2020 Is Terrible Except When It Isn't

 Sorry I haven't blogged in over a year. Your mom was here.

Just kidding. She wasn't here because of the goddamn coronavirus. Most of this year has been bizarre to watch and experience. I correctly figured in the event of a crisis, there would be a lack of any effective leadership, which would intensify and prolong the crisis. And here we are winning the global pandemic game day after day, month after month in a country full of so many entitled, idiotic people that we're finding ourselves in the midst of the dumbest culture war imaginable; pro-mask versus anti-mask. Instead of speaking up against and making an effort to actually do something about, say, racial, economic, and environmental injustice, the loudest people are crying a river over the thought of wearing masks in public to slow down community spread of a potentially deadly virus. You can really see the privilege showing when a bunch of white guys can't deal with being told to wear a mask. Too much body policing for those who have been policing everyone else's bodies since fucking forever, I guess. Poor guys. That must be hard. #ThoughtsAndPrayers. There is no functional national leadership, as Trump is at best of average intelligence, and only actually cares about his position of power and that of the corrupt individuals he surrounds himself with.

Not that corruption in capitalism and government is a new thing. It's just more blatant right now. Collectively speaking, we deserve this shit. We abuse this planet for profit as if we have a backup planet to abuse, which we do not (FYI). We abuse each other for stupid reasons, greed and bigotry being among the most common of those reasons, hence the need for the Black Lives Matter movement.

I know I'm among many when I point out that watching everything crumble around me has a negative impact on my mental health. I'm prone to depression anyway. I always have been, but it's been a more frequent struggle lately. Seeing an increase in senseless tragedy takes it's toll. Social media makes it worse, so I'm taking a break from that. This may be posted during that break (though maybe after if it sits here unfinished for a week or something before I complete it), but most likely it'll be linked by AV on the Becoming Brittany Facebook page, since she's better at adding little comments and engaging with our little handful of followers. It's definitely taking a toll on most of my clients as well. Quarantine and endlessly seeing clients online instead of in person is a problem for me. I miss my office, but I have some level of privilege being able to keep my job and salary intact, and simply changing the logistics of how I work. Some people I know have lost their jobs entirely. Some have lost tons of money because they had to shut down their businesses for a while. Some opened back up sooner than they would have preferred because they need to eat and pay the rent/mortgage. Hopefully none get sick and die. No one I know has gotten sick and failed to recover so far, but many people I don't know have. But hey. fOr ThE eCoNoMy!! 

For me personally, it's been a mix of good and bad, but depression and boredom with quarantine aside, at least I have a great family to be quarantined with. Odds are very low that any of us is going to go full on The Shining on the others. I've even met someone new romantically. Not really "new." We've been Facebook friends for something like 8 or 9 years, which is close the entire existence of my account. Mostly I'm too nervous and inclined to believe I'm undesirable (thanks to feeling like I'm "raped goods" and generally feeling like I'll never be woman enough)  to even tell people I'm into them without prior knowledge of them being into me, but she posted something, and I was feeling more courageous or something that day. It turns out there is a  mutual attraction and we're both polyamorous. Long distance dating and video dating (we live several hours apart) are totally new to me, but it seemed a good time to consider trying. The relationship is still in it's early stages of development, but I'm glad I brought up the nearly decade old crush in a Facebook comment. My insecurities and abandonment issues (which I'm not going into on a post that's really only meant to provide an update on my life with a little commentary on current events) are making themselves known, as they often do during the early stages, but she seems to have the patience for it. It's a rare treat that I find someone who is a good fit for me intellectually, morally, personality-wise, AND can deal with my neurotic bullshit. And she's pretty cute too. She's also a published poet, which I think is awesome. Her book is here. I'll include a photo of a poem she sent me in the mail because I like it. Of course any new relationship comes with a certain amount of uncertainty, which so NOT something I'm super adept at dealing with, but I think it's going well so far. I hope to visit soon since it's only a few hours from here to there, an area that hasn't been hit too hard by the Covid. 

This year has forced me to do some in-depth self examination/improvement, if nothing else, because it's either do that or give up and finally break down irreparably. With any luck, maybe I can reach the other side of this more confident, less distrustful, and better at communicating openly and vulnerably with those around me. As it is, I have a hard time understanding why it is exactly that those who care for me actually do. I find it hard to ask, but whatever those reasons may be for different people, they help me navigate my messy mind when I actually open up to them.

This entry almost feels out of place here. Normally I try to keep it pretty focused on the trans and queer aspects of my life, or at least connect that to what I'm writing about. Then again, I mentioned dating, and any mention of dating from me is always queer because I'm lesbian as fuck. I'd promise to write more frequently, but 2020 is a major distraction. I'll write when I get to it, which should happen eventually. That could easily be in 2021, but hey. Maybe I'll be a more improved version of myself then. If society could improve at least somewhat collectively, that would be rad as fuck. I'm not holding my breath though. We'll see.

Remember, Black Lives Matter and dump Trump in November. 

Bitches Be Cray

LOL. I'm bitches. If the title made you think I was going to throw a bunch of shade, and that excited you, I'm so very sorry.

I haven't been super open about my mental health issues in recent memory, in part because I'm currently a trauma therapist who spends her days helping other people with their mental health issues, especially trauma related issues. And maybe, at least in the context of my career choice, I get into this bullshit line of thinking that it makes me weak or a less skilled therapist, even though I actually fucking know better. If anything, maybe I should be more open about my experience as a mental health professional and someone who has mental health issues. It's actually not that uncommon for therapists to see therapists.


I'm diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2, PTSD (a product of being a rape survivor in my case), and Generalized Anxiety, for which I take prescription medication. I'm also a survivor of my own suicide attempt (June of 2010). I sometimes get referred to as "high functioning" because my symptoms are usually well managed, and I can generally do what I need to do in my life without obvious impairment, but I personally hate that term. The opposite of that would be "low functioning," which you can't say without sounding insulting. I also don't like the implied value judgments. If I can be productive, which is pretty over-valued in this capitalist society, what are "low functioning" people, like some of my clients, who are on government benefits and/or being supported of by people who love them? Useless fucking garbage? If that's how you see it, you're an ableist prick, but congratulations! You can unlearn that if you want to, and not be an ableist prick for life. Not all disabilities are visible, but they are all valid. I don't want to be your inspiration porn, and I don't want people with more obvious impairment to be further stigmatized because you think they're "lazy," "dangerous," or "faking it" to game the system. I am inherently no better than the person on disability because their struggles with schizophrenia make it impossible to hold down a job.



Recently, I decided to check myself into inpatient psychiatric care because my depression and anxiety were getting so bad and dragging on for so long, I was bordering on suicidal, and realized my drugs weren't working properly anymore. I guess I wasn't "high functioning" then, huh? The meds have since been readjusted. Fortunately, I have a pretty decent amount of sick time, and good insurance. As is pretty typical for most people, my stay was a few days. The idea is to get people out of crisis, stabilized on any medication, and ready to go back into the world and cope. Mostly it's boring, but there are therapy groups and doctors.


Fortunately, I have a pretty great support system with my partners, family, and friends. That isn't something everyone has. My partners always have my back, and came to visit every day. I also felt really loved, and I sort of forget I'm loved sometimes, by them and by the friends who sent me messages, texts, and snail mail. I actually decided to put things like that in a visible place. Maybe it'll help me remember.


Self care is also a must. That's a good idea if you don't have mental health issues too, but that much more crucial if you do. I have to make an effort to stay on top of that and not feel selfish for it. That looks different for different people, but can be anything that isn't harmful (Getting shitfaced isn't generally something to do as self care). For me, it's taking some time to myself, reading, gaming, gardening, sometimes writing. It can be anything you enjoy that helps you wind down.



Given all the stigma still surrounding mental illness, it's no wonder a lot of people don't talk about it, despite how common it actually is. Too many people still think those suffering from mental illness are violent, abusive, dangerous people. The reality is people suffering from these issues are far more likely to be on the receiving end of violence than be the ones committing violent acts. Everyone on the right AND the left loves to cry mental illness when some piece of shit goes on a shooting spree, but I rarely hear an actual, official diagnosis. The primary issue isn't "mental illness," and it isn't simply the existence of guns, either. The issue is toxic masculinity and who has easy access to guns. Maybe you've noticed the rarity of female shooters? Women aren't immune to mental illness, yet it almost never happens. Most of these men also tend to have known histories of misogyny, bigotry, and often domestic violence. Being a sexist, abusive pig isn't a mental illness in and of itself. It's a fucking character flaw. Domestic abusers shouldn't have easy access to guns. As a culture, we also need to stop raising our boys to bottle up their emotions until some of them inevitably pop, all because they're being told any expression of emotion other than anger is a sign of weakness.



This political climate certainly doesn't help matters, with me or anyone who sees it for what it is. To say having a shitty government directly causes mental illness on it's own would be a little ridiculous, but watching the world burn in this dumpster fire can certainly exacerbate any issues, and trauma can and does certainly happen in a climate where gun violence, racist violence, rampant hate speech, and climate change related catastrophes are on the rise. If seeing children in cages in the concentration camps at the border doesn't horrify you, you're probably a shitty person. If you personally have children of your own, and it still doesn't horrify you, my best guess is you're a psychopath, but I'm not here to diagnose my followers. Watching the aspiring dictator and his administration alienate us from the whole world (accept other dictators, who he seems extremely comfortable with) and anyone who doesn't look like their ideal version of America, fuck over LGBTQ+ people every chance they get, fuck over poor people every chance they get, strip environmental protections as though we have some sort of backup planet to go to, moving to criminalize protests, and constantly gaslighting the whole fucking country while he's at it, it's really no wonder anyone with the ability to empathize might be dealing with increased anxiety and depression right now. It affects me. It affects quite a few people I know. And it affects my clients.


As long as we collectively keep viewing people with mental illness as dangerous, faking it, or useless, it's going to continue to be difficult for people who need help to admit they need help, access that help, and be able to speak their full truths. In some ways, we have to "come out" if we want to speak our truths and be openly our full, authentic selves. It's not so different from coming out as queer or trans, and none of that should be so daunting in a supposedly modern, evolved society, where practically anyone can hop on the internet, spend a little while educating themselves about the experiences of people who are different from them, unlearn the biases they have, maybe even talk to someone they know who is comfortable educating (It's highly unlikely that you DON'T know anyone at all who suffers from a mental health issues, but if you have shitty, uninformed opinions about such things, they might not tell you about it), and stop contributing to the stigma surrounding mental illness and so many other natural variations that exist among humans.


With Love,
Brittany

Life After Death

I'm restarting this blog, unfortunately, on a somber note. My mother died on January 10, 2018 at age 63, which is also why it took me so long to write after the chat between Kayla and I was posted.

My mother and I had a complicated relationship throughout my younger years. I was a handful to say the least, and she had an occasional tendency to become verbally abusive at times, whether it was directed at me, my sister, or an inanimate object. Any number of things could set her off. Spilled drink, a little attitude, bad day, whatever. There are many ways to be verbally abusive, some subtle, some blatant. She has an issue with explosive anger, possibly partially resulting from her own unacknowledged mental health struggles. As wrong as it is to be screaming at children hysterically over the smallest offense, she was usually very caring and supportive. We managed to stay close regardless.

My anxiety began to show up at a young age. I remember being 9 or 10 years old, and pretending to be sick because I had intrusive thoughts (common enough with anxiety disorders) that something would happen to her if I left, as if I could somehow stop anything by being there at that age. Social anxiety also showed up pretty early on. I was never really afraid of family or people I knew well, but other people were, and still sometimes are, a source of anxiety. Whether any of this relates to that complex relationship with my mother (and father, but this isn't about him) is hard to say, but it's very much possible.

In my adult life, things improved drastically. She was always one of my biggest supporters. She didn't really mind how unconventional I was and am. She was fine with the whole visibly punk/goth thing I had going on for a while. When I told her I was trans, she accepted it with minimal struggle. My polyamorous relationship with Trisha and Michelle was just seen as another interesting thing about how I live life. My partners, daughters, and her got along very well. We'd all hang out, go to dinner, watch shows on Netflix. If I needed her support, she was there.

On December 31, 2017, I was with Bae 1, Bae 2 (what I sometimes call Trisha and Michelle, respectively) and my best friend Lindsey in Dallas celebrating my birthday week, when I received a text from my mom, who was in the hospital for seemingly mild issues at the time, saying she had liver cancer, having already survived breast cancer.

The first couple times I visited she seemed alright, but then she picked up pneumonia. After a few days of that, I got a call on January 6 from someone who was visiting and from her doctors saying she was moved to intensive care, to come as quickly as I could, and asking about her DNR (Do Not Resuscitate order). When I got there and met up with her boyfriend, she was conscious, but her vitals were all over the place, and she had a breathing mask on, helping her breathe, but not doing it for her. She was confused, had always been claustrophobic, and kept trying to take it off despite us telling her not to every few seconds. They finally put the mitten things on her hands so she couldn't grab the mask. That made it worse. This went on for several hours. She was panicking constantly, making her vitals even worse. I've never seen someone I care about suffer like that. Finally after about 7 hours in the hospital with her, she was on the right anxiety medication to be calm with fairly stable, though not ideal, vitals. That was the last time I saw her properly conscious. Knowing what was coming, I brought the tablet in to watch the one episode of Broadchurch we hadn't seen on January 9, even though I knew she couldn't perceive it, and I'm totally not usually that sentimental. That was her last night alive. The next day my sister made it into town. We decided to put her on comfort care, since she was obviously not going to wake up, and never wanted sustained life support (I don't want that either). All that means is they stopped the breathing machine and drips, and gave her morphine so she wouldn't be in pain. She died 15 minutes later, peacefully. Fortunately, it was nothing like January 6.

At the beginning of the time-frame above, there seemed to be some hope. Cancer appeared to be discovered early (turned out it was stage 4). She was lucid when I called and visited her. When they moved her to intensive care, they called, obviously thinking she was about to die. When, I went up there and met up with her boyfriend, she was so confused, and panicking non-stop for hours, I stayed until 2 or 3 hours after she became stable. It stuck with me. I had barely been eating anyway because I tend not to eat when stressed. I was also dehydrated, and began having panic attacks of my own anytime the phone rang, thinking it was her doctors. With no other history of hallucinations, I'd hear the phone ring even when it wasn't. All of those things resulted in me going to the hospital, thankfully only for about a day. My depression and anxiety are usually "high functioning," and I can usually remain super rational to the point of coming across as cold. When I can't, it's an event. Those icy layers break. My anxiety spikes. I get depressed and can't motivate myself enough to do anything. Those were the first panic attacks I've had in years.

It's still hard. Losing a close loved one is difficult, and losing a parent is even more difficult. Grief takes time, but it gradually gets better. Fortunately I have a great support system. My partners, daughters, friends, father, sister, and aunt (mother's older sister, who stayed at my house for a few days while she was here) helped a lot. My partners have been really affectionate, and everyone has been there for me when needed, and been willing to give me space when needed. My mom donated some of her body to science, which I sort of find comfort in. I'm all about science, also a donor, and maybe a little good can be done after death that way. I have an urn above the fireplace, along with another meant to go to my sister next time my dad goes to visit her in the southwest, and a box for my aunt to scatter up north. My mom's boyfriend, who has another dog of his own, also asked if I wanted her dog, Bo. I said yes. He's kind of goofy and entertaining. He joins 2 other dogs and 2 cats, but stands out because of his personality, and seems as happy being part of this family as the others. Maybe it's kind of a silver lining that I get to take over the love and care of this dog she loved so much.

Crazy Bitch

This is something I haven’t generally been open about with most of my own people, let alone the general public, but I had mentioned it in a previous blog entry. It isn’t really related to my gender transition, and I try to stay on topic for the most part. It’s an issue in my life, and a lot of people’s lives though, so I’ll go off topic this once. I’m just talking about this as I experience it here. I’m not going to type out the DSM for you. You can read that yourself if you want “official” information.

I have Bipolar 2 disorder, which is basically “manic-depression” with less of the mania. I don’t remember exactly when I was diagnosed. In my early or middle twenties. Something like that. I was in the hospital (Laureate) for a few days in 2005 for the depression, in 2010 following my deliberate overdose, and more recently after the rape. Most of the time it isn’t so intense as to justify hospitalization, but it has been.

You can thank the media for me generally not talking about it. Bipolar is all the rage right now. When I was younger, it was Attention Deficit Disorder. Everyone was on Ritalin. Now it seems to be Bipolar. Every time someone does something fucked up like shooting strangers in a movie theater, you start hearing the term “bipolar” over and over in the news reports. This makes the stigma associated with the issue that much worse. If you tell someone you have it, sometimes they seem uncomfortable because it probably conjurs up memories of crazies in the news. It’s never occurred to me to go shoot a bunch of people in any state of mind. Maybe that dude didn’t shoot up a movie theater because he has a mood disorder. Maybe he just did it because he’s an asshole.

People also don’t always react in a positive manner. Tell someone you have Bipolar, or just about any psychiatric issue, and you’re put into the “crazy bitch” file and more or less written off as more trouble than you’re worth. Here is a video about stigma surrounding mental health issues.

It seems to add some intensity to my personality, but I’m loud and proud in general, so it’s hard to say. Most of the time my mood is reasonably close to normal. I do go through cycles from time to time though. I have depression spells more than mania spells. I’ll get depressed for no reason for several days and then get past it. When I do have manic spells, I have more energy than I want. My mind races somewhat. It’s hard to sleep and eat properly. I get a lot done during those times, but I’m also high strung, and tend to stress hard over stupid things I normally don’t care about.

Depression spells that pop up on their own are one thing, but the worst depression spells come right after manic spells. That’s what is happening as I write this (10-23-2012). Mildly irritable and manic for several days, then suddenly it’s like jumping off the north face of Mt Everest. It’s like an intense sadness with no cause. I can, and sometimes do, cry over the smallest things or over nothing at all. I’m not motivated to do much. I don’t really want to talk to anyone. I’ve been kind of mopey and sluggish most of the day. If I could sleep for 2 days, I would. My mind sort of wanders to depressing things. I have to shut some people out because they’re triggers of a sort. People who have a tendency to hurt my feelings and people who suck away all my energy with their bullshit drama.

During both of these times, I have to pay extra attention to my stress. I stick to low-intensity, relaxing things like reading books, watch movies with my Partner and our girls. Thankfully my work is pretty low stress, so I don’t struggle too much there.

Medication helps keep me level most of the time. Some people don’t believe in taking medication, usually new age types who don’t need medications. That’s great. Live in your tree hugging dirty hippie world if it makes you happy, but until you go through what I go through, your opinion is invalid. I make my medical decisions based on my own research and the advice of people who specialize in these fields, not idealism. If you don’t like medicine, don’t take it.

The most helpful thing is my support system. My Partner takes care of me emotionally. She has similar issues. I take care care of her emotionally. If some conversation I’m having via text messaging is stressing me out (pretty common), she knows when to make me shut it off for the day. Spending time with her and the girls always brings me joy. The close friends I have seem to understand. If I need to talk, my Partner and friends listen. If I need to be left alone for a little while, they understand. If I get overly stressed out over nothing, they understand and let it go without a great deal of judgement.

None of this makes me completely dysfunctional. I earn a living. I take care of my family. I live my life, and enjoy almost all of it. Knowing I’m not alone in the world makes all the difference.

Since I've Been Gone

I know I haven’t blogged in quite a while. Life has been busier than normal. I haven’t had a lot of time or motivation for writing.

My Partner found a lump in my left breast in early September. That means I had to have a mammogram. Welcome to womanhood. With estrogen comes an increased risk of breast cancer. It’s always a good idea to examine your breasts periodically, or have someone else do it. I do not have health insurance, as my business is a one woman operation. No employers. No employees. I went to Planned Parenthood to have them look at it. I think a lot of people don’t realize they do cancer screenings and such. It isn’t a free abortion store. They provide other health care services. The doctor gave me a prescription for the mammogram along with a coupon from Project Woman so it would be free. You actually need a prescription for that, like you would for pain medication or hormones.

The mammogram happened about a week later, and I had to wait close to another week for the results. The process itself is rather uncomfortable. Basically what they do is squish your tits with a machine and take an x-ray. My breasts are pretty small, so it was that much more difficult. Thankfully, the results came up negative for cancer. It was benign calcium deposits. They’re harmless and require no further action other than getting another mammogram in 6 months.

Family life and work have also taken up a lot of my time. Since I work from home and set my own hours, I walk the kids to school in the morning, and back home in the afternoon. The school is one block from the house, so no need to drive them. Most nights I cook for them and my Partner. That’s probably my favorite thing to do for them. We eat healthy food. I never thought I’d become as domestic as I have, but I enjoy it.

I also went through a depression spell recently. I have bipolar 2, and go through cycles sometimes. I take medication for this, but of course no medication is perfect. I’m usually not that open about this, but it is a part of who I am. Most of the time I feel just fine, but occasionally I do get depressed despite the fact that my life is great. Thankfully I have a great support system. My Partner has similar issues, and is very understanding. She listens if I need to talk, holds me, and generally sort of pampers me. We’ll just hang out around the house and play video games or watch movies. This cheers me up some, or at the very least, makes the depression much more tolerable. However negative my mood might be, I know I’m loved. That makes all the difference.

Hopefully, at this point, I’ll blog a bit more frequently. Life got more chaotic than normal for a while there. With help from my Partner and a few great friends, I got through it. I’m lucky in a way. Not everyone has a social support system like mine.