About a month after I came home from the hospital, my mother said I should write a script based on my life. I dismissed the idea for many reasons, not the least because no one would care about an Asian queer/genderqueer person. She got angry and said I would be an inspiration to people, as if that meant I was obliged to do it. Which, come to think of it is pretty much the case for her. Martyred service.
It’s interesting because in Ask A Manager today, there are two questions about serving others (in a way). One is the term ‘servant leader’, which is an AGILE term, apparently, but for me, it’s an Evangelical Christian one. In addition, I don’t think ‘servant’ anything should be on a resume. It just invokes old-timey British period pieces, which is probably not what people want it to say. At any rate, there was too much diversity in opinion for people to use the term without checking to see if it’s a valid one in their field.
Side Note: Someone in the discussion was saying she didn’t think it was a dog whistle because she had never heard of the evangelical Christian version before. I nearly had an apoplectic fit reading that comment because that’s what a fucking dog whistle is. Something that can pass for normal to the uninitiated, but that makes a point to those in the know. I mean, what the fuck do they think a dog whistle is?
I am getting angry about it all over again. I know it’s a case of someone is wrong on the internet, but this is the actual definition of the term! For fuck’s sake. I can’t even. It just makes me agog. AGOG, I tell you!
The other question was about making a comment to a student that you ‘know’ has an eating disorder. But you’ve only known them for three days. Sigh. This is something that seems very counter-intuitive for empathetic people, but here’s the brutal truth–many times, doing the empathetic thing is for the empathizer, not the other person. I’m saying this as someone who is a huge empathizer. Oftentimes, it’s the distress of feeling bad that is the motivator to push forward and help someone else.
Eating disorders are really hard to heal from. I’ve dealt with anorexia twice (with a side helping of bulimia once), and I went from that to compulsive overeating. And, at a certain point, I didn’t do any of that, but I still had body issues. As I’ve detailed several times here, it was me dying and coming back to life (twice!) that got me over my body issues.
Think about that. I have had eating disorders/body issues since I was seven. That’s forty-four years. And the only reason I’m over them is–well, wait. Taiji helped me get from body hatred to reluctantly body neutral. That’s fifteen years of Taiji.
Now, I’m body FUCKING positive, yo! My body is a boss, and it got me through death–twice! I’ve been reading about recovering from a stroke, which can take up to a year and over, and you may never be ‘normal’ again. I was back to a better version of normal in 2 months. 2 months! I had more energy than before, a better attitude, and, again, my body is a boss.
I have minor memory issues, but I’ll take that, happily, in exchange for not being dead.
That’s my theme for my new life, by the way. I’m not dead! It’s not something I say to other people except my close friends, but it’s what I feel in my heart. It’s my personal mantra and motto. I. am. not. fucking. dead. (Any longer.) I want to shout it from the mountains, but, instead, I tuck it close to my heart and let it govern my life.
Back to the movie thing. I’m not saying that my story wouldn’t make a good movie. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be inspiring (ugh) to others. But, it’s my fucking life. I don’t want to be inspiration p0rn. In addition, it’s not as if my life ended when I woke up, which is the only way the movie would work. I can see it, too. Me, waking up with triumphant music blaring in the background. Everyone around me crying and hugging each other as my eyes slowly open. Then, roll credits.
Here’s the thing, though. That’s not the end of my story. Indeed, it is just the beginning. Or rather, it is my re-birthday, as I am calling it. It’s the start of my life, not the finish. It’s not the last act or even the penultimate one. Hopefully, it’s just the midpoint of my life, and I’ll have many more years to live.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to do something fantastic with those bonus days, by the way. I would love to make an impact on the world somehow, but most of us are not going to be remembered for a million years after we die. Most of us will be loved and grieved by those who succeed us, and that will have to be good enough for us. I don’t need to be recognized world-wide for something.
But. I would like to think my life has counted. I have to say that I still struggle with feeling like I’m not really meant to be in this world. I’m a freak and it’s hard sometimes to pretend I’m not. Most of the time, I don’t have to, but once in a while, I’m reminded that I should put the mask back on. Not the mask for COVID, but the mask that makes me appear like a normie.
It’s not a comfortable mask, but it’s one that I can wear with relative ease because I’ve been doing it all my life. I don’t have to do it nearly as much these days, thankfully. The pandemic was terrible for so many reasons, but it allowed me a chance to just breathe.
For the first year of my re-birth, I basically just focused on living. now, however, we are coming up on my second year. It’s time to go from just living to thriving. I’ve been extremely lucky that I didn’t need rehab or physical therapy upon my coming back to life. I’m not the same as I was before my medical crisis; I’m better. All the little negatives are worth it. I will gladly take them over being dead.
The list of possible side from a stroke is sobering. The fact that I have been so mildly affected by it is astonishing. I thank my lucky stars every day that I am alive and doing just fine.