Archives for posts with tag: reality

So far, I have written general posts about rural life: chickens, horses, snow, cooking, and so on.  These are things I enjoy – they make me happy, and I figure there needs to be more happiness in my life.  Really, anyone’s life – yours included.  It goes by too quickly to be unhappy.  Whatever you love to do, get out there and do it NOW.  Frankie’s wisdom of the day! 

I was raised in small town America – horses, tractors, bonfires, and beat-up pickup trucks litter my childhood memories.  I love the quiet, open air; the forest with it’s musky smell of underbrush, the beautiful nothingness of an empty field, or long summer evenings with family and friends reminiscing about days and years not yet forgotten.  This is my home in every sense of the word. 

Here’s the kicker: I left. 

When I graduated from high school, I hightailed it out of here.  I went to college in a completely different state, encapsulating the small-town girl, big city stereotype.  In one swift move, I left my tiny comfort zone and experienced life – life, the beautiful and terrifying eternity we share with billions of other humans in an infinitely complicated web that lasts forever, and ends in the blink of an eye.  I lived in Florida, California, Pennsylvania, and finally ended up back here in Upstate New York.  Cities, suburbs, towns, and villages each have their own characteristic uniqueness that have molded me into the person I am today.  No, it’s more than that – these places have allowed me to find, accept, and embrace who I really am.  It took a while, but I finally made it.  There’s only one problem.

I forgot what the people are like.

I really did.  I went out into the world and forgot how afraid they are of what they don’t understand.   I left a shy girl looking to see the world, and I returned as something that scares people.  Gay. 

Rainbow Quote

Yeah, like this Gay.

Now, I know you don’t ‘turn’ gay.  I was born this way, and it took a long time for me to find myself (a short time comparatively in the grand scope of things), and let me tell you – the feeling of being yourself, and actually liking who you are, is indescribably amazing.  For me, it was an internal transformation.  I never really feel the need to scream “I’M GAY” from the rooftops.  I am comfortable being who I am, and that positively impacts my life.  

The people who live in rural America are apparently mystified by me.  They see my jeans and t-shirt as commonplace while I had long hair, most likely thinking me a variation of a tomboy.  However, I cut my long hair off for donation (as always was the plan), favoring a short haircut again.  This is not the first time I have cut my hair, and I didn’t think it was a huge deal.  (Okay, so it was a big deal to me, but my hair was like twelve inches long and SUPER HEAVY.  It feels nice to not have to rake it out every morning!) Cutting my hair was the only change I have made in the last week, and my goodness, you would think I turned purple and grew a third arm.

I get weird looks going into the women’s bathroom at school.  Today, two girls snickered and got quiet as I entered one of the stalls, leaving with awkward laughs and whispers.  Alone in the bathroom, I wondered what was so funny.  

Now, I have cut my hair short several times while living in urban areas, and I didn’t really get any backlash for it.  Sure, friends were stunned, and always said it looked nice.  Occasionally, while working retail a customer would call me ‘Sir’, quickly apologizing politely when they realized I was a woman.  I never minded, and I smiled, saying it was okay.  I was never treated negatively for having short hair, nor was I made to feel like I was wrong, or bad.  

It is the most ridiculous thing that this is happening.  I get significantly more looks in the past few days than I ever did while being out and living abroad.  It’s just hair!  What is everyone’s problem?  I dress exactly the same as I did before.  I eat the same things.  I use the same bathrooms (literally. Like every day).  It took me a bit of pondering to figure out what the problem was.  Do you want to know?

I look gay now.  With long hair, I was just a tomboy.  Now, with short hair, I’m a dyke.  I’m something that people just don’t understand – they fear.  And, just as you would think, they hate what they don’t understand. 

I’m not that scary.  I promise.  I have stuffed animals all over my bedroom.   Small dogs, cats, chickens, and horses are my furry family.  I play the guitar and like video games.  My favorite music frequently includes annoying synth dance music, rock, and metal.  I drive an old car.  I get a kick out of math humor and science facts.  I’ve never shot a gun, I’m afraid of using big knives in the kitchen, and I have never punched anyone.  When I am angry, many times I cry as a stress relief.  

Yeah, I’m pretty much the devil. 

Through all this, I don’t really hate them – those people who would rather live in the darkness of ignorance rather than the light of acceptance.  In reality, I pity them.  They judge me on how I look instead of who I really am.  Instead of talking to me, they laugh at me.  Instead of stepping out of their small comfort zone, they belittle.  It must be terrible to be afraid of someone because of how they look.  It makes me wonder how small their world really must be.  

I really want to show them how beautiful our differences are.  I will not allow fear to dictate my life.  I am happy being me.  Why is that scary?  

If you are reading this, I know that there are scary things in the world.  Big spiders are pretty freaky.  Heights and deep water are my phobias.  Nuclear weapons is a terrifying reality.  Genocide is unthinkable.  War, poverty, hunger, HIV/AIDS, and Cancer are unavoidably horrifying to think about.  There are a lot of things to be afraid of in the world.  A big lesbian who sleeps surrounded by cats and small dogs really shouldn’t be one of them.  

PRIDE

Love is Love!

 

 

So, you guys may or may not know that it’s national suicide prevention week.

I know.  Awesome start to a blog, huh?

But stay with me.  I just want to talk for a minute or two about this.  It’ll be warm and fuzzy.  And afterward we can have coffee and cookies and watch Adventure Time. (Which is an AMAZING SHOW FOR ALL AGES.)

Now, before I start, let me tell you that I’ve started seeing the counselor at school.  It has taken a lot for me to go because I don’t trust normal therapists.  This is the counselor at a community college, which doesn’t earn the greatest money.  She is there because she wants to help people.  People like me.

I have suffered from depression for most of my life.  Over the years I have learned not to talk about it because people of the stigma surrounding the entire thing.  Even the word ‘depression’ invokes a fight or flight response.  Some people simply don’t know how to handle it, or they automatically think you are seeking attention, or even make it up.  I promise you, I’m not.

Personally, I think depression is different for everyone.  In my mind (which is far from scientific), there’s a scale with different levels of severity.  That makes it hard to see in people.  Now, depression isn’t simply feeling sad.  It’s not having a dark day.  “I didn’t get enough sleep.  I am down today.” Isn’t depression.  That’s a shitty day.  Depression makes every day shitty.  It’s an all encompassing inescapable darkness that lives inside of you every day.

Everyone will tell you to tell someone you trust, and seek help.  I tried many times.  It is difficult for me to trust therapists, so I would confide in a close friend.  They would soon stop talking to me, avoid hanging out with me, and generally treat me differently.  They couldn’t handle it.  This happened to me multiple times, and after a while I stopped bothering to tell anyone.

I have spent months and months walking the edge of suicide.  It’s a struggle with myself because I know it’s irrational.  I know that there is a solution to my problems.  I know there should be hope. But no matter how many times you tell yourself that you deserve to live, the darkness feel like it’s too much.

I began to do things to protect myself.  When I have dark times, I don’t use big knives.  I stay away from heights.  I avoid sad songs.  I don’t use large cooking knives.  My family never owned a gun, so I wouldn’t even know how to buy one (walmart?).  I use an woman’s electric shaver instead of buying razors.  I claim they are too expensive, but in reality I don’t want to have access to them if that darkness gets too big.  I take away as many things as I can until I feel more secure.  It’s a false blanket, but it helps.  Sometimes.

Over the past several years, I learned to deal with this alone.  I learned that nobody will be there to help me. Nobody will listen, or care.  Nobody will save me.

This is a truncated version of the whole picture.  It has taken me a long time to say this.  Many people are like me.  They’re out there, suffering alone because nobody will listen to them.

If someone comes to you, please listen.  Don’t walk away.  Don’t find excuses to avoid them.  Be their friend.  Give them hugs.  Give them love and support.  Check on them every day.  If you think they are suicidal, don’t leave them alone.  That person trusts you.  It takes a lot of strength to ask for help.  Please, for their sake, be there for them.  It could save their life.