I am to write again.

therapy says I have to write again. this blog counts. and I need the support anyways. cause coocoo for coco puffs here.

my oldest son is 24, black, and a model. Monday night, he was working for the accociated press (photographer as well, some of his images are all over from the Portland protests). he was blindsided by a cops baton. he submitted until he realized the beatings were not going to stop. he escaped and came to my house bruised the eff up. huge black eye and cuts all over his face. I do not say this for any other reason than to express the devastation and the utter torn feelings I have to all of this going on. all of this meanness. I served in the military. I know what I sacrificed and what I sacrificed it for... for him. we left nebraska 11 years ago because of bruises and beatings. white single mom with a black kid in a small town. I was a disgrace to some of them there. so much so... we were harassed and threatened and attacked. my own home town. my own people. 

I say this... because I am correlating, trying to make sense of this nonsense. the SS in plural of four, they come from parents with money. grandparents with money. health insurance. child support payments. extra things bought and given and ... the most upsetting... the resources they can use because of status and money and insurance. things I never had a shot at ... living in a van by a river for 3 months, to roach infested trailer parks, to low income housing. putting food on the table, or ability to buy diapers, or a ride to the doctor 10 miles away with no car... not always enough pennies in the pocket to make it after i was disabled in the military.

instead... like nebraska.... like that cop. the behavior is unrelenting, endless in capacity. the hot summer heat never ceasing... sun doesn't wanna go down cause the burn is what one deserves... make sure it's scarred the skin enough to freckle out leaving long term cancerous consequences to mingle inside of you. to let you know... rain ain't coming for ya cause you belong to burning. this is what it feels like. 

when it wasn't the endless campaigns of unsafe actions in military life, it was the consequences from it. when it wasn't experiencing true hate for nothing but rage and revenge and effed up views, it was the consequences ... long term damages from it. when it wasn't the attacks from my own people, it was the constant harassment of this BM and the violence her children pose to each other, their father, their grandmother, school and me, just trying to survive... they are in their own battle.  and I could go on and on.

depressed? check

PTSD? got it! totally got that t-shirt at the age of 19. now 46.

Feel like everyone is after me? well doggonnit... might as well pop a neon sign above my head saying "paranoid!!"... cause yeah... burning crosses in your yard and cray cray exes doin stupid sh..? unrelenting. 

the racism followed us. and meanness is the acceptable behavior now too.

life.  is not safe. lesson learned.

I'd be cool if we just go ahead and stop teaching me that lesson now ... whaddya say big guy? ya know... not saying you can't teach me that lesson again... but vacay for like... ever now? but I'll take two weeks. two weeks and I'll be ready for more beatings and threats and invasions and death and sicknesses and mental illness and rejection and courts and relationships falling apart.. ... all that jazz... promise. just two weeks, then you can show me how mean everybody is to each other again. 

or... if that's too much... how about you teach me how to endure a bit better... just enough to get me through this sh**storm and just lemme gaze at the silver lining at the back end of it for a moment. promise ... I won't touch the lining. I don't deserve one is what I'm learning... just a look at not all this meanness stuff.