calm down

When my mother was dying from cancer in 2008, my dad told me that there were 22 others living on Trailwood Avenue who were positive for some type of cancer concurrently. “There’s a lawsuit,” I told my dad. We were driving and it was warm outside and the air smells like Central California does in the Fall. Fog, basically.  There is no mystery that most probably embedded land subdivisions were watered by wells driven by the local growers and irrigation seepage will occur. Their water is screwed, no less. Now more than ever with the heat that will not stop and wells are drying. People are stealing their neighbor’s water in California.

My mother died in ’08 and my only sibling died from cancer at 53 years old in ’12 (also in November).

And so at my age, I have superseded the mortality for both, my biofamily and that of the <25 year early morbidity for people living with an SPMI who have received continuous US Community Public Mental Health services for at least 25 -30 years.

Which is worse? Cancer or the US Public Community Mental Health System? I’m laughing because I’m really not joking.

This writing’s intent is to at least touch upon the notion of how disease, chronic illnesses and malhealth – when not self-managed or self-cared for – will manifest physically and you will die sooner than later, probably.

Things to practice then:

  • Mindfulness.
  • Intentionality.
  • Carefully discerning that which takes your concern(s).
  • Be Kind to yourself and to others.
  • Love.
  • Be loved.
  • Adore.
  • Be adored.
  • Get that energy of others that is hurtful away from you.
  • Work your body out.
  • Practice Releasing.
  • Live gentler.
  • Walk with all of your senses as often as you can.
  • Get REM Sleep.
  • It’s okay to let yourself dream.
  • Walk in water.
  • Talk with your best friend.
  • Live.
  • Breathe.
  • Learn.
  • Teach.
  • The day is short. The night is shorter. Mind your time.
  • Harm no others.
  • Protect yourself and what’s yours.
  • Run. Run. Run.
  • Strength.
  • Power.
  • Know that you are immortal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

White Privilege Systemic Eradication of the Other

clouds overhead in atlanta sept 1 - Copy

I missed my trauma therapy appointment for the 3rd week in a row today and it’s showing through the cracks of my face, my hands, my mouth, my eyes, my voice… is cracking.

My primary diagnosis nowadays is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and so I wondered that my experienced childhood trauma has been exceeded by the adult trauma experienced living in the US as an out Gender Queer, polarized and profiled resistant, non risk averse woman of color raised on Queer Nation, ACT UP and fuck you bitch, stand beside me or step the fuck aside in yo face since my 20s.

Systemic White Privileged oppression, abuses, discrimination and hatefulness toward eradicating otherness based on race, culture, gender identity and/or presentation, color of skin and reversed discrimination of fair skinned people in a predominantly Black region (Atlanta, Georgia) pisses me off. It pisses me the fuck off, actually.

I often tell people that No, I do not believe in the premise and inherently false US Community Public Mental Health System, nor will I admit Mental Illness exists. The disease versus pussy recovery oriented system of care is the very basis of my work around behavioral health integration, mental diversity, substance use, isolationist first responder mobile crisis intervention (MH/SA) and finally, how I categorically espouse for  US Peer Workforce.

The hate I feel towards me when I walk into a predominantly white or BLACK environment in Atlanta is so thick, I can cut it with a brand new X-Acto Blade and leave marks, cuts of blood so deep it won’t bleed.

I listen to “Penthouse Floor” a lot and will rebel yell Resist, Fight, Fuck You in your face with my co-horts but to be reversed discriminated against because of my Queerness and because I’m not Black puts me into a position of being hated, feared, dismissed. My education, class, verbal upper class White Yankee, nay, Surfer Dude confuses, I admit.

We either work together against the real scourge of hate in 2017 or we don’t.

You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, either.

I dare you to walk your talk. Be transparent. Authentic. Speak your truth.

It’s now or never.

Step up or step aside.

piano solo

“Give me the simple life…”

I must learn how to live again.

My surroundings meld to gray. Ignore the brilliance of the oranges, the reds, purple, tallowed yellows. They do not exist any longer. May my visual acuity turn bland.

Let my energy focus on turning off life force. I must not linger, too long, over music, my love, my Beloved. They cannot breathe where they used to prevent rain.

The rain outside seeping in and whimpering now where it used to be full-on blue rain no longer. No longer. The sumptuousness of the wet and her smell of the rain no longer exists.

Since the moment of bliss, the thrilling kiss, heaven has shut her door on me for romance on the menu. There is no longer the slide slide slide pushiness of sex to wound through afternoons. That part of me is dead.

Day in. Day out.

Gershwin’s horns and the strings meeting at crescendo mean nothing to me anymore.

It came out of my mouth quickly and without thinking yesterday and it was the opening of a door, “Mary is dead…” and my friend and I both were frozen, grimacing and nodding.

I will promise you nothing and promise myself everything for now on.

The next three months are an end of a season.

I will, I must make the lap to Christmas Eve. Marker

Hello to a death march of trudgery, of plannedness, for wellness to persevere, to a life where nothing at all else marks me, ever again. Never again. Never again. She has killed me already many deaths daily, night sweating into obliviousness, holding on for footing.

The pain and the harm experienced is grievous. Were I to hold unlimited capital, I would correct the crime breaking another’s Beloved heart, but I instead do not.

That I lack a tribe, a community, a family, a prompter, I task, now.

 

 

Race Relations 101

My voice is silent today. I listen and I discern on the next right steps to take.

I was in The Respect Institute of Georgia from Monday through yesterday.

Graduation is today.

Sitting in this place, then, I give you a poem by a favorite poet Laureate, Mary Oliver:

After Her Death

I am trying to find the lesson
for tomorrow. Matthew something.
Which lectionary? I have not
forgotten the Way, but, a little,
the way to the Way. The trees keep whispering
peace, peace, and the birds
in the shallows are full of the
bodies of small fish and are
content. They open their wings
so easily, and fly. It is still
possible.

I open the book
which the strange, difficult, beautiful church
has given me. To Matthew. Anywhere.

by Mary Oliver

underwater filmica

Since the Presidential Elections, I’ve been in hiding.

It feels as though I’ll be shot in the back or on my knees me watching the gun against my head go off and that’s all I have ever written, baby girl.

To overcompensate (because I share biomarking familial lineage of OCD), my step counting is near perfection. Steps are great for training because I love to count by 2’s on stairs and bleachers, solving for 3x.

At home, when I’m home, I have images everywhere. My art. All of it. I match my energy with flash thrillers faded b/w noir or noir green (e.g., Matrix) or di rigeur blues and blacks (e.g., FX) on screens I have (e.g., TV, iPad, iPhone, tablet). I have multiple accounts for televideo social media and have networked myself to a stand-alone server to handle my down and uploading.

My current Top 3 Distractions which I recommend to others experiencing depression and/or despair post Hitler(2)’s election for the next four (4) years are as follows and not necessarily in this order:

Create a website or blog at WordPress.com

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: