gaslighting

It’s Hard Out Here For A Crip

Posted on by akiwifreund

[This isn’t a plea for more help. I try to spread my requests out, because everyone has their own lives. I have actually had certain friends get mad at me because I asked for help more than once in a year. So in the spirit of friendship no, I don’t need anyone to get my groceries or prescriptions.]

Facebook is great until it’s not. Just hang with me as I explain this.

I’ve got so many medical conditions, allergies, prescriptions, over-the-counter medications and supplements that I have everything alphabetized on a sheet that I keep updating and printing every time I go to appointments. I can’t remember everything. I’ve got two injections that I give myself every week in my stomach and thighs, and it’s possible I’ll be getting a third. One of them really hurts and it takes a long time to push the syringe down; my hands cramp up and a few times I didn’t go long enough and have shot the solution all over myself when I pulled the needle out. (I hate wasting that precious medication.)

Nothing is simple with my healthcare. I just got done coordinating a treatment for hidradenitis suppurativa, which means I have to fly to Minnesota for two different lasers and get Pronox gas since Lidocaine doesn’t work on me topically. One of the issues we had to figure out was what to do about me breathing back OUT into the air – what if I was breathing out contaminated microbes and spreading COVID-19? So the office had to track down a device to add to the machine. It took me a week and a half to put everything together and find flights/hotel that I could afford that would also work with the office’s schedule.

At the same time, I was also scheduling surgery for some scarred areas with the hidradenitis suppurativa. Again, since I don’t get numb from Lidocaine, I have to be put under completely to get the spots removed. They are not going to be closed up but rather left open because of the nature of the condition; it’s better not to make a tunnel, that would just encourage the disease to start again in those spots. So now I have to also reschedule other doctor appointments because I will be uncomfortable for a couple of weeks, especially since I can’t take pain medications because of mast cell activation syndrome.

I met with a new cardiologist because I’ve been having major problems with pitting edema, despite being on a very high dose of spironolactone. He put me through a very thorough ECG and ultrasound of my heart and carotid artery, and wants me to have a tilt table test performed. I have a resting heart rate of 110+ now but a very normal blood pressure which sometimes dips low and have had the diagnosis of POTS since 2017 (but symptoms since 2000), but he wants to be sure that that is what I’m still dealing with. When it gets into the summer months here in Phoenix, it gets a lot harder for me to deal with the heat, and I get closer to blacking out frequently, even in my apartment with air conditioning.

I saw my OB/GYN because I still have cysts in my breasts. I get checked every six months. So far they haven’t changed in size, so I might be able to go once a year.

I was being lectured by my primary care doctor and rheumatologist about being on steroids long term for ankylosing spondylitis. I told them that going off for even a day is very impactful, but of course, they didn’t believe me, so I had to demonstrate it. I went off for 7 days and then went in to my rheumatologist’s nurse practitioner. She saw my hands twisted, red and inflamed to three times the size of what is normal, and also observed the spasms in my back that also severely affected my breathing. I’m allergic to all NSAIDs including ibuprofin and naproxen sodium because of mast cell activation syndrome, so I’m not able to take anything besides Tylenol at this point, which is absolutely unhelpful. After seeing for herself, she agreed to continue the steroids. (Side note: the cardiologist told me that I obviously gained weight on the steroids because I was eating more. Wrong. I eat about 1,000-1,2000 calories a day. Doctors love to shame women. One of my fellow patients was told to lose weight when she only weighed 95 pounds at 5’4″.)

I went back in to Barrow to follow up on an EEG. I had reacted to the strobe light even though it hadn’t been noted on the report and the tech saw it happening and kept asking if I was okay. I also have been having issues with my tongue and mouth going numb, and my left arm has been having spasms. I know that my brain has had changes that are different from the last two MRIs. This appointment was set up with a nurse practitioner because the neurologist I previously had left Barrow (yes!!! he was horrible), so we had never met. It seemed like she understood what I was explaining about my history. She left the room, came back, and said, “We’re really specific here, and no one knows what to do with you. Can you just go to a neighborhood neurologist? Maybe they will know what to do with you.” Seriously. When I go to a neurologist who is outside of a big organization like Barrow, they throw up their hands and say, “But I’m just a neighborhood neurologist!! What do you want from me?” The NP gave me two names as a suggestion, but since I saw a different doctor in the same office already, I can’t see anyone else.

My thyroid stopped working at optimal, which explains why I was feeling extra tired and achy, and looking even more like a defensive tackle. Whenever that happens my cholesterol also goes through the roof. So I had to adjust all those meds again.

I’m being monitored for clotting by an oncologist/hematologist, so I had to go in for more tests. Right now it looks like my factor IV and fibrinogen are high. The fibrinogen makes sense because of what has happened to all of my shunts.

I need to have a laser treatment on my gums and one of my molars pulled but that has to be put off indefinitely because of the current situation. These are complications in my mouth because of mast cell activation syndrome. I can’t ever get dental implants, also because of mast cell activation syndrome – I’m allergic to metal, cement and glue/bonding.

Throughout all of this, I’m also trying to coordinate all of my meds. Some are traditional meds that I can get through a place like Walgreen’s. However, I’ve encountered some shortages. So it’s been left up to me to follow up to try to figure out how to get them. One of my meds I couldn’t get for FOUR months. Some of my medications have to be compounded because they aren’t available in the form I need to take them on the regular market. For instance, one is available as an eye drop, but I need to be able to take it as a pill. But the prescribing doctor is in Minnesota, and I’m overdue to see him, and he can’t do a televisit because I’m not physically in MN. None of my other doctors will write the script. See how this shit gets complicated? Besides that, I also had to go through the approval process multiple times for the shots because I failed out of multiple medications. I talked, I faxed, I talked some more, I faxed some more, I scanned, I talked, I waited on hold, I faxed, I scanned, I faxed…you get the idea. Oh, and they also ran credit checks on me. That’s something new all of them are doing. They are saying it’s because they want to make sure I’m getting all the benefits I can get, but obviously that’s a big fat lie. I’m wondering who they are withholding medication from. Drug manufacturers have a lot of power.

That sums up everything I have been dealing with for the past couple of months.

I’m on Social Security Disability Income (SSDI), which means I worked before I became disabled. In fact, the judge that decided my case said I truly worked as much as I possibly could before I really couldn’t work anymore. I now fall into the category of having a very low income, but it’s not low enough to receive any additional help. I don’t get any assistance with housing/rent, food, utilities or transportation. Some people get discounts but I don’t. The last time I had this income was 1993.

With this income, I have to pay for my monthly medical premiums. The premiums alone add up to $438.20. One of the plans I have isn’t from the state I live in. The state of Arizona doesn’t believe that someone could exist who is below the age of 65 and receives income above poverty level, who is also disabled. That’s me. They don’t have any policies for anyone under 65 who isn’t poverty. The craziest thing happened, though. I was actually living in another state when my case was decided, and the state had one – only ONE – policy that I could buy that could travel to any of the other 49 states no matter where I lived. I just can’t miss a payment for the next 22 years, ever. If I do it could mean hundreds of thousands of dollars of extra costs for me because of all of my crazy health stuff. This dollar amount does not include the money I spend on prescriptions, OTC meds or supplements. The supplements are absolutely necessary because they help to treat mast cell activation syndrome.

I spend something in the neighborhood of $100-150 on transportation a month because of having to go to doctor appointments, labs, scans and to the pharmacy. For about a month and a half Medicare was allowing our medications to be delivered, but they stopped allowing that, so I have to go and get my meds now. We can’t do mailing here in AZ because the heat degrades medications. (There have been a few times when the ice packs have been barely cold on my shots that have been delivered to me.)

I am signed up on two different transportation programs for disability, and I’m supposed to wait outside and be visible to the drivers. This is fucking hell in AZ in the summer. My heart condition makes it so much harder for me to be up and out in the heat.

So let’s talk masks, and COVID-19.

I have 8 masks now, with vents. My very first mask a few years ago was a Vogmask. I started wearing it on flights because I wanted to avoid breathing in the shit everyone was passing around in the cabin, because I was sure to catch whatever they were dishing out. So far it’s worked. And let me tell you, those vents make all the difference. Right now I’m on a list for the backordered masks from England for the fanciest of fancy vented Cambridge masks; I’m in for 2.

I’m up on COVID-19. I’m comfortable with the science, been correcting misinformation. One of my drivers tried to tell me the 19 stood for it being the 19th version of the virus. Ha. Ha. Nope. I think the people who walk around saying their freedom is being taken away are complete assholes and deserve what they get. I think the people who say they will make themselves sick with bronchitis or other lung infections by wearing a mask are assholes.

So when I’m going around to all of these appointments, seeing my doctors, getting labs and scans done, I have my mask on. There have been a few times where there blackness has been closing in on me because transportation has insisted I be outside in 100+ heat, my wig is dripping hot, I’m gasping for air, and I have to pull the mask off because I can tell my pulse is through the roof and my BP is dropping.  It will happen at the grocery store too. I’ll be walking around and suddenly my body will just crash. I have to take the mask off for a few so I don’t end up on the floor. I do my best to stay masked up unless my body rebels. When the episode is done, the mask goes back on.

Last night, a friend posted on Facebook that if someone didn’t mask up, he was going to cut that person or people off (with an exception for some medical situations). I saw some people posting, including comments about how there was no way there should even be exceptions for medical. So I raised my hand and said hey wait a second, there has to be exceptions, and we still need to go out. And one guy lectured me about how I needed to have my groceries and prescriptions delivered and my doctor visits should be telemed. I told him to fuck off.

I don’t know this guy. He doesn’t know my shit. But groceries cost me at least $30 extra delivered because of the delivery fee and tip, and they NEVER get what I need and they never do substitutions when I ask for them, which would result in another run to the grocery store. Do I have tons of extra money to spend? Do I have $30, or $60, or $120 a month to throw away on delivery fees? Prescriptions were only allowed to be delivered by Medicare for a short amount of time. Now I have to go and get them again. As far as the doctor visits go, my shit is so complicated that I am required to go in. The docs don’t give me a choice.

This guy’s response was that he thought I would want to not spread the virus and be responsible, and if I didn’t wear a mask, I should just at least pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose. So I told him that I’m not a bottomless pit of wealth, and he’s telling someone who uses a cane and two arm braces and whose face is also partially paralyzed to walk and pull her shirt up. He then offered to “get my groceries” and I told him to stop talking. His response was “Damn.” A particularly dumb broad piped in about how rude I was to refuse his help by telling him to fuck off.

Being a disabled, middle-aged, single, adult female is a fucking challenge. There was that time when a complete stranger grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into an elevator because I was waiting for someone to turn around their power scooter and he assumed I couldn’t handle the elevator on my own. So here’s this guy on Facebook telling me that I have to pay for delivery and get only half of what I need, get my prescriptions delivered (even though Medicare doesn’t allow it) and just see my doctors on video (even though they won’t allow it). Yes, I’m going to tell him to fuck off. He offered to get my groceries AFTER I told him to fuck off. He wanted to feel better about being an asshole and making HUGE assumptions. I would never, ever, ever let someone near my groceries, my medications or my living space who would try to ridicule me like that and then try to strap on the hero cape. “No, really, I’m a good guy.” Don’t ever trust a guy who tells you he’s a good guy right after he does something shitty. And I’m still masking up.

 

 

Sayonara, Senor Shorty

Posted on by akiwifreund

Have you ever dated one of those people who blamed everyone else when something bad happened?

The last time we were naked together, all Senor Shorty (height: best guess is 5’1″, I’m 5’5.5″) did was complain about his first long-term girlfriend, and why he was justified in cheating on her. The son they had together is now 12 years old. I tried to steer him away from that topic, because 1. (and I said this): I didn’t want to talk about another woman while we were doing what we were doing, and 2. He has never taken responsibility for cheating. It’s a choice.

Senor Shorty was angry with her because she didn’t service him enough. She was staying at home to take care of their kid, who was born with cystic fibrosis and a host of developmental disabilities, and she also takes care of this guy’s mom, whose house they lived in (and she and the kid still live there). So this woman is taking care of a child and an elderly woman all day, every day. Senor Shorty gets home and demands that she make herself more available for sex. She doesn’t make it happen, and he starts screwing around on her. He also controls her money and transportation. Classic abusive move right there.

Besides being a shit to his ex, Senor Shorty also bullies his 12-year-old. Because the kid has sensory issues, he has a hard time standing and peeing. So I found out this guy has been calling him a mama’s boy and telling the ex she’s doing a bad job of raising him. But this guy lives in my state, and these two live in New York. He tells everyone else this kid is his mini version, but he’s a total dick to the kid and the ex. I can’t convince Senor Shorty to stop bullying his kid. He thinks that he’s a great dad because he says he is. Of course, his actions say otherwise.

He says he “fell in love” with another woman and he got her pregnant while he was still with girlfriend #1, which resulted in his second son. He definitely favors Kid #2, 5 years old, because the little one misses him terribly and tells him so. Kid #2 is also in New York, though far away from Kid #1. Senor Shorty has given him very expensive gifts to make up for his absence, which Kid #2 really doesn’t want any part of. He just wants his dad. Of course, Senor Shorty cheated on this woman too, and punished her by taking away her transportation and controlling her money. It’s a common theme.

So, this guy. Within a week and a half of agreeing to date exclusively, he cheated on me. He tried to blame me for being hurt, saying it was my imagination, and he never said anything about dating me. I’m just gonna leave this screen shot right here.
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I swear like a truck driver on the regular anyway, but I tore him a new asshole.

After a while, because when he’s not lying or manipulating, we can get along decently well, we decided to try friendship. The lines got blurred a few times and we did have sex, but it wasn’t a regular thing – maybe two more times at most over the span of five months? Anyway, I told Senor Shorty that I would help him get his life on track, and it would be better for the next woman. I meant it too. And his life is better, when he does things the right way.

But it always drove me fucking nuts whenever I’d catch him in a lie (which was every day, big and small). Like when he insisted he didn’t watch TV. We were talking about his budget, and he has this very fancy laptop that he only knows how to turn on and off. He doesn’t even know what an address bar is. I was telling him he didn’t need to buy a TV for his little studio apartment, he could just watch his laptop, and after I explained everything he agreed. Trust me when I say that he didn’t even have enough money to buy toilet paper. A couple of months later he was complaining about the fact that he was still paying off a TV that he didn’t even have for a week. I asked him to repeat himself and then told him I didn’t understand. I realized that he had been lying and that he had in fact gotten a TV and he immediately broke it – but it wasn’t his fault!!!! Oh god, just wait. He had put up a little shelf over his head and the bed, and put a 55″ TV on the shelf, that he bought on installment payments. But he just put it the shelf in the drywall. He didn’t look for studs in the wall. Basically, the shelf just peeled off the wall like an orange peel. So it was the shelf’s fault, it was the TV’s fault, how was he supposed to know that there was a right way to put it up? Now he’s going to be paying those installments for forever, because he doesn’t have enough cash to pay off what he owes. 

This guy decided he needed to sell this brand new iPhone he had no business buying in the first place because he couldn’t afford it. He told me he was going to be paying off the bill. Of course, he didn’t. He texted me in a panic saying that he got a notice stating that the phone was going to be disconnected and the buyers were upset. So I was concerned. I said, “So you sold the phone, and you had no intention of paying off the phone?” He said he didn’t know the phone company was going to expect to be paid. It was their fault the phone was cut off. Now he had to hurry and figure something out. He was looking for sympathy, but I shut that shit down real quick.

This guy. Senor Shorty goes through jobs like candy. It’s always the employer’s fault. He was getting one new job a month, or so it seemed, all the way through 2019.  His jobs are based on road and highway travel, and he some has very specific skills. It’s their fault that he can’t stay on budget if they pay every other week instead of every week, though. Nevermind that it’s the same pay, and the taxes work out the same. He doesn’t know how to budget. He blows the money if it is in his account for too long. He has told me this is the first time in his life he has been in financial trouble, but I think that’s a lie too. He’s only a year older than me, so he’s been old enough to work for 28 years. He’s been fucking up his bills for decades.

The lying is exhausting. Whenever I caught him lying, he would tell me it was just his personality flaw and I had to be okay with it. 

Last week, I had enough. He was posting high school, feeling-bad-for-himself-shit. We’re smack in the middle of this virus and he’s whining and crying on Facebook about how lonely he is and he wants to “find a woman he can trust, who is beautiful, who will cook and clean for him and make him feel special.” First of all, no one should be dating right now. Second of all, no woman should be signing up to be his slave. He just wants someone to control. Boy, did that post ever put me over the edge. And why the fuck would he demand someone he can trust, when absolutely no one can trust him? He has cheated on every single woman he has dated for the last two decades.

My response was, “All a woman wants is a guy who won’t fuck around or expect her to be a sex slave, have no life, and perform like a porno star while he lays back like a lazy ass pillow princess.” Which, by the way, describes him nearly perfectly. The other parts I haven’t told you is that he’s the worst kisser ever (he just sticks his tongue out like a dead fish), he’s a premature ejaculator, he doesn’t know anything about female anatomy, and he’s very rough in a not-fun way (he tore the skin under my boobs, took about 10 days for me to heal). This relationship was not destined for long term anyway. I tried to get him to discuss with me what he enjoyed about sex, and he couldn’t say one word. Then he said that I clammed up and it was funny. Talk about gaslighting! He was unable to tell me one single thing he liked. The last time that happened, the guy ended up coming out as gay a short time later. 

I finally told him to clean up his shit and stop claiming to be a good guy while he was cheating on everyone he dated. I knew there were other women after me and he was screwing around on them too. One of his jerky friends piped up and said he should “run, because it was obvious [I] was bitter.” Not about him dating other women, believe me. I just want him to not keep doing this shit and then feeling sorry for himself, so that was my response. So that got me unfriended on Facebook. Boo hoo. Good luck to whomever is next. He loves to dump his shit on you and then say that you won’t ever get close to him – meaning he doesn’t want to hear about you or support you, he only wants to talk about himself. (Pro tip: at least you don’t have to do a marathon BJ session ever.) 

Also, he wants to get a penis implant to make his penis larger. He thinks it will make sex better for him. He doesn’t care if it will for whomever is having sex with him. I asked him if he thought it would change his sensation, and he said no, but he still wanted it. And if it isn’t happening to his penis, he isn’t interested. 

I definitely should have vetted him better before jumping into a relationship. That’s on me. Sometimes I am blinded by the promise of fun and adventure. I’ve changed from my 20’s, though, and don’t let things drag on for years.

Why I Won’t Do Internet Dating Anymore

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’m a veteran. I was in the trenches for 20 years, on and off. But I retired in 2016, when the last one turned out to be a binge alcoholic-hoarder-gambler.

My first exposure to the internet was when my father had his brother-in-law set it up at his house around 1991; back then it looked like a bunch of links to articles that talked about space exploration, and it took forever to connect. It was boring as fuck. But as we know, technology doubles every 18 months, so by 1996 I was set up with chat room names and “meeting people.” Then everyone figured out how to meet in person besides meeting virtually.

Then came the dating sites. Oh, Lavalife. You were my gateway to my Saturday night sugar daddy. (Don’t judge; I only let him buy me dinner. But he was so much fun.) Lavalife gave us the option to just look for friends, look for serious relationships, or look for casual hookups. We were all kind of winging it. Some people had very strict rules. If you were on the casual hookups, then no way did you have a chance in the serious relationships. I also met the sweetest man in Atlanta who used to write me actual literature, but because I had to stop traveling to his area because of work, it killed our relationship. The curse of the internet. I know I can’t survive long on long distance. I can barely survive someone living 15 or more miles away.

I went through the quizzes on eHarmony. The response I got was, “Only 3% of the population would be interested in dating you. It might take a while for us to find a match for you.” The internet will either make you or break you.

And then of course later came Match.com, OKCupid.com and PlentyofFish.com. To pay or not to pay, that was the question. Then very specific sites got in on the action, like dating farmers, dating millionaires, dating BBWs, dating amputees…

There was a guy that I met through OKCupid and very briefly dated in Minnesota who I seemed to have a lot in common with and we had fun when we were together…or so I thought. But then he started acting like a total loser. He couldn’t even talk to me like a human. He would just send me a message that said, “Anal?” Not even hello. Or, “Bukake?” Or, “Swallow?” No other words, no other conversation. It was like he was having an entire exchange in his head and he would just send the end of it to me and expect me to say yes. When I called him out on it, all he did was send me more single words, and then change his profile to say that he needed someone to “keep up with him.” Except that isn’t keeping up with him. That isn’t even interesting. What did he need me for? Just to finish his sentences? He’d do fine with one of those real dolls, created just for jizz. It won’t talk back. It certainly won’t tell him to take care of the nasty stripe of fungal infection running along his waist and balls.

And now instant gratification is the preferred experience. Or is it? Because fuck these guys. Reporting women so they are forever banned from Tinder because they aren’t interested? And no one can dispute being banned? Where is the option for “I turned down his laziness, so I call bullshit”?

Guys Are Reporting Women on Tinder for the Crime of Not Being Into Them

 

Let’s Play Family Feud

Posted on by akiwifreund

This week has been really tough.

First, I had to run to the pharmacy to get some meds. I belong to a reduced rate program for disabled people and it’s contracted with a cab company; I just have to let them know I’m in the program when I call. I did that. The phone rep didn’t want to take down my address or the address where I was going. I found out when I got in the cab that the rep also didn’t specify that I was on the program, because the cabbie was expecting cash. He was pissed. He called into the home office and kicked me out of the cab, telling me to call for a different one. I had already waited 45 minutes for him (but I didn’t tell him that). My anxiety went through the roof. 

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But then he called me back and said the home office fixed it, and he would take me – but he wasn’t happy. I ended up giving him some extra cash on top of my fare, which he appreciated, but I had to fight back tears when all of this went down. I did everything right, yet I was punished for the fuck up. 

Two days ago, I had to go to an appointment because of my tunneling infection disease. If any of you have hidradenitis suppurativa, or you feel brave and have a strong stomach and you want to see videos, have at it. There is a guy here in Phoenix who has posted some pretty gnarly videos of his hiney. Mine DOES NOT look like that (yet), but I do have lots of scar tissue and tunneling. The crazy thing about this disease is that if you drain or squeeze any infection out, it actually forces the tunnels back further, like what a gopher does if you try to chop into its tunnels. The infections are incredibly painful because of the acidity of the bacteria. It’s also not the oil glands that clog up, but the sweat glands. My active areas happen to be the places where I sit. Most women have trouble under their arms. Bless you, ladies, for having it anywhere. It’s three times more common in women than it is in men.

Anyway, I had to get one spot tended to (I have over 50 active spots right now) because it was getting so painful that I couldn’t sleep. The doctor was trying to inject me with steroids and Lidocaine, not realizing that Lidocaine doesn’t work on me. So…I don’t get numb. Not one little bit. Before anyone came in to work on me, I had another panic attack and more than a few tears, feeling overwhelmed by everything happening at once.

At some point when I was sleeping last week, I hyper-extended my left knee outwards. When I got out of bed, I could barely put weight on it, and I noticed bruising around the knee cap. My quadriceps above the knee cap also swelled up. At first I put on a couple of knee braces, but then my left hip started hurting from the misalignment as well, so I gave up and went to my pain doctor. The doc and his nurse practitioner were reading up on my conditions and asked me to do the laying down/sitting up trick to move around my CSF. I got a referral for physical therapy for someone who specifically knows how to treat patients with hypermobility, but I had to put it on hold, because my short bus transportation has been a problem. 

In August, I received a notice from the company running the accessible transportation in the Phoenix area that I would only be eligible if the temperature was 90 degrees or greater. I sent in a 3-page letter and some highlighted medical records. I was scheduled for a hearing to try to overturn that decision on Tuesday. I received a call today from an extremely cheerful woman (think Sesame Street) who told me that they decided to approve me unconditionally, no hearing needed. I thanked her and told her that it had caused me a lot of stress. I wanted to swear at her but didn’t want my privileges revoked.

So now, tonight. There was a meme going around of Trump and Kanye making out, because let’s face it, that’s what they do. A cousin who is all the way up Trump’s ass decided to comment on my sister’s post and say that he was disappointed in her post, that he loved our dad who passed away young, that I (Chelsea) had unfriended him (the cousin) for his viewpoints and that he still loved us. Well, I’ve got some screen shots – not all – so you can read them. But the conversation that led to me unfriending him in the first place was him telling me that he was tired of paying for me. Basically, he believes I should die rather than get healthcare. This is someone who has been to rehab and probably needs to go again. But he’s telling me to get off my lazy ass; I must be lazy because I’ve had 10 failed brain surgeries.

Andrew1
Andrew2
There was a little more that I typed before I blocked him, but I ended it with this:

Because he really should eat a bag of dicks. He wasn’t around for any of my surgeries, or for the 7 years it took me to figure out what I had with very little help with any of the 60 doctors I saw up to that point. I guess he even threatened me for crossing him, but I jumped off that conversation before seeing it, but other people did. What a great guy, huh?

We’re Not Friends

Posted on by akiwifreund

I’m here in Arizona now. This is the most disjointed move I’ve ever done. The movers came to pick up all of my boxes (and very small amount of furniture – two little filing cabinets, two compact bedside tables and my super ugly but very functional hospital bed) on June 27th. I flew out to Phoenix from St. Paul on June 29th on the hottest and most humid day in Minnesota – 100 degrees. I was giving away some drawer units to my parents for their newly-constructed garage, and we had to tear them down completely to fit them in their trunk as well as my suitcases, my parents, my nephews and I for our detour to drop me at the airport. It feels like ages ago.

Thank goodness my old landlord left the little air conditioning unit that I had previously installed that a prior tenant had left behind, or we would have been in big trouble, because that apartment didn’t come with air conditioning. I had a POTS episode from being outside in the heat and humidity and trying to help Dad with loading the car. When I came back in for the final run, I was shaking badly and was nauseated, and couldn’t really answer my mom when she asked if I was okay. I had to get going though because Dad was still waiting outside for us, so I took a few seconds to change shirts and wipe the sweat off of my head and wig and reassemble myself, and away we went.

They dropped me at the curb to check in and get my wheelchair, and my nephews, aged 12 and 9, hugged me twice and cried. Well, we all cried. Then it was time to fight my way through Friday afternoon security. They didn’t give me the option to go through in the wheelchair so I had to walk and get a full pat down because the security scanner doesn’t like spandex. I finally got settled back in my wheelchair and since I was at my gate pretty early, I decided to read through my insurance documents.

Imagine my surprise when a few hours later, I glanced up and recognized the profile of a person who approached the podium to ask if she was at the correct gate. The exchange went something like this:
Her: “Excuse me, am I at the right gate? The flight time says 6:25, but this display says 6:45, so I don’t think I’m at the right gate.”
Employee: “Yes, you’re at the right gate. It’s still the same flight number and city. We’re just delayed by 20 minutes.”
Her: “Oh, okay. I just wasn’t sure because it totally wasn’t the right time.”
Employee: “It’s still the correct flight. You’ll make up some of the delay in the air going to Phoenix.”
Her: “Okay, I just wanted to be sure.”

I recognized her profile before her voice, but those questions were definitely typical. I have wondered over the decade that we have known each other how she has managed to safely leave her house sometimes. What made me instantly freeze and try to hide my half-paralyzed face with my hair was the fact that I had told her to go fuck herself just a few months earlier. Of all of the days I could have traveled and of all of the days she could have traveled, and of all of the cities she could have flown into and out of, and out of all of the airlines to choose from, this was the day and location she picked. Jesus fucking Christ.

When I visited Phoenix last October, I had made plans months in advance to stay with her a few days (because she is one of only a few friends who doesn’t have animals). However, a month before I visited, she became sick and told me not to call or text her. So I made plans NOT to stay with her. While I was there, I offered to visit for a few hours and wear a vogmask so I didn’t catch what she had – which by the way was a very nasty pneumonia that she didn’t immediately kick – and she turned me down. Then she sent me text messages telling me that I was a horrible friend for not staying with her, and “next time” she was going to just keep her personal business to herself. (Usually she saves that last bit for when someone gossips about her. I wasn’t gossiping. I just can’t stay with her because I was born with a compromised immune system, and now I’m on weekly injections that reduce it even further. Something like that could and would kill me.)

In May, she sent me messages saying that she knew I was moving down, and she wanted to know where and when. I hadn’t told her anything. She doesn’t know any of my other friends, save one whom she hasn’t talked to in years. I don’t know where the info came from, but at this point, I don’t care. It’s manipulative and it’s something that she does to feel superior. When I told her that I didn’t want to continue staying in touch because she was so shitty to me, she claimed she didn’t remember saying anything to me. Of course, I have it all in writing, so it’s not my imagination.

That mutual friend asked if I missed being friends with her. My answer? Only when I forget how bat shit crazy she is. I don’t like being manipulated. I told her to fix herself, and I stand by that. (Not that I’m perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I also don’t claim to have never told someone not to call or text me, and then told them they are a horrible friend for not calling or texting me.)

Now that I’m in Phoenix, I’m a little nervous about being disabled and not being able to get away quickly if I do encounter someone I would rather avoid. That one is a good example. Another one is the former friend who tried to force himself on a mutual friend, and told me that I was crying about my sister and my friend dying 10 days apart just for sympathy. And oh, the ex-boyfriends. One in particular is Drummer #2, who was also controlling, manipulative and violent. I’m almost certain he still lives 2 miles down the road from where I am temporarily staying.

I think this is a good year for purging and starting new. I got rid of a lot of old furniture. I’m going to sever relationships that are unhealthy as well, as sad as that is, especially with friends who have been attached for so long.

Now if I could just solve the mystery of when the stuff I am keeping is actually going to arrive on the moving truck…

Co-Dependency: I’ll Scratch Your Back If You’ll Scratch Mine

Posted on by akiwifreund

Co-dependent: I’m quick to use the term. It’s not so easy to define, though. I’ve been trying for better than a decade to find just the right words. It seems most psychology publications are in the same boat as me.

PsychCentral defines it as “a person belonging to a dysfunctional, one-sided relationship where one person relies on the other for meeting nearly all of their emotional and self-esteem needs. It also describes a relationship that enables another person to maintain their irresponsible, addictive, or underachieving behavior.” So really, they provided two definitions, not just one.

GoodTherapy.org breaks it down with a good ol’ list (because we love bullets) and explains that the “old” way of thinking was that everyone’s feelings were centered on one person’s addictive behaviors. Now co-dependence is recognized in much broader terms to include the role of caregiving, denial of personal problems, low self-esteem, feelings of guilt when offered help or attention from others, sensitivity to criticism, perfectionism and fear of failure, a projection of competence and a need to control others.

But the definition from GoodTherapy.org doesn’t make clear that there has to be at least two people in the relationship to make it co-dependent. At least one of the parties has to have low self-esteem and be sensitive to criticism and project a false sense of competence, and have support and attention from another party to continue carrying on with those behaviors. And let’s be clear, here: both or all parties can be co-dependent upon each other. Mothers and daughters, friends, teachers and students, lovers. Of course, some relationships are much more intimate and lasting than others.

Here is a comprehensive list from CoDA.org (Co-Dependents Anonymous.org):

Patterns and Characteristics of Co-Dependence; Co-dependents often:
• have difficulty identifying what they are feeling.
• minimize, alter, or deny how they truly feel.
• perceive themselves as completely unselfish and dedicated to the well-being of others.
• lack empathy for the feelings and needs of others.
• label others with their negative traits.
• think they can take care of themselves without any help from others.
• mask pain in various ways such as anger, humor, or isolation.
• express negativity or aggression in indirect and passive ways.
• do not recognize the unavailability of those people to whom they are attracted.

Low self-esteem patterns; Co-dependents often:
• are extremely loyal, remaining in harmful situations too long.
• compromise their own values and integrity to avoid rejection or anger.
• put aside their own interests in order to do what others want.
• are hypervigilant regarding the feelings of others and take on those feelings.
• are afraid to express their beliefs, opinions, and feelings when they differ from those of others.
• accept sexual attention when they want love.
• make decisions without regard to the consequences.
• give up their truth to gain the approval of others or to avoid change.

Control patterns; Co-dependents often:
• believe people are incapable of taking care of themselves.
• attempt to convince others what to think, do, or feel.
• freely offer advice and direction without being asked.
• become resentful when others decline their help or reject their advice.
• lavish gifts and favors on those they want to influence.
• use sexual attention to gain approval and acceptance.
• have to feel needed in order to have a relationship with others.
• demand that their needs be met by others.
• use charm and charisma to convince others of their capacity to be caring and compassionate.
• use blame and shame to exploit others emotionally.
• refuse to cooperate, compromise, or negotiate.
• adopt an attitude of indifference, helplessness, authority, or rage to manipulate outcomes.
• use recovery jargon in an attempt to control the behavior of others.
• pretend to agree with others to get what they want.

Avoidance patterns; Co-dependents often:
• act in ways that invite others to reject, shame, or express anger toward them.
• judge harshly what others think, say, or do.
• avoid emotional, physical, or sexual intimacy as a way to maintain distance.
• allow addictions to people, places, and things to distract them from achieving intimacy in relationships.
• use indirect or evasive communication to avoid conflict or confrontation.
• diminish their capacity to have healthy relationships by declining to use the tools of recovery.
• suppress their feelings or needs to avoid feeling vulnerable.
• pull people toward them, but when others get close, push them away.
• refuse to give up their self-will to avoid surrendering to a power greater than themselves.
• believe displays of emotion are a sign of weakness.
• withhold expressions of appreciation.

As I revisit the definitions, I evaluate first my own behavior, but also a few specific relationships near me (that I have to be careful not to become too invested in, though I tend to become protective and outraged when I spot misbehavior). I think that the actual name “co-dependency” will be adjusted within the next 5-10 years, though what it will morph into will be a great mystery.

Missed Opportunities Brought To You By Creeptastic

Posted on by akiwifreund

This is another post from my MySpace days.

The Sick and the Dating:  The Weirdo in Mesa  4/17/07

Back in high school, I had a friend named Rachel who was a plus-sized girl that liked to wear trashy clothes.  She had bleach-fried hair, and wore those day-glo green colored contacts because she wanted her eyes to stand out.  One day we went down to a store on Hennepin Ave. (where all the hookers hang out, if you’re not familiar with Minneapolis) to visit a trashy outfit store, and a guy held the door open.  He said “There you go, Green Eyes” and she said “Oh, they’re not real” and he looked her up and down like she was his next meal and said “I bet the rest of you is”.  Thankfully, I didn’t get his attention – I certainly wasn’t going to pipe up that MY eyes were green naturally.  Sleazeball who hits on teenagers, get thee gone!

I’m telling you this story because I found these postings in the “Missed Opportunities” section of the free alternative paper, Phoenix New Times, and it reminded me of THAT GUY.  You know, the weirdo that you laugh with while he says something really disgusting and overt, and you’re planning your escape.  This is the same guy posting these ads.  They are all in Mesa, and he keeps imagining these hot encounters with random women.  Notice how his age changes.

Friday, March 9th – Circkle K main and greenfield mesa – 43 (Mesa)

you are a gorgeous gal driving a station wagon with 3 ribbons on the back! you buy Marlboro reds 100’s between 730 and 745 weekdays!! in am. You have gorgoeus auburn longer hair!! and great body!! I drive a white Ford ranger and parked next to you on this past thursday!! I get smokes too! could I get some fries to go with that SHAKE? hope you read this!! its an older wagon you drive! and you wear tight jeans!! hope you are there monday am! hit me back if you think your it

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 43

 

Thursday, March 22nd – circle K on lindsay and baseline Mon. 7 pm – 41 (Mesa)

you were driving a white blazer was at the pumps! you bought an 18 pak of Bud! and asked for a pack of THESES? I bought keystone lite! you have longer auburn hair and tight LEVIS!! that looked so goo around your hips!! no ring seen on your finger!! WOW!!!!

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 41

 

Thursday, April 5th – circle K at main and val-vista wed at 4;45 pm mesa – 38 (Mesa)

you were a gorgeous blonde coming in the store as I was leaving!! you held the door and I said thanks! you said anytime!! think u drive a red grand am! wow!! long legs and beautiful hair!!

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Monday, April 9th – circle K on lindsay and baseline Mon. 7 pm – 38 (Mesa)

thanks for gettin back to me!! but your e-mail address does not work!! or the phone number!! please get bak to me

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Monday, April 9th – circle k on main and val-vista last week 445 pm – 38 (Mesa)

hey get back to me!! you e-mailed me but yuor e-mila wont go thru!! nor the number you gave me! gorgoues blonde!! jengirl??

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Sunday, April 15th – hot brunette at Macayos on fri nite in parkin lot – 38 (Mesa)

I was walkin out out with another couple and you were outside with a nother gal havin a smoke!! you said Where do I know you from!! you have a smokin body and great smile!! wished I would have stopped!

Location: Mesa
Poster’s age: 38

 

Okay, buddy, none of these chicks are writing back to you – at least not with legitimate phone numbers or e-mails – because they can smell a lunatic a mile away.  Are you stalking all of the Circle Ks in Mesa?  I knew there was a reason I didn’t like that city. Everything bad happens at Circle K. I remember that from my court reporting days.

If Nothing Else, There Is Hope

Posted on by akiwifreund

Written as a MySpace blog post 10.5 years ago, approximately 3 years before I became seriously ill with the disease that took me down and now has me bedridden. I can’t believe it’s been a decade already.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Legacy of Hope   6/2/07

 

When I went to the Chandler library to cruise for movies to check out for the weekend, the selections were pretty slim.  The Poirot series that usually appears on PBS didn’t hold any appeal, and “Show Boat” wasn’t looking any better.  I picked up a documentary called “Legacy,” about a multi-generational family of single moms trying to escape the inner city projects of Chicago.

The narration is provided by one of the teenage girls who lives with her grandmother, mother, aunt, six cousins and four siblings.  Within the first 10 minutes of the film and after the grandmother gives her first interview about living in the projects, one of the nephews – the one that showed the most academic promise and stability, and was looked up to by family and neighbors alike – was shot dead in the street.  The filmmaker chose to follow this family for a total of five years after this devastating murder, which included the boy’s mother joining and completing her 5th addiction treatment program, the narrator’s mother getting a stable job after being a welfare recipient since the age of 16, and the grandmother finally qualifying for her own house after a generous donation from an area businessman who saw the news story of the boy being shot.  The narrator was the first in her family to complete a high school education and receive her diploma.

This was a difficult story on many levels.  It is not dissimilar to watching episodes of “Intervention” on A&E.  Nearly every person of my immediate and extended family is or was an addict; I saw and learned things that no child should.  Every person in my father’s family with the exception of my uncle died young, including my father.  This month will also mark the violent death 12 years ago [as of 2007] of my aunt at the hands of her boyfriend.

Poverty was also a strong factor in my childhood years.  My mother nearly died when I was five after she contracted a bacterial infection, and was bedridden for three months.  Add that to the strain of my own medical bills, with my terrible asthma attacks, allergies, and numerous bouts of pneumonia and bronchitis….and no health insurance.  “Preventative care” was impossible to consider.  We stood in line for milk and cheese.  We were also issued these awful frozen fish portions, which were breaded fillets of cod with a hunk of cheese wrapped in as well.  Luckily an uncle was a manager at General Mills and would give us test samples of various foods that they were developing to mass market.  It was a treat when we once got “Bonkers” – if you remember those, they were rolls of peanut butter with rice crispies and chocolate chips on the outside.  Mostly, though, we got these horrendous breakfast bars – vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate – that had the taste of chalk and the consistency of a doorstop.  We ate them because we had to.  [It is no mystery that impoverished people are overweight because the least expensive food is the most fattening and unhealthiest fare you can conjure up.]

One Christmas there was no money for presents.  My mom contacted a local charity that gave us $14 each to spend on gifts, took us shopping, and had a wrapping party afterwards.  Mom still had a sense of humor about it – somehow she convinced me to tell her what I got her, saying “Oh, I’ll forget, I promise.  Just whisper it in my ear.”  Of course I told her.

It is also no mystery that being poor is stressful, humiliating and limiting. It is easy to say “Why don’t they just ___________ ?”.  Right now, as a nation in general, we have a very them-vs.-us mentality; every man for himself. If you are lucky enough to have grown up in a household that never really had to struggle to survive, it is much more difficult for you to understand how this cycle of poverty continues through generations.  But instead of saying “Why don’t they ________?”, why don’t you ___________ to help?  Because it’s their problem, not yours.  I’m not saying that we have to give $10 to the people with signs at the end of freeway exit ramps.  Can’t we lend a hand before it gets to that point?  It may not be you or your family right now, but it could be in the future.  Medical expenses alone are becoming outrageous, even for those covered under company policies, and one major illness could be financially devastating.  Half of all bankruptcies filed are attributed to medical bills.  For some reason, we as a society have associated medical bills with outright laziness, when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

There were elements in this film that I could not relate to.  My extended family never bonded to get through the hard times.  When my aunt was killed, my father had to admit to the detectives that he “never really socialized with her” and didn’t know her boyfriend was violent.  Her death was heartbreaking, but instead of offering each other support, fights broke out over stupid things like who would get her dresser and bed.

These women in the documentary also had strong faith in God, which was never a part of my upbringing.  Hearing “God will get us through this” and “by the grace of God” was like they were speaking in tongues to me.  Faith is not something I practice.  Even if we’re talking about people in general, or work, or good health, or anything for that matter, I never sit back and say “I have faith”.  Instead, I have hard work and critical thinking skills.  If I don’t do for myself, I have no business sitting back and waiting for something, or someone, to take care of everything for me. 

Yet, there is still the legacy of hope.  We need to be reminded that despite our circumstances, we can rise above with dignity and flourish.  You or I may have been in a bad place 10, 20, 25 years ago, but that doesn’t mean we have to be there now.  Good deeds should be handed out to strangers, friends and family alike – you may need their help one day.

My mom has recently started worrying that she made too many mistakes and bad decisions when raising my sister and I.  It’s quite a time delay, since we are both in our mid-thirties and turned out pretty straight.  I don’t hold anything against her.  She also taught us love and affection, dignity, and the joy of survival. 

Ladies First

Posted on by akiwifreund

I grew up in Minnesota, and I currently live in Minnesota, though there was a big break of 20 years where I lived and voted in other states. Still, one of the bright and shining lights in being in this horrible position of having to burn through all of my personal savings and deplete my entire 401k plan just to live until I find out my fate in a much-delayed disability hearing is that from my mayoral candidate to my state representative to my House and Senate candidates, everyone is a Democrat.

And the two Senators from Minnesota are very popular; Amy Klobuchar is a champion for women and often works across the aisle to find common ground so that bills don’t stall completely. The most recent bill (embarrassingly) is the one outlining what needs to be done in the case of sexual harassment – because nothing has been in place or updated for more than 50 years. Amy Klobuchar’s office is “following” my disability case, though for the time being, there is not much they can do to speed the process to the hearing because I’m technically not completely down to zero dollars (though I’m close) and I’m not close to death at the moment. Things have changed quite a bit since that concept of approaching your senators and representatives for help was introduced.

The other, Al Franken, often makes the news because of his relentless and sarcastic grilling during committee hearings. As recently as Wednesday night, after another video was posted on Twitter and Facebook, people were calling for him to run for president in 2020 because of his no-nonsense approach and seeming transparency in all areas professional and personal has made him the darling of many who tire of the current shitgibbon in office who picks fights with other world leaders via Twitter.

Of course, everything flipped on Thursday morning when it was revealed that Al forcefully kissed a woman after she refused him, then pretended to grope her while she was sleeping.

Al is actually a friend of friends, so I’m going to start there. I’m going to imagine knowing him for a few decades as someone who went to his house, or he came to mine, watched his kids grow up and he watched mine get bigger, and maybe we talked about how I finally got diagnosed with this really sucky disease that has no cure and not a great prognosis – because that is what happened to my friends. And it seems like he genuinely cares and wants everyone to have a better life.

My friends were hurt and disappointed. It’s difficult to wrap your head around having something like this hit the news and it touches every corner of your life. How do you explain it to children, who also see it on the news and hear adults talk about it? How do you bear the burden of close people being really disappointed, not to mention millions of strangers? How do you feel safe around someone who says that they respect boundaries and is a champion for women but then demonstrates the opposite?

Al even co-sponsored a sexual assault bill; it addresses how first responders are trained in handling rape victims and how to interview them. Abby Honold had to fight her rapist for two years in court in order to get a six-year sentence for her attacker. As soon as the story broke regarding Al’s behavior, Abby contacted his staff and requested that he immediately remove himself from the bill, and he agreed.

I tried to talk about this situation with a man who I generally see as supportive to women. When the report came out and was immediately confirmed and an apology was issued, I was extremely disappointed too. I admit I don’t personally know Al, but fuck, I’m a woman. I’m a woman who has worked with men. I’m a woman who has been out in public. I’m a woman who has been groped without permission. I’m a woman who has been kissed without permission. I’m a woman who has faked pleasure and orgasms in order to get away from someone as quickly as possible because I have recognized danger. The man that I tried to talk to about this knows this, because we have talked about it over and over.

But this time, he told me to shut up. He told me that the woman who reported it accepted Al’s apology, and that’s all that is needed, and my opinion doesn’t matter. Then he said he was sorry he got into the subject with me. Then he said he had bigger things to worry about. Then he went into these big, long speeches about how what Al did wasn’t as bad as what Roy Moore did, and it was before he was a senator, so he should just be left alone. This entire time he was spouting off, I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything I could have said that he would have been receptive to. He was in Lecturing Middle-Aged Privileged White Male mode. 

Why do I take it so personally? Just last week I had been talking about adding Al in on my disability case in trying to get it pushed through faster because my funds are running so low, but my instincts kept holding me back. I don’t know why. Now I’m afraid to ask my elected official to help me just because I have boobs and he might want to feel me up in return for helping me. Why does everything have to have a fucking cost? Why do I have to whore myself out? I truly don’t think that men understand just how much of a betrayal this is, when we confirm that yet another person has abused their power.

A man saw fit to tell me that my opinion didn’t matter, then he went on to tell me all about his – about men forcing themselves on women, and his conclusion was that it wasn’t that bad and it could have been worse. Another man posted his own conclusions, saying that as long as love and dating have been around, “unwanted feelings” have been a part of the whole thing, and we should just deal with it like adults. Here’s the thing, though: Al and his accuser never dated. Ever. And for part of it, she was asleep. I realize that every man has a “wake me up with a blowjob” fantasy, but when a woman is in full fatigue gear and wearing a flak jacket and helmet and is in a deep sleep sitting up on a plane surrounded by men, exhausted, she’s probably not fantasizing about how she can fulfill their high school porn dreams. The same can be said about my asshole ex-boyfriends who didn’t believe me when I would get pissed about them feeling me up in the grocery store when I was trying to take care of a long list and they were contributing absolutely nothing of value, including money and effort.

I really, truly wish that men would put their dicks down and listen.

Suffering For Art

Posted on by akiwifreund

 


Yesterday I posted this article on my Facebook page, indicating there are certain entertainers I won’t support even on Netflix/Hulu/Amazon because they still receive royalties. I won’t even check out their movies from the library.

I was subjected to “Annie Hall” my freshman year in college. Woody Allen is a whiny fuckhead criminal, and I don’t understand why people, especially women, keep clamoring to work with him. Who does he remind me of? The abusive guy who doesn’t live downstairs anymore. I have paid attention to the trailers of Woody’s subsequent films, and quite frankly, they have nothing to offer beyond what we have already seen. Who keeps saying he’s a genius? Other men who want to bang underage girls.

One of my friends agonized over the fact that “great artists” might be shitty people. And by “shitty people,” he means that they probably rape and molest women and/or girls and/or boys. But, by god, look at their art! What would we miss out on if they didn’t do all of those things to other people! So the conclusion that this friend came to is that we should still support and admire the art – works by Salinger, Brando, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Mailer, Eliot, the list goes on.

My answer is no. I’ve never seen any of The Godfather movies. I’ve never lingered on a Pollack painting. Never read Salinger. When I find out that someone is a douchebag, I drop them like a hot mess. I will never again laugh or relate to a Cosby joke. He drugged women to fuck them, and then, you know, blamed them or tried to gaslight them.

Another friend who jumped in on the conversation jokingly said that he would support the art if he could pirate the material rather than outright buy it. But he would still miss the art too much if he had to give it up because he loved it too much; he was a huge John Lennon fan, and that outweighed any bad behavior.

What is especially disturbing is that the second friend wrote up a little speech during the first wave of #MeToo posts, saying he became aware of how unsafe women feel after a female friend asked, “But is it safe for me to go there by myself?” He expected and received a lot of accolades. But he and the other guy were pissed at me for this post about not supporting assholes and criminals. I mean, they both apologized for offending me, but only after speeches about why I shouldn’t be mad. Don’t be mad, brah. We’re just flawed and we don’t want to stop bad behavior if it results in good art.

We all attended the arts high school together. I’m always surprised and then disappointed when I think that we’ve all evolved at the same rate, because we had this really great experience, and I’m proven wrong. I’m a harpy now. Why can’t I be all cool about loving the art and understand that men will be men and suffer and need salvation – but know until then, they are going to beat and rape women and children?

I’m just wondering when I stopped deserving to be safe. Is it because I’m an artist and I should expect violence from other artists for the sake of art? Is it because I’m disabled and I should be thankful for whatever comes my way? Where is the motherfucking disconnect?

I’d much rather throw my money and my spirit at artists who aren’t shitty people. For instance, I like Sara Bareillas. I’m pretty sure we’re not going to be reading any shockers about her. I also like X Ambassadors. Have you heard about their partnership with No Barriers for the Renegade Scholarship Fund? “The organization helps people embark on a quest to contribute their absolute best to the world. From middle and high school students, to adults with disabilities including wounded veterans, the organization serves people of all backgrounds and abilities united by a common desire to live purposefully despite the barriers in our way.” And since I live across the street from the art gallery my sister manages, there is an endless stream of local visual artists I get to talk to and take pictures of their goods to post online for social media.

There are so many opportunities to support positive artists, both living and dead, that I don’t feel the need to give my attention or money to those who destroy others. I don’t accept the status quo. I don’t go along with the idea that I should like them or their art just because they are “classic” or “geniuses.” Now that we have the internet, we have access to so much more material. Besides, last time I checked, The Doors aren’t putting out any new songs.