The problem with “drama”

Drama. It’s a term we hear quite often, in recent years. As defined by the Oxford English Dictionary, in this context:

An exciting, emotional, or unexpected series of events or set of circumstances

As defined by Merriam Webster, in this context:

a :  a state, situation, or series of events involving interesting or intense conflict of forces

b:  dramatic state, effect, or quality <the drama of the courtroom proceedings>

If we’re speaking literally, then, drama is really just a part of life, for everyone. Giving birth is drama. Dealing with a crying baby is drama. Getting married, beginning or ending a relationship or job, getting a promotion or a raise, being stuck in traffic when you’re on your way to something important, the loss of a loved one or pet, the first day of school, work, or marriage, a wedding, a funeral, a cat chasing a robot dog across your living room floor. All of those things qualify as drama, and all of them are perfectly normal, mostly necessary or unavoidable, parts of life. Without drama, there would be no life.

Recently, though, the word “drama” has taken on much more negative connotations. In order to explore those, we need to step into a slightly seedier (if occasionally more amusing) corner of the internet.

From urbandictionary:

The…

Wait… Jesus Christ. That’s a rather… dramatic… discovery. I had to go down thirteen definitions, just to find one that wasn’t completely loaded with misogyny, either in the definition, or in the examples. And number thirteen is so poorly written, I refuse to include it, here.

So, I guess we’ll just start with the number one definition:

Something women and especialy [sic] teenage girls thrive on. consisting of any number of situations that have an easy solution, wich [sic] would bring a fairly good outcome, but these girls choose another, shitty, bad way to deal with it, again consisting of backstabbing, blackmailing/gossiping/betraying their friends, or the all-too-common “I want to break up with him but i still love him!”
it drives men and what i like to call “normal” girls nuts.

Unfortunately, when people talk about drama, these days, the above definition is usually what they’re intending to convey. Unfortunately, it is very much a gendered issue. In fact, looking through the top 35 definitions, there are over 50 blatant misogynist, ableist, or homophobic slurs, or characterizations of women and girls as the main sources of all the “drama,” always.

Which is telling, really, and speaks directly to the point I wanted to make, when I opened up this post. I’d like to include the first definition listed, at number twenty-three, which I feel adequately describes what is actually going on, when someone tosses out the word “drama,” in conversation, especially around sensitive or controversial topics:

A way of referring to problems and other normal complications in life, typically of others; painting them in a negative light so that the person speaking doesn’t come off as being a self-interested jerk even though doing this inherently determines them to be so.

This definition is actually much closer to the truth, I think.

When victims of sexual assault, domestic violence, sexual harassment, or blatant misogyny speak out, or when someone speaks out on their behalf, there’s almost a guarantee that someone, somewhere, will accuse them of being drama queens or drama llamas, or of stirring up drama, or having too much drama, or of causing drama. Often, the people using the term will claim that the person’s tone is the problem, or their personality, or their past.

What this indicates is that the issues to which you are trying to draw necessary attention – issues like domestic violence, rape, sexual assault, and sexual harassment – are uncomfortable for them to hear. It indicates that the person hearing about these important issues doesn’t want to face up to the reality of the problems, doesn’t want to admit that, perhaps, there’s something they may need to do, or change, or put some effort and empathy into, in order to fix the problem.

What it amounts to is fear. They’re afraid of things changing. More often than not, they are comfortable with the way things are. Either the situation isn’t harming them, personally, or they have internalized the harm to a point where they are unable to see how damaging it is, to them, to others, and to their culture as a whole. Or, perhaps for some, they are well aware of the truth of the matter, and don’t want anyone to take what you’re saying seriously, because it might reveal them to be the abusers, rapists, harassers, or violators that they are.

It’s fear, manifesting as intimidation, and it is one of the favorite weapons in the arsenal of the victim blamers, abusers, misogynists, and cowards of the world. It is almost exclusively used against marginalized or victimized people, to discredit them, to silence them, to shame them into not saying things that might make somebody look bad. To make them shut up. To make them question themselves. It’s their way of saying,

STAHP!! Stop saying these things that I don’t want to hear about! Stop trying to take away my illusions or my nice-person mask! Stop telling me things that make me ashamed of things I might have done, or might do in the future! Stop making me have to actually think about what my actions, my choices, my words, or the actions, words, or choices of the people I support and defend, might be doing to other people! Stop pointing out my utter lack of empathy for my fellow human beings!

The worst of it is, in many situations, it works. Often, a victim will speak up to a community, to tell them that their policies aren’t good enough to keep the members safe, or they will give an account of something that another community member did to them, which caused harm, or they will notice a Missing Stair, and ask that someone make the needed repairs. They will be met by an onslaught of criticism, insults, attacks, and threats. They will be accused of being drama queens. They might face entire groups of people, loudly demanding that they stop lying, stop stirring things up, stop causing trouble, stop making noise. They will be met with such ferocious resistance, at a time when they are already vulnerable and raw and afraid… and they will back down. They’ll shut up. They’ll stop trying to draw attention to the problems that need to be recognized and addressed. Sometimes, they’ll simply pull away from the community in which the problems exist, often losing important social support networks in the process. Sometimes, they will internalize what is being thrown their way, and begin to doubt themselves, blame themselves, and by extension, begin to blame other victims, in later problematic situations.

That’s just not okay. Silencing and shaming people who are speaking to legitimate issues, by using the word “drama” as a weapon, is not okay.

So, do me a favor. Stop that. Have a little more empathy.Understand that anyone reporting someone or something which is causing harm isn’t a “drama queen.” They’re a brave, hopeful, empathetic person, trying to keep other people from being harmed, often in ways in which they already have been. They deserve your attention. They deserve to not be invalidated with words like “drama.” They deserve your gratitude, instead of your ridicule.

When you say, I don’t do drama, what I hear is, I am more invested in being comfortably ignorant, and utterly selfish, than I am in showing empathy to my fellow human beings, or taking some responsibility for shaping the culture in which I live. 

And I think that most of us want to be better than that. Don’t you?

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There’s not a Multipass for oppression

Originally posted elsewhere, December 8, 2014


multipass

I’m disabled. I’m a woman. I’m poor. I’m pansexual. I’m sure, if I thought about it, I could come up with several other things that put me on the disadvantaged side.

But there isn’t a single one of them that excuses me actively oppressing other people, who are underprivileged in different ways. Not one.

In other words, I don’t get to act like a racist, and then claim that it’s somehow okay, because of the disadvantages I face as a poor person. I don’t get to be a douchebag, and use my own suffering as a justification.

It isn’t that I don’t care about the ways in which you’ve been oppressed. It’s that I care about the ways that all people are oppressed. And I won’t give you a pass on being classist, just because you’re disabled, or black, or gay. Or vice any of those versas (and yes, I just made that phrasing up, and I don’t care if it’s linguistically accurate).

So, no matter who you are, how much I like you, or how much shit you’ve been put through by some busted aspect(s) of the system that currently exists, I will call you out, if I see you being a jerk about this stuff.

Most recently, I found this via a thread about medical care. A woman was ranting about ER doctors prescribing a drug that was no longer available in the US, for intestinal parasites.

Some folks wanted to laugh at the condition. Sure, it sounds gross, and is easily mock-able. That seemed kind of crass, but still didn’t really upset me, much.

Then came the space cadets who think that it’s oh-so-easy, in the US, to simply be insured, or get decent medical care, regardless of circumstance. They jumped all over the OP for going to the emergency room for care, for something they deemed a minor irritant. And those people? Yeah. They can fuck right off.

First, intestinal parasites aren’t really a minor thing. Symptoms can include abdominal pain, fever, dysentery, weight loss, malnutrition, intestinal bleeding, anemia, cysts in muscle tissue or the liver, swelling of the eyes, cardiovascular distress, dementia, and even death, especially if left untreated. And you can easily contract some types by swimming in contaminated water, or simply being around groups of small children. So, they absolutely require treatment.

Second, a ton of the suggestions had to do with going to an urgent care, getting a GP, or using health department services. Well, all of those sound like wonderful options. In many cases, though, they aren’t. I’m just going to speak from personal experience, here, from the last year and the rural area in which I live.

Go to an urgent care:

There are two urgent care facilities, here. If you don’t have insurance, and can’t pay up front, neither one will see you. The rates range from $140-$180, just for an office visit. That’s half a week’s pay, for many people, and only the more expensive office is open on Sundays, or after 7 p.m. And it doesn’t count tests, procedures, or medication.

$180 is more than many poor people spend on groceries for a family of four in an entire month. It can be, and often is, the choice between going to a doctor, and feeding your family.

If you work a minimum wage job, you probably don’t have affordable insurance, and you’re not likely to be allowed time off for a doctor visit unless your health is somehow having an impact on the company’s bottom line. Even then, many restaurants give no fucks, and will demand that sick people come to work, even if they’re wildly contagious. So, if you work until close, making minimum wage, the only remaining option is the ER. This is an “at-will” employment state. That means any employer can fire any employee for no reason at all, anytime they like. Miss work due to illness, and there are people waiting in line for your job. Bosses make certain that you know it.

Find a GP

I am disabled, so I have Medicare. I’ve been living here for a year and a half. I can’t find a doctor who a)isn’t a total hack, and b)is willing to accept me as a patient.

The one office that I sort-of trusted made me fill out an application, much like I was applying for credit, or a job, because I didn’t have private insurance. They denied me.

I am literally unable to get a decent GP, where I live, and many other poor, rural areas are much the same. And one of the urgent care facilities has told me that they won’t treat me again, until I get one. Of course, it’s the one with the longer hours and better practitioners.

Go to the Health Department

The health department, here, offers family planning services. It offers WIC. It will not act as a primary care physician for adults.


So, let’s say I get sick. A sinus infection. Let’s say that, because I don’t have an easily accessible option for healthcare, I treat it with OTC meds, and hope for the best, but it gets worse, and finds its way into my lungs. I have bronchitis, or pneumonia. I’m having trouble breathing.

What options do I have?

There’s only one, unless I want to travel for over an hour: the emergency room.

And that shit is no cakewalk, either. I don’t know if you think that poor people get some sort of red carpet treatment, when they hang their heads and walk into an emergency room for non-emergent care, or what, but that isn’t how it goes. Usually, you get people being just as rude, discriminatory, and insulting as the assholes on that thread. You get ignored, shamed, belittled, pushed around, and outright bullied. You often get misdiagnosed, because no one takes your complaints seriously.

Don’t even get me started on the other shitty things about living at or below the poverty line. If you haven’t lived this hand-to-mouth, paycheck-to-paycheck existence in this economical and political climate? You have NO IDEA, and need to STFU and listen to the people who have and do.

And another thing? Fuck you, if you say, Well, you can obviously afford internet, so you can’t be in such bad shape, really.

Get a fucking grip. My internet access costs around $50 a month.

I just did a search for an insurance quote, assuming I worked full time at minimum wage, with a gross (pre-tax) income of $1218. Private insurance would cost me anywhere from $290.00 to $486.00 a month, and the lowest deductible on any of those plans, for in-network care, is three thousand dollars. That would be nearly three months income. If I disconnected my internet right now, and someone else paid my premiums, I still wouldn’t have enough money to pay forjust the deductibles.

And fuck you, too, if you want to talk about how I got here. You know what? It would take me a month of non-stop writing to explain all the ways that happened, and the proportion of the responsibility for that journey that doesn’t fall on my shoulders would blow your tiny, boxy minds. So, instead, I will just tell you that I’m physically unable to work, according to several neurologists, and the federal government. No one would hire me. I’m an insurance liability. And you know what else? I shouldn’t have to even justify myself like that to you, or anyone else. Not in a country where about a fifth of the inhabitants live at or below the poverty line. If you can’t see that the problem is NOT with the people, you’re as dense as a dudebro’s neckbeard.

The point is, you don’t know what it’s like to be poor in this country, in this time, unless you are or have been. And what seems easy, from the outside, isn’t so easy from down here in the depths of it.

And it doesn’t matter one bit, in this context, what other oppression you’ve experienced, if you’re going to be a douchebag about poverty. If you do it, I’m calling you on it. Just like I’d call you on misogyny, homophobia, racism, transphobia, or any other discriminatory behavior.

Do some research. Talk to people who actually live it. LISTEN to what they have to say, instead of discounting everything as an excuse. Excuses and reasons aren’t the same thing, and you asshats need to learn the difference.

You want to get angry about something? Get angry at the way the deck gets stacked against so many people. Get angry about the way healthcare in this country is one of its most profitable industries, instead of a public service, like it is in most other first-world nations… and even many which aren’t.

Poor people aren’t the enemy. Stop acting like they are, or fuck off.

How you might STILL be victim-blaming… and how to stop

Originally posted October 31, 2014


A friend of a friend wrote about something that happened to her, recently. She was attending a party. Someone asked for her consent to kiss her. She refused. They asked again. She refused again. I don’t know how many times this cycle repeated, but the person kissed her, anyway.

When she posted her account of what happened, there was a comment, asking if she thought it would have happened, had she been there with a partner, or simply been attached. The person commenting was really persistent about the question.

Now, I don’t know any of the people involved. The victim and many of the other people commenting who do know everyone involved seem to believe that the commentator’s questions were likely not intended to be victim-blaming, and I’m inclined to take their word for it. The thing is, it really doesn’t matter whether or not they meant for it to be.

Because it IS.

In another thread, someone about whom I care a great deal, someone I never expected to see blaming victims, even in the most circumspect fashion, wrote:

You are responsible for not being the easy target.

Knowing this person, I honestly do NOT believe they intend to blame victims. But it doesn’t matter. Because they are, with those words, whether they mean to do so or not. It doesn’t matter whether they mean their statement to be victim-blaming.

Because it IS.

I could intend to bake a lemon cake, and use orange zest and flavoring by mistake. My intent doesn’t change the result. I made an orange cake, and no amount of me seeing a lemon cake is going to change that. No amount of me denying that it is an orange cake is going to change that. No amount of trying to explain what my intent was is going to magically turn it into a lemon cake. Period.

It’s an orange cake. And I need to own that, and if lemon cake was my intent, but everyone around me is telling me that it tastes like orange cake? I need to figure out how not to make that mistake again, don’t you think?

The following comes mostly from a comment on the first post I mentioned.


Whenever a person who is any gender other than male is sexually assaulted, the Twenty Questions game almost inevitably begins.

Were you drinking? What were you wearing? Were you leading him on? Were you there alone?

What this line of questioning does is twofold.

First, it takes the focus away from where it belongs. In this specific instance, it takes the focus off the person who kissed someone, even after specifically being told “no,” numerous times. That information, just the last sentence before this one, is ALL THAT MATTERS. Period. He did not have consent. He was even explicitly denied consent. He did it, anyway. It doesn’t matter what she did. It doesn’t matter what she wore. It doesn’t matter if she was drinking, or if she was standing completely naked right next to him. It does NOT matter whether or not she was alone. What she did, or didn’t do, or with whom she attended the party, is irrelevant.

He asked. She said no. He did it, anyway.

Which brings us to the second point. Putting the focus on anything that she did or did not do makes it easier for some people to rationalize what he did. It puts the onus for controlling his behavior on her. Making it her job to alter her own behavior, in order to somehow control his. It’s the same thing schools do, when they create a dress code that prohibits strappy tanks or skirts more than two inches above the knee, on girls, in order to keep boys from behaving badly.

See, whether or not you’re right about what, hypothetically, may have happened, if she’d had a partner present, or if she was wearing more conservative clothing, or didn’t have that drink, it doesn’t matter. And you’re basically saying that she could have done something (not attended alone, etc.) that would have possibly made him not do something (kiss her without consent).

He is the one who chose to ignore her “no.” He is the one who chose to kiss her, even though he knew it wasn’t okay with her. He is the one who ignored consent. Therefore, his behavior is the only behavior that needs to be questioned, here. Period. To do otherwise is to relieve him of the burden of being held fully accountable for his own choices, his own behavior. And if you’re doing that, then you are, whether intentionally or not, putting some portion of the responsibility for what he did on her shoulders.

And that is why people tell you that you’re victim blaming. Not saying that you are a person who actually believes that victims are at fault, but that line of thought inevitably puts responsibility on someone other than the person who chose to act. And doing so, regardless of intent, IS victim blaming.

So, instead, why don’t we focus on the person who kissed her without her consent? Why don’t we ask what he could have done to prevent what happened? …what choices he could have made that would have kept him from violating someone’s consent? …what behaviors, and possibly patterns of thought, heneeds to work on changing, in order to not do that again? …and, in the immediate circumstances, what he’s going to do to make amends to the person he has already violated?

Because those are the questions that really need to be asked, and discussed, and analyzed, if we’re going to put a stop to things like this happening.

Not the ones about what she did, or didn’t do.

My best all-purpose curse for asshats

I honestly hope you get hemorrhoids and a wicked month-long case of massive constipation. And crabs. I hope your bladder shrinks to the size of a sunflower seed, and you’re constantly thirsty. I hope you step on a lego every time you get up in the middle of the night to go pee. I hope you hit “reply all” the next time you’re sending smut via e-mail. I hope every new TV series you like gets cancelled after the first season, and you’re never able to find the last book in that trilogy with the massive cliffhanger at the end of book two. I hope every serving of your favorite beverage tastes vaguely of soap, and I wish you Justin Bieber earworms for as long as you shall live.

Also, may all your bacon burn.

Now, off you fuck.


Originally posted elsewhere, October 27, 2014

On happiness, and me

Originally posted elsewhere, September 8, 2014


I see a lot of things written about happiness. About what it means, and what to do to achieve it, about not having it, about having it and being rather smug about it, about how everyone should go about finding it, about what things are supposedly universally antithetical to it.

It baffles me, really.

See, there’s this thing about people. We’re different. And I think most of us recognize that, at least on some level. Still, though, there’s this tendency to make sweeping generalizations about our emotional states, as if happiness, sadness, anger, jealousy, or excitement look precisely the same for you as they do for me as they do for every other Joe Blow and Clara Cunnlingus and Farley Fiddler on the planet. So, we look at something someone else is doing, and immediately decide that they can’t possibly be happy, because what they are doing wouldn’t make us happy. Then, we get to prance around, smug and preening, puffing out our chests, lording it over those who are obviously so much less happy than we are.

It’s un-evolved, illogical, bollocks.

I don’t know, unless you tell me, what makes you happy. I wouldn’t presume to tell you that what works for me will absolutely work for you, beyond some very basic things, like practicing gratitude, and not indulging our negative self-talk. I will, however, believe you if you tell me what your happiness is all about.

And this is mine.

I don’t know how much stock anyone else puts in the Meyers-Briggs thing, but for me, it holds pretty true. I’m an ENFP. The archetype that is most commonly associated with that personality type is the Champion.

Yep. That’s right. n- a person who fights for or defends a person or cause.

There are a few other essential traits that are common to ENFPs, which will help you understand what makes me tick. We are all about ideas and people. We tend to genuinely like people, and to believe that humanity, as a whole, is basically good. We have carefully considered, and very strongly held values, which we do our utmost to live by and promote, in every aspect of our lives. Being true to ourselves is usually one of our highest aspirations. We inspire people towards growth. We lead. We’re storytellers and writers and artists with purpose.

People like to think of the most vocal among us as angry, simply because we’re passionate about the things that matter to us, on a larger scale than just our own inner circles. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Personally, I am happiest when I feel like I am making a difference. Whether that is in the life of one person, or in the broader social context of activism, that is my jam. It’s what makes me tick. For other people, happiness may be that quiet, serene contentment of an orderly home and a rigid routine, where everything is just so, and the outside world doesn’t intrude on the idyllic peacefulness. I’m very glad for those people, when they achieve their version of bliss, but it would drive me stark, raving mad. I’d go all Yellow Wallpaper, in a matter of days.

For me, what makes my world go ’round is the absolute certainty of my daughter, that not only do I not judge her for her sexual orientation, but I will go balls to the wall against anyone who uses it against her in any damaging way. The message in my inbox, telling me that a thing I’ve written helped someone to come to terms with something with which they’ve been struggling, or kept them from being hurt by the thoughtless and oppressive words of others. The knowledge that the line of acceptable behavior, when it comes to rape culture, is shifting just a little, and that I am playing a part in that, however small.

I could just sit by, in spite of all the things I see people doing to harm one another, and keep my mouth shut, and tend to my own tiny metaphorical garden, speaking only when I’m face-to-face with a person, and happen quietly upon the perfect teachable moment.

But I’d rather be happy, too.

A response to “We don’t teach men to rape.”

Originally posted elsewhere, August 5, 2014


I posted most of this as a comment on a post, elsewhere, in response to another comment. (What follows has been slightly edited, and expanded from the original.)

The comment basically said that men who rape are abnormal, and that what they do isn’t a learned behavior.

I beg to differ.

I would agree that no man who molests children is ‘normal.’ As to the men who rape women, well, I see that a bit differently. Some of the men who do these things aren’t normal. But not all, by far. Many of them are as normal, as statistically average in every way, as they can possibly be, and are simply the end products of societal conditioning that shows them, over and over and over, that they don’t have to be held accountable for their aggressive behaviors when it comes to relating to women, or transpeople, or anyone who isn’t a man.

See, we (society) have this picture of “RAPIST” that is the stranger lurking in the bushes, or behind a parked car, waiting to jump out and attack us, and drag us off into some dark, dank space to have their way with us. We (society) have this picture of “REAL RAPE” as something that is always a violent attack, with brutal, aggressive force, weapons, masked men, which takes place between strangers in dark alleys.

The statistics do not support that picture. The vast majority of rape is perpetuated by people known to the victims, trusted by the victims. It is more likely to be coercive, or the result of more subtle intimidation and power-play, than brute physical attack.

People say that the behavior hasn’t been taught to them. Actually, it has, in many, many cases. Sure. Someone, somewhere, told them “don’t rape.” Maybe. But the real messages coming from society aren’t so black and white. They are taught, over and over and over and over again that their aggressive sexual behavior is either perfectly okay, or not their fault or responsibility. That they can’t be expected to control their sexual impulses or desires, because … cavemen, or something?

  • If she was wearing a short skirt, or tight jeans, or a revealing top, or makeup, she obviously wanted to draw attention from men. So, if they catcall or approach her, if they get all up in her personal space, she must have wanted that, right? Because she wore those clothes that drew their attention, so that’s her responsibility.
  • If she went to a bar and sat down to have a drink alone, she obviously wanted their ham-handed come-ons and PUA bullshit. She obviously wants someone to pursue her, even if she says no. She couldn’t just be there to enjoy a drink, either alone or with her friends.
  • If she’s rejecting their advances, she doesn’t really mean it. She’s only saying no to be a tease, to make them pursue her, to play hard to get, to tantalize and inflame men’s desire for the chase. Because her behavior is all about them, doncha know.
  • If she’s passed out drunk, or so intoxicated that she slurs her words and stumbles when she walks, then it’s all on her if he has sex with her. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

See, ^these are the things we have really been teaching men. That “boys will be boys,” and aren’t responsible for their behavior. Look back, really LOOK, at all of those scenarios. In each case, someone is acting, and someone is being acted upon. Yet, in each case, society tells the person who is acting that it is the “personal responsibility” of the person being acted upon to play gatekeeper. To not wear the clothes or the makeup that ‘entice men.’ To not have a damned drink in a bar. To be blunt to the point of cruelty if they want their rejection taken seriously (which can then bring on even more aggressive, violent, threatening behavior).

But we absolve the person who is acting, in each scenario, of any accountability whatsoever.

So, yeah, in many cases, they ARE being taught that it’s okay to ignore boundaries. That it’s okay to push past them. That it’s okay to get in someone else’s personal space, even when the person is expressing distaste or unease or discomfort or outright rejection. They are being taught that it is not their responsibility to not rape. They are not being held accountable for acting, and they are being shown, repeatedly, that when they do act, the responsibility for their behavior is on the person at whom the behavior is directed.

Under the he-had-a-weapon-and-was-a-stranger-and-she-was-beaten-into-submission model, sure. Very few men do that.

But LOADS of men who don’t fit that “REAL RAPIST” false archetype are raping women. They rape their wives and girlfriends. They rape passed out girls and too-drunk-to-consent women at parties. They refuse to take no for an answer, and coerce and intimidate and bully and push and push and push until she gives in, not actually consenting, but unable to withstand the onslaught.

And we (society) overwhelmingly blame her. Even though he was the one pursuing, he was the one acting, we blame his victim. And he knows it. He may not think that he’s raping someone. He may think this is just how sex works. HE. IS. WRONG. And so is the society that teaches him that he isn’t.

No. We may not explicitly teach men to rape. We just teach them that, if they do, it’s perfectly understandable, and not their fault. Which amounts to the same damned thing.

Unlearning Apologies

I want to say I’m sorry
for saying I’m sorry
so goddamned much
for being a nuisance
with my insistence
that I’m too insistent
too needy
too much

I want to apologize
for apologizing
when I shouldn’t
when I’ve done nothing
wrong
when I’m simply feeling
like the burden
you assure me I’m not

I get frustrated
with myself
with my fears
with the crushing weight
of not knowing
how much need
is too much need

I get angry
with myself
because I know
better
I know
that you know
I get angry
because I am
saying I’m sorry
for existing
as I am
for being me

I see your face
puzzlement and proxy-pain
when you tell me
“No, baby
No sorries.”

And then I get angry
with them
all over again
for teaching me
that I am too much
that my need
is too much

Angry with me
for letting that stick
where other
better
knowledge has failed
for being afraid
to ask

Angry with a world
where being sick
or being young
or needing help
has always equaled
being too much

Then, you smile
and stroke my face
remind me that
it’s not a one-way street
remind me that
the things I give
balance with
the things I need

So I say again
I’m sorry
for saying I’m sorrry
so goddamned much


This kind of just happened. I wasn’t planning this. I was just sitting here, being grateful for what I have, feeling unworthy.

I had a seizure today. I hurt, and I’m tired. I’m not up to much, and going out, anywhere, is much. There are just days when the getting ready, the getting dressed and being presentable in public is too much. It’s daunting, like facing a mountain you never wanted to climb in the first place, and knowing you have to, anyway.

We had been, I think, planning to go get Chinese takeout at that place that lets you get the buffet to go. He’d been wanting it for a while.

And I just… can’t. And I knew he wouldn’t, as much as he’s been craving it, if I couldn’t. I asked him, if I gave him a list of the things I wanted off the buffet, would he be willing to do that? And I felt shitty, asking. I felt like an imposition, a burden, a drag. To ask him to go to so much extra effort, just because I’m all fucked up.

And off he goes, with a list and a smile, thanking me for coming up with a way for us to still have Chinese. And all this just kind of… erupted.

This thing has played out more than a time or two in my life, both before and after the illness, with romantic partners and parents and friends. The me being too much thing.

Most of the time, I’m okay. Most of the time, I hear him when he says that’s bullshit, that it was always bullshit. Most of the time, I believe him.

Standing in one of those mountain-facing days, though, and asking him to climb it for me, no matter how small it seems to him, sometimes I get scared. This is one of those days that life has taught me I have to be sorry for being me.