I Genuinely Feel Like My Family Doesn't Like Me. I Know They Love Me, Because Family And Stuff, But There's

The in-between part of depression is the worst. Where you can feel the anti-depressants working, you can feel yourself getting better - but then can you claim to have depression anymore? What if someone accuses you of faking it? What if someone expects too much, but you're not there yet, but they don't get it because they see you're better? What if your body want to sleep all the time but your mind is learning to wake itself up? What then?

The first time I read Ursula Le Guin’s The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, my chest constricted with the passionate onslaught of too many thoughts, too many emotions, too many opinions. No matter how many perspectives I could logically think from, my brain circled back to the outcry of why no one spoke up, why no one resisted, revolted. How strong could be the ones who walked away? After all, walking away is the easiest thing one could do. It didn’t take much for me to unlearn that; just Louis’ outburst of leaving being the hardest thing to do, as he says so in COAGDP, was all it took. And when I tried that angle, I understood. I understood what Le Guin was trying to convey, what she wanted to make us see. It was a statement; it was saying: “this world was built for me. This suffering is meant for my happiness. This is all I’m aware of. I choose to not be happy. I would rather leave to a place I know nothing about, a place I don’t even know exists, than be happy at the cost of a child, of someone being collateral damage, for my happiness. If this torture is for me, for my sake, I would rather live a miserable life in the unknown.” It was not just brave, it was revolutionary.

Staying there, fighting for change, would lead to: “do you want us all to suffer just because of your selfish ideology?” / “do you want our lives to collapse just to save one child?” / “does this strange child mean more to you than your loved ones’ happiness?”. The age-old argument of collective good versus the wellbeing of an individual is one with an answer that’s a double-edged sword. There is no end, no solution; strength comes in many forms, many faces, and sometimes turning your back on all you’ve known your entire life is the strongest thing one can do to make a point.  

We see this in all the people who’re the black sheep of their family; the leftist, the feminist, the divorcee, the queer one, the atheist and the agnostic, the free-thinkers, the child rebels, the child who questions; we don’t see much of them, because they’re forced to hide underneath cloaks saying something different – “anti-national”, “violator of culture, of family values”, “the reject”, “the one with conduct issues”, “the heathen”.

Walking away is many a time metaphorical, and it doesn’t always mean the same thing; but when one has lived their whole life as a frog in a well, jumping out isn’t escapism, it is resistance.

-kpm

suicide rates are going up in educational institutions. an increasing number of kids are using drugs. and the problems seem to be "rebellious teenagers", "weak minded students", "unable to engage in healthy competition", "spoilt", "no cultural values"; when ACTUALLY these are reactions to a pervasive problem much larger than this: capitalist culture. students can't cope with competitiveness because it's no longer competitiveness - it's threat, it's fear. why can kids relatively handle losses in sports and art/writing competitions? why is the issue largely with academic competition? ever thought that it's not the kids who're problematic, but the academic system? we live in a culture which is misleadingly called "survival of the fittest". which is nonsensical because in the so-called "real world"? people do help. in workplaces, in higher education institutions. but students are isolated and made to view people as opponents instead of a support system. instead of encouraging cooperation and support in classrooms. suicide is not solely a mental health issue, it's a systemic+social issue; and making it an individual issue would mean giving institutions a free pass.

kids are turning to drugs because society is putting pressure on them, the demands and expectations made of them exceed coping capacity. because society doesn't forgive people who fail; the system works to keep people who're low down on the bottom instead of helping them get back up. in an experiment called the 'rat park', researchers found that rats who were placed in a cage all alone (no company/pleasurable activities etcetc) with two bottles - one full of water and the other heroine/cocaine, would drink from the bottle laced with the drug; but when they placed the rat in a "rat park'", with other rats whom it could play/mate/socialize with, they opted for the bottle of water.

with COVID came a variety of issues - unemployment, relationship issues (all sorts of relationships), loneliness, and so on. along with this are identity issues, academic pressure, social issues that certain kids face (poverty, casteism, misogyny, queerphobia), and lack of proper support/inclusiveness for neurodivergent kids, and also students who've undergone trauma.

we need to change the way we look at kids who use drugs. we need to stop criminalizing kids who use drugs. we need to change the way we look at suicide. we need to stop with absolute bullshit "spring fan" and removing the ceiling fan altogether alternatives, and instead acknowledge the ACTUAL PROBLEM.

my social dysphoria acts up every time my cousin (9 years old) talks to me about bras, boobs and the such because it sounds like "girl talk" and it makes me feel sick, and I wish I were a boy sometimes (I'm NOT trans, I'm an agender girl, I say this because I don't want her to feel this comfortable having girl talks with me) so that she wouldn't be so open. sometimes to irritate me/annoy me, she describes how she imagines me with a saree and mailaanji and long hair and pottu and ornaments and stuff and I feel like crying and puking at the same time because I hate it I hate it I hate it, I'm not a girl I'm not a girl I'm not a girl stop stop atop

I feel this heavy nauseating feeling in my chest, throat and tummy when I hear anything akin to that, it's so revolting and I think I'm out of words to describe how fucking horrible I feel when she does stuff like this. It's not funny, gosg, it's NOT FUCKING FUNNY STO STOP STIO

And eventhough I tell her ewww and to stop saying stuff like that, she doesn't take me seriously, she's like, it's not realll, I'm just imagining it. and everyone wants me to dress decently because I'm a girl and I shouldn't be showing so much skin, revealing my body parts and other bullshit like that. AND ALL THIS IS TRIGGERRING MY SOCIAL DYSPHORIA AND FUCK EVERYTHING

I don't want to have "girl" talks with my cousins, I don't mind answering their questions - I'm one of the only people who give proper answers, so she asks me - but I don't like how it seems as a "bonding" moment, because it's not, it's not, it's not. There's nothing to bond over, I'm not like her, I'm not a girl and I hate this so fucking much. I hate when I'm considered a part of "women", and that when I grow up I may become a "wife" (I'm talking about the terms my family uses), and it sickens me. I feel disgusted and I hate it.

But I love my body. I don't gender my body, it doesn't have a gender, it's just my body, with it's parts. I don't want to be considered a girl - the identity of a girl - just because I have boobs and a vagina. I am agender. Call me a girl, but don't consider me one. Demigirl makes more sense, but I don't want to considered a girl even if it's in half. I'm agender, but the only "feminine" label I can tolerate is 'girl', maybe because it refers to young kids? and it alludes to not having an openly sexed, "female" body, but 'women' alludes to being a mature female, and it rubs me the wrong way - I don't know if this'll make sense to someone else, but it makes sense to me and I wish that's all that matters. And that is all that matters. But I want others to consider me agender too. URGH.

me, @ the updated version of wattpad : 🎶 this house don't feel like home 🎶

one day, my therapist asked me what 'my person' means to me. as a person with attachment and abandonment issues, it was one major issue that flagged up whenever we spoke about the people in my life. I gave it some thought, kept away my deep rooted shame and embarrassment and tried to answer honestly. what does it mean to me to have a person, a permanent person, while being aro-ace and neurodivergent+MAD™. this is what it means to me - i want a person to look at, to make eye-contact with when i have to do public speaking; somebody to ground my floating mind that tries to leave the physical reality of an anxiety inducing event. I want a person to save me seats when I have to attend social gatherings and I'm looking around the room in all my awkward glory to find a place where i belong. I want a person to text me in the middle of the night, telling me they need me; and whom I can text when I need them without hesitation. I want a person whom I can feel comfortable being physically affectionate with without either of us having to worry about intentions or invitations. that's what it means to me to have a person. somebody who's my comfort being, safe space (and vice versa). somebody who will look to me when there's a request to pick a person. somebody who will stick by my side in a party when I'm feeling low, and somebody who will let me be when I'm feeling jittery. somebody who trusts me to be there for them, who unloads on me, and chooses me.

i write a lot about this because I yearn a lot for this. I don't know if I'll ever stop.

um, so I feel really buzz-y and blank and I genuinely cannot focus on anything, I have absolutely no motivation - it's not like I'm drained, but rather empty (if that difference makes sense). The socio thing is coming up, everyone's (Poline, Swathi and Rheena in our group) discussing about it, they even did a video call to discuss and they sent the points in the group, I said I wasn't in the mood for studying, so I didn't join the call - but everything just went over my head. I didn't read anything they sent and I'm not sure I'm going to cause my head's been feeling woozy and I don't know how I'm going to submit the damn assignment on Monday.

And I'm not stressed because I can't feel anything, I'm forcing my brain and my mind to atleast remember that there's an assignment due, but it's as if I have no object permenance - I don't even remember that there's this thing until or unless they talk about it, and when they do, I ignore it because it goes completely over my head.

I honestly don't think I'm going to be able to do anything this semester because it's been this way for months. Swathi was talking about exams prolly coming up and I was like shut the fuck up because I can't even imagine what's it going to be like ( I didn't tell her anything of course, cause it's a 'me' problem and not a 'they' problem ). I'm not scared, I'm not stressed, I don't feel anything and even as I'm sending this I don't feel any of this, I just feel empty and I know this is supposed to evoke some sort of tension, but it isn't, so I just don't know what to do.

TW : VIOLENCE AGAINST ANIMALS//DEATH

SPOILER ALERT FOR FLEABAG

I keep thinking about the scene where Fleabag tells Boo about the 11 year old boy who was put in juvie because he inserted the rubber part of the pencil up a hamster's rectum, and instead of making a joke about it or saying something on the lines of how he deserved it, Boo is surprised that they didn't provide him with proper mental health care. She tells Fleabag that he obviously wasn't happy, because "happy" people don't do things like that - he should've been given help instead of a punishment. She says the entire point of pencils having an eraser at the end is cause people make mistakes.

Now flash forward to the future where Fleabag tells people how Boo died - she wanted to make her boyfriend feel guilty for cheating on her by getting admitted to a hospital for light injuries, she did not want die by suicide, but unfortunately that wasn't how it went - and we realise that Boo made a mistake, and it wasn't one that could be corrected using an eraser. That is also when we realise that Boo wasn't a "happy" person either, because "happy" people don't do that.

Instead of demonizing her for emotional manipulation, or blaming her for dying, Fleabag is compassionate and that is one of the million reasons why I love this show.

the fact that nobody has yet written a fanfic of Elodie, Tabitha and Moe being in a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship is a goddamn crime-