I always had decent jobs, but they were just that: jobs. I wanted something more, so I went to school for transcription. The odd annoying asinine thing about most certification programs is that they don’t tell you if the field you’re interested in is saturated. Nearly $10k later, I cannot find a job in my field without 5+ years of experience. Ugh. So I stayed home with my daughters for a few years; but they’re getting older, and jobs are getting harder and harder to find, especially with 3 years out of the work force.

Now here I am, 31 years old and deciding that I need a real degree. A real career. It’s time to think about what my dreams have been and try to fulfill them. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be a therapist. There are so many reasons that I think I’ll be good at this, but it’s just always been something I’ve wanted to do. I realize that this path could change, but I figure that having had this passion for so long, maybe I have the drive and the focus to get through it. Welcome to the next decade of your life, Lisa… you’ll be in school!

It’s interesting to me how this dream has changed since I was a kid. At 18, I had no idea the amount of work that I was going to need to do in my own life, psychologically. I spent a lot of time with a therapist, and trying to overcome my own issues with myself and my past. I spent even more time on my own figuring it out. Accepting my past as something that’s a part of me without letting it rule my everyday life. All that work has helped me mold the raw clay of a dream into something substantial and viable. I’m eager to get started, too.

Oh! You want to know what that goal has been molded into? It won’t be easy work, and it will force me to face my demons head-on, but I’ve decided that I want to primarily focus on abuse survivors. More specifically, I want to help survivors reclaim their sexuality. I want to help them let go of the anxieties that plague most survivors and help them embrace their sexuality as the beautiful thing it should be. That’s my primary focus. I also want to work with couples and their sexual dysfunctions.

Lisa Brandos, Ph.D. (*whispers* kinda weird)
Dr. Lisa Brandos (*whispers* totally weird)

There it is. I’m 31 years old and I just figured out what I want to do with my life. I think finding a balance between school, my family, and my hobbies will be somewhat manageable for the time being, but I have a feeling that many hobbies will take a back seat once my postgrad work starts. I guess I should do all the things I enjoy while I can because I don’t see much time down the road for books, movies, or crocheting…

My hormones were kind of insane. I was feeling all kinds of depressed. I was feeling unheard. Unloved. Un-anything-positive. Then I blogged. And while my blog was about my depression, I tried to make it about depression in general. I needed to just talk about the things that I (and other people) feel when they’re depressed.

Then I felt better.

I just needed to say what I was feeling out loud. I had spent a lot of time just keeping all my thoughts and feelings to myself and pretending it didn’t exist. (You know, when people see that you’re not okay and you just laugh, deflect, make jokes, etc. to show you’re okay when, really, you’re not? Yeah. That.)

Now all the jokes and sarcasm and inappropriate humor is all me. Non-hormonal, not depressed, not self-pitying me! I love being back to normal. Whatever the hell that means!

A person who is depressed often feels helpless, hopeless, unheard, unloved, sad, anxious, angry, and many other feelings all at the same time. It’s kind of like drowning. There are lots of different reasons that people suffer from depression. For some people it’s simply chemical. Their brain doesn’t function the way it’s supposed to and doesn’t produce the serotonin that the body needs to maintain the balance. (These are often the people who tend to have addiction problems. They don’t understand depression or they’d rather self-medicate than seek help.) Then there are people who have trauma in their life, or multiple traumas. And there are people, like me, who have both. (and other types of people, but this is what I’m familiar with)

It’s really hard for people who don’t understand depression. People who are depressed often understand how difficult it is for others to understand how they feel because they, themselves, have a hard time understanding all the things they’re feeling.

How people react to their own depression varies by each person. What I notice in myself is a silent stoicism. Inside I’m screaming, feeling like I’m practically dying to connect with someone, but not saying much of anything because I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems and because I think that they don’t care. (The feeling that people don’t care, for me, stems from a feeling of worthlessness.) I also offset my depression by overcompensating with the people I have connections with. I also make a big deal out of little things because it gives me something to focus on when I’m having a bout of depression, so I’ll complain (a lot) about stupid things.

There’s a couple of reasons I’m writing this.

Firstly, it’s kind of my way of reaching out. This is kind of big for me because I’m usually the kind of person who doesn’t want or feel the need to ask for any help. I feel like that makes me weak. I hate that I’m a person who suffers from depression and I often don’t share the information. Secondly, it’s kind of my way of saying, “Hey, this is why I _________.” Lastly, to raise awareness in general about depression.

Since awareness is something that I really want to emphasize, I’ll just leave you with this reminder:

If you know someone who is depressed, reach out. Even though it can be difficult, and often overwhelming, to deal with a person who suffers from depression, you can’t assume that someone else will do it. You’ll also be surprised just how far a little validation will go. Don’t ignore them and hope that they’re going to just miraculously get better. Even if they do start getting through their depression, they will remember who was there for them, and they remember who ignored them. Don’t assume that their depression makes them dense either, so don’t patronize or condescend. Another thing, being friends with someone who suffers from depression is not a one-sided friendship. Many people who suffer from depression are extremely empathetic to others’ problems. They are often very loyal and caring friends… or at least, I am a loyal and caring friend, as I can only speak for myself in that.

I’ll let you all go for the night. I just wanted to get my thoughts out in as non-whiny of a way as possible.

**A small note to my loved ones, my hormones have been severely out of whack for the last 6 months. I’m hoping that it will regulate soon. I don’t take prescription or other chemicals for depression because all the side effects are honestly worse than the mild relief. I do have natural supplements that I take, and usually, they work beautifully… when my hormones are more normal. Also, I do know that I’m loved. I know that I’m not worthless. I know that it’s okay to ask for help, but in the throes of a bad bout of depression, that rationality disappears. I also have no suicidal ideations, which is how I can talk about my depression.**

Almost exactly 7 months ago I was invited out as a part of a weekend extravaganza for a friend’s 30th birthday. A roller derby game was part of the weekend’s festivities. I had never been before. I didn’t even know that my city had a team. (You probably don’t know your city has a team either but they probably do, maybe even more than one!) The extent of my derby knowledge came from the movie Whip It. Seriously, that’s all I knew; and it wasn’t even accurate knowledge. I watched one half of the game and I was hooked sold IN LOVE! It was fast, it was competitive, all the ladies seemed to be having a BLAST.  Their next two bouts I volunteered and then ended up sitting next to a player during a bout and she took the time to explain parts of the game and to tell me more about becoming a non-skating official. I jumped right into the league. Getting involved where I could and getting to know people and starting to make relationships. I spent a lot of time debating on whether or not I wanted to skate. I finally decided, “Life’s too short, and if I don’t try, I’ll regret it.” I just didn’t want to be the person sitting on the sidelines anymore.

Where I would say that I’m fortunate is that I took the time to get involved with the league and get to know some of the players before I decided to skate. While that’s very true, it’s hardly reason why I feel derby is so much like a family. There’s a lot of different kinds of people with a lot of different kinds of lifestyles on my team. There are people who are inseparable and people who don’t always get along. Single, married, engaged, involved, gay, straight, with kids, without kids; there are all different types of careers, religious beliefs, political view points.  Just like any family. But what I’ve marveled at is that these women can put their differences aside to be there for each other; and come game day these things just aren’t relevant. You see each other 3-5 times a week for a combined total of 5-45 hours (depending on if you have bouts, events, travel). You eat, sleep, and sweat with each other.

You want to know other ways that Derby is like a family?  At 4 am when I posted on FB how angry and upset I was about something, I got a text making sure I was okay. When I am feeling discouraged and frustrated with myself over my serious lack of skating skills, I have someone there to pick me up and encourage me. When I have a great night on my skates, there’s someone there to tell me they were proud of me. When my car might need a mechanic, someone steps up with advice, referrals, and an offer to help fix it. When you need a DD, someone’s willing (or their sig fig).

There are few limits as to what these women are willing to do or be for one another. People search their whole lives for this type of community. I’m so blessed and it’s very humbling that despite grief in one aspect of my life I have such joy in another!

The Netflix is what brings me to wanting to write this post.  I’ve been watching Three Rivers.  I won’t lie, it’s not a great show, but I started watching it because I’m a fan of Katherine Moennig, and she’s in the show. (Personally, I find her awkward as anyone but Shane.)  For those of you who are not familiar with the show, it’s about a transplant department in a hospital.  They feature a couple of patients and they end up intertwining usually with donations and procurements of organs.

The episode that has me blubbering like an idiot over here is one that features a man who has ALS who chooses to end life support to help four or five families in the hospital since he is dying but his organs are still vital.  It reminds me of my mom and her choice to donate her body to research hospitals.  My mom knew she was dying.  She knew it despite our protests and long before the doctors diagnosed the cancer for the third time.  We had discussion after discussion over her remains.  She wanted to do her part to further brain cancer research.  What better subject than a woman whose brain was riddled with tumors, right?

It’s been 1 year, 5 months, and 1 week since Mom died.  There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss her.  Lately, with all that has been going on in my life, I miss her now more than ever.  I would give almost anything to have her back.  To have her support, to have her advice, to have her tell me what she would do in my place.  Mothers are not perfect, but they are always your mother.  They love so much and are often taken for granted.  I wish I had the opportunity to tell her, just once more, how much I love her and need her.

In my last post, I came out as queer.  I still hold to that.  However, it’s not all there is to me.  I feel like I’ve been making a big deal about something that, in the grand scheme of life, is not a big deal.  I want to make my marriage work and while I don’t define my sexuality by my relationship, others might.  I suppose if you want to label me by the relationship I’m currently in (and plan on being in for a good, long time), then you can.  It’s called a “mixed orientation marriage” by professionals, and it’s not uncommon.  As a matter of fact, the more research I do about it, the more commonplace I find it is; and if both partners are willing to make it work, these marriages can be very successful.  This has been encouraging research.

So why did I make a big enough deal about my sexuality in coming out?  It has more to do with my own personal journey in this world.  If you read my blog before I took all the posts down, you will have seen that I suffered from depression, PTSD, and an anxiety disorder.  While I still suffer from a lot of that, as I became more comfortable with who I am and stopped trying to fight against myself and learned to accept myself, I was able to breathe easier.  Anxiety? Sure, I still have some anxieties.  Particularly in social settings.  I get nervous and don’t shut up.  I also get very anxious in large crowds where it’s hard to move (Brewfest was a challenge on occasion).  PTSD? Oh, hell yes.  I still jump at every little thing.  I still get insomnia pretty bad.  I still have nightmares.  Depression? Really, not as much as I used to.  I have been able to let go.  I really want to enjoy my life.  Which is why I’m willing to put myself in situations (like Brewfest) where I’ll be uncomfortable and anxious, because I don’t want to be held back anymore.

Coming out (again, now, later in life) was also about fear. I really was afraid about how people would react if they knew the “real me.”  I was afraid that who I feel I am would be rejected.  I have experienced some uncomfortable situations with people who said they cared about me, I’ve realized that their caring was contingent on my conformity to their beliefs.  Mostly, this manifests as being ignored. Publicly.  On the other side of that, I have also been amazingly blessed and caught by surprise by others.  So much support and love that has poured out from people I was almost sure would shun me!

In being more comfortable in who I am, the less afraid I am of the world.  This has opened me up to starting to build friendships with people, who a year ago, I would have never thought I had anything in common with.  I’m learning that the commonalities between people are abundant if we are simply willing to look past the differences.  Such a beautiful world we can live in.

I’m a woman who likes women and married to (and attracted to and love) a man.  My mind is full of questions and feelings I don’t even know how to answer for myself, let alone anyone else.  So I explain, “Well, I’m queer.”  This answer, for most people, is a fairly uncontested answer and is usually left alone.  I view “queer” as the all-encompassing label for people who find themselves in the fringes of sexuality.  There’s room here for heterosexuals, for gays, for lesbians, and other people who find that they are in relationships that are hard to explain.  Hell, it’s hard for me to understand my own relationship, how can I ask you to understand it too?

For people who cannot wrap their minds around what it means to be queer, I say I’m bisexual.  I hate using that word because it absolutely does not describe who I am.  I’m not equally attracted to men and women.  Of course, I don’t tell the whole world my sexual identity.  Well, I guess I have now!  But you know what I mean, I don’t walk up to people and say, “Hi, I’m Lisa and I’m queer.”  Same as you wouldn’t walk up to someone and say, “Hi, I’m (your name here) and I’m a (whatever word you choose to identify yourself as: Christian/Jewish/Straight/Married/Doctor/Lawyer).”  Or you might, but I probably wouldn’t talk to you past that initial introduction….

The other thing that has me all kinds of messed up is my faith.  For so long I’ve had this faith that I’ve held on to like a life preserver while I drown.  I’ve made others outcasts, I’ve condemned, I’ve done lots of shameful things all in the name of my faith.  Not to mention the gossip, the discussions with others about how wrong people are and it just makes me sick to think that I was like that.  But I still have faith.  I still have this belief in God.  But I know what the church’s stand is on homosexuality; and not just the sexual part of it, the love and relationship part of it.  How can I sit in a building and try and build community and relationships with people, who, if I let them into this part of who I am are going to make me their project?  Someone to pray for.  Someone to help through this rough time. Umm, no thank you.  I’m perfectly fine with my queerness, you’re the ones who have a problem with it.

QUESTIONS YOU MAY BE ASKING YOURSELF:

1. If I hug you, will you get turned on?  No.  It takes a lot more to turn me on.  A little dirty talk and a nice kiss, and maybe, if you’re my type.
2. How do you know you like women? Have you ever been with a woman? No, I have not. As for how I know? How did you know you were straight? You just did.  I just do.
3. What does all this mean for you? I have no fucking idea.  See my first paragraph? Yeah, go back and read it.
4. Is this a phase you’re going through, you think? My mother asked me the same question when I came out to her at 15.  What do you think?
5. Do you have feelings for any of your friends? (i.e., Oh my goodness, are you going to corner me and try to kiss me?) Well, frankly, NO! I’ve not ever had any feelings for any of my friends, especially not my straight ones.   I, like other gay people, respect your sexual identity.  I also have no interest in getting involved with my friends.  I like my friends. I don’t LIIIIIIIKE my friends.
6. What about your clothes?  While I do appreciate the androgynous look, I much prefer it on other people.  You’ll be hard-pressed to pull me away from my pretty shoes, obsession with my hair, desire to wear dresses, desire to wear makeup from time-to-time, or paint my nails.  In other words, not all women who like women are butch/queer/androgynous/masculine.
   
7. What about the person you were?  I’m more-or-less the same person I’ve always been.  I like the same things I’ve always liked.  I still have the same sense of humor.  All the things you like about me are still here.  Unless the only things you liked me for was A) being completely straight (which, I reiterate, I never was… you just didn’t know) and B) Being a big preachy church-goer.

If you have any other questions about my sexuality, leave it in the comments, and if I have an answer, I’ll answer you.  If you have questions about my faith or simply want to “encourage me to come to church,” at this time I’m not receiving such comments/questions.  Thank you, goodnight.

I want to start by apologizing to anyone I may have offended over the past two years.  I have always thought myself to be a very open and loving person, but looking back on my posts, I find that my love and inclusion of people was highly selective and highly narrow.  I feel quite ashamed of that.

Since my mom died 15 months ago I’ve been changing a lot.  I’ve come to the “Life is Too Short” stage of my grief.  I think this is what’s beyond Acceptance.  Acceptance came on the day my sister and I scattered Mom’s ashes.  The day we really said “goodbye.”  But back to the “Life is Too Short” part:  I think it’s more like “Life is Too Fucking Short.”  The one thing that I’ve really come to realize is that I have to be true to myself and who I am.  To do that, I had to figure out who that is.  I’m still not there yet.

I am drastically different than I have ever been.  I’m bolder.  I’m pursuing things that are fun and exciting.  I’m refusing to sit home and be depressed when there are people and places and experiences to be enjoyed.  Maybe this is some sort of midlife crisis? I don’t really care.  For the first time in my entire life, I’m comfortable with myself.  My whole self.  I’ve repressed much of myself because I always believed that it was wrong or “sinful.”  I’ve repressed much of myself because I couldn’t yet take back my power and my body.  I’ve repressed much of myself because I was afraid that I wouldn’t be accepted or loved.  Those of you who’ve stuck with me throughout these past 15 months know what I mean and you have shown me that being myself is not only OK but beautiful, strong, and amazing.  I’m truly humbled to know you and call you my friends.  I’m highly enjoying the friends I’m making now too, and I truly thank you for being as open-armed as you have been.