What is This.

Good Evening, all. 9/6/16

I read a very touching story for my creative writing class entitled “Two Kinds” by Amy Tan. There’s a PDF of it floating around the internet ether if you’d like to give it a read. It’s a short six pages.

For my American Literature class, I was supposed to read and skim through a section entitled “First Encounters: Early European Accounts of Native America”.

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You can guess I took one read of the bullshit and set it down.

My more recent followers may be a little confused by my discontent, and I’ll briefly explain: I’m mixed race, a portion includes Native American, and I’m no stranger to the mountain of hell historical truama has put that part of my family through. I come from a steady line of slaves and ancestors who were forced along the trail of tears. I therefore come from an open, unhealed wound, riddled with alcoholics, depressives, and oppressed people. The last thing I feel like reading is a piece of shit from some old “explorers” who felt entitled to do what they did.

I know there are natives and aborigines all across the world who still feel the repercussions of similar histories. And one day I’m sure it will happen again. And again. And again. If there is life on other planets, I’m almost certain it’s happened there as well. There always seems to be a power struggle between creatures somewhere, somehow. Plants fight for the beams of the sun and there are vines that suffocate other brothers and sisters of theirs for just that.

Perhaps the other planets have found a way to heal. There are some countries on our planet who have learned to heal from that kind of truama, but America isn’t one of them. And therefore I don’t take lightly people saying “that story doesn’t make sense” and then laughing at the world resting upon the back of a giant turtle in an Iroquois story. I don’t take lightly the fact that when some European described watching some tribe wail every morning at a certain time at the death of their son for an entire year as “ridiculous” or hearing them laugh at that.

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A Representative Picture of Me In class

Whether or not there was something lost in translation, have some fucking respect.

Sometimes it takes three generations to heal from truama. It’s not inconceivable that there were different forms of mourning in different tribes. Mourning too long isn’t always a sign of depression you spiritless idiots, it’s also a form of healing. You have to feel that pain, you have to let it out, and you have to reconnect with yourself and your surroundings. Grief is extremely powerful and it needs to be treated as such. Trauma is very powerful, and it needs to be handled as such. If you can’t understand that, they keep your mouth shut.

I should have spoken up in class. The way they were talking, I could feel my blood boiling. But something held me back. Remnants of oppression, perhaps? Habit? I’m used to people talking that way about cultures I’m apart of. They don’t ever seem to talk shit about that straight up Polish/Irish part of me though.

I fell silent that class period. I refused to speak or participate or listen to a word anyone had to say. Maybe it was my anger, maybe it was my way of rebellion: maybe it was my middle finger to the world. I don’t know. But if it happens again tomorrow, I won’t hold back.

My professor said the book does a good job of expressing native american views. Among the hundreds of settler stories, there is one native american creation story that was probably written down by a settler.

Yes, there are tons of documents by natives believe it or not, because I read many of them in high school when I took a college american history course.

How I see my professor at this point:

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9/7/16

I stopped that post last night. This morning the tides turned and I awoke how I always do: balanced on the edge of my mind willing to either fall and land steadily on the surface to my left or the abyss to my right. I ended up fighting a little harder than usual and the result went something like this:

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Man in pinned stripe suite falling off a cliff.

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And yes, I switched gender and race in the process.

Something took over my mind today and I ended up not going to that English class I specified above; I sent an email saying I had an appointment I couldn’t miss. I got a call from work for a shift, and for some reason it spiraled out of control after that. I had to spend a lot of courage attempting to call them back (to which the phone wasn’t answered) and it just reminded me of the fact that I have a letter to still give to the accessibility center, an appointment to reschedule because someone gave me the wrong room for it and I missed the appointment, and that I still have to dish out all of the accommodation letters to my professors  which means I have to approach them during office hours.

I got extremely overwhelmed. And when I get overwhelmed I have no tools to stop my mind from freaking out. I try explaining the process but I’m assuming people think “why are you freaking out about nothing” and then decide there’s no point in talking to me about it. That frustrates me even more as I don’t tell the inner workings of my mind to just anyone. In fact, I rarely tell them to anyone. So to be blatantly rejected when I do manage to share some of my stress only pushes me further downward.

It’s like climbing up from a hole and getting your knuckles stomped on and your face kicked back down.

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In my creative writing class I couldn’t focus. My mind does not have the capability to shut up. I think there were a few times I whispered something to myself or I started rocking, I’m not sure, I wasn’t really present for the class.

Then comes the suspicions: is that person next to me asking the other person next to her a question to spite me? She knows it pisses me off. She’s doing it on purpose. She was nice to me earlier but now that she knows I’m insane, she’s refusing to speak to me.

I figure both people at my table can hear what’s going on in my head and that’s why they were quieter this class. Maybe I was whispering too loud, I don’t know.

Maybe I didn’t whisper at all and it only felt that way because my mind was so loud today.

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To be quite honest, I don’t know what the fuck went on in class.

It’s been very stressful lately, and I know what happens to me when stress hits me: my moods jump around like a ten year old on a trampoline for the first time, I’m suspicious of everyone around me (have I told you at this point I only trust my manager at work?), I shut down . . . and during that shut down I force everything in the back of my mind, putting pressure on my subconscious. Then she erupts with fury and vengeance and that, my friends, is what I call a panic attack. Then I get sent to the hospital, miss classes because the Ativan IV puts me to sleep for a good day and a half, and then I wake feeling like a complete fuck up of a person.

I would know as this has been happening systematically for the last two years. It’s the reason I am not yet out of this mind fuck of a junior fucking college.

So I try to let my stress out. I try to talk to people. But what happens when that fails as well? Where do I turn? This blog? And bore all of your eyes to death?

I don’t know.

What is this blog anymore, even?

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Let’s Talk About It

Afternoon, all. It’s afternoon for me.

I just finished an article over at MyTrendingStories about Black Lives Matter and All Lives Matter and whether any of it matters. Check it out here. Feel free to bash a comment over my head about it.

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In other news, this just in:

An article that must have gotten lost in the 1920’s just released new, striking information about recent research into psychoactive medication: it’s not good for long term treatment.

Another article that must have been living under a rock for the last two hundred years has just made headlines with: Locking doors in hospital doesn’t lower suicide rates.

Can we all just give these people a huge round of applause, please. I mean, think about all the brain power it took to come to these realizations, to find this research, and to use common sense to rationalize that people who feel suicidal really just need someone to talk with them.

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Thanks to those people for catching up with the rest of the world. There may be hope for us after all.

Especially if we speak out more like the woman who wrote this article “My Depression Is Part of My Slave Ancestry”. 

It’s a sad fact that Historical Trauma exists. It’s passed down from generation to generation, and can only be healed from generation to generation. It’s not just about brain chemistry. It’s not just about genes. It’s not just about environment. It’s not just about being “ill”. It’s about realizing life is a generational experience, it’s a continuum. That things happen and they effect you, your children, and your children’s children.

Call it paranoia if you like. Call it delusional, call it what you will, that won’t excuse its existence in one form or another.

routesI think about the ancestors I have which were most likely forced along the Trail of Tears. I think about the ancestors I have who were brought over on boats from their homeland in Africa, given different names, bought and sold like property, whipped and hanged, and forced to fight constantly for survival. I constantly wonder how far I could go back into my ancestry until names just stop because 1) they refused to put their name on a census or 2) they were given a different name.

Some people can go on Ancestry.com and trace their history all the way back to England. Or France. Mine will inevitably stop in America. The last name I hold now isn’t even the name of my paternal grandfather.

And I’ve wondered all my life why I felt I had an identity crisis. Some people could call that a “Borderline Personality” symptom: the consistent lack and shifting of identity. I call it a result of my history.

I always feel I’m being watched. Some people call that paranoia. I call that a result of my history: there are many cultures that believe their ancestors watch over them during the after life, and I feel I’m specially, spiritually inclined, I’ve felt that way since I was a child, and I believe I will continue to feel that way.

Sometimes my brain can take all of that too far. I won’t be able to sleep or feel comfortable or get up to step outside of my room because I feel like something on the other side of the door will attack me.

My entire ancestry has been attacked in the most brutal mental and physical ways. Is it any wonder I feel that way often? Is it any wonder my social anxiety has been with me since before I learned how to spell either word?

The other side of my family is Polish. Do we really need to go into their fight? I think we’re all very aware of it.

There are many sides to Mental Health besides the characteristics of disorders. It’s something we forget all too often, I feel.

 

Unmasking The Enemy

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It’s rarely a time where I can say I’ve had great success.

But tonight, I’ve made great strides.

I TALKED.

That’s right, I sat my ass down in a group of two and I fucking talked and I had a conversation and my anxiety was at an all time low!

I shared ideas like your average Joe!

I know the two people I sat with usually sit with another girl, so at first I felt I was invading. I reveled in humiliation for the first ten or fifteen minutes of class but when we all turned inward to share the quotes we’d collected from this weeks book, I ignored the pounding of my heart and the flushing of my face and jumped over the first hurdle by saying one of the quotes I liked and explaining my idea behind it. It sparked a conversation between the three of us and the flushing got worse and the heart beat palpitated and I ignored it all because I was determined to make this night a success and dethrone my anxiety.

A little tiny piece of my personality shone tonight and that’s a huge accomplishment. They laughed with me and I could tell they were surprised I spoke more than five words and backed up my idea with concrete facts.

At the end of it all, I sat there in my chair and found myself thinking: It’s this easy? Are you fucking kidding me?

That’s right, I called talking with people EASY.

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I don’t know what’s sparked this confidence. I’ve been reading so much about my native ancestor’s culture, I’ve been learning more about who I am, and I’ve been so amazed at how all the native traditional ideas  I’ve been learning in this class were things I was taught as a child from my father that my father probably never knew were native traditions. They were always loose ideas, general rules for life I was taught, and I’m certainly not like the natives on the reservation, but I identify more with this culture than I do the others in my family lineage.

Coming to these realizations, identifying with a people who base themselves on community and giving myself a reason for my social anxieties other than “family troubles” or “genes” or “chemical imbalance”, and realizing that I can heal has given me this confidence, I think. I didn’t even have that much trouble forming the words in my brain as I usually do. They just came and I said them and I stumbled a bit at the beginning, but once I got going I couldn’t stop.

o-success-facebookThis is the first step of a very, very long healing process. I told you all at the beginning of this semester that this class was going to change my life and I wasn’t lying. It has. Tremendously. It’s reminded me of myself and my spirit. I thought I lost them in the hustle and bustle of puberty and homelessness, and addiction, and the transfer into adult life and the depression, but I didn’t. They’ve been with me this whole time, just hidden, covered, blanketed.

I remember watching documentaries on “gifted” children as a teenager. I was always amazed at these toddlers doing calculus and growing into teenagers who graduated college and worked in laboratories and were sensations in their scientific and professional communities. And I followed some of them into their young adult life and I wondered why, if they had such a large “IQ” and so many opportunities, why they didn’t tackle politics. Why they didn’t tackle government or worldly affairs. Why they huddled in isolated in labs in a corner of the earth.

I don’t think it’s because they realized tackling the world was too arduous of a task. There are many ways you can effect the world without being some magic savior.

I wondered all this because many claimed their gifted children sat in front of the news and cried over wars and poverty and all the sad things in life. They’d cry for hours. The documentaries had specialists claim that feelings for the whole of humanity were indicative of spectacular genius.

Is that another way to separate a love for humanity from the average population? As a child I was always sensitive to such things. I didn’t cry over these events because I was sad for the world, I didn’t cry because I should be sad for the world, I didn’t cry because of the horrors, I cried because I could feel the pain of those people. Not in a shallow way, not in the way we feel pain for others everyday. Not the way you sympathize with someone when they fall and break their leg and you recognize that hurt. No, this was a special way. This was a spirit to spirit, human to human connection, I knew this at age 5. If I told the average psychologist growing up that I was feeling others pain through the television, that I was connected to those people in a way they didn’t understand, they’d get wary of my mental state.

WATCH OUT, IT’S ATTENUATED PSYCHOSIS SYNDROME, QUICK A MILLION MILLIGRAMS OF THORAZINE, STAT! GO, GO, GO!!!

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Anyway, my professor and guest speakers often speak on this type of feeling and that’s how I learned I wasn’t alone.

In this way I am different from the people around me. I say it’s different because when I feel these things I don’t ever forget. I don’t move on with my life and forget. I don’t set out an annual day to take a moment and remember and “respect” what happened; I’m always aware of them. I’m always aware of the grief others feel because I feel it beside them. I believe it disrespect to think you can take horrible events, traumatic events, set a day aside or a moment in time to mourn them, then go on with your life like nothing ever happened. That’s not recovery; that’s the shallowest form of sympathy.

To me that’s barbaric. You learn to carry those horrible events with you and you remember them because in remembering them, you remember yourself. Those events that happen around you, that happen to you, are apart of you and your community and this giant spinning ball we all inhabit. If you act like they don’t happen then you’re ignoring part of yourself.

I choose not to ignore the pain in my life or the pain of my ancestors. I’m not going to “let it go”. I’m going to learn to carry it properly and I’m never going to forget what it’s taught me.

No wonder we can absentmindedly start wars and absentmindedly put ads 2-army-strong-adon television for you to join an army that fights for a purpose it doesn’t even understand.

Don’t be blind. If you can’t see with your eyes, feel with your spirit. It never lies. Your eyes can deceive you; they only see what people want them to see. With what I’ve experienced, your spirit is connected to the Earth and the universe, two things humans will never be able to manipulate as well as they do Google Ad Sense.

Do I sound like a loon to you? To some of you I might. And that’s okay. Just remember that science and math and western philosophy and all that fancy stuff has spent the last few hundred years proving native beliefs right. We’re all in the same boat here, we just have different grasps on the same concepts.

Some sooner than others.

Sorry math/science geeks. I’m one of you as well, but I can’t deny the facts. You were all a little late.

But anyway, while you’re reading about the latest Celebrity Botox and Butt-Lift and watching the latest music video of Taylor Swift singing about some dude no one gives a shit about, or video of rappers telling you to fuck bitches and get money, take a little moment out of your day to think about this:

One in three native women are raped on reservations today.

Ninety three percent of those abusers are non-native.

There’s a court case underway right now that you know nothing about because Nicki Minaj’s ass is blocking your vision. You want the full explanation, you can read it here.

But basically it goes like this: Dollar General is a chain on a Choctaw Reservation. Reservations are outside of federal court jurisdiction. People within Dollar General have been abusing workers. The story in that article is of a boy who, when he was thirteen, signed up to get work experience and ended up being sexually abused. His parents sued Dollar General in a tribal court because their son had been violated sexually by a grown man. Dollar General said fuck you, you can’t sent up a civil case against us for sexually abusing your son, we’re not part of this reservation, we’re within federal jurisdiction. Dollar General then took the family to federal court and sued the family for trying to sue Dollar General in a tribal court because their son was sexually assaulted several times by the store manager.

Why the emphasis you ask? Because a kid was sexually assaulted! And what does Dollar General care about? JURISDICTION.

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People there are afraid of the U.S court ruling in favor of the corporation (and they have historical evidence for reason to be afraid) and allowing any non-native operations inside the reservation to never be tried in a tribal court.

So if you want to commit a heinous crime, go work for a non-native corporation on a reservation and you’ll never see the walls of a prison in your life or the sting of a punishment on your wrist.

Or become a priest and snatch you some young boys.

People adore blindness. Nicki Minaj is much easier on the eyes than men of God dicking and breeding and bleeding innocent asses of young, crying, flailing, alter boys and corporate retail staff shoving their grimy, fat, sausage fingers into the virgin holes of little girls, don’t you think?

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Look At All The Pretty Glitter

 

So go ahead and forget what I just told you. It’s okay, it’ll be easier for you.

This class has not only given me a few tools to take away the power of my anxiety, but it’s helped me realize there’s a cause for my anxiety. It’s historical and generational and environmental and biological and genetic, it’s everything you want to call it. And I don’t want it to leave me. I want to embrace it and live with it side by side.

I’ve never complained over my depression or my anxiety or any other mental health issue. I’ve grieved over it and I’ve felt the pain and it’s sucked some royal ass, but I’ve never cursed it or wished it away because where the fuck would it go? Where am I supposed to wish it away to? It’s got no where to go. It’s part of me; am I going to rip myself in half and throw myself into the atmosphere?

What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do other than learn and live?

 

LOL Thanksgiving

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It’s always baffled me that people need an actual day to relax with each other, have a good meal, and figure out what they’re thankful for.

I mean, obviously they don’t need that day, but because we’ve decided it exists, some people use it as an excuse to call the old relatives they never call, invite over the people they never see, and finally go through a list of things they’re thankful for.

I remember when I was a little kid in elementary school, they made us write out the things we were thankful for as thanksgiving tradition-which is weird, considering they never told us any of the truths behind thanksgiving. Don’t give me that “kids are too young to know about violence and killing and genocide”; if you’re that worried about it, say something like ” a bunch of people came over here, tricked the Indians into thinking they were friendly, and then killed them”. I’ve read accounts of German members of society who learned about the Holocaust in detail in grade three and four. They know how to mend their history and they know how to respect their past. America sucks in that respect.

Anyway I’m not going to list what I’m thankful for, because I list what I’m thankful for every day. I think about all the things I have and all the things others don’t have and I don’t need a day of the year that was never even about thankfulness to tell me to be thankful. I don’t need a day of the year to eat a lot of food (I do that daily, too) and I don’t need a day of the year to get together with family.

I guess the Europeans were thankful the Natives taught them how to eat and survive. That’s about as close to a “thankful” thanksgiving we’re going to get.

So I don’t celebrate this holiday. “Holiday”. Not since I was in elementary school.

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I know, I know, I work too much off logic and reason and not as much off of emotion sometimes. Logically and reasonably thanksgiving is pointless and a disgrace. Emotionally people cling to it as an excuse to show the world they’re not heartless, to show their family they still care, and to take a day off work.

Until, you know, they go back to work and scam a few people out of some money and kick the homeless guy on the street begging for money because they think all homeless people are lazy drug addicts.

Would you rather have someone beg you for money or coerce you for money? In other words, would you rather have a bunch of homeless people on your lawn or a bunch of ads on your phone tracking what you type into Google so it can send some more direct ads at you?

In this world you get both; it’s not really a choice. That was a joke.

I can be funny too.

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The problem with saying “the day doesn’t matter, it’s just a time to celebrate what you’re thankful for and be with family” is that you’re ignoring a vital part of American history. Not history according to the United States government, but history according to all the native people stuck on poverty-stricken reservations with cards of their “blood quantum” in their wallets and elders who sit around and mourn about the old days on this twenty sixth of November. That’s how they celebrate this “holiday”.

It’s fine to take a day off and be happy; you really do deserve it. Just don’t lose sight of what you’re relaxing in the name of.

We obviously already have lost sight of it if people feel comfortable saying things like “the day doesn’t matter, it’s the holiday spirit”.

It’s like Christmas. Now don’t get me wrong; I love Christmas. All the chocolate and candy canes and warmth of the heater. But we all know it was Pagan holiday celebrating the winter solstice, right? We all know a lot of religious holidays were stolen from Pagan celebrations right? Because Pagans were deemed “evil”, right? And yet we ignore it. People who aren’t even religious hear the word Pagan and associate it with something bad; we just celebrate holidays for the sake of the celebration.

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Sounds Absolutely Satanistic

It’s like reading the bible. I’ve read it; we read portions for one of my advanced English classes and I read it as a child and I even went to a church for a while with one of my friends to explore her lifestyle, her traditions, and the youth group she wanted me to come to. The people were so nice; I love them to death still. The preacher often scheduled trips for us and we went to things like Jelly Bean factories and arcades and had a shit ton of fun. I felt kind of bribed, but hey; I signed up for it.

She wanted me to be saved. I had no idea what that meant, so they explained it to me. I hope I don’t offend anyone of the Christian religion by saying that I went for it because I wanted to experience everything. They say you need to give your heart to Jesus Christ without really explaining what that means, so I figured it didn’t matter whether I did it under true conviction or not.

I’m a spiritual person and I must say, with all those serious people in the room I did feel a shift in the air and I did feel warm and very emotional and it was odd. Did that make me a believer in the Bible and their teachers? Fuck no! (Obviously). But it did solidify my spirituality–there is something out there in the universe that’s a mystery that we’re never going to understand from a book or writings or even oral stories; it’s something you feel and that’s the closest you’ll ever get to it. It’s in that moment we’re connected to each other and to nature and that’s all we really need. I’m fine with that.

So I did a lot of searching about the Bible and you know there are a lot of stories the church excludes, a lot of words Jesus said that they refused to put in the teachings, and religion has just become a weird cult designed to keep people under control.

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So I got the hell out of there. I said thank you, I respected them, and I got the fuck on. I prefer to respect nature and give thanks to what’s here on earth and give thanks to the mystery of the universe rather than live my life according to a bunch of men who wrote a bunch of words a couple thousand years ago.

Love the call for peace and harmony and respect, but the majority of their people don’t follow their own rules so that kind of invalidates a large portion of the religion. Anyone who uses religion to disregard gays from the community and ignores the fact that animals in nature engage in homosexual activities just proves me right. I mean . . . there was research a long time ago in the forties or fifties I believe on elephants who researchers saw performing unconventional sexual acts on each other (male/male, female/female) and these idiots condemned the elephants and said they were going against God. It’s the people that ruin the meaning of spirituality, it really is.

Everyone believes in something. Whether it’s God, gods, spiritual beings, science, math, whatever.

But it’ll always be warped and twisted. Soon Easter is going to be about the giant three headed bunny demi-god who’s half human half jackrabbit who burrows under your house and steals your shoes at night. You’re supposed to leave him carrots and chocolate so he doesn’t kill you. And soon math and science will actually build that giant three headed bunny demi-god and use it as police patrol on the streets as a solution to the racial violence of today’s officers.

A beautiful future lies on the horizon.

I’d also like to congratulate science and Epigentics for finally catching up with Native traditional beliefs: yes, trauma and pain are passed down from generation to generation and yes physics, we all are interconnected. I’m glad you all finally found the proof you need to prove the well known belief right.

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How Responsible Are You?

There are two things that come to mind when I tell someone I want to (eventually) do volunteer work. Can you guess them?

  1. Oh wow, that’ll look great on your transcript!

Or

2.  Oh wow, that’ll look great on your resume!

Sure, I get a few “that’s great work you’re doing” and some people who suddenly think I’m a great person for helping out a few homeless guys. Yes, I make it sound trivial on purpose because these people are missing a concept that one man finally put into words tonight that no one else could and that I’d yet to figure out how.

Responsibility is usually a term we use to describe someone’s duty, what they should be doing, usually on an individual scale. It’s your responsibility to take out the trash. It’s your responsibility to recycle. It’s your responsibility to not yell at the best buy workers because they seem to only come around when you don’t need something rather than when you do. Now, as someone with social anxiety, I’m not particularly keen on helping a bunch of strangers for a few days a week, not because I’m some malicious, anti-social personality who wants to stab everyone in the face, but because it’s very stressful for me and I know I won’t do the best job I can when under that amount of stress.

However, there is another reason. When I ask adults, students, friends, why I should have to do community service, the only answers I ever get revolve around how it will make ME look, and that I’m just supposed to “support” my community.

But why? I always ask that question. I ask “why” to everything. I ask physicists why they think the Big Bang created everything. I ask why people actually think money is important when it’s an inanimate object we place our own value on. I ask why anyone thinks getting a degree means something. I’ve never understand any of it and yet, yes, I am a scientist; I love it. I do like money, it buys me things and keeps me alive.And yes, I do want a Medical Degree.

However; I’ve learned a lot tonight, more than I’ve ever learned in any structured class, from a Native American man who spoke with my class.

Firstly, the professor wanted me to do the honors of presenting a gift to the guest speaker (I assumed this a common way to greet people) on which I said it was “on behalf of the class; a way of thanking you for speaking with us tonight”. Of course, me being the nervous wreck I was, I started freaking out in my head  twenty minutes before the man got there because I knew for that brief second I’d need to stand up in front of all those people (three classes were in that room tonight; wish I would have been warned) and speak to someone I haven’t even got a chance to look at good yet.

Anyway, I did it, and I didn’t fuck up any words. I did, however, slam into the desk next to me while trying to sit down because I was so eager to get back to my seat. Almost spilled a dude’s coffee all on his crotch. He would have been pissed if I was the reason he’d never be able to have kids.

The first words out of his mouth were a song about fog. The second words out his mouth were about responsibility, the responsibility people have to their community. Not the county which I live in, but the people, the ancestors, the ones who lived first on this land and the ones who live on it now. A responsibility to the people of the community, not the community itself, because those people are the reason you’re here. They’re family, friends, acquaintances, whoever; they’ve given to you and so you must give back not because it’s a golden rule or whatever but because it’s how you show appreciation. It’s not an obligation. It’s not being nice. It’s not being a good person. It’s being responsible and acknowledging what has gone into making your life possible. And that to me is greater than any mark on some stupid fucking transcript.

That’s how I knew tonight was life changing.

Now, there are many things I believed in as a child. One of them was connectedness of everyone, everything, including the earth itself. I wasn’t taught it, I just felt it; I knew it existed because I could feel it within myself. I still do, everyday of my life. Yes, I’m socially anxious and half of the time prefer to be alone, but that doesn’t make me any less connected to the people around me. When they’re in pain, I’m in pain with them. I felt, as a nine, ten year old, everything effected everything, we were all intertwined. Our spirits and our minds.

Physics jumped on a treadmill to get in shape to race to meet us at the finish line. They call this connectedness Quantum Entanglement. To them I bow and say welcome, it took you a while.

As I grew older, there were other things I felt. When I learned about the Big Bang Theory I was intrigued. The more I read on it the more I laughed at it. Your math is nice and everything but honestly . . . you made math up. How do you expect it to explain something like nature? I always felt there was no beginning and no end, that we’re here in a perpetual cycle, that the only realness is this moment and each second that passes is gone forever into another world and each second that is in the future only exists as a potential moment. I dismissed the European ideas of God (but am absolutely respectful of them; we all believe the same thing just in different ways) and instead felt the consciousness of us all, the spirit of us all, gathers into another place, a realm we can’t touch but that calls to us, guides us even. A place we will return to one way or another.

Once again, Physics jumped on that old dusty Treadmill of theirs (they ate too many Twinkies and got out of shape again), joined the marathon and just barely fell across the finish line. They have evidence to dispute the big bang theory and they call that consciousness in the sky the Cosmic Mind. And once again, I bow and say welcome, it took you a while.

Am I saying I’m right in everything and physics is right in everything? Absolutely not. I’m just saying what I’ve felt since I was six years old. And tonight this Native man spoke about all of this, about the mind and the brain being separate, about the physicists taking forever to “prove” something his culture (and mine) has known for thousands of years.

The man who wrote that book I blogged about a while ago, “The Morning The Sun Went Down” said he was told by an elder to “Go into the new-comer culture, learn it, and use words as bullets against them as they used them against us”. And he did so, spectacularly.

And now that’s been passed down to me.

I’ve owned words ever since I can remember. Meaning, I’ve been using my words as bullets since I went from annihilating my french last name (I’m not French) to sculpting it with eloquent cursive, to once again annihilating it with a sloppy signature. Using my words as bullets is all I know how to do.

And this culture really is obsessed with the individual, it really is obsessed with the brain and not the mind. Two kids pulled out their laptops tonight. Another few had notebooks. What the hell are you taking notes on? I simply relaxed in my chair. The stuff this man spoke about were not things you can scribble down and memorize and say you understand. If you can’t feel it, you will not understand it and that is a truth, not an insult. You have to feel it to be fully human in these cultures and I think that’s a beautiful thing.

Elders of different tribes sit around at ceremony’s and tell their stories of how we were created. And you know what? After each elder is done, the other elders say “that’s a wonderful story” and then tell theirs. The cycle then repeats itself. The day you can get some of these Radical Christians and Radical Muslims to do that is the day hell freezes over.

This man tonight also spoke on the fact that we’re all native to somewhere but that the most spiritual people he’s ever met, the most “native” people, were the ones who dreamed in their own language. There aren’t a lot of Native languages left in this country of America. How could there be when “American History” in public school these days starts in the year 1492. How . . . how does that make sense? I suppose we only teach the history of the government and not of the country. People were here for thousands of years. Stop fucking these kids’ heads up.

Anyway, another kid in the class, the same one who rambled on about nothing last time, started rambling again about nonsense and analytical bullshit he was taught in school, then asked the odd question of “You say I’m native to some place, but do you think I’ll ever dream in my own language?”

He’s not feeling it. He’s analyzing it, he’s understanding the words, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. In that sense, these people were fake tonight, once again. I know the word “fake” has a bad connotation but it’s not a bad thing. It just means they’re being analytical (how you’re narrowly taught to approach things) and extra respectful (saying thank you, remaining quiet, forcing engagement) when they’re most likely never that respectful to any of their other teachers. I’m sure they do care about this subject and are great people, but if you can’t be who you are to everyone, then what does that make you? Are you pitying them? Trying to avoid being disrespectful? Why don’t you just feel it and shut up?

You memorize math. You feel culture.

I only have one picture of my great-grandmother holding me; I remember she has the deep brown skin and the high cheek bones, the eyes that hold years of stories, of being one with nature, of being human, and the two long braids that went from the top of her head to the tile of the floor. She wears multicolored clothes as a dress. She is not smiling. And yet, it’s one of the most beautiful pictures I have in my memory. I realize this now.

In this culture, death means you crossover. You can come back, you can watch over you. Your ancestors do and because of that they’re always a part of you and you are always a part of them just as we are all apart of the universe.

As for my medical degree; I could give two shits about that piece of paper. So what, I passed Chemistry and Physics and Calculus. I know the bones in your body. You think it makes me smart? You think that actually means something? Ha!

It’s what I do with it that matters.

Physicists should abandon calculus and differentials and just talk to a Native Elder. They might learn something useful.

Yo, Let Me Hit That Apple Real Quick

I woke up this morning, sat at my desk, set my fingers on the proper keys, turned on my sub-woofer, blasted the playlist on my computer, and still couldn’t think of a clever opening line for this post.

I thought of talking about some fancy neuroscience articles on psychiatrists and neuro-scientists attempting to quantify consciousness and then blast them for thinking they could explain something as mystifying as consciousness in terms of man-made mathematical equations that, if you really want to get technical, still don’t explain consciousness itself. I’ll give them props for their Integrated Information Theory, but even that thought process kind of, well, falls short of explaining how we feel the information our brain integrates. They understand the biology, not the result, and that’s not very invigorating to me. If quantum particles can change their state and “teleport” information between each other than how can consciousness be as simple as integrated information? They have a lot of work to do if they think they can understand our perception of life to the degree they understand the transportation of a neurochemical. Which, judging by the psychotropic medication out today, there’s not a lot of understanding. So I guess we’ll never know.

Instead, I’d like to address a disturbing incident I witnessed last night.

I’d like to personally accuse the American public school systems, particularly in my area, of attempted murder. Yes, you read right, attempted murder.

Attempted murder of the human soul, spirit, and creativity. I don’t give a shit if I sound like some weed smoking, slap happy hippie.

Really, bro? 

The robots they’ve turned these college students into reminds me how lucky I am to have suffered Social Anxiety Disorder through elementary school. Being inside of your own head has its advantages.

As some of you know, I’m taking a Native American Literature class, one of the most tranquil courses I’ve taken thus far in my college career. What you may not know is that I’m a very spiritual person. Not religious by any means, but spiritual yes. I enjoy the connections humans share with other humans, animals, seasons, the self, and nature in general. After all, we are all made up of the same material if you want to look at this at a micro-level. If I could embrace it as much as I’d like, I probably wouldn’t have this rampant anger management issue.

I don’t know as much about my own Cherokee ancestral history as I should, but I know every time I walk into that class there’s an aura about it that serves as a pungent reminder this class will be forever life changing.

We just finished a memoir entitled “The Morning The Sun Went Down” by Darryl Babe Wilson, an extraordinary autobiography of a man of the Achumawi and Atusgew tribes from Northern California. When abrupt tragedy strikes, Darryl experiences the reality of how desecrated and disrespected his people have been by the ever expanding American government.

Wilson possesses an extraordinary talent for describing feelings and incidents in relation to nature, as most natives are, and I felt honored in having read this summary of the first part of his life. His words don’t need analysis to be appreciated. They don’t need to have some crazy symbolism and motif attached to them to make them have substance.

I can’t blame these students for not understanding that, but they better learn quickly. In this class we don’t receive grades on any of our work and when we read texts we are supposed to write the responses in terms of how the text made us feel whilst simultaneously providing an analysis without trivializing or being a kiss-ass. When we had a discussion in class last night, hand after hand raised and mouth after mouth made my ears bleed.

I say this because what most of them said was the result of a very one-track mindset, a program. And that mindset is “I’m in a Native American class, so I should talk really good about the Native Americans and bash the Christians in the book that made the Native guy feel bad.”

I’m not a Christian. Or a Catholic. I’m more inclined to read science fiction than The Bible and in all honesty I can’t stand science fiction most of the time. The problem with these students is that they contrast and compare everything. That’s a mindset we learn early in school. Analyze this side, analyze that side, state the facts, and who gives a shit how you feel about it. It’s easy for a kid to realize if you argue with the side that has the most positive points, you’ll get an easy A and you’ll sound so smart.

More like intellectually stunted.

Why not just accept what that particular group of Christians did to that particular group of natives, understand how that relates to the underlying feeling of inadequacy and self loathing in natives today, bask in how that makes you feel, and put some thought into it? Why do we have to spend time in discussion labeling all Christians as murdering freaks and why do we have to spend time labeling natives as victims? State facts without judging who is in the wrong and who is in the right because wrong and right is very subjective. Natives were a victim of settlers, yes. Does that make the settlers horrible human beings? I don’t know, I can only judge of their past actions and I don’t think actions are an entire representation of the self.

That being said, I also call this compare and contrast/over analytical mindset the kiss-ass syndrome. That’s what they were doing last night, kissing the professors ass to make it sound like they actually understand the depths of sorrow in these people’s hearts. But none of their words held any substance or feeling and one guy spoke for five minutes straight. He spoke empty words. I almost fell asleep.

There’s a time for analysis and there’s a time for simple appreciation; they can be combined, cleverly, but they’re not the same.

For this I love my anxiety disorders. These students may be amazing at socializing and vocalizing, but they have no sense of self and no sense of how to relate the outside world to their self. They can only relate to each other, and on a shockingly shallow level. I’ve spent so many years inside of my head that I’m in the head of each emotion I’ve ever felt. #Headception. It’s why I can write a paper consisting of analysis of thought and understanding of feeling on a personal and external level, and have the professor thank me twice for writing the paper I did.

You know you did well when the professor thanks you for your work.

I’ve only spoken in class maybe a hundred times from Pre-School to College, so my thoughts and answers never got shot down by teachers. I was never molded, not to the extent these students have been.

I don’t want to make it sound like these students are horrible students, I think many of them are brilliant. I just don’t think they know how brilliant, yet. I don’t think they were ever allowed to exercise that brilliance.