New to a wholehearted identification with the LGBTQ community, new to thinking of myself—knowing myself—as gay, my skin was as thin as paper when it came to perceived attacks on my identity. I felt as vulnerable and exposed as in the months after people learned I had a mental illness, so many years ago. I felt naked, like by coming out I had stripped away some vital protection that came with people thinking of me as straight, or even bisexual—capable, at least, of feeling sexual attraction to men—and that now I walked around people with an intimate part of me laid bare. To be gay, bi, pan, asexual, or queer in some other way is so much more than sex, but that’s what I felt like everyone in my family and close circle of friends were thinking about when they talked to me. I felt so incredibly revealed.
Author Archive
About Author
Kaity Marie Baldwin
I'm twenty-six years old and I've had Bipolar I Disorder, with rapid-cycling and psychotic elements, since I was fourteen, and was diagnosed when I was twenty. I came out only about a year and a half ago as gay, and am currently dealing with a whole new set of triggers. I recently wrote and published my first novel, a goal of mine for several years, and I've started a blog on tumblr in which I discuss issues I've had to deal with because of my status as a member of the mentally ill community, and also because I'm a lesbian.
My Eating Disorder Saved My Life
I have struggled with identity all my life. One word to describe me, one concept or community that I could cling on to and immerse myself in. Kind, intelligent, giving. Bipolar, female, gay. Of course nothing encapsulated me, described me wholly, no matter how hard I tried to identify. I needed definitions, definitions of me.
Fighting for Responsibility of Ourselves
I would like to welcome the newest member of our writing team, Kaity Marie Baldwin. In her first post with us, she talks about taking responsibility for one’s own mental health. Thanks for sharing with us, Kaity!
It took me a long time to realize how lucky I was: a psychiatrist, a therapist, medication. All of these arranged in my life to provide the support I so desperately needed but wished I didn’t. Who wants to see a psychiatrist for the rest of their lives? Who wants to need therapy sessions? Support can sometimes be a reminder of why you need it, and it makes you feel so helpless.