#therapy homework
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When I say that I want to be evil
what I mean is I want to be powerful. What I mean is I want to be free.
Some weeks ago I spent more money than I should have on my first ever (ever!) two-piece swimsuit. You have to understand that as a child I was told I was fat, and as a teen I was told I was fat, and as an adult I've always been fat*, and you can't read your way out of the shame caused not strictly by the word but by its connotations.
(I know, because I've tried. I have been trying for almost twenty years. Looking for plus-sized fashion brought me to the digital 'fatosphere.' It made me a better person as I learned about another dimension of intersectionality and about power and oppression. It made me feel like I could wear clothing that I liked. It made me more informed about the diet and wellness industry. It's been over 20 years since I first read a critique of the BMI; it's been almost as long since I started wondering why gros/se in my close-second language didn't have the same (haha) weight to it as fat does, in my first.)
At the tail end of June, days long and scorching, I stepped into a two-piece swimsuit with a deep-v neckline and my whole midsection exposed and I spent the day in full view of dozens (hundreds?) of strangers. Cold, cold water on the joints; warm, soft pools for the evening. My hair got bigger and bigger. My neck and chest sunburned. My midriff stayed comically, blindingly pale, and everything else? It was lovely; it was fine. I rarely thought about my body, unless it was 'this feels nice' or 'my swimsuit is so pretty.' I took a selfie, even, though I deleted it. I was worried that posting it would count as thirst-trapping; shame has cored out and replaced so much of me. It was a good pic, though, and I wish I'd kept it.
What was true of me that day: I was a quite tall, very fat femme person whose feet swell with arthritis and whose hair takes up the entire frame and who's had cellulite since grade eight. What else was true: many people complimented my swimsuit. I looked out across the valleys and the mountains from the top of my almost-six-feet. I let my shoulders roll back and smiled at the sight of my bare skin gone blue-wavering-dappled beneath the surface. I stood tall. I made eye contact. I enjoyed delightful company, and let that enjoyment extend to the simple pleasure of having a body that felt fairly good, in garments I had chosen for the joy of it.
You can't read your way out of shame; it's only part of the equation. I didn't go swimming the next day with my family members, because I didn't want to feel them looking at my body and being disappointed that What A Beautiful Girl turned out like I did (though: if What A Beautiful Girl then why You Need To Watch What You Eat?). But for an entire day I felt like anyone else, gentle enough, good enough, in my skin.
It would have been good for me to swim with my family that weekend, because I'm finding that - as in all things - the practice is important. You can't read your way out of shame, not entirely, but in working with and through it there's maybe a chance to rewrite our stories.
There's a fallacy that I think a lot of us fall into, when we're trying to counter and challenge fatphobia, both culturally and in ourselves. It's the fallacy of the Good Fat. It's why I want to tell you about how two-pieces are maybe a better swimwear choice for me because of the drastic difference between my tits and hips vs my waist. It's why I wanted to post that selfie, so people could shoutycaps and fire emoji me on twitter. It's why I want to craft this post into a narrative where spending a single day mostly-unburdened by body shame has led to a hot girl summer, and I'm walking for miles every day and going to the pool four times a week. (I'm not. I still have a day job, and writing to do, and a physical disability, and the ol' depression. I'm more active than I was three months ago, and working to improve that, but still. It's not a lot.)
It is, simply, the same lie as we tell ourselves along so many different axes of marginalization: that as long as we are exceptional in a way equal and opposite to our marginalization, we'll be fine. It's the model that says you earn the right to exist fat and unashamed by being healthy, by being active, by being hot. Sorry my hip is squished against yours on the airplane; at least I've got a nice face and good hair and am well-dressed, wanna admire my hip-to-waist ratio about it?
There's no such thing as a Good Fat because we live in an inherently fatphobic world. I mean: airplane seats are too small for anyone average sized. I mean: 20 years ago I was a size 16/18 and couldn't fit into the newer lecture hall seats at my university without a lot of stress and embarrassment. I mean: I can't buy a compression sleeve for my arthritic joints at the drug store. If I ever needed to take Plan B, it might not work because I weigh (as do most adults of my acquaintance) more than 165lbs. You cannot be hot enough or active enough or well-dressed enough to escape from this; the only option is to be Not Fat.
But why on earth would we want to accept this? We know the system is fucked up and evil, and so: we want to be evil. Just a little bit, just enough. We want to be hot villains. We want to serve cunt and to be cunts. We want to nailcare emoji, fire emoji, crown emoji, and we want to take no prisoners unless it's between our thick thick thighs. Sit on their face; if they die, they die. It's fun and sexy, in a world where "everything is sex, except sex, which is power" to dig in and grab handfuls of what looks like empowerment, fuck the rest of it, get what makes you feel best.
It's a mirage; freedom doesn't live there.
Because of course fat people are hot. Fat bodies are desirable. Fat bodies are strong, sometimes, and athletic, sometimes, and powerful in whatever way you'd like to read that. That's true no matter what.
And yet (this will hurt) fat bodies are still (I'm sorry, I'm so sorry) not good enough. If the system is the problem, your individual empowerment is not the (whole) solution.
When I say that I want to be evil, what I mean is I want to be free. I want the strange rare days I've known I was desirable because I was desired, specifically and individually. I want the days where I grant myself dignity. I want the day where I lived peacefully in my mostly-naked body around hundreds of strangers, and went to bed happy.
Reading is input, it's taking in. I can't read my way all the way out of fatphobia, out of body shame because that's like trying to put out a forest fire 2000km away by throwing baking soda on your stove element. (Not harmful, but insufficient and misdirected.) It has been so helpful to know that other people wrestle with all of this, in ways that are more intelligent and expert than mine; it doesn't change material reality, though.
It's not the shame that's the problem, but where it comes from. It's not my internalized fatphobia or low self-worth or lack of body confidence that keeps people from life-saving medical care because their doctors were obsessed with their weight instead of their symptoms. My soft abdomen has never shamed a stranger on the internet, my calves (never in tall boots) haven't forced someone to buy a second seat.
Maybe it's time that I redefine what I mean when I say I want to be evil. I want to be a hot villain that was justified in their takedown of the status quo. I want to put a crown on every head. I want these thick thighs under me as I pull you into my lap and love you, and to use those fire emojis to make room for new growth.
I want us all at the pool together, celebrating as the sun sets.
*I'm using "fat" to here mean something like "size 16 US women's or larger," but there's no good definition
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Therapy Homework
My therapist recently decided to enlighten me that I've had depression for 6 years. I had done an amazing job hiding it with my anxiety disorder, but now that that particular disorder is being handled, depression has reared it's head. Yay.
We've been discussing it in my sessions and she decided to give me some homework (I'm a school nerd. I love homework. Actual yay!)
I have to rewrite the ending of Inside Out, but from MY emotions perspective. In my therapist's words: "How SHOULD the movie have ended from your perspective?"
So here goes....
"Guys... we can't make Riley feel....anything."
Anger, Disgust, and Fear stood frozen in sheer terror at what they had done. With Joy and Sadness out of the picture, they had ruined Riley. She stared out the bus window not even seeing her own reflection. Empty. Feeling nothing. Thinking nothing. Just running. Running from the life she had in San Francisco and hopefully Home, to where she was happy. She had friends there, her family was happiest there, her whole life was there. It was stupid to move out here anyway. It was time to go home.
But would anything really change? Mom and Dad would still be Mom and Dad. Her best friend would still have a new best friend. Where would that leave her?
Where does that leave her now?
"Stop the bus! I want to get off!" Thank the heavens Joy and Sadness were able to reverse the damage. But there was still a problem. Sadness has been put in a box. Riley had no idea what this emotion was, or how to handle it. She'd been sad before, but this.... This was different. This sadness demanded time. Time Riley didn't want to take. Time that her Mom and Dad didn't want to take.
"You're always our sweet, happy girl. Thank you Riley."
That's what Mom had said that night. When they were sad, or stressed, they depended on her. She couldn't let Sadness hurt her family. That wasn't her role to play. Her role was to keep every one happy. And happiness brings happiness. Right?
She walked into her home, and her parents nearly tackled her to the floor. And as their love sunk in, Sadness looked at her yellow friend. With a small, sad nod from Joy, Sadness approached the console.
Shiny tears welled in Riley's eyes. The battle was lost, and Joy had let go of control. She silently begged for Anger to take control, Disgust, even Fear! But they knew this was one emotion she had to learn to cope with. They all took an agonizing step backwards away from the console and watched Riley start to cry in her parents' arms.
She explained what had happened. How she missed home. How she thought going home would fix it. She explained that the years of being the "happy one" had finally taken its toll. As she let her dark truths pour out, something started to happen. Sadness glanced back at Joy, and rushed to her new found friend.
Joy had started to go dim. Against all rational thought, Joy was burning out. She'd been going so strong, for so long, that she was burning out. They all managed to wrangle her into her room to let her rest, and all of the manuals said she would be fine. Joy cannot permanently burn out, but she could fade for longer if she didn't rest.
Even Joy couldn't find the bright spot in this situation.....and neither could Riley.
Her parents did what they could, adjusted expectations, took her to get help, but Joy wasn't getting any better.
Sadness, however, was almost happy. She finally got to meet Riley. She got to really understand her and bond with her in a way she never could with Joy around. And while sometimes things went a little too far, Fear was always there to step in to stop Riley from going too deep into Sadness.
This went on for some time. Occasionally, Joy thought she was improving and would come out to the console, but it never lasted long. Her light would dim, and she'd have to go back to bed.
Anger, Disgust, and Fear all took turns helping Sadness so there weren't even more emotions out of commission, but that didn't always end well either.
Riley was stuck. And so was Joy.
And that's a wrap for tonight. I'm gonna go cuddle up with some nonfiction to shake that off. Happiness Project, here I come!
Goodnight void.
#writing#Inside Out#Rewrite#Therapy Homework#Therapy#Self Help#self healing#self reflection#self care#depression#anxiety#mental health#Disney#Pixar#screaming into the void
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My therapist advised me to start a journal or scrapbook to work through some grief I’ve not been dealing with.
I think I’ve found the appropriate medium
#black dark academia#dark academia#poc dark academia#noir library#therapy homework#notebook#journal#journaling#stationery
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Today's therapy homework was go to the grocery store and buy something and I did it and I'm back at home still arguing with myself about whether or not my entire existence was and is embarrassing and a failure
I did the homework I did the homework I did the homework I did the homework I did the homework and that means I did a good job I did a good fucking job
I'm exhausted
#agoraphobia#avoidant personality disorder#avpd#anxious avoidant#therapy#therapy homework#mental health#bpd#dbt skills#dbt
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Speaking up.
It's never gotten me anywhere. Well, if I knew how to do it, it might.
My head is full of conversation. Come backs, opinions, corrections, anything that could cause an argument.
It stays inside. I wouldn't be able to face the response. The reaction. The rejection.
I keep it all inside. Wrapped in a bow. "Problems I have, that I will never tell you."
I mean it when I say I'd rather die that disappoint you. Upset you. Lose you.
Dying is non confrontational, you know.
The things vary between childish things like "you're wrong", or "that's dumb" and "You have hurt me irrevocably" or "The things you say make me feel like I am worthless"
I dont pick fights. I don't join fights. I don't finish fights.
I apologize for things I didn't do. I do things I never wanted to do. I make allowances because I couldn't handle the thought of someone agreeing that you are in the wrong and I need to say or do something.
I dont say anything. I do everything. I have to keep you happy. I have to keep you safe. I have to keep you here. I have to keep you.
But here. In words that will never be read. I need to tell you that the way your mood changes truly scares me. The way I react scares me more.
Things have gone from good to bad to better to worse to sickness to health. Til death do us part sounds like a record to set some days.
You make me feel like the only person in the world. Flying high. 100 feet tall. All it takes is a tone change, a face, and sentence that sounds like it came from the lips of my father, not my husband. And I'm no longer flying.
I'm crashing. I'm falling so fast into the dark place that I can't get out of and you don't even know it exists.
I'm lonely in the bed next to you. I walk barefoot on glass you didn't even break. I accept what I get because I don't want different or better, I just want you.
I'm terrified of getting better because then I will have to acknowledge that you have to get better too.
And if I tell you that you need to be better, then I am telling you you are not enough. And that means I have to admit that sometimes, you aren't.
And where does that leave me?
Everything I do revolves around you. How you'd react. How you'd respond. If you'd leave. I'd hurt forever if it meant you'd stay.
Maddie says "You could break my heart and I'd say thank you. At least that means you think of me in some virtue. I know it sounds reckless that I put myself in danger. Rather let you hurt me than love another stranger. You could burn my house down, don't know what for and all I'd be is grateful you're back at my door."
Listening to her, I realized that not only was it true, but I didn't have a problem with feeling that way.
You wouldn't want me to. The therapist definitely wouldn't want me to. All I want is you.
So I stay quiet.
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“Why does everyone leave me?”
I ask, as I continue to do everything I can to destroy what few bonds I have left in the worst possible way.
#mental illness#mental struggle#sad#bpd life#bpd thoughts#depressed#bpd#quiet bpd#bpd feels#depression#broken heart#heartbreak#mentally unstable#therapy#therapy homework#living with bpd#abandonment issues
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Did hw since 8am today….I wanna fall onto my face.
#and it was actually productive#but I’m so tired#coding has me coding fr#computer science#college#girls in stem#stem lesbian#stem#therapy homework#I get ahead on everything bc I have the worst anxiety of all time
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Therapist: Try letting people do nice things for you. People want to do nice things for you because they like it.
Me: But what if there's an ulterior motive or they hold it---
Therapist: *Mmmmorgan, No~* We are going to challenge these thoughts.
Me: o ^ o ... okie.
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So I’m in therapy and one of my ‘therapy homework’ is to track my feelings through the day and find the source of that emotion. So I did just that about 30 minutes ago. And I realised I’m having a dark thoughts due to depression moment. And this is what causes it I realised.
Also yes I’m mentally fine these are just my thoughts on life 😬
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Cried so much during the last two episodes of the Witcher; what I wouldn't give to have had someone protect me like that when I was a child.. made this price for my therapy homework. Tried to fill it with things I loved as a child, most of which I still love. Trying to remind myself of things worth sticking around for !!
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GIVE Skills: For Keeping A Relationship
G: be Gentle! No attacks. Remember to be nice and treat this person you care about with respect.
I: act Interested. Listen to what it is they’re really saying. Don’t try to read your own meaning or let Emotion Mind give you tunnel vision.
V: Validate. Whatever they’re feeling is as real as what you’re feeling. Let them know that.
E: use an Easy manner. Remember you care about this person; this is no time for attitude or demands.
#give#give skills#dbt#dbt skills#dialectical behaviour therapy#dialectical behavior therapy#therapy#reminders#therapy homework
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You told me I could lean on you
That you'd be my rock
But when you're already drowning, tying yourself to a rock is the last thing you should do.
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Therapy Day... Yaaaaay.
Well, I'm calling my doctor tomorrow.
My therapist and I (mostly me) now recognize it might be time to get some medical assistance. While I'm still resisting the idea of depression medication, I'm not above asking if there's any medical reason for my depression symptoms that aren't actual anti-depressants.
She gave me advice the best she could, and I vented and cried.
We didn't get to everything I needed to talk about but being thoroughly depressed is a pretty big thing to talk about. I emailed her my therapy homework that you all enjoyed so much. My assignment this week is much more bland. Take one hour this week to myself. My task: grocery shopping. I'm actually kind of excited. =)
Grocery shopping... without kids.... Heaven.
There are a few other things that are relatively pressing, but they'll have to wait until next time.
So yeah. Doctors. Grocery shopping. Pretty productive session.
My kid's in the bath, so I have to go buy some ice cream from her shop now.
So, for now, good night Void. Thank you for listening. As always.
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I have therapy tomorrow. Going to talk about my life of wants in life, some of the obstacles, and neutering a few of my exes.
I’m feeling good. I’m going to have a good, happy, and productive week. I will be removing obstacles to this.
#me#personal#funny stuff#therapy homework#therapy#life wants#obstacles#spay and neuter#neuter your exes#make the world a better place
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So I guess I've internalized DBT's crisis survival exercises to basically be saying "jesus christ bitch calm down and shut the FUCK up we don't want to hear about your pain and in fact here this is going to solve everything just touch the ice and become a new unblemished human"
and that has made me either like "fuck that I don't want it" or like "I'M DOING THE THING BUT IT'S NOT WORKING AND FUCK IT AND FUCK ME TOO"
Idk why but I'm yelling at the book "BUT IT STILL HURTS"
#dbt#dbt skills#agoraphobia#avoidant personality disorder#childhood neglect#parentified child#therapy homework#therapy#dialectical behavior therapy#anxious avoidant#bpd#rant#tw mental illness#dbt therapy
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Shes the one late at night
Picking up all the toys
Shes the one late at night
Worried about her boys
Shes the one late at night
Stacking all the blocks
Shes the one late at night
Never checking the clocks
Shes the one late at night
And sometimes the break of day
Shes the one late at night
Struggling to pray
Shes the one late at night
Helping with a nightmare
Shes the one late at night
Wondering if someone cares
Shes the one late at night
Folding all the clothes
Shes the one late at night
Thinking this is the life she chose
Shes the one late at night
In the dark, all alone
Shes the one late at night
Searching for help on her phone
Shes the one late at night
Blocking out her inner noise
Shes the one late at night
Trying just to think of her boys
Shes the one late at night
Stifling the cries
Shes the one late at night
Filling up her head with lies
Shes the one late at night
Trying to stay alive
Shes the one late at night
Begging for her kids to thrive
Shes the one late at night
Praying one day this will end
So she's the one late at night
Getting things ready to begin.
Shes the one late at night
In the morning you'll never guess that
Shes the one late at night
Shes just so damn depressed.
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