Odds & Ends

Wacky Wednesday: Denver Comic Con

Cosplay is Life.

That may be a stretch, but I went to Denver Comic Con this summer, and it is evident that a great many people take cosplay very very seriously. I would count myself among those people, but I didn’t finish my Mass Effect costume, and I lack the funds to be as hardcore as the more serious cosplayers. I spent money on comics and graphic novels for my classroom, instead.

A quick, shameless plug: I went to DCC with my friend Dextra, an indie artist. I have a few of her pieces, as well as a fantastic T-Rex dress with her artwork on it. Her Facebook page has links to her etsy and Redbubble shops.

Anyway.

DCC is a celebration of geekdom in all its glory. I registered for a half-credit educator’s track and sat in several amazing panels on diversity and representation in comics and pop culture. Pop Culture Classroom sponsors several conventions during the year, and Denver is one of them.

Highlights from the panels:

  • College students presenting their projects through an intersectional feminist lens
  • High school (!!!) students presenting their projects analyzing the representation of an identity politic (gender, religious identity, mental illness, LGBTQ, race) throughout the eras of comics
  • The “Indigenerds” discussions of stereotype and representation of Native American characters in popular culture
  • The two Star Wars panels: one on critical reading, and one on stories of resistance

I added several titles from Native Realities to my library. I bought several of Jeremy Whitley’s titles, too (including some My Little Pony single issues, duh). He signed them for me. He happens to be one of the kindest people ever, and made sure to show me the three-panel dialogue exchange with a female Deaf pirate in one of the books I bought!

One last thing, speaking of Deaf characters: two different panels mentioned the graphic autobiography El Deafo by Cece Bell, which several of my students have read (and loved). It’s about a deaf bunny. You should read it. I also found out about Matt Fraction’s run of Hawkeye; issue #19 is in ASL! So: even though the comics world still needs work in regards to representation of disability (a couple panels mentioned that weakness), it’s improving, bit by bit.

Migraine Monday: Everything is (not) fine

I’m teetering on the edge of hope and absolute nihilism. I guess that makes me a Millennial, amiright?

Life in the two years of blogging silence has been a glorious shitstorm. Phrased otherwise, some things have been glorious, and others have been shit. I couldn’t write, though. Every time I tried I was too angry, too traumatized, too defeated. My world was on fire, and I was impotent.

this is fine

Image description: “On Fire” from Gunshow by K.C. Green. Full comic available at http://gunshowcomic.com/648 Frame 1: Question Dog sits in a burning building, with a cup of coffee on a table. Frame 2: Question Dog says, “This is fine,” with flames behind him and smoke above him, ignoring his peril.

I have enough distance from some of it to know I was in a constant state of emotional abuse and gaslighting at the professional level, and varying stages of grief in other areas of my life. My feet weren’t on a strong enough foundation of reality to form a coherent narrative of, well, anything. 

I tried to act like everything was fine, while I felt like I was going mad.

Maybe going mad is the only way to stay sane in a mad world.

I know some may see this language as ableist, but I do not mean it colloquially or glibly. My college religion professor Dr. Haar ended each class meeting with the words “Stay sane out there,” and he meant it quite seriously. How do we maintain our grounding in a world that organizes genocide, kills black men and women indiscriminately, pushes queer children and teens out of their homes, and attempts to cut health coverage for the disabled?

It’s Migraine Monday, and the only thing I have a grip on is my migraines. At least that’s something. It’s a start. I can wake up to face the day, the battle, the world. I can see out of both eyes.

My fistful of meds and I are ready to write again. I hope you’ll join the conversation, add your voice, and and your feet, and your hands.

 

Fit Friturday: CTFO

The last two Fit Fridays, I have had to CTFO: Chill the F**k Out.

CTFO is a mantra in my anti-diet, pro-moderation, support group. It’s a veritable alphabet soup around there. Every weekend, members post photos and short posts of their DSS: Do-Something Saturdays, or their FF: Flex Fridays–sharing victories toward personal goals of movement and strength breaking free from the impossible standards of cultural beauty and fitness norms. We share NSVs (Non-scale victories) toward self-care, setting boundaries, meal-planning, taking up space. For those members who are on weight-loss or weight-gain journeys, there are SVs (scale victories). We ETF: Eat. The. Food. Freed (or progressively freeing) from the restriction and rules of disordered thinking, orthorexia, food-group restriction, and fad dieting of the culture around us.

And sometimes, we remind each other to Chill the Frick Out.

When do we CTFO? After an injury. When we’re sick. When we’re feeling the feels. When we feel guilty after a relapse of binge- or restrictive-behavior. When we feel judgement from friends, colleagues, or family members who make unwelcome commentary on our food or exercise choices.

I have a challenging class of students this year. One student in particular is taxing my mental game in a way that stretches me beyond my level of adeptness, and into the game of “Wow. What do I do here?” There have been money woes thrown in the mix, several (four, now, I think) deaths of colleague’s close family members within the first month of school, my roommate’s parents came to visit on their Farewell Tour before returning to New Guinea for four years, my roommate’s older son started school the same time I did (yay routine changes!).

So aside from my Monday silks class and Tuesday 12-Steps, I’ve been practicing CTFO during my evenings. And I’m using my weekends to get out of the house and connect with people; I don’t want to make my depression/isolation feedback loop, well, you know–feedback.That’s how I’m taking care of my body and mind right now. I don’t need to apologize for it or explain to people that “normally” I would be exercising more. I get out of my classroom during lunch or prep to walk a bit. And I think it’s time to add another day of upper body work, because silks has demonstrated I’m a veritable T-Rex… but I’m not going to kill myself trying.

This is what I need right now.

Sunday Smörgåsbord: September 6, 2015

I’m back to work, back to graduate studies, back to blogging (a few posts a week, anyway). I’m not back to any version of what I could call “normal,” or even a “new normal,” but I’m back. I’m fighting back. And I’m worth the fight.

Here’s what I wrote this week. I dug deep. I opened up. And I’m ready to move forward.

  • Why have I been gone? Because Depression Sucks. That’s the reason, in as few words as possible. More words are available on Monday’s post.
  • Another reason? Because I stalled out after my Josh Duggar posts, and before I could do any more writing about sexual assault and abusive power structures, I had to come out as a rape survivor. A lot of my friends knew my story, but my parents did not know yet. So I drove 1200 miles to tell them. And that’s a bit of a process.
  • Fit Friday. One of the warning signs that my depression was depression, and not only medication withdrawal, was the return of some old, unwelcome thought patterns on body-image and weight.

Thank you to everyone who has jumped back on reading right along with me. Please share my posts, ‘like’ my Facebook page, and comment so we can have conversations.

Fit Friday: Side Effects May Include….

Side effects may include weight gain.

When I got my IUD, the thought of gaining 20 lbs. was unpleasant, at the least. In 2013, I was the fittest I’d ever been, playing roller derby and weight-training at the YMCA. Then I had surgery on my ladyparts, got an IUD, filed for divorce. I vowed not to be the n% of women who gained weight with the Mirena IUD.

I now know that 20 lbs. is a small trade for being able to function during my period. A number on the scale means very little to me compared to the the ability to live with severe dysmenorrhea.

Weight is a number indicating the earth’s gravitational pull on my body, not a measure of my health.

Since 2013 (until this summer), my arsenal of prescription drugs had grown to four: Effexor for my depression/anxiety, the IUD for my dysmenorrhea (since the surgery didn’t help and I can’t use estrogen), amitriptyline and Topamax for the migraines. The IUD and amitriptyline both cause weight gain. Topamax has a side effect of weight loss, but I didn’t lose any weight when I started it.

After years of body image issues, battles with food, restrictive eating habits, disordered thought patterns, I have made a lot of progress in just eating the food. Moderation is the name of the game. I’ve maintained a healthy, stable weight since late 2013, after the initial medication-weight-gain. I made one final foray into disordered-diet land when I bought into a Beachbody program, but that didn’t last very long.

Until this summer.

My neurologist changed my medication regimen and started scaling back my amitriptyline this summer. The withdrawal was yucky. I was taking it for migraines, and it’s used for long-term, chronic pain management, but amitriptyline is an antidepressant. I got depressed.

And then that little side effect of Topamax kicked in, and I started losing weight. The first time I accidentally lost weight on a medication was the first time I really, really got into trouble with dieting, my senior year of high school. I noticed what was happening this time, and I didn’t weigh myself. That is an important detail. If I had weighed myself, I would have ended up down the rabbit hole again. This is how I knew I needed to call my doctor: I was miserable. The sick/nausea was pretty much past, but I couldn’t sleep, or eat, or focus. Normally a whirlwind of creativity, I was the human embodiment of inertia. I had no motivation. I wanted desperately to go back on the medication. But that little voice in my head said, Yeah, but look in the mirror. Do you really want to gain that weight back? Just hold out one more week, and you’ll see that it’s worth it. You’re barely eating, but you’re not even hungry. Isn’t that great??

I got scared. Really, really scared.

It still took me a month to call my neurologist.

But I still haven’t weighed myself. Weight is a number indicating the earth’s gravitational pull on my body, not a measure of my health. If anything has illustrated that, this summer has painted it in technicolor.

Migraine Monday: Depression Sucks

Depression sucks.

My neurologist took me off one of my migraine medications this summer. We scaled back slowly, but the withdrawal was still awful. I couldn’t sleep, and yet all I could do was sleep. I wasn’t hungry. Food was boring. I lost weight. My motivation was sapped, my energy drained. I cried.

All of this makes sense, I reminded myself. Withdrawal is hard. It’ll get better. 

Withdrawal is over. It’s not better.

My head is holding out, for the most part. I’ve had no major vascular episodes. I’ve had some tingly fingers and lips, a couple visual auras. At least two days with olfactory hallucinations. But no pain. I’ve lost, I would guess, 10 pounds, which my doctor told me to expect. I don’t weigh myself though…that’s opening a whole new can of worms, but my thinking on the issue provided a clue into how depressed I was getting (more on this for Fit Friday).

You see, depression sucks. It lies. It sucks my energy, saps my strength. It stalls my progress, regresses my growth. It plants dead and dying thoughts in my head and distorts my view of reality.

Worst of all, it makes me believe I deserve to feel as shitty as I feel.

It’s just withdrawal. You’ve felt worse. You were suicidal back in junior high, and at least it’s not that bad. Sure, your sleep is disrupted, but at least you’re sleeping more than four hours a night, and you’re getting naps. You’re not eating much, but it’s summer, and you don’t get terribly hungry in the summer anyway, and your roommate is making you eat dinner at least, and your pants fit better now don’t they?? The structure of the school year will snap you out of my funk. You feel okay. Okay is okay!!

Okay is not okay. I deserve to feel better than just “okay” for the rest of my life.

And here’s the kicker, at least for me: at least three people very close to me are depressed right now. One of them, I counseled and helped get back to the doctor to re-start medication. And things are looking up. Another one? We remind each other to shower and eat when a really bad day happens. Because sometimes someone needs to remind you to shower. And the third? That’s my sister. We’ve been doing this together for over a decade. I can see it and help it in other people, but for myself?

Self care is hard. Because depression lies.

So I called my neurologist this week. I started with him. If he wants to stick with the medication change, I’ll go to my regular doctor and see about my depression/anxiety medication. I don’t deserve to live this way, sleeping on half a bed while the other half is covered in laundry and library books, eating only waffles and coffee, counting my days in naps and avoided phone calls. Okay is not okay.

No one deserves to live this way. My medication withdrawal has passed. Time to stop withdrawing from life.

Sunday Smörgåsbord: May 31, 2015

This was my last week of teaching for the spring and I cried a lot. The students I’ve had for three years are moving on to another teacher, and that is always a tough transition for me. I felt a lot of feels, and I channeled that into some aggressive pieces about which I also felt a lot of feels.

I wrote a set of three pieces triggered by the most recent case of sexual abuse in a high-profile American Christian media family. While these posts are applicable to this case, they have broader implications because the same themes emerge every time this happens: empty calls to forgive the abuser,  and attempts to maintain the power and authority structures that facilitate this kind of abuse in the first place. And all of it is disturbingly centered on the abuser while the victims/survivors are almost entirely ignored.

And, because I needed a light in that dark tunnel, on #FitFriday I wrote about my grammy, body positivity, and threw in a video of her exercising at 93 years old.

Be well this week. Stand on the side of the marginalized. And if you’re feeling down, watch my grammy exercise. The best bit is when she realizes she’s being recorded. ♥