As told by M

On November 8th, 2016 I got to vote for the very first time. On this day, I also cried for the first time over the outcome of a vote. Previously, the votes had gone in a way that I didn’t really think would effect me. I remember when Barack Obama was elected, and I just.. I knew it was history, I knew it was amazing a black man was becoming president, but watching that election was nothing like this. I sat in my living room with friends, with the whole hearted intention to eat enchiladas, have a few beers and play games as the election results came in.. but instead, we sat with mouths wide open baffled. I sat holding my wifes shaky hands as the election was announced. We cried. I said to myself “There has to be something I can do.”

On February 7th, Betsy Devos was confirmed as the Secretary of education. A woman who has no experience with public school, nor had she ever studied education. I once again said “There has to be something I can do” I let these feelings fester, and bubble, and encourage me to be louder and advocate louder.

On March 8th, 2017 a woman stood in a school board meeting and said that Transgender students were causing harm to others, and that “heterosexual children’s dignity, privacy and security have not been considered.”. I sat, with this rage bubbling up inside me. I myself are not trans, but I have people I love in my life that are trans and this angered me. I wanted to be a teacher. I wanted to be a teacher who respected all people, and treated all students, but first and foremost I wanted my students to be safe. This day, I decided I would run for school board.

On May2nd, 2017 I stood outside a fred meyer store and protested by myself. This was the first time, I protested on my own. This was also the first time I had anyone to my face go “I hope you get raped” this was also the day that a cop looked me in the eye and said “He can hope all he wants, and well, that's not any kind of threat just because he hurt your feelings” I let the tears well up and nod once and asked “Do I have to leave?” and he said “No, you have done nothing wrong” I continued to stay. This was the third time I said to myself “There has to be something I can do”

Hillary Clinton said in her concession speech “our responsibility as citizens is to keep doing our part to build that better, stronger, fairer America we seek.”  and this stuck with me. I knew that I needed to keep doing my part.. But what really was my part? While scrolling on facebook a quote from this same speech came across my screen “to all the little girls who are watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world to pursue and achieve your own dreams.”  and in that moment, I realized my dream had changed.

I realized that I wanted to change this world. I wanted to change this country for the better and I was going to be part of this. With this choice came a big realization. While, I love education and I absolutely love the idea of teaching, I wanted to advocate for students whose families don't have a voice.

With this choice comes an announcement. I will be attending Central Washington University and studying law and justice for my graduate studies. Following this, I will start to pursue politics.

I’m Fat. I happen to use this word as a self-descriptor, and I don't say it to put myself down, and I certainly don't say it in hopes that someone will say, 'Oh no, you're not fat!' Because that's the thing, nobody says to a tall person, 'Oh, you're not tall!' And, nobody says that because 'tall' is not a dirty word.

I was hosting a party at my home a few months ago, when a girl stood in front of me, that I had known for 10+ years, squeeze her stomach and say “God.. I am so fat” before bringing the dark bottle of beer back up to her lips. In my drunken-stupidness, I put down my drink and yelled “I’m the fattest bitch you know!” And stood with my hands on my hips. Her, and a few of her friends stopped and went “Oh no Honey! No no You’re so beautiful you’re not fat!” I laughed and shook my head and said “Exactly. I’m both” and walked away. This speaks wonders of where I am in my life. It speaks wonders about my self love journey and my hopes of where others could be.

My journey of self-love, is long and tiring and just like any other journey, you have setbacks and you have days where It’s not great, but it is possible.

You can’t have a self-love journey, without a self-hate journey as well. I don’t remember the first time I cried because someone at school called me fat, but I do have a memory of a boy in my fifth grade class, hitting me with his crutches, spitting on me down the aisle way on the bus mooing at me and telling me to, “Move, you fat cow.” I cried that day for a long time ( Thank you Austin Backas). I remember making a wish to be skinny on my birthday candles every year from age 11-16.

At 14-years-old, I started down the path of starvation and self-hate that manifested itself into my physical world, rather than just in my head and my heart . This went on for three years. There was a period of time, when I was 16 when I would starve myself, and then run until I couldn’t anymore. This was my way of forgetting my hunger. My size at age 16 was becoming a death sentence. With the mindset, I was living my life in, my doctor told me at my first appointment that I went to alone (16- years-old) that I was going to kill myself if I kept exercising the way I was without nutrition. At the time, this sounded like the perfect thing. To die trying to be beautiful. Now? I'm so glad I stopped. I'm so glad I'm here. I’m so glad I get to see the world as it is today

I wore a shaper for probably three years straight, every day. Whether I was wearing a nice dress or a t shirt, I wore a shaper that physically altered my body forever. I told myself I would look smaller if I wore it, and didn’t understand how much I was hurting myself. I started doing things I wouldn’t normally do.  I hid this from people close to me.

Most people didn’t notice the drastic drop in weight, they didn’t notice that I was finding every excuse in the book not to eat, and to avoid shopping. I avoided photos and events that would include me having to eat, or exercise around others because I knew I would overdo it. I used to get up early before my dad and go for runs, I would run and run in the cold air and I loved it, but I would do it to the point that I would vomit. I wouldn’t stop until then. It wasn't until the summer after my junior year that a friend noticed when we were at the beach and I was running up and down, we sat down in the sand and he turned to me and said “You’re dropping weight like crazy.” And I got a giant grin and said “30 pounds in 5 weeks!” His face fell, he noticed that I thought he was complimenting me. “That’s dangerous.” He said before shaking his head. This was the first time I was ever confronted about my self hate by a friend.

I dated a boy my senior year of high school, who was the first and last significant other who bruised my skin. When trying to end things, he grabbed me in the hallway and said “No one will ever care for you like I do” And I turned with a fist up and chuckled and said “That’s the point.” before I ripped my arm out of his grip. The purple bruise on my shoulder for weeks sparked a fire in me. It sparked an idea that I was worth more. He was popular, He told me how pretty I was when I did my makeup, and dressed up for him, and how nice I looked when I “tried”.  I came across a quote from Milk and Honey that reminds me of this time in my life (looking back on it 4 years later) "When you are broken and he has left you do not question whether you were enough the problem was you were so enough he was not able to carry it" and thank god he wasn’t able to carry it because She is.

At age 17, my girlfriend (still my better half to this day) noticed my shaper. She started to push and poke at the idea of me not wearing it. I shrugged it off and avoided the topic until my freshman year of college. I stopped wearing it. The last time I wore it casually, was my first day of freshman year. I occasionally wear my shaper now, when I’m going to a fancy dinner because sometimes It helps me feel good in a nice outfit, otherwise? I don’t wear it.

I’ll tell you what I do wear though, that helps me feel good: Crop tops, tight jeans, bralette, see through tops, cute underwear, bikinis, high heels, bright lipstick, body suits and many many other things. These are things that society has deemed to be appropriate for skinny women to wear, and what I say to that? Screw it. I love crop tops, and if ellensburg wasn’t so cold, I’d probably wear one every day.

At work, my manager came over to me and said “Maddie, your jeans are too tight” I looked down at my skinny jeans and back up to her and chuckled before biting my tongue. She went to the back room and I looked to my coworkers before laughing. Puzzled, they asked me what's wrong, and I told them what she had said before saying “You know, I wanted to say, yes I’m fat, my jeans are always going to be tight” and we all laughed together and compared how tight your jeans all were. It was nice, for once not to be told “Oh honey, you’re not fat!” It was nice to be accepted, and have my self-love and self awareness be accepted by those around me.

Newsflash, I know I’m fat. I know that I’m not going to fit in a size medium shirt, and I know I’m not going to fit in a size 10 jeans and no I can’t fit into your sweat pants at a sleepover, I have my own in the car don’t worry and no, I probably can’t borrow that hella cute top you just wore, but that’s okay! I Love my body the way it is, and so do my friends. I know my body is good, whether I’m in sweatpants, no makeup and my hair a mess or a ball gown, my body is good. My body is good in a sweater or no clothes at all. I am worthy.

I now am surrounded by some of the most genuine people on this earth. I am surrounded by people who encourage me to be better, and push me to be the most loving person I could be (Because man, who couldn’t love them?). So this is a thank you, to those people who push me every single day to love more, and smile more, and stand out more.

Thank you Cassie, Kyla, Moira, Emerson, Dennis, Tina, Tami, Don, Daniel, Ashlynn, Alex, Joshua, Annabelle, Rosa, Alex, Hailey, Holly, Haleigh, Sebastian, Maryssa, Aidan, Cecile, Kash, Madi, Melody, Cansen, Kevin, Clayton, Anna, Susannah, Jason, Karina, Makennah, Devyn, Sarah. And so many many more people in my beautiful life. You make life truly extraordinary, and I’m so glad for all of you.

I’m fat. I’ve always been so. The first time I thought I was fat , was in the second grade. It was a long road ever since. Ups, and downs have left me (and my body) ravaged. The idea of exposing my skin still rankles, and so does that of intimacy. But I’ve come to some realizations.

There are ways to change your body, especially when you’re unhappy with it.

One is to hate it. Employ all your negativity by directing it onto yourself. The change is fairly fast, yes. But it’s born out of hatred. It’s unstable and volatile.

Loving your body is difficult. It takes a lot of courage, and a lot of introspection, because to accept your body, is to accept that it’s not the sole cause of all your troubles.

The onus of pain isn’t on your body as an entity independent of you. It’s on you, as a whole.

It’s difficult. I’m trying to get there. Trying to be positive about the struggle.

Each stripe that goes down from my left shoulder to my elbow talks of a time someone I liked rejected me because I’m fat.

Each mark on my right thigh talks of the times people told me ‘it’s okay, you can always be alone and successful.’

Each horizontal ray from one shoulder to another sings a story of what I can do.

Each battlescar from my butt to the back of my left thigh traces my personal history of battles won, and those lost.

Each inch of my flabby stomach skin makes me happy, because it’s a testimony to the fact that some day I’ll be capable of holding life in me.

Each bit of loose skin on my arms and thighs reminds me of the negativity I purged out of my body and mind.

My body is a battlefield, my mind is my artillery, and I’m but a solider.

I’m a fighter.

I sat in the bathroom at work after a group of girls talked about how someone  who was ”lying about being raped” and kicked myself for crying.

I hated being perceived as weak. I hated someone seeing me vulnerable. I hated that I had cried.

But then I realized – being vulnerable made me human.

Crying was natural. And weak was the last word anyone would ever use to describe me.

So to you I say to the same person who feels guilty or bad for maybe a breakdown or two you aren’t weak.

Do you ever just get that feeling like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? And you honestly think like one more thing happens you’re gonna crack. Then all of a sudden you do. Like me, you might be a perfectionists. You care a lot about what people think of you. And you try so hard to hold it together.

Sometimes you just can’t. Something happens and that’s it.

It hits you like a wave that knocks you off of your feet and the next thing you know you’re drowning in your tears reaching for anything to keep you afloat.

Every once in awhile someone does save you.

But you’ve never been one who needs saving. You’ve never been someone who had to rely on others so you feel a sense of guilt for not being able to handle this alone.

Don’t feel guilty for needing someone sometimes. We all do.

Breakdowns remind us of who we are at our worst, but they also give us a chance to see who accepts us at the points when we aren’t ourselves. It gives us a chance to have someone tell us, this doesn’t even compare to who you are at your best.

Yeah some people will look the other way. But every once in awhile someone will rise to the occasion and be the rock you need in your life.

They’ll dry your tears not judging you. They’ll tell you you’re pretty when you fell anything but pretty.

Falling gives someone a chance to pick you up and dust you off and they’re the voice reminding you to try again that you’re better than this. Because you are.

At the end of the day, I always want to help people. Always asking how I can help.. But what do you do when love itself can’t help?

One of my favorite poems says “She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried” (That poem is if I should have a daughter)

And this quote always hits me hard, I want to catch every bit of pain for the people around me and wow, I know I’m always wanting to help others but they and you have helped me so much in my life and I just want to give them the support they've given me. So.. This is to you.

I wish love alone could heal you, bring you back to life, to your normal self. I wish love could make you feel whole again. I wish it could give you all the answers. I wish it could tell you why you feel this way, why you just don’t feel like yourself. I wish it could make you feel better. I wish it could magically make that terrible feeling disappear. And while I like to think that love is magical, love alone can’t fix the things that you need to fix yourself. Love is powerful, but it can only do so much. It’s your responsibility to do the rest.

It’s your responsibility to focus on yourself when you need to. It’s up to you to choose to put yourself first. You have to be the one who decides to try to make it better, to make yourself better, because your problems might have nothing to do with the ones you love, but they’re sure as hell affecting them, and they’re trying to fuck it all up.

Don’t let them. Don’t let these problems hurt the ones you love. Your loved ones might not understand what you’re going through, but they’ll be there for you if you allow them to be.  Please don’t push them away Don’t make them feel unloved, because that terrible feeling that’s changing you, they feel it too, not in the same way, but their love for you makes them feel your pain. They want your hurt to disappear. They want their love to make your troubles drift away, and even though you know love alone can’t fix it, they’re still going to try.

Whatever it is, wherever these problems are coming from, they’re trying to take love away from you. They’re trying to rip love right from underneath you, to destroy every magic-like capability it used to have. The problems that love can’t fix, they’re trying to trick you. They’re trying to convince you that maybe you don’t deserve everything that love has done for you, that this wonderful love you’ve felt completely change your life in all the right ways isn’t meant for someone like you. Please don’t let them win. Please don’t let your struggles convince you you’re not worthy of a love this good. You are worthy of a love that gets even better.

You are worthy of a love that makes you feel strong, a love that makes you feel like you can do anything, be anything. You’re worthy of a love that makes you feel safe, a love that you know will always be there, when you’re scared, when you’re sad, or angry, or lost. You’re worthy of a love that doesn’t leave. You’re worthy of a love so good it makes you scared to lose it. You’re worthy of the kind of love that makes you feel incredibly lucky you found it. You deserve life-changing love even when your struggles and problems are trying to convince you otherwise.

1.I learned that when you’re 12 years old, you’re too young to know anything about your sexual orientation, unless you’re straight, of course.

2.I learned to hate the word “lesbian” before I even knew what it meant because people kept talking bad about “that” type of person.

3.And I learned to hate myself when I realized I was “that” type of person.

4.I learned to kiss boys I didn’t know to try and forget about the feelings I had for one of my classmate because who the hell would still love me if they discovered that side of me?

5.I learned that I shouldn’t mention my lover’s name in a conversation because we all know that some kind of love can make people feel uncomfortable.

6.I learned to keep my mouth shut when people asked me if I was in a relationship yet because nobody expect a female name coming up after that question.

7.I learned to change every pronouns and names in my poems whenever I wrote about her for people to appreciate my words and not keep wondering why the names in it sound so girly.

8.I learned to introduce her to my family as a friend because I was sure my mom wouldn’t let her in if she knew what kind of “friend” she was for me.

9.I learned to live with a constant fear of people finding out about my sexuality even if I couldn’t understand what was bad about it.

Dear straight parents with LGBTQ kids,

Every parent should want their child to be happy, healthy, and successful. You should want to teach us, guide us, advise us, and be there for us in every way you can.

You tell us to come to you with any problems we may face, and any obstacles we may need to overcome. You tell us you understand,that you’ve been through it all.

You may be right in a lot of scenarios. But the truth is when it comes to the issues that anyone under the LGBT umbrella faces& you dont understand.

Everyone has a different coming out experience, but every time, there is always one thing that remains the same. I have never seen or experienced greater strength or courage than when a member of the LGBT community comes out to their family.

In the world we live in today, the devastating truth is that when we come out, we are just as likely to be completely discarded by our families as we are to be accepted. The feeling that comes from knowing that and telling our families anyway is almost indescribable to someone who hasn’t felt it for themselves.

When it comes to acceptance, we can never really know for sure until it happens. No matter how well we think we know our family, we can never predict how they will react to hearing their child, sibling, or grandchild is gay, or trans, or bisexual. We don’t know, but many of us do it anyway.

Its fear, and hope and anxiety rolled into a solid ball sitting in the middle of our chests.

It doesnt matter how long weve been thinking about our identities. It doesnt matter how old we are when we finally come to a conclusion.

Not everyone feels the same way about announcing their identity, but for some, for me, the only word that comes to mind is liberating.

We aren’t throwing it in your face. We aren’t “spreading the gay agenda”. We are being as unapologetically ourselves as you are.

Unless you have been through the same self-reflection, the same internal turmoil, unless you have worked past the prejudices that this society enforces on us from birth to understand who you are you don’t understand what we’re going through.

And that’s okay.

You don’t need to understand to love us. You don’t need to understand to support us. You don’t need to understand to want the best for us.

What you do need to do, is acknowledge that you don’t understand.

Talk to us. Ask us questions if you’re confused. We don’t expect you to know everything about what were going through. We expect you to love and support us, just like you promised us you would.

If you do honestly want to support us, however, please remember that acknowledgment of who we are is not the same as acceptance.

Saying, “okay” when we come out to you is all well and good, but it means nothing when you follow it up with, “that doesn’t matter to me.” It should matter to you, because our identities matter to us. It took time to figure out who we are. It’s important to me.

Saying that we shouldn’t put labels on ourselves is the same. Not everyone is comfortable naming their sexuality or their gender identity, and that’s OK. But there are also those of us who find comfort in finally having found a word for something we’ve been feeling our entire lives.

Adjusting or putting in the effort to adjust your perspective to understand the world as it relates to us is acceptance. Using the pronouns we ask you to use, is acceptance. Welcoming your daughters girlfriend or your sons boyfriend with open arms is acceptance.

Suicide; the word itself causes people to dodge the topic faster than they would avoid booking a vacation to Costa Rica in fear of their child contracting the Zika virus. In this scenario, a virus is appropriately compared to the act of suicide because there is only one way to avoid this epidemic once it enters a person's thoughts: to get better (like one would with the flu) or to succumb (such as The Black Plague). However similar suicide is to a virus --the topic cannot be avoided and is only contracted when a dark crippling thought convinces the person that he or she is better off anywhere but here. But why do people avoid this epidemic that has spread triple since social media has made advances;cost of living increases; educational demands are unattainable,and society presents an image via reality television of what happiness is suppose to look like? If you are guilty as a human of saying “Not my friend. They have a great life. They have a home, loving friends, they go to church, they couldn’t ever be depressed, look at that smile!” I am unfortunately going to rock your world by telling you that suicide does not look like heavy metal, black clothing, purple hair, slamming door in your face Suicide can look like that, but it can present many deceiving looks.  I thought I could see the signs, I thought I was doing well at helping, I was wrong.

May 15th I had a voice mail from you saying “Hey beautiful girl! I just wanted you to know that somebody in Pennsylvania loves you a whole much and misses you. Take care of yourself and tell your family I said hello. We’ve gotta catch up soon Baby! Talk to you soon, I love you so much beautiful. Bye!”

I thought I had more time to call you back.

I thought you knew that you were loved. I thought that you could feel the positive energy that was around you every time we spoke. Every single time I saw a photo of you, you were smiling, laughing and striking up a conversation with someone new. Everyone that knew you thought very highly of you. The people that were lucky enough to call you a friend, absolutely adored you. I wish that you knew, rather that you felt, that you were loved more than you did. Maybe then I wouldn’t be writing this letter to you.

I thought I knew that you were okay. I thought that you had faced rough times, whether that be love or health, but ultimately I thought that you were a fighter. I thought that you wouldn’t let those times get you down. I thought that you knew that you had people to reach to. I thought you knew that we all had your back.

Yet, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t there to tell you that you were loved and to tell you that everything would be okay. For that I am sorry.

I’m sorry that we couldn’t be there for you. I’m sorry it had to end this way. I’m sorry that for all the things that you thought, the thoughts that led to this ending.

Thoughts can be dangerous. They are powerful. We should have shared ours and you should have shared yours.

There is so much more that I could write to you. But let me finish with this…

Hey, you. I mean, me. Uh, TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN, I’m talking to the man in the mirror, etc. etc.

Hi, me.

You have a lot of issues, dude. You always have. Remember when, as a teeny tot, you’d stare at the ceiling while in bed and calculate the chances of random death? You were morbid. You saw everything as a possible threat. And I know it made you feel like a weirdo (to be fair, it is weird), but you eventually grew older and discovered tons of other peoples have issues too! We’re in one giant club. We have customized t-shirts.

Some stuff you medicate for (what up Zoloft thanks for LITERALLY saving your life!!). Some things are just bizarre (you are afraid of blow dryers lol). You’ve looked for cures in people and exercise and candles from expensive Los Angeles shops. But nothing works forever. Maybe it’s not supposed to. Baby, you were born this way. *hair flip*

You’ve spent a lot of time thinking you’re programmed to be unhappy. Yes, you’re clinically depressed. You’re anxious. You make bad decisions and hide when shit hits the ceiling. You cannot handle confrontation and have ghosted opportunities that you realllllly shouldn’t have.

You’ve got issues, we already established that.

But you can be happy.

You can be happy because happiness is not a prolonged state. It comes in flickers and waves and, when one is really lucky, it’s a frequent visitor. Your issues do not cancel out happiness. Your anxiety, your depression, your hair dryer phobia, none of that is going to keep you from satisfaction. Not going to keep you from falling in love every day with her and being a fantastic partner. You don’t cut yourself enough slack for your empathy. You forget the kindness struggling has taught you. You forget the gentleness.

You’re not Giselle. You’re not always gonna be beaming and shiny (on the inside, you’re a good faker outside). But there’s such goodness in you. There’s such a desire to love and be loved and take care of people. There’s a joy and ridiculousness. You’ve got an abundance of humor and lip syncs. You care for people and not because you think you should, because you just do.

You want to be happy and it’s been a long time since you’ve allowed yourself that fantasy.