Stumbling into the Fault Line

After a violent incident happens to an individual, a race begins. The key players in his or her life line up inside the gates of the carrel and wait for the deafening sound of the shotgun before galloping full speed in the Blame Game. Who will win? Was it his fault? Was it her fault? Was it what she was wearing? Was it where he was walking? Was it who she called to take her home? Was it that he didn’t call anyone to take him home?

Regardless of gender, after an assault, our society becomes obsessed with finding culpability on the individual who was assaulted. The victim. Unlike any other crime, victims of sexual assault are antagonized by loved ones, professionals, peers – everyone – until they can prove that they were not at fault. The game is ruthless and often results in extraordinary difficulty for the survivor.

This morning, my parents and I engaged in conversation about the stupidity of certain college students. This population is the one that will get obliterated on the weekend, the get upset at the college professional staff when they trip down the stairs that we didn’t do enough to keep them safe. I expressed frustration at this attitude and the parents who then call up the school and demand we install railings on the stairwells, childproof gates, or whatever expensive and pointless equipment they can create that might help keep their young drunk safe. Failure to do so is our fault as an Institution.

My parents pointed out that only a few years ago, I held this belief. My mother says “You insisted you could dress however you wanted and you did – like a whore – and then you wondered why things happened to you. Idiotic things happen to idiotic people.” And my father laughed a little, saying how interesting it was that I came to understand their point of view at last.

Now, anyone that knows me knows a few things off the bat. When it comes to anything around assigning blame for a sexual assault, it is never the fault of the victim or survivor. I don’t care who you are or what you were doing, it is NEVER your fault that someone chooses to violate your body against your will. Never. Sexual assaults do not happen in a vacuum. There are tens of people that interact with both the potential victim and potential instigator in the hours before the potential assault occurs. Why don’t we focus our energies on this population? If one person would step in, say something, do something, interrupt this recipe for assault – then the action would be prevented. It’s that simple. There is no point in arguing culpability after the fact – the one is still assaulted and the other an assaulter. Neither are good shoes to fill.

So stop. Just… stop. Stop judging. Stop belittling. Stop joining the masses in the stables and stop placing your bets on the winning horse. Stop. Take one fraction of that time and energy and next time YOU are out and see something that has potential to go awry, do something. Do something directly. Or create a distraction. Or delegate by involving someone else. The whole conversation about blame can be avoided if we stop the potential assaults before they happen. This isn’t a He Said or She Said problem any more. It’s a problem for all of us. We are the people that interact with the potential players involved in the hours before the potential assault. The responsibility to interrupt that potential lies within each of us. So stop. Just… stop. And start doing something that will actually make a difference.

Thrivival: One Year Later

As I sit here in the Chicago, OHARE airport, I cannot help but find myself reflecting on the differences that abound in one year. One year. 365 Days. Sounds like the beginning of a soundtrack song from Rent. But seriously? Wow. What a year!

I am sitting at a delightful little Mediterranean café in the airport, B-wing, as I wait for my flight to board later this afternoon. I am sipping my ice-cold Diet Coke and nibbling on the last slice of the personal pizza I ordered – grilled on tomato-flatbread, Feta and Parmesan cheeses with a host of vivacious vegetables. Yes, vivacious. The taste combination is incredible – something I wouldn’t have thought to bring together in the culinary palate. Okay, minus the diet coke – that’s just my addiction. I am contemplating the frozen yogurt stand just to my left, though the Smoothie King and Jamba Juice next door as calling out to me as well. We’ll see. I’ll get something for the plane ride – it’s summer, right? And I’m on vacation!

A year ago, the thought of eating a single slice of pizza with a basic cheese and tomato dressing sent me into waves of panic and fear. I plotted out ways to remove any offensive item from my plate (meaning most everything created with more than 10 calories). I lied to people about my health. I hid the fact I was in a treatment program again, and I drank more calories through wine and rum than would be healthy for a regularly-nourished person. I was anxious for my first trip back to my parents’ house after my whole eating disordered ordeal. I was scared someone would notice that I was struggling more intensely than ever before, yet embarrassed at my “healthy” size and weight. Basically? I was a wreck.

I have done a lot of living and learning in the past 12 months. I have a successful, stable, empowering and creative job doing something that I love. My artistic expeditions are beginning to pay off, with a recent windfall at a local restaurant that is using my photography and acrylics to cover the walls. I have one of the most incredible girlfriends a person could ever want – someone who makes my heart sing and my soul soar in the wind currents of thrilling new relationships. I am a self-proclaimed food snob, having learned to cook creations that are worthy of such snobbery. Simply put? I am happy. More than that. I am thriving, for the first time in my life.

The sun sprinkles in through the windows above this little terminal-side café. Outside the world continues to move at a frantic pace. Inside? Travelers hurry from point to point, navigating the arduous terrain of airport construction and terminals that remind you when the moving sidewalk is about to end. But in this moment? The world stands still. A point of reflection, a celebration, a proclamation. The restricted, punished life that I forced upon myself for years is truly over. It’s been a journey. It’s been a long and crazy story that continues to unfold before my eyes.

For the first time ever, my life feels more fully mine to live and to succeed in than ever before. I walk around my Nashvillian world saying “I love my life,” except for those stressful moments stuck on I-24 trying to navigate my way home from a long day on campus. Even then, if that’s the most I have to complain about, I’m doing pretty well. I’m free. I’m free to be the person that I’ve always been inside. The person that was masked by anorexia and depression and PTSD. The person that wasn’t allowed to figure herself out because she was too busy being Miss Perfection. I am the same person I’ve always been- just one with a head screwed more solidly on her shoulders and a deeper appreciation for the complexities of life. The delicate balance of mental and physical well being that are necessary for thrivival. That’s my word. I’m not in this to survive – survival isn’t enough for me any more. I want to engage every minute of this life with the full force of a thriving rainforest, rich from a recent deluge and bursting out with energy of every living organism within its realm. That… that is thrivival.

Welcome to the new life. The new energy. The new chapter in this story. But hang on tight folks, because life is moving in high velocity. It’s been stagnant too long – it’s my time to soar.

On my way!

I'm on my way to the family vacation - woohoo!! Much more blogging will commence in the near future, complete with photos of our wild adventures. So please stay tuned for further updates. :)

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I'm very in my head today. I need to get out of my head - it does me no good. Just... yeah. Way too much thinking, not enough coffee, and far too much to do today to be stuck in my head. I'm okay... just... pensive.

And a little anxious for going home in a couple weeks. Because the weekend trip took a sizable chunk out of my resolve and grounded place. Build yourself up, people tell me. Fortify your mask. Oh wait, my mask tends to be my body. So that doesn't really work so well for me.

Just keep swimmin' - that's the anthem of the day. Keep pushing, keep moving, keep your gills open and your head held high. Just need to make it through tomorrow and my girlfriend will be in town... and then I won't have a chance to be in my head, I'll be way too preoccupied being in my heart. :P <3

Okay, that felt good to vent. Now, back to work. So much to do in so little time...

Doing the Difficult Thing

Too much of my life I've spent doing things because it would make someone else happy. I've changed how I dress, how I talk, how I act, how I look, how I weigh - pretty much everything - to fit someone else's standards. That other person can change. It's been family members, friends I wanted to impress, and romantic partners. I've worked hard at NOT figuring out who I am because it was easier to be who others wanted me to be.

No more.

This year has been my radicalizing year, at least for my 20s. It's been the year I stand up to myself and dare to be myself. It's a year to push the line in order to discover where that line is. It's a chance to take risks and experiment with who I am - the parts I like and the parts that scared me silly. So far? It's going famously.

I recently left a group of people because I found myself, once more, doing things because I "should" or "ought" or to avoid letting others down. I found myself caught up in what I thought others thought of me or worrying about why someone didn't say or do something at a certain time - trivial things really. Very mundane, high school things. This wasn't an impact of any one person - it was something I found in myself that I didn't like. I'm done doing things for others because I feel guilty or like I won't be approved or liked if I don't. I am me, nothing more and nothing less. Those around me will like me for that person and I won't have to hide any aspect of my personality, lifestyle or path.

So now, I'm faced with a first decision. I have several conflicts with an event on Saturday. I had agreed to go to something because I felt like it was the right thing to do. But it's not something my heart is in. I'd be going because I feel like I should, not because I especially feel like my presence would be wanted or that my contributions would be meaningful. It'd be going because NOT going would be a difficult thing to do. Now, however, I have an opportunity to display my art at a new cafe opening on Monday the 12th. The same Saturday that I'm supposed to be at this one thing, I'm supposed to be loading in my art. I've wrestled with this for a good bit... but really? I need to do the art. This is the culmination of a YEAR of my work and represents something that is true to my spirit and my path.

Added into this, the girl that I'm dating will be in town Thursday evening-Monday morning. I don't see her often and really? I don't want to spend the Saturday away from her. Now, I know that's selfish. But she has my heart in a way this other group of people never did. When I'm with her, time simultaneously freezes and races by at the same time. She's agreed to help me hang my art in this cafe/restaurant... and she'd also said she'd stay by the pool at home if I wanted to go to the shower. So it's not really about her. It's about me. And my decision not to live my life according to the standards of others, but according to my own heart and soul.

It's not an easy thing to do. I'd rather just go back on a diet to please those that care, show up at things because it's easier than fighting, and slide along in my life without causing fuss or argument. Except... that's not living. It's a half-life that has consumed far too much of my existence to date. So no, no more of that. I'm going to keep on doing those difficult things. I may lose some people along the way (I've already lost quite a few), but those that are still with me at the end will be the ones that are the strongest, closest and deepest of relationships.

So here's to doing the difficult thing.

What is American?

I was out to eat with my forever friend this evening at a good ole fashioned diner in a good ole fashioned town. This family came in, with the dad wearing jeans and a wife-beater tank top (that phrase is another rant all together), and had that messed-up hair look aced. He was with a woman I'm assuming to be his wife, who was also very "stereotypically" American. This man says to another man in the party "I'm glad for some good American eatin' at an American place."

That got me thinking. What exactly is American? Why is a diner that has a little bit of everything, but nothing relating to another culture... why is that American? Is this country represented by hotdogs and hamburgers, or by the diversity of ethnicities and individuals that create its backbone? Would my lifestyle be considered American?

I don't wave the flag around, and I don't always agree with those governing my country. I don't believe in war and would never agree to kill someone no matter the reason. It's not legal for me to wed the type of person I would wed in the majority of states. Hell, I can't even walk down the street with my hand in the hand of the woman I care about.

What is American? What counts as a legitimate representation of this country? Would this NOT be the place for someone such as myself? A country founded on the belief that all people should be equal, should have the freedom to practice their religion and their lifestyle of choice. If someone like me isn't American, then what is?

Needless to say, I ordered a Greek omelet with homefries and bbq sauce. I design my own path in life, and I design my own dinner at the diner.

That's so NOT gay

I'm really getting tired of hearing, reading and seeing the expression "That's so gay." People use the word to represent dumb, stupid, bad, horrible, outlandish and repulsive. If a person is acting outside of the gender norms, they are labeled gay. A man that doesn't want to have sex all the time - gay. A tv show that flops - gay. A musical group that people don't like - gay.

Think about it. When have you said it? When do people around you say it? Is it a positive or a negative?

Some have told me "it's just a word." Right, like "nigger" was just a word? Or "cunt" is just a word? It's offensive because an identity is being used as a qualifier for stupid and pathetic. If people went around saying "That's so Black," the NAACP would be all up in arms and there's be a news story covering the incident within 30 minutes. So why do we shake our heads and dust off those ancient rationalizations for this one?

My identity is NOT a joke. It's not funny. It's not stupid, pathetic, bad or horrible. Stop using it as an insult, and maybe, just maybe, use it with respect. People that come out face more discrimination, hatred and callousness. We face people who think they have a right to decide who we can marry, what happens in our bedrooms, and who our hearts should beat for. It's absurd. We are not "less than" our heterosexual peers. We are not better than either. But using phrases like this institutionalizes the same oppression that has us banned from wedding the ones we love, from having rights in the medical world around the person we love, and from walking down the street arm in arm with the person we love. It's hard enough being out. We don't need to be reminded of the homophobia and bigotry of the average American every time we log into Facebook or walk into a movie theatre.