A whole life

Just after Christmas I went to see my new doctor at the neurology center four hours away (I stayed in the city and partied every night until New Years--a good way to get that stench of permanent disability off of you). I like this new doctor, Dr. A., she is the first doctor in a long time that has shown any hope about my case. We talked about trying new combinations of medicine, doing some more tests, and the possibility of another surgery. She was wonderful and sympathetic. It also didn't hurt that she said I looked like I had stepped out of the pages of Vogue Paris when I expressed concern about recent weight gain (yes, I am a sucker for a compliment).

So I'll be headed down to the hospital again within the next couple of weeks for a test I had last time I had surgery, a video EEG (we just need the insurance company my Medicare goes through to approve it). It will be about seven to ten days in the hospital with electrodes glued to my head while I'm being video taped. The goal is to get a seizure on video as well as capture the electrical activity in my brain during the seizure. We'll cut down on my meds before I enter the hospital, and I'll go off them completely during the monitoring, in hopes that I'll have a seizure while I'm being monitored. We'll also try fun stuff like sleep deprivation to try to induce a seizure. Last time we tried this, I went the whole time without having a seizure. Very frustrating. Then, on the drive home, my mom (who was driving me) stopped at a grocery store to pick some things up. I had a terrible seizure in the car in the parking lot. Post-ictally, I was able to gain enough control and presence of mind to honk the horn of the car until someone came over to investigate and went to find my mom. God.

I'm a little bit afraid to go off my meds. I know how huge my seizures are when I'm off my meds or somethings interfering with them (like the heartburn medication that kept me from absorbing my meds a year or so ago). When I'm on my meds, I still have seizures, but they are small. My injuries will include a bitten tongue, a bump on the head, a sore jaw. When my meds are off, my seizures are horrible. Once I slammed my face into the metal edge of a trunk until it was cut to shreds. I pounded my head into a concrete floor repeatedly. A seizure can kill you if you are unlucky enough to hit your head too hard or in the wrong spot, or if you choke on your vomit. I wasn't afraid before because I always blindly thought I'd just go to heaven. I don't believe that anymore--and there's nothing I can do to make myself believe that. So I am afraid.

But I am only a afraid a little bit. And it is better to take this risk with the hope that I might have a better life than to go on living the half-life I have been living. I can not live my life medicated to the point that I am too drowsy to stay awake through the day, unable to finish my education, unable to work, unable to sustain healthy relationships. I can not live half a life. I insist on a whole life. And I will fight until that is what I have.

New Year's Resolutions, Betches!!!!!

So I'm making some New Years resolutions (I realize they are late, but it's not like I made a resolution not to procrastinate, so I'm totally safe). They aren't set in stone, and I'm not going to beat myself up if I don't accomplish all of them, but they're just a few habits I'd like to start implementing in my life.

1. Floss I need to floss my teeth more often. I had a dental appointment right before Christmas, and my teeth were in good shape, but it was just a reminder that I need to take care of those babies. I also got a free spool of floss when I went there, so it's not like it's going to be costing me anything.

2. Run or ride the bike at least three days a week I've completely gotten out of my exercise habits. I feel all gross and flabby. I love to run, though in the winter it's easier to ride the exercise bike. I need to start exercising again.

3. Write, even when my writing sucks I've been trying to finish a story/novel since 2008, but I keep putting it off because I don't like the sound of my own writing or I find my plot unrealistic. I need to write anyway, not because I'm good at it but because practicing will make me good at it. I need to write until I'm good at it.

4. Make my bed every day I'm a total slob and I never make my bed. I think making my bed will force me to care a bit more about how my environment looks and take care of the things around me.

5. Put my clothes away after I wash them/wear them My clothes also tend to pile up, waiting to be put away. More of that "I'm a total slob" stuff.

6. Get up before a specific hour of the morning each weekday I'm not going to tell you what hour because you'd be so impressed with my laziness, but I've decided I need to get up in the mornings before a certain hour. Otherwise, I might just be the complete loser I think I am.

7. Go to bed before a certain hour each night Again, I'm not saying what hour because you'd be too amazed at how late a person can stay up looking at random shit on the internet. But I'm trying to change my ways and use my nights for sleeping. Small steps.

Those are my resolutions. I'm slowly going to turn myself from a lazy, out-of-shape, slob to someone who is fit to be in the company of humans. Yay for me!

middle of the night depressed rantings.

Dear World,
I don't know why I'm writing this. I'll probably take it down in the morning (or mid afternoon or whenever I wake up). I just feel terrible. I've been fighting off this depression since October, and I'm tired. I'm tired of trying and I'm tired of living. I'm tired of dealing with the few hours that I spend awake (when I get depressed I sleep and sleep and sleep).

In October, when I could feel the depression coming on, I bought a book on overcoming anxiety and depression. I had my doctor switch my meds. I felt like I could actually do something, like repeating some affirmations and going to the gym would be enough to fight this off. And now I just feel like I'm in too deep, like there's nothing I can do to feel better.

I haven't seen the sun in days. That has to have something to do with it. Winter and darkness and cold and being trapped in this white-walled apartment where all the plants are dying. All I want to do is sleep. In my dreams, I have friends and things are fine with my family. In my dreams I have energy. I do something more than sit at my computer all day.

Staying positive doesn't seem worth the energy anymore. God, staying awake doesn't seem worth the energy anymore. I don't want to try.

I don't think I have anything else to say.

Just to clarify

I've received some criticism lately, and I've decided I need to clarify something on this blog: I am not anti-Mormon. I do not want to destroy the Mormon church. I was raised in the church. I believed in it wholeheartedly for the first twenty-eight years of my life. I do not want to see it destroyed. It doesn't make me happy when I hear people spread lies about the church, in fact I almost always correct them. It doesn't make me happy to see people leave the church. I believe people must do what is best for them and pursue the path that leaves them happy and fulfilled. If being Mormon makes someone happy, they should be Mormon.

On the other hand, I see no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to criticize the Mormon church and the words and actions of those who represent it. My criticisms may have been passionate, but I have always been truthful. I have always tried to be as exact as possible when telling about my own experience in the church, and I see no reason to paint over the bad stuff (of which there was plenty). This is my personal blog and I am not accountable to anyone but myself for what I say here. When I criticize public actions or comments made by church representatives, I always reference my claims.

If you are reading this blog, it is by your own choice. If you choose to engage me in debate, it is by your own choice. If you have a problem with me criticizing faults I find in Mormon doctrine or actions, you may not want to read the posts on this blog that pertain to Mormonism. I know that within the church it is a big deal to dissent, even at time an offense worthy of excommunication, but I don't consider myself Mormon anymore, and I think dissent is necessary to any healthy community. So if my dissent offends you, I suggest you do not read.

I've also heard there is concern that I will lead the children astray, teach them anti-Mormon doctrine, undercut what their parents are teaching them. I would never do this. My nieces and nephews are some of the most valuable people in my life. I would never think of undermining my siblings' parental authority and teaching their children that the Mormon church isn't true or telling them that what they are learning at church is false. I've never acted with any impropriety around my nieces and nephews, and it makes me very sad that some people think I ever would. I've left it up to my sisters and brothers to discuss with my nieces and nephews my leaving the church because I don't want to say something that my siblings would disapprove of. When my nieces and nephews ask me why I'm not Mormon, I simply tell them that I have different beliefs. I am not harmful to children. I would never try to lead a child from their religion, and I would never try to undermine a child's parents.

I hope this clears things up for those of you who have made inquiries.

The Matthew Shephard Act passes Senate

The Matthew Shephard Act passed the Senate with a vote of 68-29. I feel safer already. The act is an expansion upon federal hate crime law, which increases the penalty for violence against someone based upon their race, sex, or country of origin. The Matthew Shephard Act would increase the penalty for those who attack based upon sexual orientation or perceived sexual orientation.

I've heard the argument so many times that crimes shouldn't be prosecuted as hate crimes--one shouldn't punish intent. I believe the opposite. When someone commits a crime that is personal, beats up or kills someone because of a personal offense--they aren't terrorizing an entire community. When someone is beaten because they're gay (or black or Middle Eastern), it sends a message to the entire community that they are unsafe. It is terrorism. Terrorism should be punished to a greater degree than ordinary crime.

The same old story

I'm getting pretty sick of every fucking post I write being serious and boring and self-involved, but I guess that's how I write lately. I think the only story I can tell lately is my own. A few years back, I had this textbook called There Is No Other Story and I know there are hundreds of millions of stories other than my story, but lately it feels like I am telling the same one over and over again. Maybe I feel like if I can explain it well enough, I might even be able to understand it. And that would be a miracle. Then I could just shut up about it and never have to talk about this life again.

Maybe it is because I am just getting over a horrible case of the flu and I still feel sick and weak and like sleeping over half the day, maybe it's because I was at my parents' for General Conference weekend and thus got to know again how much of a sinner I'm considered (simply by overhearing the talks, not by any direct accusations), maybe it's because I overheard the homophobic remarks of a loved one for the thousandth time and realized how little people like me are valued in my family/culture, maybe it's some combination of the above, but this little melancholia has filled my life. If I'm very good and take the Risperdal and Ativan every night the panic attacks don't come and prevent me from sleeping altogether. I just sort of toss and turn and worry.

I don't want to get into the basis for all my worry, laying blame or making accusations. If anyone has been following me on Facebook, they know all about the paperwork snafus that prevented me from moving into my apartment on time. Then, at the time when I should have been working all of this out, I got suddenly, violently ill, requiring a trip to the hospital where I was given medication I was allergic to and that only made things worse. At this time, I also tried to help out a friend, who decided not to show gratitude, but to criticize just about every part of my life from my sexuality to the way my nose looks in photographs. I feel sick, tired, worried, used, manipulated, and fed up. I just want a day and a place where I can be grouchy without people complaining about me being grouchy, as though it's my duty to spend every day wearing a fucking smile. I'm not happy right now. I'm sick of shit. And I have had it up to here with it.

Saying no, being the bitch

Usually when I meet new people (and I am alone), I can be pretty brazen about who am I and what I stand for and why they should respect that. I approach new situations balls-out--and then I pee around the perimeter just for good measure, to make sure everyone knows my territory.

It's different if I'm with friends or with family. I'm usually so grateful that they are willing to be seen with the horrible, awful, stupid, unattractive, ugly, (insert your own adjective here) me that I subvert myself into an almost-silent second fiddle. It gets me in trouble. I hate to say no to people. I hate to have people angry. I hate to have them think I'm the bitch.

Sure I can play it up, be top dog in front of an audience. I was an actor, and a fucking good one, at that. But how do I tell someone no when they are my friend? I have so few friends. I don't need to alienate them.

God, I'm such a wimp. I probably just need to take this up with the therapist. It's like half my personality didn't even get formed. I swear I have to ask him about the basics of human behavior all the time. Grrr.

Healthcare--and a funny.

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

I'm lucky because I'm on Medicaid and Medicare (as well as some rather minimal health insurance left over from where my dad used to work). I'm generally covered when I have health problems, and even when I'm told that I'm not, I just have to spend a few hours on the phone to get coverage. Nevertheless, I wouldn't ever think of denying coverage to anyone around me. I usually wish that everyone had the fabulous coverage I have.

I wonder if the people who are against public option just fail to see their fellow humans as human anymore. I wonder if they are so stuck in this "I earned it so I deserve it, now let everyone else earn it" mentality, that they will allow people to die. They fail to see that the cost of insurance, let alone healthcare, is so enormous that a good portion of the population cannot afford it--no matter how hard they work to "earn" it. And it makes me sick to think that some people believe we must "earn" the right to live.

We shall overcome.

Angryyoungwoman writes a story

So I felt rather inspired to write a story today. It's just a little blip of a thing, utterly plotless, but I sort of like it.

God's Love
She couldn’t decide what to wear to church. She had developed a sudden, overwhelming hatred for skirts—and they made up half her closet. How could she wear a skirt when the men on the stand wore suits like an outward symbol of their power? She pulled from the closet a pair of slacks and a sweater. It was still cold in Idaho.
She showered and dressed. She attempted to put on makeup and control her hair. She felt nervous. What if someone confronted her? Was that what she secretly wanted? She made herself get a grip. If anyone said anything, she’d use the excuse she’d used on the girl who’d asked about the suit she wore to stake conference: “I don’t want anybody to be able to see up my skirt if I have a seizure. It’s about modesty, really.”
She walked the long route to church, two –and-a-half country blocks with a gutter always full of water. It was bitter cold and the ice crunched beneath her feet. Before she’d had the common sense to wear pants to church she’d walked in a skirt and heels, often having to take the heels off on the uneven ice and walk barefoot. There were no sidewalks. This stupid town. She hated this stupid town.
She reached the church building and went inside. Damn. She was late. They were already singing. She took a place on one of the last rows of folding chairs, after scanning the aisles for familiar faces of people she might sit with. She made it partway through the song, but her heart was turning cold and heavy in her chest.
She stood up and walked to the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror left her chilled. Under the bright electric lighting in the church, she looked washed out and pale. She looked wrung –out and limp. She made her way into the mothers’ room, sat down a comfy chair, and had a good cry. That’s what she needed. She cried and mourned for everything she was losing and everything she had lost, for everything that wasn’t what she thought it would be, for all the way she had been disappointed , and for all the ways she had disappointed herself.
Suddenly, there was a sound of footsteps and children’s loud cries. A woman was in the bathroom with her kids instructing them and begging them to behave. She watched the woman, through the door. The woman was probably in her thirties, though she could easily have been older. Her hair was in a loose bun that threatened to come out entirely at any moment. Her clothing was in complete disarray. Her children were ignoring her tired reprimands and running all over the bathroom.
This is when the older woman noticed the younger woman in the mothers’ room, crying.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, don’t worry.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, really I’m fine.”
“I just want you to know that no matter what we all have God’s love and that makes life worth living.”
The older woman gathered her screaming, yelling brood and exited the bathroom.

Sparkly Nephi

Apparently Twilight-esque images have become very in for the Mormoms. Who can blame them? Twilight worked well for them. Anyway, check out these great seminary posters (named Real Heroes Posters). I've never seen Nephi look so sparkly.

Here's a taste of what you're in for:



Oh, and young women, in case you were worried that there would be no female heroes for you to look up to, there is a Daughters in the Wilderness poster. Of course she is modestly dressed and holding a baby. We would expect no less from our female role models.

Angryyoungwoman Super Slogan

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Must stop now. Must. Stop. Need. Sleep.

UPDATE: Just one more:

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UPDATE II: Ok, I was just about to update this last night when my computer overheated, so here goes. I was playing with the little slogan generator some more, and the last one it came up with was, "How many licks does it take to get to the center of an Angryyoungwoman?" It just made my day.

My blog

I've been thinking about the blog lately and what it means to me. I love writing here, and writing here has gotten me through so much. I know that my blogging has taken a different direction lately. I haven't felt that need to let everyone in on every thought and every pain that I have. When I started this blog I felt so alone. I was a Mormon woman who had never gotten married in a small town where the average woman gets married at 21. I was learning to live with a disability that kept getting worse and worse. I was coming to terms with what the Mormon church calls Same-Sex Attraction--when they're being polite--and what they damn you to hell for, also very politely. I was realizing that I didn't believe the things that had been drilled into my head since I was a child. I was reaching out, searching for people who felt like me and could reassure me that I was not alone, not crazy, not bad.

I've reached a place where I feel much more confident. I'm learning to refuse to let myself be guilted into doing things I hate doing. I'm also learning not to try to use guilt and passive aggressiveness to try to control others. I'm trying to recognize behaviors in myself that I think are unacceptable. I was angry, I was passive aggressive. Because I felt that I couldn't express myself verbally to people who were hurtful to me, I engaged in destructive behaviors (eating disorders, cutting, overdosing) to show them how much they were hurting me. I've learned that the people who hurt me won't change their behavior no matter what I do, and hurting myself isn't going to make them stop hurting me, and writing long angst-ridden posts isn't going to make them stop hurting me. I just have to deal with them the way they are. I can't expect acceptance and love from everyone.

That's not to say I don't still have shit to deal with. Everybody has shit. I'm just at this place where I've never been before. I've never been where there weren't at least a couple (or a couple dozen) destructive behaviors that I just had to indulge in or it would make my fingers itch. And of course there is still anger here, but it's not that primary, driving force of my life.

So I've taken the long way round just to bring you back to this blog. I still want to write, don't worry all of you who adoringly hang on my every word. I just think I'm ready to take a different tone. I don't know if I'm an angry young woman anymore (god knows I'm getting older, anyway). I think my dearth of posts lately may be due in part to the fact that I've felt that this blog is a place to let out my rage, and I don't have a lot of rage left. I want to share a greater range of emotions, but I don't want to always be all introspective and gooey. I want people to know the fun, crazy, weird, nerdy side of me as well.

I'm thinking about this. Do I change the name of the blog? Get a different blog? Do nothing but just post whatever?

Oy. Feedback?

Grow

This is my latest poem. It's for my neph, who just lost a couple of teeth.



Grow
It happens
when you are very young.
You grow. Your teeth
fall out of your head. Your mother
Saves them in her dresser drawer.
She leaves a nickel
on your pillow.

Random ramblings re: omg baby oh hell no!

Dear Whoever-You-Are-(Or-Aren't),

All of the pregnancy tests have come back negative and I am thanking god for that, but my stomach is still clenched because I haven't had a period since May. And my body feels different; there's this constant heartburn and I feel faint if I don't eat enough--to the point of passing out. So I don't know if I trust the little sticks I peed on with their crosses and lines. I'm going to the doctor tomorrow. Then I'll find out for sure.

But If You Are Here, I don't want you to feel unwelcome. You might be a little unplanned, but I haven't planned a lot of the things in my life. And my life is still pretty good. Even though part of me has been overcome with nervousness and fear at the thought of you, another part of me has been planning, too: checking the classifieds for a better apartment, wondering which pregnancy and parenting books to read, checking out the baby clothes as I walk by them in the store, even reading mommy blogs. I haven't told many people I was worried about this. A few know I had a pregnancy scare while I was in California, but next to no one knows that I still haven't gotten that elusive period. God.

So I talked to my mom about it on the phone today. She was grim: "Well, you know where babies come from." I cannot talk to my mother about sex, probably because my mother never talked to me about sex (no, we never had the talk). She asked if I'd been taking the pill when the event which may have possibly led to pregnancy maybe occurred. I was. She said she'd pray for me. Prayer. Baby. Prayer. Baby. Prayer. Baby. I am freaking out just slightly.

I just feel a bit overwhelmed. I had a pet kitten once. It was so demanding. It mewled all time. It climbed my legs. It slept on my face. It peed on my homework. It had constant diarrhea and spread its poops throughout the apartment. After a few days of caring for it, I finally shut it in the bathroom, cried for a while, then called my family and asked them to take it. My mom said that if I couldn't take care of a kitten, how would I ever take care of a baby? But I'm allergic to cats, and I don't think I'm allergic to babies. In fact, that kitten was feral, so I don't think anyone could have taken care of it. And I don't think you will be feral. I'm pretty good with babies, dammit! And babies and cats are not the same! I'm probably not pregnant anyway! I probably just have wacked out hormones and some kind of blood sugar problem! I WILL BE FINE!

UPDATE: I am babyfree. Hooray!!! Because I am so not ready to have a baby.

To be strong, to be honest, never to back down.

Lately, there have been quite the goings-on at Mind on Fire. If you haven't been following, John has been threatened with excommunication from the Mormon church because of his blog--most likely because he spoke about his negative experiences in the temple, though he did not tell any of the specific things they warn you not to tell.

I'm upset that this is happening to John. I'm upset that the church, which claims to be welcoming and loving, is being threatening just because people (who have long left the church alone) want to share experiences that shaped their psyche. And they do all this in the name of love. The claim they are kicking people out of their church in the name of love. They claim they are fighting against gay marriage in the name of love. Back in the day, they fought against interracial marriage in the name of love. They withheld the priesthood from black men in the name of love. They currently withhold the priesthood from women and maintain a destructive patriarchal culture in the name of love. They are so fucking loving that they destroy people's lives! Excommunicating someone (basically telling them they aren't welcome in heaven, so they are going to hell) isn't loving. Jesus didn't leave the ninety and nine so he could kick the sheep that strayed out of the flock. It is no wonder people say Mormons aren't christian. This church has nothing to do with Christ.

So I'm wondering now, when do our experiences become our own? When are we allowed to write about the very things that have shaped us and made us ourselves? If we are punished every time we attempt to be fully honest in our communications, every time we try to tell the whole story, how will the world ever get at the truth. And it does seem that those of us who try to tell the truth are punished over and over and over again.

Example:
A bit over a year ago, I had another blog. On this blog I wrote all about my experiences leaving the church, which was troubling enough to some people. Even worse (to these people), I wrote about an episode of abuse from my childhood. When my family found it (even though I'd tried to keep the blog from their knowledge), they were furious. My name and links to this (angryyoungwomanblog) blog were deleted from their blogs, as were all of my comments. I was lectured over and over about what I'd done. My dad yelled at me and told me he could forgive the abuser because the abuse had happened "twenty years ago, but [I] wrote about it." I was accused of lying. I felt like my family had disowned me and embraced the person who had abused me. Just because I had decided to write, to tell the truth, to get the word out. As a commenter on Mind on Fire asked, "if I can't write about my own life, whose life can I write about?" When do my experiences become my own? When can I write about my life without fear of reprisal, without fear that everyone I know will go batshit insane?

I want to take a stand now. I am tired of hiding my words and my feelings. I am tired of not writing about what I can write about the very best because it may offend those whose consciences are guilty. I want to be strong, I want to be honest, I never want to back down.