Totally-Real Star Wars Spoilers

• The Force awakens, then hits the snooze button for just 10 more minutes, honest.
• Luke sends a cheek swab to 23AndMe in the hopes that Leia isn't really his blood sibling. Sadly, she is. The weird thing, though, is that so is Jar-Jar. The upcoming family reunion is promptly canceled.
• Padme falls into a deep slumber after eating a poisoned pickled space worm. Her only hope of waking is a kiss from a royal. Chewbacca misunderstands this as "a kiss from a loyal" and obliges. Strangely, it works.
• R2-D2 and C-3PO finally proclaim their love for each other. They ditch the whole fighting thing to become spokesbots for inter-droid marriage rights.

There. Now you don't have to see it and you can stop talking about it.

For Grandma

Recently, I was going through some old writings of mine and I discovered the speech I gave at my grandma's funeral, about three years ago. I wrote this speech on my ipod on a bus ride home from NYC. That was one of the longest bus rides of my life. She was 92 when she died, and continued to inspire me until the very end. I still think about her all the time, and strive to make people feel as cared for as she did.

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Emily Dickinson once said, "unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality."

If this were true, my grandmother would be alive for the next eighteen lifetimes. There has never been a person on earth who met my grandma and did not love her. Stuck in hospitals and nursing homes, my grandma would befriend even the grumpiest of nurses and roommates.

"She was a real grouch when I got here," she'd whisper to me, after a smiling, chatty nurse left her room, "but now she warmed up".

I don't think she even realized the effect she had. She naturally assumed that everyone had good in them; it just took longer for some people to show it.

No matter how long it had been since she had last stayed in a particular place of rehabilitation, the nurses would remember her. They would come by just to say hi, even if they weren't on duty in her area. It could have been months past, and they would still tell us how wonderful she was.

But the person I'll always remember my grandmother to be is not who she was in the hospital. Even now, as I think about her, I can barely see that image of her.

I remember the woman who would recollect, and ask about, every friend I had, regardless of whether or not she had met them before. She would recall friends of my mom's who she hadn't spoken to since high school. She'd never met them, but that didn't stop her from loving them.

The woman who humored two year old me (with a straight face, nonetheless) when I told her one morning that my imaginary friend, a character from Lamb Chop, had come wet my bed in the middle of the night.

The woman who loved to watch me, as a child, twirling around her room, making outfits by tying her scarves together, not complaining once, though I surely wrinkled and frayed them.

The woman who couldn't wait to hear about and see pictures of everything I was doing. I'd bring my laptop to her house and scroll through pictures of my friends, of any parties I'd been to, of whatever adventures I'd been on that week.

The woman who took so much pride in what her family and friends were doing, it was as though they were her own accomplishments.

The woman who, no matter how sick she got, would always be ready with a quick joke or a kind word.
If you didn't know my grandma, I'm sorry. I really am. She was one of the most genuinely caring and selfless people I have ever met. She would inspire people around her to be nicer, happier, more generous. She's notably responsible for my sense of humor. When I think about the kind of person I want to be, my grandmother is what I imagine.

So to everyone who knew her: always remember and love her. But most importantly, always remember to love each other. Because that's what she wanted more than anything.

Here are Some Things that are True about Job Searching:

1. It is the worst.
2. You will, inevitably, get tired of talking about yourself.
3. Even in casual conversation, you'll start cringing when asked about your life.
4. If you don't cry first.
5. You'll try to have an elevator speech for what you're "doing" right now. Maybe it will be coherent!?
6. If you have 'Bisexual Resource Center' on your resume, it will be the one thing you never get asked questions about in interviews.
7. For a period of time, your "adventure : job security" ratio might be skewed fairly far to the left. That's...actually okay.
8. You'll probably question your worth as an employee and a human on a daily basis.
9. Cover letters are a homework assignment spawned from hell itself.
10. It is the worst.

Sexing While Awkward - A Letter to Teenage Me

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Not Alone

This is in response to the too-many people who are wrestling with their own brains, resigned to their solitude. To those who have opened up about their struggles, and to those who lock them so deeply they can barely feel the jagged edges. You are lonely, but you're not alone.

As I've gotten older, I've noticed it takes me longer to recover from system shocks. An evening of drinking will leave me nastily hungover where I could once pop back with a shower and a stick of gum. An afternoon of crying, similarly, will fill my head with cotton and my eyes with dust for the remainder of the day. It's probably best for my health that I try to minimize both activities, but the ideal doesn't necessarily change the reality. Life is hard, anxiety is hard, depression is freaking hard. There are sneaky brain weasels hiding in the creases of your life, waiting to pull that tripwire a little tighter. The sneaky brain weasels are cunning - they know every doubt that flickers through your mind, and they're armed with butterfly nets and magnifying glasses.

Sometimes my mind feels larger than my skull, and I need lie down outside and be absorbed by the grass. Sometimes the world hits me so hard that I feel the edges of myself curling in. Sometimes my bedroom is my only haven, and sometimes it's my self-guarded prison cell. I relish the quiet hum of loneliness as I stretch my arms to press against the invisible, seemingly-impermeable walls of my bubble. I stare at unsent text messages before deleting them. I stare at unwashed dishes before crawling back into the safety of my blanket nest.

Please note that I am fine. Not necessarily always Fine, but fine. I have a great support system and a great therapist. I am extraordinarily lucky for both. Not everyone is as lucky as I am, and not everyone has the ability to talk about it. And that's why we must talk about it as much as we can. Talk about mental health, and the struggles we face. Talk about our hopes, our sadness, our desperation. Empty our darkness into the ether until we're not even sure where ours ends and the worlds' begins. If we spilled our thoughts the way wrists spill blood, we would all be better off. We, the anxious, the depressed, the flat-out sad, the past-the-breaking-point, the weakest links, the stronger-than-we-know.

We are lonely, but we are not alone.

Reasons

In my sophomore year of high school, I ran for the regional executive board of the youth group I was involved in. Since eighth grade, I had attended every event, often traveling over an hour on my own. Mostly a loner within my high school, USY comprised 95% of my social life. I had been planning this campaign for over a year, along with my following campaign for presidency of the organization. I made posters, wrote a speech, and handed out plastic harmonicas that said "remember that your vote is key, vote Gabrielle for SA/TO VP" (I've always been a sucker for the wordplay). It was the big day. I gave my speech with as much confidence as 15-year-old me could muster - which, in retrospect, was likely far too much or not nearly enough.

And...I lost.

The election, much like most others, was a popularity contest, and popularity has never been a currency I trade in. I was crushed. Devastated. I considered calling my mom and asking her to pick me up from the convention early. I wrote a sad poem (I think I still have it. You're not reading it.).

Fast forward a few months. SADD, an organization I was also highly involved in, was organizing a first-ever Massachusetts Student Advisory Board. My SADD adviser had basically written me the recommendation before I even approached her with interest. I made it in; I was one of 10-15 high school students from across the state picked to serve.

And you know what? It was, to date, one of the best experiences of my life. I remained involved in USY for the remainder of my high school career (and even beyond, as staff). I still loved USY with all my heart and spent an inordinate amount of bandwidth on it. But I also had the time for this completely new project. Senior year, I helped plan the national SADD conference. I organized and ran leadership workshops. I got the chance to learn and grow in ways I hadn't even known existed. I met Steven Tyler as his limo pulled up at a hotel we were preparing. There's no way I would have had the time or energy for these new experiences if I had actually won my election. Oddly, the thing I had wanted so badly would likely have kept me more within my comfort zone.

I think about this a lot when things don't go my way. If I hadn't gotten laid off, I wouldn't have been able to spend the summer learning about the solar industry and climbing on roofs all over the state. If I hadn't been dumped at a certain time in a particularly devastating way, I wouldn't have met my next partner and embarked on an adventure greater than I knew possible.

If, if, if. In reality, I can't say for sure that any one of these things lead to the others. I can't say that the option I was deprived of wouldn't have been better in the end. I really don't know that. And I'm definitely not of the mind that "everything happens for a reason". However, sometimes I need to believe in Reasons. Sometimes I need to believe in new opportunities rising from ashes. I'm not a particularly optimistic person - I often assume things are going to go catastrophically wrong for me. But it gives me a warmth in the innards of my lizard-brain to think that maybe, just maybe, there are surprises ahead yet.

Stock photo Gabby says "expectations are useless!"

We Need to Talk

Let's talk about mental health.
Let's talk about how, some days, the very act of getting out of bed is laced with insurmountable implications.
How our very skin betrays us, threatening to shatter with every touch.
And how even the air surrounding us feels heavy, compressing from every angle.
Let's talk about the happiness we paint on in the mirror each morning, and how much energy it takes to maintain.
Let's talk about our lives, and how many times we've dreamed of ending them.
Let's talk about what's kept us here, what's tipped the lever.
What's sent us over the edge.
Let's talk about the twig-snap it takes to turn a perfect day into a maelstrom whirlwind of depression.
About how much easier it is to go with gravity than against it.
How our surroundings try to drag us down with every step.
Let's talk about drowning ourselves in social media, about scalding ourselves in the glow of others' lives.
Let's talk about our photos, faces full of smiles, eyes on the brink of invisible tears.
Let's talk about the lies we tell.
And about the lies our own brains tell us on a daily basis.
Let's talk about how undeserving we are of the love we're given.
Let's allow others the chance to give it anyway.
Let's talk about how lucky we are.
How, no matter how low we get, there's someone willing to fight for us, even if they don't quite know how.
Let's talk about how unlucky we are.
How Other People don't have to deal with this, how life is easy for Everyone Who Isn't Us.
Let's talk about how it feels to be an island, a lighthouse, a volcanic core.
Let's talk about you. Let's talk about your needs, your desires, your dreams.
Let's talk about me. Because we are not selfish or unreasonable for wanting to be fulfilled.
Let's talk - because we may be surprised at who wants to listen.

On Bravery

Recently, I've been confronted more and more with the idea of 'bravery'. This has happened frequently as I've come out of the closet as being bisexual, and as I've looked around at others who have, are, or will travel similar roads.

I've come to realize that bravery isn't something you have; it's something you do. One person isn't born objectively braver than another. To me, coming out as bisexual was terrifying, but also inevitable. There was no choice other than to be myself. In fact, I was taken aback when people started thanking me for posting what I did. People who, to me, had their lives so together and open that they couldn't possibly be feeling insecure or scared about themselves. People who I'd looked up to as models of bravery and courage. They were thanking me for standing up and doing something that they perceived as brave. Similarly, they probably had no idea how much I admire them for unapologetically being who they are. 

Bravery is in the eye of the beholder. An act which may seem almost flippant to you could be earth-shattering to another person. You went to the store today. You thanked your cashier. You bought some bread. In other words, you left the house. You interacted with a stranger you didn't know. You bought a brand of food you'd never tried before and didn't know if you'd like. Anything can be (and is) a mark of bravery when viewed through a different lens.

There's a saying I've seen plastered around Pinterest and Instagram and the like: "Don't cry, because you never know who's falling in love with your smile." The saying, taken literally, is pretty dumb - if a partner is going to stop loving you when you stop smiling, find a different partner. However, it does bring up a powerful point: you never know who may be admiring, looking up to, or caring about you for simply being yourself.

You are unique. You are, by virtue of being you, brave.

How to Come Out as Bisexual

1. Realize you are not monosexual. This could take anywhere from a split-second to many decades. Realize the capability within yourself to be attracted to all sorts of genders, to whatever degree feels good to you. Whatever route you've taken to get to this step, it's an important one.

2. Congratulate yourself. This is a big step! A really, really big step. Pat yourself on the back for building up the courage to think about the distinct possibility of realistically taking this step at some point in the definitely very near future.

3. Revel in your future bravery. Imagine the looks on everyone's faces when you reveal this facet of your identity to them. Nothing will be the same. Everything will be different. It will be great.

4. Think about it some more. Pick no fewer than seventeen ways to let it out. Create different ways to reach different people you know. Build up entire conversations in your head with these people. Momentarily forget that these conversations haven't actually happened.

5. Come out to a close friend, family member, acquaintance, partner, bus driver, etc. Your first coming-out! Immediately forget all the clever one-liners you had planned for this moment and spill your secret in a cloud of word-vomit all over them. Hopefully, your conversation will not also involve actual vomit, but be prepared for any eventuality.

6. Explain that, no, this doesn't necessarily mean that you're sleeping with multiple people (though you might be!), or that you're constantly having threesomes (though you might be!).

7. Come out to some more people. Find reactions ranging from support to confusion to repulsion. Take the negative reactions with a grain of salt, then use that salt on popcorn for your next date.

8. Come out again. Come out to the same people from steps 6 and 7. Repeat as necessary (and it will likely be necessary). Feel your confidence grow with each admission. Feel how comfortably your skin fits around you.

9. Savor all the love you've allowed yourself to be open to. Find it, give it, and make it as often as you'd like.

10. Take a deep breath of fresh air. You've earned it.

Revelations and Reinventions: A Bi Journey

March is Bisexual Health Awareness Month. This article was originally posted on the Bisexual Resource Center's Tumblr page. Check it out!

In my relatively short tenure as an 'out' bisexual, I've received a myriad of responses to the revelation of my sexuality. I've been laughed at by a group of gay friends, who thought I was joking around to fit in with them. I've been asked if this meant I was dating multiple people, or if it meant that I was planning on leaving my boyfriend of four years for a woman (despite the fact that there are also approximately three billion men in the world who I’m currently not dating). I've also been met with boundless welcoming from places I’d never even have imagined.

The hard part about being bisexual is how easy it is to question your own identity. How easy it is to think "Well, I'm not dating/in a monogamous relationship/really so into this girl, maybe I've just picked a team. Maybe it doesn't matter." I've doubted myself, countless times, having spent so long dating only men. The hard part about being bisexual is feeling like you're stuck in between, with one foot planted on either side of the rainbow.

The best part about being bisexual is allowing yourself to love (and be loved) as much as, and in whatever ways, you desire.

I came out to myself before I knew it. Sometime in elementary school, I learned what it meant to be in a relationship with the same sex. My immediate reaction was confusion - I hadn't even realized this was an option. If girls could be with guys, and girls could be with girls, how were you supposed to know which one to pick? As I grew older and began to stumble my way through the minefields of sexual attraction, I found myself equally distracted by a variety of genders. This did not solve my confusion.

The first time I used the word "bisexual" to describe myself to another person was over a decade later, around 2008. I was writing an email to a friend who was, at the time, serving in the Peace Corps. Somewhere within the various life updates, I dropped in the tidbit. I sent my confession into the void, knowing it would be at least another two weeks before it would reach human eyes. Somehow, just the fact that this information would be known to someone besides myself made everything feel a tiny bit lighter. My friend replied a few weeks later - supportive, if not confused at the seeming suddenness of my news. Since then, my coming-out has snowballed from a few scattered admissions to where I am now. This past summer, I took what felt like the biggest leap imaginable and posted my news (in poem form) to a limited audience on Facebook. I went to sleep feeling like my heart was going to explode from my chest, and woke up to so much support that I almost cried.

A good friend of mine once described the process of coming out as bisexual as "installing a revolving door on your closet". He’s right, in many ways. We keep coming out, regardless of who we're with - sometimes to the same people over and over again. However, with each rotation of this door, the hinge greases itself very slightly. With each turn, it gets a little smoother, a little easier. Sometimes, the door jams. It’s inevitable; technology is not infallible. Sometimes it feels like it would be easier just to lock the doors and close up shop. After all, it’s a rather nice closet, really. And it's even large enough for two - you could just as easily be in a relationship without divulging this piece of yourself, right? But eventually, the craving for fresh air sets in, and the grass outside is so green and soft.

Above all, being yourself should never come at the cost of your own safety or happiness. I, personally, am incredibly lucky to have built the wonderful community that I have. Coming out is an intensely personal journey, but it is one that shouldn't have to be faced alone. The most important parts of your coming out story are you, your mental health, and your happiness. Never be afraid to reach out to whatever resources will make your journey the safest it can be.

It's taken a lot of work to get to where I am today. But, in a strange way, it's been the easiest thing in the world. Because every time I come out, I feel freer to just be myself. The more my bisexuality is just a matter of who I am, the less anyone who knows me can say "I don’t know any bisexual people". The more out I am, the more I can help grease the closet doors of others who might need it.

My name is Gabrielle. I have curly hair, I'm left-handed, and I'm bisexual. Each of these characteristics defines me as much (or as little) as the others. I could fairly easily hide any one of them. But, really, why would I want to?