Robin Williams.

We all have our childhood heroes.  Robin Williams was mine.

When I was seven years old, my Dad took my sister and I to the movie theatre. I had been once or twice before to see A League of Their Own and Beauty and the Beast, so it wasn't like this was my first exposure to film. But this was my first exposure to what film and voice animation were capable of. The film was Aladdin, and while I loved the front story of the "diamond in the rough" and the rebellious icon Jasmine, I was damn entranced by the Genie. Never mind I didn't get a lot of the jokes and mimicry until about twenty years later; this guy was awesome.

I don't necessarily remember thinking I was going to be an actor because of that performance, but I do remember feeling "I could do something like that." I had already started mimicking people and things I had seen on TV prior to seeing Aladdin, so the fact that you could do that for your living was a huge deal for me. It became even more of a huge deal the following year when I saw Mrs. Doubtfire and watched Robin go through about fifteen impressions in the span of a minute in his famous "I do voices" montage. ("I can do a great impression of a hot dog!") For years, my dad and I built our relationship on a rat-a-tat "quote the Robin Williams movie" dialogue. Just a few weeks ago we were doing the Olympic luge bit from his Robin Williams Live on Broadway DVD, still one of the best comedy DVDs ever made. One of the reasons I knew my sister was going to marry her now-husband and father of her children was because he announced Aladdin was one of his favorite movies and told Jen that she bore a striking resemblance to the girl who played the oldest daughter in Mrs. Doubtfire. Robin Williams was almost an extension of our family. I even danced to "Friend Like Me" for our school variety show when I was in 3rd grade, dressed like a neon blue harem girl. It was probably the best moment of my life up to that point.

I watched nearly every movie Robin made, even the shitty ones, because you could see how hard he was working and the true raw talent that made him so electric. I absolutely love the story about how he and Christopher Reeve were in the same class at Julliard. People forget that he was a classically trained actor who is incredibly talented when given the right role. The first biography I ever read was an authorized one of Robin, when I was 13. It had uncensored interviews and everything. That was the first time I became aware of the problems that plagued Robin (the drug addiction, the incident with John Belushi, the alcoholism) and the deep undercurrent of depression and mania that coursed through his veins. By that point I was pretty sure I wanted to be an actor but the best high I ever got was from the applause and the adulation from audiences. I felt liked, when truly I didn't feel like that a lot of the time. I was bullied and picked on in school, and on stage was the place where I felt bulletproof. I just told Therapist the other day, "I didn't know how to do a lot of things - I'm terrible at math, I'm not good at finances, and I'm bad at cleaning my room - but you put me on a stage and I am unstoppable and you cannot touch me."

I think Robin felt a little bit of that, and a lot of criticism leveled at him is wrapped up in this manic, almost desperate need to be loved and applauded. There were moments in between the laughter when you could see the deep wells of pain in Robin - the nervous laughter in between jokes, the frenetic pacing, the aggression of his drug-fueled early comedy bits, the half-smiles. It was almost uncomfortable to watch him sometimes because of how desperate he could seem to get a laugh. One of his most famous interviews was Inside the Actor's Studio and a lot of it makes me profoundly discomfited because of how he breaks up every serious moment with some sort of gag, almost like a getaway vehicle he could hop into whenever things got too bad. He almost seemed like he was hanging on to those laughs like a lifeline, and a lot of interviewers were content to wind him up and let him go. In a way, thank God they did - his interviews with Craig Ferguson are hilarious. 

Seeing Robin perform live was on my bucket list - it's right under "meet Julie Andrews." A few years ago he came to Mohegan Sun and my family was able to go and I was not. I was furious, but I just said to myself, "He'll be back." And he won't be.

When I found out that Robin Williams had died, I was tremendously sad, and when I found out he had committed suicide, I felt a giant vacuum in the center of my chest. I felt hollow. Because I knew how it felt to become empty inside when the laughter stops and you truly have to face who you are, and then on top of that, you have to deal with the lying SOB that is depression. And it was too much for Robin.

Depression is a filthy liar. It will make you believe things that aren't true. It will tell you you are worthless when you are perfect. It will tell you you are nothing when you are everything. It will tell you you are unloved when you are adored beyond measure. And sometimes, nothing anybody will say can penetrate that void. I have friends who struggle with depression, bipolar disorder, and other forms of disability, and I will never begrudge their decisions to get therapy, go down the medication route, try yoga, anything to make it through. Robin had every single thing at his disposal and still made the choice to walk out. This shows that depression, mental disorders, and illnesses such as bipolar I and II are indiscriminate.

I am very open about my struggles with mild depression and anxiety disorders. I have only once considered killing myself and it was when I was 11 years old - it was an empty threat, mostly made because I just wanted the girls who made fun of me to stop making fun of me and leave me alone. It lead to a lot of social workers and counselors trying to decipher what was wrong with me, but really, I was just lonely. Depression and sadness are isolating. You can feel alone in a room full of your loved ones. I still have those moments, but therapy and other coping mechanisms are enough for me to get through and push those thoughts away. For others, this isn't enough. Medication is not something to be ashamed of.

Although I didn't know Robin, it's is the second really personal loss I've had this year from something like this. A dear friend of mine passed away in May, and we had just been in communication a few weeks earlier. The night I learned of her death, I walked outside to get my garbage bags and saw the sun blazing through a line of trees. One of my favorite things in the world is the look of dappled light through leaves. I watched this for a moment and the thought This wasn't enough for her to stay flashed through my head. And that's the catastrophic thing about suicide and depression. When you are at the lowest point, you don't give a shit about any of the world's beauty. You just want out.

Even in my darkest, most horrible moments, when thoughts of running away or just getting out of a situation would repeat in my head, the idea of actually dying was never an option. This makes me lucky, people. Too many people are afraid of not only what they will do when triggered, but also of telling people how they are feeling.

I read a blog on depression the other day that said, "Think of something you want to see play out. It may get you from thinking the crazy thoughts." For example, Marvel's Phase 3. That's something I definitely want to see reach its fulcrum. The sixth and seventh Song of Ice and Fire books; I need to find out what happens to Jon Snow.  Day three of Patrick Rothfuss's Kingkiller Chronicle. The final season of Parks and Recreation. A book of essays that I'm currently working on. Whether or not the Red Sox won't suck next year. Liverpool's Champions League campaign. My nephew learning to talk. These are the things that get me excited. These are the things that, for me, kick depression square in the lady balls.

Anything that's worth holding onto.

This life is horrible and awful and people are terrible to each other and sometimes it's too much to bear. Robin didn't get weak. He got tired of holding on. But I wish he had held on just a bit longer, and maybe it would have gotten better. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. And despite everything, I truly do believe that this world is a good place that is getting better.

If you have friends struggling with depression, the best thing you can do is listen. Don't fix the problem yourself. Don't start giving platitudes and life advice because it will only make them self-flagellate for not feeling the same. A simple "I am here for you to talk about it" will do. The reason why I love therapy is because I get to talk about everything going on in my head and someone is there to listen. A lot of the time, that's how depression can be diminished.

I wish Robin had been able to internalize how much he was loved.

For now, I'm going to watch his movies, cry, and be thankful for all of the wonderful memories he gave me and my family.

For more information on suicide and depression, go here: 
American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, 
SAVE: Suicide Awareness Voices of Education, 
The Trevor Project: Suicide Prevention for Gay Youth

These websites also contain numbers and email addresses to contact if you are struggling with depression. It can be beaten. You are worth the fight.

I will miss Robin Williams forever, but I am utterly grateful for what he left behind.

ally

Anxiety, Part Three: Backslides or Circles?

Note: This is part of my ongoing series on my struggles with generalized anxiety disorder. Part one is here. Part two is here.

This summer has been rough.

Not that I haven't had days in which I've had an absolute blast. But it's just been insanely busy and I've been in the car and inside of buildings a lot. Therefore, I'm not getting a lot of sun, and the buzz I normally feel from the summertime sunshine and heat on my body didn't really happen until about two weeks ago. Add to that my ongoing anxiety/depression recovery and you've got yourself a cocktail of "meh, summer."

I HATE that. And according to my awesomesauce therapist (more on her later), it's a very good sign that I recognize I hate that feeling, because if I didn't have cognitive recognition of my blah state, I'd be in worse shape. Part of depression is not being able to recognize that something is wrong - there's a feeling of numbness, of the brain refusing to feel much of anything. My problem is the opposite. I feel EVERYTHING. If I'm happy, I'm insane. If I'm sad, I'm inconsolable. I wasn't so much depressed as just exhausted by life. Everything hurt too much and I wanted to just turn my brain off and go to bed with a boatload of Netflix and some Cadbury Mini-Eggs.

But then something shifted, and I wanted to take care of myself physically to see if that would help me mentally. I was already getting a therapeutic workout. Now it was time to work on my own stuff.

So over the past few months I've been working very hard to combat my anxiety by treating myself better. I've given up refined sugars and sweets, which has not only made me less hungry overall but also has caused me to have less panicky episodes overall; blood sugar spikes and lulls can mimic panic attacks. I learned this after having a LOT of sugary food and wine during a bachelorette party and suddenly feeling like my heart was going to explode. Not fun. Instead of sugary chocolate stuff after dinner, I eat a ton of fruit, and I substituted some of the starchy things I was eating with protein. A typical day for me is a egg/avocado/sriracha burrito on brown rice wrap with a piece of fruit for breakfast, a big salad with protein and olive oil/balsamic vinegar with fruit for lunch, a reduced sugar KIND bar for a snack, and protein/veg/carb for dinner and fruit for dessert. I noticed an immediate difference in my anxiety levels. I don't feel deprived, because I know how I feel when I have that shit in my body and it doesn't feel good. But I'm also not a slave to it - on Sundays or Saturdays, if I want some chocolate or a brownie or frozen yogurt, I'm not gonna say not to it.

I also gave up drinking alcohol, because I am a cheap drunk. For someone with parents who are huge booze fiends (erm, alcohol enthusiasts?) and a brother and sister who can mainline beer and tequila with the best of them, I sometimes feel a little bit like the nerdy kid in the corner watching all of the adults party and being like "ME TOO?!" but that usually ends up in me getting hammer drunk and falling asleep on a couch. For real. I went to a wine and cheese tasting in April and ended up falling asleep on the couch after ONE ROUND.

So, all of these things have been helping. And I have been really, really good at not freaking out; I have one little episode every few weeks, which is a HUGE upgrade from a few months ago when I was freaking out about four times a week. But I still found myself beating myself up whenever I had a small moment of freakout. This weekend I went to see Guardians of the Galaxy and despite enjoying the hell out of the movie (WE ARE GROOT) I had a moment where I had to pee but was simultaneously thirsty. Normally this wouldn't be a problem - I would just go to the bathroom and refill my water bottle. But this time we were seated in the middle of a row, with people on either side of us. The thing that made me freak out was the slow realization that I might not be able to leave until the movie was over. Sure, I had to pee like Seabiscuit, but what really made me start to panic was the feeling of being trapped.

I tried to fight it, and just power through to the end of the movie, but fighting the feeling made it worse. By the time of the final battle in the movie, my heart was thudding in my ears and my hands were shaking. I knew that the way to mitigate this attack was to step away from the situation. So I leaned over to the boyfriend, hissed "I am going to the bathroom right now" and proceeded to apologize my way past the four people next to us as I made my way to the bathroom. The second I made that decision and walked out of the theatre, the anxiety disappeared. I peed, drank some water, and came back to watch the rest of the movie, and the rest of my night was fine. Sort of.

Instead of celebrating the fact that I had stopped my anxious episode from spiraling into a full blown panic attack, I proceeded to self-flagellate for 24 hours about it. I should have been tougher. I should have gotten over it. I should have been better.

I reiterated this story to my therapist, re-accounting my trembling hands and thudding heart. Therapist looked at me, and said not unkindly, "Do you know how many people with anxiety have to do what you did, a thousand times over? Some clients I work with have to leave enclosed spaces five or six times in the space of an hour because they're having full blown panic. You stopped your panic at the root. That takes incredible strength.

"Really?" I said, eyes wide, and then it hit me. "I had this little voice in my head that was like Get somewhere else and get your shit together and you'll be fine. I didn't leave to freak out, I left to calm down."

"That is a huge difference," Therapist said, her eyes unfailingly warm. "The fact that you were able to stop yourself from panicking by having the wherewithal to remove youself from a stressful space - and the fact you did not panic for the rest of the day - doesn't that show you you're doing better?

"So, you don't think this is a backslide?" How was this possible? I had succumbed to my anxiety by leaving the theatre. I had failed. How was this a victory.

"Not at all. You had the mental cognition to remove yourself, and  you felt better because you did that. So you were really taking care of yourself. I don't want you to think of this moment as a backslide." Therapist looked at the time and motioned that we were almost up, and I pulled out my phone to schedule our next appointment. "Before you go, I just want to give you a mental picture to work with. Think of your recovery process as interlocking circles."

"Circles, eh?" I looked up from my phone. Therapist nodded. "See, you're constantly getting better. But that doesn't mean you won't have bad days. That being said, the bad days are probably better now than the bad days before you started getting help. Right? So if you think of the process as interlocking circles that go upwards, like an upward spiral, instead of a sliding scale, you'll see that you're always improving, even on the bad days. They're still better than what you've previously experienced, and they'll continue to get better."

I processed her words. I can sit at work without my blood pressure skyrocketing. Quiet moments reading a book aren't fraught with terror. I can do a 75 minute vinyasa yoga class in a hot room next to my best friend again, without wanting to run out the door. I can have a night at home by myself without worrying I'll have a panic attack alone.  When you put all of those things together, I'm better than I've been in months.

My heart suddenly felt like it was soaring as I nodded, a huge grin on my face. "That helps so much. You have no idea!" Therapist smiled.

So now whenever I have a moment in which those crazy thought vampires come back to haunt me, I'll just think to myself - This is not a backslide. This is the bottom of a circle on an upward trajectory. This is a rollercoaster with ups and downs, but it will eventually pull into the right station.

Everything is going to be okay.

ally

PS. Guardians was awesome. Go see it. And then download the soundtrack and rock the hell out.

"Mr. Grey will see you now": My Complicated Relationship With Fifty Shades of Grey.

Note: I talk about sexy stuff and sexual things in this post. So stop reading, Mom. 

A few months ago, after I read every single painful page of Twilight Saga, I decided I might as well continue on in the 'batshit insane' line I was walking and jump straight into the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. I figured it would be a fitting continuum since FSOG is a direct ripoff of Stephenie Meyer's work; the writer, E.L. James, actually started the work as a fan fiction of Twilight, decided she had struck a porno gold mine, and changed around key details in order to sell it as an original novel.

Thankfully, I didn't have to buy any of these books. I work in a bookstore, so I would secretly bring copies of the books to the staff room to read during my meal breaks (unlike Twilight, I felt too embarrassed to read it during slow times on the selling floor). When I left work, I'd find .PDF files online and read from my computer or my phone. There was no way I'd actually pay for these things. Although funnily enough, I have paid for copies of the trilogy for other people; my BFF begged me to purchase a few copies for her while we were in London two years ago because they were about 5 bucks each.

I was prepared to be completely offended as a feminist about these books because of what I'd heard about them - mousy 21 year old virgin gets boned right by super creepy guy whose mom was a crackhead so clearly he's into kinky shit, because TRAUMA. I wasn't necessarily worried about the sex/BDSM, simply because I've read worse. Side note: If you're looking for actual submission/domination literature I recommend The Story of O or anything by the Marquis de Sade, although if you were shocked by anything in FSOG you may need to take a deep breath before any of Sade's work.

So I was greatly surprised when I found the books to be much more enjoyable than The Twilight Saga. Here are a few reasons why.

It's unapologetically dumb, unrealistic sex. This is the literary equivalent of going to RedTube and scrolling through a playlist; the lead characters bang every four or five pages with ZERO care about joints, or bones, or genitalia that might get sore after a few hours. Seriously, how was there not a conversation in which Ana looked at Christian and said "Dude. We have to stop. I'm chafing." E.L. James doesn't let things like "plot" and "character development" get in the way of what she knows the readers are asking for. They want porn, and they want it now. But don't get it twisted - this isn't super dark bondage porn like everyone thinks it is. As I've said, I've read MUCH worse than this. In The Story of O, O gets her master's name branded on her ass and then has padlocks attached to her labium. This is just vanilla sex with whips and nipple clamps attached to make it spicy. And let's be honest - it's hilarious. My personal favorite is the heavy employment of periods throughout the sex (and no, not just the time Christian removes Ana's tampon so he can bang her menses-style).  "You. Make. Me. So. Happy. I. Love. You" just sounds like it's grunted out in between thrusts, and not in a sexy way but in a "I HAVE to say nice things or else it's just going to look like I'm defiling this chick" way. Also, holy god who talks this much during sex?! But all in all, this isn't the worst thing I've read or seen. Tory Lane does worse than this on a slow Tuesday at wherever she makes her crazy films. If you're looking for a Harlequin romance novel with blindfolds, here ya go.

Ana has a backbone...kind of. I've been very, very vocal about my complete and utter hatred of Bella from The Twilight Saga, mostly because she's a horrible bitch who hates everything and everyone for no reason and treats everyone around her like shit. Ana is mousy and demure, yes, but what surprised me about this trilogy is she actually is really good at not taking any shit from anyone. She's incredibly strong but in a vulnerable way, and has a lot of snarky moments that I didn't expect. Are there still huge problems with her characterization? Yes; Ana's virginity borders on hermetic, and it does read like she needed the 'right guy' to give her a seismic lay (why do these characters NEVER masturbate? Oh right, because that's a dirty 'guy' thing and SEX IS FOR THE PLEASURE OF MEN), and her refusal to discuss her genitalia in actual terminology is hilarious (It's a vagina, Ana. The word won't poison you). All in all, in a cage fight I'd pick Ana over Bella. Although that's a moot point because we all know Katniss would smoke both of their asses. Although I wish she'd stop talking like such an infant - the repeated notions of holy moses and holy cow got super tiresome.

E.L. James doesn't even try to pretend these characters are American. James clearly didn't do any research on American figures of speech or speech patterns, let alone try to tackle how people from Washington State talk in conversational dialect. The entire thing reads as a bastard cousin of high English and mid-Atlantic accents, and I thought it was hilarious.

The INSANE plot twists because clearly James had zero other storylines. The crazy ex-submissive. The "Mrs. Robinson" who taught Christian Grey how to dominate. The psycho ex-boss who shoots down Grey's helicopter (yes, really). The whole thing read like a Passions episode and I loved it. 

I haven't even gone over the insane laundry list of bondage stuff Christian has in his contract, because it clearly looks like James Googled "submissive contract for bondage" and C/P'd the results right into her book .doc file.


And yet.

I can't help but think I should hate this book. It propogates insane and dangerous ideas about bondage, S&M, and submissive/dominant relationships, and Christian Grey does one too many irredeemable things that take him past 'complex' and into 'psycho', and Ana eventually turns into a mother substitute for Christian by marrying him and 'healing' his troubled past as a poor abused kid from Detroit. That particular plot point made me want to yell at the book "Not every girl is your mother, Christian!" I found it annoying, too, that Christian's interest in BDSM was entirely because he had a traumatized past. I know several people who have dated people in the BDSM community, and the overwhelming consensus is that they do their sexual practices for the same reason that you and I and everyone else who isn't mentally ill engages in their sexual practices - it gets them off. You don't need a traumatic backstory to engage in "kinky fuckery", but then again, had Christian just 'really liked' to tie girls up, that isn't complex enough for Miss James. Give us a traumatic, wounded-boy syndrome so the young virginal girl can 'heal' him!

Also, lines like this: “You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun.” There will be no book prizes awarded to this prose.

And yet, I don't hate the books and I will probably end up seeing the movie when it comes out. Why?

Because sometimes I'm sick and tired of hating everything and I just want to read something incredibly stupid, involving dumb and gorgeous people who have a lot of insane acrobatic sex in Red Rooms of Pain, and fall into subplots involving crazy Bitch Trolls and ex-subs who try to shoot them before getting sent back to a sanitarium.

Twilight infuriated me because it carried a subtext of dangerous propaganda. It was trying to get a message across to young girls about how they should comport themselves around men and with themselves. Fifty Shades of Grey has zero subtext. It is inflamed, engorged, swollen text, and it doesn't give a shit if you like or or hate it. It's just there, and it just wants your eyeballs on it. It is the literary equivalent of Guy Fieri's Donkey Sauce, and I didn't hate it. I should have, but I didn't.

And I will be seeing the movie because it is directed by a woman and written by a woman from a female-written novel with a female protagonist. And Jamie Dornan.

Also, Beyonce's reworking of "Crazy in Love" is so dark and twisted and operatic, and I love that she did it exclusively for the film. Also, I have to support everything Yonce does, or the Beygency will be on my ass.

ally

There is Nothing Wrong With You.

This past weekend I had the awesome pleasure of getting to see my Nonna. Nonna tells it like it is, and she doesn't take shit. We were sitting on the porch, relaxing, and suddenly she turned to me and said, "You know, Lysa, you look beautiful. A few years ago, you look horrible."

She was referring to when she saw me in San Antonio in 2010, when I was at my lowest weight and feeling absolutely miserable.

Since my Very Low Weight That Will Not Be Mentioned, I have gained about 17 pounds. I weigh about five or six pounds less than I did in college, but I look completely different.  More than half of that is muscle. The other couple of pounds are because cake and alcohol are delicious. I just honestly love food. I'm Italian. If you cut me in half right now, half of me would be bread. Gluten free bread, but still bread.

I think a lot of people don't understand that I didn't get fat by some sort of traumatic event. I wasn't attacked, nobody left my family, and I certainly wasn't sexually abused. I got fat because I just ate a lot and didn't move. I just loved food. A lot. I went to church more often than not because there were doughnuts on the first Sunday of every month. I know for a fact that there are 22 Ben and Jerry's flavors I have killed an entire pint of, and it was all based in "THIS IS DELICIOUS", not "I'M SAD." My cholesterol was fine. My blood pressure was stellar. I had lots of energy. I was just eating tons of Mint Milanos and staying up until 5:30 in the morning doing roleplay on my Livejournal. (You think I'm joking?)

And then suddenly it became The Only Issue. It was all I thought about from the minute I woke up to the minute I went to bed, either elated I had a "good" day or furious that I cheated with an extra order of cookies at our country club pool's snack bar. My journals from ages 16-19 are filled with food logs, sadness about my body, and telling myself I need to restrict. But then, nestled in between the body hate, are lines like "Why can't someone like me for exactly who I am, right now?!"

Why shouldn't they, indeed.

At a party a few weeks ago, I was discussing with a friend the joys of a specific pair of wide-leg palazzo pants that I'm completely obsessed with. My friend said "I would love to wear a pair of pants like that with a bikini top and a cardigan." I immediately said, "I've always wanted to wear something like that, but I could never do it." Meaning - I'm too big for that. My friend immediately jumped on my subtext and said, "You can wear anything you want, girl."

I always used to say to people "You want a bikini body, put your body in a bikini," but that's so easy to say when your own body fits a heteronormative ideal. I have to put my money where my mouth is, now that my body is healthier but bigger than my 'perfect ideal', which came from running a bajillion miles all the time and eating egg whites for meals.

So here's my little soapbox statement about bodies and fitness and how people look.

If your body is healthy, and you aren't feeding it garbage, and you are taking care of it because it's the only one you get...and you still aren't a size 2? I don't care.

No. Really. I couldn't give less of a shit if I tried. I don't care if you have a sixpack. I mean, sure it's impressive, but I don't look at it and feel a pang of guilt that I don't possess a sixpack as well. Because I've evolved into realizing a sixpack does not necessarily equate health.

All of our bodies are so vastly different, with so many forms of biochemistry and DNA helices coming into play; who the hell am I to judge anyone on how they look? If that look is a manifestation of treating your body right, then who cares about the size on your pants?

Also, for the love of god don't talk about other people and their bodies like they're committing a crime with their extra pounds of flesh. Any time someone I know starts off a conversation about someone else by saying they're fat, I change the subject. That kind of talk is poisonous. If you feed into the poison, it will eat you alive. Do you know how much energy it takes to view a person skin-first, rather than heart-first? It's completely exhausting. We've all got our own shit to deal with and sometimes that shit gets into our bones.

It's also easy to say these things when you're truly and deeply loved by people who don't care what you look like. So maybe I'm just extremely lucky. But I really only judge people nowadays on a short list of criteria:

Are you a good person?

Are you taking care of yourself? (meaning - do you move a little every day? Are you eating things that aren't stuffed with crap? Or if you do, is that a minority in your diet?)

Are you fun/curious/intelligent/energetic/kind/nice/not an ass?

Then there is nothing wrong with you.

And I'll let you in on a secret. Not only do I not care what you look like, I don't care what you think about what I look like.

I know this body. I know its limitations. I know what it can do. And in the words of the divine miss Amy Poehler, "I don't f*cking care if you like it."

ally



 

Things I've Learned From The Twilight Saga, Part One.

One of my best friends from high school passed away last week. I'd like to think she'd find these posts hilarious. Cassie, this is for you, and we will miss you every day.

I read the entire Twilight Saga in a week.

Here is what I learned, annotated with appropriate .gifs. Note: I didn't really talk about the retcon job Stephenie Meyer did on the vampire mythos at large, simply because it's been done to death. But suffice to say, VAMPIRES DO NOT SPARKLE. If you are looking for better texts to read on vampires, go read all of Anne Rice and thank me later. 

Book 1: Twilight
1. Take a really interesting concept and write a bunch of shit around it, so you get flashes of interesting ideas that make your audience read the entire goddamn series. Had these books just been about Carlisle creating his weird nuclear/vampire family, I would have been all. about. it. Apparently Stephenie Meyer thought about making the entire story about this concept, but gave up because it would be "too much research." That tells you all you need to know.
2.Make your protagonist/narrator an unapologetic butthole with no agency.  I hated Bella. When she wasn't bitching about her environment or crying, she was mentally berating everyone she came into contact with (the constant referrals to her male classmates as 'dogs' was really gross). The reason why Katniss works as a character in Hunger Games is because her traumatic experiences are an extension of her character, but they are not her entire character. She has flashes of genuine kindness and compassion that makes the climax of those books so heartbreaking because the books' events are slowly eating away at her humanity, and she has to figure out a way to regain it. Bella has no growth, except when she's literally growing a fetus inside of her. (spoiler for Breaking Dawn!)
3. All high school guys are trolls except for the ONE PERFECT GORGEOUS MAN WHO WILL MAKE ALL OF YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE. This is the part I sort of related to. I had a huge crush on one guy all through high school and he really did make every other guy I interacted with look like a slug in comparison. HOWEVER. I did think there were a few other really hot dudes that I crushed on during my breaks from crushing on my main dude, and guess what. I HAD A LIFE THAT WAS TOTALLY SEPARATE FROM MY CRUSH. And then later on in the series Bella completely gives up on any friends aside from the ones she's made in proximity to the Cullens, or Jacob Black (or Wolfe..hahahha)
4. Have no idea how to create dramatic tension in your prose? ..........Ellipses!
5. If a guy acts like he's physically repulsed by your presence, it really means he's completely and utterly obsessed with the way you smell and that means he loves you. This is written in a much more ridiculous and upsetting way than the other ways I've seen "the guy ignores you because he likes you" trope. In Divergent, Four ignores Tris because he sees something in her that he has repressed in himself, and it's hard for him to be around her because she reminds him of what he gave up to Dauntless. Edward is literally gagging in Bella's presence unless he can get some of that sweet, sweet mortal meat.

6. It's super romantic when guys watch you sleep. Every night. Even in A Discovery of Witches (which is a WAY better series than this but follows some of the same guidelines) this is employed, but it's employed because the vampire thinks the mortal has something he needs in her possession (an actual book, not her booty or something). in this, he's literally just like "vampire must look at pretty lady because he can't sleep." AND SHE'S TOTALLY OKAY WITH IT.

7. Obsession and love go hand in hand. Bella and Edward don't interact like any teen couple I've ever seen. They don't laugh. They don't joke. They don't do stupid shit. They just lay in fields and stare into each others' eyes (which, perhaps, is their version of the aforementioned 'stupid shit'). Also, Bella tears herself down all the time in front of Edward.
8. Muse. Stephenie Meyer is completely obsessed with the band Muse, to the point that she dedicated the final book in the series to them. These books should have been 1000x better if she was using Muse as her writing playlist! Then again, she also namechecks Linkin Park as another favorite band, so her taste is somewhat questionable.

In summary: Badly written, laughable romance, and stupid revisionist vampire lore. But on the whole, nothing too infuriating.

Book 2: New Moon
1. Make your second male lead ten times more interesting and fun than your first male lead. This is the book that gives us Jacob's story, which means New Moon is my favorite of the four books.  It's also not surprising given Edward completely disappears from the narrative for nearly 300 pages. By the end of the book I was furious that the plot's machinations made Edward not only come back into the picture, but made it virtually impossible for any other choice Bella could make. There's a reason why Katniss ends up with Peeta, people - Peeta saw Katniss at her worst and stayed. Edward ran off like an asshole.

2. Breakups will literally nearly kill you and make everyone around you completely annoyed at how useless you've become because LOVE IS WHAT MAKES YOU ALIVE. Again, I completely understand what Meyer was trying to do - convey how everything to teenagers - especially love - is intense and overwrought and full of ANGST and FEELINGS. If you'd like a similar idea but much better conveyed, go read literally anything by John Green.
3. Refer to better texts than yours as a way to 'compare' yourself to those lofty pieces of literature. When Bella and Edward were lying on the couch and comparing themselves to the characters in Romeo and Juliet? I wanted to gouge my eyes out. If you're comparing yourselves to the two most idiotic teens in Shakespeare's canon (with the exception of Chiron and Demetrius from Titues Andronicus because, dude, they raped and mutilated a chick), then you are doing it wrong. Sure, I loved Romeo and Juliet when I was in middle school, but by the time I was 17 I started getting much more invested in the more adult comedies such as Much Ado About Nothing. And Wuthering Heights? Sure, if you want to compare your tale to one of insane life-destroying obsession, why not?

Truth be told, nothing happens in this book except Bella sucks and Jacob is great, and then holy shit Jacob's a werewolf (OR IS HE *SPOILERS*) and then whaaaat Edward's back and he nearly kills himself through the power of his relentless sparkle body. So...it's all right, but I was starting to get a bit annoyed at how Bella has completely pinned her entire life on this dude. He's boring as hell!

Oh, and the one or two times we meet the females on the Quileute reservation...they are doing the wifely duties of cooking tremendous amounts of meat for the hungry men-folk. What is this, Oregon Trail?

that's part One.

ally

Things I learned from The Twilight Saga, Part 2.

Welcome to my Part 2 of reviewing The Twilight Saga. This one is bigger, longer, and full of mighty rage .gifs.

Let's do this.

Book 3: Eclipse
1. Imprinting. I have no joke for this seriously what the hell. In this book we get more acquainted with the concept of 'imprinting' which, according to a Twilight wikipedia page (ugh I HAD TO LOOK AT A TWI-WIKI PAGE)) is "the process in Quileute shapeshifters find their soulmates...[W]hen a shapeshifter imprints on a specific person, he becomes unconditionally bound to her for the rest of his life." Oh. Wait. Did I imply that imprinting was mutual? Girls can't imprint on guys; they are simply the target to which the men spontaneously affix themselves. Granted, there hasn't been a female werewolf for a long time until Leah becomes one (more on that in my section on Breaking Dawn), but still. At least give us the option of gender equality in this crazy stalker land you're building, Meyer. Also, because werewolves are usually immortal or don't age for a while, they can imprint on very young girls and wait for them to "catch up" to a more appropriate age - in Eclipse, Jacob informs Bella one of his friends has imprinted on a two year old.  At hearing this, Bella asks "what if she grows up and doesn't want him?" which made me fistpump for Bella (that felt weird). Jacob just shrugs and is like "Why wouldn't she want him? He'll be her perfect match."

ISN'T IT FUN WHEN GIRLS HAVE NO CHOICES? Also, Jacob eventually goes crazy trying to 'imprint' on girls, to the point that in Breaking Dawn he drives to a mall and tries to imprint on random chicks. Substitute 'imprint' with anything else and it looks frighteningly similar to assault; remember, girls have no say on who imprints them.

2.Boys that really love you should love you so much, they will prohibit you from seeing anyone else in your life that identifies as male. Edward completely subsumes Bella into the Cullen family, to the point that she is pretty much forbidden to see anybody else. He also gives her insane amounts of expensive presents (yay, privilege!) and is incredibly overprotective to the point of being abusive. This even bugs her father, Charlie, who tells her that she needs to go out and get a life, but Bella is completely fixated on Edward to the point that she is only interested in being with him all the time. Also Charlie is useless and Bella has to basically be a wife/mother figure to him all the time.

3. If someone sexually assaults you, and you defend yourself, that's on you, and you're a jerk. At one point in the narrative, Jacob grabs Bella and plants a kiss on her despite her struggles, and when he eventually breaks the kiss (after Bella surrenders to it because there's nothing else she can do, WTF) she punches him in the face - and breaks her hand. So Bella is hopping around and pissed off because SHE BROKE HER HAND, and Jacob's reaction? He tells her it's her own fault. Then, Charlie - BELLA'S FATHER - asks her how she broke her hand, and when Jacob tells him he kissed her, Charlie basically high-fives him and tells him he done good.

This is why sexual assaults don't get reported as much as they should - because of the disgusting 'boys will be boys' mentality associated with social interactions. It's the same guidelines as "If a guy makes fun of you or is mean to you it just means he likes you." No, he's just a dick and you should play in another sandbox.

Sidenote: my friend Adam is an EMT and said that there is no way Bella would be physically strong enough to break her hand by punching someone, regardless of the strength of Jacob's rock hard face. SCIENCE.

4. Regardless of your mortal ethnicity, all vampires are white. Also, Mormon ideology! Jasper Hale's backstory about how he turned into a vampire is basically him running across a few Mexican girls during the the 1860s, and despite their "Mexican features", they were pure white. This hearkens back to a Mormon tenet that if you come into the Mormon church and are 'sealed', you will turn marble-white in heaven. Hey, Stephenie Meyer - it's totally possible to write really interesting debate about immortality and faith with fantasy elements (see: Louis de Pointe du Lac from Interview with The Vampire). But you are such a piece of shit writer that the entire book comes off like a Mormon handbook with fangs.

5. Want to have sex? Better get married, or, Mormon ideology part 2. The only way Edward will have sex with Bella is if she's a vampire first, because he's afraid he'll break her in half. But then, he says he won't do it until marries her first. Keep in mind, he's in a seventeen year old's body and she's 18. To me, this smacks of the whore-Madonna dichotomy that women have struggled with for centuries. The only way sex is at all acceptable is if it's within the bounds of legal marriage, otherwise you are 'destroyed'. So...all of you gay couples in committed relationships, living in states that don't allow you to legally marry? LIVING IN SIN.

6. Rape as a throwaway plot gag. At some point, Rosalie Hale sits down and tells Bella her life story, which included getting gang raped by her fiance and a bunch of his drunk friends. I thought "Oh, that's why she's so closed off! She's still traumatized by that situation, and now we're going to get a bit of insight into her mind". NOPE, Rosalie just glides over that part of the story to get to her main point: she is jealous of Bella for getting Edward and being mortal because it implies Rosalie isn't the pretty one anymore. The little issue of Rosalie getting gang raped is just plopped into the story with zero implications on Rosalie's story, and Rosalie is still just this self-centered chick who needs attention.  There were so many other ways for Rosalie to be mortally injured, and granted, the idea of rape does explain why she's so closed off emotionally...but that's not the explanation Meyer gives us. She's closed off because Bella is presumably prettier than she is because Edward likes her. So the text implies that rape is just a blip no someone's life and you immediately get over it and the real concern should always be about how you look. 

As Mark from the brilliant Mark Reads Twilight said about this chapter, "in Meyer's universe, rape is actually irrelevant to the larger scheme of character interactions. People aren't damaged by rape in her world. They're damaged by people not making them the center of attention."

Book 4: Breaking Dawn

1. Sex is awful. And terrible. And painful. And by no means should you enjoy it. Finally Bella and Edward have their honeymoon which includes the most horrifying sex ever. Before even doing it, Bella sits in the bathroom on the verge of a panic attack before telling herself to have some courage (um, if you have to psych yourself up that much for sex, you're probably not ready to have sex, girl) and then Bella wakes up covered in bruises (which she's totally fine about, because SEX) and Edward is totally distraught about hurting her and makes her swear off sex until he turns her into a vampire. Bella's response? Dressing in lingerie and trying to seduce him. Without ever saying "Just come have sex with me, dammit." She just goes along and plays chess with him in these crazy lingerie getups until finally she starts crying enough for Edward to bone her again...and then he tears a chunk out of the bedpost.

Full disclosure - I am halfway through the third book in the Fifty Shades of Grey series and none of the crazy sex acts detailed in those books have freaked me out as much as this (well, other than the ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY bit at the end of the first book dealing with butt plugs, but you get the idea). At least Anastasia Steele ENJOYS the Red Room of Pain and, you know, there are character arcs and shit.

As far as the refusal to show sex but a willingness to describe the aftermath and the CRAZIEST BIRTH SCENE EVER, it's a fascinating look into how we view sex in this country versus violence. I'm reminded of when Susannah Grant (writer of Erin Brockovich, Ever After, and Pocahontas) came to speak at my high school and said in an off-the-cuff comment "I find it hilarious that you can show someone's arm getting cut off or a horrific war scene in a PG-13 movie but you can't show a penis." Also, Stephenie Meyer conveniently skips over all sex in this book but is totally okay with sparing zero details in the most disgusting birthing scene of all time. My ovaries dried up reading that scene.

2. If you cannot or will not have children, you are basically a genetically defective monster. At one point, Leah Clearwater becomes the first female in the history of the tribe (or something) to turn into a werewolf. this is either before or after she finds out that she is unable to have children. She discloses this to Jacob, who wonders "Had her body changed because she'd become a werewolf? Or had she become a werewolf because her body was wrong? The only female werewolf in the history of forever. Was that because she wasn't as female as she should be?"

3. If you need to bring in people from other cultures to your narrative, make them as stereotypical as possible. At one point they all round up vampires to battle the Volturi and two arrive from South America, and they are literally dressed in animal skins. Like, it wouldn't have been too far off for Meyer to write that they had bones through their noses. And at one point, Bella looks at them and narrates something along the lines of "Vampires from the south are so uncivilized." She might as well have held her nose and declared foreign people smell.

4. Lead up to a climactic battle sequence...and then don't actually do anything. The whole book is a leadup to a huge fight between the Cullens/Quileutes and the Volturi...and what happens?  They gather in a field and talk for a hot second and then suddenly it's over.  There is zero action, zero suspense, and zero character growth for anyone involved. I heard they managed to do something interesting with the movie by having a sort of 'what if' scenario in which Alice shows Aro what will go down if he doesn't back off (basically, lots of people getting their heads ripped off) which I think is a good idea considering that NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS BOOK.

And I haven't even TALKED about how Bella suddenly becomes super cool and special when she's a vampire and figures out her special 'shield' powers at EXACTLY the right moment.  Bella is up there with Wesley Crusher as far as Mary Sue Special Snowflake goes. But that would be an insult to Wesley Crusher.

Honestly I can't even form coherent sentences about these books. They espouse most of the things I hate and, notedly, have benefited from simply because I'm white and have a Dad who makes a dollar amount that is public information. The amount of privilege and misogyny and straight up racism and Othering in these books, particularly the last one, is astounding. I can handle crappy writing. I read crappy books all the time. It's when that crappy writing is espousing insanely misogynistic ideals about how we should treat each other that gets my goat.

But hey - if you like the books, I won't judge. As John Green noted in his review of the series, "It posits that true love will triumph in the end, which may or may not be true, but if it's a lie, it's the most beautiful lie we have."

I just wish everything else in the story would be up to that standard.

Now I gotta go find something to make this feel better.

ally

PS. You may have asked yourself whether I'm team Edward or team Jacob. I'm team Four/Tobias from Divergent. He is completely respectful of Tris's boundaries (kisses her and then tells her immediately he will be sleeping on the floor to give her space), he encourages her to be brave and to be her own person/have her own friends/make her own decisions, and OH WAIT HE TOOK HIS SHIRT OFF.

YAAAAS.

Anxiety, Part Two: Or, I Couldn't Deal.

So, last year I wrote up a post about how I deal with my chronic anxiety. It wasn't a difficult post to compose; anxiety is something that so many people deal with, and something I thought I had a pretty good grip on. Therefore, I looked at that post as a simple how-to for people who needed some help with their nerves/panic.

It's quite possible that God saw that post and was like "Girl. You don't even know the half of it. I've got some PLANS for you."

This post is about what happens when life decides to kick you in the balls. Or rather, when your anxiety decides to take you by the throat for four months.

Back in December, I started having really bad anxiety again, to the point where I almost had panic attacks on several occasions. I think it was a combination of semester stress and the still-crushing sadness I felt from Nance's passing. Then the holidays came and I managed to calm down, and then the school year started up and the attacks seemingly diminished. Until one night.

I was accidentally prescribed a different type of birth control than I was used to, and one of the side effects was panic and increased anxiety. I didn't think that would happen to me.  Little did I know.  Four days into the new pills, I drove to hang out with my boyfriend and few friends at a bar. I walked into the bar, said hello to my friends, and all of a sudden it hit my like a freight train.  The worst panic attack I'd had in years.  I can't really describe it, except it felt like someone put my brain into a blender and hit FREAKOUT. I immediately ran out of the bar and leaned up against the side of the building, sobbing hysterically.  This was different than other forms of anxiety I'd had. This was an uncontrollable force that I couldn't stop if I had the mental fortitude of a Buddhist monk.

It was so bad that the BF (who is Patience on a damn monument) had to cut short our plans so we could go home. I drove back to his place crying the entire time. I've never had a situation like that, ever. I'd heard about people who'd had paralyzing panic, but I'd never experienced it. I'd always been able to control it. By the end of the night I was so exhausted from crying that I just wanted to lay in bed and watch Parks and Recreation until I passed out.

About four days later I had another one, but this time I didn't have my boyfriend to calm me down and talk me through it. I was working at home, got a little overheated in my loft, and BAM - panic central. By the end of it - panic attacks tend to last only about half an hour, but it felt like forever - I was practically laying on my kitchen floor, shaking uncontrollably, staring up at the ceiling and thinking to myself Well, I'm gonna just die here I guess?

Obviously I didn't die. But that night was the start of four months of paralyzing fear.  And this was after I realized those attacks were a result of hormone imbalance and got my ass off that birth control (which led to three straight weeks of feeling like my hormones were doing a tapdance and nobody knew the choreography). Ever since I got off the pills, the panic attacks stopped*. But the fear of experiencing that type of crushing horror was so intense, it haunted me for months.
*Note: I am not saying that all types of birth control cause horrifying side effects such as crippling anxiety - I'm actually on the hunt for another type of birth control in order to handle my PMS cycles, so I truly do believe in their efficacy. It's just that specific one I was on was NOT good for me. Or for anyone. Woof.

The fear was still with me. For weeks I didn't want to go anywhere or do anything because I was scared shitless the panic attacks would happen when I was out and about. I would go out to the mall or to a restaurant and feel like the walls were closing in and I'd have to go outside and suck down fresh air, feeling like I was claustrophobic. Teaching was always something that I enjoyed, but more often than not my goals for class periods became less about imparting information and more about not having panic attacks in front of my students - I still taught a successful curriculum, of course, but that fear was still in the back of my mind. I started eating a bit more out of comfort rather than necessity and most of it went straight to my ass. I started feeling exhausted, depressed, frazzled, and broken. I slept a LOT and still felt like it wasn't enough.  The Final Four should have been a wonderful and exhilarating time, but my anxiety made it impossible for me to have fun. I spent that weekend feeling tired or completely wired.  Of course, some of this anxiety was to be expected from a long semester teaching, but the fear of panic on top of that made it nearly unbearable.

Then, I got rejected from every single PhD program I applied for, and oddly I felt a bit of relief from all that pressure, despite how I ended up sobbing in the arms of my friend from the FE office.  Something broke in my head.  I'm not a pessimistic creature. I have to be happy. I deserve to be happy. And this type of living, with its pain and anger, wasn't the winning edge.

Eventually I started trying to fix, rather than bemoan, my existence. I started doing yoga more consistently. I started going for walks. I started working at a bookstore (which is helping my anxiety by forcing me to be with people). I started reading for leisure again, and challenging myself to go places by myself - I saw Godzilla on Friday and honestly really enjoyed myself, despite the nervous feeling in my stomach when the lights went down. I stopped drinking so much coffee, which has really calmed down my overall behaviors, and I also have stopped eating chocolate and refined sugars most days of the week and replaced it with fresh fruit. I stopped beating myself up all the time. Or at least, tried to stop.

And finally, after months of wrestling with the notion of going down a psychiatric route, I started seeing a psychologist. I knew it was the right thing to do because the first time she asked me to talk about my story, I broke down and started sobbing in her office. Clearly I was looking for someone to uncork this bottle of pain on, and she was the one to help me examine the contents.

Since I've started therapy, things have been getting better. I'm slowly, painfully, picking apart the patterns that go into my behaviors, and it's becoming an easier process to handle.  I'm learning coping mechanisms. I can be by myself for long periods of time without feeling like I'm going to explode. I can go to restaurants without panicking and shoveling food down my throat. I was able to get through my teaching this semester successfully and had a lot of students give me fantastic evaluations, despite what was going on inside of me.

I'm not saying this like I'm past any of it. I'm still feeling all of it. I'm better than I was by a long shot, but the triggers are still there. There have been a few times where, in the middle of a party, I've had to stand up and walk into another room to be by myself. I still get very restless and panicked, mostly out of the 'what-if's' of a situation rather than the realities. But it's been generally much better than it has been.  Every week it's been getting incrementally better. Just this past weekend I had a long day of work at the bookstore, then went to a cookout and then a bar for drinks, came home and fell asleep on the couch watching @Midnight. It was glorious because it was normal.  I was still a little nervous, and a bit sleepy (dammit, I miss afternoon coffee jolts) but I wasn't a mess. I wasn't freaking out. I just was. Granted I did have a bit of anxiety on Sunday prior to brunch - I get a bit hypoglycemic if I don't eat immediately upon waking - but I dealt with it better than I have in months.

So, I'm getting there. It's a slow rebuilding process, but I'm getting there. I just have to be patient.

I think that if anyone is reading this that's going through something similar, know this - if you have the right people around you, who love you fiercely and want you to be happy...they will completely understand your idiosyncracies, your fears, your panic. They will help the pain go away if you let them in. The hardest part out of all of this was admitting I needed help to fix my brain, and I was absolutely astonished at the amount of love and support I received from those closest to me.

It was almost as if they thought I was worth it.

I am worth it. And so are you.

Hang in there.

ally

 PS. A more fun post is coming later on this week. It's about The Twilight Saga. It took me a week to read the first book because I kept throwing the book across the room, then I burned through New Moon in one day and am currently about 70 pages into Eclipse. I need a full post to encapsulate my emotions, but suffice to say I HATE ALL OF IT.