Sunday, July 26, 2009

how

How do you mark the day when you realize that you'll probably never really be happy or even reasonably content, that some trick of fate or life, some confluence of genetics, conditioning, a soupcon of abuse and sensitivity have pooled to insure that your life will be a muddy pool, ranging from a clinging, lite sadness to a black and sludgy depression that immobilizes you for days and weeks at a time? Is it freeing to accept that the medication gets you to a baseline that's better than what was, but is still a dip below strength of mind, requiring richer experiences and more colorful adventures to illicit even a soupcon of joy, mostly fleeting and translucent. Is it a disservice to those who love you to gradually stop talking about it, complaining about the funk, is it an acceptance not to flail against it, to keep fighting a fight that seems more and more like a waste of energy and time and resources. We Americans, we fighters of impossible fights, we're supposed to batter away at walls of granite or titanium, surmount them, blast through them with sheer will, with faith in demigods, with science, and clever language, with our last breath. People sometimes think it's melodramatic to say that one can't move one more step, one can't take one more shot or pill or therapy session because it just doesn't work all the way, it just isn't helping at all. Sure, you've been worse, you've been suicidal and it's true to say that you aren't now, that you are maintaining that baseline, that you are able to feed and clothe yourself, that you are able to brush your teeth--that was always a sign that things had gone too far, when you couldn't brush your teeth--that you are able to go to work, go through the motions, and maybe your chatter is a little more nervous and maybe your judgments aren't as sharp and sure, maybe you forget what 8x7 is, but there are calculators, reminders, spell checkers, family members who help you out financially, friends who are always willing to listen, but, damn, you just don't feel like wasting one more minute of your life, sad though it may be, talking about this shit. You are tired of it like a coal miner is tired of dust, exhausted by the very thought of another depression group, there is always somebody much worse off and you are supposed to compare your situation and feel better in comparison, but that never works because you feel so bad for the person, that one strategy never works for you, sorry doctor/therapist/parent/friend.

You hope you are being enough for the people in your life but you know you aren't, but this is all you have to give. They slowly, sadly accept this or go away because they can't face the sadness of what you've become or what your friendship is not or the reflected blackness. Your laughter rings hollow, you don't write, you don't call, you listen, but you listen for the disappointment and not the message. The disappointment is what hurts the most, not your own disappointment, but the disappointment of those you love, those who had hopes for you, those who want your ear, your input, your friendship, your guidance, your heart. But you don't know how. Connection is not innate with you, or the fear of it has been blocked like a leaf choked sewer because past connections have been so painful.

So you stumble along, and try to remember to brush your teeth.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Let's get it straight

Let's get it straight, now. Let's be real.

Skip Gates, Harvard professor, gentleman, was accosted inside his house by white Cambridge cops who demanded to see his identification. IN HIS HOUSE. He in turn asked for their badge numbers and protested when they arrested him. The DA dropped the charges and said both sides were wrong. I beg to differ and so does Skip Gates. The woman who called the police called them because she saw Skip and his Black friend dealing with the stuck front door. The cops came into the house and demanded identification because Skip is Black. They arrested him because he is Black. There was no other reason. The DA dropped the charges, I suspect, because, if he hadn't, there would be a lot of protest.

Racial profiling is really, really simple. People of color, especially Black men, will always be suspect, no matter what. If you are naive enough to think we live in a "post racial" world because President Obama is in the White House, look at all of the racially insensitive things the Right Wing is saying. And look out in the street and notice the Black boys walking by. Does your pulse quicken? Do you wonder what they are doing in your neighborhood? Are you afraid? Do you think about what that means? Of course we've all been conditioned to be fearful, but I've met more nasty white teenagers since I've been in Arlington than Black teenagers I've encountered in a lifetime.

Once, not so long ago a Hispanic security guard followed me around in Walgreens. I finally turned around and said, "Are you following me?" He blushed to the roots of his hair and mumbled something. I forgave him, though, because if he'd been out of uniform somebody would be following him.

I've had friends who say, "Oh, you're just paranoid," etc. etc. Of course these have been white friends. I know we all wish this shit were over but it's not and until it's not (not in our lifetimes), there will be a need for affirmative action, there will be a need for peaceful protest, and we're all going to have keep thinking about it and discussing it and worrying at it like the social hangnail that it is.

Think how mad you get when someone makes an assumption about you based on something you can't help. Think of the injustice of it. Now think of it happening every time you walk out in the street. I can't even discuss it fully, because the accident of my birth is that I'm biracial and light skinned. But I can tell you about the pain of it, the anger of it, the complete idiocy of being judged by an accident of genetics.

And think of this man, Skip Gates, an unbelievably distinguished man who's fought all his life for everyone to have a decent education, a very nice gentleman, a quite famous person, someone who's been taking on this bullshit all his life to be arrested in his own house because some ignay cop with a chip on his shoulder doesn't like some darkie asking for his badge number. We've got to keep on fighting.

P.S. President Obama said in his press conference tonight, "The Cambridge police acted stupidly."