NOTE: I started writing this a couple of days following the PULSE Nightclub shooting in Orlando.
I've stopped and started writing this post countless times in the past months. I've written it in my head another countless times, but whenever I sit to actually put words on paper, I panic and stop.
So this fustercluck of thoughts and ideas has been swirling in my brain for months and I think now I finally have to force myself to have the courage or stupidity to actually write it and get it out there..
Either that, or it's the drugs talking.
Content Advisory: sexual assault, self-harm, depression, anxiety.
I sit staring at the computer. Searching for the words. The words swirl in my head and I visualize what I will say and how I will say it. Every word falls perfectly, poetically into place. In my head.
In reality, I sit and stare.
I look at Facebook. It's filled with anger and sadness right now. Not helping.
I look at Instagram. It's full of pictures of hope, sadness, anger, hurting. I feel worse.
I look at Pinterest. I look at all the crafts I will never make, all the muscles I will never build, the foods I will never cook. I feel more unmotivated than before.
I play an online game. I am anonymous and can disappear into it. Hours pass. Still haven't written anything. Feel like a failure.
I mope around the apartment trying to feel busy, look busy so that Boyfriend doesn't ask what's wrong. I don't have an answer. At least not an easy answer.
I'm sad. I'm scared. I'm angry. I'm empty. I don't care.
I'm conflicted.
I slept on it.
Twice. More nights than I can remember. I guess if you call it "sleeping."
Still so much angst. Panic. Pain. Confusion.
Alcohol helps a little. But then the anxiety envelops my drunken brain as it tries to sleep and the demons come out to dance through my deepest darkest fears.
The constant dread is like a vice on my chest. My hands and feet sweat profusely and consistently.
I can no longer tell the difference between my anxiety and my hypoglycemia. My body seems to be playing the shell game with all my symptoms.
My hand trembles as I stare into the all-too-familiar orange cylinder that is my medication bottle. I absent-mindedly count how many pills I have left. I need to find a psychiatrist on my health plan. I feel the clock ticking. I'm running out of time. The panic clutches my chest.
The depression whispers,"What's the point? You'll never find a good doctor. They all think you're a crazy drug-addict just trying to get high. Remember clinic doctors in New York? Remember clinic doctors in Glendale? They all think you're faking it. No one believes you. Remember the neurosurgeon? Even your mom thinks you're weak and just give up all the time. You're not special. You're a fraud. The rest of your family even refuses to acknowledge your illnesses or the causes. You're a disappointment."
The pain, the hatred, the bigotry, the violence, the injustice in our country and around the world horrifies me. I am saddened and scared for marginalized people everywhere. I never thought that fear would be so close to home.
Is it normal to fantasize about slitting your wrists over the anxiety of coming out? I am so afraid. Why am I so afraid?
The social worker asked what my support structure is like, I lied. I said my family and friends. But most don't know the half of what goes on in my brain. Why did I lie? Why am I so afraid? So ashamed?
Why am I afraid of coming out about the depth of my mental illness? What's the worst that could be said?
"That's not a real thing."
"We all have bad days."
"You're just not trying hard enough."
"Well, you chose a difficult path in life."
Why am I afraid of coming out about the oddity that is what many people seem to consider my sexuality? What's the worst they can say?
"What even is that?"
"That's not a real thing."
"But you have a boyfriend."
"What does that even mean?"
"Does your boyfriend know?"
"You just want attention."
Why am I afraid of coming out about my sexual assaults? What hasn't already been said?
"Well, you shouldn't have been drinking."
"We all make mistakes."
"It's your word against his."
"You should be over this by now."
"Why were you walking home alone at night?"
"Well, you chose to move to that city."
If I come out about these things, what's the worst that can happen? Comments can make me relive trauma. Hatred and bigotry can turn into abandonment by family and friends, or worse unprovoked violence by others trying to silence my voice.
I am afraid.
I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't want to be silent anymore.
My name is Jess.
I struggle daily with chronic mental illnesses.
My name is Jess.
I am a pansexual woman in a loving heterosexual relationship.
My name is Jess.
I am a rape survivor. I am a sexual assault survivor.
I'm sure it will come as no shock that I voted for Hillary Clinton in the presidential election.
I voted for her because she addressed my needs as an American citizen over the other candidates. She offered a plan on tackling the abhorrent mental health system in our country. She supported women's rights/healthcare. She supported the LGBT+ community. She was against the anti-Islam rhetoric.
She wasn't my first choice, she wasn't even my second choice. She sure as hell wasn't perfect, but I voted for her, and I wanted to believe so badly that that glass ceiling could be broken this year.
I don't hold hate in my heart for those who voted otherwise. I want so badly to believe that people who voted for the man that is now our President-Elect, voted because of the same reasons I did, and not with hatred in their heart for me, or a specific group of people. I truly want our country to work together to lift up those who need a little boost so that we may all be truly equal under our laws and within our society. I want America to be the beautiful, peaceful, melting pot we were always told it was. The place where everyone regardless of race, religion, skin color, gender, sexuality, or economic status is safe and has the same opportunities for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I want to hope again. But... I am afraid.
I am hurting right now. Like nearly half this nation, I am going through a grieving process. It feels like fiery bricks are in my gut weighing down my soul. I am afraid. I am afraid that hateful ideas will continue to poison our country and divide us further. Turning family members against each other, furthering isolating all of us. I'm afraid we will destroy our environment. I'm afraid we will destroy each other. I'm afraid we will continue to suppress, and harm, and kill our already marginalized citizens. I'm afraid we will refuse to learn from our mistakes. I'm afraid we will forever be stuck in the gummed up wheels of our divided people and fractured governmental body until there is violence.
I am afraid. I am afraid for my safety. I am afraid for my health. I am afraid for my rights. I am afraid for my friends.
I know there is much work to be done in our country and that we need to work together to make the future better and brighter for everyone. But most of all, I'm afraid that nothing I do will make any difference for the good of this world and the people in it.
My name is Jess.
I am a woman. I am not my illness. I am a survivor. I am afraid.
I am afraid. But I am still here.
