May I present:

Real talk on being real: nonbinary edition

I noticed something a while back: a lot of people got real fucken weird when I came out as nonbinary.

I mean yeah, there was a lot of the shit that you would expect from this sort of thing: the casual transphobia started real quick, both from people that I don’t know in person and from people who I would have thought would do better about this kind of thing. Family members got weird initially; some friends were confused; people from the job where I was working were…to put it frankly, they were terrible. That was an experience that I hope to never go through again, that’s for sure.

But the worst, I have to say, came from people that I thought would have been better about it.

I remember an old friend who thought that I’d ‘changed’ since starting to navigate the space between racce and gender. He got weirdly aggressive about both–but the thing that stood out the most was when he told me that I’d ‘changed’ somehow since I’d ‘become’ nonbinary, and implied that it was a decision that I’d made, as if being the way that I am is some kind of frivolous choice that I’d made. He did a lot of running around in circles before I finally got ticked at him for that nonsense–after which he flounced out and blocked me on Facebook. And yes, he was in fact a cis whyte gay man–that most visible member of the LGBTQ+ spectrum.

It was a preview of what I was going to be dealing with going forward.

I did not and do not want to even try to fit into that little binary box. I’ve been crammed in it long enough thank you very much–I didn’t fight my way out of it just to step back into it for cis people’s comfort.

If you’re uncomfortble with the idea of nonbinary people:

  • that’s a YOU problem;
  • you need to work on that
  • we’re not in charge of your comfort level;
  • we’ve been around as long as civilization, just like you;
  • and you definitely need to do some research and get comfortable with the idea that we’re around, and have been around for a long

It’s not our job to make you feel good, cis people. Please educate yourselves about nonbinary people, stop trying to be edgy and funny (you’re neither), and for the love of fuck, decolonize your thinking. A lot of this rage and intolerance is because of deeply whitewashed, colonized thinking–and by this point, we should be over that shit.

Some weekend!

I started yesterday morning violently throwing up. I’d gotten complacent, feeling like the worst of this medication withdrawal was over, and then I wake up on what’s supposed to be a work day with my body attempting to turn itself inside out.

I suppose it could have been worse, but I’m already at the point where I might have had a thousand calories stay down over this entire weekend. I feel like something has been dragging me behind its car–not because of a grudge or anything but because they got bored and needed to fill the day with something.

It’s been a weekend of fever and chills. I currently feel weak, tired, and drained. If it doesn’t improve this week, I’m calling my doctor.

EEESH.

So this morning, I wake up. I’m optimistic. I sit up in bed, and realize that my alarms didn’t trip because Alarmy doesn’t wake up immediately after Android updates. No big deal, I can catch up.

I sit up and the room—what I can see of it—spins. I feel my stomach lurch, and I heave hard.

“Great. More of this.”

I wait for it to settle, then go to get some pepto. It takes five minutes to take because I gag every time I think of swallowing.

It gets worse three minutes later, when a prednisone pill gets stuck in my throat. Now I’m puking for two reasons.

My partner calls, concerned that I haven’t left yet (I would have tripped the Ring), and I explain what’s up. Then I call my job and let them know I’m running late.

Y’all, they just wanted to know if I’d actually be OK.

Between my injuries, the ongoing withdrawal time, and this medication tomfoolery, I’ve never worked a more understanding job. I can tell you I would not still be at my old job—there’s just no way.

Wicked withdrawals.

Last week, my new psych took me off the last antipsychotic that I have been on. Her primary concern was something called metabolic syndrome, which is probably the reason that my numbers have been so weird. She thinks that getting me off that stuff will do wonders for my weight, cholesterol, and triglycerides.

Well, there was more information that I didn’t have at the time: withdrawal from atypical antipsychotics, especially this one in particular, is fucking brutal.

The first day off that thing, I had fevers and chills alternating on me, vomiting, migraines, and nausea. I wanted to die that day. These are going on and off right now. My heat tolerance is just gone, and my endurance has taken a hit as well. And my head is all over the place.

I’m taking it easy to make sure that I recover from this shit as best as possible. The kicker about this process, is that I might be going through this for at least four weeks.

And, frankly, that sucks. I hate it. I’d rather not feel like this in my body, and I’m also not sure about how I feel about what it’s doing to my head yet, either.

This…might be tricky tricky.

Just an update.

Yeah, it’s been a while since I last checked in.

Nothing of note has changed recently minus a couple meds adjustments. Oh, and I started therapy. It’s probably about time, but I’m not going to beat myself up over taking this long. The world’s doing enough of that for me already, and I don’t feel like adding to it frankly.

I may have made some progress on my burnout. That’s about the only new thing.

Just kinda…checking in, letting everyone know I’m alive.