celebrity, Mental Health, pop culture

DROWNED IN MOONLIGHT

Written before the death of Debbie Reynolds at 84 years old, a Hollywood legend and mother to Carrie Fisher. Reynolds was known for Singin’ in the Rain, The Debbie Reynolds Show, and Halloweentown. Reynolds was the president of the Thalians, which was dedicated to mental health causes, and received the Academy Awards Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award in 2016.

Carrie Fisher, 60, died on the 27 of December 2016, drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra. Her words, not mine.

Fisher wrote that obituary for herself in her 2008 memoir, Wishful Drinking. The book was adapted from her one-woman stage show, and featured a story from her days shooting Star Wars. George Lucas went up to her and told her that she shouldn’t be wearing a bra.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

Because, he explained, apparently your body—due to the weightlessness of space—expands while your clothing—or more particularly your bra—do not, thus strangling you.

“Now I think that this would make a fantastic obit—so I tell my younger friends that no matter how I go, I want it reported that I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra,” Fisher wrote.

Fisher spoke publicly about her bipolar disorder and her addiction to cocaine and prescription medication. In 2001, she discussed her drug addiction as self-medication with Psychology Today, particularly the use of drugs like Percodan to curtail the manic aspect of her bipolar disorder. In 2006, she was a part of the BBC documentary Stephen Fry: The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive. She published her memoir in 2008 and discussed her experiences with electroconvulsive therapy on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.

In 2016, Harvard College awarded her its Annual Outstanding Lifetime Achievement Award in Cultural Humanism for “her forthright activism and outspokenness about addiction, mental illness, and agnosticism,” which have “advanced public discourse on these issues with creativity and empathy.”

It’s important that Fisher got her last wishes concerning her obituary. It’s important that she’s remembered how she wanted to be. It’s important that she was in control of her story.

So often people with mental illness deal with events outside of their control, inside their heads. We struggle to get to a base level that other people operate from effortlessly. We work so much harder, every day, to get the same things. And sometimes we fall fucking short. We don’t succeed in the way we wanted to.

Carrie Fisher succeeded in the life she wanted. She was an actress, a woman, a parent, a writer, and an advocate. She brought so much light and laughter to a topic that sometimes, sadly, has so little of either. She showed that you can be funny and sharp and there, even if you are struggling with mental illness.

She proved that you can be more than. She was more than Princess Leia. She was more than an actress. She was more than her illness. She was more than her addiction. People will try to label you; to shove you into boxes; to dissect you, understand you, curtail you. But Carrie Fisher showed that you could exist beyond the expectations of people and society. And you can fucking rock it.

She lived a life of advocacy, of humor, of strength, and she died, drowned in moonlight and strangled by her own bra.

I want to extend my sympathies to Fisher’s daughter Billie, and her brother Todd, and her half-siblings, Joely and Tricia.

Advertisements
Standard
Life, Rambles, Things Happening RN, Things I Like

THINGS I’M LOVING: SOMETHING TO PUT UP

I have nothing smart/funny to say, so let’s just talk about what I’ve been loving lately. Such a clever idea.

1). Who? Weekly

A podcast that I found from one of those “Best of 2016” (“best” being so, so relative, you guys). I’m so into podcasts, and I’m always on the hunt for new ones. Who? Weekly is dedicated to all the “who’s” in pop culture—celebrities without name recognition—where you have to go, “You know, they were in that (blank) with (more famous celebrity).” It’s surprisingly amazing, and I say surprisingly because I’m not a person who focused on the 99% of pop. I’m a 1%er. But the hosts are funny, and you’d be surprised as to who they see as Who’s.

2). Ryna (Rob + Chyna)

I never thought I would care so much about gingerbread houses. After all the drama between Rob and Chyna (supposedly to stir up interest in their baby’s E! special—how am I even saying these words??) I, and a friend/intrepid reporter, started looking into Kris Jenner’s gingerbread mansions. She has one in her house, and sends one to each of her clients/children. We were discussing the d.r.a.m.a. that Chyna wasn’t on the main house. I literally never thought I would be thinking this much about the least popular Kardashian. The amount of brain space I’m wasting on Robert. Shocking.

3). Beanies

I bought a bunch of beanies from Old Navy.

4). Jessica Jones

I was looking for something new to watch/binge, and I started watching Jessica Jones. The noir voiceovers turned me off at first, so I stopped after the first episode. But maybe it was Kilgrave controlling me, but I came back and devoured the next twelve episodes. Really good, semi-realistic portrayals of superhumans, and it had the faint tinge of “Have I seen this already?” and you probably have but it’s in the good way where you give it a chance. I’m not a ~nerd~ and even I liked it. I think I might even watch Daredevil because JJ isn’t coming back until 2018 (they’re doing a crossover miniseries in 2017)—omg who the fuck am I?

5). Bookz

I got a Barnes & Noble giftcard for Christmas, and I just requested a bunch of books from the library. Holla at governmental systems providing free content to its citizens!!!

I’m gonna start planning out blogs again. I think it’s the combination of mental fatigue, schoolwork and life, but I’m just drained. I think it’s just been a lot since the election; a lot of my fire has been dampened. But ya boi is gonna start writing about pop culture and politics and queer shit again, because THAT’S WHAT I DO.

Standard
holidays, Humor, Life, Rambles, Things Happening RN

THINGS HAPPENING RN: I’M HOT

OH MY GOD.

I forgot that today was Thursday, so it’s 6:22, and I’m about to go to dinner (rich), so let’s see if I can bang this one out.

THINGS HAPPENING RN:

1). OLD NAVY

I just came back from Old Navy. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t really enjoy shopping as much as I used to. I used to go all the time when I was in high school and in my freshman year of college. It might be the restricted budget, or my “maturity,” but I’m starting to buy smarter (which means buying less, which is super-BLAH).

2). TELEVISION

I’ve been rewatching episodes of The Real Housewives of New York City. It’s arguably one of the best in the franchise, because those ladies are smart, but also crazy, so you’re getting laughs and drama. It’s also made me remember some of the better catchphrases/moments of the series. God, such laughs.

3). SKEWL

I left this semester with the harrowed breath of someone who just narrowly avoided being eaten by a velociraptor (ugh, Chris Pratt is so hot). As I was sitting on the Amtrak (rich, rich) coming home to Westchester (rich, rich, rich) I felt like I had just closed the chapter on such a shitty semester. It sucks because on some levels, it was amazing. I reconnected with some friends, I pushed myself out of my comfort zone, I LOST TEN (10) POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!, and blah blah whatever nothing is more important than losing weight. But it was also SO hard school-wise, and as I’ve said before—I’m not used to having to work hard. When you look like I do (hot) and talk like I do (funny), you can really get away with a lot more than you might realize.

4). MUSACK

I’ve been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack. I’ve been listening to it so much that I referenced it in my essay for my Early American Literature Until 1860 class. I quoted that line from “Non-Stop” where Hamilton says that independence is messy. It was SUCH A FUCKING BOMB ESSAY, YOU GUYS.

5). DRINKZ

My sister and I made Moscow mules last night. I LOVE the idea of holiday (holigay) drinks, and so we went out and got supplies. It’s an amazing drink—the ginger beer is totally spicy and refreshing and masks the taste of vodka; the lime is delish; the mint is SO bourgeoisie.

6). BOOK

I had a great conversation with a girl/friend in my class (she’s both a girl and my friend BUT WE’RE NOT DATING) about fantasy books. I can’t think of a pseudonym for her RN, so I’ll just say friend. But I’ve been rereading Leigh Bardugo’s duology Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom. I’ve been sleeping horribly lately, fraught with rough dreams, so I’m trying to read and do low-eye-tiring activities before I sleep.

7). BOOK PT. 2

(really 6B) I requested a bunch of great books from the library. And by “great” I mean “trash” because during the semester, I read a bunch of nascent American literature, arts criticism and Shakespeare, so I’m decompressing with The Andy Cohen Diaries, some Kathy Griffin, and some teen fantasy-lit. GOD I’M SO NUANCED.

8). I’M HOT

I’m hot. I’ve been feeling SO SHITTY so I keep bullying people into complimenting me. That’s all.

IT’S 6:36 AND I FINISHED WRITING. WRITE IT DOWN; I DID IT!!!!!!

Bye.

Standard
Life

BYE FALL 2016

I don’t really feel like posting anything today, but I’m trying to be good about uploading something every Monday and Thursday. I finished my last final today, and I’m just chilling before I start packing.

I’ve been making the most bomb grilled cheese lately; How do I do it? That’s one secret I’ll never tell. Just kidding; I use butter on the bread instead of spray, and I put them both onto the pan and let the cheese get melty before I sandwich them together and put them under a saucepan top. LOW HEAT THE ENTIRE TIME. It’s crispy but not burnt, gooey but not liquid.

I watched the Rob & Chyna birth special (“A Dream Come Throughhhhh” is not what it’s called, but it should be) and doing laundry. It’s making me a little sad to know that this was just a little more than a month ago, and all the drama happened over the weekend.

Whatever, whateva.

This semester was rough, and these last few weeks were rough. I’m glad it’s done, but that also means that I’m closer to graduation, work, and death. HAPPY HOLIDAYS.

Standard
Mental Health, Rambles, Things Happening RN

STRESSED, UNSTRESSED

I’m stressed, and I need that to be okay.

I didn’t realize I was stressed until I was sitting in my psychiatrist’s office today. Emotion after emotion, thought after thought, rose up and spilled out of me like I was a cup in the sink overflowing from a tap that was left on accidentally. I was stressed, I was under stress, I was stress. My entire body was made up of the coiling gray wires that I envision stress to be.

I feel like it’s not okay to be stressed. We’re allowed to be “stressed” but not Stressed. We’re not allowed to be Stressed because we’re conditioned to believe it’s a symptom of not working hard enough. If you’re doing poorly in a class, it’s because you’re not applying yourself enough. If something fails in the romantic sense, it’s you. If you can’t find a job or an internship, it’s because you’re not striving towards it with enough vigor.

We’re allowed to be stressed but it must pass. It must be something that can be neatly dealt with. We’re not allowed to be weak with it, weak from it. And I’m weak from it. It’s breaking into my sleeping, my waking, my head.

I’m stressed about a lot of things. Some are personal and I’m not discussing. Some are classes that I just finished up, some are familial, some are the overarching overhangs of life after graduation. I’m stressed but I’m not allowed to be Stressed. Particularly about jobs. Millennials are classed as lazy. We’re not getting jobs because we expect things to be handed to us. We’re too addicted to our phones. We’re self-obsessed and expectant of praise.

We’re told that we need to be the best to get jobs, and even if we’re the best, that might not be enough. You need to get an internship. Already have one? You need one more. Then one more. It’s never ending. We’re also told that there are no jobs; that we’re fucked. So we’re fucked either way: if we work hard and don’t get anything, it’s because the job market can’t sustain us. If we work hard and don’t get anything, it’s because we’re too idealistic. We expect too much too soon.

So that’s making me stressed. I’m stressed that I just finished a class where I was told, over and over, that my career choices were not valid. That what I wanted to do was not realistic. That “real journalists” didn’t do what I did. What I do.

I’m stressed and Stressed and I’m hoping it’ll pass and I know that it will.

Standard
college, Things Happening RN

STRAIGHT WHITE MALE

Written hours after seeing a girl running on the treadmill who was an exact replica of Taylor Swift in the commercial where she’s sprinting on a treadmill like a Suburban Girl on Black Friday and listening to Drake. Blunt bangs and all. Still shaken.  

A few days ago, I started seeing someone. It’s amazing and it’s new, so I haven’t talked about it much. I’m always skeptical of love, and it’s not even been a month, but I think I can safely say that I’m in love. God! That’s so crazy to write out!!!

Part of why I haven’t said anything is because this person isn’t really my type. And that’s because it’s a “she.” GUESS WHO’S STRAIGHT.

*crickets*

YOU OBVIOUSLY DIDN’T BELIEVE THAT BECAUSE YOU’VE READ THIS BLOG/KNOW ME IN REAL LIFE.

So why is it that when a friend of mine jokingly asked me to be in a relationship with her on Facebook (because I’m hot), which I did (because I’m nice), people instantly started liking the proclamation. First, it was just a few friends. This is acceptable because I know them and she knew them and they were obviously like “Oh funny haha cute” OBVIOUSLY UNDERSTANDING THE IRONY.

Then, the likes start rolling in. On her end, I understand if people start liking the status without knowing I’m gay. I am, after all, surprisingly good-looking for someone who is this funny. But on my end, people I went to high school with (WHERE I WAS OUT OF THE CLOSET) start liking the status. They don’t know my friend, we don’t talk anymore, so they have no reason of understanding the joke. They just think that I’m straight now.

Side bar: I was the president of my PRIVATE ALL-BOYS CATHOLIC HIGH SCHOOL’s first Gay-Straight Alliance (which was mostly just a Gay Bulwark or a Homosexual Council). AND I took off all the buttons on my pants and re-sewed them on with pink thread. I mean, you wouldn’t know that unless you were undressing me and I looked like a naked mole rat in high school so that never happened. AND I wore cardigans.

I WAS OUT.

But lately, as my friend Nina has pointed out numerous times, I’ve been dressing extremely “straight” lately (sideways baseball caps, penny board and giveaway sunglasses). That, combined with my height and (again surprising amount of) hotness, turns me into a CockBlock© because people see me with ladies and assume that it’s either A) a relationship or B) a Make A Wish thing and I’m a celebrity.

Side bar: I told someone else that Nina kept calling me a cockblock because everyone thought I looked straight, and she just looks at me, takes a beat, and says, “So this is before they hear you speak, right?” BURN.

But as a new Straight White Male™, I’m still getting used to this newfound level of privilege. I jay-walk whenever I want. I can never recall a time where I didn’t have all the rights. AND I was at Starbucks yesterday during a study-break coffee time, and the girl accidentally charged me one dollar more than I was supposed to, so she comped me a whole extra slice of the lemon pound cake, which is DEFINITELY MORE THAN A DOLLAR. God, I’m swimming in privilege.

screen-shot-2016-12-12-at-6-14-54-pm

Source: Twitter// I started going crazy while writing an essay on Walt Whitman.

In other nudes, besides me being on top of the world, I’m in the midst of finals right now. I spent so much time yesterday staring at a screen that I thought I was gonna vomit. I didn’t, and after getting home from the library I proceeded to watch an hour of Netflix. So clearly, I was fucking fine.

I’m one essay and one article done, one essay and two finals to go. It’s so hard trying to maintain being smart for this long. I almost never do work (when you look like I do and talk like I do, people basically let you get away with whatever you want), so now I’m having to make up for all the work I coasted on because of my charisma. How do regular (-looking) people do this??

I hope that you’re having a good Monday, and that someday, you’ll get to live a life as rich and easy as mine. You probably won’t, but that won’t stop me from dreaming (GOD, I’M NICE TOO? GOD DOES GIFT WITH A HEAVY HAND!).

Standard
Life, Mental Health

CALLING IN SICK WITH DEPRESSION

Sometimes it’s really, really unfair to have depression. Like, duh—obviously, but bear with me.

Sometimes it’s really unfair that I can’t just call out of a meeting “sick with depression.” It makes me really, really mad. And I’m using “really” a lot because…because that’s the only way I can describe it. It sucks. It’s annoying. And it doesn’t stop sucking.

It’s hard explaining it to people; it’s hard saying to someone, “I have depression and it’s bad right now but it’s not like ‘bad bad’ so stop looking at me like I’m a puppy.” With other things, you can explain them in a few words.

“I have a stomachache.” “I have the flu.” “I’m hungover.”

But I can’t just say something like that and have it explained away easily. Most people don’t process things like that—they don’t have the experience to understand. Everyone’s had a cold; everyone’s had a stomachache. But not everyone’s had depression. So you can’t just explain it away.

“Sorry, I would totally come to the meeting but I keep getting sad at unrelated things and then I want to smash a window.”

“Sorry, I want to hang out but I’m going to burrow under a pile of blankets and not move for multiple hours.”

“Sorry, I can’t meet up today—I’m feeling tumultuous.”

I have good days and I have bad days. Being on medication means that my bad days are fewer now—they almost become like bad dreams. Half-remembered and explained away. And I don’t realize a bad day until I’m knee-deep in it. And it’s not that I want sympathy or a pass or anything like that. I just wish we had the vocabulary for us to express ourselves. I wish I could make it clear without couching it as a blanket “mental health day” or lie and say that I’m sick with something else.

I’ve got a touch of depression. Sorry, can’t come to your meeting.

I can still function; I’m not incapacitated. But I’m weak; and I’m sad. It’s not forever, but it’s now. This now sucks completely. This now is me wanting to kind of cry and watch covers of songs from Hamilton and just not have to worry about work or school or romance or jobs. But I can’t say that.

Standard