A rememberer, an observer

If I recall back to all my early childhood memories, it seems as though I am viewing them as an outside observer. I don’t remember them through my perspective really but through the perspective of someone observing, which I find really odd.

The earliest one that I can remember; I was probably around 2. I was eating a mango and sitting in front of my mother as she braided my hair. A cartoon was on the air, I know it must have been Nickelodeon. After some time, my Dad came in with a kid tea set for me and I got very excited. After this point I don’t remember much else.

I do remember so many things though. My memory is so strange, that sometimes I will pretend to not remember as to not creep people out. I remember my mother’s eye color, the day my sister was born, eating lunch with my mom on the stair steps, and so much more. I also remember the day she died and her funeral. I was confused that day. I didn’t understand grief. I was downstairs in my house when my aunt held me. She was breaking the news to my Dad and he was on the floor crying and banging around, and I was just so confused. I remember the funeral, my god mother was holding me on her lap and we watched and watched the casket. I remember going to her grave maybe a year later to put flowers there for her, roses. From then on, I was confused and anxious about everything. I was scared someone else would disappear and never come back. I was scared because I didn’t understand the strong emotions that went on around me, things that were just too complex for me to breakdown and understand.

And yet going through all my memories, I remember them as if I was on the outside. I could see what I felt, what I was wearing, and what was going on. Sometimes, I go through my memories to see what went wrong. Where did I go wrong? Where was it in my childhood that my mind became tarnished? I do remember that sometimes my environment was volatile. As in, I never knew if I did something wrong and if I would get spanked for it or if my Dad would suddenly go off into a yelling fit or if my aunt would suddenly give me the cold shoulder. All of these left me incredibly anxious, and confused. I remember some time that my father was just yelling at the top of his lungs at my grandma over something. If there’s anything anyone should know about me, is that I hate loud sudden things. I immediately started crying and ran to my room and hid. My Dad found me and asked me why I was crying. But..I remember lying and saying nothing. I didn’t feel safe to open up my emotions. It hit me at that tender age that, I didn’t feel safe or secure. Can you imagine being 4 years old and feeling like that?

Sometimes, I still feel that way. Sometimes, I still feel like an observer looking out at myself.

A rememberer, an observer

The Struggle is Real

As I write this it is currently 8:17 PM. I’m attempting to study for my Inorganic Chemistry class but instead I got flustered. I decided I should at least put something out on my blog. Since I’ve last wrote to you, I have experienced a range of emotional output. From love, to guilt, to shame, to heartbreak, and from despair. I’ll admit, I was kind of avoiding making a post. I have been struggling a lot recently, and I know that I should admit m struggles and share them, but I guess I’ve fallen into the trap of “painting myself in the best light”. Which is bullshit because I not only should share the upbeat, positive, recovery driven Bianca, but also the depressed, anxious, moody, and negative Bianca. Right now I am the latter.

I eventually stopped taking my Paxil because I hated the way I gained weight. I hated that I was close to 165 lbs. I hated seeing that number with every fiber of my being. I think after those first few posts I dived into this huge restrictive phase and I basically isolated myself for a month. I only worried about calories, weight, work, and research for the month of July. But because I stopped taking my Paxil, the thoughts of bingeing and purging came back, tenfold. I was consumed by my thoughts and July 2017 ended up being the scariest month of my life. I was terribly scared to go back to bingeing and purging everyday. I was (and still am) incredibly emotionally unstable. Thankfully I managed to only purge twice in that month period. I know that this number should be zero, but I’m thankful I didn’t fall into that cycle. In the beginning of August I made an appointment with my GP and she prescribed me 37.5 mg of Effexor. I did stick with it for the month of August and part of September, but all it did was up my anxiety. I was a huge anxious mess. I ditched the Effexor, and my psychiatrist prescribed me 10 mg of Prozac. I am now part of that prozac nation haha. I’ve been on Prozac for about two weeks now. Today was the first day that after I took it, I didn’t feel so much dread. I’m hoping to be bumped up to 20 mg soon so I can finally function properly without all these negative thoughts. I’m trying to limit my eating disordered behaviors, but I’m finding it rather difficult right now. I’m just stuck in this cycle of restricting and fasting and I feel just pretty overall bad. I know that I’m just using these behaviors to distract me from the constant dread and worthlessness that I feel.

Another thing that I guess fuels the fire to my anxiety is that within the past two months I have started: a new job, a new school, and a new relationship(that ended after about a month, but still anxiety producing). The feelings that I struggle with the most are just not feeling good enough. I felt like I wasn’t good enough for my job, or that I wasn’t good enough for Stony Brook University, or that I wasn’t good enough for my now ex-boyfriend. I feel like I have all these expectations of me, and I’m not measuring up to them in the slightest and that makes me feel ashamed. But the thing that sucks the most is just how fucking lonely I feel through this all. I know that I have amazing friends and amazing family members that care for me, but I feel not even good enough for them. All of this is extremely exhausting and I’m tired 24/7. Did I mention that I feel ashamed? Ashamed that I can’t eat right. Ashamed that I am turning to bad behaviors to cope. Ashamed that I can’t be the things that are expected of me. I wish that I could just be healthy and happy. But whenever I think that I am deserving of good things, something tells me that I am not and that I am worthless. It’s hard feeling of worth when the people that are closest to you have treated and reminded you in the past that you are of no value. Whenever I try to remind myself that I am worth it, I get flashbacks of when my Dad held a knife to my throat and told me I deserve to die. Or when I was molested as a child. If I wasn’t worth it then, what am I worth now? What value do I add onto this world? I know that I should let these things go, but I can’t. I don’t know how or what to base my worth on. I am going through a really difficult time with all these new transitions, new connections, and new expectations and am trying to be mindful of how vulnerable I am right now. I’m not quite sure what to do, but something that helps (and is a healthy coping mechanism) is photography. I bought a Canon AE-1 program for my 21st birthday. I’m bring sexy (film) back. As soon as I get my rolls developed and scan, I’ll be sure to post the picture up on here so you guys can view. Anyways, I have to get back to inorganic chemistry. This quiz is most definitely happening. I will try to post sometime this week and I hope to be more consistent with this blog. I promise to explain more into detail about my job, school, and all the new connections that I made. But for right now, I just needed to get that out.

Stay Golden,

Bianca

The Struggle is Real

Gear grinding

Hey all! So this has been really bother me for quite some time. I figure, why not make a blog post about it? As a person of color, there are a lot of things that I have to be aware of. I have to be aware of such racism and prejudice. It can be quite tough as a POC. I always have to wonder: Man, will I be judged for wearing my hair naturally? If I am visiting a friend who is not a POC, will their family automatically have assumptions about me because I’m black? Will people think I have no passion, drive, or goals because I am black? Will people be nice to me in person but talk down about me when I am not around? These are all legitimate concerns. But the one thing that I should NOT have to worry about is whether other people of color think that I am acting “white”. I have heard this and been described as “acting white” my WHOLE entire life. So because I speak proper English, that somehow is a “white” thing to do? Because I enjoy artists such as Mac Demarco and Tame Impala, that is a “white” thing to enjoy? Because I am pursuing a degree in the geosciences, that is somehow a “white” field? Don’t even get me started about mental illnesses and diseases!! Because I suffer with an eating disorder, that is somehow a “white people” only thing? It’s infuriating.

  1. Why can’t I speak proper English without that being a “white” thing? I went to primary school for 12 years. Why would I not utilize something that I have learned? I plan on continuing my education all the up to a doctorate program. OF COURSE I am going to continue speaking the proper English that I have worked really hard to learn.
  2. When did music, a form of self expression, become something that depended on race? Music is something that speaks to the heart and soul. It is not race dependent. You don’t go into an art museum and say, “this is black art and this is white art”. It makes no sense at all.
  3. This one infuriates me the most. I am going into this STEM intensive field planning to become a doctor. By saying that this is a “white” thing, you’re ultimately saying that POC aren’t smart nor capable enough to handle such a thing. That only white people are smart and capable of this. This couldn’t be ANYMORE wrong. If anything we should be applauding POC for going into such a field. People in the 50’s and 60’s fought and marched in the civil rights movement so that we, as people of color, can go into the best colleges and learn any subject freely. Because of the sacrifices that those brave martyrs did, I can go to one of the top schools in the USA and get my degree in the Geosciences and become a scientist. I am grateful every single day that I can pursue my dream without being prosecuted for my skin color.
  4. DISEASES AFFECT PEOPLE REGARDLESS OF RACE, GENDER, SEXUAL ORIENTATION, AND PIZZA PREFERENCE. STOP WITH THIS NONSENSE. If you say that mental illness and diseases are a “white” thing, then you are discouraging and shaming POC considering getting the help they so desperately deserve. Health is important.

This is something that I don’t understand. We have been divided in the past based on our skin color. Why divide ourselves even more? It doesn’t make me any less black for for wanting to be a geochemist or switching from k-dot to mac. Don’t take that identity away from. We as POC are smart enough to pursue a STEM intensive field. We as POC are able to enjoy and analyze art as is. We as POC are vulnerable to diseases like anyone else. We as POC can utilize the skills that we have learned throughout our education. We are intelligent, well-rounded, beautiful people. Stop this foolishness.

 

Stay woke,

Bianca

Gear grinding