TW talk of death, CW talk of racial issues and extreme weather.
I hate to write this on such short notice, but I’m done. I’m drained, I’m floored, flustered to the point of no return. We aren’t getting services tomorrow at home where they should be at eight to twelve, and I don’t blame necessarily my caregiver for this, but I’ve had caregivers not show up for long periods of time, and I don’t want to hear about the weather here in Colorado. Before you start spouting to me, move to Florida, think about where I was running from. Isolation, overmedication, liquidation, visitation, guardianship Hell. I would indeed happily sell my whole kin on e-bay before I move to a state whose body politic is made of nothing but white people, whose black population acts a certain type of way about me and blindness, whose other populations don’t get it at all. I would gladly upend my dad’s house, sell the trumpet he gave my brother for marching band, pillage the posters and wallpapers on every bedroom wall, and sell the house flipped before I even think of living in Titusville. I would never live there because there is nothing for me. No jobs, no friends, and this is where I am now. I have barely any friends, barely any time to do things, no essential caregiver for Monday, so that means we have to wait till Wednesday for any food and cooking, which puts us at a disadvantage, particularly me, and it’s not even the blindness. I’m sick of cooking and cleaning, not knowing what foods I bought, and during a goddamned pandemic? Give me a break! I can’t imagine what people are doing half buried in snow, but nobody gave me the consideration, the consequence being that I had things in my mattress, namely bedbugs, and the other consequence being that food was made, but it wasn’t healthy food that both myself and my Trenton could eat. Due to inclement weather conditions, we can’t get delivery. Ugh. Would someone please tell the stupid weather man and the weather gods to please please please stop this extreme weather? And before you go spouting off to me about Florida or Hawaii, I’ve got news for you.
As I said, Florida is racist and ableist. I would rather sell my whole family’s possessions and my kin relations and their genealogy before I ever set foot in that place again. It would teach them a lesson, a good hard lesson about what they have forced me into. Trenton wants a world where he matters, he matters a lot to me. If he died tomorrow in my arms because one of these Florida people shot him up with a bullet or two, I’d have to pay so much for his funeral, and before I even say the word funeral, guess what? I’d even do the eulogy and I’d be shouting at the rooftops, “Trenton’s life mattered. And you idiots shot him!!!!!!” I’d be shouting to the rooftops, bring my Trenton back right now, or you will suffer. I’d be screaming at the top of my lungs, this man’s life was snuffed out by your stupidity and I will never see to it that I live near you all again!!!!!!!! Just a half hour ago, I was crying like mad, thinking I was the problem. And worse, this world doesn’t change for people like me. I’d like to see a world where we’re all accepted, broken parts and all, but what we have here is not acceptable. My family didn’t think I was worth saving, that my life didn’t matter, and they stole sixteen years of it and where are Trenton and I going to live?????? If I died tomorrow, I said, well, at least there would be less of me to deal with. While at a workshop with a famous composer, I was confronted with a blatant attack on me and my ancestors, white and black, all of it. The minister was concerned about the agreements and all this stuff, and. he gently reminded me of all this, but I still have to deal with the burden of hurting. My life doesn’t seem to matter to the person who attacked me, and even more, doesn’t matter to the whole stupid world. I don’t blame my caregiver, but I want to see something different. I want to see someone in my building who can adequately cook food to the point of not getting sick after consumption. I wish the snowstorm didn’t happen, that this whole blizzard bullshit wasn’t real, I wanna wake up tomorrow and the thing be normal again. But it feels like a goddamn bad dream, something I won’t wake up from. There’s no lifting up a woman who is the target of attacks, and there’s no jubilee for someone who has not accomplished anything but musical circuses in schools and such. I’m sorry, but this stuff I’m writing here is true to me, and honestly, I’d like the person who tore apart my ancestry and made this rude and evil comment to me at the singing workshop to come forward and apologize. I want a full apology complete with the sentence, “I’m sorry you’re disabled and living in a rotten planetary conspiracy that pervades your existence. I will stop screaming in your presence. …” No, this apology should look this way:
Dear Beth, I didn’t know your story, I don’t know your ancestry. I am sorry I attacked you. I”m a bad consultant when it comes to diversity, and no, I am a racially insensitive bureaucrat.” When I see such an apology, maybe I can shut up and drive the way you people want. How can I be a part of any spiritual group when all I’m seeing is an attack on mixed persons? I want everybody, I don’t care who they are, to recognize the following truths. These apply not only to me but to others.
One, I am blind. The minute that was discovered, my privilege went bye bye.
I am female, and that means guys can prey on me all they seem to want, but that’s illegal. Got it?
Three, who in the world created me? Don’t say the G word, I don’t care about God because God never showed any consideration. Not one iota of consideration for me, not ever. Why’d I become so blind? Why am I the only goddamn person in my family with curly brown hair that frizzed out all the time? Why am I the only person in my family who has chin hairs and is female? Is there a racial reckoning in my family? Here’s another.
Four, the minute someone black walks with me, it’s “Don’t talk to that guy. He’s a gang member/drug dealer/bad news.” Well, haven’t you ugly fools who attacked me taken a look in the mirror lately? You tell me I can’t claim the ancestry of Africans, but it’s written in my DNA, and it won’t lie. You can’t tell me how to sing, laugh, cry, or exist. Haven’t you understood that any so called word you say has a consequence? This means, I’m sitting here crying like the baby you idiots claim I am, and now the day is ruined. I can’t be trusted to cook for myself and or Trenton, and it’s awful. Awful.
I won’t go into detail much more, but now I am wishing I had more support and people who would not attack or insult me about race. Like what am I going to do? Someone please get Cari on the line. Cari would never have done this crap to anyone, and this girl lived in Florida for 15 years. She died at a young age, and we played together as children. I can’t even fathom what she’d think if I brought Trenton to her. “Oh, he’s tall, dark and handsome.” Oh really? Would you really mean it?
readers, if you think this is too much, skip this crap. I’m drained, my eyes are swollen slightly, but moreover, wet and perhaps reddish from crying. I … am … done.