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Shattered Star
07 July 2016 @ 06:05 pm
“Not all the police are bad,”
said the White Woman in the Spring,
As I am beaten-
And dragged through the streets

“Not all the police are bad,”
said the White Woman in the Summer,
As I am brought from my home
And hung from a tree

“Not all the police are bad,”
said the White Woman in the Autumn,
As I reach for my registration
And instead meet with lead

“Not all the police are bad,”
said the White Woman in the Winter,
When the snow turns to red
“Not all the police are bad,”
said the White Woman
To a Black Man that is Dead.

Where were the “Good Police” for Rodney?
Where were the “Good Police” for Alton?
Where were the “Good Police” for Philando?

Where are the “Good Police” for me?

And who's to protect us from lynch mobs,
And who's to protect us from dread?

“Not all the police are bad,”
said the White Woman

To the Black Man that is Dead.
Shattered Star
29 May 2016 @ 07:39 am
Its weird to be here again after so long and after so much has changed. Who is left?

I lived.

I can't believe it but I did. Nearly 10 months of unemployment and I managed to get a job again and end up with minimal debt thanks to some extremely generous friends. They let me move in with them 2 months after their own wedding. I can never repay their kindness.

But at the same time I didn't live.

I was in the hospital again a few weeks ago. My roommate screwed me over and I had just found out that I had to move back on with my parents for the summer because i couldnt find a new place to live in time. I felt like my life was over, like I was losing my freedom and control. But a good friend of mine, we'll call her Lindy- convinced me to call the police. She is a big part of the reason I am alive to write this right now.

I felt like I died.

In the hospital I felt like I was insane. The psych ward is a surreal place to exist, a place where you float in the void between child and adult. They count your plastic silverware after meals. They take your shoelaces. They don't allow you to have anything you could ise to kill yourself. I made friends with another patient there, she's old enough to be my Mother but it felt like we were kindred spirits. We keep in touch now that we are out of the hospital.

I lived.

But it was hard after the hospital. I broke down twice after leaving. My roommate didnt understand. She was either stupid or didn't care. She took me out for dinner because I was so depressed that I hadn't eaten in days and right before we entered one of my favorite restaurants and I finally started to feel something other than despair; her friend called her and told her they were at the restaurant next door that I hate. I was bullied into going there with her instead and ended up at a table with 12 of her friends in a jam packed awful restaurant and they were all speaking Spanish.

I started to have a panic attack and bolted.

She didn't come look for me. She didn't call or text. I ended up alone and sobbing at a fast food restaurant down the street. I started to dissociate, forget who I was and where I had come from. There were no thoughts, only feelings. I don't remember running home very well. I could have hurt myself out there and she didn't care. She never even apologized.

I lost it.

The night before my Father came we went out for drinks, me, her and Russ with a few other people. It was a great time. We got hammered. Russ and I bailed a bit early. I remember realizing in the cab that my Father was coming to move all my stuff back to my hometown in just a few hours. I dont remember much of it. I remember Russ following me into the apartment and asking me what was wrong.

I remember crying and screaming and not being able to stop. I remember him holding me and telling me that it was going to be ok I just had to relax. I remember my roommate coming back and staring at me. Feelings. Embarassment. If he hadn't been there I don't know what would have happened. It's kind of like he's a less mystical guardian angel.

I lived.

I had the conversation with my parents that I believed I couldn't have for years. I told them everything and it went so much better than I expected that I didn't know how to react after I hung up. Last night, I took my meds in front of my family without having to hide in the bathroom and drink out of the sink.

Because of people like Russ and Lindy, I will be here to turn 23 in two weeks.

And I will live.
Current Mood: exhaustedexhausted
Shattered Star
05 November 2014 @ 05:29 pm
I still don't have a job and my unemployment is only going to be 150$ a week. I feel desperate and terrified.
Current Mood: scaredscared
Shattered Star
07 October 2014 @ 10:57 pm
Who wants to work with tax forms, angry desperate people and the IRS all day?


I never want to see another 2848, 8821 or 12153 again in my entire life. NEVER. Not to mention being switched from a decent team to being on one with a manager hellbent on micromanaging.

I dread going to work every morning. Bathroom breaks are the highlight of my day. And I don't feel like part of the office, I'm kind of the outcast that no one talks to.

It sucks, and I want out so very badly.
Current Mood: Panicked