get real

Another post I wrote for YMF. Listen, believe, and love, y’all.

Young Mormon Feminists

trigger warning: sexual assault and suicide

Sometimes I can wrap up ugly pieces of the world in pretty bows. I find my needed peace in my Savior, my faith, and my family.

But sometimes, sometimes, peace is less important than reality.

Sometimes the voices crying from the darkness are more important than the voices comforting us with light.

We need someone to hear us.

Just listen to us.

Just believe that there is real horror out there.

Our nightmares are reality.

We are helpless.

We are hopeless.

We are alone.

All around is darkness.

The pain in unending.

The hurt knows no bounds.


Just believe us, okay?

* * *

Humans who feel like this, my stomach is in knots over you. I love you all. Please seek support if you can. Below are two hotlines for you to call if you need…

View original post 141 more words

Dear Professor: What I Can’t Say

Dear Professor,

I’m really sorry for missing class today. I took the bus from home as usual, but half way to the school I was feeling so nauseated that I had to get off the bus and wait for my dad to pick me up. I attribute this to the cold I’ve been dealing with, dehydration, or possibly lack of sleep. I have therefore spent the day drinking water and sleeping.

I missed all my classes today, but I feel the worst about missing yours. This is probably because I have now missed four times. There are always excuses, but I know excuses don’t mean much in real life. Your class is my earliest one, and mornings are hard for me.

Mornings are more than just waking up and getting on the bus. Mornings follow late nights of dealing with the anxieties of the day, when all the depression rushes up to my chin like cold bedcovers. Mornings comprise of me convincing myself that everything I’m doing is important. When I finally coax myself out of bed, I should earn a Nobel Peace Prize for the diplomatic negotiations I have made with myself. When I eat breakfast, every bite is purposeful, because with every bite I remind myself it is important to eat so I can function all throughout the school day. When I put on jeans instead of sweatpants, it is with silent conviction that the world will see me not as I feel, but for who I am deep inside: strong, capable, and willing to become the girl I feel I’m merely masquerading as.

Anyway, I’m sorry. Believe me, I have anxiety gnawing a sizable pit in my stomach for every absence. You will probably start deducting points for each time I miss now (because I am sure I will have excuses to miss again), and I might be kicked out of my student research group, but I promise that no punishment you could give to me will ever be as deep or as detrimental as the shame I will mercilessly inflict on myself.

Please let me know if there is anything I need to do to make up for today’s class.

Sincerely, Maney