You deserve to be insanely happy. You deserve to feel appreciated. You deserve to feel important to people that are important to you. You deserve to believe in yourself. Your dreams aren’t ridiculous. Your goals aren’t stupid and naive. You deserve to feel inner peace. You deserve to have clarity. You deserve to feel grounded. You deserve to feel safe. You deserve to feel loved and supported - especially by yourself.
And perhaps I’m a little touchy on the subject and maybe I hold Carrie a little too dear to my heart, but the reason I do is because Carrie Fisher helped me realize I was mentally ill.
Oh I knew I was crazy, in the same vague way you worry that you’ve left the stove on at home, despite not having cooked yourself a meal in weeks because you’re too depressed to eat a proper meal. (Except you don’t call it that, you call it “laziness” and maybe try and convince yourself it’s a new diet called “whatever requires the least amount of effort to put calories into my face”.)
Something was “off” inside my head, but no one seemed to care about it too much. Even when they threw me into eating rehab for a perceived eating disorder—despite lacking several of the vital criteria on the checklist to have typical eating disordered behavior—no one gave too much of a shit. I was just a girl who was “too nervous”, “too in touch with my emotions”, “too fragile”, I was “attention seeking”. And their remedy to this was ignore me and wonder why I crashed and burned at regular intervals, blame me for being selfish, then go back to not giving a fuck until it inconvenienced their life again.
I was crazy. But maybe I wasn’t. Maybe if I just tried harder…so I learned to cope. I became the one who Coped. I was There For Everyone. I became Reliable and above all else, I learned to be Funny and make It funny.
My mother still hates that. She thinks it’s crass for women to be funny. Personally I think I’m fucking hysterical, but then what do I know, I’m fucking nuts.
Later, now with hindsight and being able to look at my life from a safe(-r) mindset surrounded by people who care and want to help, I realize that what I was going through was (and is) untreated PTSD. Whether or not the PTSD caused the other issues, like the depression, the anxiety, the compulsive behaviors or the ADHD I think I might have, I don’t know. I likely will never know, because the Thing happened and shot my still developing child brain into a million tiny fragmented pieces of unparalleled terror and poor coping mechanisms. It doesn’t really matter at this point, all that matters is dealing with all of it as best as I can, however I can. But there’s a very real chance I might never have gotten to this stage if I hadn’t found out that Princess Leia, my childhood icon who helped me feel brave and strong while my world was ending, had written a book about living with mental health issues.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from it to be honest. I knew vaguely, that Carrie Fisher had issues. The word “junkie” had been used by my father—while unironically taking a drink from his self-medicating poison of choice and my mother tutted and tisked about how some people just ought to pull themselves together.
Ten, maybe twelve minutes into the book locked away in my room, I can’t even tell you anymore whether I was crying because I was laughing so hard or if I was laughing because I was crying my heart out, but I was having a fucking revelation.
This was me, holy shit this was me, this was me, this was me, an unboken mantra in my head pounding to the beat of my heart, this was me, this is me—I do exist.
That’s a weird thought to have, right? I do exist.
It wasn’t, “I’m normal”, because normal is not this. It’s not feeling like your mind is running a million miles a second in circles while simultaneously wading uphill through treacle and juggling chainsaws while trying to keep all your Life Plates spinning and oh gods someone just handed you a kitten to look after. What it is however, is fairly common, and suffered with varying degrees of severity by a rather sizable chunk of the world’s population. I mean, who knew? I sure as shit didn’t. I thought it was all in my head.
You know what I mean.
I’m told some people get up in the mornings and go through their entire day without once having an intrusive thought or struggling to do basic shit like take a shower and manage to remember to feed themselves. I know, seems fake right? It certainly does to me.
And here was Carrie, my Princess Leia, laying out her issues past, present and probable future, in what remains one of the funniest, most brutal attempts at self-lobotomy on paper I have ever had the privilege to read. I consumed that book in mere hours, I devoured her words and breathed them in like inhaling steam in a sauna and breathing out fire in their wake and moved onto her next book, then her next, then her next, and by then there was this blessed thing called Twitter and it should be impossible to be hilarious and poignant through 140 emojis or less, but that was the kind of brilliant she was. And this was me, this was someone like me. And she was witty and brilliant and funny and yes, things were difficult for her and yes, some parts of her life were an absolute clusterfuck of mistakes, addiction and general all round fuckery leading up to that point…but she was still there, y’know? She was still there.
And it breaks my heart a little every day, knowing that I’ll never be able to tell her how important that was to me. And to thank her for it.
So instead I try to pay it forward. Every day, from one day to the next, I try to be a little kinder, a little brighter—a little more like Our Lady Carrie—and throw two loving sparkly middle fingers up at the world that tries to stamp out and demonize the notion that mentally ill people like me, like you, exist.
And we deserve to exist, and more than that, we deserve to be treated with human fucking decency.
And if you are of a mind that the latest news surrounding Carrie’s death means that she was any lesser of a vital energy force in this world, that she mattered less, that her words were less important or that she “deserved” to die because they found drugs in her autopsy report, it is with my profound and heartfelt best wishes, that I invite you to cordially:
Its getting to be finals time, and you are gonna get stressed. Just remember to break up everything into smaller steps and take extra good care of yourself because you’ll be less stressed and more productive. Your mental health matters, and you can get through this. just keep going
I usually make a point to avoid getting into this kind of drama.
That stops now.
If you’ve been following the kind of people I follow, or if you’re part of new fandoms that experience a sudden explosion in popularity and number of fans -
Undertale. Steven Universe. RWBY. Fire Emblem. Overwatch. Disney. Gravity Falls. Star Wars. Marvel. Etc -, you will have seen something like this.
Every time, without exception, there’s a small group of people who think they are entitled to say what is right and what is wrong. Who erect themselves as judge and jury of what is GOOD and what is PUNISHABLE. And now, they may well have erected themselves into executioners.
There was a tumblr user by the name of tyrant-rex. Emphasis on WAS. If you go to his blog you’ll notice it’s deactivated. That’s because he did it, right after leaving a suicide note.
Rex shipped Pewey. That is Pearl/Mayor Dewey, both characters from Steven Universe. Pearl is a canonical lesbian character. Mayor Dewey is a guy. And that, it seems, was all the reason this toxic part of the fandom needed to want him dead. They showered him in hate and this is the result. Rex may well be DEAD because some people decided a fictional ship was worth more than a human life.
And the most sickening part? They’re not sorry. They revel in the pain they’ve caused. They try to justify it.
“But Pearl is a canonicaly lesbian!” Doesn’t justify killing a person over it.
“But it was lesbian erasure!” No it’s not, just as shipping two heterosexual characters in a gay relationship isn’t heterosexual erasure. And even if it were, it would still not justify killing a person over it.
“But seeing that ship hurts me!” If a non-canon drawing of a fictional ship is enough to cause you pain you should go to therapy because you are obviously not well off on the head. Oh, and it STILL DOES NOT JUSTIFY KILLING SOMEBODY OVER IT.
I mean, really, did these people even think about what they were doing? What they are celebrating? If he’s dead, that’s a whole person gone from the earth. Did he have friends? Family? Loved ones? Hopes and dreams? And now those people will never see him again. His goals will never come to be. And why? Because of a ship? Because people on the internet couldn’t stand others loving things they didn’t like? Can you think of any subject more STUPID to hate somebody? To drive somebody to death?
This is not the first time the SU fandom drove someone to the edge of suicide. And I tell you right now, it’s not going to be the last. This is gonna keep happening. And you might be reading this and thinking I’m overreacting. I wish I was. I wish I had no reason to make this post. But Rex, and those who came before, are the horrible proof that no, I am not exaggerating.
And just like they came for him, they will come for you. Because you drew Connie’s nose too small, or her skin too light. Because you drew Pearl with boobs, or Mei and Rose skinny. Because you made Frisk’s eyes too asian, or Hanzo’s eyes not asian enough. Because your humanization of Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps is not the color THEY want it to be. Because you dared to ship the “wrong” ship. Because your opinion is something they don’t like.
I honestly don’t know how to close this, so I’ll just say, if anybody’s shitting on you or trying to get you to hurt yourself, block them. Your mental health and your life matter so much more than all the fictional characters in the world.
I just realized that no matter how hard you’ve been trying to keep a relationship or even friendship because you thought you could never live without them, it really is not worth it when this person caused you so much pain and the relationship was mostly one-sided and toxic. It’s very important to remind yourself that although you spent a lot of time with them, also had good memories and laughed a lot together, if there’s no or maybe bad communication, lack of trust and no understanding, then it is in fact NOT worth fighting for, believe me. So please love yourself and don’t feel guilty for leaving. You’re not being egoistic, it’s called self-love and your mental health matters
I was saving this for the weekend, but here, some pink ladies of an amazing cartoon, with Nicki Minaj lyrics. Stay strong, be safe, and if you feel like distancing yourselves from politics for a while that’s ok. Your mental health matters.
But this morning before work, I talked to my parents about my ED and about how I’ve been feeling and struggling. While they don’t understand why I won’t open up and tell them everything (there’s some stuff I don’t want them knowing because it could ruin the family), they are being more supportive than they ever have been in the past. They’re helping me and I work for my dad and he even promised to check up on me during the day to make sure I’m eating. It’s a step in the right direction, I’m moving forward at my own pace. Slowly, but surely I will overcome.