Trump, Warren, and the Dehumanization of Native Women

I’m incredibly busy with fast approaching deadlines and article pitches, but I wanted to share one of my recently published articles that I’m immensely proud.

I spent countless hours on the research, writing, and editing process. My PTSD was triggered throughout this piece and I was constantly in fear that I would let my ancestors, Indigenous women, and people down by the work that I produced. Through the help of many amazing friends and an incredible editor (I now know why writers thank their Editors) Kelley Calkins, I made it through the other side. I was honored with the privilege to interview Madonna Thunder Hawk and Rebecca Nagle for which I will always be humbled and thankful.

With that said, I give you Trump, Warren, and the Dehumanization of Native Women

http://www.theestablishment.co/2016/08/08/trump-warren-and-the-dehumanization-of-native-women/

Advertisements

Fuck this privilege!

I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately much of which I’ve been submitting for publication. To my surprise my writing has been well received. I’ve already had 4 stories picked up out of the very few submissions I’ve sent out. Granted, I’m not being paid very much at all, but still, I haven’t been at this even a month and if I were to take a guess at the amount of pitches and completed stories I’ve sent out versus what’s been bought thus far I’d say I’m 70/30 in my favor right now. I’m also sending out some of my poetry which I don’t have high hopes for being published, let alone being paid for, but the fact that my voice and the communities I represent are valued so much that I’m being paid for any of my writing at all is awe inspiring and the fuel to the fire that I’ve really needed to keep me going in this dumpster fire of a life I’ve been living.

With all of that said though I am seriously enraged that it took 5 1/2 years of undergraduate and 3 years of graduate education for my voice to be important. That was $250,000 worth of student loan debt. Thankfully, I say ironically, because of my debilitating disability my federal student loan debt has been wiped away now. However, my private student loan debt is forever there until the federal government decides in their infinite wisdom to get off their asses and give private student loan debt relief to those of us who need it-unlike those motherfucking asshole banker dickheads they gave that shyte to. In the meantime there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it. The mafia would be kinder in their interest rates and payment plans than these motherfucking private student loan lenders. Yet it took all of that education and debt for my voice to matter. Without it I highly doubt anyone would have taken me seriously. Scratch that. I can say with absolute certainty no one would have taken me seriously. As a Tsalagi (Cherokee)-member of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, Bisexual, Disabled, Poor Woman I had to work 1,000 times harder than every white, able bodied, straight, American, woman, and man I encountered. That sadly even includes some  Gay men, Lesbians, and other People Of Color because of the Biphobia and Colonialism that we Bisexuals and Natives experience at the hands of Gay men, Lesbians, and other People Of Color is fucking intense and holds us down at all turns. I’ve lost out on jobs and have been denied healthcare because I’m Bi, Disabled, and Native and it hasn’t always been white, able bodied, and het people doing the discriminating. I guess my long winded point is that education is a right for one and all, not a privilege and not one that should weigh down and ruin our futures.

 

I was also thinking earlier about the oppressions and privileges I’ve had throughout my life from childhood until now. One of those privileges as a child was that while I didn’t grow up with an “educated” family with money who could guide me through my higher education and career, I also never had to worry about being evicted from our home, where we’d sleep next, the lights going out, or going to bed hungry. That’s some fucked up shit right there! Those aren’t privileges, those are basic, bare bones human rights! What kind of a fucked up, oppressive, hate fueled, capitalistic world do we live in that a child of abuse who has grown up to be a Native, Bi, Disabled, Poor Woman who’s legally homeless, living below the poverty line, and has spent almost her entire life being abused and yet she can  say she’s “privileged” because she didn’t go to bed hungry at night as a child? Seriously? This is the best we can do in the so called “land of the free?” This is it? The land of milk and honey where Trump and Hillary are our saviors to right the wrongs that so many of us suffer from? That’s some just fucking straight up laughable shit!

I say this as someone who worked for roughly a decade in liberal, mainstream (white) Feminist, and Democratic Party politics. By 2014 I was on my way to being a so called party insider, but I had seen and experienced too much. The racism, colonialism, sexism, ableism, saneism, ageism, elitism, bi/trans/homophobia, and so much more that I experienced first hand or saw others experience working in that environment was too much. I couldn’t keep going in that world. I left for a reason. Once upon a time, even though I ultimately felt that the system should be torn apart and built anew by those of us who have been oppressed by it, I still thought some good could come from working in it. A decade later and I knew different. I didn’t become this far left Radical out of nowhere. My revolutionary beliefs didn’t spring up overnight.

Sadly, we’re (currently) stuck with this colonizing, hate mongering system that has me thinking about how I was privileged to not go to bed hungry as a child, but it doesn’t always have to be this way. We can change this system. It won’t come through Trump, Hillary, Jill Stein, or any other white, able bodied, hetero, wealthy, cisgendered, American, colonizer or settler privileged, status quo candidate. Change comes with us standing up and challenging this corrupt system now! Remember this when you get beaten down and worn down by the system: Privilege isn’t having $250k in student loan debt so maybe people will take you seriously! And Privilege isn’t going to bed hungry!

 

Erasure, Hatred, & Data for the Masses/But We Live On

I’ve finally begun pursuing publication for my writing and lo and behold I’m actually finding success. I’ve already had one article published on Autostraddle and am currently working on another for The Establishment. Yay for finally getting off my (disabled) ass and sending my work around! Really it’s that I now have enough stamina to work for a couple of hours most days hence why I’m now able to pursue my dreams of being a published author. It is rather overwhelming though on many fronts. Presently, my current writing project is really draining me psychically, emotionally, and physically.

Without giving away the details of the article I’m writing I’ll just say that I’m digging into a lot of very heavy data on violence against Native women in the US. Most of it isn’t new to me. I’ve read, and shared publicly many times, the studies and statistics. I don’t know a single Indigenous woman that hasn’t suffered multiple forms of violence throughout the course of her life, usually at the hands of a white man. I’m no exception to this. Most sexual assault is intraracial-the predator is the same race as the victim-but we Natives are the exception. Even our men have horrifically high rates of sexual abuse and it’s also predominantly interracial. This should come as no surprise given our history of boarding school abuses and the current abuses our children, women, and men suffer in the foster care and criminal injustice systems.

In the last hour alone I’ve read that more than 1 million  Native women have experienced sexual violence in our lifetime. According to the 2015 US census we only comprise 5.4 million of the total US population. This is including those that self-identified as mixed race and Native. While I don’t believe blood quantum and tribal enrollment are the signs of a true Native (these are the tools of the colonizer after all), but there aren’t 5.4 million federally enrolled tribal members in the US. According to the National Congress of the American Indian we comprise 2.9 million, 0r .9%, of the total US population. If we’re only 2.9 million people and more than 1 million of our women have been victims of sexual violence that basically means that almost all Indigenous women in the US have been assaulted in some fashion at least once in our lifetimes. From what I’ve experienced and the stories I’ve heard, from many Native women, one time in a YEAR is a miracle. If you’re Two Spirit, Queer, Bi, or a Disabled Native woman then your likelihood and occurrences of abuse only increase.

I’ve had to sit for days with this heavy data and the extremely hateful and racist rhetoric of some of our Amerikkkan leaders and try to dissect it in a way that is intelligent, understandable, and gives a heartfelt and impassioned cry to the overwhelming non-Native readers that will see this article so they will hopefully get off their privileged settler asses and be our allies and fight for our rights. Needless to say, it’s eating at me. Last night I went to the anti-police brutality march in Roxbury, MA in solidarity for the Black lives that are being slaughtered by the police, but I also used it as my PTSD wellness break from my work. It says a lot about the state of Amerikkka when a Disabled, Bi, Native woman with chronic pain who can’t stand for long or walk great distances and feels panicky in crowds and near the police goes to a protest and march that has 1,000 plus people and is littered with police so she can get a break from her research. But hey, it’s the land of the free, right?

I can understand how it would be easy for many in America, and abroad, to write off some of what I’ll bring up in my soon-to-be published article. It’s easy to brush aside the hateful and ignorant comments of some people because they behave like jackasses so why would anyone take them seriously? But the thing is, when it comes to us Natives, people do take them seriously and it’s never just one jackass in the spotlight. It’s Victoria’s Secret hypersexualizing Native women and culturally appropriating war bonnets which are sacred to some Plains’ tribes. It’s the white hipsters at music festivals that also wear headdresses or Pharrell Williams, a Black man, who posed with a headdress for British Elle. It’s the Colonial Bros and Nava-hos frat party. It’s me as the only Native in a room full of so called Massachusetts’ progressives who repeatedly ironically ask “You’re Indian? That’s so neat! Will you speak at my child’s school for Thanksgiving?” Meanwhile, I’m Tsalagi. That’s Cherokee to you colonizers. I’m a member of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma. When the pilgrims came, my people were in the Southeast nowhere near present day Massachusetts. It’s the Wampanoags that had to deal with those British wankers.

It’s me at the Boston LGBT health center with me feet literally in stirrups waiting for my Woman Of Color (WOC) doctor to replace my IUD, which I’ve already told her is incredibly painful, and she asks me “So your last name, are you Native American?” It’s the resident at my chronic pain management clinic, who I assume is Southeast Asian, asking me as I’m writhing in pain on the table after having several very large needles stuck in my spine “So you’re Native American? What tribe are you? Tell me all about it!” as if it’s any of his business, my job to teach him my history, or that he’s not taking advantage of his power in that situation and making me feel unsafe, and that it wouldn’t cause him pain and rage when people force their racist and colonizing microaggressions upon him.

And the one that’s really sticking in my craw right now is this: It’s me on a date with a white man who calls me “exoctic” and “Pocahontas” without the slightest irony that he’s the exoctic one because this is our land and that the story of Pocahontas as he knows her is a myth. Pocahontas’ real name was Matoaka. She was approximately 10-12 years old when she had the misfortune of encountering John Smith. She was soon taken captive by the British and “married” to John Rolfe, forced into Christianity, and then dragged across the Atlantic to England where she was paraded around as the so called noble savage until she died at the age of 22. Despite all of this I’m supposed to be turned on, bat my pretty exoctic eyelashes, and be ready to open my red legs when some asshole, racist, colonizing, misogynistic, rape culture loving white man calls me “Pocahontas.”

I could really go on for months, possibly years, about all of this because sadly our abuse and injustices run that deep, but despite all of the colonizer’s best attempts to wipe us out, we’re still here. I’m still here. I, a Bisexual, Disabled, Poor, Fat, Native Woman am still here. We’re hurting, and I’m most definitely hurting, but we’re still here. I may need a lot of PTSD breaks and I may not produce the same amount of work as the colonizer does, but I’ll keep writing. I live on through my ancestors. Our voices are strong and we will be heard. I will be heard.

 

Finger on the Pulse

49 dead 
53 injured 
Countless souls in tatters 

It's the Muslims!
It's the crazies!
It's the homophobes!
It's the automatic guns!
It's the man not the gun!
It's the Christian Right! 

This was the largest mass shooting in American history
Correction:
This was the largest mass shooting with a semi-automatic gun

A nation born in blood 
The blood of Native and Black people
A nation built on the blood of 
Latin@, Asian, and Middle Eastern people 
will continue to 
run red 
with the blood 
of the 
Oppressed 

In a nation where we give out 
guns 
like candy on Halloween 
In a nation where we 
slaughter
W/POC
and 
Queer people 
like they're nothing but flies 
fucking up white, het folks
sunny day picnic @ the park 
Should we really be surprised? 
In the grand scheme of things
49 
is a minor blip 
on the US 
death tally 

49 dead 
53 injured 
Countless souls in tatters 

He was a closet case! 
The hets scream 
loud enough 
to further drown out 
the queer cries 
only to assuage their 
hetero guilt and complacency

This attack was motivated by homophobia 
they say condescendingly 
Yes, yes it was
But it was Latin night
And I assure you 
there were 
Bi and Trans folks
up in that club
Erasing their existence and struggle 
is a 
Slap in the face 
to all who suffer from 
Racism
Biphobia
and 
Transphobia

49 dead
53 injured 
Countless souls in tatters 

He was crazy!
Mental illness is the real culprit!
More than 1/2 of all gun deaths are suicide
1/2 of 1% of gun deaths are mass shootings
Those with mental illness 
are more likely to hurt 
themselves 
or be 
hurt by others 
Orlando is proof of that
Even the faux revolutionary 
Bernie
likes to get in on the fun 
claiming 
he'd 
ban gun sales 
to the mentally ill 
as if we're the 
pro-blem

49 dead 
53 injured 
Countless souls in tatters

We need blood!
Give blood!
But not a queer man's blood
But it's those 
Muslims
that are homophobic

Prayers! Prayers! Prayers!
Get 'em right here!
Plenty of empty 
right wing 
well wishes to go around 
w/ your side of 
free chick fil-a
queer bashing nuggets
to munch on 
during one more 
meaningless 
moment of silence
b/c 
we care

49 dead 
53 injured 
Countless souls in tatters 

Automatic weapons are the problem! 
It's the damn NRA! 
Gun control now! 
Since 1966 
There have been 
869
victims 
of mass shootings
in America
(excluding gang shootings because Mother Jones doesn't care about black and brown bodies) 
All of the shooters
minus 3
were men

Something smells foul in America
& it's the 
toxic masculinity factory 
spewing it's poison 
telling our boys & men 
that in order to 
prove their manhood
their worth
they better come 
locked & loaded 
w/ 
guns a blazin' 
or they're just another 
fag

49 dead
53 injured 
Countless souls in tatters

ISIS! 
Hezbollah! 
al-Qaeda!
Bomb them all! 
Because if 12,000 + airstrikes 
hasn't worked yet
What's one more? 

Fight them there so we don't have to fight them here 
goes the US imperialistic 
blood lust logic 

"I appreciate the congrats on being right"
he smugly tweeted out
from the comfort of the 
ivory, trump tower
Surveil the mosques
And ban the Muslims
Ignore the Christians though
as we all KKKnow 
there's never been an act of 
terrorism 
committed by a 
Christian

49 dead
53 injured
Countless souls in tatters

Patience, everyone
there's plenty of 
Blame 
to go around and 
time to prove that 
no one 
has their 
finger 
on 
the 
Pulse 


*I've included hyperlinks throughout this piece to the sources I used for data.

 

Advice Needed

I need some serious advice. I just found out that my roommate has been charging me $175 more a month for the rent. Our rooms are the same size. We both pay half the utilities and oil bills. I don’t use any of his belongings. He does NONE of the cleaning. This property is falling apart and is so unsafe that I’ve hurt myself two times because of my landlord’s negligence and my roommate won’t do anything about it or allow me to. There’s also no lease so that’s not even an excuse he could use as the only person on the lease.

$175 isn’t much for many people, but it’s a great deal for me. It means the difference between going without enough food, and healthy food at that, and having my diabetes become worse and putting me that much closer to blindness, losing limbs, kidney failure, and heart disease. Two of those are already issues in my family. It’s the difference between me having enough money for the T, The Ride, and cabs so I can get places I need to go. I’ve missed doctors’ appointments because I didn’t have enough money to get their or the physical energy to take the T. It means being able to join the Y so I can have access to a pool so I can get in better shape and have my chronic pain be that much better. It means being able to send out my laundry on occasion rather than having to limp to and from the laundromat and having to take extra pain pills as a result. It means not having the horrible side effects that come with pain pills and not exacerbating some of my health issues. That amount of money could also give me the tiny cushion I need so I can put some energy into things I enjoy and want to accomplish like writing, getting published, starting the reproductive justice organization that I so desperately want to form. $175 makes a huge difference in my life.

I only moved into this place because after 10 months of searching it was all I could find. No one in the Boston area wants to live with one of us so called dirty, diseased, slutty bisexuals. Yes, I’ve been called those things multiple times by both straight and lesbians and gay men here in so called progressive Boston. I’ve had a roommate call me a squaw and think it was just hilarious to talk to me that way. Even if I can swing the rent for places I don’t have the thousands of dollars to put down that landlords require now. I’ve lived in roommate situations where I was so scared for my safety that I moved furniture in front of my bedroom door. Then there are the numerous costs associated with getting housing that meets my disability needs.

I moved into this shitty house because I had no where to go and was trying like hell to get out of an abusive relationship with little to no help from anyone. I had to fight just to get paid by the “progressive” candidate I worked for at the time. I was at the point of looking at women’s shelters because I was so desperate. Meanwhile I had to go on living life as if everything was ok because I couldn’t possibly tell all the productive and successful people I know that I was currently being abused and needed help. I reached out to one person for legal advice that I thought was a close enough friend and she simply told me to figure it out on my own because it wasn’t that complicated. She’s now a City Councilor and only reached out to me last spring when she decided to run and needed money and volunteers. The hypocrisy of the people in politics in MA is unbelievable. And people in the political world here wonder why I’m so angry with the MA Democrats and “progressives.”

Things got so bad that I tried to kill myself. My psychiatrist was shocked I was even still alive after I finally told her and my therapist what I had done. If I wasn’t pumped full of so many fucking drugs on a daily basis then I might have been lucky enough to have this miserable excuse of a life finally end.

Every day is a constant struggle just to keep myself alive. I’m so upset that my roommate is one more person that has significantly added to the misery I suffer through day in and day out. I have no where else to go and no one to turn to that could help. My own mom can’t even be bothered to call me on Christmas or my birthday.

I don’t know how to handle this and right now I feel like I’m going to have a complete meltdown. I was already having a hard day because of a night full of horrible nightmares and sifting through the over 20 prescriptions I take daily so I can possibly figure out what’s helping me and what’s making my health worse. I hate my life so much that almost every day just feels like a futile exercise of survival that only brings agony. I’ve been trying for three years just to get some in home help with domestic chores which the MA government has the ablistic audacity to refer to as “adult foster care!” Apparently being disabled and poor in MA means that I’m little more than a child. Even the case workers, therapists, and doctors I have can’t make the services I need happen.

I seriously need help and have no idea what to do. I don’t know what could possibly be suggested that I haven’t already tried, but throw any ideas my way. Please.

Catchy Title is Eluding Me Right Now

I’m at such a loss right now about what to say. There is such an overwhelming tidal wave of emotions for me to navigate that I’m completely lost. I think right now I’m going to put up a bullet point style list of what I’m dealing with and leave it there.

  1. The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. At this point they’re writing off a lot of my health problems and resulting chronic pain as diagnoses that the medical communicates can’t properly define or treat. They’re also blaiming a lot of this on me because I don’t “properly manage my emotional problems and physical pain.” IE they’re all fucking ableistic, elitist, racist, colonizing, sexist, rape culture supporting pieces of shit!
  2. My father is dead. I found this out a few weeks ago. He passed last December and no one saw fit to tell me about it. He was horribly abusive and I never expected to hear from him, but there was a small part of me that hoped he’d attempt to make amends in his old age. The fact that he died without trying to make amends only proves how little I meant to him. I was nothing but ugly, fat, stupid, worthless, and unworthy of love because I wasn’t perfect (all of things he said to me) and this all led me to be desperate for love. I have dealt with abuse that went far beyond my father and into a lack of care, concern, and even acknowledgement by my mom and step-dad concerning the years of abuse I’ve suffered.
  3. I can’t even keep writing about all of this.
  4. I’m done. Good luck and goodbye.

Suffering, Self-Destruction, Speaking Out, & Political Warfare

The last year and a half have been some of the more difficult years I’ve had to face in some time. Due to this I haven’t had the emotional, mental, or physical energy to write for this blog, my book, or most other pieces. I’ve occasionally had a poem come upon me that I felt was appropriate to post, but bringing for the where with all to write deeper and with further explanation has simply never happened. Obviously there is a great deal that has occurred over this period of time, but I’m going to keep it as short as possible.

I was in a relationship that turned out to be very dishonest, manipulative, demanding, and emotionally abusive. Under normal circumstances I would’ve left a relationship of this sort, but I simply couldn’t afford to move out of the apartment we shared. My health problems have become so severe that they have placed great limits on the type of housing I can live in which of course significantly raises the cost. Rents in the Boston area have sky rocketed over the last few years, my health care costs are insane now, and my income stream is abysmal compared to these current costs. I was forced to stay under the roof, due to my disability and finances, with someone who mentally and emotionally tortured me day in and day out.

As one can imagine this led me down a very dark path. I fell apart and without a proper support system I was at a loss as to what to do. My mother, whom I no longer speak to nor do I ever see myself speaking to again despite my deep love for her, knew of the situation and offered no help. The irony in this is profound given that she was once in an abusive marriage and that several of the women in my family have also been in abusive marriages.

Things reached the point that my pride broke and I began looking at shelters. I told my ex that I was going to contact the police if he continued his behavior. He soon moved out after this with the promise that he would pay the rent on the apartment until I either moved out or the lease ended. Like all words that escaped his lips, this was a lie.

Two months later I came home to find under my door a notice to appear in court for an eviction hearing. The apartment management company never called me once nor did they ever follow MA law and send me all of the paperwork that comes before the eviction hearing notice. This was now the end of May 2014 and I had been looking for a place one month after we moved in together which was July 2013. The cost of apartments, my physical needs, the extreme biphobia in the Boston area (the minute potential roommates would hear that I’m bi they were no longer interested in me), and the housing shortage that left many of us scrambling to pay $800 to live in a closet in an unsafe house with 5 roommates no where near the train or life necessities left me unable to find anything. Thankfully I found the horrific place I’m in now at the last minute. I still had to go to court and deal with the mess though and of course my ex, nor his family, could be bothered to attend even though we were all legally obligated to be there. The one bright side of all of this is that I never have to see him nor his loathsome family ever again.

I had a few professional difficulties arise during this time. I have never been a fan of the area I live in. Over the years I’ve found it to be very gender conformist, racist, especially towards us Natives, pro-colonialism, horrifically biphobic, elitist, ableistic, puritanical, self-congratulatory, arrogant, stand offish, cold, and rude. This is not to say that I haven’t found some pleasures of living here, but it’s never been home. Despite this I’ve tried to be socially and politically active, but this came to a breaking point for me, like many things, in the spring of 2014.

I found myself disillusioned with the politics, parties, and the way social and political issues were addressed, if at all. An issue came about that caused great difficulty in my life. I found myself dealing with a set of -isms that were too blatant for me to ignore. After years of suffering out right abuse in “liberal” politics-being called an “injun,” hit on at work, told that I’m bi so bring in sexy bi girls to get the male donors, not being paid for my time and reimbursed for my expenses, told I don’t deserve time for a meal break during a 14 hour day, being told “If you don’t shut up I’m going to throw you through a wall” etc-I simply couldn’t take it anymore. While this situation was not that volatile it was still bad and indirectly told me that I was worthless. I left the environment and was soon threatened with a lawsuit. There were no grounds for the suit, but because of my financial state I couldn’t lawyer up. The same day the eviction notice came was the same day I was threatened with the law suit.

One week prior to this I finally snapped and tried to kill myself. The day I left behind unhealthy professional environments was the day my mother finally went too far with me. I have dealt with years of her emotional neglect, dismissal, and denial of the many abuses I’ve suffered over the years. I choose not to rehash them now, but they are great and they are painful beyond belief.

When I told her that I left this particular situation and why (over a text message because she never called me on any day) instead of giving me support and love or even saying a simply “I’m sorry” her immediate response was to say that her and my step-dad couldn’t give me money. I never said one word about money as a concern of mine let alone asked for money. This is a woman who once told me that I was only angry at her and my step-dad for not giving me enough money. Meanwhile I had just told her I was beyond hurt and angry for things such as her ignoring me telling her when I was only 14 that my boyfriend had raped me. Two months after that I tried to kill myself because I couldn’t take the nightmares and the other symptoms of PTSD any longer. She still denies this to this day. I think she doesn’t even believe that I was raped. Yet she has the audacity and the heartlessness to think that I’m shallow enough to be angry because they won’t give me money. This is one of many examples of heartache my mom has caused me.

I read that text and something in me just broke. I went to my liquor cart and grabbed my bottle of Jack, mind you it was the largest bottle of Jack you can buy, and I started drinking. I drank 3/4s of that bottle. That alone was enough to put me in a hospital. I didn’t stop there. I went to my pills next. Given my health problems I have my own pharmacy. I started mixing them all taking handfuls. I made sure to mix in a nice batch of the narcotics so that they would combined with each other and the alcohol and stop my breathing. I was also careful not to take so many pills that I would be sick and loose them all.

Apparently thanks to my worthless, broken body having health problems that goes back to my childhood I am now like an elephant. It takes large animal size tranquilizers to take me down. I didn’t even get one day of relief from my life. I woke up 6 hours later! I was a groggy, disoriented mess, but I was still awake. I never went to the doctor nor the hospital. I simply drank a lot of water and slept it off.

When I finally decided to tell my therapist and psychiatrist about it they naturally were worried, but sadly not too surprised. My shrink pushed for hospitalization, and then out patient day treatment, both of which I refused. I went through those horrors as a teenager and I’d sooner die then go through them again. [If asking for help means being forced into hospitalization I simply won’t ask for help. That’s how bad my experiences were as a teenager and how much I know about the US mental health care system (not that it deserves to be called “care”) as an adult. I’ll go it my own before I suffer that abuse again!]

After hearing everything I drank and took that night my psychiatrist said in so many words that I was lucky to be alive. I was furious I was alive! I stayed angry for months after. Some days I’m still angry about it. I’m not sure how I didn’t do it all over again, and for good measure slice wrists up like a child making paper dolls, when I received the court notice and the lawsuit threat. Believe me when I say I’ve had the thought many times since. Writing this now has me thinking about it.

I hate that I feel this full of pain and I wish I had the solution to make it all go away, but I’ve spent the bulk of my life trying to hide it all because when I asked for help no one cared. I can’t say that too many people (there are some and they are amazing, loving human beings!) seem to care still, but I refuse to be silent. I don’t give a damn anymore if that means lawsuits or if it hurts my career kissing ass to a bunch of self-righteous, self-congratulatory suits that don’t really care about those of us who are suffering in whatever manner that may be. I could care even less if it makes people “uncomfortable.” Too damn bad! If just hearing about my realities makes you uncomfortable then imagine living them? I am doing everything within my power to care for myself, to better myself, and to have the future that I so desperately want and so rightfully deserve.

In the mean time, I try to remind myself of something that two amazing women have said. One is my fabulous, Indigenous friend, Elyse. She has told me a few times when I’ve felt low that not only am I loved, but that our continual survival as Indigenous women is an act of resistance against colonialism and the powers that want to do away with us. I’ll admit that the few times I read that when I felt so low I wanted to cut myself, starve myself, drink myself into an oblivion, or even kill myself, I wanted to tell her to go “fuck herself.” Elyse is amazing person and I love her dearly, but those words don’t mean a lot in when you’re at one of your greatest moments of suffering. I always told myself though that she loved me enough to say that to me and helped relieve some of the pain.

The second woman whose words ring in my ears are Audre Lorde. I’ve always loved her saying “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.” Recently though an amazing revolutionary lovin’ man in Boston, Eroc, posted on his Facebook page another Lorde quote that I try to remember: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.”

My actions that make people so uncomfortable and angry with me that they go so far as to threaten me with unfounded law suits or personally attack my character are my form of self-preservation and that is my resistance against the colonizing powers that want to destroy me and this is one of my acts of political warfare.