brightlotusmoon: (Asha)
Leonard Nimoy is dead. I am crying.

An article explains how the fervor and insanity over the "ugly Tumblr dress" can compare to sensory processing difficulty in autism. And every autistic goes "NO SHIT."

And a very powerful article about the dangers of Autism Speaks makes me cry again.
brightlotusmoon: (Asha)
So, yeah, this one's for folks who might read this and think something is "wrong" with me:
I'm fine.
I am not depressed right now. I feel well. Please don't contact me thinking I'm falling into a state of, as someone eloquently put it, 'delusional levels of crazy". Seriously, let's get through this without someone messaging me just because I "don't sound right."
Something awful happened, someone died, and since that someone was extremely famous and extremely beloved and died in a specific way and had a specific illness shared by millions of other people, this will be talked about. In fact, this is talked about a lot; but it can take something big, like a celebrity death, to get it out and open.

This isn't even about Williams anymore, although for a long time he will be its centerpoint. This is about something that is still mocked, teased about, and shredded in rhetoric and literal disbelief. It must be easy to say "Just smile, just cheer up, it's not that bad, people love you." That's not how this works. Maybe it needs another name.
" "My mind played one thought over and over, which was “Kill yourself.” It was also accompanied by a constant, thrumming pain that I felt through my whole body. I describe the physical symptoms because it helps to understand that real depression isn’t just a “mood.” "
"It might not have been that simple for Williams, though. We may never know what kind of therapy he went through, though if his empathetic performance in Good Will Hunting is any indication, he must have at least known therapists in his life. He could have even been through everything and still felt like he had no choice. In the wake of his death Monday, a lot of Twitter eulogies noted that “if you’re sad, you should say something,” and while that’s probably true, for so many people who are depressed (one in 10 Americans), it’s not that easy. You’re constantly crippled with sadness, unwilling to burden those around you, or unable to ever pull yourself out of it, even with that help, even with that shoulder to cry on. Once someone gets so depressed that they really dig themselves into a hole, it’s nearly impossible to ever fully get out without real long-term work, and even then, they might still remain a little muddled, a little muted, kept under glass and without a real way out into the world."

That is powerful. This whole thing is heartbreaking. And you know what, yeah, I do want to keep talking about it.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)

And that's the last I want to say on this. Not because several people called me crazy for expressing deep thoughts, but because I'm out of words.
Actually, one more thing: I had assumed I'd feel upset at being called delusion level crazy for sharing my thoughts on the depressive suicide of a beloved actor and comedian to whom I looked up. I was wrong. I wasn't upset. I was puzzled and then exasperated. If someone doesn't understand even after explanations, I need to allow myself to end it and concentrate on my well being.
That's all many of us can do.

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brightlotusmoon: (Asha)
Well, then. That was the second time someone contacted me and said, "I read your blog and I'm worried because you sound so crazy. It's no big deal if some stranger died. It doesn't affect you. Why are you so sad?"
And I truly don't think that my answer of "It's my blog; I'm venting my thoughts. It's nothing you haven't seen before." was placating.
Like... um. Hi. Have you met me? I'm verbose. I'm also mentally ill. Between verbosity and illness, I love to ramble on about life, mind, the universe. To read something I write and automatically conclude that I am "high levels of crazy" is insulting. Thanks, readers. I love you too.
It's basically the same attitude as "Well, maybe Autism Speaks wants to eradicate autistic brains and never bothers to actually help with services for autistic people, but have they hurt you, personally? Why do you fight against them? They're probably doing good things."
It makes my brain hurt. So much. Mainly because ignorance up the ass.

No, I'm not making my journal friends-only. I'm happy to show, publicly, that I know what people think. And that I know how irritating they can be. And how very little they know about who I am. Sucks to be them.
But yeah, I talk about mental illness and how deeply that sort of thing affects me. I use words that might not appear "rational" or "worldly" or "down to earth."
I'm skeptical to a degree, but I'm about thisclose to moving away from the skeptic movement entirely. It's full of assholes.
brightlotusmoon: (Asha)
I'm crying over the death of Robin Williams this hard because people have already started in on the bullshit rhetoric that severe clinical depression isn't supposed to affect the rich and famous. That "If their life is so perfect, why are they so depressed and suicidal" bullshit.
No. Nope nope nope. No. That’s not how it works. Do not insult people like me who deal with clinical depression. No.
Most of his film roles featured depression and mental illness heavily. I'm seeing comments like "He did all those roles with a purpose because he knew what it was like, so how could he do this himself etc" and I cannot help but feel rage...

O Captain, My Captain.
He really was a man I looked up to, in several ways, and one of the greatest actors I've seen.

Look, I've lived with clinical major unipolar depression all my life. To my brain, it's a chemical imbalance - it affects an organ so vital to my existence that not treating it means irreparable damage. There have been plenty of arguments all over about what depression is and isn't: Disease? Disorder? Illness? Emotional Syndrome? People have questioned and fought against the very idea that it is a neurochemical imbalance. People have insisted that depression does not even exist outside of emotional states.
There are depressed patients who are able to live with this illness without medication or therapy, basically using mind over body and lifestyle techniques. That's fine. That's great for them. Sure. Unfortunately, most of those patients will try to push that lack of real medical treatment on other patients, which can be dangerous. And the state of mental health services in the country I live in is awful. All I know is that I when my symptoms rise up, I care for myself as best I can - and try to educate others as best I can.
Right now, I'm in a really really bad place. I'm not in a depressive state. But I'm irrationally upset, anxious beyond reason, physically hurting from emotional agony. That is not a joke, dear detractors of Robin Williams and his battles with clinical depression.

I promised myself I would get away from the internet until I could breathe without screaming and sobbing. But I've already been getting emails and messages from friends wanting advice, as though I might be their Boggle Owl in a way. I want to help. I need to help. I live to help.
I will stay away from forums and communities. Tomorrow, my husband takes me to physical therapy, and later I can unwind fully. But to everyone I love: You know where to find me. I'll still be your Bright Lotus (someone gave me that nickname and it stuck).

I took my own drug treatments. I'll be all right.
brightlotusmoon: (Pixie Model 5)
Actual chat conversation on Facebook earlier tonight:

Person: Hey, did you hear Esquire named Mila Kunis their Sexiest Woman Alive?
Me: Did they? That's nice. I love Mila Kunis. She's so beautiful and she seems genuinely lovely and wonderful.
Person: You know, you look a little like her. :)
Me: What?! Fuck no. I mean... thank you, holy shit, but I do NOT look anything at all like Mila Kunis.
Person: Well, aren't you, like, half-Russian?
Me: Technically. My mother's family was all over the Russia area, Romania, and Hungary. Soo... what?
Person: Mila Kunis is Ukranian.
Me: Yes, and?
Person: Well, you have similar features...
Me: Uh...
Person: And you really are beautiful.
Me: Again, thank you. Again, what?
Person: She could be like, your sister? Or a first cousin?
Me: That's very sweet of you. Weird, though.
Person: I mean, your eyes are really big like hers, and your face has the same shape, and your lips are full like hers. I love that one photo of you with that lawn in the background. You are just so, so gorgeous like Mila.
Me: Sweetie, I'm married and not into other men like that.
Person: No, no, I just meant that you're really pretty.
Me: Thank you again. You know, I'll just say thank you.
Person: Okay! :)
Me: Well, have a good night.

I sign off, I do an image search for Mila Kunis, I say, "Ehh... she's prettier." Then again, I am biased. I always thought Mila Kunis was beyond incredibly beautiful.

And I believe this was the photo they mentioned.

brightlotusmoon: (Default)
Why do people keep comparing me to Rachel Weisz physically?

Have you been compared to a celebrity to the point where you just get really confused when you look in the mirror because you just don't see any resemblance?
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
Oh, media. Oh, magazines. Oh, gossip pages. Why, oh why, oh fucking why, must you continuously pretend that there is some nutty battle between Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston over Brad Pitt? It was seven years ago. Get the bloody motherfucking fuck over it. There was no affair. There was no home-wrecking. When a married couple separates and files for divorce, each party is free to date other people. They've all said over and over that Pitt never cheated with Jolie because his marriage to Aniston was already over. Co-star becomes good friend after marriage separation becomes lover after filming of movie wraps.
Personally, I always loved Angelina and was always puzzled by Jennifer, but I really can't understand why tabloids and gossip sites are still desperate to pit them against each other. (Heh, pit... Pitt...) Yes, Angelina's engagement ring is beautiful. Why are you comparing it to an engagement ring that her fiance gave his ex-wife over a freaking decade ago? Seriously? Wait, why am I even talking about this? Why is it splashed all over the news sites I visit? I don't want to care. I just want to see the pretty ring. That's all. I like shiny things. I like shiny rings with sentimental significance. I like Angelina Jolie. I like Brad Pitt. They too are shiny. Maybe that's it. Everything is shiny. *FUCKING HEADDESK*
I'm tired and I don't want to think about this anymore. Everybody just shut up and go gossip about, oh, I don't know, Charlie Sheen, he's always entertaining.

In other news, which deserves more attention:
Oh, this is monumentally stupid. I kept slipping and nearly falling during a twenty minute walk and also got progressively dizzy. This is the most ridiculous part of my disability package. I'm surprised I made it up my stairs without falling over. The soft carpeted stairs, whee! Hm. Well, now I'm on seizure watch for a few hours. I have warned the cats.
Did I sleep last night? I completely forget. I think I slept in hour-long spurts with barely any Stage 3 cycling and essentially no Stage 4. I might have hit REM state once. After the passion flower pills. Oy.
I'm having a fibromyalgia flare, a spastic cerebral palsy hypertonic flare, near-total muscle weakness of varying sorts everywhere, a headache, allergies, and a low appetite so low that all I care about is a few spoonfuls of Greek yogurt with honey. Also, while I enjoy weather in the 80s, I don't do well when it happens like surprise, heat!

I've started having dreams about my new fandom, interspersed with dreams from my old fandom. This should be psychologically fascinating. Ninja Turtles and magic Little Ponies. Huh.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
Out of all the write-ups on Jackson's death that I've scrolled through (and they are everywhere), I like and agree with this one the most:
I'm not a big fan of Michael Jackson, but I grew up with his music, of course, and I don't know anyone who does not know his name. I'll be honest, my first memory of Jackson's music was actually the Weird Al parody of Jackson's "Beat it." Mom had bought me a little plastic record player with little records, and the first record she got me was Weird Al's "Eat It" because I wasn't eating (I'd had disordered eating even at six years old). After I listened to the parody over and over (Okay, okay, I'll eat a banana!) I watched the music video of "Beat It" and from then on I watched other Michael Jackson videos, of course. The man could dance.

I have been reading posts and articles that implore us now to redefine our concept of beauty. Michael Jackson never seemed to be satisfied with his external appearance, but his voice was always beautiful. Farrah Fawcett represented great inspirational beauty. And maybe we do need to look at what we've been doing to our bodies in the name of beauty. Whose ideal of beauty are we trying to reach, anyway? What sort of standards are we supposed to meet? Why do we hate ourselves for being ourselves?

I will now stop talking, before I start reading LJ posts like "OMG, will you all shut up about Michael Jackson now, I get it, he's dead, horrible tragedy." Because of course it will happen.
brightlotusmoon: (Default)
I read an article where Paris Hilton said she wants kids. She wants four children by the time she is thirty. And I thought, wow, that would doom humanity. And then I thought, now she is best friends with Britney Spears. Britney Spears has a very fertile ex-husband. Britney should advise Paris to sleep with Kevin. After all, humanity would be doomed already, why not make it an atomic bomb?
brightlotusmoon: (modeling for an art class)
I am no longer in love with Keira Knightley.
Those recent photos make me want to scream and shove cheeseburgers at her.

I am, however, still in love with Scarlett Johansson and Kate Winslet -- two women whom Ms. Knightley named as being her role models.
If that is so, sweet Keira... why aren't you eating? There is a huge, huge difference between being skinny and being skeletal. Yes, they both start with the same two letters, but that's it.

She says, "I'm not anorexic. I'm sure I'm not." In the same breath she says that she has a family history of the disease.

When I was sick, I was in denial for years and years. I understand. I sympathize. No, no, no, I'm not, never. Yet watch me pick carefully at my food and then throw it away. Watch me get so thin that it made my best friend want to cry. Watch me get so weak that my lover told me I was dying.

I don't know if Keira Knightley is anorexic. She looks it. She looks like she has not eaten -- or exercised -- in weeks. If she is, I hope she gets help. If not, then I want to see a paparazzi shot of her eating a bowl of macaroni and cheese. The whole thing.

For lunch I want a cheeseburger with mushrooms and guacamole.

They tell me I'm still not eating enough.
They want me to eat more.
See? It's hard to tell in our own heads.


brightlotusmoon: (Default)

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