I need a new body butter scent. Pink Sugar reminds me too much of college. Makes me think of all those sad days and lonely nights spent in a tiny room on Hobart. A room the size of a walk-in closet. It was dark in that room; just one window that faced a brick wall, an overhead light that was too harsh, and a lamp clipped to the edge of my desk. The desk could fold flat to the wall but rarely did. It was too full of junk in piles, like the rest of the room. Piles on the floor, on the bed, in the closet. The closet I hardly opened. When I moved out, I found things in the closet I’d forgotten I’d ever owned. Projects and clothing and supplies that could have come in handy. I didn’t want to think about them anymore, and I forgot about them for almost a year.

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Paper craft necklace!

Freezer paper stencils. Say cheese!

I’ve never technically been diagnosed with a mental illness. Despite almost twenty years and fifteen professionals worth of mental health help, I’ve never stuck with anyone long enough to actually lay down a groundwork for treatment. (And even if I’d stuck around, I’ve never been honest enough that they could think of something that might work.) Thank god for the internet. Google has been the only accurate way to diagnose my various physical and mental problems.*

I started seeing mental health professionals just after my parents’ divorce. I was around five. I would go to this woman’s office and play with a dollhouse while she and my mother quietly discussed the separation. I don’t remember the details but I’m sure she gleaned some fascinating insights from the interactions between my dolls. Not too long after, I started going to weekly group sessions at my elementary school. With all the other freaks from broken families. We read sappy books and took turns talking.

I don’t think I got my own shrink until middle school. I was smart but emotionally stunted, and my mother finally saw that I was isolated from everyone at school. I started seeing someone through the University of Miami’s training program, since my younger sister was already seeing someone in the same office. I didn’t like it but I tried to be honest. When I told the girl that I’d already attempted suicide once, she of course had to report it. When I told the girl that I thought about suicide every day, she forced me to sign a meaningless pact that I wouldn’t try again. I didn’t trust anyone there, so I lied to keep myself out of trouble.

I was eventually allowed to quit, after making plenty of excuses and finally bringing up money. I was occasionally trotted out to other counselors and therapists and psychologists. I never told them the truth because I didn’t think they could really help. It wasn’t until I nearly had a mental breakdown that I was forced ask for it.

I’d spent my academic career being pushed further than I could handle. I’d tested high on early IQ tests, and always tested above average on reading. My parents expected me to perform on a level high above my classmates. I internalized this need for perfection and pushed myself in every aspect of my life (except maybe my social circle, where I had difficulty initiating relationships). This drive also manifested itself in my body image issues, but that’s another story for another day.

Sixteen years of schooling led to early acceptance at an expensive college. And when I went away, I wasn’t prepared for anything. I didn’t know how to talk to people. I didn’t know how to take care of myself. And I was having trouble maintaining the emotional wall I’d worked so hard to build. I dealt with this by staying up all night to produce work that was barely acceptable, and by getting completely stupidly wasted in my spare time.

This isn’t a lifestyle you can easily maintain. It wears you down. It took me about a year and a half before I knew my life was collapsing. Somewhere in that time, I’d started self-injuring, a habit that stuck with me for almost a year after leaving college. I also started isolating, deliberately removing myself from social situations by driving around alone at night. I did stupid things like drive myself home after having an outrageous amount of drinks. I stayed in bed for days when I knew I didn’t have classes. After I crashed my car and practically killed my computer, I switched to vampire hours, sleeping during the day and working in the computer lab at night.

It’s hard to talk about my last semester at my first college. I could probably write a dozen posts on that subject alone. At the end of the day, I needed help, I found out how I could get it, and it was unavailable to me. I moved home at the end of the semester, defeated. Then I spent a few months living at my mother’s house, knowing if something didn’t change drastically, I was going to die.

On January 5, 2011, I ran away from home back to Pittsburgh, hoping some college friends could help me out. The experience solidified who were my real friends, and I spent the next few months living in the lowest rent situation I’d ever known. It led to my new college, a year of Disney College Program, and some frivolous fun. My story is still developing. I have bad days (I’ll write about them later) and I have okay days. My mental health issues won’t be solved soon. But I hope talking about them helps someone out there.

*This is where I put the practically mandatory disclaimer that you should see a professional.

Sometimes my best projects are happy accidents! This Mother’s Day gift for my aunt started off as a checkbook cover and ended up as a cute handmade notebook. Want to make your own?

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Love all the parts of me that I know I love but sometimes forget.

(via fuckyeahfatdykes)

Let’s start with a simple question. Have you seen the new Disney Princesses? I’ll give you a hint; they have a terrible, sexy new look.

And it’s not that woman can’t or shouldn’t look pretty; it’s that it’s unfortunate that all of our female role models seem to have “good looks” at the top of their priority list.

The Disney Princesses started getting new looks in summer of 2012. I first saw Cinderella at the Disney Studio Store in August of that year. It was hard to recognize her at first. Blonde hair, blue dress. I knew it was Cinderella, but I knew it wasn’t MY Cinderella. She was too juvenile, and wore too much make-up, and at her core felt OFF. But it was Disney merchandise, so I knew she had to be Cinderella.

And steadily, the other princesses introduced their new looks. Belle got loose tendrils of curls around her face. Pocahontas got unnecessary, culturally inappropriate jewelry. Rapunzel had her entire face flattened. Steadily, these princesses became unrecognizable.

Now, I’ve been complaining about these “new looks” for almost a year, posting on twitter whenever I saw a piece of merch with the new look and hoping someone agreed with me. It wasn’t until the most recent Disney Princess, Merida, got her redesign that the shit really hit the fan.

Quick re-cap for those who haven’t seen Brave (although I highly recommend it; though flawed, it’s an important and emotional impacting film). Merida is a tomboyish medieval Scottish princess. She prefers riding her horse to etiquette lessons, boasts of her physical accomplishments over intellectual ones, and would prefer to shoot an arrow over almost anything else. When her mother tells her of plans for an arranged marriage, Merida hopes a witch’s spell to change her mother will change her fate so that she does not have to marry. It works, eventually.

Merida is a punk. Her whole character design portrays her this way. Red hair. Unruly curls. Round face. This is not a girl who wants to fit in. And I think that’s what makes her so appealing, especially after so many Disney Princesses who seem to be poured into a mold. Merida doesn’t take shit. And when faced with a dilemma, she looks for a solution, even if she doesn’t find the right one. After so many years of questionable Disney Animation role models, it was nice to have one “strong” female character (even if it had to come from Pixar).

So maybe that’s why Merida’s redesign felt like such a betrayal. At her core, it did not feel like the same character. She was wearing her “royal dress”, which she hated because it didn’t allow her to move. Her hair is still curly but less frizzy. Her eyes now have “come hither” make-up, and her waist has been whittled. It’s practically Photoshop bingo, things you might expect on a gossip mag cover. But we don’t expect the celebrities on US Weekly to last as role models for 85 years. Merida, like the Disney Princesses before her, became more than ideals. They transcended impossibility.

So this is why I hate Merida’s redesign. It seems to be a betrayal of everything her character wished to be. And the very nature of a “re-design” betrays the animators who created this character. There is no situation in which “New” Merida (or really, any of the new characters) works. It’s purely a creation of marketing, designed to push these classic characters to an audience who tests well but doesn’t really care. I wish Disney would listen to its fans. We still want princesses. The real princesses.

How many people can say they’ve got name tags from both coasts?

I just remembered I even have this thing. Since we last met, I finished my DCP at Walt Disney World, moved to California for six months for a DCP term at Disneyland, and am now back in Florida waiting to be hired at WDW again. I would make a promise to write more (again), but I think we both know I’ll never live up to that!

Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t posted since I’ve been at DCP. Took my roommate a few days to get our Internet online and then I’ve been so busy since. Just finished my last shop training day at Riverside Mill. Just have three days of cashier training left in like, three weeks. No work tomorrow or Wednesday, but I do have class both days. Also going to Magic Kingdom for (most of the) 24 hours. Promise to post on the first few DCP days soon!