One of the more helpful and insightful things I’ve seen about depression/suicide in the last couple of days.
You are 12. You’re at the library looking for some generic young adult fiction novel about a girl who falls for her best friend. Your dad makes a disgusted face. “This is about lesbians,” he says. The word falls out of his mouth as though it pains him. You check out a different book and cry when you get home, but you aren’t sure why. You learn that this is not a story about you, and if it is, you are disgusting.
You are 15. Your relatives are fawning over your cousin’s new boyfriend. “When will you have a boyfriend?” they ask. You shrug. “Maybe she’s one of those lesbians,” your grandpa says. You don’t say anything. You learn that to find love and acceptance from your family, you need a boyfriend who thinks you are worthy of love and acceptance.
You are 18. Your first boyfriend demands to know why you never want to have sex with him. He tells you that sex is normal and healthy. You learn that something is wrong with you.
You are 13. You’re at a pool party with a relative’s friend’s daughter. “There’s this lesbian in my gym class. It’s so gross,” she says. “Ugh, that’s disgusting,” another girl adds. They ask you, “do you have any lesbians at your school?” You tell them no and they say you are lucky. You learn to stay away from other girls.
You are 20. You have coffee with a girl and you can’t stop thinking about her for days afterwards. You learn the difference between a new friendship and new feelings for a person.
You are 13. Your mom is watching a movie. You see two girls kiss on screen. You feel butterflies and this sense that you identify with the girls on the screen. Your mom gets up and covers the screen. You learn that if you are like those girls, no one wants to see it.
You are 20. You and your friends are drunk and your ex-boyfriend dares you to make out with your friend. You both agree. You touch her face. It feels soft and warm. Her lips are small and her hands feel soft on your back. You learn the difference between being attracted to someone and recognizing that someone you care about is attractive.
You are 16. You find lesbian porn online. Their eyes look dead and their bodies are positioned in a way that you had never imagined. You learn that liking girls is acceptable if straight men can decide the terms.
You are 20. You are lying next to a beautiful girl and talking about everything. You tell her things that you don’t usually tell anyone. You learn how it feels not to want to go to sleep because you don’t want to miss out on any time with someone.
You are 18. You are in intro to women’s and gender studies. “Not all feminists are lesbians- I love my husband! Most of the feminists on our leadership team are straight! It’s just a stereotype,” the professor exclaims. You learn that lesbianism is something to separate yourself from.
You are 15. Your parents are talking about a celebrity. Your dad has a grin on his face and says, “her girlfriend says that she’s having the best sex of her life with her!” You learn that being a lesbian is about the kind of sex you have and not how you love.
You are 21 and you are kissing a beautiful girl and she’s your girlfriend and you understand why people write songs and make movies and stupid facebook statuses about this and time around you just seems to stop and you could spend forever like this and you learn that there is nothing wrong with you and you are falling in love.
You are 21. And you are okay.” –
a thing I wrote after arguing with an insensitive dude on facebook all day or Things Other People Taught me about Liking Girls (via radsadnsassy)
Sorry this isn’t band related but I just had to share this. Wow.
Dear every person who says that a mental illness is not
a valid reason for not being able to attend school normally,
Say that to the counselor, the school nurse, the paramedics,
and the friend who walked me to the office on the day of my overdose.
Say that to the kids who saw me sleep through first and second period.
Say that to the boy who sleeps in every class.
Tell that to my teacher who had to talk me out
of suicide on a school night.
Tell that to my bio teacher who saw
me break down during a suicide prevention assembly.
Tell that to the housemates who have heard
me call the suicide hotlines.
Tell that to my freshman English teacher who tells
me I look so alive now in comparison to
how dead I looked freshman year.
Say that to any friend who has had to talk me out of suicide.
Say that to any friend who has had to calm me down
after an anxiety attack.
Say that to every friend and follower that has
come to me with thoughts of suicide.
Tell that to the kids who have failing grades because
they can’t focus, the ones who can’t make it through
a school night without having an anxiety attack,
the kids who sleep right when they get home and
straight on until morning, the ones who
have more breakdowns a day than meals a day,
the ones who have spent more time staring
at hospital walls than school hallways.
Tell that to the kids who cry every night.
Tell that to the teenagers in psychiatric wards and treatment centers.
Tell that to the family of someone who has just committed suicide.
Tell them that school is more important than their sanity.” – 5:58 p.m. (An open letter to ignorance)