helen-louise's journal

Some people on another forum were doing a "Which Muppet are you?" test and wanted me to take it too. It decided I was Kermit, and I was unimpressed. When I said I'm not a fan of Kermit or Miss Piggy, someone replied saying "What is wrong with you!?". This is my answer:

When I first became aware of gender, aged around 3, it seemed like just one of those things that made people different, like hair and eye colour. It never occurred to me that it should be a big deal. But I had toy cars, a garage, and a train set, and so from that early age, I had to deal with people telling me that the toys I wanted to play with weren't suitable for girls. This made no sense to me - no one was going around saying that only kids with blond hair or only kids with brown eyes could play with some particular toy, so why were toys labelled as "for boys" and "for girls"? Thus I became a feminist at the age of 3.

At primary school, I was mad about dinosaurs, cars and football. At secondary school, it was science, computers and science fiction. I spent a lot of time wishing I was a boy - not because I thought there was something intrinsically wrong with my gender, but because everyone else seemed to think there was something wrong with me. I figured that if I was a boy, I could be into what I enjoyed without anyone giving me grief for it. I wish that when I was told "Girls don't do that", I'd thought of the argument "But I'm a girl, and I do that".

So why do I hate Miss Piggy? Well, as far as I'm aware, Miss Piggy is the only female Muppet. (I've thought through the characters of the Muppet Babies cartoon: Kermit, Miss Piggy, Animal, Gonzo, Bunsen, Beaker and Rowlf; and I can't think of any other female Muppets among the regular cast, like Pepe the Prawn and the two old guys in the theatre box). I was a child annoyed at the second-class position in life that being a girl seemed to occupy, and I always noticed inequalities in stories and tv programmes. It would bother me immensely if female characters were treated differently from male ones.

Miss Piggy is the antithesis of me. Femmy, flouncy, self-obsessed, in love with makeup, clothes and boys. A total diva. She flirts with any handsome man who appears on the programme, in a silly, swoony sort of way. Not with humour, not with wit or cleverness, but purely with physical appearance. I cannot stand that character and any real-life people who are like that - like many of the girls I was at school with. They might have had brains, but as soon as a boy came along, they lost all their intelligence and turned into simpering idiots. Ugh.

I have believed for as long as I can remember that tv programmes should show equal numbers of male and female characters, and that all types of male and female should be represented. OK, you want to have a silly girl who loses her head over "boys" for some reason that will make no sense to your preschool audience - fine - but make sure there are plenty of strong women there too. (I note that many of the mothers of my acquaintance are the strongest women I know.) In the same way, make sure that strong men aren't the only type presented - give us creative and intelligent men - artists, songwriters, dreamers, crafters. The Muppets managed that side of the equation, with sensitive Kermit and dreamer Rowlf, so I don't get why they dropped the ball with the female characters. Show kids that girls should be able to do everything that boys can do - and vice versa.

And guess how the other poster replied to my explanation, over at that other forum? "lol - it's just the Muppets!".

I disagree. On one level, it is just a tv programme - but children are born with no real prejudices at all. They absorb and are taught their prejudices from the adults around them. Miss Piggy is gender stereotyping presented for generations of kids in a multitude of countries to absorb subliminally. She portrays a form of ridiculously vulnerable "femininity" that makes girls think that's what being a woman is all about. It messes with the head of any girl determined to put her brain before her beauty, and encourages us to reject femininity altogether. But just as you can be female without being feminine, you can be feminine without being silly or vulnerable. It's always possible to wear stompy boots under your skirt in case you need to run or fight.

If anyone's left a Valentine's message for me on any communities, this would be the ideal place to post a link so I actually check them.

I don't think I'll be posting Valentine's messages for anyone online. Sometimes I do a generic "I wuv you all"-type post, but I'm so tired and overworked at the moment that I don't think I could find anything useful to say. Please feel reminded that I do, in fact, owe a helluva lot to my friends, I can't imagine still being in this plane of existence without some of you in my life, and I love and appreciate all of you in different ways. I am just too lacking in energy to articulate this in a cutesy sort of way.

I sent some paper cards this evening, which may get there by tomorrow. Really didn't like the selection of paper cards in any of the shops this time round, so I sent them to the bare minimum of people (existing partners & tocotoxen, not friends-I-love-platonicly). There seemed to be even more emphasis than normal on "for the one I love" (but I love more than one person!), "I only want to be with you" (but I want to see all my partners and friends and family!) and "Be mine" (but I am my own person and do not belong to anyone. People only belong to other people if they are doing an SM Master/slave relationship - and even that is strictly consensual on both sides). A particularly sickening card had words along the lines of "This is one of the two hands I most want to hold. (The other is your other hand.)" Glargh.

So I got Richard a blank card with a picture of adorable panda wuzzies that will make him squee, and put some words and stickers in it to make it into a Valentine's card, and it will have to do. I'm not sure if Richard will be able to top the card of 2 years ago, but we shall see.

Recently I have been experiencing severe trouble in removing myself from bed in the mornings. I blame the sudden drop in sunlight levels.

I've known I have Seasonal Affective Disorder for a couple of years now. When autumn kicks in, I get depressed, apathetic and so, so sleepy. It's like an urge to hibernate. It doesn't help that I also suffer from Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome (a.k.a. permanent jetlag), a circadian rhythm pattern screwup that, for reasons of my fucked-up body chemistry, is only controlled through strong sunlight. When the sunlight levels drop, the two disorders couple together to make me very broken for a couple of weeks, until I adjust.

So for the past week, I've been waking up at 12pm when my lightbox alarm clock sounds, then I've been lying in bed for a further 2-3 hours with the strong light streaming into my face and the clock sounding every so often. My body feels leaden - so heavy that I can't make myself move easily. Eventually, I get to the stage where I've had enough light on my skin that I feel agitated, which kickstarts my pulse rate to the point that I can get up. This is entirely normal for me at this time of year, and yes - the best that modern medicine can do for me. If I didn't have the lightbox & multivitamins & antidepressants, I probably wouldn't be able to get out of bed at all.

I will be more functional in a few weeks. In the meantime, I have to remember that the depression I'm feeling is more of a physical health/adjustment thing rather than a sign that something is terribly wrong. According to the various mental health indicators, I'm not actually suffering from major depressive disorder anymore. But I still have dysthymia and SAD and premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) giving me hell, plus the chronic anxiety I can't shake off. That doesn't make me mentally healthy, it just gives a timeframe for the depression.

Been feeling blah for a couple of days. Basically ok, but tired and a bit depressed. Having a bit of a bad patch because I'm getting to the end of my busy time at work, and the whole summer is stretching out before me, and I'm worried that I'll just waste it. When my work-for-money stops for the summer I'm supposed to do work in the home, and I have boxes and boxes of paperwork that need sorting, and piles and piles of paperwork that need to be put into boxes, and it's all a bit overwhelming right now. The house has been a tip since February or March, and I've been saying to all the students that come here that it'll be sorted out when I'm less busy - and now I am less busy, and I can't face it.

I need a holiday.

I am bloody ill. I have lurgy, of the raging sore throat and blocked ears/nose variety. There are many kinds of pain I can put up with, but I hate ear pain. Have been quite literally asleep all day. Am now forcing myself to stay awake for a bit so I can sleep tonight.

One of the things about having chronic health problems is that it's remarkably easy to overlook that you're going down with something. For a couple of days now I've had symptoms, but have put them down to other things. Sneezy & itchy eyes? Allergies. Achy limbs? Entirely normal for me. Wheezy? Photochemical ozone pollution. Dizzy and headachy? Travel sickness owing to being tired. Excessively tired for no apparent reason? Just a severe shortage of spoons. Falling-over dizziness attack? My vestibular system crapping out because of lack of spoons. Nausea? Got to be the evil gall bladder again. Thus I don't notice the damn infection until some smyptom turns up that is not within the realms of "normal for me" - that being, a severe sore throat. Even then, I ignored it last night because it felt like the oral thrush I can get from not gargling properly after taking my inhalers :/

Blah.

Yesterday was a Very Bad Day, with a severe spoon overdraft. Almost fainted three times in half an hour, to say nothing of the nausea, dizziness and panic that lasted all day. Only got through that with the aid of kasson's bracelet and dwoucke's spoon - which are powerful totems. I only wish I could find esbat's ankh (yes, the one in this userpic), which has dropped down the back of the chest of drawers and disappeared :/ Less blatently sick today, but there is still a terrible knot of anxiety in my belly.

This was the link of the day on User Friendly yesterday: Evian animation: Waterboy. Absolutely adorable video, featuring a boy made of water dancing to "We Will Rock You". (Audio warning).

Made With Molecules. Chemistry jewellery! Link from okoshun. I am so ordering the creativity necklace, which will give me more totems for difficult days.

In searching for the link to explain it to someone, I found this analysis of what's wrong with the spoon theory by Ghetto River Nymph. It is, sadly, so true, and I've been giggling my head off at it. I like the idea of the limited resources that a person with (a) chronic health problem/s has compared to a "normal" person of the same age, but I hate the over-emotive language that the spoon girl uses. So, yeah.

OK, student just turned up, I have to go. Back later.

Things you don't need on a Monday morning: waking up having a panic attack.

The mechanism of panic attacks is interesting. In summary, what happens is that the sufferer's basal blood carbon dioxide level drops too low, which causes their body to produce a massive surge of adrenaline in response. As adrenaline is the "fight or flight" hormone, getting a massive surge of it out of nowhere and for no (apparent/conscious) reason makes you start to panic. So if you're not able to shut off the part of your brain that starts squeaking "oh my god we're[*] dying" by telling it "no, it's just panic, we're[*] ok", you then have a panic attack.

Most people have panic attacks caused by disturbed psychology. Being anxious for a long period of time increases your breathing rate imperceptibly, causing the basal carbon dioxide level to slowly decrease. Just a tiny change from the normal 10-15 breaths/minute at rest to 15-20 breaths/minute is enough to cause the CO₂ disturbance. The surge of adrenaline kicks in when the level drops below a certain threshold. The most interesting thing about it is that it's a vicious spiral - there is so much feedback in the process that every iteration gets worse. Being anxious increases your likelihood of hyperventilating, which increases your chance of having the adrenaline surge, which increases your chance of having a panic attack, which increases your baseline anxiety level. Rinse, repeat. This is the well-known phenomenon that "panic breeds panic". It's also why someone with PTSD, faced with the situation that is most triggering for them, might be absolutely fine while it's happening - then come home, collapse in a chair with beverage of choice and have a panic attack then. Because while they were hyperventilating during the stressful event, their blood carbon dioxide level was still ok - but the sigh of relief as they sat down at home was enough to drop their CO₂ level below that threshold point.

( And the whole special way in which I'm broken... )

Anyway. Not looking for advice - really not looking for advice, I've been dealing with this thing for so long that most advice would seem patronising; and if I did happen to need any more I'd go back to the breathing retraining physiotherapists and my textbooks. This is mostly just moaning accompanied by a bit of an explanation for anyone who's ever wondered how anxiety and panic work. Sympathy is welcome, especially from people who also have to deal with broken bodies and/or brains (and the denial about them) on a daily basis. Yay denial!

[*] I live in my conscious brain. There is "me", in my conscious brain, and then there is my hindbrain, which isn't exactly part of "me". It just bimbles along shoving random emotions in at inconvenient times. Thus plural.

I am stressed and tired and frayed.

Here's a story: Imperial College Union has one of the largest collections of pewter tankards in the world. The tankards, or pots, are awarded to student union officials and the chairmen or team captains of the various clubs and societies. There is a whole system of ettiquette called "potting", which relates what happens if you're in the bar and someone else with a claim to the pot comes in. I have my name on at least 3 pots, although it's all fairly irrelevant as I don't ever go to the bar and wouldn't be drinking beer in any case. (You can't put cider or fizzy drinks in the pots because the acid dissolves the lead, which is dangerous).

Anyway. As well as getting your name on the shared pots, some people were rewarded each year for continued outstanding contribution to the life of the Union over several years. The prize for this was a Personal Pot, which you didn't have to share with anyone. You could have it engraved however you wanted, but if it was over a certain budget, you had to pay for the excess yourself. One particular individual, a year above me chronologically, who spent far too many years on Union Exec, asked for his pot to have the words LEARN TO SAY NO! engraved all around the bottom, as many times as would wrap around the pot. I always had a certain amount of empathy with that, for I too have a pathological inability to say no in certain circumstances.

So, here I am in early February - tired from chronic fatigue; unable to get out of bed because of SAD, depression and delayed sleep phase syndrome; extra-frayed and unreliably sleep-patterned due to the random, intermittent gallstone pain, nightmares and flashbacks. I'm maintaining a sleep schedule of crawling out of bed sometime between 1 and 4pm, and falling asleep somewhere around 4-5am. This is honestly the best I can manage. The normal "just go to bed earlier" thing doesn't work for people with DSPS - I would lie awake for quite literally hours on end, even with sleeping pills. And as for "just get up earlier" - ha bloody ha - some days I'm lying in bed with the lightbox alarm clock shining bright light into my face for 2 1/2 hours before I can face being vertical.

Therefore, for some completely unknown and fucking stupid reason, I agreed to work every day next week starting at 9.30am. Which means getting out of bed by 8.30am. To put this in perspective for you people with functional body clocks, or the scary morning people who bounce out of bed at 7am even on a Sunday, this is like you being asked to get out of bed at 2am. And I won't manage to adjust to it, because I never can - I'll still not fall asleep until 3 or 4am, then have to be up again at 8. Doing that for 6 days on the trot is going to fucking kill me, and it's all my fault. Because I never learn to say no.

Or, how I broke the heart of the first person who ever asked me out without realising.

I was a typical geeky teenager. Had hardly any friends at school. The friends I did have weren't particularly close - they all hung out together outside school, but I never got invited. I invited them out with me, but no one ever wanted to come.

I went to an all-girls school, where I was constantly told by other people that I was ugly, unfeminine, "a lesbian", and that I'd never get a boyfriend. Even when I shaved my legs, this made no difference, because apparently I was supposed to do something to get rid of the black stubble. I couldn't shave my legs more often than once a week because it hurt to shave them even that often. I was "square". If I wore my school uniform socks pulled up, the way you were supposed to, other girls would kick my legs until they fell down.

If you have more than 20 people telling you you're ugly every single day of your life, after a while you start to believe it.

When I was 17 or so, I asked out a guy that I knew from the Young Conservatives (Yes, we've already had the conversation where you mock me for that, thank you). Apparently my attempt at doing so was so clumsy that, rather than just telling me no, he went straight to the local committee members and accused me of sexual harrassment. I was horrified, but no one believed me. Another guy that I had been flirting with in what I thought was a friendly way backed him up, and I was told to leave. (Leave the whole organisation, I mean - not just leave that one meeting :/ ).

So then I went to Imperial College, an all-science & engineering college, where the female-male ratio is "one to a million". Even there, there didn't seem to be many geeks. I'd walk around the chemistry department seeing girls in skirts & make-up, even high heels. (In lab? Is that safe?). Dressed in my habitual uniform of a t-shirt, jeans and Doc Martens, I didn't stand a chance.

Except other people saw me the way my partners do now. And one guy asked me out. Trained to believe that I was ugly, disgusting, undesirable, I laughed, knowing that he was mocking me. You can guess what happened. He, seeing me as an attractive, desirable person, thought I was laughing at him because he was so ugly and disgusting that he could never attain someone as wonderful as me. I had no idea that any of this was going on in his head, until several months later. By which time it was almost too late.