I Gave Myself a Deadline

I started this post yesterday then deleted it. I’m starting again with the weight of my inner dialog saying “no one cares, you’re always whining,” and I’m not really sure what else is tumbling around in there.

Once again I find myself scared of my music. While what, I suspected, was the source of my shut down the last time I shared my music is gone I am still feeling a deep need to hide.

Yesterday I learned that another form of suicidallity is discarding ones dreams so it makes me think I am probably still struggling with wanting to disappear it’s just not as “urgent” as before. The thoughts aren’t as loud but they’re there.

As I see my “inability” to find “work” on my terms but also I lack the energy to finish one commission for my friend I still sit here staring at my instability. How long til my current support decides I’m not worth anything? I want to be secure in the idea that my time and energy is enough as I create things all the time.

While I know my worth isn’t dependant on outside influence or validation my shame is instigated by everything that reminds me that I am alone. When it’s too hard to breathe, I am alone. When I have needs that aren’t met, I am alone. When it’s too hard to hope, I am alone. When I am open and honest, I am alone. When I am myself, I am alone.

I have no qualms with solitude. In fact I indulge in solitude probably too much as it is comfortable and safe. The reality of my distress is that I have to rely on others and relying on others in an unsafe world is terrifying. We all need each other, coexisting is existence.

As I bloom and “put myself out there” I have to risk asking for help. In the past it’s been used against me, even my very recent past. In the past no one came to my rescue. I have just me. I’m the only one I can rely on and she is imperfect. She has no money. She has no means to make money “alone.” She fights for a desire to cultivate life. She’s tired. She’s sick. She’s weak and frail. She’s in a society that wants to throw her and everyone she loves away.

Somedays I want to give up.

It seems easier to shut my spirit off and sell my body to a company that will just use me until I am spent and discard me when it’s time to cut funding, when I am older and more frial, when my disability is “too much” to “accommodate.” As if making it possible for someone to be included is an act of charity.

Is it easier?

Is it easier to let a soulless company, hereinafter referred to as “MedDicks” in my case, decide my energy, intelligence and time is worth pennies? Is it easier to let companies like MedDicks say that my sanity isn’t worth their effort? Is it easier to let MedDicks dictate every waking moment of my life even after I have paid my dues of 40 hrs a week of my mind, body and soul? Because not only were 5 days a week mandated by MedDicks on their terms of when I should wake up, why I should wake up, when I could eat, when I could shit, when I could help Mom pee or eat, how long I could do all those things, the other 2 days that MedDicks gifted me with “freedom” were spent with rest and dread of having to be subjugated to abuse, gaslighting, manipulation, triangulation and neglect. “Yeay the weekend is here… two days I am allowed to be myself, guilt free…” Is it easier to be too weak and tired to make a meal after the abuse and emotional drain of my time thrown away to these dick heads and have to sacrifice my health and savings because of it?

Is it easier to be a victim of racism and ablism everyday as they villanised me because I am brown and disabled and by the way smarter than them too? It is easier to not or thrive live and just survive?

Is it easier to assist MedDicks in abusing disabled patients who are taking the drugs they’re shilling, by having them help sell said drugs for an hour giving them $150 for their time, while they give an abled “doctor” $4000 for that same hour all while calling it “educational events.” Is it easier to scrape by my life with $2600 (mind you not enough to cover my living expenses not even counting food) that they gave me for a month of my time in assisting their ablism? Is it easier to watch them steal that income opportunity from those disabled patients because “budget cuts” while also leaving future patients in the dark because those “educational events” were suddenly only available for other abled doctors?

Let’s move on from MedDicks, because as the name I gave them, they’re dicks. The trouble is that as agonizing as it was for me only I can truly believe myself in how painful my life is under those circumstances. I’m tired of over explaining. Even when I have a moment where I have the fresh air to believe me, she still has needs and they are needs I cannot meet.

I promised a third album this year. I gave myself a deadline of “Summer,” to line up with my album from last year, I told myself September. I promised free copies to twofriends who contributed to a fundraiser I was doing. Yet I am paralyzed with fear and shame. I have all the tracks lined up, planned out. I can’t manage the courage to record. I can’t manage the motivation to finish the few songs I have started. They don’t seem like enough.

I’m just a girl with a guitar. I’m not polished and fancy. I’m just as inadequate at music production as I was 7 years ago. My cognitive functions for music composition have deteriorated even more than they had 7 years ago. I told myself I would showcase my growth with each new project, videos, tracks, albums, streams general content.

Everything is just as shitty and grainy and “unprofessional.” I hate my voice and my music. Why would anyone else like it? Why should anyone else want it? Why should anyone support it?

I feel like a joke.

I haven’t written anything here because I’m constantly bracing myself for the toxic positivity to inundate my inbox. Never do I get feedback that I help others feel less alone, which is my only motivation in sharing my feelings and my story. The few things I hear are people trying to fix me. I’m not asking for fixing. I don’t need it, I don’t want it.

I don’t wanna hear “you need to leave that behind.” I don’t wanna hear “put that down.” I am not here to deny reality and put a bandaid over my trauma. That’s why the world is still full of pain and suffering because people can’t face truth. Stand up and face real healing; it’s not running from your circumstances, real healing comes from acceptance. There is a reason those of us who know the bite of suicidal ideation say “it’s okay to not be okay.” Everyone wants to run from pain it has to go somewhere even if you ignore it, drown it, snub it.

I am a fighter. I fight demons everyday.

My story is my weapon, my truth, my voice, my light. How dare they silence me. I’m weak, I’m sensitive, I’m scared, I’m imperfect, I have trauma, I have disabilities, I’m human. I need rest and sleep. I need food and a home. I need a bunny to help me soothe myself. I need to stay alive to help my mom stay alive.

The things I have to offer the world are words, melodies, images, ideas, feelings, moments experiences both shared and new or old and carried. My bones know my truth. My flesh brings them with me. The system we’re in tells us they’re worthless unless they can sell you shit. Well I’m not selling shit.

I’m here to remind you that your heart and mind and dreams are valuable. I’m here to tell you that no matter what the vessel is like everything you carry has value and worth and that everything is needed. You are needed.

Find your light
I know it’s there
inside you
Don’t sink
and hide again
please shine through

Keep growing you’ll bloom…
Keep glowing you will bloom…
This world needs you

Bloom (SadBunny’s Song)

You can listen to “Bloom” on my YouTube channel. It’ll be on my third album if I ever manage the courage to make it so. While I fear that I don’t even know where I will be in a month or two I promise to keep trying go try as my friend Salt says.

Survival mode sucks… I’ll do my best to keep you and myself out of that mode as much as possible. You’re not alone and your story isn’t over. Sending you love and peace.


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