"Happy Pride Month," She Said to Herself.

I am Changing; And it is wild. I am the prism of the rainbow that almost wasn't. It has been a journey to even admit this in a post, to even write about this. However, I feel like the act of writing is really releasing me from my past; organizing my thoughts. I think that was the worst part of postpartum was dealing with the disorganized thought pattern. And they were not organizing with time. The way I thought showed up in my study guides; consisting of ripped pieces of paper held together with elbow grease. I was getting hung up on tiny details that didn't matter. I'd study the minucia for hours and end up with a failing grade. I hung onto details that were not important and I couldn't escape these thoughts. I knew them to be illogical, yet I just fell deeper and deeper into psychosis. It was my past coming to light. When I imagined my own death happening in the insides of my mind; stabbing myself with every knife I saw -- I had to make sense of the patterns. What was my brain trying to tell me in symbols? I stopped looking at the messages so literally and started playing around with the concepts in my journaling.

I learned knives equaled words. I was hurting myself with my own thoughts, my chaos was now destroying me emotionally. I had to figure out the problem, how could I solve my own brain? I guess the answers are in future posts, so follow me if you want more content. The answer right now is still a bit hazy. I have far more studying and research to do. In time? I am still a student. Do not think that I have all the answers figured out. But I am dedicating my life to it -- does that count? I am dedicating my writings to posting publicly; so that I can help you [whoever you are]. I want to give factual, reliable information about what helps mental illness; in the most scientific method I want to explain the hard science down. So that everyone can experience healing, not just me. Pills are not cures. And they aren't good enough. We need to know how to get to the root cause; purging the weeds from our subconscious. In the coming years, I know we will learn so much more; I hope to provide strength to the strengthless. This is just my story, how I am processing. I will know more with time.

I am posting my experience simply because I am not a fan of the modern treatment of the mentally ill. I am a graduate student wanting to research what is the root cause of psychosis, depression, anxiety, ruminating thoughts. How can we solve it?Or what can I do to help. I have a belief that mental illness is trauma based, and trauma is stored in the nervous system. I am a chiropractor; by using the spine -- I help release subluxations, which are neurological in nature.

As a society, we do not have a good grip on how to unwind trauma, or the depth that it can take a person. I have been a warrior in my own head for ages; physically I live in privilege.

I've held onto some dark parts of myself for a long time; I had a difficult time integrating. I held onto Christianity for years in my early twenties. I desperately wanted to believe in my childhood God; that for a half minute, I went religious nuts. Some could have called me fully fundamental with the closet of skirts I wore. And I focused my time on looking up sound secular arguments for the wrongness of homesexuality. I was obsessed, reading What is Marriage by Sherif Girgis. According to Amazon this scholarly case against homeosexual marriage was "originally published in the Harvard Journal of Law and Public Policy, this book's core argument quickly became the year's most widely read essay on the most prominent scholarly network in the social sciences." I read it, and I read others such as Truth Overruled by Ryan Anderson. I believed that there had to be something wrong with the person to not act according to genetic makeup. I mean how did it make sense; a male and a female part fit, it was just natural. So thereby; why would I God allow this to happen. It must be of sin. Adam and Eve NOT Adam and Steve; I once thought. You see; I was trying to ask a deeper question. Why did God fuck me up. If God was God; his arguments had to uphold. I hated religious arguments, to make sense -- they had to be logical for the common man to understand. They had to be a universal law; similar to gravity. It must be tested with logic and reason. And I liked to read both sides. I just wanted to find out if there was something wrong with me. I grew up believing gay was wrong; I grew up believing I was wrong. I grew up believing I was bad for having these thoughts and feelings. And every disapproving look from my parents enforced these deep seeded plants of hatred. The self hatred was kept at bay by religion. I clasp my hands together at night, "Rid me from sin, Jesus. I have faith. I can hold on. I can be strong."

There are quotes in the bible that are adamantly against same sex love.

FIRST JOHN 1:1 KJV, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

The word was God. The God of this bible was infallible, he word truth. Infallible means incapable of making mistakes or being wrong. If the bible made one mistake; the jig was up. If one word deviated this basic logic; the word of god was instead corrupt. Yet, I was willing to stand on the side of Christ first, I'd always give religion the first benefit of the doubt. However, if the bible was wrong; I would then decide what was right or wrong -- based upon the knowledge that I had acquired. I got to decide what was true or false, me -- not some ancient book. And I would rule myself to be okay, sane, beautiful. When the bible crumbled in the face of logic and science; what could I trust? I was stripped of that identity. That person was now dead, that philosophy, gone. I could not walk into the halls of a church any longer; it became harder and harder. I was not a believer. I could not pretend to be a believer. I would do what I wanted, not what I was obligated too.

If I could prove the bible wrong, maybe I wasn't a dirty sinner. As it stands, the bible is homophobic and sexist -- at best. I couldn't look away from those comments; from those inaccuracies. I couldn't just swallow the bible whole and not even understand it? Study it I must. And if in the chance it was wrong -- maybe if I didn't find the bible's truths held up? Maybe I was just fine after all. Maybe sexuality was a sliding scale; maybe they weren't mentally ill. Maybe I wasn't mentally ill. Maybe I could be both married and bisexual. Maybe if I liked woman, I was not full of the devil. Maybe if I masterbated or had oral sex (because as I am sure you know; if you have oral sex it is what the homosexuals do. God created a vagina for a reason, not for fingers or tongues -- but for a penis) I wasn't a horrible person. Perhaps the shame could be lifted, because prayer took nothing away. I could not pray away the gay any longer; I could not hide my shame from my husband. I've had these thoughts since I was but a child. I could not stuff them down any longer.

I had to own myself.
I had to own my darkness.
I had to tell myself, I was safe.
I was okay.
I did not have to hide.

Religion really fucks people up.

I feel like this is contrary to what I have said in the past. I feel like in some ways I had been mocking my parents and what they believed. I just wanted to hold onto their ways of life so hard; grip till the whites of my knuckles showed. And I am a trooper, I can hold on. After I gave birth, all my fears about my sexuality and myself -- came forward. My husband has been here with me since day one back in 2017 when I first told him. It took me five years of marriage to feel safe enough to reveal to him my true colors. I took the mask off; I just had not to the world. I still felt that to be respected, I had to be who I was in secret. I mean great that you like tarot cards and witchy-themed apparatuses; "just hide it" I thought. And so I waddled between both worlds; on the outside pretending to still be christian, on the inside hiding my true self. That veil was being held up by safety pins. I didn't want to admit it was ripped.

And then my birth ripped down those walls. I couldn't hide myself. I couldn't hid my demons very well. Everything came flying out; and it was my job to capture the chaos. I did not thrive very well in chaos any longer -- as if I ever did. I just didn't mind back then; missing plane trips to Thailand was hilarious and a really great story. I had a child now; the chaos; the frat party house had to end. My tornado was growing and I couldn't let it impact my baby. When I told the truth, I felt lighter. And here I am now, writing my own bible. Writing down what I perceive to be true and deciding to follow that instead; forming my own philosophy by looking at what I admire. What do I respect; who do I want to emulate and why? And defining my audience -- who do I want to help? Addicts and the Mental Illness. To that I am dedicated to writing about. And guess what?

To be bisexual is just fine; I am not mentally ill. The bible didn't hold up. I can't pretend any longer, I do not believe. And that's okay. I am not just leaving my name in the mormon book of saints, "just incase." I lost my childhood religion, I found myself.

Happy Pride.

What is trauma? Believing the devil and afterwards being consumed by self produced darkness. What is processing? Realizing the inner divine light has always existed, even in the valley of death. I am rewriting my own story this time the emphasis is placed upon the fact that I have always been just fine. I am beautiful. I am queer; I am married to a man. And that's okay; all of that is good. All of that is right. I am just fine, thank you. And not the fucked-up, insecure, neurotic and emotional type. I really am... just fine and content. I am okay, zero deaths today. I still have my breath, my baby boy is learning to walk.

And so am I.

"Happy Pride Month," She Said to Herself.

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