To Recover or Not To Recover, That Is The Question


What do you all think about the word ‘recovery’ in terms of mental health issues? I’ve been thinking about this recently, trying to come up with my own definition and I came to realize I just may not identify with the term at all.

I don’t know if recovery is a good word to describe what we all go through to come out on the other side of things. I believe that every second of our lives living with this is something that requires us to go beyond recovery. Because once we’re in that “recovery” stage, for most of us things don’t go away, we’re just better equipped at dealing with things.

I know for me, I feel as if I’m finally coming out of a fog. That fog was devastating and has lasted almost three years. I did a lot of ridiculous things because of my paranoia and my mood swings, including dropping a lot of classes, losing some jobs, risking the one job I still do have, and was unable to connect with proper support. I went on and off medication, and documented most of that descent on this blog. I even bought this website domain and hoped to turn this into something greater, but failed because depression ruined my passion. Slowly, I’m getting that back.

Is this “recovery”, though? I don’t think so. I’m not recovering from anything, I’m just learning how to better cope with my emotions, how to better feel them and how to better manage them. That to me is a journey. I’m on the other end of my journey, it feels like, and maybe one day I’ll return to that fog with better equipment to put up with it all. I don’t know. So to say that someone struggling with mental health issues is in recovery almost sets them up for failure–if they return to that previous state of mind, what does that mean? That they’re not in recovery anymore? To me, that doesn’t make sense. To me, it’s just another hiccup in their journey.


Word choice is very specific in the world of mental health. If you walk up to someone who identifies with the label of schizophrenia and call them “a schizophrenic”, a lot of those people would correct you, that they are someone “with” schizophrenia, that they are not defined by their condition. Which is great for them, whatever creates a sense of control over what they deal with. Some people also hate the term “committed suicide”, a lot of them prefer to say that their loved one died from depression or whatever drove them to take action.

The only word choice I have issues with is if someone refers to themselves or other people as “mentally ill” or “mentally diseased”. I’ve done plenty of posts on why I believe those terms should be erased from our vocabulary. In case you weren’t there when I was ranting about that, or don’t remember my rants on it, I’ll give a quick summary:

I choose not to believe my problems are illnesses, I choose to believe they are a result of my dealing with emotions in a different way than others. If I’m hearing voices, it’s not because of some degradation of my brain, it’s because there’s a level of stress I’m reaching that I’m not tending to. If my moods are swinging out of control, it’s not just some biological imbalance, it’s my reaction to life and whatever is going on at the moment, whether that be something good or bad. I choose to see myself as gifted, and I’m thankful to the nurses in the hospitals who had also had that viewpoint. It made my stay a lot more comfortable.

There’s also no real viable research that mental health issues are diseases since all of the brain matter studies they have done have been on people who have taken psychiatric medication, and that changes the brain structure, that’s something that’s been known for years. So:


That’s my reasoning.

But otherwise, I don’t care what you call me. I don’t even have a steady diagnosis. So call me a Bipolar, I don’t really care. Call me a depressed freak, I don’t care. You can even call me a schizophrenic, but you’d be mistaken–either way, I don’t care. Because what someone calls me holds absolutely no weight on how I see myself or how I see others. Just like the debate years ago over changing the term schizophrenia to something else, to “remove stigma”. The stigma isn’t attached to the word, it’s attached to people’s perspective of the mental health struggle. Change the word all you want, it’s not going to make a difference.

So when I think about the word recovery, I guess it’s kind of the same thing. Whether you’re recovering or coping depends upon your perspective of your own mental health. That makes sense.



Election Aftermath

Remember, Remember, the 8th of November.

That’s the steady line that has been coursing through my veins for the last 24 hours. Yesterday’s election marked a stain on the history of the United States. But look at it this way: this one itty, bitty amount of blood splatter that was the 2016 election will be indubitably buried beneath the hundreds of thousands of other unresolved bloodstains in the history of this country.


A lot is being said right now. A lot of people are blaming those who voted third party for giving Trump the extra chance to close in. A lot of people are blaming the rampant stupidity and uneducated nature of the Trump voters. A lot of people are saying Rest In Peace, America and didn’t vote. Some are holding tight to their “I’m moving to Canada” motto.

Everyone today has expected me to be furious, probably because I have a reputation of being furious over stupid things. However, I am not furious. I’m not hurt. I’m not even disturbed. My psychologist today asked, with caution, how I felt about the election and I just laughed. Then she laughed.

The majority of people are screaming at Trump for being an “idiot”. Clinton had the popular vote in the bag, but we all know that doesn’t matter. The last I heard from NPR, some anti-Trump riots have broken out. So here’s what I have to say about Trump.


Firstly, I will never acknowledge him as a President. Although I don’t have an ounce of respect for the majority of the American government, I do hold a belief that someone who is supposed to sit in a seat of a politician should have some political background.

Secondly, people keep calling him stupid and I feel they’re missing the mark a bit. Granted, the things Trump says to the majority of us, our eyes pop out of our heads, we grow weary, infuriated, and we blast him on a social media platform and breathe because we’ve apparently done our part. Then we gossip about him on the streets. Then we make jokes and say we’re going to move to Canada.

Trump says some ignorant things. He’s a liar, he’s a manipulator, and he quickly came up with his “Make America Great Again” slogan to draw in the whitest, least educated, most die-hard Republicans he could. He did this because he’s highly aware that the whitest, least educated, most die-hard Republicans are not that smart. Or, at least, someone on his team is aware of that.

I believe there are smart republicans. I believe there are smart white people. I believe there are smart people without education. I also believe there is a large portion of the United States stuck on this ideal that America was created for “American’s” with a strong independent will, absolute freedom, no socialist-like programs, and light skinned individuals. I also believe Trump and his team were highly aware of that.

0105_ego_485x340His family is wealthy, yes. And with money comes an arrogance. The arrogance soon grows into this feeling of invincibility and invincibility quickly grows into the ability to manipulate. You have to have a certain level of intelligence to manipulate. This is coming from a seasoned manipulator. The more he believes he’s invincible and projects that belief onto easily manipulated people, the more invincible he comes. That’s why he can say what he wants and people don’t seem to see through it.

For those followers I have who are new, who weren’t with me in September, October, and November of 2015, you won’t remember the post I made comparing Ben Carson and Donald Trump. Carson was a special kind of idiot. He attempted what Trump’s succeeded at. The problem with Carson is that he didn’t plan it out enough. His lies held no foundation because he had no support force. He lied before he manipulated enough people: rookie mistake.

I also said in that post that if Carson dropped out of the race, his stupidity would no longer be there to cancel out Trump’s, and Trump would pull ahead. And that’s exactly what happened.

I feel strongly for this country at this moment. I feel strongly that we’ve reverted back to the truth: we have no closure from our history. We have no unity as a people. We have nothing. If Native Americans were underrepresented before, well . . . they might as well not exist as of now. That’s one message I feel with someone like Trump elected.

In fact, other ethnicities in general might as well not exist.


He’s not going to build a wall. He’s not going to deport anyone.There are a lot of things people are getting hyped up about that he said he would do, that he’s never going to be able to do. So all that needs to quit.

What we can all do right now in the face of this adversity is build stronger communities. We are a country of 324,118,787. It’s unrealistic to think all of us could stick together, but it’s not unrealistic to think all us within each community, each county, could help support each other. Unification is the best defense against a manipulator; if he can separate us, he can toy with us as he pleases. And we’re already extremely separated.

My point? Involve yourself. Know what goes on around you. If that’s hard for you, find a way. You have more power than you believe, and I think that’s what a lot of us forget.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: I could have given two shits about this election. I don’t care that Trump won and that Hillary lost. I don’t care because it’s all a joke, and it’s always been a joke: the government, the position of president, and the idea of America as a country in general. This country was founded on manipulation: why do people expect anything different these days?

I’m not cynical, I’m realistic. It’s really not all that surprising Trump was elected. This is a country of unhealed wounds, wounds first opened the moment other countries stepped foot on this land’s soil and committed acts of genocide that still aren’t discussed in our school’s history textbooks.

Yes, acts like that were committed everywhere to all kinds of people. It’s still going on in places in South America. But “America” is a very “new” “country”. It hasn’t learned how to heal or give even an ounce respect yet.5c6544d7e738b61ab196170a6da44e08

I know many people were probably expecting me to rant. I know people were probably expecting me to make jokes about Trump or slam the people who voted for him, but I can’t do either. I can’t do either because this isn’t a time for jokes, it’s a time to get real. Wake up. Create support around yourself, don’t wait for it to come to you.

People are struggling on welfare and with homelessness, with mental health, with physical health, with domestic issues, with immigration, with gangs, with unimaginable pain. And keeping the “American” individualistic attitude of “well, we’re not socialists, get a job” or “well, get over it and man up”, are the reasons Trump got elected.

Respect the people around you, and you’ll get respect back. We haven’t been respecting the people around us, not when Native Americans have to fight to stop construction on a land their ancestors have tread on for centuries, not when we shout at people to go back to their home country just because they’re sharing their customs and trying to make a better life for themselves, not when we hide behind the belief that we can own a piece of land, not when we think all homeless people are drug addicts worth nothing, not when we care so much about ourselves that we overlook our neighbor. 


Disrespect the people around you and the people elect Trump.

If anything, this election has fueled a fire within me. Not one of anger or hatred, but of a stronger love for the people around me. I’ve been waving to my neighbors and asking them how their day has been. I’ve been smiling. I’ve been paranoid as hell, and tired as hell, but I’m sick of focusing so much on myself that I forget about others. That’s also how people elect Trump.

Nothing is stronger than Community. Not even a president. 

 “For the Reverberations of Injustice Are Not So Easily Confined.”


A Testament Towards Feeling


We are all fighters.



And I will never deny that fact.

To deal with whatever pain you experience day after day, minute after minute, hour after hour (physical, mental, terminal) means you have some kind of strength within you to keep going. It means you’re not willing to give your life up to something that wants to take you hostage. The people who have been through your pain, who can share in your pain, know the exhaustion you put yourself though and they smile and they say you’re strong. They say you’re resilient. They say you can make it because you’ve been making it. And all of their words are beautiful and heart felt and you trust them.

A connection makes all the difference.

disconnect-old-phoneSo what of those of us where connection has never been felt? What of those of us who use humor to interject ourselves because we have no other way of communicating? Those of us who get confused on when to say something, what to say, and how to say it? Those of us who consistently misinterpret someones tone of voice or facial expression to be malicious or crippled with ill intent? Those of us who have suddenly come to realization that this issue has caused a pattern of problems throughout their life?

What of those of us who have the crushing feeling that they’ve been copy-catting their way through life?

What does that mean? It probably means different things to different people. To some extent, we all copy someone else. We adopt each others mannerisms and ways of speech when we’re in a group. We see an outfit on someone and want the same. Some people call it being unoriginal, but I call that type of copying admiration–you like the outfit, it’s cute, so you buy it to also look cute.

To me, copying is a way of protecting myself. It’s not done for fun. In fact, I loathe myself for it deeply. In a conversation I copy the answers and mannerisms of the people around me not so they will like me, but so I don’t reveal how completely clueless I am in the rules of the flow of conversation. I don’t care if they like me. But I care if I look like the socially inept fool I am.

In the midst of two other people, I will not speak. Not because I don’t have something to say but because I’m not sure if it’s right to say. I’m particularly not sure when it’s appropriate to interject.

This makes the conversations I do manage to have very artificial. They’re sticking their maxresdefault2feelers out and I’m slapping them down by accident because I’m blind to them. I speak few words because of this issue. I’m brief and speak very quickly and often quietly.

I’m an observer. I watch how people converse, how they joke with each other, and I’ve pretty much analyzed all I can. I’ve got all these stray pieces strewn across the floor and I’m trying to come up with a formula that fits them together nicely. For example, in high school I noticed one big thing in conversation is eye contact. Not making it is weird, making it too much is also weird.

So I come up with an approximate time to stare at someone and an approximate, and appropriate time to look away. A good two or three seconds is alright, more if you’re still thinking of a response. It’s good to keep eye contact with someone while they’re talking because it shows your attention level, but it’s generally average to glance away once or twice while you’re speaking so it doesn’t become this creepy staring contest.

I still stare too long because I’m not sure if looking away makes me look more awkward or not. So it’s something I’ve been trying to understand since I was 16.

The missing link is in the flow. I don’t know how to keep a flow or stay on topic. Someone asks a question, you answer, what comes next? Why does anything have to come next?

I feel people think I’m not interested in them because I don’t ask about them. But I never knew I was supposed to . . .if someone wants me to know something about them, why don’t they just say it?


I go silent often and people find that rude.

These are things I’ve thought about for the last year or so, things I’ve been recognizing in myself that I feel are the root cause of my social anxiety (next to my mistrust of people’s intentions, which probably stems from the fact that I can’t see anything but malice in their expressions or their words).

It came up today during supervisions. My supervisor asked me what could happen in the house that would integrate me into the team (I could take that one of two ways: 1) she wants to know how to improve communication throughout the team or 2)I’ve been recognized as the outcast I always am). She also asked if I even wanted to be part of the team (but she didn’t say it in a mean way, I don’t think).

I’m going to choose not to be offended, because experience tells me that wasn’t what she was aiming for, but it feels like I’m going through the same thing over and over again with the people back in grade school who constantly said “you’re too quiet, what can we do to make you more involved in the class?” or “can you participate more please?” or the people at one of my old jobs that said “we’re going to work on making you open up and have you work with [enter coworkers name] to make you a little louder on Thursday”.

It triggered me subconsciously I think and I put my guard up automatically.


I said I did want to be part of the team. And I don’t think I lied. But I see how they operate, everyone is open with each other and it flows nicely and I don’t fit. I’m highly aware of that. I said I didn’t know what anyone could do. I wanted to say I have trouble making connections but I got lost in my speech as I often do, so I don’t really remember what I said.

It was something rehearsed, something I always say in response to these types of things because feelings are hard for me to distinguish when it comes to people. So I recite the feeling that is most common, that I hear most often, that makes the person the most happy, depending on the situation.

But personally, I go blank. The only feeling I’ve ever experienced from people is mistrust and anxiety from not understanding how they operate. So how could I answer a question like the above?

When she asked me whether or not I wanted to be apart of the team, I studied myself carefully. And felt a pull in neither direction. Blank. That was probably really awkward because she had no idea why I was silent.

book-1110648_960_720Anyone from any job could have asked me that, and my reaction would be the same. This is where I feel people misunderstand me: my feeling blank isn’t a testament to who they are as people, it’s a testament to my own feeling.

I don’t see why that is so hard to understand.

These people are not evil. Their not mean or horrible. In fact, they’re the best set of people I’ve met in my short life. But they are human, as most are, and that simple fact keeps me from relating. I’m distanced. Always have been.

So where do I go from here? I don’t know. This happens every job I go to, every class I’m in, every group I work with, every casual or focused conversation I have . . . it never changes, and it never has. Perhaps it will one day.

And I believe in order to change things, I need to understand this more clearly. I need another opinion. Even if that means spending 230 dollars on a 90 minute psychiatric opinion.

If you follow me, you know very well I’m not fond of “professionals” because of their lack of experience. But I have lack of experience being human and they have an abundance of it.

I have ideas from past psychologists and my current one. But perhaps it’s time to get a medical opinion as well, just something else in my arsenal of “tools I’m using to find myself”.



Controversial Concept Monday

I should make that a thing.

Here’s a common misconception about my “mental illness”. It’s a disease.

#ControversialConcept coming up. Everyone, grab your mouth guards, put on your boxing gloves, run a lap around the track until your huffing and puffing results in a calf cramp because you didn’t stretch before hand, fall on the ground, and let me put my foot on your back and explain something real quick.


And before I go any further, I’ll start with my usual (usually unofficial) disclaimer: I do not in any way deny what we feel. The mood swings are real. The hallucinations are real. The pain is real. The anxiety is real. The panic attacks are real. The obsessive, compulsive behaviors are real. The struggle, of all things, is very, very real. They are not something we can turn off and on like a switch. They don’t just “get better” because we want them to get better. We can’t just “push through” like what we experience doesn’t exist.

What we experience does exist and it is very, very real.

What I will always, until the end of my days, fucking put on blast is how we describe what we experience. What I will always put on blast is how we act like everyone else needs to change how they view us (which they do) without addressing how we need to change how we view ourselves with the same urgency.

Just like your average child with mental health issues, I knew I was different from the other children, and I knew how, but I didn’t have a name for any of it. I knew people who were shy, but they didn’t seem to isolate themselves like I did. I knew people who were “weird”, but they didn’t seem to think of things the way I did. I knew people who did things alone but they didn’t seem to adore it in the way I did.

I knew people who didn’t trust people, but they didn’t seem to create theories around it and ruin relationships over it.


I knew people who were sad, but it didn’t seem to drive them to write suicide letters and self harm.

I knew people who were confident sometimes, but they didn’t seem to think they could cure a major disease by reading a textbook and scrambling down random theories like I did.

It was high school I decided to do research on myself. I started reading. I read about dopamine decreases and increases. I read about serotonin (back before the study came out that reaffirms serotonin is so complicated neither an increase or a decrease can be solely blamed for anything)  and medications for all types of disorders. I liked to ignore the symptoms of “more severe” disorders because, although I met the “Criteria”, I knew I, as a 14 year old, wasn’t qualified to diagnose myself. I could never know about me what the professional would know about me.



I was 17 when I realized something major: it was rare someone with one of these apparent mental disorders was in the field of psychology. It was rare they were psychiatrists. It was rare they were clinical psychologists.

That left a large margin of people (bipolar, schizophrenia, and otherwise) at the hands of people with little to no experience but their trusty little textbook case studies. I died a little inside.

Then I pulled a Kenny McCormick and I kept dying. I died when I found out the companies researching funded their own research. I died when I learned many old medications are restructured and then sold as new medication with little or no difference for a hundred times higher of a price. I died when I learned, from experience, we don’t have a lot of say when we’re up against this system. I died when my therapist was required to recommend me for medication or else my insurance wouldn’t cover my fucking visit. I died when I heard stories of toddlers being force fed anti-psychotics for fussy behavior.

I died when I realized this was a business.

But most of all I died when I heard people referring to themselves as sick. Because when I was growing up, in my own world, absent from my peers, I understood I was different. I hated myself often for it, but I loved myself as well. And I only started seeing it all as a problem until I was told it was. And even then, at 17, I was beyond a point where I would believe their point of view.

I died when people who didn’t know one thing about biochemicals, about epigenetics, about environment, about neurotransmitters or how no one, I don’t give a fuck if they are SUPERMAN, can EVER trace ONE neurotransmitter and act like that’s the problem, agreed that a “chemical imbalance” is causing their “disease”.


I died when the studies coming out of Stanford and other such institutions disputing the evidence supposedly “found” for a chemical imbalance got shoved to the back burner.

I’m sure NAMI has told you more about your imbalance than it has about how much of a very poor theory it is.

My inspiration for this post came from this article on The Mighty: Click Here.

I respect this contributor. I respect The Mighty fully. I simply disagree with her statement here:

The brain is a physical organ, with physical components, one that resides within a physical body, and when things go awry, one that needs very physical solutions. So many people make the mistake of treating this physical problem with spiritual or emotional solutions, as I did, for decades and with little success. There may be periods of relief, yes. But the problems return.

I don’t disagree with her because she is “Wrong”, because she’s not. The brain is a physical organ, just like the heart.

Ask anyone with a member of their family diagnosed with a heart disease (my father has congestive heart failure) and you will know they are often told take this medication and reduce stress.

There’s a physical component, and an environmental component. Your heart reacts to life just as your brain does.

To act as if there is only one component to your physical health or your mental health?


It’s true, we can’t control everything we experience. I’m not disputing that. I’m disputing calling that a problem. I’m disputing the idea of that being caused by solely a physical malfunction in every human being.

Your brain is not like other organs. It harbors consciousness. It harbors personality. It integrates every ounce of information you receive, even subconsciously. It can’t be treated like the other organs. Even THEY respond positively to environmental changes. And as much as I would love to agree with all of you who say we need to start treating mental illness like physical illness . . .I can’t. Because we already have been.

We call it an illness, a sickness, a “disease” and we make you believe it because, fuck it, scientists signed that shit.

We show you the scans of the brain and tell you what it means. We don’t tell you our study was only of 30 people and only for four weeks. That’s certainly enough time to make a generalization for the whole of the mental health biological basis, am I right?

We won’t tell you the studies fell through when people tried to replicate it.

We get rid of the psychological component and any interpretations based on human common sense, and focus on the biology we don’t even understand. 

We make money off you. 

That’s treating mental health like physical health.

At 15, I thought studying psychiatry would help me reach those people who didn’t have peers in the system. I then learned I would be required to pay attention to their symptoms, not them. I would be required to do what the book said, what the insurance companies said, and that’s what I was going to 10-12 years of fucking school for, to be a zombie, when I have more experience with mental health issues than the fuckers on the DSM-V board.

If they think I’m someone known for playing by the rules, they should read my previous post. 

We’re Gunna Free The Shit Out Of You


I reserved today as a perfect day for a writing binge.

I’ve had a short story in the back of my mind for quite some time now and throughout the weeks I’d been jotting characters, quotations, ideas . . . you know, anything that came to my mind randomly that I could squeeze into the story. Some people plan their story, some people just write them, I do both. I scribble a rough skeleton on about seven different pieces of paper, pieces that are usually meant for something else, and occasionally I’ll jot them down on my phone, then when the time comes to write I have to scrounge them up.

I’ve never lost one of those papers. Never. Until now.

I lost one of the most important pieces I could have lost.

That is why I am now blogging. If I were not blogging, I’d be punching a wall or perhaps sitting in quiet rage. I hate loosing things. I do it all the time and I still hate it.

Dramatic, right?

I have a leather bound notebook (100% leather, got it on sale for $70) where I have my most important writing and usually I’ll fold little scraps and slip them in between those pages because I take a great deal of care of that notebook. When I saw my little folded scribbles weren’t in there, it was panic mode. I’ve trashed my room and I’m not putting it back together. Not until I find those pages.

Of course the beautiful thing about the mind is that I can just make up more shit.


I really liked what I started.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

There’s a very strong bond between myself and what I write. Loosing those ideas is like a bank robber dropping three bags of bills while running from the cops. Those are my feelings at this moment.

My memory is also shit when it comes to stuff like this. If I tried to remember what I’d scribbled, I’d pop a brain vessel.

Sigh. Time to think about something else before I blow a gasket.

Yes, This Is Completely Irrelevant

Last night my professor was telling us about how impoverished the Lakota people’s reservation is. He considered them the poorest people in this country and I’m inclined to believe that. The government has told them time and time again that, as “compensation for our ancestors disrespect and current government’s blatant stupidity” they’d give the people monetary benefits. A bunch of a money. Money, money, money.

The Lakota people refuse. They want their land back. They want to be able to run things how they want; they don’t even mind the white people living there as long as they abide by tribal laws.

Obviously the American government isn’t going to have any of that.






So the Lakota people live in squalor and poverty and probably alcoholism and addiction, with an unemployment rate of about 80% for the sake of integrity and dignity and culture. We talked about how if they let the U.S back them into a corner and succumbed to the monetary relief, it would be an example to reservations everywhere. An example of submission and defeat.

As a community of people, they understand that being together is how you strengthen individuals and strengthening individuals is how you strengthen a community. 

I was obviously raised non-traditional. I don’t go to ceremonies (although I’ve always been interested) and I don’t know any stories of creation or morals besides what I’ve learned this semester. I was raised with fried chicken, hot water corner bread, black eyed peas, greens, barbecue rips, James Brown, mayonnaise, and every once in a while a dash of Polish food. Food raised me apparently. James Brown wasn’t food but whatever, you get my point.

_DSC0284 (2).JPGHowever, my father knew a Tsalagi couple who had a giant wolf dog and house in the mountains and that’s where I learned to swim. They gave him hand crafted flutes and they listened to Walela together and watched nature and they designated him the name “EagleHorse”. So he has a bunch of stuff with eagles and horses. And Buffalo. People always gifted me Dream Catchers and I was taught that both God and the power of Dream Catchers protected me and my dreams at night. I understood spirits and interconnection from a young age–ever since I can remember. It’s always been with me. I never liked talking about it because other kids didn’t get it and when people talk about spiritual things around here it’s either tied to the Christian religion or ghosts and it’s never talked about with feeling, just knowledge and “facts”.

I’ve been in the closet for quite some time about my true beliefs. Throughout this class I felt like I was a fake–these things I should have known. I should have been apart of. And now that they’re here I’m suddenly embracing them.

But the truth is it isn’t my fault I wasn’t raised like that. That part of my culture has been desecrated over hundreds of years. How could I expect to be taught anything about it in a country that can’t even acknowledge they’re the reason for it?

If anything, I feel like I’m finally being given the chance to be true to who I am. Yes, I’m Polish and African American but I’m also Tsalagi and I never had a chance to celebrate that part of me. We talk a lot in this class about how Blood Quantum doesn’t matter, the way of life, the belief system, the value system does. I don’t care if the government ever recognizes me as indigenous. I don’t want their handouts or their “benefits” in college. I’m already African American, I’ll fill the diversity quota for all the universities. My professor is English and Irish and Tsalagi–but he was raised Tsalagi and even though he’s white, he’s indigenous. He’s lived it since childhood and I have to say, I’m jealous as hell.

If you go by stereotypes, I look “more Indian” than him.

But stereotypes are the reason white people tell me I’m not black enough to be black, as if they know what it means.


I’ve never met anyone from a Lakota reservation but I stand behind them. Finally, there’s a living example of why I refuse to disgrace my integrity and dignity for a job. You know, the application I ranted about here.

When I talk about that kind of stuff, people are like “wow, that’s stupid, it’s a job. It’s for money. It’s work. Suck it up.”

Yes, it’s a job for money. That doesn’t mean I’m going to dishonor myself. I have the ability to find a job that isn’t degrading. It’s not about ego. It’s not even completely about integrity, it’s about truth and it’s about everyone. If I choose to answer those questions in a way that’s untruthful, in a way that makes me look like 1) a submissive rat or 2) a robot, than I’m saying it’s okay for companies to treat their employees as such and I’m saying it’s okay to let ourselves be treated as such.

And in my mind, none of that is okay. Therefore, if I don’t find it okay for anyone to be treated like that, I don’t find it okay to let myself be treated like that.

Can you tell I’m not a capitalist?

Capitalism In One Picture

The people who have that sort of thinking that I’m “being ridiculous” have the sort of thinking that is the reason Donald Trump gets away with as much as he does. They have the thought pattern that allows poverty and racism and allows people to never focus on the reasons why poverty and racism exist, other than shallow reasons like “it’s natural for humans to judge”.

It’s the thinking that lets us talk about how racism needs to end but not doing the work in our past and present that needs to be done to end it.

That’s not a personal attack if you find me being ridiculous about the job shit. It’s an attack on the massive, national, illusionary thinking that is in American air today.


I have to find those papers.

Rant: END.



CommonSensepam; Take Daily Dose With Food


I’m thoroughly disturbed.

I’m disturbed I’m addicted to the internet and just paid $8 for a full 24 hour of Wifi from Comcast while simultaneously saying “fuck you, Comcast” as it sucked the money from my account.

I’m disturbed  Nikki Minaj is in Barbor Shop Three. YouTube just shoved the Ad in my face. What the fuck Ice Cube?!?!?! I ain’t watchin’ that shit.

I’m disturbed at how upset my stomach has been these last few days. That YouTube Ad didn’t help.

I’m disturbed that hospital “steak and gravy” tastes like canned Catfood smells.

That’s a “Fancy Feast” if I ever had one.


Ha, I’m a fucking riot.

I’m disturbed that after four hours of being home, my dad went upstairs with the neighbor and had a beer.

That’s the heart of true addiction right there. You were in a medically induced coma for two days straight with a breathing tube down your throat and your blood pressure sky rocketing into the two hundreds, you stay in the hospital for five days straight and then get out and go right back to it.

I’m disturbed that because we can’t afford “high end” health insurance like Blue Cross that we’re not worthy of good health services.

3500 dollars for an interventionist for a fifty minute session and a couple days of planning? And you don’t take Medi-care? Or Medi-cal? Suck my dick.

It’s fucking stupid.

It’s not even about the money and corporate gains and insurance companies lying in bed with drug companies at this point. No, at this point, it’s plain human ignorance. Disrespect for others lives.

How does it make sense for the low income people to have to pay out of their pocket? Obviously we can’t afford a thirty five thousand dollar treatment program. It’s hard enough trying to get him to see that he needs help. A counselor is good and all but he’s been addicted to substances since he was 15; a counselor is not enough. He’s in strong denial. He says it’s between him and God and he’s not even religious. He can’t stand authority (which is probably where I get it from) so when doctors try and tell him he “needs to eat healthier” he’s like fuck you.

He needs a program to help him teach himself to say “I need to eat healthier” or else he’s never going to get it.

Convincing him to do residential treatment is going to be one of the hardest things. I’ve watched a lot of intervention episodes, I was there in front of the T.V for every new episode and I still catch up with it online without cable. But he’s water and I’m an alkali metal.



Besides, since I’m his daughter, he doesn’t take anything I say seriously. He’s never taken anything I say seriously because I’m “just a child”. A twenty year old child. So I tell my mom what to say. He’ll listen to her with more of an open mind.

But anyway, back to the financially inadequate in this country. Obviously none of that information is new. I’m not big on conspiracy theories but damn does this shit look like it’s done on purpose. Who’s more likely to be addicted to drugs? The Poor. Who’s more likely to act how you want, to be a zombie for money? The Poor. We need a poorer class in our society to feed off of or else capitalism doesn’t work.

I use the term capitalism very loosely. We’re more like a sixteenth democratic, 90% corporate capitalists, 5% socialist (welfare, e.t.c; it’s only five percent because it’s fucking horrible service) and the rest is just random shit that gets made up along the way.

So if you’re going to shove us in the dirt, keep us low, and laugh in our faces, at least let us get adequate health services. You need us healthy or else we’re all going to die off. Ya pricks.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being rich. It’s not the average rich or wealthy or middle class person I’m going after here, it’s the people who design the systems who make the billions that I’m going after.

Doctors say “Get help for addiction”.


Well you dumb son of a bitch, why don’t you get over here on the other phone line and listen to these fuckers tell you over and over again that you need to pay three thousand dollars a day and that they don’t take your insurance provider and that there’s nothing else they can do and really, they should give them your condolences for your loved ones in the event of their likely demise.

Or their social workers come in and say “we’ll give you paper work for some places locally who can help” and they never give the paperwork.

Happens all the time.

They say “call me” and you call them and they don’t answer, they don’t call you back, and you never see that potentially life saving paperwork.


What the fuck are you doing? Are you understaffed? Too many poor people walking through the emergency room doors who need help with their addiction and/or mental health that you can’t keep up? What the fuck is the problem? Identify the problem! You know, third grade math skills! You know there are wireless printers, right? Put a printer or fax in all the rooms and fax the fucking papers from the social worker straight to the patient (if they’re competent enough for it; some patients are just downright combative). If you really want to get progressive, if you really make an attempt at helping someone, fucking put your brains together and come up with some very simple, very cost effective ways to be more efficient. Old ass fax machines are like ten bucks on Ebay bitch.

Or be a dick.

You have two choices, it’s very simple.

Got all that donation money and what do they do? Paint “Hello Humankindness” on the elevator doors and make their walls and pretty and give the receptionists nice new desks and update a few IV and medication machines. Their communication from department to department has the strength and effectiveness of a deer shot in the head.

It’s like having a kid who is a little bad ass and screams and punches you until you give him what he wants, but you dress him up like an angel and tell everyone how wonderful he is all the time.

It’s like thinking you’ll fill that hole inside of you if you get liposuction and Botox and butt injections and breast implants and thirty other cosmetic surgeries.

What I will say is that those hospital staff, most of them, work their asses off to do the best they can, especially the nurses. They’re doing the best they can with what they’re provided and that’s their job. It’s the people far, far above them fucking everything up.

I think this is a well known fact.

But what good has knowing a fact ever done unless you do something with that fact? Sure, you’ll sound intellectual and so in-tune with politics and badass and that hot kind of anti-establishment, but that’s not doing anyone but your ego any good.

This is part of my inspiration to become a psychiatrist. I’d like to see what goes on in the world the public doesn’t see.

I’d like to work with the financially insecure, the ethnics, the addicts, the people and youth in institutions, because they’re the ones who need the help.

Not like if you come to me with a family willing to pay $400 dollars a session (there’s a psychiatrist in my area who charges that, I saw her profile; new Stanford graduate) I’m going to turn you away–of course I’ll work with you. For one, I want to help, for two, those will be the people who make it possible for me to work with the people who can’t pay as much.

We need the rich people just as much in a capitalist society sometimes.