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If you want to read personal posts, search the tag "Adventures of a Capstone Scholar"
Dad: hey I'm gonna go grocery shopping do you need anything?
Me: contemplates wether or not I should ask him to get me pads since I need them desperately
Dad: anything at all?
Me: uh... Yeah.... Can you get me some pads
Me: Are you serious? Wouldn't you be embarrassed?
Dad: Natalie, I'm a 56 year old man who has been buying pads for your mother for over 20 years. No I'm not embarrassed.
Me: But I thought guys get squirmish when we ask them to buy this stuff for us
Dad: boys are squirmish. Men will step out and buy you as many pads and tampons as you need. A man will understand that you cannot control your cycle and that this is a natural bodily process. So, if you ever find a guy who's too embarrassed to buy you pad just bleed on everything he owns.
Me: OMG DAD
Super incredibly maddening thing about mental illness:
Fighting your ass off to live a normal life and function as well as you can, and instead of getting credit and having people be proud of you for all the efforts you’re making, having people use your apparently normal behavior as a reason to invalidate you and think you weren’t that sick to begin with.
It takes a lot of badassery to act this normal, but the effort is all invisible
^^ THIS. THANK YOU.
Okay I’m going to talk to you about a thing and this is the first time I’ve talked about my fight with depression in so public a forum and it’s very uncomfotable but i’m going to do it anyway because I want you to fucking understand this, okay?
I’m in Belfast, Northern Ireland, right now, doing a semester of study abroad. Last semester at my home university, before I came here, I had a breakdown and started slipping towards suicidal tendencies. After a lot of therapy and support from my friends, I’m doing a lot better now, but depression is still a daily battle.
As part of my therapy, I started going to the gym regularly at home. I had already decided that I wanted to get into better physical shape before my breakdown and afterwards I just threw myself into it and kept going, and my therapist was like “no that’s good if it’s making you feel better and it’s not getting to the point where it’s unhealthy don’t stop doing it.” So I threw myself into Zumba and yoga and trying to shave my running time back down to a ten minute mile as part of coping.
I had been kicking around the idea of starting boxing for a while. Because it kind of interested me and I thought I might be good at it. So when I finally made a New Year’s Resolution to learn how to box, I decided that the best place and time to start, would be here, in Belfast, during my semester abroad. And I did.
So I started boxing.
For those of you who have never done boxing training before it is hard as FUCK and it is SUPPOSED to be, even after you’ve been doing it for a while. But I felt better than I ever had in my life, as I kept going into the boxing gym for one, two, and eventually three nights a week.
I wasn’t in fantastic physical shape even when I was madly going to the gym every day during my emergency recovery back home - and then I went home for Christmas break and got pretty out of shape again. I still can’t do a full push-up - I still have to do them from my knees, because I’m not strong enough.
Respect in the boxing gym feels hard enough to gain and keep - especially when you’re not very strong and not a fantastic fighter. But I do feel like I have the beginnings of respect from the other boxers in the gym - maybe not as a fighter, but just for my sheer determination. And when I know, even if they don’t, that the grit that I’m trying to put into my boxing is the same grit that I used to use to just try and keep myself alive - that’s…something. I don’t really know how to describe it.
Anyway I hope some part of this story in some way made sense…