THE OUTLET
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EDITOR’S NOTE. Kia ora, readers! Welcome to our third issue! In this issue, we are jam-packed with articles, poetry and letters! We’ll be discussing everything from mental to physical health; with pieces about social anxiety, LGBTQIA+ sex education (or rather, the lack thereof), menstrual cups (those of you who know me personally will understand my obsession with them!), a series of open letters to parents, and more. I have to admit, parts of this issue got a bit more emotional than expected. When one of our writers came to me with the idea to write a letter to his mother, I thought “hey, this would be a great series for The Outlet”, and I began asking people of different sexual/gender orientations if they would like to write some open letters for the magazine. Boy, I did not expect what I was about to read. While editing and piecing together this issue, I cried. I felt so emotional - because these letters are genuinely written, and with so much sentiment; both good and bad. I hope that you are moved in the same way that I was. If you’re an AUT student, you’ll know that our wonderful student association, AUTSA, has
started Foodie Godmother - a pantry for all AUT students. In this issue, I had the privilege of interviewing them, because I was personally quite interested in their services. Having been to the pantry a few times myself, I definitely understand the importance of Foodie Godmother, and wanted to really convey that in the our interview.
Lastly, you’ll notice a difference in theme, yet again. For one of my Visual Communication assignments, we had to compose a magazine spread, and that really got my mind running. My research hailed many sources of inspiration, and I think I’ve made up my mind: every issue of The Outlet is going to be distinct. Different themes, different articles, different styles. It’s the only way to gratify the hungry giant that is my mind. I love experimenting (successfully), and I hope you come along this journey with us! Nāku noa, nā
Jennifer Daruwalla.
DISCLAIMER: Thoughts and views expressed in this newsletter do not reflect those of Auckland University of Technology or Out@AUT, but the writers themselves.
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AN INTERVIEW WITH
FOODIE GODMOTHER.
What inspired you to start Foodie Godmother? Urshula Ansell, in her term as AUTSA President, noticed that the biggest request and issues coming through her doors were students’ struggle around money. This meant that, at the end of the day, some students were going without food! How does the pantry work? The pantry works on an honesty-based system, so students take what they need and leave the rest for other students. It runs off of donations and goods that we can secure.
How do you believe the pantry benefits AUT students? We believe it helps many different students in different ways; for some it’s a one off, it gets them through their day and takes away one stress; for others, they rely on it financially.
Where do you get your items from, and how do you decide what to stock on the shelves? Currently, we buy items or receiving donations, mainly from AUT staff. In the future we hope to get sponsorships, and more donated goods. We started off with a range of products from canned and packaged goods, hygiene, and menstrual. From this, we have been able to watch demand, and then aim to get more of those products. The gardens provide the fresh produce side to Foodie Godmother.
Which item(s) would you say are in high demand? Hygiene and menstrual products fly off our shelves. The overall demand is very large; we have had over 200 students through our pantry’s in 3 months. This doesn’t include the students eating from our gardens.
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Speaking of gardens—how did you go about growing fresh produce? Each campus was approached, but have been delivered differently. When it comes to seedlings and tools, we purchase it all. The North Campus estates team did a Christmas Working Bee in December, built our garden beds, and gifted it to us. For the City Campus, we split the cost with city estates, and they built it in May this year. The South Campus is taking a lot longer—we have just gotten to the stage of having permission and space; as we don’t want our South Campus to miss out, AUTSA was able to find money to cover the cost to build it through the 2018 Student Representative Council.
What do Foodie Godmother workshops entail? Do you intend to host another one? We have done a few, and they change depending on what we can get our hands on. We will have our typical planting workshops to start each garden, and replant as seasons change. The others will be based on products we get—we recently did one based around bath bombs, as Lush donated lots of boxes and we needed to hand wrap them to put into our pantry.
How can people help out? There are a few different ways people can help. They can drop off unopened goods to any AUTSA reception to put on our shelves; spend time in our gardens, pulling some webs or planting more goodies; and we also accept monetary donations, which are used to restock our shelves with much needed goods or to buy new seedlings: 06-0158-0030680-025.
Where can AUT students find the Foodie Godmother pantry? Pantries are based on each campus within the AUTSA space. Gardens on the North Campus are in between AJ and AA. On the City Campus, we are on the balcony of WC, and on the South Campus, we will be placed behind ME court side. City (AUTSA Office). WC building, Level 2.
South (AUTSA Office), ME109. North (AUTSA Office). AS building, Room 133.
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DEAR MUM, I’M GAY. {8
I’ve always been gay. Ever since I was a little boy – playing with the dolls you bought for sis; pretending I was walking down a runway with my blankets as dresses; crushing on other boys (his name was James and I was 7 years old at the time, and yes – I still remember him), dreaming about boys dating me in high school; being fond of the rainbow canopy you bought me for my bed; and many more things. But I had to hide it all. From you and dad. For as long as I needed to. Because I knew you’d be upset. Embarrassed. Disappointed. That your only son – the “future” of the family, the one to hold the family name, is a sinner in your eyes. For so many years, there were things you and dad said to me that broke my heart, piece by piece, every day. “Why are you crying like a girl?” “Why are you moving your hands so much like a girl?” “You talk so much; boys don’t talk that much.” “We’re not buying you a doll. We’ll get you a superhero toy instead.” “No, not a pink shirt. Green is better.” It surprises me that you never picked up any of the hints. But if you did, denying me of my true self from a young age brings me to tears when I think about it. I understand that, as a mother, you wanted to mould me into a “good” human being, but that does not include deciding who I should be or who you want me to be. Remember that day? August 8th, 2017? I tried to come out to you, but you didn’t understand what I was trying to say. I finally said that “I like boys, not girls” and you replied with 10 words that tore my heart out. “You’re making me look like a failure as a mother.” You don’t know this, but I tried to change your mind after what I said. I made it look like you misunderstood what I said, so that I could run back into the closet and avoid risking our relationship. I did this because I love you, and I couldn’t bear to see you disappointed and upset with me for the rest of my life. From that day on, I knew I could never come out to you ever again. Are my feelings less important to you than what other people think? Will my true self bring you shame? Will it bring shame to the family? Will you never love me the same when I never intended to hurt you? I thought every mother loved their children unconditionally, supported their every move and helped them up when they fell. I’ve read countless stories of parents disowning their children when they come out. I could never imagine my life ahead without your presence. I need you in my life, mum, because you taught me what love is. {9
DEAR PARENTS, I’M ASEXUAL. { 10
I decided to write you this letter because my sexuality is something that is important to me, even though you may not understand why. You’re both my best friends. I tell you two everything; you two tell me everything, but I can’t seem to find the courage to tell you about my sexuality. I’ve always known. I’m pretty sure. I’ve told some people; my friends, namely, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you two. I do not experience sexual attraction. I don’t like boys, and I don’t like girls either. It’s not that I haven’t met the right person. It’s that I probably never will. I can recognise when people are attractive – I’m not totally disgusted by people…I just don’t feel any sexual desire towards them. When I was younger, I felt like I’d have to force myself to have crushes to just to fit in. My friends were always gushing about how cute a guy or girl was, and I’d never share the same sentiment. I felt left out. So I pretended. I pretended and lied and faked being attracted to people just so that I could fit in. But I’ve always been attracted to personalities, just never someone’s appearance. I don’t want you to make the argument that I’m still young and maturing, because even though I am both of those things, my asexuality has always been a part of me. I might be young, but I’m aware. I know myself. I know what I am now, thanks to the internet and support groups that I’ve found. I’ll never forget the moment when I had first found the term “asexual”. I was sitting at my desk and browsing the internet for some answers to my questions: who am I? What am I? Why do I feel this way – is it normal? Am I normal? When I read the word, I instantly felt that it fit exactly what I was feeling. I finally felt justified – I felt like I wasn’t an outlier. I remember spending the rest of the night crying in bed (they were happy tears, don’t worry). I was so happy that I could finally put myself into a group; a category in which there was more than just…me. It took me a long time to understand what asexuality is, and I’m sure the same will go for the two of you. Don’t be ashamed to ask questions or take some time to accept it. Just don’t fight it. This is something I’ve known for as long as I’ve known myself, and I hope that you can accept me for who I am.
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DEAR parents, I’M A NON-BINARY LESBIAN. { 12
You think of me as a meek girl, the sweet, cherubic Muslim I was as a child, one that dropped watching any show that drew out anything more lewd than a kiss, whether it be straight or not. One that abided by your religion, a girl who grew excited at every prayer time and greatest dream was to finally feel confident enough to don a hijab. Yet I am not as I was. I do not believe anymore – and the most jaw-dropping secret I conceal from you is that I like girls. Not only that, but I do not wholly identify as a girl myself, a woman – I am non-binary. Coming out to you will destroy me. For years I kept it hidden. For years I only told select people and the reactions I got were not surprising yet still devastating. People thought I was making it up, that third genders do not exist. People thought I just wanted attention, despite the fact that I did not divulge my sexuality and gender identity to just anyone back then. Close family who, when I came out a few years ago, thought I was just confused. “How could you have known your sexuality so young?” asked a girl I came out to one class when I revealed I was questioning since my preteen years, as though children can’t have crushes and are inherently straight. I am lucky enough to now be in a place now where I am free. I live in a place where I won’t get detained for kissing, one where my fellow gay friends can’t get jailed for their sexuality. I am surrounded only by those who love me. Despite this all… as much as I value the acceptance I get from my friends today, the support from my straight friends and shared struggles with my friends from the community, there is only person who I crave acceptance from, and that is you. You support me. You care for me. You say you love me. You show it. You do as you should as a parent, but I know your beliefs. Last year when you came to visit you coincidentally came during the pride parade. You watched the rainbow flags flying high from afar, and could not resist laughing over how we are going to burn in hell. You remarked that if you had rocks you would have thrown them. I stood awkwardly, silently, fighting back my anger and frustration as my misery threatened to spill fresh tears. I know I am accepted. My mother accepts me. My sister accepts me. My friends accept me. I have never felt this loved in my life. All I need is your acceptance.
I am terrified of what will happen to me if you find out. I am dreaming of a life where I can get top surgery without having you abandon me.
Best regards from your child, your non-binary, woman-loving child.
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DEAR MUM, I’M BISEXUAL. { 14
I want you to know that sexuality is nothing to be scared of. If anything, I’ve never felt more secure in my knowledge that I am capable of loving whoever my soul connects with.
As cliché as it is, this isn’t a phase. Bisexuality is real, it’s not a pit stop on the way to gay town. It’s valid, exciting and who I have always been. Remember when I was OBSESSED with Elena from the Vampire Diaries? I remember being terrified by my own feelings towards her. Having a crush on both Elena and Stefan was a lot for my fourteen year old self to take in. You were raised in an all accepting home of every person, wherever they come from, and however they identify. When I was in year seven, my heart broke when a close friend of mine was bullied for being a suspected lesbian. After this, at 12 years old, I feared that I might be a lil gay, but what if someone found out and bullied me too? I remember obsessing over every female protagonist and lying in bed thinking “WHAT IF I AM GAY?”, utterly confused, as I also had feelings for a cute boy in my class who (maybe) looked at me once. I thought girls were beautiful, but I feared that I might think girls were really, REALLY beautiful. I suppressed and suppressed my attraction towards women, until I turned nineteen and met a girl who made me feel truly alive. When I came out to you, (before the tears) the first thing you said was “But you’re so boy crazy?” HONEEEEY, that is the joy of sexuality, it’s fluid! Some days I like girls, some days dude, and other days both… LUCKY ME, right? As you know, I’ve loved a boy before. I’ve also been kept up all night because of my feelings for a girl… and been kept up all night with a girl, go me. Remember how we discussed Edward Cullen in DETAIL for years? Let’s do that with Bella, or more specifically Kristen Stewart... (Is there a vampire theme going on in this letter? Maybe I’m just into vampires, not every attractive human… Kidding, I am most definitely a bisexual lol) Since coming out, I have never felt more feminine. Accepting who I am is not only a relief, but it’s taught me so much about myself. I want to share it all with you. One day, I hope we can talk openly about love, in all forms that I experience.
I love you mum, it took me time to understand my sexuality, and I know you need time too.
Love is love, is love, is love, is love. { 15
The Quee
BREAKING NEWS: HETERO KIND OF SEX YOU’LL EVER A 20-something year old’s rant about Zealand’s heteronormative sex education curriculum.
around sex and sexuality did not p about what it meant to be a youn Zealand. Never did anyone, wh caregiver, or teacher, tell me t heterosexual or cisgender was n impact on how I saw myself (and h
By Blair Speakman.
And this finally brings me to sex Zealand! I would like to say th through Primary and Secondary s into sex, sexuality, and relationsh of sex education, my knowledge predominantly heterosexual, biol While I learned the basics abo heterosexual sex, pregnancy, pube in health class, everything else a relationships was effectively silen my sex education throughout sch into being gay than my parents a not even get to put a damn condom like they show you in the movies! was supposed to look up to – pare teachers, principals – when it cam was deafening. Sex education did came to sex; until quite recently, h frightening prospect for me. environment as an adolescent, I h about sex between two men, and know. Porn is rather problematic a of sex, misogynistic, and can rei was my introduction to sex betwee
Sex. Sex. Sex. Yeah. I can still remember the first time I ‘learned’ about this mysterious activity that was exclusive to adults only. I was four years old and watched Notting Hill on television for the first time. That sex scene between Anne (Julia Roberts) and Will (Hugh Grant) was essentially my introduction to sex; as weird as it might sound, this scene had a profound impact how I thought about sex for well over a decade afterwards. I thought sex was romantic, passionate, and could only take place between a man and a woman who were clearly in love. Forgive me, I was a naïve kid – I used to think sex only involved making out in a bed at night. My understanding of sex and sexuality was rigid, heteronormative, and hetero-romantic – in my world, the only kind of romantic relationship was one between two individuals of opposite genders. Heterosexuality and heterosexual relationships were represented to me as being the ‘default’ and ‘normal’ type of sexuality and sex through family, friends, and the media. Of course, I knew some people were gay or bisexual, but I had never given a second thought to any kind of sex or sexuality other than heterosexuality. When I was a young, pubescent, and oily-skinned teenager, I started to realise that I was gay. This realisation frightened me. SO MUCH. To this day I still struggle to describe how I felt when the ‘penny dropped’ for me, especially to people who do not identify as being a part of the LGBTQIA+ community. What I can tell you is that my education
It may (or may not) surprise you of sexuality education in New Ze implemented alongside the intro
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er Times
OSEXUAL SEX IS THE ONLY R NEED TO KNOW ABOUT!
prepare me in any shape or form ng gay male growing up in New hether it be a family member, that being anything other than normal, and this had a profound how I still see myself, sadly).
x and sexuality education in New hat sex and sexuality education school gave me a greater insight ips…However, after 4 or 5 years on the topic was restricted to a ogical, and essentialist position. out the biological functions of erty, and male/female sex organs about sex, sexuality, gender, and nced or neglected. Consequently, hool gave me little more insight and other family members. I did m on a banana during health class ! The silence among the people I ents, family members, caregivers, me to understanding my sexuality d little to calm my nerves when it having sex with other men was a Given my heteronormative had to find other avenues to learn in this case, it was porn. Yes, I as it is: not an accurate depiction inforce rape culture. And yet, it en two men.
to know that mandatory teaching ealand was quite recent, as it was oduction of a new Health and
Physical Education Curriculum in 1999 (the year I started Primary school!!!). Prior to this, sexuality education was quite ad hoc and inconsistent from school to school – this update in the education curriculum meant that sexuality education became compulsory for Year 9 and 10 students (the first two years of secondary school). One of the positives of this update to the health and physical education curriculum in New Zealand was an awareness that inclusivity and diversity needed to be incorporated into sexuality education. Despite this, the emphasis in my own sex and sexuality education was on the socially undesirable outcomes of intercourse for young people – in this case, the focus was on heterosexual sex, and how to prevent teenage pregnancy. After educating myself on sexuality and safe sex, the most shocking aspect of my sex education insight was the absolute lack of discussion around HIV or AIDs. Given that HIV and AIDs continues to be an epidemic in New Zealand – 2016 saw the highest number of HIV diagnoses in this country ever – it needs to be a core component of safe sex education. There’s an entire generation of young gay New Zealanders who, through gay ‘dating’ apps like Grindr and Tinder, are able to engage in sex; they need to be taught about their bodies and how to protect themselves. The internet, porn, and friends should not be gay New Zealander’s primary source of information about their bodies or understanding their sexual orientation. Primary and Secondary schools should aim to provide youth the ability to lead long, healthy, and sexuallysafe lives; with a national positive, comprehensive, and medically accurate sex education that discusses LGBTQIA+ issues on health and sex, our youth would have a much better chance at a more promising and healthy future. I know that if this had been the case, it certainly would have given me greater confidence to explore sex and my own sexuality.
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A POEM BY JESSICA RAYNER. And you can call this an apology For not writing myself a love letter For rolling a blunt instead of crying And drinking vodka straight from the bottle instead of going to my counselling sessions I’m sorry I guess I just never saw the temple that is my body The holy woman inside of me The sacrament that I am You can call this a love letter To all the parts of me I have placed inside other people I guess I have a bit of a saviour complex Wanting to save everyone except myself I am sorry I’m always trying to seek out other people that I can fix and not realising I am tearing myself apart in the process I want those pieces back How can I expect to be habitable if i am crumbling I want parts of your spine as collateral I never noticed I was giving the best parts of myself away All of my smiles went to someone My trust went to someone else My happiness went to someone I dare not even want to name I don’t want to defile this space with him But I want you to know that I will take my happiness back I will write myself a love letter And the day I do you will hear it. When I write myself a love letter I will get it tattooed onto my skin It’s words outlining all the important parts of myself Like my courage And my strength And my ability to breathe even when my oxygen has been stolen I will develop a saviour complex and save my damn self this time Call this a warning letter Right now I am lying dormant But I promise I will come back to you Taking pieces of your spine and skin and fragments of heart I will put myself back together.
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Anxiety is like an epidemic. Madison Dapcevich on IFLScience states that “1in-10 suffer from anxiety”—as in, more than a million people across the world. And according to Brad Brenner, PhD, between 30 and 60 percent of the individuals who identify as LGBTQIA+ find themselves struggling with “anxiety and depression at some point in their lives.” It’s unfortunate that anxiety is so common, even more so that the majority of them don’t seek treatment. For one, it’s expensive—really expensive—not to mention there’s this stigma that surrounds the need for mental health care like it’s humiliating or makes someone feel weak and inferior. And these are the exact reason why I kept it to myself, why I didn’t look or ask for help. For most of my life—or for all that I can remember of it—the anxiety has been there: this all-consuming presence, distorting my senses, my perceptions, my reality, almost like a phantom. Which, for me, is definitely one way of looking at it: Dictionary.com describes a phantom as “a person or thing of merely illusory power, status, efficacy, etc.: the phantom of fear.”
For so long—too long—I wasn’t so open about my battles with anxiety. Because of that, I didn’t exactly deal with it well. I just let it walk all over me. I don’t know why I did or why, at times, I still do, why I
give it so much power over me, why I let it hold me back from living sometimes—I just do. Whether in social environments or I’m alone, it can take over me. Being around a large group of people, whether it’s a crowded space or in front of an audience, is more daunting than it should—my anxiety makes me think that everyone’s watching me, judging me, thinking horrible thoughts about me. But when I’m by myself, it can creep up on me, making me worry—more than worry—about everything, even something so mundane as catching a bus, which I have done so many times. Although I have lived with it better, I still don’t handle situations in the best of ways. It’s a little easier to interact with others, to stand in a large crowd; a little easier to talk myself into going out—I did go to a Ariana Grande concert; a little easier to calm my nerves, my anxiety, but I won’t lie: it’s still not easy; I still have so many days when I don’t feel fine. I may only be one in a million who struggles with anxiety, and not a lot of the other million may read this, but I think it’s important that I write about it. There’s nothing wrong with struggling with mental health—it doesn’t mean you’re weak or inferior; it just means you’re human. I know—you hear that a lot, but it’s true. Living with anxiety isn’t easy—it’s far from easy—and all we can do is to live the best way we can. { 20
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GETTING YOUR HEART BROKEN FUCKING SUCKS. MAC & CHEESE. I was sitting in the driver’s seat, parked behind an old Camry at the McDonald’s drive thru, about to order what was probably my 4th Big Mac and McFlurry of the week. I had a bad day, but I’d been having a lot of those recently according to my best friend. It has been like that for weeks since I broke up with my ex. My work became sloppy, my ex kept posting photos of him and his new boyfriend, my social life was as sad as anyone’s luck at the plush toy claw machine, and my clothes were growing tight for my body. I was devastated that my ex, who I dated for two years, cheated on and dumped me. You must be wondering how he dumped me before I could. I wanted to give him another chance. I loved him, or so I thought. Don’t roll your eyes at me, I was only 18. Last night was horrible. I went on a first date with a guy I matched with on Tinder. He was tall, decent-looking, and seemed nice from our texts. “Seemed nice” was clearly an overstatement. As I approached him, he took one look at me and suddenly looked uncomfortable. I was confused, but tried to make conversation. He avoided eye contact and had short answers. I asked him, “What’s wrong? Did I do something? You can be honest with me” and he replied with “Oh, it’s just that... you look thinner in your pics”. To me, that was the end of the date. I was offended, and left him halfway through the entrée. I know you might think there was nothing wrong with what he
said. Everyone’s entitled to their preferences. It might have been immature of me, but I was only 19. This was the worst week of my life. I failed my midterm, spent all my savings on getting my car fixed, and I got stood up. I met him at a friend’s party last week. He was too drunk to get himself home, so I offered to drive him home, and ended up staying the night. We chatted and got along. Some days later, he asked me out on a coffee date. Up until the date, he buttered me with compliments, made me laugh, and tried to cheer me up from the bad week I was having. Finally, the day of the date arrived, and I was on time at the café for our date. Half an hour later, he still didn’t show up. I texted him to ask where he was. He replied, “Be there in a couple mins”, and blocked me the next second. I was clouded with confusion, anger and frustration, and I took it out on my friends that whole week. Don’t judge me, I was only 20. How did I ever fall for that lying cheat? I knew something was wrong when he wanted to ask me out. Have you ever dated someone you felt was too hot for you? It was a wet Friday night, like most Auckland nights. Three tequila shots in, I was dancing to Whitney’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” with my friends. I went to get another shot, but the bartender ran out of shot glasses, so he ran to the back. While waiting for him, this guy next to me starts talking to me. I couldn’t remember how he looked as I was
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about to down my 4th shot, but I got his number, and the next thing I could remember was a date set for next week. He was probably the hottest man I’d ever seen. Tall, dark, dropdead gorgeous, muscular and dating me? I couldn’t digest it. Something felt off, but I tried to ignore it and play along. A month later, when the Easter holidays came around, he told me he
was going out South to see his parents. How sweet. Maybe hot guys aren’t bad at all. He’s been so nice to me, and he’s so thoughtful. On Easter day, I bought some expensive chocolates to surprise him with when he comes back. I went to his place to drop them off, but his flatmate said he was actually home. Surprised, I walked to his room, only to find him and another guy in bed together. I stormed out of there, threw the chocolates out, and drove away in tears. Men can cry too. I was 21 then.
I may have had an unlucky streak with love, but that’s life. I’ve always carried some fear into my next venture when I think about what happened before. It can be discouraging. But my advice? Don’t look for love. Let it come to you. In the meanwhile, just enjoy life and focus on your goals. Falling in love when you’re young is always special, and it hurts when it doesn’t work out, but you can grow and learn from your mistakes. You discover different personalities while working on your own. I’m 22 now, and still easily fall head over heels over guys who walk past me at work (you can’t blame me!) but I’ve grown more cautious with every experience, and also grown more as a person. Getting your heart broken fucking sucks, but you’ll get through this. I did.
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MENSTRUAL CUPS JENNIFER DARUWALLA
In light of the recent events with the cruel, uncalled-for and unfair censorship of University of Otago’s Critic Magazine, I’m going to be writing about, you guessed it; periods. The ultimate boogie monster. When it’s that time of the month, it isn’t uncommon for shit to get rough. I spent most of my teenage years wearing sanitary napkins and the occasional tampon. I disliked both of them. Immensely. Despite changing every 4-6 hours, sanitary napkins felt gross - the buildup of blood and sweat was always a recipe for disaster, and I’d end up with a some sort of nappy rash. I shudder at the very memory of it. Eugh. Tampons, similarly, also felt gross. I only wore them when playing footie or going swimming, but I’d always be fully aware that there was just something...up there. I was always hell-bent on sticking to my usual sports and activities - even swimming when I was on my period. I never wanted to be that person who used their period as an excuse. Over the years, I’ve learnt to say “hey, it’s okay - you’re allowed to feel like crap when you’re on your period. You’re allowed to take a step back, relax, and not be so hard on yourself.” It took a little while to be comfortable with having my period (just, like, 10 years) but eventually, I got there. And look at me now, ma! I’m writing
articles about periods! But let's talk about something that I found strength in. Something small, something mighty, something magical. After years of going through the absolute hell that was shark week, I found solace in one little product. The magical menstrual cup. I had seen these all over the internet. I thought it was the weirdest thing. A cup? In your vagina? How? Why? ...where? All of these questions swam around in my mind. I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand how menstrual cups worked. I mean, I didn’t even know I had that much space in there. A menstrual cup, with the proper care, will last you for years*. This article is not sponsored by any menstrual cup brands (I do wish though), but I’m going to run you through how to use them, how to clean them, and my first experience with the menstrual cup. *This timeframe will vary depending on the brand of cup you buy. One thing is for sure, though - if you begin to see any discolouration, change in texture or smell, it’s time to buy a new cup.
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How To Insert a Menstrual Cup There are many ways you can insert a menstrual cup, but I’m going to go over the 3 main ways I’ve tried inserting my cup. I think that this is best done in the shower so that you can squat down to really get in there, but you can also do it over a toilet. I’ve also come up with some cute-ass names to help you remember what is what.
The Taco Also known as the “C” fold.
The Tulip Also known as the “punchdown” fold.
The 7-Up Also known as the “7” fold.
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How To Clean a Menstrual Cup Google will recommend that you buy brandaffiliated soaps or washing tablets, but a good sanitisation boil does the trick. Granted, those things are great for cleaning menstrual cups, but I’m a stressed, busy and broke bitch. I ain’t got time for that. After washing your menstrual cup to get rid of any blood, boil it in water for 8-10 minutes, keeping a close eye on your cup. And by close eye, I don’t mean walk away and grab a snack from the fridge, I mean stay right next to the pot and top it up with water if need be. I ruined my first menstrual cup. How? I burnt it. Why? Because I walked away to grab a snack from the fridge. So, do as I say, don’t do as I do.
My First Menstrual Cup Experience I will never forget the first time I tried to insert my menstrual cup. I was on the phone with my best friend (if you’re reading this, hey, Jas!), standing with one leg up on a table. I had tried squatting, inserting it while seated over the toilet, but I just couldn’t seem to get it in comfortably. Eventually, after tonnes of Google searches and trying to relax my muscles, I (fucking finally) managed to find a fold that worked for me - the Tulip. All the while, Jas was giggling at the occasional “HNNNG!” and “GAH!” I’d let out. It was definitely not easy, but it took some getting used to, and now I can slide it in and out in a matter of seconds. The important part is to not force it - when you are relaxed, mentally and physically, then you should be able to insert and remove your menstrual cup with ease. Don’t hurt yourself! Now, I’m not going to lie. Menstrual cups are not cheap. But they are an investment. In the long run, they are most definitely cheaper than using pads and tampons. And have I mentioned that they’re more environmentally friendly? Yeah. Now you can own your period AND be eco-friendly. Fuck yeah.
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DEMI LOVATO’S MENTAL HEALTH ACTIVISM LUKE PARKES.
The first time I heard that Demi Lovato was providing free mental health services to those who buy tickets to her Tell Me You Love Me tour, I couldn’t help but love, respect, and admire her more than I already did.
this, she is continuing her goal that she vocalised on National Children’s Mental Health Awareness Day: the importance of young people seeking help for their mental health struggles without feeling ashamed.
Throughout her career, Demi Lovato has been vocal about mental health, even sharing her own personal struggles. In this way, she connects with her Lovatics (as she refers to her fans) on a much deeper level, whether she shares it via her music, documentaries, or speeches at mental health events.
With a whole lot of her fan-base being LGBTQIA+, and with the high chance of us struggling with mental health is high, it definitely benefits our community. It’s encouraging to see that she has also been incredibly vocal for human rights, asserting the importance of equality, and she has been a representative of the Human Rights Campaign.
And like I mentioned, she has opened up about her own struggle via deeply personal music. In Skyscraper and Warrior, she sings about how she has come out of past struggles feeling stronger. Old Ways is about refusing to fall back into her old habits. More recently, she has revealed that after six years, she has broken her sobriety through Sober, a beautiful, heartwrenching ballad with a simple, stripped-back production.
I think that Demi Lovato has inspired more famous people to open up about their own mental health struggles. Which includes Britney Spears, who has more recently shared a little of her feelings about her personal struggles; Selena Gomez, who has spoken up about her high-level anxiety alongside her battle with Lupus; and Kesha, who disclosed how the effects of being assaulted included an eating disorder, anxiety, and depression.
In the past, she has been an advocate for mental health. She has won awards, such as one at an event on National Children’s Mental Health Awareness Day, where she said that it was her mission to spread the importance of it being okay to seek help for those who battle with their mental health.
With more and more celebrities speaking out, it really promotes the importance of self-care, and I see it as helping to challenge the stigma around mental health. I love everything that Demi Lovato stands for, and I believe we need more people like her, people who use their platform to make a difference, to spread the For her Tell Me You Love Me tour, she has message that it’s okay to seek out professional provided free counselling sessions for anyone help when you’re struggling with mental health, who has bought a ticket to a show. Through that it’s normal, that it’s a human thing to do.
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MY PSYCHOSIS. ARTWORK & WRITTEN PIECE BY JAS Yasin. It starts with a biting touch that does not scar, one touch by an unseen hand dragging its claw-like fingers though her hair, raking it back. Its skin was rough, its nails long. She groaned through her night-time wails and covered her head with her pillow, willing it to go away and begging it through chapped, scabbed lips to vanish once more – but of course, it could not. It continued stroking her long, dark hair as if the pummelled pillow were not there, the tip of its talons scraping against the skin of her skull. Another hand would then come, this time caressing her cheek, then another reaching out from the unknown and rubbing its sandpapery finger against her jawbone. The monstrous hands have reappeared from the netherworld. She could not remember a time before the spectral hands. She could not remember a time of peace. She could not remember a time before her numbing paranoia, when the shadows out her window did not move and there were no one stalking her, watching her, detailing her every move and sprinkling crushed glass into her every meal and snack. She wandered around life believing she was bleeding out on the inside, her heart harrowed with the horror of her distorted reality, her
thoughts dazed as though she was in a dream, a nightmare, and sometimes she believed she was. Oftentimes she simply trusted she was already dead. This was her hell. She revels in the time before the voices. It seems as though her illness keeps evolving, the effect of her pills melting down to almost nothing as her psychosis grows around their chemical magic, finding novel ways to torment the tortured youngster. They could not touch her before. Now, she feels their hands cold against her cheek. She feels their hands wrapped around her neck. She scratched until she drew blood, trying to rid the dirty feeling. They did not speak to her before. Now, she hears them every night and day, their raucous laughter and vicious hisses boring into her, their malicious scripts spiteful. They could not read her mind before. Now, her thoughts are bland and lifeless, barely existent, and underneath the scratched surface all that lay stagnant in her mind was her suffering. For now, she suffers. Phantom hands to rival the phantom voices that plagued her when the moon hung high and her pills ran low. She was careless to have let it back. { 29
Thank you to our contributors. Follow us for more shenanigans. Luke ParkeS Jas Yasin
// @lukiep96 // @jxsjxsxo & @muminmun
Ruby ClaveY
// @rubyclavey
Jess Rayner
// @jessicas_spoken_words & @poetmomjess
Blair Speakman // @sirgagaxox Jennifer Daruwalla // @jennifermdaruwalla & @jmd.png
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THE OUTLET. YOUR VOICE. YOUR OUTLET.
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