Underneath my yellow skin

Free to be me, part four

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I think I need a therapist. No, there’s no think about it, but I’m too overwhelmed to find what I need. Ideally, it would be someone who was genderqueer, Asian, areligious, to name a few. When I tried to find a therapist via an online therapy website, once I put in everything I’d like in a therapist (what they specialized in, I mean) and found nothing. Not o single therapist fit what I was looknig for.

When I looked it up on Google, I found one decent hit. And then promptly sat on it for months (maybe a year by now?).

Before I go on, I wanted to say that I wrote in yesterday’s post about things I have accepted about myself that other people are quick to deny. It’s because they think of these things as negative whereas I think of them as just factual. Fat. Wolud not be a good partner. Would not be a good mother.

The things I consider negatives are things I don’t talk about.

Side  note: it’s interesting to me that if I firmly believe in something, I don’t argue about it. Take, for example, abortion. I have been pro-choice since I could fully understand what being pro-choice meant. I started out as pro-choice for thee but not for me because I was nominally Christian. I say nominally because I never really believed in it, but I was raised fundie Evangelical.

Different side note: I don’t understand why people put so much investment in things that don’t matter. Such as height. And why being tall is a good thing for men, but a bad thing for women*? I’m rewatching a Stray Kids episode in which they are getting their yearly checkups, including measuring their heights. In addition to being totally chaotic (as they always are), they are freaking out over it because they are collectively the shortest male group in Kpop (or at least are treated as such).

The way people are fixated on their heights and use it as a way tto put them down is, while not surprising, very discouraging. I mean, who the fuck cares? It’s the same as calling someone fat, especially women (in America. Apparently, it’s an equal opportunity insult in Korea). It’s an easy way to deflat ean ego.

I still don’t know why it’s so important–height, I mean. It’s something your’e born with, and there’s not much you can do about it. I’m sure you can stretch yourself out a couple of inches, but why? To what purpose? Same with weight and looks, but that’s not the point of this post.

Back to abortion.

I was never a no-abortion kind of person once I realized what they were. I don’t know why, but even before i became a raging feminist, I believed that the person who was pregnant should have autonomy. I didn’t know how to articulate it, but I felt it deep in my bones.

The older I got and the more I became aware, the more…ah, the firmer I got in my opinion. I went from “abortions for thee but not for me” to, “well, I would consider it if I were pregnant, but probably wouldn’t have one” to “HELL THE FUCK YES ABORTION” once I realized that I did not wnat to have children. The evolution took about a year or two, and it was a painless evolution.

By the way, I’ve been watching videos about high-masking autists (the word the content creator, The Thought Spot, Irene, uses) and autists in general. She’s Asian, which made me watch more of her videos. And a video from a psychiatrist (maybe psychologist) with four signs of how autists speak.

Let’s call it another edition of how I’m doing something wrong–in this case, being a high-masking autist. I don’t like that word. Autistic person. The voice one was completely off for me. He mentioned autistic people speaking in a higher voice (definitely not me), with little inflection (not me, but I will admit I’ve worked on this one), and many halts and falters. That’s mostly not true for me. I don’t remember the fourth one.

In the high-masking video, I related with some of them, but not others. Being hypervigilant in conversation, constantly looking for the right way to respond? Yes. I definitely do that. Eyes flicking back and forth, not so much. Halting gait? No. But she did mention that athletes that were autistic didn’t display this as much.

I will say that studying Taiji for twenty years has definitely helped with that, but I’ve never had a halting gait. In part because I took dance lessons for ten years, from 2 to 12. Yes, I started at age two. I could do a somersault by age one, and my mother wanted to do something with that energy (typical Asian tiger mom, by the way). I was too young to take dance lessons, but, well, one just did not say no to my mother when she got a bee in her bonnet.

As a kid, I played the piano, took dance lessons, played t-ball and ping-pong, and taught myself to read when I was three or four. I started playing the cello when I was eight and had to go to summer school every year. I started playing softball when I was eight or nine, and quit when I tried fast-pitch because it scared the fuck out of me.

My point is that I did a lot of athletics when I was a kid because I was forced to. That means I can walk like a normie (more or less) and Taiji has made me much more graceful. So even the signs of a highly-functioning masked autistic person don’t necessarily apply to me.

Another thing she mentioned, though, that really did hit me in the gut was how a highly-masking autistic person could seem like the most attentive person in the room, but declined to become close to people. So, in other words, a high-masking autistic person can easily draw others to them, but then gets too drained to take it to a more personal level. Which is so true! There are very few people I could be around for more than a few hours at a time.

I have natural charisma (or at least I did before my metdical crisis. I don’t know if I have it in me to do it any longer), and I know how to draw people out. Even when I don’t want to draw people out, they are drawn to me, nonetheless. It’s really tiring, especially when I just want to get my tree cut down or whatnot.

That’s all for now. More tomorrow.

 

 

 

*Yes, it’s still allll about the binary.

I’m getting my freak on, part three

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When I say I’m getting my freak on, I mean in my daily non-sexytimes life. I’m not getting any, sadly, and I’m not in a place to do something about it. Maybe I’ll make it goal for next year–just to get laid, I mean. I’m not looking for a relationship, and I don’t really want to date. I miss sex–that’s about it.

Before that, here’s my post from yesterday in which I talked about how I actually like most of my differences now. And back to the post.

See, I’m not a good partner. It’s funny how people get uncomfortable when I say it–just likpeople were uncomfortable when I’ve said that I would not be a good mother. Or that I was fat. The last one is particularly humorous to me because of how deeply embeded in American’s collective psyche it is that ‘fat’ is a deep insult. “You’re not fat; you’re just fluffy.” No, I’m fat. F-A-T.

I think this is part of my neurodivergence, but it’s also me working hard to accept parts of myself that I used to hate. I loathed my body until my medical crisis for several reasons*. Sometime in my early thirties, I made my peace with being fat–though I did not like it. It wasn’t until my medical crisis that I fully embraced my body.

Up until that point , I thought of it as a vessel for my brain. I felt separated from it, though I will say that Taiji helped me integrate my brain and body to a certain extent.

Back to me being honest about myself. It’s amusing and bemusing to me when people think I’m saying something negative about myself when I’m not. I am fat. I would not have been a good mother. I am currently not a good partner. Well, I can’t say 100% as to the last because I have not dated anyone in a decade and a half, but I’m just assuming I haven’t made enough progress in that arena to be a good partner.

See, here are the problems. One, I alternate between clingy and emotionally distant on a fairly regular basis. I want to be close to someone until we are actually close, and then I want my space. I really like being alone, but there’s some deep programming in me that kicks in when I’m around someone I’m dating.

I don’t want to focus completely on the other person, but that’s the way my brain works. At the same time, I can comfortably date two (or more?) people simultaneously. I am happy when my partner is happy, including if they find love with others. However, I get jealous if I don’t get enough attention myself. And insecure. Like, no amount of love is enough. I try to keep it under control, but sometimes, it seeps out. It’s my anxiety, and it’s difficult to keep a grip on it.

It’s not anyone else’s responsibility to keep my anxieties at bay. That’s up to me. Many times, it’s a struggle that I allow to consume me. I try not to let it out. It’s not the best way to deal with it, but it’s not the worst, either.

The thing is that it’s tricky to figure out which weirdo parts of me that are different that I actually like and don’t. I’ve spent so much of my life being reactive and defensive, it’s hard to know what’s real to me and what isn’t. I’ve had to bat down rigid gender stereotypes from my mother since I was seven. It might have been before that, too, but I don’t remember much before that age.

Actually, I don’t remember much of myy childhood at all. What I do remember is me feeling left out, severely depressed, and thighly restricted in what I was allowed to say, think, and feel. Oh, and being my mother’s emotional support person. That started when I was eleven, and it continues to today. She calls me her therapist, and she’s only half-joking, if even that. Whenever she calls, my heart sinks. (I initially wrote ‘stinks’, which is apt, too.) I have to steal myself because I know it’s going to be a trial.

My mother has strong ideas of what is right and proper (even if she doesn’t follow them herself. And, of course, she has excuses for why it’s different for her). She’s convinced that I’m a contrarian for negative reasons. Then again, she attributes most of what other people do that she doesn’t like to malice rather than just a difference of opinion. She has such a narrow point of view, it’s nearly impossible to talk to her about anything.

On the other hand, she’s easily swayed by really definitive voices–especially male ones. It’s a direct contrast of opposing traits, and while I can be symppathetic to her because I am a mass of contradictions myself, at least I’m aware of it. My mother? Not so much.

When we were talking about my brother being autistic, she mentioned that she wondered if she was as well. At first, I dismissed it as her wanting once again to co-opt other people’s issues as her own (if I have a cold, she had one that was worse. If I have trouble sleeping, it’s nothing compared to her sleep problems. I want to stress that it’s not deliberate on her side, but it’s inevitable), but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she had many of the hallmarks for autism–the female version.

She does not empathize easily with other people (which took me a long time to realize because she’s a psychologist); she’s very rigid in what she thinks is wrong and right; she is not good in crowds; she can’t do small talk; she does not like to be touched. Now, it’s difficult to untangled some of this from being Taiwanese, which is part of the problem. Also, the hyperfixation is something she does, too, and the difficulty of detaching from said obsession once she’s latched her teeth on it.

One pleasant memory I have is when the two of us used to watch sports together. Football, tennis, baseball, and basketball. Oh, and several Olympic events. It’s funny because my brother and my father had no interest in watching sports, so this was strictly the female (at the time, I identified as a woman) members of the family enjoynig a traditionally manly hobby.

More later.

 

 

 

 

 

*One being that I live in a society that hates fat people, especially people with female-coded bodies. Two being my mother put me on my first diet when I was seven and endlessly nagged me about being fat until I finally put my foot down thirty years later.

Vive la diffence!, part two

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The issue I have with “We’re the same under our skin” is the same problem I had with the melting pot theory of diversity–I like my differences.  Well, for the most part. I spent most of my childhood hating myself and everything that I thought was wrong with me. Telling me we were all the same at that point just felt like a sick joke. Not only did I not believe anyone who said that meaningless bullshit, it just made me feel worse about myself.

I remember going to school in a daze, not knowing what the fuck I was doing or supposed to do. I got teased and bullied almost on the daily, and I was utterly miserable. I got teased for being fat, for being Asian, and for having a weird name.

I hated my life with all my heart. I prayed to a God I didn’t believe in to make me a boy overnight. An adult once told me she liked my black hair, and I remembered thinking, “Why would anyone like black hair? It’s so ugly.” When I was a teenager, another woman told me to enjoy myself because those were the best years of my life. I thought to myself, “If these are the best years of my life, then then I might as well kill myself.”

Yesterday, I touched on how being the child on two Asian immigrants in the ’70s cemented my distaste for the melting pot theory of cultural diversity. It was my first introduction to the idea of mixing cultures, and it was not a good one.

Next up was the tossed salad* theory of cultural diversity. In this one, the idea wsa that we weren’t trying to melt into the American pot, but that we would all add something distinctive to the American salad before tossing it vigrously.

I thought this was better than the melting pot idea because it at least acknowledged the differences that other cultures have. Yet, it still wasn’t great because ‘American’ was still considered the base. And tossing the–er, mixing the salad kept the unequal feel to the different cultures.

Look, I know it sounds contradictory or that I am finding all the nits to pick (which, admittedly, true).  But neither was good enough. I’m not being a jerk about it because it was in its nascent stages back then (DEI, I mean). It’s not great now, either, but I don’t want to talk about that because it’ll ma ke me really sad/mad.

Side note: We were talking about Depeche Mode in the Discord I’m in. One of the guys reminded me of the song, Blasphemous Rumours, which I adore. I have included it below. it’s one of my five favorite songs by Depeche Mode, a group I quite enjoyed in my youth.


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No, we’re not all the same inside

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One thing that is guaranteed to make me flinch is someone saying that we are all the same inside/underneath our skin.It’s the same as when I was a kid, the mentality around diversity was that America was a melting pot. That was supposed to mean that we took something from everyone’s culture and mixed it together in a perfect blend. That was the idea, anyway.

What really happneed was that immigrants were forced heavily compelled to give up what made them special and become something amorphously known as ‘American’. My parents were immigrants. They are Taiwanese. Asian cultures are known for assimilating to the culture around them and not sticking out at all. At least, it was like that back when my parents immigrated to America to go to grad school.

That meant that on the outside at least, when we were in public, we had to out-American American people. It was complicated in my family, though. My parents stuck to the Taiwanese church to meet their social needs, which meant that within the church and when we did church/Tawinese community-related activities, but outside of that, they tried to be as American as apple pie.

That only exacerbated my sense of alienation, quite frankly. I was being bullied for being a fat Asian girl in the seventies and eighties, and it only added to how much I hated myself from the emotional dysfunction at home. I have mentioned that by age seven, I was severely depressed and did not want to be alive.

Saying we’re all the same under it all is–let me put it this way. People used to think that, “I’m colorblind” was the best thing to be when it came to race. Because we’re all a part of the human race! Ugh. You know what that said to me even if I could not articulate it at the time? “I’m so uncomfortable with the topic of race, I’m going to pretend it doesn’t exist.” It’s the same with people using man as the default. “Man means anyone.” No, it literally does not.

Look. I know words change and evolve, but they still mean something.

I strongly object to “we’re all the same underneath our skin/inside” not because it’s not true but because it’s a cop-out, just as “I don’t see color” was. In an ideal world, yes, people would not be judged negatively based solely on their race, but we don’t live in that world. We’re not even close to living in that world. In fact, we’re going backwards at an alarming rate when it comes to celebrating diversity.

So, pardon me if I laugh sardonically at the idea that all we need to do is state that we’re the same under our skin, and everything will be groovy! It’s toxic positivity, gaslighting, and quite frankly, offensive to hear that.


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What’s it to you? Part eight

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Let’s talk more about traditions and why they should be cast aside. Or at the very least, they should be examined thoroughly. In the last post, I talked about how I was an anarchist at heart, but also a pagmatist. I know that I’m not going to change the world, I know I’m barely a blip. I’m five years into my rebirth (well, starting my sixth), and I really don’t have anything to show for it.

That’s not fair to me, actually. I have taught myself a few weapon forms and started a whole new martial art. Bagua. I think I started learning it last year? Maybe at the end…hold on. Damn. I started learning it at the beginning of 2024. That’s further back than I thought. Has it really been that long?!

At any rate, one of my goals for this year was to teach myself a new weapons form, and I’ve done that. It’s the Bagua Knives Form; it took longer than I thought it would. Or rather, I made it take longer than it should have. That’s on me. I dragged my feet on teaching it to myself in part because I was rejiggering my practice in general.

I’ll be honest. I was feeling burned out. I was learning more and more forms–which is a good thing, mind, but a bit overwhelming. I know over ten, I think? Taiji Solo Long Form (right side and most of the left side); Sword Form (right and left side); Saber Form (right and left side); Cane Form (right and left side); Double Saber Form; Fan Form; Double Fan Form; Cane Form (right and left side); Cane Form with saber (right and left side); and now, Bagua Knives Form. Oh, wait. Plus the 13 Dancing WuLi Sword Form. That’s eleven forms.

Eleven forms total. Some left and right side both, but some only on the right side. I was trying to do all of them every week, and it was so tiring. I was spending up to two hours a day on my practice, and I was starting to feel depleted by it. I took a week or two just to do what I wanted rather than stick to my strict schedule. Then another week.Then another. I realized that I was burnt out, and I had to do something different.

I was doing the stretches/warmups every day. I was doing the Taiji Long Form every day as well as the Swimming Dragon Form (the hands only form for Bagua) as well. Then, I  did one or two weapon forms if I felt like it. It felt really good to do it that way, and I wanted to retain that spirit when I went back to my schedule. I did not want to go back to the strict regime I had done previously, but I was worried about letting things slide too much. I wanted to make sure that I did every form at least once a month, so my friend, A, suggested that I have a mixture of planned and not planned.

It seems so obvious, but I had not thought of it. My compromise was to do the warmups every day (that took about half an hour) plus the two hands-only forms, too. Then, I would do as many weapon forms as I felt like, which usually ended up as two to three. That’s similar to what I was doing before, but it felt much more freeing to make the decision every day.

It’s so much more refreshing now. I don’t feel like I HAVE to do anything, which, ironically makes me feel like I want to do more. It was a great suggestion, to be honest, because I’m split on needing a schedule. On the one hand, I love schedules, plans, and doing the same thing at roughly the same time every day. On the other hand, I get bored. Then, I want to do something completely different. In this case, the compromise eased my mind and allowed me to have fun.


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Maybe you all can just CTFO, part seven

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I want to talk more about societal norms and how I just do not understand them. I mentioned in my previous post that my mother got really upset when I told her I was bi. She said, “What’s next, animals?” Which makes absolutely no sense, but that’s how she is. It’s not just her, however. It used to be a fairly common response to being told someone was queer. Again, no idea why straights’ brains go straight to animals, but I think it says more about them than it does about queer people.

In a similar vein, when talking about not wearing a bra/not shaving your legs/not wearing pantyhose (depending on what point in time we’re talking about), there are so many women that are shocked and horrified. Some even say something like, “What next, no pants in the workplace?” I mean, come on. That is not a good -faith argument, but that’s because there’s isn’t one. A good-faith argument, I mean. For wearing a bra.

Side note: It’s always funny to me when people say a hill isn’t worth dying on. Sometimes, they’re right, but sometimes, I want to point out (and someone did in the bra post) that if it’s not a big deal/a hill to die on,  then the flip should be true as well. In other words, if it’s so not a big deal, then it shouldn’t be a big deal not to not wear a bra, either.

Also, at some point, I’m sure women were saying that being able to wear pants was not a hill worth dying on. And not having to wear pantyhose. And not being able to work outside the home. Changes are incremental for the most part, and they take many people constantly sticking their necks out and making a fuss. It’s not like it went seamlessly (ha!) from women having to wear pantyhose to being allowed to wear pants. There had to be a lot of pushback because traditions do not go gentle into the night.

More to the point, why do people care about things that don’t affect them one whit? I’m not being disingenuous when I say that I don’t get freaked out by jiggling boobs–even if they are not covered. Don’t get me wrong. I love boobs. Who doesn’t? As my late gay fake-husband used to say, “Everyone loves boobs!” He used to call my boobs his pillows, which was hilarious to me.

I knew this country was puritanical, but not to that extent. If someone has their boobs covered up, who cares if there’s a slight jiggle? I mean, not to be rude about it, but plenty of men have boob jiggle (and their nipples can be seen through their shirts. Maybe not the whole nipples, but at least the point. And the argument that we view men’s nipples and women’s nipples diferently holds no water because that’s the fucking point! It’s sexism, plain and simple.


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At a loss for words, part six

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I honestly don’t understand many societal norms. People (read, my mother mostly) think I’m a contrarian, but I’m not. Or rather, that isn’t my intent. It’s just that I truly don’t understand the mindset of society much of the time.

I was reading an old Ask A Manager post (from about ten years ago, I think) about whether a woman had to shave her legs for a job interview 9or for a job in general). There was a sizeable number of people who insisted that it was ‘gross’ if she didn’t. That body hair, and in particular women’s body hair, was gross/unprofessional/unacceptable in the office.

It reminded me of a much more recent post (meaning after my medical crisis or maybe right before it, but definitely during/post COVID) in which there was an argument about bras in the workplace. Again, some people were more than adamant that a woman HAD to wear a bra in the office because it was gross otherwise. I don’t remmeber if the word ‘gross’ was used in this case, but there was many an ‘unprofessional’ being thrown around.

I made a comment that if I were covered up and nips weren’t showing, why did it matter? I said I would absolutely walk over this (the Letter Writer had mentioned that in her office, they were–OK. I just looked it up. It was in 2023, and the vast majority were women who were virulent in their support of bras. Or rather, virulent in their disdain for women* who decided not to wear them.

There were women who said it was a privileged position to choose to quit over it or make it your hill to die on, but that’s the whole point of having privilege/hills to die on. As to the first, part of checking your privilege should be followed by doing things that people who aren’t in your privileged position can’t do in order to make life better for everyone. Otherwise, what’s the point? As to the latter, you don’t get to decide what is a a hill to die on for someone else.

There were several people who were adamant that it was professional and that you should follow the dress code of your office (though it wasn’t in the dress code of the LW). Someone asked quite reasonably if the dress code was that you could not wear a bra in the office, would they ‘suck it up’ (which someone mentioned) and rip off their bra?

I wasn’t surprised that most people were pro-bra; I was surprised how vicious they got in going for the status quo, though. As more than one person pointed out, things didn’t change without people agitating for that change.

The number of women who said no one wanted to see the jiggling and/or they wouldn’t hire a woman that didn’t wear a bra, sadly, was not surprising. Women often are the ones to hold up the patriarchy, which is one of the greatest tricks of man. If they  can get women to do it for them, then they can spend less time on it.

(Resisting to go on a rant about the patriarchy and dieting, which is not the point of this post.)

I can’t understand getting all worked up over something so meaningless. Tellingly, one person did the slippery slope argument and said that what next, no pants? It’s always wild to me when people do the slippery slope argument and then bust out something ridiculous. My mother did it when I told her I was bi–she said, “What next, animals?”


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An unacceptable amount of weird, part five

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I want to talk more about being weird in socially acceptable way. In yesterday’s post, I blathered about how it’s ok to be, say, a vegan Crossfitter, but not whatever the fuck I am. I’ve said it before, but it’s like trying to describe the color red to a blind person. They have no basis to understand the concept of red, so it’s exceedingly difficult if not impossible to do so. Someone born without sight, I mean.

In the same vein, it’s really hard to explain to people my way of thinking if they aren’t already so inclined. In a society that is so wedded (pun intended) to monogamy, for example, the idea of nonmonogamy is almost unfathomable. Add to that compersion (joy at your partner finding another partner), and, well, yeah. I actually like to expand compersion to joy in a partner finding joy at anything else, but I understand that most ENM people (ethically nonmonogamous) restrict it to dating and partners.

One of my goals this year was to find an Asian queer/genderqueer group (online). Have I done it? No. Have I even looked? I did a cursory search and did not find one that fit what I wanted. I would like it to be local even if I intend to attend online. I would like it to acknowledge that agender people exist, but I’m not holding my breath. Even a lot of people who are agender use ‘they’ as their pronoun. Which, I hastened to add, is perfectly fine! It’s just not me.

Every time I try to find songs about being agender, I get frustrated. I can find songs about genderfluid and nonbinary, but not about abstaining from gender completely. Why am I like this? Why couldn’t I just be genderqueer ?

Here’s the thing. I could call myself agnostic and genderqueer. In fact, I really like the idea of genderqueer, but as with queer now meaning gay, genderqueer has been turned into nonbinary. I ain’t (that) mad; I’m just tired. And resigned. I know most people don’t do nuance, but it’s not nice feeling like I’m being erased over and over again.

It’s like how POC means black, race is always black and white (and maybe Latino* because of immigartion issues). I’m never going to be acknowledged, which I have accepted more or less. But I will say that one reason I voted for Obama in the primaries over Clinton was because he talked openly about Asian people (makes sense. His half-sister is Asian, and he was born in Hawaii). He also mentioned bi people. And after he was elected, he mentioned people with no religion.

These may seem like small things, but for someone who had never been rmentioned by any politician before Obama or since, it matters. It tells me that I’m not even a fleeting thought for the vast majority of politicians. Also, my grudge against the Democratic Party continues to grow. They learned nothing from Obama and continue with the same fucked up tactics that hasn’t worked for them in the last thirty years. Telling me how we’re losing and how bad the Republicans are isn’t going to get me revved up to vote or do anything for the party. Also, selling my name to every Democratic group within the country is not good, either.


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Free to be a weirdo, part four

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Let’s talk more about being a weirdo. In yesterday’s post, I wrote about how sometimes, I wished I could be normal. Believe it or not, I’m not trying to be difficult most of the time–it’s just that I was born that way. I was musing about how much easier life would have been if I could have just been ‘normal, but that’s folly.

What I mean is that I can sit and speculate about how different my life would have been if I was normal, but I can’t verify it. It alsways irk me when people state confidently what would have happened if something or the other (big) had been different. Usually, in a toxic positivity way.

The one that really got to me was people who said that they would not change anything about their pasts because it made them who they were. I would ABSOLUTELY change certain things in my life because it would make me better! The heavy emotional abuse? Gone. The nightmare relationship in Thailand? It would be no more. The feeling like an alien and that I should not be alive that dominated my childhood? Erased in a heartbeat.

I also take issue with the people who said that going through trauma made you more empathetic. There are other ways to be empathetic, thank you, and I would like to think I would have been, anyway, without all the abuse.

I don’t know if I would have been a better, more functional person without the trauma I experienced, but I sure as hell would like to have a shot at it. Would I take no abuse and not knowing how it would turn out over what happened to me? 100%, in a heartbeat, no hesitation. How is that even a question?

I know I can’t change my past, obviously, but that trauma still lingers. Taiji has helped a great deal, and so has Bagua. So has love. So has me just saying fuck it to a certain extent. The realization that I’ll never be normal whatever that is was so freeing. I’m not saying it isn’t still a struggle because it is.

Side note: I find it amusing when people advocate for being your true self. What they usually mean is, “Be your true self–oh, not that true self.” What I mean is that most people mean a two-deviation-from-the-norm true self, not a ‘what the fuck is THAT?” true self. Like weird is being a vegan Crossfitter. Weird is not being agender, areligious, into Taiji and Bagua weaponry, and being ENM. Not to mention bisexual. And just not giving a damn about 90% of things society deems important. Oh, and neurodivergent.

Any one of those things would be considered weird. Some of them are considered deviant, evil, vile, disgusting, etc., by a huge chunk of people. Not just Americans, but that’s the society I know best. It’s interesting. I’ve been listening to a lot of Stray Kids content, and while they are pioneers in music and very ‘weird’ for Kpop, they actually adhere quite closely to Korean norms (as I understand them). Personally, I mean.

I’ve watched quite a bit of their content and realized that they would disapprove of me as a person. Yes, they say eveyrone should be their own person, but they have made it pretty clear that their attitudes toward alternative lifestyles (not talking queer, but ENM and gender norms to a certain extent) is negative. They have several songs about what they call ‘very bad guys’, and they’ve had arguments about who’s the worst. The guy who is mean to his ex-girlfriend including telling her how she really felt about him (which they don’t see as mean) or the guy who thought another woman was attractive, didn’t necessarily act on it, but broke up with his girlfriend anyway because he felt guilty.


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Wish (kind of) that I could be normal, part three

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My sleep is shit. It’s always been shit, but there are ups and downs to it. Now, I’m in a down time, and I’m having such difficulty going to bed. In the past, I’ve had trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and getting enough sleep (though not necessarily at the same time. Though also not NOT necessarily at the same time).

The only time I have not have problems with my sleep was in the hospital and about a year following after I returned home. I was heavily drugged, and it was so wonderful. I understood why people did drugs after that. I felt like a million bucks and nothing hurt. About three weeks after i returned home, I started feeling my body again. Little aches and pains, and I realized, “Oh, I acutally have to return to my body.” I was not happy about it, but there wasn’t anything I could do.

My point is that my sleep is on difficulty mode just like everyithing else in my life. It’s been my nemesis since I was a kid, and I haven’t made much progress in all the years since.

That’s not completely right. I have times when I make painful progress with my sleep, only to fall back into a terrible pattern once again. Then,  I berate myself for not getting to bed earlier. It’s six-thirty in the morning. I should be in bed. I am not, though, and I will probably not be for another half hour at least. More like an hour.

I try not to beat myself up because that doesn’t help. In fact, it hurts in that the shame makes me even less likely to go to bed at a decent time. Normally, I can make incremental changes, but I don’t feel capable of doing that right now. I’m not sure why, but I have a hunch it has something to do with the hopelessness I feel at the world around me.

When I got a tight eight hours a night after my medical crisis, I felt amazing. I could not believe how good it felt because I never get that much sleep a night unless I’m sick. Or if I hadn’t slept in a very long time. Otherwise, though, I am lucky if I get seven hours in aggregate. This is me reverting to the mean, and I’m not happy about it.


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