Language and gender

I’ve been thinking more about this (thinking is just about all I ever do, it seems sometimes).

The thing that really bothers me about all this, far more than any body part, is the complete absence of language to communicate the experience of being non-binary gendered. Every time I’m called ‘girl’, ‘woman’  etc there’s a twinge of ‘oh, my boobs define my entire being to you too?’. Especially when those words come from people I know are trans-friendly, and  I’ve explained the situation to them.

What words could replace them though? The male equivalents only work in the sense of ‘huh, you didn’t just associate my identity with my body parts, nice’. It’s a shame it’s still a binary term that feels incredibly restrictive to me. I don’t think ‘not associated with years of mis-gendering’ is quite the same as actually feeling right.

Obviously, my birthname is another factor that really doesn’t help. Nor do I think it’s any coincidence that the gender neutral nickname that forms part of the title of this blog is the name I like people using best. It’s so non-standard though, I’m not sure if I’ll ever go through the hassle of changing it in all areas of my life, especially not with family.

There is but one thing I can and will do though. Fuck defining bodies by their parts. If you’re female, your body is too. In other words, the very last thing I have is a female body. I don’t care how it looks to you, it’s not. That’s true whether you’re a layman, or a doctor, or my mum.

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In other news, this has been the most productive night for nearly two months now. Only about 200 words and some references  to go, and this is practical report no. 1 out of the way!

 

 

BIPOLAR OWL

 

BIPOLAR OWL.

Found this on Tumblr today, and absolutely loving it. Whilst also mildly worried about the amount of times I’m going ‘Oh God yes, so true’. It’ll  come in handy for the next time I’m convinced there’s no way I’m ill, I’m fine now, how could I have ever thought I was so ill, I suppose.

As for why it’s an owl, I’m not sure. I think it’s probably best explained as ‘it’s a Tumblr thing’.

Very much wishing I felt more like the above image right now, it has to be said.

Still here, honest!

I’ve not been doing very well at updating this.. whoops!

Couple of days back went to a meet up of friends from all over the UK in London. Unfortunately a couple of people I really wanted to be there weren’t able to make it. I suppose that may be the slight flaw in having a group of friends each with their own mental health oddities.

Despite that though, it was a really awesome day. It’s nice to be able to socialise with a group of people who all understand. We chilled in Regent’s Park for a bit, then headed onto Camden Market until the evening.

Now all I have  to do is catch up on everything I’ve missed at uni, which is intimidating.

Student Suspended for Speaking Native American Language – ICTMN.com

Student Suspended for Speaking Native American Language – ICTMN.com.

I found a link to this on Tumblr, and it just beggars belief really.

Does it even really matter in the grand scheme of things if a 12 year old is passing on rude words in her native language to her friends? It’s distasteful, yes, but also very much what 12 year olds do. If the teacher is really worried, she should have enquired as to the language and researched the worrisome words, not banned it’s use outright.

I really wish people would think more about what they’re doing sometimes.

A mildly worrying pattern

2004 – unwell

2005 – mildly better, but not great

2006 – about as ok as I get

2007 – getting ill again

2008 – as ill as I’ve ever been

2009 – slowly recovering

2010 – again, basically ok

2011 – getting ill again

2012 – constant cycling, at least one incapacitating low, more than one high already.

This has been a vague idea floating around in my mind for a while now, but I only just wrote it down tonight. Upon doing so, I think the only words might just be ‘ah. shit.’.

It’s imperative I find the right medication cocktail, and soon. The only problem is that I’m at home now for the next three weeks, and may or may not be back in Cardiff after that. Then there’ll be another stretch at home, and then back in Cardiff. Coordinating appointments around that is not easy, especially not when side effects become just unbearable whilst at home (i.e. right now, with the nausea that lithium causes).

One might argue I should never have gone to a uni so far from home. I could have studied psychology almost anywhere. Should I have to give up on the course and location I actually want just because of illness though? Would that even do me any good, knowing I wasn’t where I really wanted to be?

It’s a little easier this time around. It’s amazing the sheer difference simply knowing ‘this is the bipolar, it does this’ makes. For that reason, I will never disagree with the idea of diagnosis (though, it’s hardly unflawed). I know a little better what helps, that it passes, that other people have the same thing, and simply why today getting out of bed is just not going to happen.

At the same time, this time around, it’s a better knowledge of how it can/will likely pan out. Months of cycling, getting increasingly worse. Potentially making studying impossible. If I’m up, I can make myself feel I will get through it. Obviously, when down, it’s quite the opposite.

I can only hope I am very wrong, and prepare to not to be.

 

Only a tiny bit

I said before that I had ideas for posts lined up, but now, it feels instead like the supply has dried up. I don’t suppose it’ll last forever, sooner or later I’ll have something to say for myself.

The knitting is going well, I shall have to take a picture soon for an update. I’m beginning to manage to learn to not let go of the needle each and everytime, though I’ve not yet mastered the technique, so currently it’s quite amusingly awkward.

I’m also beginning to get just a tiny tiny bit excited for moving into my new house in Cardiff. Only three months to go, should be amazing. So much healthier than living in halls. I’m already making plans in my head for my room. I can’t bear a plain, undecorated room (well, that’s my excuse for why any room I inhabit always ends up in such a mess). My room at home though is tiny, so it’s always been easy to keep it full of awesome little things. I’m very tempted to not only cover the walls in photos and post cards (those mostly from when my cousin went travelling all over the world rather than get in lots of debt at uni. I daresay she’s the smarter one out of me and her), but also to hang some form of display from the ceiling, seeing as for once I’ll have space.