Before you read this, there are a few things I would like to state.
First off- this is what writers do naturally. We write. We take what we know and what we've seen and we give those experiences an extension so that we may feel complete.
It's who we are. It's how we deal. I often expect that nobody is interested, that the writing I put out won't be seen by anyone, and I've never expected anything to come of it other than my self.
The written self, for me, is like a third person that exists almost as a voice of reason. I've had a log history of bi-polar disorder. It's like there are five of me. I have no idea how to explain the sensation of coming out of an episode and looking back and thinking- holy shit shit, who was I the past few days? My written self is often my resolve, my therapy, my voice of reason. It's why I've been writing since I was a kid. It's me here now without the shit show.
Second- if you're here for a reason to gossip, to judge me, to make me out to seem fucked up or crazy or filled with sob stories or sorry attempts at redemption or gain- then you can kindly fuck off now. Trust me- I've done enough bashing of my own self, damage, trashing and near death attempts at punishing myself, to be bothered by anyone's scrutiny of my honesty. And gladly even, am I to look upon others judgements and know that at least I am granted the freedom to write whatever the fuck when in other countries you can get killed for speaking about the wrong things. At any rate, I may be lonely and hundreds of miles from home, but at least I'm healthy, sober, and on my way to greater successes. That's a guarantee.
Everyone I have ever admired growing up fought for things they believe in, exposed themselves when it wasn't fashionable, and went against every battle forced upon their lives. of themselves they beseeched forgiveness by being honest, yet sometimes explicit, provocative, and perhaps enticing a grave discomfort in anyone willing to acknowledge them.
This is the story that set the stage for my whole year. In sharing, I only hope to let go.
Thank you
***********
December 18th 2015
A year ago today I was attacked in my studio by a strictly platonic co-tenant, friend, and band mate in the result of a hate crime and his views on my gender and sexuality.
Not a day has gone by that I don't think about the incident and the turmoil and attacks that followed, but I do believe that too will pass.
After being physically assaulted in my room and home, sexually harassed, told I was a sex
object, and then stalked.. After being accused of lying, being blacked out, and exaggerating the situation... After having my honesty about my mental health issues used against me...
After being threatened with the attackers suicide and chased by car on the bay bridge at 6am.. After being threatened and harassed with my eviction for demanding action.... After losing a lot of my resources, a lot of friends, a lot of important relationships, being driven homeless, driven to madness, and being forced to leave a whole life I worked restlessly for behind.. After all the nightmares, arguments, bouts of confusion, depression, and real life fear... And after parting with the love of my life, the golden gates of the nirvana I longed for as a child, the place I imagined I could finally call home, the grey, shitty, shiesty, grimy bum of a town in shiny new paint with a trick ups its sleeve or perhaps just a killer set in a dark venue, the place I thought I found a home in, San Francisco... all I can honestly say is thank you.
I'm not afraid anymore.
From the bottom of my heart, I am so grateful for these experiences and the lessons I've learned.
Thank you to San Francisco and the Flowershop for years of both good and bad memories. In chaos comes order. In tragedy comes beauty.
Thank you to the mystery people who left presents at my door after I fled- pieces of jewelry, a book on Frieda Khalo, a book on a child Native American cartoonist living in amongst a suburb with deep rooted prejudices, a book on Native American uprising in Central America, little toys, a necklace, and a sticker that says "We are all in this together" - you were my heroes that day and you have no idea how much you moved me, to elation and tears, and guided me through the motion of having to pick out as much of my stuff as I could to again flee my space in fear of my safety.
Thank you for these challenges- for helping me become a better person and reminding me the power in standing up for yourself and what you believe. In many ways I'm grateful that it was me going through this and not someone else. I've been conditioned to harassment and prejudices my whole life. Thank you Burlingame for prepping me.
I truly wish and hope good things for everyone.
I hope for that the Flowershop continues to stand as a sanctuary for the freaks, the punks, the outcasts, the vandals, the gross skaters, the sluts, the weirdos, these so-called street angels that inspired me to keep believing that the charmed artist, though definitely endangered, doesn't need to be shackled to conformity by fool's
Gold and chains but comfortably flows through the winds of hope with wings made of color and perhaps a skateboard.
I hope to find forgiveness from those affected by my state following the attack, and from myself.
If you find yourself surrounded by friends, family, the things you love, and most of all, love for yourself, I think maybe then you have found peace.
There's a four year collection of local art, zines, pieces, books I've grown up with, clothes, furniture, etc... It's for anyone's taking. Please come and take all of these things from me- so much work and love went into some of this pieces from artists I will admire for the rest of my life. I will post a date soon before. It will be sometime early mid January.
People- love your mother's, daughters, sisters, and lovers and always remind them that they're worthy of welcome, peace, and love. Even if they know it. these people who survive these types of attacks are all gems in the history of the pursuit of freedom. Your thoughts on people shape much more than conversation or a good thing to gossip over, they can cause earthquakes and shift people's lives in way you couldn't even imagine. In writing this I hope to inspire people to treat each other a little better, to recognize when there is somebody in need, and to view people who you may think of as a poor freak or drunken fuck up as someone who might be trying to survive something tough and scary.
To my friends and family- thank you so much for understanding when I needed you the most. I promise to treat myself better and others as I would like to be treated.
Mom- thank you for always being there. I love you so much.
We're all in this together.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
☮
Not a day has gone by that I don't think about the incident and the turmoil and attacks that followed, but I do believe that too will pass.
After being physically assaulted in my room and home, sexually harassed, told I was a sex
object, and then stalked.. After being accused of lying, being blacked out, and exaggerating the situation... After having my honesty about my mental health issues used against me...
After being threatened with the attackers suicide and chased by car on the bay bridge at 6am.. After being threatened and harassed with my eviction for demanding action.... After losing a lot of my resources, a lot of friends, a lot of important relationships, being driven homeless, driven to madness, and being forced to leave a whole life I worked restlessly for behind.. After all the nightmares, arguments, bouts of confusion, depression, and real life fear... And after parting with the love of my life, the golden gates of the nirvana I longed for as a child, the place I imagined I could finally call home, the grey, shitty, shiesty, grimy bum of a town in shiny new paint with a trick ups its sleeve or perhaps just a killer set in a dark venue, the place I thought I found a home in, San Francisco... all I can honestly say is thank you.
I'm not afraid anymore.
From the bottom of my heart, I am so grateful for these experiences and the lessons I've learned.
Thank you to San Francisco and the Flowershop for years of both good and bad memories. In chaos comes order. In tragedy comes beauty.
Thank you to the mystery people who left presents at my door after I fled- pieces of jewelry, a book on Frieda Khalo, a book on a child Native American cartoonist living in amongst a suburb with deep rooted prejudices, a book on Native American uprising in Central America, little toys, a necklace, and a sticker that says "We are all in this together" - you were my heroes that day and you have no idea how much you moved me, to elation and tears, and guided me through the motion of having to pick out as much of my stuff as I could to again flee my space in fear of my safety.
Thank you for these challenges- for helping me become a better person and reminding me the power in standing up for yourself and what you believe. In many ways I'm grateful that it was me going through this and not someone else. I've been conditioned to harassment and prejudices my whole life. Thank you Burlingame for prepping me.
I truly wish and hope good things for everyone.
I hope for that the Flowershop continues to stand as a sanctuary for the freaks, the punks, the outcasts, the vandals, the gross skaters, the sluts, the weirdos, these so-called street angels that inspired me to keep believing that the charmed artist, though definitely endangered, doesn't need to be shackled to conformity by fool's
Gold and chains but comfortably flows through the winds of hope with wings made of color and perhaps a skateboard.
I hope to find forgiveness from those affected by my state following the attack, and from myself.
If you find yourself surrounded by friends, family, the things you love, and most of all, love for yourself, I think maybe then you have found peace.
There's a four year collection of local art, zines, pieces, books I've grown up with, clothes, furniture, etc... It's for anyone's taking. Please come and take all of these things from me- so much work and love went into some of this pieces from artists I will admire for the rest of my life. I will post a date soon before. It will be sometime early mid January.
People- love your mother's, daughters, sisters, and lovers and always remind them that they're worthy of welcome, peace, and love. Even if they know it. these people who survive these types of attacks are all gems in the history of the pursuit of freedom. Your thoughts on people shape much more than conversation or a good thing to gossip over, they can cause earthquakes and shift people's lives in way you couldn't even imagine. In writing this I hope to inspire people to treat each other a little better, to recognize when there is somebody in need, and to view people who you may think of as a poor freak or drunken fuck up as someone who might be trying to survive something tough and scary.
To my friends and family- thank you so much for understanding when I needed you the most. I promise to treat myself better and others as I would like to be treated.
Mom- thank you for always being there. I love you so much.
We're all in this together.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
☮
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