The Return To Innocence

So, stuff.
My body and brain have been up and down in normal chronic pain ways, and now that I'm medically on the autism spectrum with Nonverbal Learning Disability, my doctors and therapists can focus on more specific treatments for the sensory and communication issues, and I no longer feel I need to justify why I do so many weird and fucked up things that make people angry. I'm not gonna use any of my disabilities as an excuse, because I find that revolting, but I will merely say, "Look, I'm super neurodiverse and I have issues, so just hang on a minute while I get my brain in order, okay?" I don't think I have ever been neuro-typical.

I've been venting on Facebook more than LiveJournal, which i find backwards, but I have so many friends on Facebook who are immediate and who know exactly how it is. I refuse to leave Livejournal, since it has been my home since late 2001, so I plan on writing here more and more, copying between here and Facebook.

So, I have been in a major depression episode for several weeks now. It has been quiet and lurking, like a huge tar pit, and every so often a creature rises with flashing claws and strikes and I break down and my insides begin screaming. It happened last night, while Adam and I were eating the rabbit stew he had slow-cooked. I randomly, suddenly began sobbing in heaves into a napkin, and Adam placed his hand on the back of my head gently - it's a gesture he does to Mikey to let Mikey know he is there and to guide Mikey in his blindness, and he's been doing it with me ever since we met. Adam began massaging my neck and shoulders, and then I began gasping and rasping "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry..." and Adam asked "Why?" and I gestured violently at my body and rasped, "THIS. I just... I just... I can't. I fucking can't. I can't even eat a whole meal with out..." and I sobbed again and he held me and held me, and I cried about how broken I was and that i was a horrible housewife and how I couldn't do the things he needed me to do sometimes, and he said, "Honey, it's okay. You are so important. You pay our bills, you make the appointments, you keep the house from exploding, you remind me to take of myself. I bring in the money. I may break my back doing it, but you're already broken and it isn't anything you did, and that's okay. It's all okay. Everything is okay. I love you."
We had moved to the couch, and I cried and cried while he held me, and Jupiter came over and sat like a sphinx on us and purred with his entire body and we pet him and scritched him, and the creature in my brain faded.

Adam needed to wake up around five in order to go to his IT/AV shop in Virginia and then to New York for a job overnight. We went upstairs and prepared his luggage and had sex that comforted me and made me happy with the afterglow jokes, and then later, Luna came over in one of her precious rare moments and settled between us on a small pillow to purr us to sleep.

I still have this weird lump in my throat from... so many things. I still need to print out that form that my new psychologist needs for insurance and such, and on Friday, our second appointment, we may try hypnotherapy. I'll tell her about the spectrum thing just so she keeps it in mind. I think we'll get along just find.

I sent back the forms to get Medicare Part B, and once I'm enrolled at the end of the year, I shall enroll in Part C with Aetna, and then things should be cheaper for me. Next week will be the dentist and then the pain physician.

I still need to eat more.

And then... and then, there is this. Found and shown to me by the magnificent naamah_darling, it is the absolute ultimate expression of what I've been calling The Spear Theory (as opposed to the spoon theory).

Always. Forever. I am my shield and these are my spears. Because spoons can only do so much. The spear theory leaves me scarred and shattered and covered in the blood of my pain monsters. And after I recover and refresh there is a new set of shiny spears waiting to be hurled, broken, stuck in the bodies of my pain monsters, and repeat.
And as I rest and recover, spoons are there to help feed and nourish. But there will always be more spears.
I am a pain warrior. A warrior in an old way.
http://internal-acceptance-movement.tumblr.com/post/61136577036

And Naamah's thoughts:
http://naamah-darling.livejournal.com/633319.html

It is too perfect.

Note: Seizure.
Dreamstate. Melting clocks, supernovas, galaxies whirling like pinwheels.
The looking glass shattered when I fell through. Alicia my guide held me tight and whispered, hoarsely, "Those hands of time and space will not move unless you stop watching."
The melting clocks began to burn.
Alicia was screaming for Amara to come get me. Wonderland looked like a rainforest on LSD.
Amara slid her cool hand into mine and said, "Neurology is hell, and then you live."
I was wrapped in a silk cocoon, shoved through a broken cracked pathway of shorted neurons and synapses. Amara was with me. When we broke through, I heard Serena say, "I'll take her now. Thank you, sister." And I heard a kitten purring so loudly it made me vibrate, and I felt pure comfort. I managed to mumble, "I need Amber to wrap me in safe." But it had already been done.
I love my spirit guardians, also known as my human-shaped coping mechanisms, also known as my creations with minds of their own, also known as awesome psychological methods.

In a discussion with Naamah yesterday, she referred to me as "so inscrutable zen-master... really at peace with the fact that sometimes, things don't make sense... and don't need to." I used to quote Chang Tzu without knowing it was Chang Tzu: "Use understanding to understand what can be understood with understanding, and then stop." and when people asked, "Wait, how many 'understandings' are in there?" I would reply, "Yes, exactly."
And so Naamah suggested that if Serena had a companion, it would have to be a little koi-colored calico cat named Koan. Today, my mind remembered that and ran with it, constructing a six-month-old calico kitten with koi patterning, named Koan. And she will be infinitely gentle, patient, and a deep lover of head-butts, cheek nuzzling, face licking, lap sleeping, and Being There When I Need Her.


I'm back in reality. I must rest now. Hi. I believe the seizure lasted approximately two minutes. I can type, with exhaustion, but reading is becoming fatiguing. I will do things to recover. Yes.

I must quote this, because it struck me deeply and knocked me over and stunned me and amazed me.

*****
From: naamah_darling.
I don't know if I can explain it, any more than I can explain why I find anyone amazing, but you're open about what you are and what you are going through. You don't expend energy trying to be normal, and you never seem to even want to. You aren't afraid of what you ARE, even when the things that HAPPEN, sometimes because of things that you are, are scary. You seem sometimes scared of things that happen or that you (body/chemistry) do to you, but not scared of yourself, really. You're fierce. You're . . . we don't have a word for it. The way in which children and animals are alike, that we *call* innocence, but isn't innocence, it's just a kind of transparency and guilelessness-without-cluelessness. You're contradictory, and this isn't a problem. You've imposed . . . not order . . . but some sort of reason and meaning and story on the chaos in your life, and you have made beautiful things out of it inside you. You persist. You change, you are not destroyed. You're mercurial, joyful in the sense of being flat-out at everything you feel and not in the sense of being always happy, you're generous, you're very kind, you're forgiving. You aren't afraid to spend a lot of time working with and understanding yourself, because you know that is important. You are more people than just-the-one-you you. You are comfortable working with shape and meaning and color, when words aren't good enough. Whole parts of you are indescribable. You're a *good person*, while still being strong and fierce, and that is overwhelmingly obvious to anyone with half a synapse. You belong in fairy tales, like so many of the rest of us, writing better endings. You're kind of amazing.

And tangentially, THAT is why when people are all like "disabled people are so inspirational!" I get kinda pissed on the grounds of "THESE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW, they are SO MUCH MORE than a stepping stone for your ego or a friendly reassurance that hey, if those people can manage to get themselves to a beach/a gym/on a horse, you have a good chance of not being an utter asshole failure your entire life, and accomplishing REALLY important things!" and at the same time am like "No, really, we ARE inspirational; you have no fucking idea how 'inspirational' the disabled folks I know are . . . and if you had one iota of their self-awareness you might not be saying such asinine crap."
You want to find disabled people "inspirational?" I'll accept that . . . if what you are finding "inspirational" is their honesty in speaking out and sharing their opinions, their desire to help others, their weapons-grade swearing vocabulary (so many disabled people I know HAVE THAT, it's glorious), their ability to incorporate something literally disabling into their self-image and life when our culture gives them limited scripts and limited opportunities, their persistence in navigating the obstacles placed in front of them not by what they are, but by how our culture and the many dickheads in it unwittingly and often VERY DELIBERATELY make it harder to do so, the fact that they are often poor as dirt but are the most generous people you will ever meet, that they have known pain and so they often know great compassion.

*THAT* SHIT IS INSPIRATIONAL.

So is persistence, yes, which is why I am always impressed when I see someone who has had to deal with major issues accomplish something that is made particularly difficult BY those issues SPECIFICALLY, but when that sort of thing is nearly always ONLY praised in the context of visible, physical disability, or when it's some completely unrelated shit, that pisses me off.

It's like . . . people are apparently impressed by when disabled people do anything *while smiling*, because that indicates the triumph of overcoming our miserable existence? Or that we have a good enough attitude to forget, for a moment, that we are fucked up and are supposed to be miserable constantly? I don't even KNOW. But these same people aren't finding me inspirational when I'm at my blackest and am hanging on by my last claw, which is arguably when I am being my MOST BADASS. That's when I need to be pulling up my bootstraps and thinking my way out of it with sunshine and baby kisses. But an ungroomed, exhausted, surrounded by laundry, not moving, fat, blotchy, cat-strewn DEPRESSED person staring at a computer screen or TV or at nothing in particular doesn't look good in a facebook picture. "This person: probably exercising more willpower not to give up hope and eat a bullet than you will exercise at any point in your whole life. Stop. Bitching. That. Your. Yoga. Is. Hard." <---- Nobody wants that. (And, while maybe sometimes true, it's also kinda dickly, because Suck Olympics are uncool. The things that have made me most miserable sometimes do not seem to be proportional or make sense. To wit, the hour-long crying jag I had when my last pet scorpion died, years ago. Dude, I cried less painfully when my GRANDMOTHER died. What even the HELL?)

All I know is that the shit people usually talk about as being inspirational is not really very inspirational to me. Like, *if* it's true that Chris Evans really does have anxiety/panic attacks (never read reliable info about how severe his "problems with anxiety" are, though he apparently went into therapy) and he still navigated two MONSTROUS blockbuster movies and associated press events, I find that totally fucking impressive, because I KNOW WHAT THAT IS LIKE, and I know I couldn't handle it. And that's the stuff people don't seem to understand. That's the stuff people latch on to and *make fun of.* Because people who don't Get It can be real dicks about that stuff.
*****
I truly believe that if Namaah and I lived closer, we would see each other several times a week and never get tired of each other's company.
My husband once told me that everyone has multiple soulmates, that a soul can be split into many different parts. I think Namaah may be one of my soulmates. It took me five years to realize that, and that's okay. I like to take things slowly.

Well, now that I've learned how to properly pronounce "Hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy" I can do more thorough research into how the brain lesions from periventricular leukomalacia damaged those particular sections of my brain.
As cerebral palsy is a static encephalopathy, yet always comes with co-morbid and co-existing disorders that are progressive, cerebral palsy can sometimes be confused with a disease that progresses. But no. The damage has already been done and cannot change. However, the extent of that damage can spawn syndromes and conditions over the years that can still cause permanent and progressive damage to the brain and the body. Which basically means that I get to smack anyone upside the head who insists that I can be completely cured. Because it's funny.

Also, this is accurate:
**
Periventricular leukomalacia (PVL) is a type of brain damage that involves the periventricular white matter of the brain. Damage to white matter results in the death and decay of injured cells, leaving empty areas in the brain — called lateral ventricles, which fill with fluid (a condition called leukomalacia).
The brain primarily consists of white matter and gray matter. Gray matter has neural cell bodies, which can initiate nerve impulses, while white matter transports impulses between gray matter cells. The periventricular white matter that surrounds two horseshoe shaped cavities in the brain is primarily responsible for the transmission of nerve impulses that control motor function. Damage in this area can result in spasticity and intellectual impairment.
Myelin is an integral component of white matter that coats and essentially insulates cell pathways, promoting speedy transmission of nerve impulses. Damage to myelin slows and impedes nerve transmission, possibly impairing brain function.
Approximately 60-100% of infants with periventricular leukomalacia are diagnosed with cerebral palsy. Four to 26% of premature infants placed in neonatal intensive care units have cerebral palsy. In severe cases, postmortem examinations have discovered that 75% of premature infants who died shortly after birth had periventricular leukomalacia.
Experts believe intrauterine infections are the underlying factor for periventricular leukomalacia. Membranes around the fetus are affected by the release of toxins, which travel through amniotic fluid to selectively injure areas of the developing brain. These toxins can also cause premature rupture of the membranes and premature birth.
**

In conclusion: Whenever someone thinks they're insulting me by telling me I am brain-damaged, I always say "Thank you! I am brain damaged! I'm impressed you noticed!" Which confuses them so much that they just stop talking altogether. And then I feel happy.

SCIENCE!

Call me Courage.
It takes a lot of strength to talk about life like this.

So, I just "woke up" splayed uncomfortably in my comfortable leather task chair, head lolled to the right, mouth open and drooling, left side full of hemiplegic hypertonic hemiparesis, right side spasming in its own way, brain stuffed with cotton, voices inside me screaming "GET UP, GET UP, OPEN YOUR EYES, DO IT NOW. JOANNA! WAKE UP!" Voices I recognized as Alicia, Serena, Amara, and Amber - all four of my spirit guides, aka healthy multiplicity selves, aka characters I created long ago that took on lives of their own deep inside my damaged brain. I have never, ever heard them in chorus. I felt something like a massive SHOVE - very similar to a hypnic jerk, which is actually extremely common during testings for epilepsy. Hypnic jerks, also known as hypnogogic jerks, night starts, and sleep starts, are those weird sensations you get between deep sleep and waking when you suddenly feel as though you have fallen onto your own bed from high above.
There was no panic in those cries, simply intensity. They were all desperate to bring me around. See, Alicia is the one who guides me through the seizures and brings me to Serena, who guides me though the pain. If needed, Amara steps forth to ease the anxiety, panic, and fear. And although Amber has kept silent and hidden for decades, Amber is the one who soothes my entire soul and my entire consciousness with a blend of magics and quantum physics that I still cannot translate into common words. However, they have always been separate and individual. The only ones who have ever communicated in any way have been Alicia and Serena, if only to pass me between each other with nods and whispers.
And so I awoke, or came out of the seizure, twisted and deeply exhausted from cerebral palsy complexities, compounded by fibromyalgia, sensory processing disorder, synesthesia, and hypersensitivity. For several agonizing moments, I did not know where I was - and the only reason I knew my own self was because the Guides poured all my memories quickly into my mind, into the live, non-damaged bits of my brain. I know that doesn't make any real medical neurological sense, but I cannot explain it any other way. The only reason I am typing this up is because my hands are moving of their own accord. I have a silly feeling that Serena and Amber might be helping me. Keep in mind that these women are not "real" - they are fictional characters. And they know it. But they are parts of my mind and have always been. I am still wracked with deep anxiety, and Amara is wrapping me in the most comforting... things? Images and sensations of fabrics. Ideas of beautiful imagery? Tiny mewling soft kittens happy and adored and warm? Anything to keep me calm and happy and anything to keep me from breaking down in screaming tears. I can feel an episode of clinical major depression creeping up on me.
And I still do not know why any of this is happening. I have lost small memories of today. I do not mourn them too much. I just want to feel better.
Can someone tell me a story, please? Any kind of story?

So. I talk a lot about fibromyalgia, often about epilepsy, occasionally about cerebral palsy. I don't talk enough about how the minutiae and tiny complexities of cerebral palsy affect me on a daily basis, because there is so much to talk about with so much to explain, and not even my husband gets everything - in fact, since his brain works too quickly for... well, everything, my brain is slightly illogical, very odd to him. Only my mother and father understand Joanna's Brain. I mean that literally. Someone could insist that they know how I work, but they actually cannot, they are literally unable to figure me out unless they observed me very closely as I grew.
Now. The thing that seems to puzzle people most about my brain is that I have trouble making easy connections between what I see and hear and feel, and what is observed and perceived. It is why I am a terrible housewife. It's why I don't clean the house as often as I should. It's why I forget to do things, why I get scolded, why I can easily irritate people. Connections get lose very quickly and very easily. I need to see, hear, feel, understand, over and over and over. "Jo, why the hell did you do that? Jo, why the hell didn't you do that? Jo, didn't you get that? You forgot to do that! You need to do that!" - phrases I hear constantly. I act on impulse. Often, the impulse is on a childish level, where I just don't notice or understand or even care. Yes, I have OCD and ADHD Inattentive and Sensory Processing Disorder. They do contribute to how I act and react. But I can readily admit that sometimes, it is just me. Sometimes my brain happens without rhyme or reason. I may be a thirtysomething adult woman, but most of the time parts of my brain don't realize it.
Neurology is weird, isn't it?

https://www.change.org/petitions/chairman-murphy-and-ranking-member-degette-stop-threatening-the-hipaa-rights-of-people-with-psychiatric-disabilities
To quote a dear friend:
"I am a fully-functioning human being, mentally ill people pose NO greater threat to society than non-mentally-ill people, and we are entitled to exactly the same protections as every other person. Do not discuss these issues without allowing mentally ill people to educate you. Do not discuss these issues until and unless you are aware that mentally ill people are more likely to be the VICTIMS of violence than the perpetrators. Inform yourselves and actually talk to the people involved. Don't bring your own preconceived ideas to the table, call them fact, and suggest policy based on them. That's inhumane AND unlawful."

And I would like to add:
There are very different types of crazy. What I call Hollywood Crazy or Hollywood Mental Illness is usually the kind that is an exaggerated version of a disorder that is seen as a danger to oneself and others. There are people out there so terrified of this that even if they are mentally ill, they will refuse to say anything because ignorant family members might see them as Hollywood Crazy (see: "I am not crazy! I have never been crazy! Don't call me crazy!" often intoned with an air of fear, upset, prejudice.) And in those minds, Hollywood Crazy might mean commitment to a ward or facility, which is often seen as a terrible thing, not a helpful healing thing. We seriously need to change how we view mental illness and mental disability. There are so many people living with a form of mental illness who absolutely refuse any sort of treatment purely out of fear of ridicule, shunning, disconnection from family, even forced unnecessary commitment to hospitals. We need to show them that the stigma is human, driven by fear that breeds hate, and that there is no shame or fear in getting some sort of treatment.

***

Dear pharmaceutical drugs: I know people hate you and think you are poison, but I just wanted to tell you that I greatly appreciate your role in saving my life.
I will always balance you with holistic remedies, allopathic medicine, and whole body treatments. But I will always be grateful for the way you have helped me feel better, and even normal, under certain standards. I am one of those people who rarely experience the various side effects listed - which really, are simply issues reported by test patients during trials, which may or may not actually affect anyone. It took me years to realize that. After all, many, many pharmaceutical drugs were initially derived and synthesized from plants, foods, and botanicals. I am not sure about recent years, but chemistry is chemistry.
I do not participate in the stigma and hate toward you. Of course, I am only speaking for myself and my personal experiences. I know so many people who really have been poisoned and "screwed up" because their chemistry reacted very badly to certain medicines, causing extreme side effects that led to even worse conditions. I cannot speak for them. But I can speak for me. And all I can do is be grateful.
One day, I will taper down until I need only very small dosages of the drugs I am taking. That may be years from now. I will still need to take certain drugs for the rest of my life However, for the time being, I am perfectly fine with the pills I take. I cannot say that for anyone else - I am not anyone else.
I am always sad when I learn that so many other patients cannot handle certain medications or become worse due to negative side effects - that is horrific.
Yet as long as no one tries to convince me personally that my life would be better if I quit all my essential medications, I will nod and agree that we take too many prescriptions as a whole, and that negative side effects can be absolutely terrifying and can lead to worse problems. I wish there were more patients like me, who are are able to handle drugs without intense side effects.
And now I shall take the supplements that I take daily, to help balance the pharmaceuticals. Because the supplements work for me. And that is a completely separate debate for another post.

Oh, hell, might as well do that post now.
Depending on who you talk to, supplements and holistic medicine and alternative remedies are either the best thing and the only thing, or absolute bullshit and placebos. And then there are those who regard supplements as exactly that - supplemental. Alternative. Balancing. No big deal.
I grew up on vitamins and supplements, only being given pharmaceuticals when necessary. Now that I need to take over half a dozen pharmaceutical pills daily, I balance them as best I can with vitamins and supplements.
There are plenty of sick patients who are physically unable to take supplements and alternative treatments, as their bodies and brains completely reject or don't respond at all to said medicines. Which is why I bristle whenever someone insists that pharmaceuticals are all poison and only supplements and natural medicines are the way to treat illness. Nobody is the same. Everybody is different. What works for me may not work for you. People don't seem to understand this. People may never understand this.

And here, I submit a full list of every single diagnosis ever made in my life, and here I submit a full list of pharmaceutical medications and supplemental medicines, stored in both my Facebook Notes section and a document in Word.

( Read more... )

And now, time for the daily supplements that I take daily because they work for me.

So, I'm not going to fully describe the four distinct simple partial seizures, the Raynaud's flare, the lumbar and sciatic spasms that literally crippled me and put me on the floor writhing, the chondromalacia patella flare that was just purely evil, the spastic hemiplegic flare that left my entire left side feeling ghost-like, the fibromyalgia burning that I compared to nerves hooked on heated barbed wire and connective tissues touching a bonfire - skin included - the sinus and jaw pain caused by my generally being irritated, the depression, the twitching anxiety.
Details are pointless. But since I am a disability advocate, I will leave this open for questions and stories and understandings and commiserations and complaints, since a huge percentage of my Friends List is disabled in some way.

My female cats are taking turns jumping on my lap and nuzzling me, occasionally preventing me from getting up. Obviously I could remove the cats from my lap at will, but I don't want to, and also they kind of dig in because they really want to hang out. Fine by me.

Although, if anyone actually wants details, please ask. You never know.

Double facepalm and headdesk.
I am momentarily displeased.
Just because I acknowledge my limitations for my disabilities does not mean I have given up on myself nor accepted all my weakness. Oh, people are stupid assholes. With the inspiration porn and the insistence that there are no limits etcetera. El Oh El and various expressions of mirth.

Other than that I feel wonderful. I mean, despite the fever, migraine, flares of fibromyalgia and sciatica and spasticity and anxiety, and general aches. Life happens, life is funny.

No simple "I'm so sorry please feel better" comments, please. I get it, you want to say something. You are welcome to feel sorrow for my predicaments, of course, but unless you can follow it up with insightful and inspiring sentences, it is unnecessary. Most of the time it just feels... well, unnecessary. I wish I could think up a stronger word, but the thesaurus part of my brain is slightly broken and is being mended. I am happy enough to receive "hugs" comments. But I am going to quote a friend: "Please say something actually useful to me beyond that you want to hug me." Oh, I sound crude. I suppose it happens when a brain and body won't work properly and there is only pain and irritation and frustration...
Well, this is a journal. This is my journal. It is where I journal my thoughts. Hello, thoughts.
Time for some rest, perhaps.

Copied and pasted here to remind myself.



Life is life, and my life is sometimes a broken life, a crippled life, a life I push through with courage.

I do not care if people accuse me of using my disabilities as identification. I don't know if the people who say that were born disabled and have been living with it forever, and even if they were, their views are not mine.

I am not a "person first" disabled person. I don't want to be. I don't even know what that means, aside from "my disability is a very negative thing that should be peripheral to who I am, something I must shun, something I must be ashamed of, something I must seek to cure permanently when that is impossible for me personally." It may be a label, but it is my label. It is as much a part of me as my being female, very short, pagan, bisexual, of Jewish heritage, having a deep love of knowledge and fantasy.
I am an individual with stuff happening to me, stuff with labels and connotations and usually offensive slurs attached that may never truly fade. This may be an unpopular opinion among certain social justice warrior circles. But I never wanted to be part of The Crowd, the Hive Minds who collectively attack anyone who disagrees with them.
I am quite happy to amend my language for others, because nobody else is me, in my head or body, and it would be the height of insult for me to try to compare someone else's issues to my own without respecting their personal views.

I was born a disabled person. It is most likely a completely different thing than people who acquired disabilities in adulthood, say via accidents or illnesses. For them, there was Normal Before. For them, they are "people with disabilities" probably because of the Normal Before Disabled After deal. I never had a Normal Before. I never had a Normal.
Also, I will stand up and say it: I am not "normal." I am not "just fine." I do not need to be patronized, condescended to, cooed at. I am not "a person with epilepsy" - I am an epileptic person. It's the same thing, but with less eye-rolling. I am a "person with fibromyalgia" and a "person with cerebral palsy" because I don't thing there are "-ic" suffixes for those terms. In any case, I'm not putting my person first just because it's socially polite now. Fuck that. I am who I am. I. Me. Personally. And that means I'm still a person, just a disabled person, because I'm disabled, because I have disabilities, and walking on eggshells is painful. Like I said, I'm happy to amend my language for others. But don't put me person-first. It's not necessary, and it's rather irritating.
I am a person. I was born with disabilities. It is all I have ever known. My disabilities do not define me, and they never have and they never will. However, they are part of me forever, and I cannot and will not ignore them while putting on a fake gleaming smile.

I am a disabled person, and I refuse to shove my disabilities aside to cater to the politically correct whims of those who think I need to change how I see myself. If that makes me unpopular, offensive, insulting or on the receiving end of comments like "Really? Seriously? I can't believe you just said that." then so be it. We all have our own personal Things to deal with. Mine are mine and nobody else's, so I'm not going to be politically correct at myself just because a bunch of people decided it sounded better to them. There are only so many ways I can see myself through the eyes of my culture, and this is not one of them.

/rant over