Little Things...

...that make you want to scream.

A few weeks ago I was at the leisure centre going swimming. Having locked my bags up I made my way towards the poolside. On the door of one of the showers was a sign. I cannot remember what it said verbatim, but here's the gist:

"Dear Ladies. On X date there will be male workmen in this shower."

Fair enough, I understand this and am grateful for the warning. Obviously in an ideal world we'd have a female plumber to come and do this but they're not exactly ten a penny. However, this seemingly innocuous if a little saddening poster had another blow to give:

"Please ensure that you are appropriately covered up whilst they are at work."

Not 'we apologise for the inconvenience' (though it probably said that somewhere as well) - instead we get instructed to not be naked when there are workmen in. There are several levels on which this makes me angry. Firstly, that it makes it sound like the idea of nudity is something that we should not expose the poor, innocent male plumbers to. Secondly is the more disturbing and underlying notion of: we do not trust our contractors not to succumb to primal urges if you display your naked flesh. Thirdly and perhaps most irritatingly the tone seems to suggest that usually, women go parading their naked bodies around the changing room.

There are three individual shower cubicles and one shower room that contains six or so showers. I have seen women in the communal shower who are naked. This didn't bother me, though I personally don't have the confidence in my body to do that, it's nice to see that other women do. On the few rare occasions I have seen this not once have these women been at all lewd or indecent or indeed, parading their bare skin around. They are simply trying to wash the chlorine and whatever chemicals are used to sanitise the water in our public swimming pools from their skin. And who can blame them, really.

On occasions like this I kind of find myself wishing I wasn't so hyper-aware of inequality and discrimination, because not only am I left frustrated and annoyed I somehow find myself feeling like my irritation at what was intended to be a helpful sign left out of courtesy is unjustified and an overreaction.

Oh well.

Standing in a Crowd

As will no doubt be obvious; I am not good with crowds. They make me feel claustrophobic, paranoid, tiny and insignificant, and any manner of other negative things. The dichotomy of being someone who believes passionately in the awesomeness of humankind, whilst also being terrified of said humans, is not lost on me. It's something that every now and then I sit back and laugh at because whilst it makes total sense - the more weight and importance you place on something, the more you will worry and care about it - it is, frankly, also kind of ironic.

So when I booked to go to and be part of just that - a crowd - I was unsurprisingly nervous. The list of things I knew I had to cope with on that day was not small: travelling alone into central London, spending the day alone amongst part of a crowd, taking part in workshops where I could potentially be called upon and have everyone look at me, and above all that trying to have a good time when I know all these things are difficult. Nonetheless I booked and made my way to Feminism in London.

I should add that I wasn't without support entirely - despite knowing no one there, I felt very comfortable in the knowledge that the event organisers had done a great deal to make sure I'd have a good day. Prior to the event I emailed them to find out whether there would be any quieter spaces available that I could retreat to. Not only were there many but if I put down on my registration form what my needs were, they'd direct me to them as soon as I'd arrived (sadly I'd already registered by this point but it turned out there were so many safe spaces for me to retreat to that they could have pointed in every direction).

So when I got there, after a journey that all things considered wasn't too bad especially considering I had to take the tube at 9am on a Saturday morning, I found myself a seat near a door at the back of the main hall and watched the room fill up. And it did - there were a thousand feminists in that room in the end and despite that it still felt quite spacious and, for me, surprisingly comfortable. I wasn't completely at rest of course, but I don't ever expect to be. But there was something about the knowledge that the 999 other people in the room were women (and men) who thought the same things I did, who wanted the world to be the same way I do, made me feel far safer in that crowd than I ever have done.

And so whilst I could spend this blog post talking about the fantastic panels, about how terrifying the statistics on natural births were or about how stunningly awesome Finn Mackay was, for me the single best thing about FIL10 was the crowd. This is such a weird thing for me to be saying I know, but I came out of the day not feeling drained like I expected to but feeling energised. Yes, I struggled through the day and yes, the journey home was horrible and yes, I did have to sit up on my own in the gallery sometimes because it was too noisy downstairs. But despite all those things I stood with 999 other feminists giving a standing ovation to the final panel and I felt safe and at home.

To me, that's worth more than anything - and I can't put into words how grateful I am that the event was so beautiful as to give me that.

Post-Terror

After writing that last post (whenever it was that I wrote it) I went to my psych appointment and talked to Jill about it. It was one of the hardest sessions I've had - though I seem to always find myself saying that, I wonder if that's a sign that we're getting there - because we had to go quite in depth as to why I have these thoughts. It was actually really interesting to see how things that I experienced in my childhood that seemed perfectly innocuous - or if not completely innocuous, the sort of stuff that happens in your childhood and you learn from it.

So that was good, and since then I've not had too many - or indeed any that come to mind. I have however felt really out of it. The best way I can think of to describe it is that I'm feeling very meta about life - if that makes sense! I feel a bit removed from it. Boyfriend came over yesterday, and whilst I'd thought that would snap me out of it, it didn't straight away and this really threw me. This morning though and for most of today I've felt much better. I've even got loads of stuff done, including amongst other things being angry (hoorah, I managed it) at the government for potentially ruining my income for the next ever.

However a nice vent on the phone with my dad soon helped that along, and since then I've been a buzz of productivity. Unfortunately all I've got left is the kitchen, and for some reason I really hate washing up. There is so much to do as well, since I've been without hot water for so long.

Perhaps it's time to bite the bullet and just do some. It's only the washing up! It's not that scary!

Terror Moments

I keep having, recently, what I can only describe as "terror moments". It's moments where I start thinking about the Big Questions and I get stuck, sort of wrapped in this big blanket of fear. I don't know if anyone else gets these. I can be in a perfectly acceptable mood and getting on with things, then all of a sudden the thought pops into my head:

Is there life after death?
Do I just stop existing?
What made me?
What will happen when I'm just...not here.

And so on, with similar questions. It's kind of hard to write this out because talking about it is making me have one of those moments now. But I really want to get over these and I think there will come a point where I just have to face them, even if that isn't already.

I don't know if I can manage to carry on articulating this even. Maybe I will come back to it. Not losing this progress though so will post half a post. But my pulse has picked up and I've got that horrible knot of panic in my chest so I'm going to stop now.

I hope someone somewhere understands what I'm talking about.

Sticks and Stones

I'm sick of coming up against prejudice because I have a disability, or because I'm unemployed, or because I'm on benefits. I know people don't always mean to be disrespectful, but sometimes the remarks and quips like "oh, you're one of the people scrounging off my hard earned tax money are you?" really do hurt. Why? Because it implies that I like being like this. I'm not denying that there are people in the country today who are living like this out of laziness or because it's easy. I'm not. By making these jokes, even though they're jokes, you lump me in with people like that. I struggle as it is with the belief that I am not ill, that I am making this up, that I am in fact just lazy and worth nothing. By making those comments all you do is reinforce that belief that I am trying so, so hard to break down.

Not only that, but it means that the focus of my mind for the next while will be the state of my life as it is. I won't focus on the fact that I have a wonderful family, that my boyfriend is incredibly special, that for the first time in my life I have friends and actually believe that they care about me like I do about them. Instead I'll wake up and be overwhelmed by the knowledge that once again, I have nothing to do with my day. Or more accurately, I have nothing that I can do with my day. I'm not saying that I'm never lazy or that I couldn't try harder. I'm sure I could - but in order to actually properly heal, to truly get over the place that my heart and head have been in for the past decade or so, I need to do that at my own pace.

Please, when you want to make a joke, think about the fact that I'm already struggling with the knowledge that the coalition are revamping the benefits system; and if some MPs' attitude to those on disability benefits is anything to go by, I'm not going to do well out of this. Money is horrible. I live in a council flat - in an area where I feel unsafe, where I know that having a roof above my head is totally at the whim of someone else - where I am an hour away from my support network of my friends and boyfriend. I have £200 a month on which to look after myself. Of that, a good deal will go straight on bills. Once I've fed myself, paid bills and all the other sundries that an even barely tolerable life requires, I have no money left. Often I find myself using more than I have.

If that's taken away from me? I will have nothing. I will be forced to destroy the life I have made for myself here, the first beacon of hope that has been in my life, and move back to Norfolk with my parents. My independence, which is very precious to me as a shelf for my self-esteem, will be gone. I don't want to think about how much of this progress I would lose if the world crashed down like that. It makes my stomach churn and my hands shake.

Usually I try and use this blog to be optimistic. Or at the least to express confusion, rather than negativity. But right now? I'm just terrified. I'm sorry that I can't be more than that right now, but I suppose it's all the worse now that I feel like I've actually got something to lose.

Mask of a Thousand Faces

Hunched over, as if trying to curl into themselves, a girl bites nervously at her nails. Her eyes, watery, dart around restlessly as if trying to spot some hidden observer. One of her feet taps nervously and methodically; every now and then the movement is punctuated by a violent kick from each leg, as if she is trying to shake water from them. Her hands shake and she rocks gently, trying not to focus on anything at all.

A smiling, well-presented woman sits comfortably on the edge of a table. Nonchalantly, she swings her legs back and forth. She talks animatedly, perhaps a little too loudly, but with precise articulation. Impatient to be heard, she buts into the dialogue before the other speaker has finished, somehow carrying enough poise and charisma not to offend in the process.

Drone like, the automaton repeats the same motions again and again. Back and forth, it clicks at the keys and points and clicks round in circles. Time passes but not noticeably, as the monotony of the blank expression and unfeeling state continue endlessly.

--

I am many things, of which a great deal are paradoxes. I am confident, happy, cheerful. I am shy, terrified, sullen. I am rude and polite, loud and quiet, hard and soft, powerful and weak. All of these things are me, and I am all of these things. I may be some at times and others anon.

It is exceptionally difficult to reconcile such an infinite number of identities, and understand myself, and be comfortable with it. Sometimes it is like trying to be several people all at once. One day I would like to allow myself to be all of the me there is, however many I might comprise.