Draft Of An Email Never To Be Sent

I started writing an email to my mother the other day. I have been having these thoughts about work and money and life and wanted to get them down. As often happens with writing, when it rains it pours, and I poured my heart out. Some of it is specifically aimed at things I've talked about with her, but much of it is simply an exploration of anti-capitalist thought and of my life experience. I don't claim a political label, but everything I've learned to name, I've learned from people who didn't have the privileged of being raised in (messy) simulation of White America's Dream. 

In many ways this message is at schoolmates - from boarding high school and from college. Folks who walked the corridors of old institutions built when white america was a different character and when whiteness was more secure - or at least what's what I've been told by white people. 

--

There has always been this expectation, whether inferred, implied, or unconscious, that I do something great with my life. (of course great is subjective but that's allowed in this expectation, it just must be great by some standard) Being raised on dreams of 'you can be whatever you want' and 'go out and make the world a better place' - the people in my life from 0-20 taught me that I needed to do something. To start a company, to find a professional job, to DO something to be proud of. 

This is what I find toxic about capitalism today.

Drunken Admissions

I don't like my body. I have never liked my body. I am still shocked that some people see it as desirable even. I made major life decisions around my changing my body. I injured myself because I wanted to change my body. The kind of injury that will never heal. The kind of injury that only happens with recklessness or negligence. The kind of injury that I could have prevented, if I didn't feel the need to have a different body. 

I have a square chest and broad shoulders, a thick neck and big head/hands/feet, but short legs. I am built like a bulldog in many respects. I have never been in a fight in my life, but only because I could easily scare people. I hated this. I took steps to change my body. I forced myself to masochistically enjoy being going without food. I got hooked on cigarettes. I refused to exercise. I hoped that forcing myself to become thin would help. I wanted a body that I could love. I lost weight, a lot of it. It hasn't changed much.

I still long for a body i can love. 

I know I won't get it. 

I'm trying to love this body. 

It deserves love right? 

The same body that has hurt, has harmed, has humiliated, has been hurt, has been harmed, has been humiliated, is worthy of love. Maybe not from anyone else. But from me. If I can't love the only thing that is truly mine, can i really love at all?

The First Buds of Spring

Although i don't feel like there is hope for me. I will keep going. Even though looking forward is super hard and most days i just want to curl up in a ball and hide, I will keep going.

My Truth

Rehab is a wake up call. It is a promise and secret.
the promise to face the pain and despair and stigma
the secret that was stored away in a jar in your heart

Angst

fuck today.

I want to change my name.

I want to change my body.

I want to start over.

I want to feel like there is something left to discover.

I want to feel like there is something I could do.

I want to feel like life is worth living.

I don't do any of these.

I can't.



Fuck today.

I should shower.

I should brush my teeth.

I should clean my house.

I should apply for another job.

I should go for a walk outside.

I should make some food.

I should get help.

I don't do any of these.

I can't



Fuck today

I need to get help.

I need to find a job.

I need to help others.

Trying to Stay Woke

Some days I really think I need help.

Other days I think I need to help.

I can't let my mind wander without it wandering back to that ultimate thought.

The last thought I will ever have.

My survival depends on knowing it is there, but avoiding it.

So my survival depends on not letting my mind wander.

But my life depends on my wandering mind.

Without that, who am I?

...

Connecting with My Self

My ancestors mean a lot to me. They have always meant a lot to me. I feel them with me in my dreams and in my blood and in my heart. In some ways they have always been a source of pain, in other ways they have been a source of love, of knowing, of seeing. Ogsie taught me pain and he taught me pride. Babka taught me grace and taught me compassion. My grandpa taught me selflessness and he taught me humility. My grandma taught me the power of faith and taught me that our family is all we have, even when it's hard to be around them. The lessons I learned from them were just the start though, connecting to the past both in books and in my body has shown me a path towards inner peace.

I am writing this on the eve of my birthday, on the eve of completing my 22nd year on this planet. In my lifetime, the world has changed so drastically that my disorientation is all too common. Just, ask anyone who grew up alongside the internet. It's freaking weird.