In Barbara Walters’ amazing memoir Audition, she has a chapter entitled “The Hardest Chapter to Write”. Consider this “The Hardest Entry to Write”. While I’m not one to speak about my personal life on this blog, I’m going to make an exception for today. You’ve probably noticed I’ve been absent for awhile. Well, aside for laziness, there’s a reason for this, and one I hardly mention to others.
Perhaps I’ve been inspired by other celebrities coming forward like Catherine Zeta-Jones and Demi Lavato. Well, consider this my coming out party — I have bipolar II. It’s something I’ve struggled with since my teenage years along with depression, anxiety, and insomnia. I normally don’t talk about it, and I’m sure some of my “IRL” friends are finding out right now while reading this entry (I’m good at putting on a happy face). I realize I should be more open about my disorder (I hate that word) because the more people talk about these things, the lesser the stigma becomes.
I’ve usually got things under control with a cocktail of prescription drugs, occasional therapy, and checkups with a psychiatrist, but sometimes things don’t go my way, and this is one of those sometimes. My motivation is zip, my concentration is zero, my sleeping schedule is out of whack, and I’m majorly behind on my thesis which is due in April — hence the lack of posts. I’m truly sorry for those who send me questions that I ignore, news that goes unpublished, and attempts at humor being wasted and placed in my ever growing drafts folder of incomplete posts.
The good news is I’m starting to feel better now, and hopefully things will get back to normal soon. In the meantime, take the time to send a friend a cheerful e-card, call your grandparents, and smile and say hello to a random stranger. You never know how happy that can make someone feel.
Hi, friends. Sorry I’ve been MIA. Extraneous circumstances forced me to travel back and forth 3 weekends in a row. Now that I’m finally done with that 400-mile roundtrip nonsense, it’s finals time at school. I will resume posting again eventually. Don’t you (forget about me).
Anonymous: So I’m 16 and I’m sexually active, I’m wondering if that is wrong? My parents are strange, they told my brother (they had the talk with him when he was 14 or 15) That if he was going to have sex it should be protected but they never had the talk with me. I want a boyfriend (but they tell me no). Is there any difference between being a boy and having sex? What they don’t know is that Ive been with my boyfriend (that they don’t know about) for a while and already had sex. Is that bad?
Double standard, anyone? First question, are you using protection while being sexually active? Then no, you’re not doing anything wrong.
Second question, as cliché and angry feministy it sounds, it’s more acceptable for men to have sex. Like the movies American Pie, The Sure Thing, and Porky’s would tell us, men are constantly on a quest to have sex for the first time. It’s in their primitive and animalistic nature.
On the other hand, ladies are sweet, gentle, and pure flowers. They are not to be tarnished by sex until they are mature and in a loving and caring relationship. At the same time, they are also not supposed to be uptight cock teasers. Just look at Sex and the City. There’s a reason why Samantha is referred to as “the slut” and Charlotte as “the prude.” I don’t know why your parents refuse to let you have a boyfriend or want to discuss the birds and the bees, but I suspect this gender conditioning can partially be to blame.
As I mentioned earlier, if you’re using protection, then I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong or behaving badly. You’re being mature and responsible with your sex life. However, if you are having unprotected sex with your boyfriend, then you are just being careless and playing the pregnant Russian roulette game. In time your parents will come around and realize you will be in relationships and those relationships will become intimate. Plus, you’re 16, in two years you’ll be out of the house, possibly away at college, and not under their overly-protective thumbs.
Meet Anaïs Nin, one of the first female erotica novelists. Born in France in 1903, she started journaling at age 11 and didn’t stop until shortly before her death in 1977. (Can you imagine how many notebooks that would be?) Along with her journals, she published a number of books and hobnobbed with the best in the bohemian heydays of Paris. In the 1940s, she and her friends began to write erotica for $1 a page as commissioned by an anonymous collector. In the early 70s, she finally allowed her short stories to be published as Death of Venus and Little Birds. I love me some erotica, so I can’t wait to get my hands on this pioneer’s work.
In 9th grade biology, my fellow classmates and I were subjected to the Nova special The Miracle of Life on a very old and very passed-down VHS. I’ll never forget the concluding scene of a woman giving birth and everything being visible. This was completely unexpected and made a room of crazy 15-year-olds instantly uncomfortable.
I watched Life’s Greatest Miracle, the updated version of this biological classic, earlier in the week and remembered how informative and amazing the Nova special was. The shots of the ovum traveling through the fallopian tubes and the little sperm struggling to survive are simply mesmerizing. If you’re interested in learning about the biology behind sex and really knowing how babies are made, please give it a view. The entire program is available for free on the PBS website (and eloquently narrated by The Trinity Killer).
Here’s another lovely PSA from the 1950s to conclude your evening. While it’s not as entertaining as the Ralph warning, it is definitely more cheerful. The penis illustrations are so vague and adorable.
Yes, I carry a tampon in the pen organizer of my backpack. Yes, I know you can very-well see it during class when the pocket is open. Yes, I don’t give a damn. I menstruate. I menstruate every 28 days just like most women past puberty and pre-menopause. I menstruate just like your mother, you sister, your grandmother, hell, even your beloved kindergarten teacher. I’m not ashamed my uterine lining sheds every time my uterus prepares for ovulation. I’m not ashamed I’ll need to use a tampon to during this process. I’m not even embarrassed when I take said tampon out of my backpack during class for you to see as I go to the restroom to use it. I know you know it’s going in my vagina, and I don’t care. I just wish you’d stop looking uncomfortable every time you see my tampon. Maybe you should just get over it? I have.
