Nothing worth doing is completed in our lifetime; therefore, we are saved by hope. Nothing true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore, we are saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.
– Reinhold Niebuhr
I don’t know how comfortable I am calling myself a Christian anymore. That’s…
Everyone has all these drastic stories of direct abuse to tell, but my experience is so much more subtle than that I find it hard to put it into writing. It’s not like anyone ever says anything nasty to me about my depression and anxiety. When I’ve told my supervisors and others they smiled and nodded like I was making empty conversation about the weather. They never engage with it. They never even really look me in the eye. I just want someone to go “oh that sounds hard”, or “is there anything we can do”, but they never do. They just smile and nod vacantly and I bottle it and move the conversation onto something that will enliven them. It’s like at those moments, I don’t exist. My mental illness doesn’t exist. It’s not a thing worthy of recognition in those spaces. I keep trying to come out but no-one will even let me. And I think I’d rather choose to be invisible than be made to be, you know? Like, I think I’d rather not tell anyone, than tell people and have them not hear me anyway.
I once told my former advisor that I basically had a post-comprehensive exam mental breakdown and I don’t think he said a damn thing in response.
— Daniel José Older - "Diversity is Not Enough: Race, Power, Publishing"