One Coin, Two Sides
"I'm Alice Kelly and I'm a mouthy wh*re."
Content advisory: ableism, climate dread, colonialism, the empire, Evangelical BS, fascism, fire, imprisonment, state violence, terror, white girl anxiety.
“These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and power,
Which as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness…”(Shakespeare, 1597).
Parts Work
When I slip and think about the future with fear, younger parts plead with me to hide:
in my room.
under the sheets.
delete all internet presence, my queen?
I console these parts of me as well as I’m able. I resist the urge to silence them (the urge is there— another part+ who is terrified of fear itself). Careful not to dismiss internal concerns, I hear them all and I’m sorry things are so scary.
If silencing comes again, it’ll come. They have been banished and punished enough as it is; we don’t need to do the work of the dominators ourselves. Don’t they get enough free labor?
All emotions must be expressed somehow1 or we internalize them (buried, but influential regardless). Fear doesn’t negate hope and it doesn’t have to diminish our power, but we can’t push it away.
Internalized emotions control our behavior without our awareness or consent. i.e., the only way out is through.
I wake up to terror and dread sometimes—more often lately. Do you share this experience, dear reader?
Somatics
Terror and dread feel like a thick, electrifying current pulsing (but also sludging?) through my diaphragm.
Sweetheart reminds me that this is my vagus nerve. The most ancient part of the brain teaming up with my central nervous system to notify the rest of me that danger is near.2
Persistent terror and dread are also a symptom of cPTSD… which doesn’t negate the real danger. It just makes me less prepared for it.
Sidebar: it baffles me that some of us are just coming to terms with the insidious nature of the powers-that-be, but I remind myself to be humble. It’s so easy to look at another and scoff at their ignorance, forgetting how much we have yet to learn.3
“Fascism is colonialism turned inwards.”
Aimé Césaire
There were many who knew before I4 and many who will come to understand after.
Besides, shame isn’t sustainable motivation for learning. Contempt (regarding another person as worthy of scorn or disdain from a position of superiority) destroys relationships. It turns people away from connection.
“Vagus” is Latin for “wandering”, and the heart and spirit can only wander when we settle her somehow. We are most powerful, influential, dangerous when wandering. As I said last week in “WTF is Possible Pt. 2”, we can only increase our capacity for stress when we’re within the window of tolerance. Not without.
It’s within the window that humans make our best informed, value-aligned decisions— this affects us as individuals but also parts of the whole. So it’s not mere self-indulgence! It’s worthwhile.
But today, words are not working. The fear is too deep, valid, historical. How can I find my way back?
I turn to somatic release.
I run cold water over my wrists. A part of me mentions that I may not have access to running water for much longer and I stop the faucet. I don’t know if this is the best decision (I could conserve water religiously and never make a dent in comparison to what our military consumes in a single day) but it’s the one I made.
Many people live without running water as it is. It’s survivable—I won’t be alone in that. Humans are resilient because we adapt.
Next strategy.
I scream into my pillows until my throat is raw. I punch my mattress until my arms are beyond sore. I scribble furiously, without method or artistic concern— just rage, fucking rage. Sometimes the pen cuts through the paper.
Here I find some semblance of relief, however fleeting.
Connection
I call my friends across the states and tell them I can’t cry anymore5 and will they send me commissary money if I’m imprisoned for being a mouthy wh*re? They assure me they will— one tells me they’ll move to wherever I’m held captive.
I try to let their love echo across the halls of my mind. I want to remember this. Even if they’re not able, they wanted to and that counts for something.
I think of my ancestors who disintegrated with their mouths closed, silent. Silenced. Miserable lives and miserable deaths. What can I learn from them?
I think of all the freedom fighters who suffered persecution for speaking up— the ones who still do. I think of the ones I’m familiar with and the ones whose names were never printed, only whispered among people left to their “freedom”.
Notice their dedication to love. Can we emulate the brave?
I want to know more people, in person, who engage within networks of care. I branch out; I join a national organization and committed to showing up once a week. My local chapter offers lessons on firearm safety, wound-packing, and de-escalation training.
They tell me people will mask up whenever I’m present, since I mentioned it. Imperfect but still good. I think that will have to do, for now.
I breathe out. I breathe out again. Ha ha ha, again.
When I feel my toes once more, I remember the words of the brilliant Audre Lorde:
“When we speak we are afraid our words will not be heard or silenced. But when we are silent, we are still afraid. So it is better to speak.”
It’s far too late for me to undo my risk of being noticed. I’ve been on lists for years.6
I oftentimes feel terrified but that’s not new and I’m not alone in that.
And if it weren’t too late, would I rather be stamped into oblivion in silence?
…
Hello! I’m Alice Kelly and I’m a mouthy wh*re (you were right, Mom!)
I write because I’m here. At least for now, I’m here.
See also: COINTELPRO.
References:
A, Césaire. (2001). Discourse on Colonialism, Monthly Review Press.
W, Shakespeare. (1597). Romeo and Juliet.
Identifying emotions is the first step towards addressing and potentially resolving them, to whatever degree.
Or so it seems. As I write, I’m safer than I’ve ever been in the context of present reality. But I’m thinking of the oncoming future— which doesn’t really exist in the present. But we hurdle towards it. And to a degree, our minds can’t really tell the difference.
Forgetting that we, too, have had teachers.
In the words of Professor Michael Kimmel, “privilege is invisible to those who have it.”
As in, I’ve felt unable. Not unwilling.
This isn’t a brag. Most of us are effective for longer when we go unnoticed by those who wish us harm…
This is a powerful expression of how i feel a lot of times; isolated, overwhelmed, despairing. But that might be just what they* want; convincing us our best move is running to oblivion.
Cuz if enough folks with fat juicy pattern recognizing brains and a thirst for truth start making friends with each other, whoever they* are, they’re goners.
This is wonderful and so painfully yet beautiful relatable.