Worrying Weigh Too Much

Knowing all the recent events in my life, I have every reason to be happy. I turned 22 last month and got a 2nd tattoo; earned my blue belt in Gensei-Ryu karate; earned A's on most of my school work in every subject; and celebrated my 7-month anniversary with my partner, Josh, two days ago.

Events such as these are typically commemorated with pictures, but I've purposely posted very few of them since November. I've gained 10 pounds and feel, as I put it melodramatically, "like a fatty." Yeah, I know. "Whatever, Christi, 10 pounds." 

My insecurity stems from the harassment I endured through elementary and middle school for being fat, until I joined Weight Watchers at the age of 13 and lost 35 pounds. My mind has been stuck in the distant past, wishing it were realistic for my body to be back to the slim 106 pounds I once was. I know a healthy weight for a young teenage girl does not correspond with that of a young adult woman, but I've grown maybe an inch since then. Because of this, I kept telling myself, "my body couldn't have changed THAT much," even though that's a lie. I have hips and thighs that my 13 year-old self did not. 

The BMI scale's generalized measurements leered at me, reminding me that I'm teetering on the upper end of the "Normal" range for a 5'0 woman, at 127 pounds. I want desperately not to cross that threshold into "Overweight" again. I've went through the weight loss process a second time already, after my first two years of college. I've been beating myself up mentally these past few months, asking myself condescendingly why two times wasn't enough to teach me how to manage my weight.

It didn't matter who told me "you look fine." It didn't matter that I've known for ages that the BMI scale is not right for everyone. All I could think about is "my waist has no business being 30 inches," "my belly is pooching out of this t-shirt," and "look at this porky-ass face," and "most petite women are like 100 pounds and I'm built like a fucking tank. What's wrong with me?" It was shit like this that clogged my mind and still does at times, taking enjoyment away from all the wonderful things going on in my life that I ought to pay more attention to.

I'm more than a quantity of pounds. I'm currently taking care of what I perceive to be my "weight problem." I've never turned to starving myself or purging and never have, so please don't worry. I know what I need to do and I'll do it. A realistic goal and time frame has been set (7 pounds less in 2 months). The only thing that's going to get purged is my defeatist mindset...and maybe the sweets sitting in my cabinet.

Thoughts on Death

A frequent question atheists are asked is something to the effect of, "what do you think happens to you when you die?" My answer? Nothing as important as while you're alive. As human beings, fearing death is common. Religion provides people with answers that, although not verifiable, give them comfort and something to look forward to (or dread).

I'm no less scared scared of death than anyone else. I can't stand looking at anything dead, whether it's roadkill or a person. It bothers me to see to see a tiny bird meet its end at the claws of a hungry cat, but I recognize that we all have to face death eventually (although hopefully not as gruesomely as a predator's prey). I fear death because I feel it's too early for me to go, yet I accept it as a part of my future.

Whatever it is that makes me Christi will be gone once I die, except for in the minds of living people who knew me. This is why I want to live my only life to the fullest. I will enjoy the company of people I love and forget the people who give me problems. Life's much too short to worry about the things I can't change. I have to remind myself of this frequently because my anxiety disorder sometimes distracts me from what's important. My ultimate goal is making as many positive differences in the world as I can, no matter how small...this includes after I die.

For this reason, I'm seriously considering donating my body to medical research after I die. As an advocate of science education, I can't think of a better way to use my body post-mortem. It sure sounds more exciting to me than rotting in the ground or being burned to ashes. It makes me uncomfortable to think about me as a cadaver, cringing at the thought of being cut open. Then again, will I feel anything when the time comes? Of course not. I won't be using that body to live in anymore. It's the same reason I feel silly for imagining how gross it is to decompose in a grave or be melted down into dust.

I'm not ready to go yet. I'm a young woman with what I hope is a full life ahead of me. I take the time to appreciate the little things while I can, such as reveling over a colorful sunset at the end of the day, the joy I receive from embracing a loved one, or the warmth in my heart I experience when a cat sits on my lap. I might not be here tomorrow and that's enough incentive for me to do all I can to make the world a better place today. What happens to me after I die is of no concern (other than where I want my body to go), only what happens during my life.

Bible Belt Blasphemer

If you're a Southern freethinker, this post is probably going to resonate with you. If you're not a US Southerner or from the US at all, strap in. This post is not an attempt to complain and ask for pity, but to draw attention to the dire need for support from other freethinkers.

I'm North Carolinian. I wasn't born here, but it's been my home for 17 of my nearly 22 years. North Carolina is in the heart of the Bible Belt, a term associated with the American South. The Bible Belt is comprised largely of Protestants, with some exceptions. There's churches everywhere you look, frequent disputes over separation of church and state (especially in public schools), and a high concentration of anti-gay, anti-abortion nut-jobs that justify their hatred with the Bible. Our science scores continue to suffer some of the worst rates in the country. I'm not saying that you can't find situations or people like this anywhere else, but the South is the unofficial headquarters of United States religious bigotry.

Unsurprisingly, the Bible Belt is the area least receptive to freethinkers here in the United States. When I first came out as an atheist in my teens, a few of my peers were convinced I had a black heart that belonged to the devil. I'd have laughed if they didn't take what they said so seriously. Dislike of atheists and other secular individuals is common due to ignorance, and here, outright hatred of atheists is acceptable and sometimes encouraged. 

Secular Southerners are often discriminated against at the legal level. Take North Carolina's State Constitution, for example. The Preamble is "We, the people of the State of North Carolina, grateful to Almighty God, the Sovereign Ruler of Nations, for the preservation of the American Union and the existence of our civil, political and religious liberties, and acknowledging our dependence upon Him for the continuance of those blessings to us and our posterity, do, for the more certain security thereof and for the better government of this State, ordain and establish this Constitution." How can the constitution be all-inclusive if it deliberately leaves freethinkers out? Not all North Carolinians are grateful to the "Almighty God, the Sovereign Ruler of Nations."

Article VI, Section 8 clearly states that "The following persons shall be disqualified for office: First, any person who shall deny the being of Almighty God," even though people being sworn into office are allowed to swear an oath OR the secular equivalent, an affirmation. Most of the other states with constitutions discriminating against freethinkers are Southern, such as Arkansas, Mississippi, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Texas.

The presence of so much religious bigotry here calls for extra reinforcements. There are plenty of freethinkers here in the South, but many of us feel outnumbered and alone. We can't put up an atheist billboard without it being vandalized within a couple days, much to the delight of other local residents. Our complaints typically go ignored by our peers and state officials. No one wants to help "those atheists." When even our leaders won't help us, it's hard to feel like we have any power. I encourage my fellow Southern secularists and secularists everywhere to speak out against the injustices that occur here. We need it desperately. 

The South has never been known to be a leader in social progress; it's known for being the most resistant to comply. Using religion to subjugate others was unacceptable when we held slaves, it's unacceptable when it's used to deny rights to women and the LGBT community, and it's unacceptable when it's used to deny rights to anyone who isn't Christian. 

I'm a Freethinking Female, a Secular Southerner, a Bible Belt Blasphemer - and proud. Let's fight these injustices, together. 

Voting "other"? Oh, brother.

"Get out and vote!"

It's something that anyone living in a democratic society has heard, especially in the heat of the election season. I voted in my first presidential election this year. I was incredibly excited to finally take part in this rite-of-passage of sorts. I was a few months too young to do so in 2008 and couldn't wait to do it in 2012.

I have a big issue with the "Get out and vote" message. I wonder how many people really want you to vote when it's not for their preferred candidate. Campaign volunteers have been all over my campus in the past month to ask students if they're registered to vote and who they plan to vote for. Some clearly supported Romney, others Obama. Several of these volunteers stopped me and were excited when I replied I am indeed registered to vote. However, some of them lost their enthusiasm when I announced support for a candidate that was not theirs. A couple were outright hostile. It seems the real message is "vote, but only when it's for who I want."

If you EXPLICITLY verbalize you want me to vote for a particular candidate, I'll understand your disappointment if I politely say I'm not interested. However, it does piss me off when the message is to simply vote and the response to my choice is "People like you shouldn't be able to vote if that's who you support" or "Don't bother voting, then." Thankfully, not many have been this rude. The most common negative response to my presidential choice has been "you know that voting for him won't matter, right?" I don't care if you think my vote was "wasted," so long as you agree I had the right to vote in the first place. I exercised my right to vote and that's better than not voting at all. A dissenting opinion still carries more weight in the political world than nonparticipating indifference.

I'm Christi, I'm 21 years old, and I voted for the libertarian presidential candidate Gary Johnson. I'm happy that most of the campaign volunteers and friends of mine expressed respect for my decision, even if it wasn't one they supported personally.

I encourage all citizens in the US of voting age to vote as well, no matter what candidate you support. I've made my presidential choice known and you're free to disagree with it and/or my political beliefs. At least there's discussions to be had.

Permanent Pride

On September 20th, 2012, I got my first tattoo:

It reads "Love is never wrong," and wrapping around my ankle are 3 sets of couples holding hands - 2 men, 1 man and 1 woman, and 2 women.

As a matter of luck in scheduling, September 20th coincided with the one-year anniversary of the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, the policy that kept LGBT members of the United States military from being open about their sexual orientation.

 LGBT equality stands as the human rights issue closest to my heart. I have endured harassment over the years because my bisexuality does not fit the typical Southern American's definition of acceptable. It took me until this year to completely accept my orientation. I display my tattoo as a badge of pride in that accomplishment.

I live my life as a relatively quiet individual. I have strong opinions, but neglect to share them out of fear of intimidation. My dislike of conflicts with people holding strongly opposing viewpoints leads me to shy away from wearing my political t-shirts. When I do gather up enough courage to wear the tees, I frequently hold my arm or purse in front of the message in a paranoid attempt to avoid controversy. I realized this pathetic display had to stop. So what if some moron comes along and disagrees with me? That's life. It's a complete disservice if I stay silent about an issue I claim to hold dear. LGBT equality's importance to me far outweighs any future harassment I might receive. I smirk knowing there's nothing bigots can do about the tattoo anyway - it's not going anywhere, no matter how much they hate it. I could cover up the tattoo if I so wish, but it's not like a t-shirt I can remove at the end of the day. It's literally and figuratively a part of me now.

It's obvious that my sexuality played a substantial role in my decision to get this tattoo, but I was not the only person I had in mind. I would not be here today without the love of my friends of all sexual orientations. "Love is never wrong" is a simple but straightforward message to let friends and other equality supporters know that they are my brothers and sisters. I was supported with love; this is my way of returning it. Good friends taught me that their first concern about a relationship I'm in is not the sex of my partner, but my happiness. They've compelled me to continue spreading this message wherever I go, carrying their support with me every step of the way.

Love it or Leave it - Why I Stopped Accommodating

When I revealed to the world on Myspace five years ago that I was bisexual and not religious, my mother became upset. She wanted  me to take the information down because I was "flaunting it." My persistent refusal to comply resulted in no computer privileges for months. It took her a few years before she completely understood why I wanted to be open. She feared for my safety, living in a place not very welcoming to different folks. I understand her now, although I did not at the time. Her phrasing of "advertising" my atheism and bisexuality made me angry because I didn't see why everyone else was able to list themselves as straight and Christian. I knew I deserved the same freedom. I kept insisting I was not "advertising" because advertising involves spamming people with a message over and over again. I described my actions as a declaration of honesty. I never forced people to acknowledge my differences. The information was simply there for those who cared enough to know. It was and never will be a "HEY EVERYONE, LOOK AT ME" type of affair.

It's the same today with other social media (and in real life). My mother was right in that some people who view my information will not like what they see. Some have made it a point to tell me so in a hateful manner. Thankfully, a secondary function of listing this information about myself is weeding out people I don't need in my life anyway. I find it easier for others to see who I am up front. If they're too close-minded to befriend me, I'll have saved myself valuable time and effort. Should someone choose to complain about my identity after having access to the information in plain sight, I am not at fault for their ignorance.

Trying to accommodate others to avoid making them uncomfortable is no longer a part of me. When a friend or potential dating partner has asked me not to reveal my sexuality or religious beliefs to other friends or their parents, I make no promises. I refuse to lie or stay silent if an offensive comment is made by the person or people whose good side I'm "supposed" to stay on. A person either likes me or doesn't. I'd personally rather find out sooner than later if someone doesn't want my company.

The request I've received most often by casual friends is "So and so's super religious, so don't mention being an atheist around her." Unless the religious person asks me where I go to church or whatever, I have little reason to discuss the subject in the first place. It's not my style to incite controversy. I simply warn the friend in advance that bringing me along to meet someone new means they acknowledge I won't shy away from who I am in any way.

I'm out because I've worked so hard to accept myself that it would be a detriment to my progress to publicly deny any part of who I am. I'm an atheist, a bisexual, and a former cutter (among many other things). It's not my responsibility to coddle people I make uncomfortable. The issue lies within the person with the objection. While these aspects of my identity have indeed scared (and pissed) some people off, I am at peace knowing that these qualities regularly filter out ignorance I have no time for. I refuse to let anyone rob me of the happiness I deserve.

Cutting Out Self-Injury

Another special anniversary has come about - I've reached one year of not cutting today. I have lots of dates special to me personally (such as the five year anniversary of my coming out that I posted about a month ago), but rarely do I feel compelled to share what I call my "Christi holidays" with the rest of the world. This warrants exception, as my journey overcoming Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) and depression are not yet over.

Those of you who have read my post "Neurotic No More" know that my cutting began at age fifteen, when my sense of individuality was emerging. I began to realize I was "different" when I adopted a vegetarian diet, came to terms with being an atheist, and when my sexuality awakened. I hated these parts of me and wanted to literally cut them out. I honestly believed at the time that my peers' disapproval meant I was a failure. I wondered incessantly why these struggles chose me because I felt incapable of handling the social stigmas. I cut myself as punishment for allowing these "defective" qualities to stay, though I tried my hardest to ignore them. It didn't matter that I was old enough to know that problems simply don't just go away. I thought cutting would teach me a lesson until I effectively got rid of these parts of me.

I see my most prominent scars on a daily basis, especially the deep 1" stab wound I inflicted on my wrist with scissors when I was 16. I never went more than a few months without relapsing. Any time I felt overwhelmed with stress or insecurity, I'd pull out the scissors, knife, or razor. I refused to talk to friends, fearing they'd tell on me. I didn't think they'd understand.

The mental breakdown that occurred on August 25th of last year resulted in my being escorted of my dorm by campus police for a mental evaluation. I'd cut myself due to an increasingly rough week, an argument I got into with former friend (who by the way no longer associates with me due to this cutting incident) being the final straw. I was starting a new school after spending two years at a school I loved. I didn't want to transfer, but my family couldn't the foot the bill to continue my education out-of-state. The stress of being in a new place took a toll on my social anxiety, as I'm not exactly a social butterfly. Someone loosened the handlebars on my bike, my financial aid came in late, and I was slapped with a $45 charge for losing my keys. Nothing went right that week. I had no idea what to do except punish myself for my incompetence. Out came the steak knife.

My former friend, resident adviser, the campus police, the counseling center, and the Dean of Students office were all involved in assisting me. It didn't matter to them that my injuries were hardly worth attending to (they didn't give me enough time to do much more, thankfully). I basically went through the process listed here. I was deemed fit enough to return to classes after a day off.

They recommended "behavioral therapy," which essentially means attending more than the typical ten counseling sessions a year most students can't exceed. My guess is I received around twenty-five sessions from August 2011 to May 2012. Those sessions really inspired me to make serious changes. I started by apologizing to my body for hurting it. I now view it much more respectfully, grateful for all it does for me. The hardest mindset to change was not asking for help. I always knew there were people who loved me; my stubbornness and fear of wasting their time kept getting in my way. To my surprise, quite a few friends were going through similar ideals. We bonded over our pain and kept each other strong.

 I dedicated myself to attending every appointment with the counselor and psychiatrist, being honest about where I stood on my progress. My goal was to eliminate cutting as a legitimate coping mechanism. I slowly started to see change. I learned to say NO, STOP and keep my word even though cutting was my first instinct. Couple months later, cutting popped up as an option...but it was no longer my first idea. Then I ended up the point where I am now. I'd be lying if I said I didn't still think about it. The difference is I'm able to completely dismiss it without a second thought. One look at my scars tells me that much. I realize now that blaming myself for matters beyond my control would kill me eventually. A year ago, I'd have said I deserved to.

So here we are, August 25, 2012. I am one year strong and I couldn't feel better. I found things in my life to love. I engage in regular exercise. I live a healthy lifestyle. I surround myself with loving people. I involve myself in my university's atheist club and its events to be the change I want to see. I've developed hobbies such as Gensei-Ryu karate to keep me strong. I became more open about my life in the hopes that other people in my situation wouldn't feel so alone.

I'm not out of the woods yet, but I can see the end. Excessive anxiety bothers me frequently, enough to interfere with my daily life. Out of all the stupid things that run through my head on a daily basis (mostly about insignificant worries), I'm FINALLY able to say cutting is no longer one of them. Accomplishing this much gives me the determination to keep going. I've done what I used to think was impossible. Taking things one step at a time, I know I'll reach my final destination someday.