What IS An Intangible Battle?

Silence... not moving, or making a decision is still a decision.

The worst of it is over, and I accept and understand each failure I made as I completed my final senior thesis for a B.A. degree. It took over three years, four if you include the year of me struggling to develop some semblance of a workable plan.

The depression was obvious. It would creep into my day, drowning me in loneliness until I had to replenish the tears with alcohol. Then that stretched into questionable nightly habits, desperately clinging on to comedy shows that alleviated the pain that cut into me. That pain morphed into my body, causing odd bathroom breaks with occasional blood and farts that would make a manly man blush. What was first my mental struggle had become a full-blown physical attack.

After the abuse from horrible eating and drinking habits, I finally took action in August to determine just why the blood keeps coming. Hemorrhoids could not be the only culprit, how can they burst so often, even if I do go on good stretches of exercise? What has not helped is the last bond of straining to restrain my body in a chair as I stare at a screen, hoping for the last of a paper to finalize in the appropriate time frame.

Then just a few days ago, I sealed the coffin with the last nail. After having a quick swim and breakfast, I jumped into cleaning up a rough presentation. Down to the wire, I was willing to offer the first (and only draft) of my paper to my professors for their discerning eyes. The moment the papers left my hands, a bit more control rushed into me.

Just as I have been taking responsibility for what I now acknowledge as ADHD; as I have accepted and mending a bacterial overgrowth of the small intestine; as I have countered my depression and anxiety with vigilant meditation and reflection; as I have accepted my weakness for excess of placebos for happiness, I accept the failures and mishaps that I would not have experienced otherwise. I would not have been inspired to discover that Playback Theater was a perfect place for me to internship with. If it were not for the thesis process, I would not have received my first ever rejection letter from a magazine editor. If it was not for my misguided hope to write a musical based on a famous singer-song writer, I would not have had the chance to talk to a professional in the music label industry.

There were plenty of chances for me to fall back into old habits. I even fell into temptation a few times. There was the occasional day of overeating, but I had to be careful what I ate in case my bowels decided to act up. Irrational shopping was eventually reversed by admitting my weakness and making a mindful plan to detract the power of it. Then twice last week, I had a drink.

Last Sunday was the worst. Instead of an intangible battle, it was an intangible war. Going to a wedding for an old childhood friend was overwhelming. Anxiety froze me into place, depression rattled my body with a malaise, my ADHD threading strings of lucid awareness and hyper-awareness into the outdoor ceremony. There was no chance I could take any of my medications early, it wasn't time yet. In such an important event, it would be difficult to go off and exercise the stress out. Most of all, any sense of logic was under full attack from the hurricane of emotions that it was difficult to see the center of the storm.

Okay so it wasn't a drink. There were several... maybe seven? That emotional response provided me a chance to boldly approach an old best friend who I had not talked to in a long time. But after that night I regretted all the drinking. Despite that guilt, that did not stop me from having a glass of port the night before my thesis presentation.

That will be the last time college will induce me into drinking. My liver has suffered abuse that was meant for the brain, and my thoughts have managed to catch up to logic. Intangible battles are mental and emotional responses to intense, difficult situations. The pain that was recorded internally became so unbearable that physical abuse was necessary to nullify the maddening thoughts and rambling emotions.

Handing a paper over, feeling my bags lighten from the absence of that package has helped. The steps I have taken recently reinforces the strength that has taken several years to rebuild. The mirage of perfection that I had been chasing has dissipated, revealing a starkly color world that I have somehow failed to notice for several years. For a change I can see the world for what it is... not what I want to see, or how others would want me to see it.

People will judge me for being unemployed and just get over myself. Others will judge me for still living with my parents and that I should carry my own weight. Some think I am whining and don't know just how good I have it and shouldn't throw away what good I have now.

They know hardly anything about me. I know hardly anything about them. We have no idea just how many thoughts run through our brains all the time. Everyone has their own inner battles. May it be a battle for inner peace, quietness, balance, faith, God, Goddess, Spaghetti Monster, Cathulu, or Universe... Our minds are fluid, thoughts and opinions ever changing. We are hardly ever the same person, even from a minute ago. Intangible battles are the changing tides of the mind, and this is a spiritual or holistic transformation that we all inevitably face.

Critical Drinking - A Reflection

There are those who drink for fun and to express themselves, but there will always be the students who drink endlessly. These are the students who fruitlessly drink to fill the hole that rests inside them. Go into the bar and see what types of customers appear. In the corner is the gaggle of girls doing shots. At a table a couple is enjoying their beer, talking animatedly. Then there is the one on the corner of the counter, slowly enjoying their beverage.

               

 During college I saw, and experienced, both worlds. My friends and I would make our way out of the Healthy Lifestyles floor, and settle into one of the seedier dorms. Drinks would be evenly distributed, and each of us would keep an eye on the other. Even when a close friend hosted a wine party, there was a sense of organization and safety. We were surprisingly responsible, for the drinking college stereotype. So what would fuel the drinking that the media likes to explore? Perhaps it is time to look closer at college students lives.

There was always a tradition of seniors drinking on the first day of classes for celebration. The image of a senior was one hand with a pen, the other with their drinking mug. Stress was so overwhelming for the thesising students that it was accepted, even supported, that they would go drinking. Often the seniors would say how they were going to treat themselves to a drink or several after they reached a certain goal. Drinking was a group activity, and the most relaxing way to distress besides taking other drugs.

Yet for every day that there is a party on campus, there is at least one student who is sitting by themselves with a bottle. As the workaholic seniors focus intensely on their work -abstaining from friends or the pursuit of friendships- they become isolated. Each student has to rely on their own abilities to get through the day. But since some students have never been so overwhelmed, they have poor coping skills (if any at all). That single senior tries to always have a drinking group ready, but will always have something in their room in case there are no groups to join for the night. So they are left alone, with their drinks. Even if the campus is dry, the student will find a way to acquire the needed drug.

Alcoholism and addiction can be enhanced by genetics, but the students need to be taught good habits before they reach critical mass during college. I remember feeling so overwhelmed by thesising, personal issues, dirty politics, mass abandonment, and damaged self-esteem that I tried to drown the pain with numbing salve. Each day was a struggle to exist, to muscle up the façade that would get me through the day. I would hear stories of others drinking unthinkingly, somehow enjoying the evening and letting go of stress. All that I knew, and remember, was a costly journey into long nights and sunrises, hearing the life around me wake up as I fell asleep. When colleges take the time to address the needs of the students, then we may be able to eliminate the need to drink and reduce the amount of alcoholic incidents on campuses.

Laying the Cards Out

Secrets, are they really safe anymore?

What used to be buried under layers of paper and twisted lies, now floats to the top of the internet for the rest of the world and businesses to see.

What would I have to hide?

Plenty of things, but one in particular comes to mind. One that has been so predominate in my thinking in the past year and a half.

It has finally come to the point where I am just going to say it, no more mystery, nor wild guesses. My personality is too unique to be place on a normal spectrum.

I don't care who knows.

I am bisexual. Or better yet, pansexual. Any guy, woman, in any shape or form is welcome to my heart. I love for the sake of loving the individual.

I have been living with confusion for a few years. What I have come to learn is that it doesn't matter who you are attracted to, as much as WHY you are attracted to them. Perhaps I have always enjoyed liking who should be forbidden, such as bad guys, villans, and girls. But I have been very humanist in my interests. It doesn't matter if the guy is effeminate or the girl, butch. The point is that they have an attractive personality, and physical features that I admire.

I have learned to love individuals for who they are, and I'll be damned if I can't teach that lesson to others.

I am used to bullying, and I'm willing to live with it for the rest of my life if it means being true to myself.

Forget the normal lines of society, I live the life that I wish to live. And now, I can live with integrity.

I am part of two societies that encourage and support bisexual women. We are not harlots, and we are not indecicive. Love comes to us in whatever way it prefers. I have an intuition that love will come to me in a very unique way.

I watch the people around me grow, and my inspirations give me strength. I have lived in the LGBTQ community longer than I have imagined. I love these communities, and I would protect them with my life. They are my friends, family, and community. I would give my all to give them strength.

That is the click I have belonged to all my life, though never realized it. Sure, I'll bounce around making friends everywhere. But that is my family. They are who I live and breathe for. I cannot change my life without thinking, who will now be my gay/bi/les/queer/trans best friend? Where will I find the people that I am most comfortable with.

What role does theater have in this? If anything, it made me be more true to myself. I do have rather masculine tendencies, but who wouldn't in this day and age? But to crave a feminity in another to firmly establish that yang of masculinity, or even that oppostite feminity is exactly what I have been desiring.

Bring on the hate... I have crushes on Taylor Swift and Rihanna. I think that Robert Downey Jr. is hot... espcially with Jude Law. Sexuality is sexy, and I refuse to back down from this position. I will find love, and I will marry. Will it be a man or woman, I don't care as long as it's passionate and real.

I conduct other blogs for bisexual sites, and will continue to do so till mu love runs dry (which I doubt). Find me on ShyBi or USBiGirls, I will write about my life, and the establishment of a bisexual identity.

This is my first stand against socital standards. And my past reestablishes my future path. So wish me luck or wish me ill, this is the path that I choose to follow. My sexuality is not crucial to my work, but it is crucial to my personality, and I do not wish to underestimate the love I have. This is my chance to find somone who I truely love. And who I will take care off.

I am bi, and you cannot change that.