Decades past

30 years ago, I was resting in a hospital crib. I was three hours old and I imagine that I wa still rather blue tinted and wrinkly.
I was expected to be born on New Year's Eve, but something happened and I decided that November 30 was a day good as any to be born. Thanks to the emergency c-section I now have a very easily identifiable feature - a small white scar on my left ear. By now, it's about one centimeter long and half a millimeter thick.

My life has not been easy. I've faced hard ships in the shape of bullying, abusive boyfriends, mental problems, loneliness, and financial difficulties. And yet, I am happy for the life I've had so far. I have been blessed with amazing family, both biological and chosen, brilliant friends, and breath taking experiences. During my 30 years in this body, I've traveled to three continents and 14 countries. I have friends I can't live without all over th world. I have a husband who supports my dreams and my development. During the past 16 years, I've gone from a frightened, suicidal little girl to a strong, independent woman who believes in her ability to achieve her dreams.

I have learned so much the past decade alone that I could fill days upon days worth of blog posts with just mind dumps and factual tidbits.

I am a science geek, a history nerd, a SciFi addict. I read fantasy and fantastical stories like I need them to breathe. I binge watch Dr Who, Gotham, and Agents of Shield. I also watch Niel Degrasse Tyson, BBC documentaries, and MIT Open Courseware because I think it's fun.

I am a femnist, an LGBTQIA+ ally, and a human rights advocate. I am asexual, heteronorm non-conforming, and I have a tendency to space out.

I am me. I am the best at being me. The most important lesson I have learned during my 30 years in this life is that no one can be me better than I can, and therefore I am the only one who can make decisions for my well being.

DFTBA

The few divide

An open letter to the individuals thinking they can decide who belongs in the LGBTQIA+ community.

HOW DARE YOU!?

You talk about representation and the importanse of being seen, and yet you want to exclude trans* people from visible forums just because you don't think they belong. Who gave you the right? 

Fine, being transgender isn't a sexual orientation, but according to many, neither is being asexual.

Trans* IS a part of our community for the simple reason that they're an oppressed group in oppossition to the gender norms our heteronormatve society wants to impose on us. Trans* people deserve representation just as much as the rest of us, for the simple reason that they're human beings and therefore deserve respect and a voice. Going against the gender norms, being brave enough to stand up and say "This is me! I do not comform to your idea of me" deserves representation in all media outlets. Who are you to call for exclusion based on craving to live as the gender you are?

As for transgender people's desire to be seen being hostile to the goals of women, who are you to speak for all women? How is demanding equality, equity, and a voice in public arenas hostile to the goals of women? This is, after all, what feminism has been fighting for for the last 200 years. Respect for who you are, regardless of gender, is what feminism is all about, and you say that trans* people are against this. How? 

I am not a transgender person. I have no idea what transgender people struggle with everyday. However, I am a woman and I am asexual, and you do NOT speak for me. I try to be an ally to my transgender friends and family. Trans* people belong in our community, which was founded on an idea of equality for all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity, just as much as I do.

DFTBA

Terrorism hits home

Yesterday, a 17 year old boy and a 20 year old teacher's aid, named Lavan, were killed in a terrorist attack at a school in the town I grew up in. The teacher's aid died protecting students. The 17 year old succumbed to his injuries at the hospital. Another teacher and a 15 year old boy were severly injured, but are no longer looking to shake hands with Charon.
Yesterday, a white man, 21 years old, had decided, because this school had students who don't look like him, that he would go there, armed with large knives, and stab anyone who had the, in his eyes, wrong skin color. The police had to shoot him to stop his rampage. The terrorist died of his injuries at the hospital.

2 dead, 2 severly injured. Several others mildly injured. A school with 400 students. It is the worst terrorist attack on Swedish soil since 1940.

I don't understand it.
I don't understand this hatred so many feel towards humans who happen to just be a little different. This hate some people feel towards those with different skin color, hair color, sexuality, gender, religion, culture, or ethnicity.
We are all humans. We are all "we". How can you hate someone just because they don't look like you?


Rest in peace, Lavan. Your heroism saved many lives. You are a true Swedish hero.



Sources

http://www.aftonbladet.se/nyheter/kolumnister/oisincantwell/article21634251.ab (Swedish)
http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/oct/22/pupils-wounded-in-sword-attack-at-swedish-school
https://www.rt.com/news/319341-swedish-school-sword-attacker/
http://www.thelocal.se/20151022/masked-man-enters-school-with-sword

I broke up with Facebook.

For more than six years, I was in an onesided relationship with you. I poured my privacy, my hopes, my dreams, and large parts of my soul into this relationship. I felt addicted, dependent, and needy. It was a sick relationship that left me bitter and frustrated more often than it gave me happiness and connection.

I finally had the strength to break the Devil Snare hold you had on me and I feel refreshed. I don't miss you. I still think I need to share my thoughts and feelings with you, but I don't miss you. 20 hours have passed, and I don't miss you.

No longer is there a tab saying "Facebook" opening with my browser. No longer do I check my news feed as soon as I wake up.

I took a walk earlier today, and my thoughts did not go to posting photos on Facebook. I just enjoyed the early Autumn morning, the chilly wind in my hair, the scent of freshly baked bread heavy in the air. The morning sun peeking at me through leaves turning into their breathtakingly beautiful Autumn reds and yellows and oranges. I actually saw the people around me. I talked to the homeless man on the corner. I greeted the guy steaming the carpets in our apartment complex. Without a camera in front of my face to "Share" my morning, I just let myself experiense what was happening.

Yesterday, I broke up with Facebook.

No flash games demanding I drag my friends into the pastel clutches. No intense nagging to share my phone number, my home address, and my home town. No stupid "Security" questions I don't know the answer to. No more searching through three different e-mail inboxes to find a note that lets me access a social network from a new computer.

I was addicted to your allure. I was addicted to the never-ending stream of conciousness pouring in from my friends and family. I was addicted to the articles I was linked to and to not having to search for anything on my own. I started to lose my ability to think, to remember. I was addicted to the convenience of sending a "Happy Birthday" in a wall post, instead of in an e-mail or in a card.

No more.

I broke up with Facebook yesterday and I feel free.

DFTBA

One of a kind

For the past three days, I have been watching Kuroko no Basket, and it made me realize something. Being one of a kind is very lonely.

I don't think the way people I know think. I break everything down into smallest common denominators, which makes it extremely easy for me to find connections and co-relations between any subject I am faced with. I can see the path from one end to the other without any real effort, which made school really easy.

And really, really boring.

This is not me bragging, because why brag about something that causes me pain?

From the day I started 2nd grade, I've actively made myself stupid in order to fit in, and to not be bored. It even became second nature, and by the time I started high school, I din't think about what I was doing. My senior year of high school and my first year of university, I didn't open a single book, and I passed every test, every assignment, and every class.
It was during my nine months in Las Vegas that I finally found someone who could understand how I think, and who could push me out of my slump. A brilliant star named Jackson, who was, and is, smarter than I am, but in a very different way. I had fun in school again. I wanted to talk to Jackson about everything, but there wasn't enough time. 
I went back to Sweden and started my senior year of high school, and I was bored again. Jackson came to visit the summer after we both graduated, and we had a blast. One month of shenanigans and pranks. Jackson went on to study the human mind, and I am so very proud of them. They still have that edge, that amazing mind, and caring heart.

Seven months after I graduated high school, Boy came into my life, and again, I had someone who would challenge me, intellectually. Someone who understood the way I think, and loves discussions about everything. It took me almost eight years of dating this guy before I could totally drop my imposed stupidity, and admit that life is fun, even when I'm not like everyone else. Yes, it is very lonely to be one of a kind, and I can't explain how I think to most people around me, but I now have a family of people who are supremely intelligent, with minds to rival the smartest in history. Sakuya, Nova, Jackson, Boy. All of them think in different ways, and all of them challenge me. For the longest time, I craved a challenge, and now, I feel like I need to know more, to study more, to experience more, just to keep up.

I will never not feel lonely whenever I feel a need to explain how I think and be met with sneers or blank stares, but I know, finally, that I am not stupid. I am not the one who needs to adapt, to force myself to fit into someone else's comfort zone.

Yes, I need to learn patience.
Yes, I need to learn how to explain things.
Yes, just because it's easy for me, doesn't mean it's easy for someone else.
Yes, I can use my thinking to help others.

No, I don't have to defend myself, my interests, or the way I think, because I have people in my life who will leave me in the dust, intellectually, if I ever dumb myself down again.

Thank you.

DFTBA

Time Travel

What is time?

This time, the post will be different from what I usually talk about, but I have mentioned that I like science, so a post like this shouldn't come as a surprise.

I have been thinking about the possibility of time travel from time to time, since the concept is one I find very interesting. The concept is so extremely complicated and so fascinating in its complexity. Many people think about time travel as just travelling from one point in time to another point in time, and science fiction often use this short-cut way of thinking about it. What many people forget is that things move in space as well as in time. Time and Space is the same continuum. You can't travel in one without travelling in the other. And that poses another problem.

If you've ever watched a science fiction show that deals with time travelling, you've undoubtedly run into the phenomenon known as the Grandfather Paradox, in which you accidentally kill your grandfather and, by extent, yourself. This is the first problem with time travel.

The second one is the concept of time itself. What is time? Is it a "wibbly-wobbly timey wimey" thing?  Is it a progression from order to entropy? Is it both or neither? In any case, the concept of time travel itself grants that if time travel has ever been invented, it will always have existed. If it has been invented, why are there not more time travellers? Is deja vu just the result of our present being altered by travellers changing the past?

The third part has to do with the time-space continuum. If you have played any video game including teleportation you have probably run across the concept of coordinates and how missing a coordinate can send you into a tree or the bottom of the ocean or inside a mountain. Time travel is really the same thing, except on a much larger scale. In order to travel in time, you have to know the exact coordinates of the spot you want to land in. These coordinates have to be pinned down, not only to where they lead to on this tiny planet, but where you are in relations to everything else in the entire universe. Where was the planet 10 minutes, 10 years, or 10 millenia ago? By this thought, we need to have mapped all corners of the universe, in its entirety, in order to safely move through time by any means other than our own linear progression from order to entropy. The universe is expanding, and while heliocentrism gives us that our solar system is not a vortex but a helix, we are still moving around the center of the Milky Way, and the Milky Way is moving in its own way. While the wrong coordinates in Minecraft would land you inside a mountin, the wrong coordinates in time-space travel might land you in a black hole or a neutron star.

But for now
DFTBA

Utöya 22 Jul 2011

Boy and I were visiting my mother-in-law.

We had just finished dinner and were waiting for coffee. I was watching the news out of the corner of my eye while engaging MIL in a conversation. I don't remember what we were talking about, but suddenly, reports of an explosion in Oslo caught my eye. The explosion had happened earlier that day. Then the news switched to something else, and coffee was ready.

I remember standing up to get my cup when the first reports came in.

I remember opening Facebook to see if anyone of my Norwegian friends had any news.

I remember seeing a friend sending warnings to not text or call their children on Utöya, as that would reveal their location to the killer.

I sat there, on the arm rest of a grey couch, in the white walled living room, a cup of coffee in my hand. Frozen in place as I could do nothing for the desperate children throwing themselves into the fiord to try and escape the man with the military grade automatic rifle.

I thought of all the parents, unable to call their children. Parents unable to do anything as a terrorist swept over the island, killing and injuring anyone he could find.

69 young people lost their lives on Utöya, killed by a xenophobic, islamophobic, and misogynistic terrorist named Anders Bering-Breivik. 110 people were injured.
8 people died in the explosion in Oslo. An explosion set up by the same terrorist.


Let us NEVER forget this massacre. Do not let those who died have died in vain. 


More info

Weird experience is a good thing

As a child, I was nuts. I was outspoken, easy-going, and all over the place. I would flirt with alcoholics, I would talk to anyone who gave me even a slightest bit of attention, and I was always laughing.
I grew up in a very nice neighborhood. I've mentioned before that when I was 10 years old, I was the only one in my year who had not been to the Mediterranean.

The neighborhood was nice. Very nice. I had a few rules to follow, but other than that, I was free to conjur up and execute whatever shenanigans my little kid brain could imagine. And it could imagine a lot.

"Don't cross the big road."
"Don't talk to strangers."
"Don't accept candy or food from strangers."
"I want to meet all your friends and their parents before you can go there and play."
"Don't follow strangers anywhere."
"Keep an eye on your sister."
"You do not leave this block on your own."

Those were my rules. I didn't even know there was something called pedophiles until I was 12, because it wasn't an issue.

The climate has hardened severely in Sweden. Kids no longer feel safe playing on their own. Parents don't feel safe letting kids play on their own.
Fashion and material status has an ever younger target, and it makes me sad. Always being judged for what you eat, what you wear, what things you own.

So, you can imagine my happy surprise when I came to Swords. Children play unsupervised in the enclosure made by the apartment buildings. I saw a child laying on a bench without a fear in the world, and no one was fussing over it. I saw a child looking for her mother in the mall, but she would not talk to me when I asked if she wanted help. Children here seem to be raised the same way I was, and it makes me happy.

The climate here is so very different, and I love every second of it. People are so friendly, so kind, and so helpful. I hope to see this attitude spread further and further across the world.

DFTBA

My baby is electronic

I got a new laptop yesterday and it made me think about all the ways a laptop is like a child, and the ways it is not.

How a laptop is like a child

- Both make weird noises for no apparent reason.

- Both scream at you at times, and you have no idea why.

- Both need a constant positive flow of energy to function.

- Both need care and love to develope in the way you want.

- Both do things you don't understand.

- Both find information you rather they didn't.

- Both are prone to catch viruses, making your life harder.

- Both can be fuzzy when tucked into sleep.

- Both tend to get dirty, and you don't know how.

- Both ask questions that either annoy you or stump you (or both)

- After you've cared for either of them for a while, both get addicted to apps and develope a maximum distance from an outlet in which they function.

How a laptop is not like a child

- A laptop is a computer. A child is a living being.

- A laptop doesn't throw a fit if you don't play with it for a day.

- You don't have to buy diapers for a laptop.

- Baby food is not food. Electricity is always electricity.


DFTBA

When the cards are speaking

I don't believe that the future is set in stone.
I believe that each choice we make shapes the path ahead of us, often in small and subtle ways.

I have always wanted to travel. To see new places and meet new people. I get irritated if I have to say in the same place for too long, and I've always dreamed about just taking a detour and explore areas I've never seen before.

There has, however, always been a fear in the back of my mind. A fear of judgement, anger, and alienation that has prevented me from seeking the horizon. Too many times being told not to wander off, not to talk to strangers. Don't touch that, don't taste that.

And now I sit here, in Ireland, hundreds of kilometers away from everything I once knew, and I am no longer afraid. I talk to strangers much more frequently than I used to. I dare taste food I've never tried. I dare drink wine I've never enjoyed. I explore my surroundings with the same curiosity I remember I used to have. I am nervous about getting a job - not because of the work or the people, but because I might see even less of Boy.

I have bought two dresses that are an inch shorter than my comfort zone, and one dress a bit tighter than I'd like, but I feel amazing about wearing all three.

The sun is shining outside and there's a breeze running in the trees. The only reason why I am not outside in the sun is because I haven't gotten around to buying sun screen yet.

Now, I am going to make myself some tea, and enjoy the warmth in the shade out on my balcony.

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Pickle Juice

The other day, I stumbled upon this wonderful video by the ever fabulous Tyler Oakley, and I felt that I wanted to write an extended comment on it. My problem was that I could only come up with thoughts and words I had already used and I really don't like to repeat myself.

Then two major Things happened. First, I was linked to this blog post by my newest (dare I say) online friend, Ben Patrick Johnson. And then SCOTUS made the radical decision that all humans should have the same rights when it comes to love. I know! Totally crazy, right? Suddenly, I knew what to write about that hadn't been talked about ad nausiem in this blog.

Background

When I moved to Dublin, I was all "New Place, New Life, New Everything!!" and I became a tad bit obsessed when it comes to being me, or who I believed me to be. Turns out that I am not an in-your-face-this-is-me person, so I dropped the pretense and feel much better about it. I have been handed something I've dreamed about for as long as I can remember, and I will not squander this opportunity by being someone I'm not or accept anything less than I deserve.

Topic

Pickle Juice. Most of you are probably going "Huh?" but I love the analogy of pickle juice (see Tyler Oakley's video linked at the top of this post). Life can be very easy or very hard, but it usually falls somewhere in between. We can take a path of least resistance and just float along, even if it hurts our hearts and our souls, or we can take a stand and say "This is me! You don't get to decide if I want the pickle or the brine."

Part1.

To be, that is what Pride is about. That is what the SCOTUS decision and the Irish referendum Yes victory stand for. It's telling people that everyone has the right to choose if they want the pickle, the brine, or the jar. It's standing up, knees bruised from being pushed down time and time again, and making our voices heard in a cacophony that would drown us out. The struggle is far from over. Yes, same-sex marriage has won two important victories in short order, but more countries are left. There are governments who still refuse equal rights to all people living within their borders. The LGB part of the initialization has won great ground, but the T, the I, and the Q are left, standing in the dust, waiting.

Part 2.

A part of "getting over ourselves" is conquering the sissyphobia. Recently, I saw an amazing video in which Van Darkholme, the Top of the Doms at the Armory in San Fransisco, describing, in depth, what makes him not give a single lick about what other people think of him, and it all boils down to him knowing who he is. He knows his work and who he is, which makes him able to either bring much stronger men to their knees, or scream in a pitch made to break glass during the Ice Bucket Challenge. He talks about owning your weaknesses, so that they can't be used against you, and throwing a "So what?" at those who would point out perceived flaws. Maybe this is what makes the Aussie rugby players mentioned yesterday on BPJ's twitter not care who they touch, hug, or pile up on. And maybe this is how we make our lives easier. We own our weaknesses and our strengths, we stand together when others would push us down, and we say no to the brine in that jar when we want the pickle.

DFTBA

SAD on a bus

It's been almost three weeks and it's time to get off your lazy ass and get that job you've been eying since you arrived in Dublin. Jerk!Brain is constantly nagging you to do something besides lounching around, never mind that you clean, go grocery shopping, and are exploring your surroundings. Time to earn your keep.

So you get on the computer and look up what you need to get an income. The actually-having-a-job part aside, you need a PPS, a bus card, and a bank account.

So you get the bus card and look up how to get a PPS.

You need to already have a job to be allowed to apply for PPS, and you need a PPS to open a bank account, and you need PPS and a bank account to get a secure employment.

This is when your anxiety is making itself known and reminds you about all the horrible, judgy things humans do to each other. Along with anxiety, Jerk!Brain is singing a little song about how you can't do anything, that you're a failure, and a lazy failure at that.

To make things an ocean of worries better, the PPS office is about an hour on a bus from your current residence. Then you have to go back to get the bank account, before being able to hand in the papers to Employer. You don't like buses. Sitting on a bus with x amount of strangers makes you uncomfortable and wakes up your social anxiety, your general anxiety's lazy cousin.

But you will get it done, because you know you will feel indestructible when you are done. You will shove a sock in Jerk!Brain's tirade and you will lull your anxieties back to sleep.

Just not today. Because today, you are allowed to feel small and insecure and lonely, so you can be strong and successful tomorrow.

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Colors of the rainbow

This month is Pride month and all over the world, in city after city, people are showing their Pride. Pride in who they are. Pride in who they love.

Gay Pride.

But the rainbow has more colors than one. We hear about gay pride, homophobia, same-sex marriage rights. Yes, these are important. Yes, these are things we have to stand by or against (in the case of homophobia). But there is more that has to be done, more people who are being persecuted for who they are.

Trans* individuals being killed and no news are shown about it.
Bisexuals being hunted and ridiculed.
Pansexuals being persecuted and raped to "fix" them.
Asexuals being told that they're broken, wrong, or don't exist.

And under it all, a simmering, festering pool of racism.

I was born privileged. I am a white female, born and raised in one of the most liberal countries in the world. I grew up with three meals per day, drinkable tap water, and clean clothes. I married a white guy who grew up in the same town as I did. So, what sets us apart? I am ace, he's bi. That's it. None of us have to go through pain based on things we can't change. Sure, I was bullied, but not because of my skin color, eye color, ethnicity, origin, or sexuality.

And that is why I am an ally. I can't presume to know the pain non-white-appearing people go through, but I can reach out a hand and say "I am on your side." As I recognize my privilege, I use it to give voice to those who have no voice.
I can't know your pain the way you do. What I can do is stand by you, be the person backing you up against the bullies. The voice behind you that tells you that you're worth more. Not because you need a white woman telling you this, but because the bigots need to meet resistance from people the they think are with them.

In this world, I, as a white-appearing cisgender female, has a much louder voice than a non-white person, and especially Trans* individuals. I intend to use it.

And in three days, I will be down town in Dublin, sipping a Guinness, and cheering as the Dublin Pride Festival opens for 2015. Because love is as diverse as the colors of a rainbow, and we need to be damn proud of that.

DFTBA

My body, my rules

 I don't like to be touched by strangers. Hell, in most cases, I'd rather not shake hands with people. It has nothing to do with fear of bacteria or sweat or anything like that. I just don't like it when people I don't know get that close to me.

I don't even hug members of my Family of Origin that often. I kiss my mom on the cheek when I leave them, but I have been doing that since I was a toddler, so that won't likely stop. I hugged my parents, my sister, and my dad-in-law when I left for Dublin (that was the first or second time in 9 years I've hugged dad-in-law). That was also the first time in years I have hugged my dad.

I have been living in Ireland for little over a week now, and I jump and cringe slightly every time someone touches my back or shoulder. I know it's natural for them, and I know it's a sign of "I know you're here, I am grateful that you're here, and I listen to you" but it still feels strange. It's just something I'll have to get used to. I know that if I told people to not touch me, they would stop. Only one person so far has given me any doubts about their intentions with the touching, and I will not let that creepy guy disrupt my perception of the people I have met.

This article perfectly outlines why a child should never have to hug someone they don't want to hug. In addition, there needs to be more articles about why you shouldn't touch people who don't want to be touched. However, especially children need to be shown that their bodies are their own and they decide who touches them, just as I, as an adult, decide who gets to touch me.

Because when I say that I want to get used to getting patted on the shoulder, it's not because I feel a need to fit in to this new culture. It is because I want to get rid of the feeling of oh-shit-I'm-going-to-get-hurt that rises in me whenever a stranger gets close to me. My personal space is huge. If anyone I don't know well comes within 4 feet of me, I feel uncomfortable.

It's not from having a bamboo stick swishing at my head during martial practice or one too many beach balls to the face or even playing tennis and being served in the stomach. Those things I can handle with ease. I have been poked by fencing swords and I have crashed in ski slopes and in ski lifts. The only part I can't handle is the knowledge that I can't trust most people with my boundaries, and that is painful. Every touch from a stranger says "I can do this and you won't stop me". Every stroke, every pat, every handshake enforces a kind of I-take-too-much-space thinking, and that is what I need to unlearn. I need to learn to stand firmly in my own space, on my own foundation, and proudly say "Here I am. I decide who gets close to me and why. I will not shy away from friendly touches and I will loudly oppose unwanted touching. Because my body is my own, and Jerk!Brain can burn in a volcano for all I care."

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Voice to the past

When I was 15 my English teacher told us to write a letter to our 25 year old selves. Nothing I wrote about then has come to pass and I'm both glad and disappointed. Yesterday, I was shown some amazing letters from guys to their younger selves, and I decided to write one of my own.


Dear Johanna,

Right now you're 15 years old and you're still wondering if you'll ever get out of the small town you're living in. No, living isn't really the right word. You're floating along, going through the motions of breakfast-school-homework-TV-sleep repeat.

Your dreams are huge, looking to the horizon, towards the drama institutes of Stockholm and Gothenburg. You have carried the dream of acting for eight years now, and you are still bitter that you chose a science major instead of embracing the fact that you got accepted to the drama major for high school. You are drawing dragons in your notebooks, littering the pages with quotes about death, life, strength, loneliness, and friendship. The flickering light fixtures in the class room are just a backdrop, as are the dish soap smelling desks and the teacher you stopped listening to about five minutes into the class. 

Life will not turn out the way you imagine.

You dreamed about playing on the grand stages of the world, making a living from acting and singing., mediocre singing voice be damned.
You longed to run away, to disappear, and to see what the rest of the world has to offer.
You longed to snuggle up next to someone, to belong to someone, and to feel safe. You craved connection with others, but felt too stupid, too different, and too jaded to bother.

Being 15 years old, you listen to the people in your class talk about hot guys and hot girls. You have just sat through the fourth sex ed class in as many years, and you are just as confused about why people bother with it as always.

But you know what? Life gets so much better.
Sure, in seven months you'll start dating your first boyfriend. You'll get engaged to him, even though he is an abusive ass, and it will be through the help of others you get free.
Ex-boyfriend number two will be another moron.
You will fall in love with people all across the gender spectrum, and you'll be even more confused.

But! When you are 20 years old, you'll meet Boy. He will help you find your bearing. Your friend/sibling Jackson will help you find out more about your sexuality. Your friend/sister Sakuya will teach you how to trust again.

As I write this letter to you, my younger self, I am sitting in my bed, looking at the small park outside my window, in an area of Dublin called Swords. I married Boy in Sep 2014 after 8.5 years of dating.

I am not an actress. I am a writer.

I got away from the pain and the longing and the loneliness. I found my footing, and while my feet hurt from landing on them so many times, and my knees ache from getting up, I survived. We survived, and life is pretty damn amazing.

Yours sincerely,
                          Johey

BPJ Inc: Being true

The other day, I wrote a post I ended up deleting after it was published to the blog. It was not because of something someone said or did, but because it wasn't true to me. I am not a hateful person. I am not an angry person. Writing a post that's just an angry spew of words is not who I am and it's not honest. And that is what this post is about. Being honest to yourself.

Background
For most of my life, I've tried very hard to fit in, to belong, many times to the point of diminishing myself in order to not be a bother. (See the The Roles I Play series) I still have some major self-destructive tendencies, as in, when someone I like and/or admire show interest in me, I turn into a puppy desperate for attention, and they eventually leave, because I am annoying. I am getting better at pulling back and not drown people in attention. It is easier now than it was, because now, I am more honest about who I am, both in relationship with others and towards myself.
Not until recently did I notice that when I am honest I get positive attention, but when I just do what I think is expected, I get mostly negative attention.
I don't hide myself anymore. I don't spill everything at any time, but what I do share is true.

Topic
So much of society is about fitting into a mold made by norms, expectations, and traditions. Those who don't fit into this shape are pushed and shamed and stigmatized until they either fit in or are discarded. And yet, we admire those who rise above the expectations. Who dare be more than society dictates. Those who don't fit into the norm, and refuse to be squashed into a mold.

Tess Holliday - The model without the typical model body.
Caitlyn Jenner - The athlete who can finally live her own life.
Aydian Dowling - The Men's Health cover model.

Just a few names, but their stories inspire because they're true. We're brought up on the idea that we should follow the norms, yet our heroes are those who dare to break the norms, to challenge the status quo, and do it without being false.

Humans have an instinctual ability to spot inconsistency. We prefer consistent narratives, be they true or false. It is, however, easier to be consistent in a honest story, and humans also have an ability to spot dishonesty. We might get uncomfortable when faced with some truths, especially about ourselves, but honesty helps us soar. Being true to ourselves helps us let go of burdens, even if we don't share the truths with others. 

This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
                                                  - Polonius, "Hamlet"

DFTBA

Small pleasures

Around a week ago, Ben Patrick Johnson posted some pictures and tweets about enjoying the simple pleasures in life. I was inspired to write something, but I couldn't get the words to flow until today.


It is so easy to forget to enjoy things you see every day. Taking people and places for granted is very very simple and only when they're gone can we see what we had. As a person born and raised in a first world country, it is also very easy for me to take things like running, drinkable water, three meals of fresh food per day, and clean clothes for granted. However, yesterday, I was met with the most awe inspiring experience I've had in months.

Yesterday was moving day. I left my home in Sweden and set off from Gothenburg to my new home in Dublin. Now, I easily get motion sick, so I wasn't looking forward to the flying in itself. I was very excited about seeing Boy again and experiencing a whole new city and country, but I was not looking forward to the flight.
To say that I was happily to be completely wrong would be an understatement. The medical gum I bought worked perfectly and the flight was calm and relaxing. The food was great, the crew was amazing, and the scenery was absolutely breath taking.

While chewing on a piece of still-steaming hot bread, I was suddenly struck by the sheer joy of looking out at a view no one had seen before the Wright Brothers managed to get their flying machine working.

It was perfection. Fluffy clouds, tainted in pink and white and gold, passed over a silver ocean dotted with cargo ships and a lone sail boat. On the horizon, pillars of blinding white clouds reached towards darker heavens, surrounding the blue and silver in a massive frame.

And it hit me that I was sitting in a can, cruising at 12000 meters above the North Sea, watching this amazing view on my way to see the love of my life-so-far.

Finally being ably to hug him again, after four months apart, was so nice. Just a hug made my heart beat faster and I didn't even mind the rain.
The best part of landing in Dublin was just snuggling down in a warm bed and doing nothing, after meeting the two great people we're sharing apartment with, and after a pint of Guinness at a kind of cute pub down the road.

Being stressed out over a hundred big things makes me really appreciate the small pleasures where I get them. Just spending the morning in bed, talking to my parents on Skype, touching Boy whenever I feel like it, and just feel good.

Show appreciation and enjoy life, especially when "nothing is happening". You never know when that calm will be over and you'll long for it again.

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Cheshire's Land

Appropriate tattoo is appropriate.

      I drew the concept, the artist made the final version. The quote is from Bruce Dickinson's "Darkness Be My Friend"

Sometimes, I wake up to one of those days, when everything seems like the world is just a coat of paint away from being Wonderland. I can never be entirely certain if it's good or bad, but it's always interesting. For a while, I wasn't sure if it was my medication, my over-active imagination, or if I was going completely mad.

Yesterday was one of those days. I woke from a weird dream about my boss being angry because Boy and I was late for tea at a cafe at the North Pole. Then I realized that the phone was playing "The Ship's Going Down" by Voltaire for the third day in a row (my alarm shuffles through the songs on my phone and picks a random song as alarm signal. Well, it's supposed to.)

Went to work after being followed around the house by my sister's dog. He's a cutie, but he's as bad as Boy's grandma when it comes to actually using words to express what he wants.

Then there were Ben Patrick Johnson being goofy about twitter recommendations, which nearly made me spray my work computer with coffee. Female pornstars and cats. Sure, why not.
My co-worker was her usual, not quite there self. I love her dearly, but she gives life to the saying "The wheel's spinning, but the hamster is dead."

And then tortoise in alcohol.  Seriously, tortoise in alcohol. Why is there a tortoise in alcohol, BPJ?

Eyelash batting, pussy power (Cats! Mind out of the gutter!), and multiple Ben's, oh my! I have yet to try drinking wine in the shower, though I have tried mixing Powerking-And-Moonshine with MMORPG. It gets really interesting when suddenly- two screens!

And no, I'm not drunk, though that is an idea. Trust me, I can get a lot weirder than this without getting drunk. Just ask the Elementary School children subjected to the impromptu duet of HIM's "Join Me" me and Jackson performed, or the rewriting of "Rudolph, The Red-nosed Reindeer" also, courtesy Jackson. Also, I have work tomorrow, and I would rather not add a hang-over to bored-stiff.

And so, my really weird day ended with an extended rant on body shaming.

I think my point with this post is that you should allow weirdness into your life. Be childish and weird and goofy. The world is not fair and life is a serious thing, so make it more interesting by being random. People will stare, but so what? Should the pettiness of others prevent you from living life in a great way?

DFTBA

Rant me a river

I don't like to write posts when I'm angry, but this time I will. It's about body shaming, which is a nasty thing and so infesting our culture that this post will most likely piss a lot of people off.

Background

I am fat.
There's no getting a-round that (see what I did there?) I am 173 cm tall (5'8" for non-metric people) and I weigh 120 kg (265 lbs). This means that I am fat. Over-weight. Obese. Rotund. Tubby.

WHATEVER.

1. My body is in great condition. At my last check-up about five months ago all levels where in the normal range, even my blood pressure. I can run up four sets of stairs without getting winded, and I have asthma. Now, imagine lugging 50 kg on your back up four staircases and not get winded.

I can swim 3 km in under 40 minutes, and this after not being a competitive swimmer since I was 13 years old. I can walk 7.2 km in under an hour. Before I moved to my parents' house this past Friday, I rode my bike back and forth to work every day, Monday through Friday.

But apparently, I am unhealthy because I'm fat. Apparently, I need more exercise and I need to loose weight to get healthy. Apparently, I am lazy.

2. I shower every day. I can't use perfume, because of my asthma, but I use a perfume free deodorant. I am always chewing sugar-free gum, because I am very conscious of my breath. 

Yet, when I go shopping, I can see the store clerks look at me in disgust. When they see me, they see a fat woman, and they assume I have bad hygiene. I have seen looks of surprise when I pass them and they scent no BO. Just soap and the almond scent of my body lotion. Yes, I know this is the case, because I am apparently just not smelly, I am deaf too. I've heard the clerks discussing their surprise at my lack of nasty smell.

3. I aced my national tests. I have an IQ of 115. My high school grade was a B+ average, even though I didn't open a single book my senior year. I can find connections and co-relations in basically any subject. I read Ancient Civilizations, astrophysics, and watch Numberphile because I think it's fun.

Yet, I have had people offer to help explain things to me for the most basic of assignments. I've had people talk to me like I'm an idiot, patronizing the hell out of me, while pointing to whatever I asked for. I've seriously had a librarian say "Are you sure? That book might be too difficult for you" when I asked for a book by Stephen Hawking. Bitch, I can read a 300 page novel in a DAY! Why would a book be too hard for me, when I specifically ask for it?

Boy and I on our wedding day.

Actual Topic

OK, I'm calm now.
The point of this post is this - Do NOT judge people before you get to know them. Body shaming helps no one. All bodies are beautiful. Skinny bodies, fat bodies, medium bodies. Tall bodies, short bodies. ALL Bodies Are Beautiful. The shape of the body does not equal health, fitness, intelligence, or hygiene, as shown by the studies linked below (Yes, I did my research).

Every time a child is born it is a miracle. The odds against life in the Universe are literary astronomical. At any moment, an asteroid can slip past Jupiter's pull and hurdle straight for Earth.
Only one in four attempts at getting pregnant is successful. Carrying a child to term is very hard on the body and miscarriage is always a possibility. Just reaching the age of one year old is a hardship in most of the animal kingdom, including humans.

To see an adult human being should be associated with awe at the stubbornness of life, not with disgust, shame, or prejudice. That human has faced the odds and survived them to encounter you, who also faced the odds and conquered them, at that moment in time. Meeting someone is just awesome!

DFTBA

Important links

BMI
Exercise is good, y'all.
Genetics
Fat warning, *legasp*
Because SCIENCE

The road goes ever on...

In five days, I will be leaving Swedish soil and make my way to a new life in a new country. For four months now, I have been preparing myself for this - packing, throwing away things, donating other things. Paperwork and re-arrangements. Cleaning out both cupboards and memories.

By all accounts, I should be either freaking out or feeling separation anxiety, but I just feel excitement. True, I am not looking forward to flying. I get so ill when I fly and if it's one thing I really really hate, it's being nauseous. However, the wanderlust in me is like an over-happy puppy, bouncing around and wagging its tail.

It's so very hard to explain why I don't feel sad about leaving.
I have really good friends here. There are places in this town and in the neighboring townships that I love with a burning passion. And yet, I feel no sadness waving goodbye to all of that. I will miss my friends, that's for sure, but somehow I have this feeling that they won't be gone even though I won't see them every day. Maybe it's because of my mental compartmentalizing. Maybe it's because I'm used to saying goodbye and/or not having close friends. JerkBrain is trying to shame me with "You just don't care about anyone but yourself"and I do feel bad about not feeling bad, but then I mentally shrug and go back to being excited.

I have never really had one place that I call 'home'. Where I've lived either have painful memories attached or have just been temporary. I have felt like I'm mid transfer all my life, always moving towards somewhere else. This is the first time I've ever felt that I am going to move home, and it has nothing to do with the place and everything with seeing Boy again. Everything here is so familiar that it is a part of who I am. Boy is someone who is not a part of my past. He is not a part of the hurt and the frustration.

This town holds memories, both bad and good. Dublin is completely new to me, and I live for new adventures. Going to Dublin is like running out on a diving board, jumping to gain momentum and height, then flying in a perfect arc before diving into the water, body sliding like a knife through the water surface.
Leaving is just like stepping out of a cage to feel warmth on my face.

BPJ Inc: Forgiveness

If you haven't understood it already, this blog doesn't really have a common theme other than "This is interesting. Let's talk about it". so I hope not too many people will be surprised as I turn from spanking and BDSM to the concept of forgiveness.

Backstory

Nah, I'm not doing this this time. People (yes, me too) can be ass hats. End of story.

Actual Topic

Forgiveness is a very abstract concept and something that has been debated for millennia. Punishing those who have wronged us is part of one of the earliest finds of recorded text in history. All religions have some law or story about forgiving those who have wronged us and punishing those who are evil. All countries in the world have laws about how to behave. All communities have norms and moral values.

Apologizing for something you've done that caused someone else pain can sometimes be really hard. Apologizing sincerely and without putting pressure on the injured party is even harder. (See this video for reference on how NOT to apologize). Forgiving someone who has not apologized to you is seen as impossible by many.

Forgiving someone is not about the person apologizing, though. It is about how the injured party feels.

When I find it in me to forgive those who have hurt me, I let go of resentment and bitterness. Forgiving someone is like slamming a door in their faces and saying "You no longer have a room in my mind, my heart, or in my life." A recently published study in the SPPS even links health benefits to forgiving others.

HOWEVER, forgiving a person does not mean you forgive what they did. I have forgiven those who bullied me for five years, but I will NEVER forgive the bullying. Forgiving my bullies meant that I let go of the bitterness I held towards them. I will always take a stand against bullying, because abuse is always wrong. 

Thinking about apologizing as taking responsibility for my actions also removes any shame I might feel about the act of apologizing. I hurt someone, intentionally or not, and I am strong enough to admit my misdeed and apologize for what I did. Remembering that I can't demand forgiveness also drills home my responsibility I have when it comes to my words and actions.

Be kind, be considerate, and remember that only you is exactly like you. You will unavoidably hurt others and you will be hurt. It's life. How you react to it decides how you will live.

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Nibblies

I am not wigging out about flying to Ireland in about a week!! *obscure Eddie Izzard reference*


Today's topic over at Ben Patrick Johnson's twitter is about playful spankings, and what a person might do to earn that fun from their significant other. Now, I have mentioned my BDSM preferences in the past, but some people might not be as obsessive about reading back logs as I am, so let's start with that.

I am a masochistic submissive with a mischievous streak a mile wide. This means that I am usually on the receiving end of any spankings handed out.

...Don't need to use too much to convince me that handing out spankings is a good thing... Just sayin'

- Boy

Boy and I met in 2006, at another mind-numbingly boring thing the employment agency conjured up to make the statistics look better. That time it was different classes meant to improve our chances of landing a job. At the time, I was still recovering from getting rejected by a love interest, but Boy and I immediately became friends and most likely made life very... let's say 'interesting'... for the people trying to teach us things. Two months of hanging out in class and being goofs during breaks, we became an "item". We got engaged on Dec 31 2006 and we got married on Sept 13 2014. April 9 2015 was our 9 year anniversary. Which brings me to Today's Topic.

On April 9 2006, I called Boy and asked him if he wanted to come over and hang out, maybe watch a movie, or something. He came over, he said Hi to my parents, and we went to my room (I was 20 years old at the time, as was he). We talked, goofed around, and I popped Moon Child into the DVD player. At some point during the movie, I decided to start tickling Boy, and things kind of escalated from there. Turns out Boy is -extremely- ticklish. Turns out that I -really- like strong hands restricting the movement of my arms.

Most of what I know about my sexual preferences have come from tickling Boy and him trying to get away. Leaving crumbs in the bed, tickling Boy, or just being a tease can earn me a spanking. Spanking, and other similar things, is a game for us. Both of us like it and it's pleasurable. Having fun and gaining pleasure is the core of BDSM for us.

BDSM stands for Bondage Discipline Dominance/Submission Sadism/Masochism. Spankings would fall under the DSM parts. It can be playful, naughty, and a game. It can be intimate, a way to push limits, and to "punish" a sub in a Scene. Spankings can be used to warm up the skin for heavier play or a way to put all Scene participants in the right state of mind. 

Some like punches to chest and thighs. 

Some like open hand spanking, some prefer tools. Tools can include paddles, canes, crops, whips, floggers, and belts. Most of those sting. A flogger has more of a thudding impact, while the pain from a whip depends on the number of tails. A single-tail stings more than a nine-tail. 

If you use an open palm to spank a partner, remember that full hand impact stings more than grazing with just fingers. An impact with just the meat of the bottom of your palm is more like a punch.

I guess if you want to be a tease, use your fingers to spank with. It gives an impact, but let's the person sit down without cringing too much. Slapping someone's butt right before dinner with the in-laws is just evil (but fun). Yes, I speak from experience, and yes, I was on the receiving end.

No matter what you prefer, remember to always make sure it's ok. Spanking a stranger is creepy and wrong. Spanking your partner can be sexy.

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Let's Talk

  SEX

Now that's out of the way, let's get to the topic of today. As you might have guessed, today's BPJ Inc is about sex. I know many of you are uncomfortable with this subject, so I hope you're using your judgement in matters like these. Also, please refrain from reading this if your laws prohibit it. I can't stop you, but it's on your heads if you get offended or in trouble.

We good? Let's get started.

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First of all, I want to give some advice on getting together with someone for the first time. When you have decided that you want to do the horizontal folk dance and both/all of you are consenting, there are really only three things to remember.

1. Use protection. 

2. No, seriously. Use protection!

3. STIs are no joke. Be safe.

STIs can also be transmitted orally, so do remember to protect your tongue and mouth as well.

If a penis wielding person claims they're too big for a condom, walk away. You can pull a condom from your toes to your knee without it breaking, like so.

If they're too big to use a condom, they're too big to fit inside you. Remove yourself from that situation before you get hurt.

When you've decided to get sticky, remember the lube. Condoms can tear if there's too much friction. Either get that foreplay action going and/or get some condom safe lube. You can never use too much lube. Many a bad situation can come from a torn condom. You do not want that to happen to you.

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Actual Topic.

The topic over at Ben Patrick Johnson's twitter was "What do you like about sex?" so now that the impromptu sex ed portion is over, let's get to that part.

I like sex. It feels good. The intimacy with my partner is amazing. The post-coital cuddling is really comforting. I like to cuddle any time I can, but there's something special about cuddling after a mind blowing orgasm.

I love how sex can make me forget social rules, norms, and regulations. Sex with Boy makes me feel beautiful and sexy. The look in his eyes during intercourse makes me feel like the most important person in the world, and looking at him makes me forget everything except the moment and the gorgeous man I'm with.

"But... you don't like sex. Aren't you asexual?" I don't feel like going into this again. Repeating myself gets boring. Go here instead. It's a great Q&A about being ace.

Kissing, hugging, cuddling, and being so close to someone I love is amazing. 

There's also the mischievous part of me who enjoys talking about sex, especially with my mother. She was a midwife for her entire career and normally has not even an inkling about what shame is when it comes to intercourse and procreation. Growing up, The Talk consisted of my mom dumping a box of condoms in front of me and saying "You know what these are for. Use them." Finding ways to make my otherwise shameless mother blush when talking about sex was a goal of mine. I was 18 or 19 when I finally found it. BDSM. Also, telling all members of my FoO to not ask me questions they really don't want to know the answer to amuses me greatly. They tend get so awkward and flustered.

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Final comment

The point of this thing is that sex isn't scary, nasty, sinful, or dirty. Experienced between consenting adults, it can be beautiful, peaceful, and pleasurable. All humans are different and experience intimacy differently. I love being touched. It doesn't matter if it's in a platonic or sexual way. Some people don't like being touched at all. Some people crave sex and some don't want it at all. Celebrate the differences, cherish the varied experiences, and communicate what you want.

And stay awesome.

BPJ Inc: Helping...

....Or the value of coping tools.

Background (or my experience)

Before I start, I'd like you to try something.
Sit comfortably and close your eyes.
Gently- GENTLY- press your palms against your eyes to the point right before it starts to hurt.
Now hold that pressure for a minute.
Seeing sparks and flickers in your vision? Let go, open your eyes and try to focus on something.
It's hard, isn't it?

Now imagine experiencing that kind of out of focus life for 15 years straight.

That was my life. I couldn't focus on anything. I walked around in a constant daze, with no idea what caused it or what to do about it. I looked at my hands and they didn't feel like my own. I looked out at the world and felt like I was looking through a mask. My peripheral vision was compromised and my focus was not happening.
When I talked about getting help, I was met with disbelief and sometimes even hostility.
"You don't need that."
"Just snap out of it."
"Have you tried to not be so gloomy?"
"You'd feel so much better if you stopped being so emo."

Things didn't improve a whole lot after I got help. To say that I've been to see some absolutely stupid mental health care professionals would be an understatement. (Yes, I am aware that I obviously haven't found a therapist that works for me, and the methods of the therapists I've met just didn't work for me. I call the people I did meet stupid because of their absolute lack of willingness to change their methods, even after they noticed that what they were doing wasn't helping, or even working.)

I slammed head first into a mental and emotional breakdown on a Saturday in March 2013. The stress and pressure to perform at more than 100% (full time studies and part time work) all the time got to be too much and I couldn't take it anymore. I did nothing but lay on my bed or on the sofa, crying, for two days. I had troubles breathing and my pulse was either frantic or barely noticeable. On Monday, I went to the doctor's office and was immediately put on sick leave. In May 2013, I started on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication, and suddenly, I could see again. The world became so beautiful as I could focus. In connection with this sick leave, I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder, chronic Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and Borderline Personality Disorder (so many pretty names, right?) 

Actual Topic

The problem with mental health and mental disorders is that all humans are different. Our brains are made of millions of electric pathways firing at different times and because of different reasons. The levels of neurotransmitters and hormones in each person's brain differs from everyone else'. Because of this, I can only use my own brain as an example. I can't generalized other than when describing the definitions in DSM-5 (mental health handbook).

The one thing I have learned is the importance of two things - access to coping tools and asking for help when you need it. These two things are difficult for different reasons, but can be very important, especially when your mind is turning on you and the JerkBrain is chanting its message of self-hate to you.

Firstly, coping tools.
These can be anything, really. I made a box of items that help me stay grounded and calm. A collection of classical music, a plush toy that's been with me since I was 6 months old. A sketch pad and pencils. Notes from friends telling me positive things they think about me.
I also have an arsenal of mental coping tools I use, for example breathing patterns (breathe in slowly, hold my breath while counting to 8, breathe out slowly) and creating a mind scape of calm and peace (helps if you can conjure images in your mind at will, but not necessary). I had some very bad coping tools in my past, and I DO NOT recommend anyone to use pain or danger to get through distress.

Which brings me to the second thing - asking for help.
Admitting vulnerability can be like digging a ditch with a teaspoon. It's very, very hard to admit that we need other people. Society dictates that the individual has to be independent and self-sufficient. However, admitting that I need other people have given me a sense of independence I've never felt before. The hard part for me is that I don't want to inconvenience my friends and family. It took me years to internalize that they actually WANT to help me, but that they don't want to bother me. Asking for help when I need it makes both them and me feel useful and significant. As someone living with BPD, the fear of being abandoned if I am a bother has in the past prevented me from seeking help from family and friends, which in turn caused a brain meltdown. Remember that most people in your social circle like you for who you are and want to be there when you need them (just remember to return the favor when you're able).

Every human alive is a miracle, if compared to the grand scale of things. We are tiny in the universe and that makes our very existence a miracle of epic proportions.


DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Made to pass

In the first post , I mentioned how the topic splintered into a multitude of other subjects, each very interesting. One of these were the issue of "straight-acting".

The phrase in itself seems innocuous enough, but when you look at it more closely, a slew of red flags pop up, at least in my mind. Since I love list type presentations, I will be doing one, focusing on three main questions.

What is "straight-acting"?
Any sub-categories?
Why is it an issue?


What is "straight-acting"?

Wikipedia defines straight-acting as not adhering to what is typically seen as gay mannerisms, effeminate and feminine/butch and "manly", that is. This includes male-identifying homosexual people who do not act in a stereotypical feminine way, and female-identifying homosexual people not acting in the stereotypical "butch" way.
Straight acting focus on the stereotypes of hetero-normative male and female roles, as well as the stereotypes connected with lesbians and gay men. 

"Some gay men want to achieve hegemonic masculinity to overcome gay effeminate images" - Shinsuke Eguchi, 2009. Eguchi, along with Tim Berling, also proposes a possible connection to the phenomenon of sissyphobia (the fear of presenting oneself as effeminate).

Sub-categories

Urban Dictionary mentions Lipstick Lesbian as a possible sub-category to Straight Acting. According to the Dictionary, a Lipstick Lesbian is a feminine presenting lesbian, usually interested in make-up, clothes, flowers, and lingerie. A Lipstick Lesbian does not adhere to the stereotype of a lesbian as a butch female.

Why is this an issue?

Anytime something is there to perpetuate a stereotype, we need to approach it with care, but make sure that the stereotype is questioned. When it comes to the term "straight-acting", not only one stereotype is used. This one term is making use of the hetero-normative stereotypes of male and female roles, as well as the social stereotypes on how homosexual individuals should behave. As with all stereotypes, defining an individual based on a single, socially constructed idea ("butch", "bull dyke", "flaming", "queen", "sissy") can be extremely damaging, so of course there will be people who want to rebel against simplistic categories. Sadly, fighting one stereotype by adopting another just pushes the problem in front of us.

On the other hand, the use of straight-acting can be just a way of describing a desired attribute, both in oneself and in a partner. Straight-acting dot com challenges the idea that acting more masculine as a gay male or more feminine as a lesbian  is somehow trying to deny who you are. "Don't discriminate against people that express their preference!" - StraightActing.com
Questioning the "acting" part may also cause pain if it's done without consideration. "Men who use the expression 'straight-acting' may express resentment that critics claim the term implies they are acting and not being their true selves." - Jay Clark

Ending thoughts

In a world in which covering is prevalent in all kinds of media, in a world in which children face persecution by their peers for not adhering to stereotypical mannerisms, it is a logical thought to want to hide at least parts of who you are. However, we, as bystanders, do not have the right to make judgements or question someone else' presentation of self. Who are we to criticize? We can't know if someone is acting to fit in or if it's their personality. We do not have the right to decide what is right or wrong for someone else.
All we have the right to do is offer support, generosity, and kindness. 


DFTBA

Memories

I firmly believe that each day is an opportunity, not only for growing and seeing the world's beauty, but to learn new things. The day my curiosity is sated is the day I will fade away, because I am no longer needed. Seeing as the Universe is what it is and human nature is what it is, I don't think this thirst for knowledge will ever be satisfied.

Example - Yesterday, Boy and I were discussing the possibility of progression of time at a point in which space time was not yet solidified. Two primary thoughts came from this, both of which I tweeted (see what I did there?)

1. If space time was not a thing until after Big Bang, how can we tell how old the known universe is? Or how big the whole Universe is?

2. Try to imagine a point in which everything and nothing, all time and no time, is the same. Makes me feel insignificant, and like a miracle.

But these thoughts are for another post. I just wanted to give an example of why I love learning new things.

Today, I want to write about the power of memories.

Sometimes, what I learn makes me feel awkward, sad, or physically ill. The other day, I learned that old memories can have this effect on me. Going through boxes I haven't opened in almost six years, I find items intricately bound to memories. Some memories are really good, some hurt because they remind me of loved ones I have lost to time and aging. And some are just a punch to my chest, a hand of barbed ice crushing my heart.

Two days ago, I dug out a small book bound in black leather from one of the more banged up boxes. As soon as I saw it, I started to feel sick. In the back of my mind, a small voice was screaming for me not to open the book, but I ignored it.

It was just a simple note book, filled with words. Every line of every page was filled with words, hastily scribbled in a messy font. My handwriting. My words. Some pages had titles at the top and some had dates at the bottom.  None of the words held any meaning on their own, but together they formed an image of a person who even in a book meant only for her, she carefully weighed her words, making them equally light and dark. A balance of neutrality.

I threw the book in the pile of items I will burn as soon as I can, then I had to fight waves of nausea the rest of the evening.

Memories are just electric paths formed in our brains by repeated exposure, like paths traveled by deers in a forest. Yet, these paths trigger all kinds of responses in our bodies. Memories shape who we are, experiences carved into our minds and bodies. The rhyme says that "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." I call bull on that. I look at the scars littering my arms and legs and feel nothing. No shame, no remorse, no pain. I read words I wrote as a lost child age 15, and I have problems breathing.  

My brain is a bit odd. My ability to compartmentalize is absolute, sometimes in ways that spook people I talk to. It is almost a self imposed fugue state, separating the states in my mind in order to keep a clear head. (I am well aware that I am not suffering from dissociative fugue. I am not trying to self diagnose. Fugue is just the best way I can think of to explain how my mind works.) I guess I developed this way of compartmentalizing memories to save myself from pain. This way, I can pick out any memory I want and look at it, enjoy it, then put it back.

Memories make us who we are. They shape our personalities, our thought processes, and how we see the world. Memories have the power to hurt us, but also to lift us up.

In the words of Shane Koyczan:

but our lives will only ever always
continue to be
a balancing act
that has less to do with pain

and more to do with beauty

                                    - To This Day

DFTBA

BPJ Inc: Kindness and community

I follow this guy named Ben Patrick Johnson on twitter and with some regularity he throws out a question or a topic for his followers to discuss. Surprisingly, the discussions do not devolve into name calling and hostility. Unfortunately, 140 characters is just too short to express coherent and in-depth thoughts.

So, I've decided to make another series called "BPJ Inc" in which I take topics I find fascinating and expand on my thoughts on them (while trying to get at least some people to go check this guy's feed.)

Kindness and community

Yesterday's discussion started with an article posted at medium dot com, but it quickly moved in about a hundred different directions while still sticking to the subject of kindness, community and inclusion vs exclusion.

My thought on the matter is simple:

Treat everyone with the respect, dignity, and kindness they deserve. If you can't do more, at least treat others the way you want to be treated. If you can, see to their needs and treat them as they would be treated.

Someone replied to me with the sentiment that if we give out kindness and honest compliments too freely, we become desensitized and being kind becomes as commonplace as a "good morning". I'm not sure this is entirely a bad thing. Imagine a world in which kindness and respect is no longer an extraordinary experience, but so common in your everyday life that you not only take it for granted, but CAN take it for granted because it will always be there.

Sadly, I was reminded that we don't live in that world yet. Every time someone is called a predator because of something they can't control, every time someone is accused of misdeeds without any evidence, we slip further away from a future in which humans can be humans without social stigma.

No one chooses their sexuality. Saying that sexuality is a choice is as stupid and ignorant as saying that eye color is a choice. And really, if it was a choice, why would anyone choose to be part of the LGBTQIA community? Why would anyone choose constant ridicule, humiliation, and bullying? Why would anyone choose social stigma and hatred?

I was the target of relentless ridicule and humiliation long before I discovered my sexuality. I prayed every night to be normal. Why would I pick a sexuality that puts me in the fringes of an already stigmatized community?

Bisexuals are not predators.
Homosexuals are not pedophiles.
Trans* people are not confused.
And neither are queer people.
Asexuals are not broken or damaged.

We can all stand to be more accepting and kind to each other. Then maybe, one day, we won't be divided into categories and pitted against each other. Then maybe, we will all be just Human. As humans, we all have great potential to do harm, but also infinite potential of generosity, caring, and curiosity.


DFTBA

New prospects

At the end of this month I will be moving to Dublin. This will be the first time I move to another country for an extended stay without any plans of returning to Sweden.
Sure, I have spent time abroad before.
During the school year of 2003/04 I lived in Las Vegas, Nevada, which was one of the best and most rewarding experiences of my life.
In 2002, I spent a month in Southern Africa, which taught me more about myself, my privileged life, and the world than I ever even imagined was possible.
However, I always knew that I would be returning to Sweden after the end of the stay. This time, I don't know when, or if, I will be returning to Sweden.
Boy got a contract with Hewlett-Packard of at least a year. HP is already talking about promoting him. IBM is fighting to hire him. Boy is an IT architect and finally got a foot in at a junior level.

The prospect of migrating to another country is in equal parts exciting and anxiety inducing. I go from ecstatic about New Thing to nervous as all hell about moving and packing and papers and flying and New Place-New People-New City.

Maybe things would be easier if I didn't already live with all the wonderful effects of distress symptoms, depression, general anxiety, and social anxiety. I work my hardest to not let those things have too much of an impact on my day-to-day life, but it is a fact that I get exhausted rather quickly. Moving to a new place with a lot of Unknowns is racketing up points on the Anxiety Scale at an alarming pace and I am using all tools I have to keep from having a panic attack. Right now, my life is exceptionally strictly planned in order to keep me sane. Any and all changes without prior notice upset my balance and make me feel the ice cold tendrils of anxiety.

Anxiety is not "feeling nervous". Anxiety is not "I just need to calm down". For me, anxiety is the inability to think, inability to plan ahead, and inability to come down from stress. It's the weeks of sleep deprivation, of too much energy while being absolutely exhausted. It's adrenaline and nor-epinephrine shooting through every nerve and leaving me feeling exposed, lonely, and raw.

Don't get me wrong, I am so very excited about moving. I've been wanting to visit Ireland for many many years and to be able to live there is filling me with happiness. The new opportunities I see before me makes me want to bounce around in joy.
The moving in itself is the hard part. Packing away, throwing away, and selling eight years of accumulated stuff. Sorting out what I want to bring and can bring, and things I want to bring, but have to ask my parents and/or friends to bring at a later time. Going through things I once thought I couldn't live without, but now are of no use at all.

Depression is not "I feel sad". Depression is not "life really sucks right now". Depression is not "I deserve something better than this". For me, depression is the crushing feeling of being irrelevant to the world. For me, depression is not having enough energy to feel any kinds of feelings or even get out of bed in the morning. It's the thought that nothing has enough purpose to be bothered with. It's not making my bed, because I'll just sleep in it again anyway. It's eating bread without butter or toppings, because meh can't be bothered.

And in the midst of this Don't Care whirlwind there's the eye of the storm that is DUBLIN! A fresh start and all those cliches. The opportunity to let the past pains be nothing more than memories that shaped the person I am.
A new place with people who will only know the person I am now - strong, confident, and independent, not the frightened, lonely girl I used to be.

22 days to go.

Staking my claim on myself

I am a feminist.
I believe in this crazy notion that all humans, regardless of gender identity and/or gender expression should have the right to go after their dreams, to enjoy life their way, and find happiness and forge meaning wherever possible, as long as it doesn't harm anyone else.

This is why I completely do a flip-table (seen "Thor"? Yeah, like that) when so-called feminists bash down my ways of forging meaning and finding happiness as "pandering to patriarchy" or "too compliant".


Open letter to the so-called feminist who decided to shame me,

You need a better hobby. You thought that calling me a slut would make me less inclined to follow whoever I want on twitter, talk about whatever I want on this blog, and less inclined to call out stupidity as I see it.
I guess you are disappointed now.

This whole thing started when this woman decided to call me a slut and a whore, then go into a rage about me being too lenient about my sexual freedom (yeah, I know). Unfortunately, none of my four sexual relationships have made me any money. I don't even know how to respond to the slut part, except... Really? You call yourself a feminist and yet you find it prudent to slut shame someone?

I have had four (4) sexual partners in my 29 year long life. HOWEVER, even if I had had 40, 400 or 4000 sexual partners, it would be NONE of YOUR BUSINESS. As long as all partners are safe, consenting, and above the legal age, why should it be anyone else' business who you have sex with?

And then you rage at me for pandering to patriarchy when I tell you I am not attracted to people sexually. Ever heard of asexuality? Yes, it's a thing. Learn to use a search engine.

You might want to sit down for this part. I am about to shock your closed off little mind (see what I did there?)

I am a consenting sexual participant.
I am sexually submissive because it gives me pleasure.
I take pain and I relish in it, because I FUCKING LIKE IT.
I submit my will and my control to Boy, because I trust him to not abuse that trust. The experience of having that trust rewarded is better than any adrenaline high I've ever had. The look of absolute adoration, pure lust, and undiluted love in his eyes when he takes what I give and returns it is total bliss for me.
I let him tie me up and take a crop to my body because the blending of pain and pleasure in my mind is a rush not unlike laughing until my jaws ache.

I beg him to push my limits past the point of fear, into a state of pure peace and tranquility, because to me, there's no other sensation like it. Perfect clarity, being absolutely present in the moment, in the space I inhabit.
Every sensation amplified into a brilliant kaleidoscope.
Add an orgasm to that state of mind and there is NOTHING but harmony.
Nothing but pleasure, touch, connection, and harmony.

How DARE you try to make this into something dirty? How dare you try to make me question my own ability to consent to something I enjoy? Something that feels so damn good?

You claim to stand for women's right to be who they are, but you would have me deny myself what I want, because it doesn't fit your comfort zone? You claim to promote the right for women to find happiness and forge meaning, yet you want me to step away from something that gives me pleasure and happiness, because I happen to like being submissive to my partner?

Fuck. You.

Sincerely,
Johey.

OK, so this turned out a bit more frustrated than I had hoped. It just really pisses me off when people who claim to be allies, advocates, or a part of something turn out to be total hypocrites.

Never let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you are and what you like.

If it harm none, do what ye like.

DFTBA

Hiding in a rainbow

I am a outspoken and loud advocate and ally of the LGBTQIA community. I believe that one day, all humans will be a part of something larger than themselves. That one day, we will not let our own minds make up limits and boundaries and borders between cultures and people and communities.

About a year ago, I found my own sexuality. I found that magic understanding of who I am, and I wanted to shout it to the world. But I hid and I kept hiding, disguising as "I don't care" and "It doesn't matter". I kept lying to myself over and over until one day, I couldn't do it anymore. I came out to my mother and five minutes after, I regretted ever telling her.

Because coming out as asexual hurt. My parents readily accepted my sister being gay, but accepting that I am asexual seemed to be too hard.
It might be, as Boy put it, because my parents have seen the pain and suffering my sister has faced, struggling with her identity, her sexuality, and a society which, while publicly accepting and welcoming, sneers and boos at everyone who isn't like everyone else, and they don't want me to go through the same.
What my parents couldn't have known is that my experience is vastly different from my sister's.

The understanding for gay persons is growing every day. Being gay is not the same mythical beast it used to be, even as gay people are still persecuted all over the world. We hear about Gay Pride, Gay Bars, Gay Porn. We discuss same-sex marriages and same-sex rights. It's amazing, the way diversity can be celebrated.

Sadly, in this celebrating, we tend to forget other groups of individuals.

We don't discuss same-GENDER relationships. We don't discuss trans* relationships. Trans* rights are rarely in the news. Hate crimes against gay individuals are seen often. Hate crimes against trans* and queer individuals are rarely seen.

Discussing asexuality is like trying to discuss fur colors of unicorns.

Even within a community like the LGBTQIA community, which has faced discrimination and hate for so long, there is discrimination against others. There are so-called ally groups that refuse to acknowledge trans* people, bisexual, asexual, and queer people. Like being gay is the only "other" sexuality. Like there are only two genders among humans.

To these people, I say, learn to use a search engine. Learn to listen and see. If you can't open your mind the nice way, maybe bashing your head against a brick wall might prove productive.

This site is a great guide to LGBTQIA terminology.

And here's a great guide to how to be an ally to asexual people.


DFTBA