Sometimes, I think we here at the Band forget that we are seen globally. The issues that face people in other countries are just as important and need to be seen just as much. Today, we hear from a woman in India:
I have had many bad experiences but one that lingers on in my life is the fear of being raped. I’m traveling alone in India since July 2019 until today, 19 February 2021. I left my parents and siblings because they were abusive towards me. I figured out they are narcissistic and they will continue to abuse me. It was hard to travel alone. I was removed from some hotels in New Delhi and Jaipur where my booking was cancelled. I kept talking to foreign travelers. Then, I moved to Rishikesh. I was removed from one of the hotels where I was abused by a woman staying in the same place as me. I had to change several accommodations in Rishikesh. I felt it was not the right place for me so I moved to Chandigarh. It’s a few days since I moved to Chandigarh. I’m living in the cheapest accommodation that I could find here. I’m struggling financially at the moment. As I arrived here by taxi, I went to check an accommodation in a house. Initially, the woman I met appeared to be nice but she and her daughter harassed me. They demanded a lot of money so I gave them whatever money I could give to them. However, they said it’s an accommodation for students and the same rules would apply to me. When I was paying money to my taxi driver, they accused me that I was with a boy and boys are not allowed here. After taking the money and abusing me, they said police has not allowed you to stay here. It was late in the evening. Luckily, I found a place to stay but here, I noticed men standing in a group and hysterically laughing when I’m shopping in the market. I notice men giving me an evil look. A man going on his bike was staring at me sexually. Then, I saw a man masturbating on the side of the street. I feel scared of being raped.
I have included some links, you are free to scroll past them.
**Editor’s note: This thing’s been sitting in drafts since January… So when I was looking for something a little less heavy for the site, I thought it fit the bill nicely. Please enjoy some random silliness!**
You are seeing this because you need to see something fun, kinda sparkly, and full of magic. Also, kittens. We got you, boo
I would ride this thing everywhere. EVERYWHERE..
Sugar on sugar on sugar!
Oh Em Gee, the cute.
First, we party…
then we cuddle!
Then we find someone else to clean up the fUckiNg kItcHEN JEFF!
Don’t look at me like that. Don’t judge me.
But I will judge you, thanks.
And here’s a balloon full of my exhalations. Enjoy!
We have been very quiet over here, for many reasons. We are watching the news unfold, watching communities around the country, the globe, unite against racism. We want to speak, scream, rage with you about the injustice, the hatred. How not okay this all is and has been. How the whole system is wrong. We want to discuss steps we can take to make things better and how we help get justice, if justice can be achieved.
We want to give you stories from black voices about black trauma and what it means to be black. But we don’t have any. Not one. And that is both okay and not. It is okay because no one owes us their story, no one owes us their pain.
It’s not okay because while we accept everyone and welcome everyone, the vast majority of people that interact with our site are not of color, at least that we know of (because we don’t ask, should we? <- actual question). Or they don’t come here for intersectionality* of mental health, physical health, and how that interacts with race (or gender). The reality is that we talk a lot about depression but we don’t talk about being depressed and black. We talk about domestic violence but don’t address racial aspects. There is so much to learn in regard to trauma, intersectionality, and mental health. So, we will continue to sit back and learn more. We have so so much to learn. If you are reading this, and you have a story to tell, we would love to hear it. We would love to share it. But mostly, we would love to support you and give another platform to your voice. There are so many good things already posted to the internet, we won’t link them. There are lists of media to be consumed, things white people can do to help, places to donate to various funds to help causes close to this. You don’t need our help finding them. <3
We see you. We hear you. We stand with you. #blacklivesmatter #sayhisname #sayhername
*intersectionality: the overlap of identities and how they work together to shape our life and world view. Example: a black transgendered woman.
Technically, we all are here, but that’s not the point. You are here, you are on the struggle bus, you are in good company. Today’s post is literally just links to a bunch of our glorious resource pages. Feel free, encouraged even, to share this post far and wide. We’ll start with mental health:
We love you. We are here for you. If what you need isn’t listed above, please let me know at email@example.com and I will do my level best to fix it! Stay safe, wash your hands, stop licking hand rails.
My therapist has asked me to write down a list of my emotional traumas.
A list of all the emotionally and physically traumatic experiences that have happened to me in my life, that have contributed to my Bipolar Disorder and PTSD.
Right now, my therapist doesn’t feel as though I’m ready for the therapy called Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). As far as I understand, I have to relive physical and emotional traumatic experiences, have the proper emotional response, get over it, then have Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) so I can develop some sort of coping mechanism for the future.
But until my medications are adjusted and I’m in a better place, I have to wait.
As a “gifted child,” I was bullied a lot in primary school and high school. I still carry some of those emotional scars with me.
Funnily enough, my brain is currently trying to stop me from accessing more memories. Suck it, brain; stop being a whiny bitch and let me write this shit out.
When I was 16, my mother – being severely depressed – attempted suicide several times. The last time she tried, she had an argument with my father (now a better man, nothing like his days in my earlier life), and downed a ton of pills. I found her and her suicide note. I actively suppress the things written on that note thanks to the emotional trauma but I know how it began.
That sentence haunts me in my dreams. She is fine now, thankfully, but I refused to talk about it with anyone and pretended it never happened.
I was diagnosed with severe anxiety disorder when I had a panic attack at high school so bad my heart rate was 180, and I had to be rushed to hospital for fear of doing damage to my heart.
Since that day, I regularly have heart palpitations.
I had a psychotic episode at 17, when voices told me to stab my mother. I became paralyzed in my own bed while lights shone down from the ceiling, and I was convinced aliens were coming for me, despite my logical brain telling me I was being stupid.
I was diagnosed with endometriosis and told I should probably have children before 25. I’m currently a week away from my 24th birthday. Talk about another emotional trauma.
I dated a Muslim man for eight months. Toward the end of the relationship, I was emotionally abused, when he called me a dog. I went running into the arms of a male friend.
I decided I was the worst person in the world and went off screwing any guy who looked my way, drinking myself into oblivion, and eating pills like candy, just to numb the pain. I wanted to be used. I asked my male friend – now my fuck buddy – if he was using me for sex. He replied yes. I cried and said, “good.
” Turned out he wasn’t using me: he was in love with me; as a result of my promiscuity, and his inability to tell me how he felt, he quit university, broken-hearted.
I started dating my current partner, whom I have been with for five years now. We lived with his sister, her fiancé, and their daughter. His sister is a lazy bully who cannot look after herself, let alone children (currently a total of three). Her fiancé is a violent, alcoholic gambler. After being made a prisoner in my own bedroom, we got our own place.
My diagnosis of fibromyalgia explained my constant pain and tiredness. Yay for inheriting every single shitty illness my parents have.
Recently, I have started to have feelings for a close friend, who also has a partner. While drunk, we have made twice. I have feelings for him, but he is just attracted to me. I have immense guilt over betraying my partner, who is emotionally stunted. I think I’m just attracted to my friend because he has the social and emotional skills my partner lacks.
I was severely bullied at my last job until I began having daily panic attacks and getting into a screaming matches with a higher-up and former friend.
I decided to self-harm and contemplated suicide when the medication I was taking for five years stopped working. Unfortunately, while the medication stopped working, my now non-existant libido did not return.
Have also suffered dermatillomania (chronic skin-picking) for most of my life, particularly my feet. It is disgusting.
Currently, I am plagued by insomnia, headaches, anxiety, shame, severe depression, guilt, and every other horrible feeling imaginable. According to my therapist, I have feelings of low self-worth. According to my friends, I have a much lower opinion of myself than everyone else does of me.
I am both numb and emotionally unstable. I can’t cry, even though I really want to let it out. I think of myself as selfish and horrible, a terrible person who doesn’t deserve what I have. I theorize that I have some subconscious need to sabotage myself. Every time something is going well, just to add some drama in my life. Why I do this, I don’t know. And as I have written this list in such a cold, emotionless manner, I find it odd that I can be so numb and feel so many negative emotions at the same time. I feel like a robot.
I don’t want sympathy. At least, I don’t think I do. I am just tired. Tired of struggling through every day with these issues. I want the problems to just magically disappear because I’m tired of fighting.
I know it’s a long road ahead to my recovery. And as much as I don’t want to relive the aforementioned memories, I am also excited for the first time in ages because maybe, finally, with proper therapy…
A while back, we requested pictures of your tattoos and the stories that go with them. Tattoos have a long history, and can have a wealth of emotion and memories behind them. Today, we share Katherine’s ink story. If you have one you’d like to share, hit us up!
“This tattoo (or rather these tattoos, because I have a matching one on my other wrist) has two stories behind it.
Wing: When I was 17, I was in a pretty serious car accident. Fortunately I walked away with nothing but whiplash and a fractured shoulder blade, but if I had been going the slightest bit faster or the other driver the slightest bit slower, I would’ve been totalled along with my car. It was like I had a guardian angel. Shortly after I got out of the hospital, my grandma gave me the necklace with the first wing, which she had incidentally gotten from a fundraiser for that very hospital a few months before. She tracked down the other wing a year later, on the anniversary of the accident.
Ring: I purchased the ring during a pretty severe depressive episode a few years later. The knot allegedly means “strength,” and that spoke to me. I keep it as a reminder that I’m stronger than my depression.”