to others.
But death will happen to us all. Like it or not, it is the final chapter of a life. We are born, we live, and we die. A person can not always know when, where, or how they will die. Death is often an accident, or a violent event that was not seen coming. But sometimes we catch it, stalking us. For some, Death does not wait patiently, it actively seeks one out.
People have the right to live as they choose. And as death is the final act of a life, they have the right to die as they choose, if they are given a choice. We may not always agree with that choice; we may fight for a friend, feeling that they are not fighting hard enough for themselves. We may rage and rail against them in anger, frustration, and fear, as they refuse to take medication, refuse to stop damaging habits like drinking, smoking, cutting, promiscuity, or other self-injurious behaviors.We may not understand their firm belief that the quality of their life is far more important than the quantity of years they live. We may decide that they are wrong, that they have made the wrong choice, that perhaps they are crazy as well as sick, to choose not to fight with every last breath.
Our opinions do not matter.
It is not our choice.
A friend's death is haunting, terrifying, and debilitating to those left behind. And those left behind will invariably wonder if there was something they could have done to prevent it. It will hurt, and it will scar, and it will affect us in ways we can not yet begin to imagine. Yet it is not our life, and it is not our death. I firmly believe we have not the right to dictate how a person lives, or dies. I firmly believe this is a decision that lies with the person making it, and no one else, no matter how close to them we are, how much we care.
If you truly want to help a friend live, then help them live. Support them, love them, laugh with them, hold them, cry with them, live with them, hope with them. But you can not die with them.
You can not stop death. Death is not an illness, and there is not and never will be a cure.
"You can not give somebody joy; but you can find it by trying.
You can't save someone from death, but you can love them while they're dying."
-Gratitude, "The Greatest Wonder"
There were many times when a program would begin to talk about new drug trials, or the rising cost of health care. My father and I would both become animated during these programs, both arguing with the radio about the social systems of our country that allowed people a basic human right, life, based upon their income.
I would often make the argument that "Well, what can you do?" After all, a person with a chronic, debilitating, or terminal illness needs the medication to stay healthy, or even alive. No matter what the price is, it has to be paid. My father would invariably disagree. I remember once he told me quite bluntly, "You know I'm sick. And my medication is expensive. I've lived a good life, I think. And I don't know, I'll keep taking it for now, but maybe one day, once you kids have all graduated and are out of the house..." He stopped there, and silence settled down again between us. But my father and I, both experts at reading silence, knew what he meant. It is my life, and my choice.
In high school, a friend who had been battling a rare form of cancer died our sophomore year. At our Senior Candlelight, his sister read an essay she had written about his death. More specifically, about how he decided he was going to die. The family had known for a long time that the expensive, time-consuming, and painful treatments were only doing so much. The cancer was not going away. One day he told them, "I'm done." There was too much pain, both for him physically, as his body succumbed to both the cancer and the ravages of the chemotherapy, and psychically, watching his family and friends suffer, watching himself suffer. He died shortly after.
Dylan Thomas once wrote:
"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
And it does appear to be human nature, and an evolutionary imperative, to fight against death. Recent research has shown that human beings are unable to imagine a time when they are no longer here. We can not picture our own deaths, and believe death to be possible for ourselves, no matter how much we see it happen to others.
But death will happen to us all. Like it or not, it is the final chapter of a life. We are born, we live, and we die. A person can not always know when, where, or how they will die. Death is often an accident, or a violent event that was not seen coming. But sometimes we catch it, stalking us. For some, Death does not wait patiently, it actively seeks one out.
People have the right to live as they choose. And as death is the final act of a life, they have the right to die as they choose, if they are given a choice. We may not always agree with that choice; we may fight for a friend, feeling that they are not fighting hard enough for themselves. We may rage and rail against them in anger, frustration, and fear, as they refuse to take medication, refuse to stop damaging habits like drinking, smoking, cutting, promiscuity, or other self-injurious behaviors.We may not understand their firm belief that the quality of their life is far more important than the quantity of years they live. We may decide that they are wrong, that they have made the wrong choice, that perhaps they are crazy as well as sick, to choose not to fight with every last breath.
Our opinions do not matter.
It is not our choice.
A friend's death is haunting, terrifying, and debilitating to those left behind. And those left behind will invariably wonder if there was something they could have done to prevent it. It will hurt, and it will scar, and it will affect us in ways we can not yet begin to imagine. Yet it is not our life, and it is not our death. I firmly believe we have not the right to dictate how a person lives, or dies. I firmly believe this is a decision that lies with the person making it, and no one else, no matter how close to them we are, how much we care.
If you truly want to help a friend live, then help them live. Support them, love them, laugh with them, hold them, cry with them, live with them, hope with them. But you can not die with them.
You can not stop death. Death is not an illness, and there is not and never will be a cure.
"You can not give somebody joy; but you can find it by trying.
You can't save someone from death, but you can love them while they're dying."
-Gratitude, "The Greatest Wonder"
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