#i’m just very proud of them whenever they communicate openly and healthy

[mudbloodpotter05]

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Thank you for this!!

[humwrites]

THERAPY

It’s ironic - I try to advocate for uncomfortable topics, things that would have been considered taboo. When it comes to talking about my own experiences, I struggle. A lot. It’s hypocritical in a lot of ways, but I’m also aware I’m being too harsh on myself for saying that. I’ve tried to get better with talking about it in the last couple of years, but I feel palpitations whenever I mention it in front of a new group of people. 

I’ve been in therapy, on and off, since I was 13. I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was 18. I’ll openly admit that I’ve done a lot of self-work over the years, and have been so proud of my own progress. But, there’s always more work I could do. My therapist and I talk about that often. 

With lockdown, and I’m sure I’m not alone in this, I worried about losing everything that I’ve built to be ‘mine.’ I couldn’t do the things that would help me feel better after an episode. I couldn’t reach out to my confidants, or be with them, in the same way as I would normally have done if I needed it. I’ve found myself cycle backwards into old habits, feeling ‘trapped’ again. I was obsessively finding and reading everything I possibly could about COVID-19. Comparing countries and trying to figure out statistics, predicting the next move. I knew it wasn’t healthy for it to be consuming my every thought, and yet it remained. A disconnect was slowly starting to build - I knew logically that it was okay for me to feel whatever I was experiencing, but I’ve found it harder than ever to practise that.

And then the world listened. And heard. Black lives matter. They always have. This time, we weren’t going to let it slide and we were not going to lose the movement to a 24 hour news cycle. As a result, the discussion surrounding racism - covert and overt - came into light. Personally, there was a necessity to stand and be an ally to the black community. History shows us that if it had not been for them, then South Asians would not have been allowed the opportunities we have now. It was not enough for us to stand with them, for them. We had to be using our privilege. 

However, it became more and more apparent of one thing. The discussion of racism meant unpacking and revisiting trauma that all BIPOC people have experienced. I watched President Trump address the nation, calling the protests “acts of domestic terror” (Trump, 2020) My anxiety caved in and caused me to have a panic attack, remembering comments and threats directed at my family and I whilst I was growing up - following 9/11. Whilst I tried to stay afloat, it’s hard for me to admit that the trauma I thought I had learnt from began to resurface. 

I found myself desperately trying to do what I could for the movement. If I wasn’t able to join a protest, I would help in other ways. Donating, reading, sharing, talking. A handful of the many ways we know now that we can help. But with nothing else, it became easy to sink into a cycle. One that’s stayed. One that’s drained me. Finding myself disassociating and having trouble staying in the present. 

But, I was a voice that had to be involved in the conversation, right? I don’t shy away from knowing I am usually a minority in the company I keep, so I simultaneously believe it to be an obligation and a duty to have to discuss these issues. (see also: sexism and homophobia, and how those intersect with issues of race and culture)

This happened to roll into Pride month, and the internet so rightfully redirected attention to Stonewall being led by Latinx and Black trans women. An intersection I’ve struggled to find - a cross-road between experiences of racism and homophobia. The acknowledgement of, once again, needing to unpack trauma. Trauma which was enforced by the belief that these could not co-exist. To be raised Muslim, to be raised as a Pakistani, a Bengali - I couldn’t be bisexual and vice-versa. Coming to terms with your sexuality will always have it’s own struggles, but couple that with wondering if you’d have to choose one over the other - the damage can be detrimental. 

I’ll remind you again. I’ve been in therapy since I was 13. I’m 20 now. Seven years in therapy. This was the first in which I started talking about the trauma I’ve experienced with racism. My therapist is a white woman. If I, or my family, had acknowledged the need for representation, I would like to hope we would’ve found a South Asian therapist. But the truth of the matter, is that I’ve felt comfortable with my therapist. Enough so, that we were able to have an open dialogue about the ways in which things would probably be different, if that was the case. The reason I hadn’t brought it up before wasn’t because she’s white, it was because I had become so deeply uncomfortable with my own trauma that I wasn’t able to verbalise it. I had been taught to keep it to myself. To be ‘stronger.’ It somehow seemed easier to address my journey with my sexuality, if it didn’t coincide with my experience as a woman of colour. To hide amongst ‘bisexual/gay culture,’ which was dominated by white figures in the community - not knowing how that could translate into my own. 

It always felt untimely, inappropriate to be discussing the affect the current political landscape was having on my own mental health. That leads me to have to remind myself - that’s what I’ve always my identity was perceived. 

Untimely. Inappropriate. Impossible. 

I am not any of those things.

“I am inimitable. I am an original” - Hamilton (2015)*

So if not now, then when would I be able to express my experiences, and all the ways in which they interconnect with one another? BIPOC mental health month is now floating around on the internet. In the surfacing of this era, it remains crucial that we remain inclusive of all BIPOC stories - and that means looking at those in the LGBTQ+ community, those who were already impacted by class issues/pay disparities and how that becomes even harder during the pandemic.

Most importantly, the humane problems we all internally battle with on a daily basis.

It is very human of all of us to be going through what we consider to be universal problems - family, friendships, relationships. The truth of the matter is that we’re all working through those in our own ways, and there’s no one way to do that. Interactions during the pandemic are strained enough, so if you’re anything like me, you might be getting impatient with how long it’s taking you to overcome those. You might even be feeling as if they are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I wish I had answers. I wish I had some wisdom to share. All I can say is that none of that is true. It’s what it is to be human. Taking care of yourself is just as important as it is to stand up for what you believe in. So many of us are right there with you, and maybe there’s some comfort in that. 

Do something you enjoy today. Remember that you’re loved and appreciated for everything you’re doing.

Take care of yourself x

https://issuesintheworld.carrd.co/

* = As someone who hopes to be able to return to the theatre landscape, as soon as it’s safe to do so, I found comfort in the release of ‘Hamilton’ on Disney+. Hope remains in the persistence and dedication of those in the arts. That we can come back stronger than ever. The hunger of those communal experiences, as seen through the eagerness of its release, helps reignite passion. I am aware that the show is far from perfect, and in fact remains to not be an accurate representation of Alexander Hamilton’s story - but I remain forever grateful as the show proved that parts for BIPOC individuals can exist, outside of supporting or stereotypical roles. 

[dankar-camoran]

If I don’t make this post, then in July, I’m gonna think “damn I sure wish I’d made that post last month” so here goes

I’m bisexual. Plenty of y’all who already know me already knew that, but what you may not have known is that it’s taken me a long time to feel comfortable openly saying that.

I remember being fascinated with bisexuality in middle school (I blame most of that on being allowed to watch Torchwood), but I never considered myself bi at that time. Through the years, I remember seeing men I was attracted to, and thinking “if I wasn’t straight, I sure would think he’s sexy” or even “I’m straight, but I sure think he’s sexy.”

Whenever I started to wonder about my sexuality, I contemplated how I might be bi, but never fully considered myself comfortable calling myself that. After all, there was a GSA at my school that I could have totally gone to, but never did. I had a family who I knew would accept me and support me if I came out to them. I knew that there were so many bi folks my age who would kill to be in my position and have the same resources, and here I was, acting not more than just a little bit bi. So I didn’t call myself that. I figured I must be straight, but with a healthy appreciation for how sexy men can be.

Closer to the present day, as I learned more about gender and sexuality, I started to become more open to calling myself bisexual, but still not convinced. I mean, now I was looking at all these different online communities of people who were extremely proud and forthcoming with who they were. All the flags and acronyms and history and culture, I didn’t know the first thing about any of it.

And even more than that, here I was, wondering if I was bi, while still only ever pining for relationships with women. I was keeping my bisexuality to myself, feeling pretty content enough to live life as though I was heterosexual and not very much bothered by that prospect. So was I really bisexual?

Today I can say yes I was, and yes I am.

Because up until relatively recently, I hadn’t been thinking of so many different factors affecting how I saw it all, such as heteronormativity influencing me to think of relationships primarily from a straight lense, or the underlying unconscious knowledge that openly expressing an attraction that wasn’t heterosexual would lead to stigma and negativity. On some level I knew that, I was more likely to go on a date with a woman, than a man, because what were the odds I’d find a mlm in this small town? (Definitely more than I’d think, but you understand my point).

So I’ve come to realize that being part of that aforementioned LGBT+ umbrella doesn’t hinge on participation in any specific activities. It’s a part of who you are, and how you choose to act in regard to that part of you is entirely up to you.

So I’m bisexual. And I’m gonna go through life being bisexual in whatever ways I want, and feeling happy and grateful that I can do so, hoping that other bis can do the same in whatever manners best suit each of them.

TL;DR: Merry Pride Month, I’m bi as shit.