Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Today, I wore leggings.

Today, I wore leggings.
Not because I even wanted to, because I knew I had to have these leggings for play rehearsal this evening.

Today, I witnessed people whispering about me in the elevator.
Not because they were leggings, but because I am over 200 lbs wearing said leggings and that's an atrocity.

Today, I noticed the flaws of my body in the mirror.
Because I have noticeable cellulite. Because I have a fat ass (not the good kind?) and fat thighs.

Today..... I learned how to love myself, at least a little bit.
Not because I needed to wear these leggings, but because I chose to wear them instead of stuffing them into my bag for rehearsal.

Today, I exuded confidence.
I was confident today. I would have never worn them at any other time prior to day, but I WORE THEM TODAY.

It's not a big success, but a small one in the right step to loving myself. I'm glad I borrowed these leggings for my play rehearsal.

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Fat Girl

I know I should love myself. I hear it frequently from those body positive instagram posts with the barely overweight women who are seemingly perfect in every way. Generally, if I say something even remotely body positive about myself, I get the usual "Don't glorify obesity, it's unhealthy and should be treated as such." I look to them and then I look to myself in the mirror. All I see are rolls, stretch marks, and space that I shouldn't take up by existing. I see myself, bare and naked.... and ugly. 
This is something I've struggled with for a long, LONG time. Since elementary school, even. Why am I big and the other girls little? I've noticed over the years that I don't get taken seriously, as a woman with a tremendous amount of weight. I know that if a smaller woman and a bigger woman are interviewed for the same job, with the same qualifications, the smaller woman will most likely get the job. Why am I constantly overlooked? It's like people do not take me as seriously as one would a smaller woman. 
Why do I have to be this way? I've worked for many years to shed inches off of myself, but it never seems to work. I'm apparently never on the right diets or whatever. I've accepted the fact that I am just big. It seems like nothing I do works, nothing I try helps. 
In high school, I was NEEDLESSLY attacked for no god damn reason whatsoever other than being overweight. When I rode the school bus, no one would sit with me because I took up a lot of space because of my big ass. A lot of the time girls did not want to associate themselves with me because I looked like I had let myself go and that I didn't care about my appearance. Well, I do. I have never felt beautiful in my entire life. 
I don't like to being comforted for being fat. I hate myself and my body. I don't like being told, "You're not fat!" Yes, I am. I have fat, therefore I am fat. I hate looking for clothes, because they are never in my size and if they are, they are extremely overpriced. I hate being in public with my fiance, because even though we are around the same weight, he is smaller than me. He takes up less space than I do and I feel like people around us notice that too. I feel like he could do so much better than me. 
I hate how the tv shows and movies portray fat people. I don't like that someone of my size is considered comic relief on television. Take for example, on the hit TV show, "Friends", Monica has went through a tremendous amount of weight loss. However, when she was overweight, she wasn't taken seriously as a person who people could be attracted to. She wasn't seen as beautiful. Now she is seen as beautiful, because she is thin. I started crying after that episode because I was appalled. Is that how people see me, because I am big? 

I hate the backhanded compliments I've gotten over the years.
"You're pretty for a fat girl." 
"You have a nice face for a fat chick." 
"I'm into fat girls." 
"You don't eat much for a fat girl." 


I hate myself with everything in my huge, gross being. 

Why do I look like this? 

I am so fucking tired of hating myself. I can only think of few things that I like about myself. I am relatively nice to everyone I meet. I'm incredibly artistic. I'm pretty strong for someone who doesn't constantly lift weights. I'm pretty strong for dealing with the constant shit I have gotten throughout my lifetime from family members, peers, and even past relationships because of my size. 

I am a size 20. I have an overhanging stomach. I have huge thighs. I have bingo wings. I take up a fair amount of space and I hate every part of my appearance. 

I hate my acne, I hate my teeth, I hate my boobs, stomach, ass, arms, legs, back, and feet. I learned how to do makeup like all of the girls at my high school did because I wanted to look pretty for once in my god damn pathetic life. 

I'll never be beautiful and I accept that. I will never accept myself.

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Staying in a Psych Ward - My Experience

Today, I want to share my experience about being hospitalized.

I’ve suffered from mental health disorders since about 12 years old. I knew there was something wrong with me and I’ve lived with it since then. I’ve not dealt with it in healthy ways. My depression has depleted my motivation for as long as I can remember. There are days where I can’t feel anything, like today for example.
Because of these feelings, I feel the need to hurt myself so I can feel something. I’ll find ways to self-harm so that I can feel better. If I let the feeling of nothingness build up long enough, I get extremely overwhelmed and extremely suicidal. And I hate that, because it worries everyone who cares about me.

I expressed my concerns about my safety to our campus counseling services and they thought it was appropriate to send for a Temporary Detention Orders from the Magistrate’s Office. This was the first time I had been treated for my mental illness. Although I wasn’t sure what the experience would be like, I certainly didn’t expect what I received. I was there for 6 days, and I am going to attempt to recall my feelings day by day.

Day One- I was escorted off campus by Campus Police, handcuffed, and taken to the local hospital for screening. I was there for 6 hours, naked without anything but a hospital gown and a blanket to cover me. They wouldn’t allow me to have my cell phone and my only company were the officers who had brought me there, and even then they barely talked to me. A lady came in and arranged for me to be transferred to a hospital with a mental health ward. I chose the hospital closest to where I lived so that my fiancée, boyfriend at the time, could come see me while I was there.
Later that night, a police officer from the county where I live came to drive me to the hospital. I think the thing I was most excited about at that moment was the fact that I could put on my clothes. The Campus Police officers explained that I had been very well behaved and didn’t even really need to be handcuffed because I was totally willing to go with him. The man talked to me the entire way to the hospital and even let me have my cell phone to talk to my fiancée, who was extremely worried about me being hospitalized. We had a pleasant conversation all the way there.
When we arrived at the hospital, I was signed in and got the little bracelet that had my information on it. I had noticed that the ward for mental health patients was very hidden from the rest of the hospital. We took a rickety elevator to the second floor and took a few doors that looked extremely old and had to pass a lot of locks to actually get into the ward. When I got into the ward itself, they took my bag full of clothes and essentials, checked it, and gave me some of the stuff in it. They took my shoes but let me keep my clothing. A nurse asked me a few questions and then I was free to go to bed. I cried most of the night because I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. The beds were extremely uncomfortable.

Day 2- I had a court hearing with a judge regarding how long I would stay there. It was extremely intimidating. Before the hearing, two social workers asked me a few questions and used everything bad that I had told my counselor against me. They testified during the hearing that I was a danger to myself and others around me. The judge ruled that I was involuntarily admitted for up to 30 days and my stomach sunk. I could barely breathe. I pleaded that I didn’t need to be there and that I just wanted to go back to school but there was no use. They believed that I absolutely needed to be there. I ran back to the room they assigned me and sobbed, no, SCREAMED about wanting to go home and wanting to see my beloved. Later that evening, I had to see a psychiatrist. She gave me a prescription for Zoloft and I slept the rest of the day, until visiting hours. My beloved had come to see me! I was so happy. I was so afraid earlier because I was in a different place, but seeing him lit up my entire world. I hugged him as tight as I could, kissed his face all over and cried into his chest. I was still loopy from the medication affecting my body, so I’m not entirely sure of what we talked about. I only remember seeing him as my knight in shining armor. That night, I didn’t cry.

Day 3- They upped my dosage of Zoloft. Joshua couldn’t come see me that day because he had to work during visiting hours, but my family came to see me. My grandparents and my mother came. They were worried sick about me and I had later learned that my grandpa had stayed in the same place for about a week, in 2002. My grandma told me that I didn’t belong there because I wasn’t crazy, my grandpa was glad he wasn’t the only crazy one and teased me, and my mom was just worried. After seeing them, I felt a tiny bit better. I still missed Josh and I couldn’t even call him that night because we weren’t allowed to use the phones after 10pm. I can’t really remember the rest of the day after that.

Day 4- I had gotten used to being there by Day 4. I played board games. I talked to the other patients. I had a friend there from school (whom I will not name) and we were finally comfortable. We talked about things we were going to do when we got out. We walked continuously up and down the hallway. She and I found it hilarious that two people in the ward had begun flirting with one another and eventually become a couple. The nurses were on their toes making sure that these two people weren’t making out in the corners of the hallway. We were amused. I was slightly used to my medicine and my beloved had come to see me. I finally felt at peace. I stopped worrying about my school work and accepted my situation as it was, and doing so made my days a whole hell of a lot quicker.
Day 5- They made me sign papers for my discharge. They made me make sure that I had a ride for the next day, back to my college campus. I was so giddy. My friend and I were getting out on the same day. A new girl had come to the ward that day and after group, my friend and I had made a joke about the PDA of the couple. This lady screamed at me and eventually had to be sedated because I apparently had said something about her. This made me extremely anxious.

Day 6- FREEDOM. I was finally able to leave. My grandparents picked me up and took me back to school at around 3pm. I had never felt so relieved to breathe fresh air and be outside.

The following few days after I had come back from the hospital were weird and I had to adjust to living in normal society once again, which was… a challenge to say the least. My friends hadn’t really even noticed I was gone and I sunk right back into the same mood I had before I had left. I didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things; you know? Like, life went on smoothly without me and that discouraged me for about a week.

But enough whining. I hope this gives you some insight on mental health treatments. While being hospitalized was not a bad thing for me, it still wasn’t the best experience ever. I’m grateful for the treatment, I suppose.

Thank you for patiently reading through my extremely personal experience. I really needed to get this out of my system. 

Thursday, January 26, 2017

How to Support a Significant Other With Depression

Hey, kids. I'd like to explain a few things about helping your partner with their depression. Please understand that you are not under any obligation to take care of them, but there are ways to support them. As stated in my introduction, I suffer from MDD or Major Depressive Disorder. This could be caused by abnormal activities in my neural circuits, which cause me to have persistently depressed moods, which affects my everyday life at least in tiny ways. Some days I cannot get out of bed. I tend to get a blank stare about me and I don't react as I normally would. These impaired moods can last from a day to months at a time, where I get terribly suicidal.

In terms of a relationship, I admit that this tends to be problematic. Sometimes I have trouble communicating with my partner and I get really upset for no apparent reason sometimes. It's important, in a relationship, to not take the symptoms of depression to heart because 9 times out of 10, your partner does not feel that way about you. My partner has had problems finding ways to help me out and often believes that his existence should be enough to cure my depression. While I'm less depressed around him, I can't necessarily be around him all the time to help my moods. The only person who is around me 24/7 is me, so the healing process has to start with me.

My counselors have told me that I have ingrained a way of thinking so deep into my existence that it has imprinted my id to make me think that nothing matters in the end. That my existence means nothing and I should accept that, and kill myself, so not to be a burden on other people because I am a piece of human garbage. Depending on your partner's way of thinking, I encourage you to be positive around your partner. This may help them change their ways of thinking to start a healing process.

You have to give the person space when they are feeling down. If they are having a "bad day" (as I call it), it is best to give them space to work out what they are feeling. Don't get me wrong, it is still best to be supportive of them and speak to them when they are speaking to you. Just take into account that if they aren't talking to you because of their bad day, it is not because of you or anything that you did.

Personally, I self-harm to escape my lack of feeling anything because it makes me feel like a human, when I feel pain. It makes me feel normal. If your partner has a problem with such things, you can encourage healthy coping mechanisms. "Let's take a walk.", "Let's have lunch." if you are around them. If not, you could encourage them to write in a journal instead or have them call a friend. If these things fail, do not get upset at them for relapsing into old habits because it's not something they can necessarily control.

If you want more information on the subject, I've included a few links to different websites that I have found helpful:
On Coping Mechanisms:
Helping your Partner:

And always, the National Suicide Hotline:1-800-273-8255

All statements expressed here are things that I have collected over the years and from my own experience. They are not equal to every situation because depression varies from person to person.

Wednesday, January 25, 2017

In Which Misophonia Hinders Everyday Life

I'd like to start off with something very near and dear to my heart. I suffer from misophonia. Most people do not think that this is an actual disorder, within the brain. It's actually quite common disorder amongst individuals, with fewer than 200,000 cases in the US per year. I happen to be one of those 200,000. This disorder tends to hinder many things in my life. It's something that I have learned to deal with and accept, but it can be quite troubling. 

When I was younger, the earliest I can remember this actually bothering me was one day when my mother and I were napping together on a couch. The sounds of her breathing/snoring infuriated me to the point where I had to go to my room and cry. I would always get extremely angry at my brother for eating his food loudly, crunching and slurping. It'd sometimes get to the point where I would freak out on him. His breathing bothered me too. Heavy breathing, eating, drinking, small noises here and there would either infuriate me, cause me to cry, or at the worst case, vomit. The vomiting has only happened a few times of which I can remember. 

In high school, once I got an iPod (thanks, mama), I could put in my ear buds through my jacket and not listen to anything in my surroundings. This had a substantial effect to my grades, but it wasn't the only reason I had problems in high school. Because this was my only escape to the torture of everyday sounds that didn't seem to effect anyone else at the time, I usually escaped in music and still do to this day. As a college student, I've explained this thing to certain friends that understand why I'm anxious about certain noises. I've explained to my fiancée that I can't sit with him when he eats, if I am not eating to distract myself. He understands. Even writing this and imagining certain noises as I write them (to describe), I'm noticing my heart pumping more and my stomach churning ever so slightly. 

An experience I had recently, today actually, I was in my Intro to Theatre class. I enjoy this class quite thoroughly because the course content is very interesting. Anyway! A person behind me was eating and that made me really, really anxious. I found myself cringing everytime that person would make a crunching noise, whilst eating their chips. I couldn't listen to the lecture going on in front of me. I couldn't take notes. All I could do was listen to each crunching noise behind me and try not to burst out crying. I didn't want to put my earbuds in, because it would've been disrespectful to the professor but HOLY SHIT I COULDN'T DEAL WITH THAT SOUND. 

To be specific, the sounds, to me, hurt my ears. They physically HURT me. It feels like knives stabbing my ears. My chest feels tight. I feel a lump in my throat. My stomach churns. Then, I'll either get angry or cry a LOT. I get terribly anxious and I want to run away to hide somewhere. And to think that other people have to deal with this disorder, it makes me feel so awful for those people because it may be worse than the reactions I have.

My apologies for how short this is, but I cannot write anymore about this topic because it's making me sick. 

Anyway, if you want to read more about this disorder, WebMD has a very helpful explanation of the disorder:

Music to Enhance Reading Experience

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Introduction: In Which Cheyenne Thoroughly Embarrasses Herself.

I’m going to provide a small introduction for the first part of this blog. 

My name is Cheyenne, nice to meet you all. I am 18 years old, and attend the University of Virginia’s College at Wise for my undergraduate degree in the major of Art and minor of Pre-Law. My interests are anthropology, law, art, and political science. This blog is a place of acceptance for all people, despite political and religious standpoints. All that I ask is that you extend the same respect to others and be a decent human being. I suffer from from Major Depressive Disorder and Misophonia. I may write about both of those topics occasionally because they are close to my heart. 

I'd like to make clear that this is the most that you will know about me, as far as extremely important information goes. I do not intend to write about those who are in my life, as I am already taking enough risk with my own identity. 

My goal for this blog is to inform others of facts, and occasionally my opinion. I intend to give advice as well. If you have questions, please send them to my email: