Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Cross my heart and MRI. Stick a needle in my eye.


There's really no way to guess how you'd feel if those two things were looming on the horizon. For me, it sucks. I'm actually, completely, totally terrified. And well meaning statements about positivity and being in the moment and how I have another eye are not helping. I'm not in that place right now. I will find it, I know because I always do. But I also think there is value in honesty, and something to be gained by having, naming and owning the real feelings associated and letting them ride out without being told I should be feeling some other way.
Maybe you had a scary medical thing and you were fascinated or super zen about it. That's great. Maybe you have trained yourself to never "give in" to fear. Rock on. I am not in that place. This isn't easy. I don't need anyone to do anything or say anything to fix it, but I can tell you I'm not ready for "at least". "At least blahblah sunshine" is basically like saying, "You're fear makes me uncomfortable. I think you should keep it to yourself because it gives me weird feels and I want that to stop for me." or "I care about you and I am worried about you and I want to stop your fear or sadness". Fear isn't solved by platitudes. And there isn't anything wrong with having it or naming it. As the listener it's not your fault, it's not your problem, and you can't fix it.
Do you know how to help someone in crisis? You make eye contact with them. You put your hand on their arm. You tell them you know this is hard. You sit with them in silence without expecting them to "get a better attitude". You ask them if there is anything you can do for them. It's like waiting under an awning for a storm to pass. It will pass.
That's it.

Monday, May 5, 2014

Some things only tangentially related to Actual Bea Arthur


When I was in 6th grade I bought this long poofy skirt. It was made of grey denim. It gathered at a high waist and I thought I had really smashed down some fashion barriers. This skirt had so much fucking fabric you could cover a couch with it. I wore it to school exactly once. A very smart girl called me Bea Arthur. That night I wrote in my journal how mortified I was to have turned into 6th grade Maude, with a cinch waist tarp on.

This morning I woke up to a dream where I was naked cuddling with Bea Arthur and she had expressed an eager intention to go down on me. Have fun breaking that one down, weirdos.