twproject

[twproject]

[twproject]

Misophonia/OCD

Misophonia- literally the hatred of sound. I don't think I've ever met anyone who particularly enjoys the sound of another person eating, drinking, chewing gum, breathing, tapping, sneezing, coughing, or biting their nails...I think that's everything? However, for me, these mundane sounds can send me into full on fight or flight mode. I start to feel anxious, my heart races, and I feel like I have no option but to say something to the person, or just leave the room. It's worse with people I'm close to. Thankfully I have a very patient partner who knows what I'm doing even when I don't. Also a very patient mother who dealt with it my entire childhood as well. I've ruined many a nice dinner by yelling out "CAN YOU JUST CHEW WITH YOUR MOUTH CLOSED?!' I'm trying to deal with it but mostly I just always have music playing at home and avoid quiet places with other people.

-Brandon

[twproject]

Beating the Bullies Bullying is unwanted, aggressive behavior among school aged children that involves a real or perceived power imbalance. The behavior is repeated, or has the potential to be repeated, over time. Both kids who are bullied and who bully others may have serious, lasting problems. In order to be considered bullying, the behavior must be aggressive and include: An Imbalance of Power: Kids who bully use their power—such as physical strength, access to embarrassing information, or popularity—to control or harm others. Power imbalances can change over time and in different situations, even if they involve the same people. Repetition: Bullying behaviors happen more than once or have the potential to happen more than once. Bullying includes actions such as making threats, spreading rumors, attacking someone physically or verbally, and excluding someone from a group on purpose. (Source: https://www.stopbullying.gov)

You may be wondering why I chose to start my story with a description of bullying. Maybe you don’t care at all. Maybe you have already learned something new about bullying in just this short period of time. Picture this: Small town Idaho. Population? Roughly 2500, give or take a few. Everybody knows everybody. They go to church together, they are related to each other, their families built the town and own the town. Some people love the sense of community, the security that comes with it. But what happens when you aren’t part of one of those families? What happens when you aren’t part of those churches? What happens when you were born to stand out in a town that so desperately requires you to fit in? Enter, from stage right, Me… The “goth” kid. The “devil worshipper”. The “whore” and “slut” and “bitch” every other possible word you could think of. I was the perfect target for small town hatred. It started at the top, teachers and school administrators, and dropped all the way down to the bottom, students and peers, people who I thought were my friends. In their eyes, I was a failure. I was an addict. I was worthless... Bibles were put in my locker to see if I would burst into flames. Horrible names were written on notes. Rumors galore that I still hear about, 10-15 years later. (side note: to set the record straight - I never, EVER had an abortion. I met with a planned parenthood counselor at 14 years old, during school, because I was RAPED and I had nobody to turn to. I needed resources and tests done to make sure that I was physically okay and that is where I was able to get them. So to all of you simple minded dickwads who spread that rumor and still perpetuate that bullshit, go choke on a chainsaw). Even though I didn’t care about most of the people, I couldn’t care less what they fucking thought about me, it hurt so bad. I had done nothing to these animals to be treated in such a horrendous way. What do you do to numb that internal pain? What will take it all away? I contemplated suicide over and over and over. I thought about retaliating and hurting those who hurt me. I wanted to cut them in the ways I was cutting myself, spit in their face and scream “THIS IS WHAT YOU MAKE ME FEEL!” but I refused to be the monster that they were making me. I hurt myself, a lot. Most people never knew. I didn’t want to see a counselor or receive professional help. I didn’t want to turn into a medicated zombie. I knew the path that I was starting down and I had to make a choice to make it, or let it break me. Enter, from stage left, a very special person. The one constant in this chaotic hell that is my life. One person was able to make my world make sense. I want you all to remember that. ONE. That very special number ONE. I had help in facing my demons. I had help to stop harming myself. I had help and I had hope, all because ONE person shouted with me, “FUCK THE WORLD!” and that was all I needed. I’m 27. I’m damaged. I’m blessed. I’m broken. I’m comfortable. I’m crazy. I’m grounded. I’m afflicted. I’m aware. Out of all of this, I’m still me. I’m still different. I’m still alive.

[twproject]

Public Persona

Strong. Creative. Intelligent. Brave. Caring. Adventurous. Outgoing. Motivated. Beautiful. These are the words that family, friends and co-workers have used to describe me. While they may all be true, my brain can play tricks with my sense of self-worth. Often times I am able to tell my brain that it is wrong. I mean, look at all I have done, the relationships I have developed, the knowledge I have gained, and continue to seek out, the countless times I have stood up to my anxiety and accomplished something I wanted, see brain you can't be right. Like I said, this works often. Choice of thought. It's powerful. It has taken me many years to learn how to apply 'choice of thought' in a way that worked for me, but when life throws me a hardship this can be a more challenging task. When life's stresses get too heavy my brain has an easier time convincing my self-worth into spiraling out of control. The longer it spirals the deeper it goes, to the point when bits of self-care start slipping away. In a self-fulfilling prophecy my brain now gets to tell me 'see you can't even take care of yourself'. This is a point where I can no longer remind my brain of all the good and wonderful things I have going for me, it just will NOT listen. I then have to do the hardest thing of all. I have to reach out to my friends and family and admit I am t a weak point and please could you remind me of all the wonderful things I have going for me? And they remind me that I am... Strong. Creative. Intelligent. Brave. Caring. Adventurous. Outgoing. Motivated. Beautiful. The clothes make the person, that's what they say. But what if you feel like you have no sense of style? What if you see clothes as costumes? We express ourselves with clothes. Style and presentation can determine how a person views you. What you wear to an interview can determine how seriously you are taken. How you present yourself can be a major factor in how far you go in life. How people perceive you can open or close doors. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE CLOTHES. Fuctional clothes, jeans, comfy hiking shoes, tee-shirts that express how I feel, big wooly sweaters, and pajamas. But when the occasion calls for an outfit that isn't a tee-shirt and jeans, I have a very difficult decision to make. I never feel comfortable in my costumes. The clothing I wear to blend in and hopefully go un-judged makes me feel like a big fake. I grew up being teased for clothing I did not purchase myself, and I decided that I would get the right clothes when I started earning my own money. I did. It sucked. I realized that even though I had the right dress for the symphony I wanted to go to, I did not know how to accessorize it. I still didn't get it right. And so I stared collecting costumes. Clothing for any occasion I might want to experience. The daily struggle for me is 'how do I portray myself today?'

[twproject]

Anxious Children Become Anxious Adults.

I thought a lot about what I was going to write, and I wrote two very short descriptions of my photos. The people I've shot so far have been so open with me, and I realized I haven't been as open as I should be. As the person behind this project, I feel like, in a way, that I owe this to you. I owe you a more in depth look into my mind....I owe you, as well as myself vulnerability. Shameless vulnerability. This is my story. It's shitty, but it is mine. I grew up out in nowhere, ID. I was an normal kid, full of wild fantasies about unicorns and dragons and being an astronaut. Vanilla normal. Mom stays home, Dad works, my mom had my brother when I was five...Normal As Fuck. I remember being in second grade and the teachers kept asking me why I was going to the bathroom so much. They asked my mom if I was having urinary problems, if I was fucking around with my friends, etc. It started, yes, as fucking around with my friends, but it became compulsive hand washing. I was doing so until they were sore and cracked. It was the 90's. I was probably 7....I was fucking terrified of getting AIDS from a door handle. Terrified to the point that I thought if I sat on a toilet seat, I could get AIDS. I would constantly ask my mom 'am I gonna die'....I think it's safe to say I've asked her that question probably ten thousand times. My fear of death wasn't necessarily fear of dying of old age....It was a fear of dying of preventable diseases....which is funny, considering my fear of doctors is debilitating. I became afraid of small things, like being in a room with cleaning chemicals....If I could smell them, they might be getting into my lungs, and I might die. As a teenager, I realized I can't fly in an airplane, because it might fucking crash, or fall out of the sky, and I might die. I might have a bad headache, which could actually be aneurisms, and I might die. I might have sex with protection, but I might get pregnant, and I might die. I might have a small cyst on my body, but it might be a tumor, and I might die. It's fucking exhausting. I am constantly in a battle with my own brain that is trying to convince me that I'm dying, and my body that is reacting to stress in ways that mimic serious illnesses. It's not as simple as 'just calm down'....I am generally pretty calm. If I'm busy, most would never know that I'm actually thinking about how my heart is skipping beats, or how I should probably get these moles checked out, or, goddamn it, why haven't I gotten my bottom wisdom teeth out. It's something I live with every day. Hypochondria, or health anxiety is something that I have inherited, and something that I was predisposed to. It is ugly in itself, but when it is combined with OCD, it can be completely debilitating. I am afraid of my house burning down. I unplug my hair straightener. I've never left it on, but it still might burn my house down. I can't handle numbers being left on a microwave, ever. No numbers. It has to be cleared. I count my steps, stairs, words when I talk, words when others talk, and have to kiss Brandon three times before he leaves. If not, bad shit might happen. I get a feeling of dread when I don't perform my rituals. When I lock the door, I have to check it a minimum of 3 times to make sure it's locked. This is my reality. I still feel the effects of bipolar disorder and ADD, but this is what I deal with every. single. day. I bite my nails until they bleed and I obsess over diseases that I do not have. I'm slowly finding ways to help myself. Self diagnosing with Dr. Google is NOT a helpful, or productive way to deal with this. Drinking 8 beers ever day isn't a healthy way to deal with this. I am taking better care of me. I am being more open about how I feel, or recognizing my anxiety for what it is... anxiety. I don't avoid social situations anymore, I sit with my awkward, overly self aware, afraid everyone can see me panicking, self. This is a part of my identity. This can not be 'cured'. This can however, be muted. I decide wether or not to self medicate into oblivion, I decide wether or not to spend my entire day reading about the warning signs of cancer. I know that if I go outside, and connect with people, and hear their stories, and feel their pain, maybe.....just maybe, it will make it easier to deal with my own.

-Chels