Growing Up Archive

I can’t imagine living past my 20’s. I don’t know why. Maybe its the eating disorder, the depression, the increased chance of being the victim of violent crime due to being black and queer.

It is my pleasure to introduce the newest series, “Tales of the Mental Hospital” to QueerMentalHealth.org. Spending time in a hospital can be an unpleasant and scary experience for many of us. Taking a more lighthearted look at our experiences can be healing for many of those who have had to stay in a mental hospital for some time. Chandler came up with the idea to write about his experiences, and after discussing it together we decided it would be a great idea to make it into a series here. We encourage anyone to add their stories to the series as well!

During my formerly frequent stays to various psychiatric facilities in MO & FL, I’ve met quite a few characters. They’ve ranged from scary violent psychos, to hilariously deranged schizophrenics, to the just plain bizarre. That statement also includes some of the people who worked there. Sometimes, the staff is just on the wrong side of the desk.Needless to say, each separate hospitalization was a truly unique experience. With all the E/N depression threads I’ve seen pop up, I think now is a good time to share some of the hilarity that an inpatient psych hospital can offer. That’s right, the hospital can be fun.

I would like to welcome the newest member of our writing team, Chandler. In his first post with us, he tells his coming out story. Thanks for sharing with us, Cascadia!

When I was a young boy, I had the life of many. I played with toys, I broke stuff, I tried to fix stuff, I even stuck a knife into an electrical socket! All boys do this when they are young, they are adventurous and playful. Ages 0-9 were pretty normal or what one would call normal. At age 10 I knew something was up. I felt this weird attraction toward other boys of my same age. I didn’t know what it was so I shrugged it off. I went through all of my pre-teen and teen years knowing something wasn’t right with me. The boys in school turned me on. I hit puberty and all hell broke loose with me. There was a boy in my class, whose name was Brandon. I couldn’t stop looking at him! He made me feel weird inside.

Trigger Warning: Death, Depression

My brother passed away of this month. He was a young man, only 23 years old and beginning his life. He, like the majority of my family, suffered greatly from mental illness. We shared depression, anxiety, and OCD. Though, sadly, his mental illnesses seemed to grow as mine began to ease.

But now that he is gone, I am yet again forced to work and understand my depression. I always wished it were something tangible that I could hold within my hands and pull layers away to physically understand it. I want to be able to understand the immensity. The silence. The deafening noise that combats that eerie moments of peace.

I have roughly four major identities. I am autistic. I am mentally ill. I am asexual. I am genderqueer. The first three identities, I have known about for a while. They’re concrete. My autism won’t go away tomorrow. Neither will my mental illness. I won’t suddenly wake up with the desire to fuck people. Yet, being genderqueer is different. I might go to bed agonizing over one identity, yet it’s gone in the morning, replaced by a different identity.