Crowdfunding Comrades

I am appealing for donations on behalf of someone who has been threatened with homelessness. They are a young person with significant mental and physical disabilities and find it hard engaging with the authorities. Given their well documented treatment of claimants, especially those suffering mental health, who could blame them?

I am their contact for confidentiality reasons. I can provide details to anyone I trust but for obvious reasons will not share on here.

Please help if you are able to do so.

Click Donate to transfer funds to my paypal account >>>>>>>>>>>

Many thanks.

Self awareness isn’t a cure

anhedonia

It’s been almost 5 years since my breakdown and in that time I know I’ve come a long way. I know who I am and where I stand on things, I no longer fret about what strangers think of me. I can interact with some people and just go with it instead of watching myself fuck up from the outside. I can own my fuck ups and learn from them. I am present in myself but I feel empty and at a loss.

What are the options when you’ve finally accepted it was not your fault but you still resent having to be a part of this world? Although there is no intention to act on impulse, the thoughts dominating my mind centre on existing at all and whether it’s worth it. Sure my life has improved beyond my expectations, I have mended relationships that were shattered, I can be mindful of my actions and admit when I am wrong but I have no hope for the future and I feel more and more numb as time drags on. It makes me wonder if suicide occurs when you finally feel nothing, not even fear of the unknown, the only emotion keeping me alive.

I have pondered the reasons for my declining mental health and there are many, a safe space being somewhere at the top on my list of priorities. I know that I crave the feeling of the sun on my skin so some of my symptoms may be related to a deficiency but unsafe spaces make the sun inaccessible to me. Even procuring the use of a family member’s private garden has the potential for stressful negotiations; I am not the only mentally ill person within the unit. We are each other’s biggest triggers and if only one of us is acting out the overall effects are devastating, as with a rogue domino that wasn’t lined up properly. The triggers are many and I am the only one seeking external help to identify them. It doesn’t help my case when I am the only one pointing out scripted scenes and it’s easier to blame the black sheep than it is to admit you are governed by hierarchical patriarchy and violent capitalism. It’s easier to point at a single chip on one person’s shoulder than admit your idols are rapists and racist. In this respect the reactions I get from most people are dishonest and nothing short of gaslighting. I know what I know and what I said and saw so why do so many insist I perceived it wrong? There are too many people like this and I want no part of it.

These are violent times. The horror is unrelenting. Greed infects each and every one of us; capitalism has made it a virtue. We are killing the earth and each other and yet somewhere I’m supposed to find the inspiration and motivation to stay alive and do it well? Every cell in my body refuses to do so.

Don’t sound the alarm just yet though. I haven’t self-harmed in ages though I think about it most days. I have thought of ways to die but I haven’t stocked up on supplies. I’ve made mental lists of pros and cons but I haven’t been keeping score, perhaps a part of me believes this slump will pass as the others have done.

In just over a week I turn 33 but I’d rather not mark it at all. I’m not anxious it’s coming, rather a tad annoyed that it’s here again, so soon after the last one. I’ll have to pretend I’m happier than I am and toast the chance to fail spectacularly at another year in a system that despises my very being. I suppose it’s been set up to make me feel like this.

Anarchy in the UK

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What is anarchism and why was I so afraid initially to vocally identify as one? Perhaps it had something to do with the image I’d had constructed for me, angry Sex Pistols spitting into their microphones as they rasped menacingly about the queen (fair enough, actually), the same sex pistols I’d associated with racism cos punks were as scaring looking as the skinheads when you’re a brown girl trying to make sense of white subculture but are too afraid to ask just in case they do turn out to be a paki bashing neo Nazi.  There was Vyvyan from The Young Ones who frightened the life out of me as a small child (this was largely due to the metal in his face) and the response “there’d be anarchy” in every discussion regarding the breaking of rules painted a nightmare scenario where we’d all regress to a primitive state, raping and looting and bashing each other to death for larfs. Of course I would be afraid to say the words “I am an anarchist” when I did not want to be associated with such carnage and destruction (plus it also sounds a bit like antichrist).

Then I met some anarchists and they were thoroughly awesome people. I wondered where they’d been all my life as I reflected on all the people I’d made do with, accepted, despite their shades of bigotry because I’d felt there was no other choice and I was alone in my thoughts. Here was a bunch of people who just got it and didn’t need it spelling out. Anarchism is the antithesis of every social structure maintained by authority, disproportionately represented by white men. To call oneself an anarchist means to reject the ways of white men, and to challenge those perpetuating oppression whenever we personally witness it, affecting these changes wherever we have the power and influence to do so. I didn’t go to a posh university to learn all these fancy words and expressions; I was just born this way (in my rundown brown Muslim ghetto). Meeting others like me just helped bring everything in focus, and I was pleased to find they came in all colours, genders and beliefs.

To question the reason for everything is at the core of every true anarchist. Why do we do things in this way? Who benefits from it? Is it to any other person’s detriment, on purpose or inadvertently? How can we ensure justice? If these questions do not matter to you then how can you say you are an anarchist?

Anarchism isn’t about behaving like a dick or actively promoting self-interest cos you’re a libertarian who don’t-listen-to-no-one; it shouldn’t be done for the kudos or kicking back at the state cos you’re angry with your dad (although there is nothing wrong with that). Anarchism is taking a radical approach concerning all things and doing them differently. In this sense, most religions can be compared to anarchy (at the point of inception). A new way of being becomes possible, tired of the old (and often violent and oppressive) way of doing things, seeking to change things radically for the betterment of all, because you need to be inclusive if you’re going to spread that gospel far and wide. I believe Jesus was an anarchist, and Mohammed too. Feed the poor and stop raping/murdering your children are worthy (and radical) causes whichever millennium you’re from, and then, just like now, the people in power persecuted those seeking to end power and control by making a violent example of them.

We’ve all heard the ‘let’s fix class then we can entertain feminism’ orders. They come from primarily white men. There are some women socialists using the same tactic with regards to class and race but that’s another blog post. For anarchy to work, I’m sorry not sorry white men, you have to stfu. It’s not like you don’t already have your say right? White supremacy is a social construct as is patriarchy and when you refuse to shut up and listen you are doing both of these things. You’re simply maintaining the status quo and that as you’ve probably already guessed, is not anarchy. Me telling you to do this right now is not exerting power and control or authority over you but punching up at historical oppressors in a bid to be heard so you can stop being so abusive. I do not have any control over your opportunities but you certainly do mine.

The other huge difference between our arguments is the intention behind them. When I say “stop doing that” it’s because you’re hurting somebody. You bash back because you don’t like being told what to do, because you are entitled and used to getting your own way. When the context is so wildly different you cannot apply the same reasoning/survivor language we use to label us as hypocrites. The truly anarchist response to being called out, if you have the self-awareness to regulate your thoughts despite being bombarded by messages on how we must behave in a white cis heteronormative patriarchy is to reflect and think about why you’re being called out not hit back with abuse or dig a deeper hole with your defence. That is the sign of an anarchist, someone who appreciates their privileges and place in the world and seeks to redress the imbalance, however uncomfortable that might be.

Being an anarchist means having the humility to recognise the impact one’s own existence has on others. In a world where we ask people what job they do in order to ascertain their social standing and bank balance before we know anything else about them, we are an anomaly. It makes perfect sense to an anarchist to be preoccupied with the often murderous actions of governments and their followers, and usually for monetary reasons. It is more shocking that most individuals are not bothered. People are more inclined to follow a world sporting event religiously than protest the hundreds of children murdered to make way for it. I am an anarchist because I object to this way of thinking and being. In the pursuit for self-gratification we have allowed for atrocity. We’re convinced it’s not our problem.

If you are not an anarchist (or a true anarchist), you are complicit. To be an anarchist is to be without rulers, not rules (the rulers have created this cruel uncaring world for personal gain). When the rules include treating all living creatures with respect and always questioning your prejudices, you have to question the sort of anarchist who would object to that.

Being a dick is the norm; a true anarchist would know this.

manarchists

Anarchists, this is why

Anarchy seemed like the natural way for me to go. When you’re convinced reform is not the answer and the world needs tearing down and rebuilding; to be free from rulers is a state I’ve always wanted to be in. Like all of the good things I’ve looked forward to, I perhaps had an overly optimistic outlook of what passes for anarchy, in this day and age here in the UK (and Europe).

The same structures exist within the anarchist left as they do in wider society. White men are still maintaining patriarchy and rape culture. That’s not anarchy, that’s white supremacy. The sort that reacts aggressively to adjectives describing the tone of their skin, or uses gendered slurs and even flat out denies words that actually came out of your mouth and replaces them with what he heard you say instead, all the while confirming just how much of a bigot he really is.

thorcunt

Psychosis: a severe mental disorder in which thought and emotions are so impaired that contact is lost with external reality.

thorcunt1

Asian grooming gangs are The Worst. The establishment didn’t rape and murder children alright? Our anarchist leader has some thoughts on my class credentials.. Surprise!

thorcunt2

‘EVIL’. White people love referring to the savages as evil (see Clarkson fans).

thorcunt3

*spits dummy out*

thorcunt4

Really helping your case there, pal.

thorcunt5

Name dropping ONE token person of colour is all it takes for WHITE SUPREMACISTS to convince themselves you’re wrong and they’re right. I don’t delete abuse or my response to it, I think it’s crucial for me to publish it and for you to see it through my eyes.

Anarchists need reminding what anarchism really is.

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Mother, do you think they’ll drop the bomb?

“Your mother, your mother, your mother”. That was the premise of one of my favourite Islamic children’s books as a kid, referring to a hadith (kinda like the gospels) where the prophet responded to a follower that mothers take not only first place in our hearts but second and third also, with fathers coming in fourth. I may have been 8 years old but I believed in those words more than I appreciated at the time. I simply did not have a relationship or bond with my dad, I couldn’t understand the point of him to be honest but I clung to my mother and she favoured me out of the four of us, her right hand Sam, always eager to please and whip the rest of them into line.

I can’t remember exactly when we drifted apart, it was more a collection of events that drove a wedge between us until we were so estranged from our relationship as mother and daughter, we forgot how to speak to one another. I was determined to fit into the white western ideal of acceptable behaviour and presentation which at the time translated into wearing very little and getting wasted and of course this would actually frighten my very traditional mother from a village in a remote part of Kashmir, especially when daughters who go bad are often attributed to a mother’s loose morals, regardless of the actual circumstances – violent father, violent household, cultural and religious demons and attitudes, societal pressures and expectations of brown girls in a white world.

To preserve her own honour she had to reject my behaviour by turning her back on me. She was probably disgusted by me to some degree. I did fry up a load of pork sausages in her kitchen once, out of defiance which made her promptly throw up in the sink. I felt hella guilty as the severity of what I’d just done dawned on me but I had a point to prove that I was an individual with the right to self-expression, however much my mother’s stomach flipped at the thought I was destined for hellfire.

The cause of the rift between us was largely down to the society we found ourselves in. These days I see you coming, suss out your intentions within the first few sentences but as a young person, microagressions had a different effect on me. I bought into them and believed if I was more like my white peers I wouldn’t be targeted for the colour of my skin. I wore a cross, I did goth, changed into hipsters and crop tops on the bus into school or town, joined in with the paki this, paki that, keen to make the distinction between them and us but it meant denying my very being, the people who brought me into existence and the way we are perceived by the ‘natives’ of this island. They tolerate us as long as we toe the line.

In the process of rejecting all the labels required of me, and finding self-love I remembered what it felt like to feel close to the woman who had given birth to me, 2 months premature, having carried my twin and me carefully in her 5ft frame up until then, and how I could still love her after so many years apart. I reverted back to using my ‘mother tongue’ with anyone who could understand it. For years I struggled to communicate effectively in my first language, perhaps because I didn’t have the comfort of just speaking without being judged on my grammar. Like anything, you become rusty without practice and of course I was busy showing off my English language skills to demonstrate how much I really belonged here. It’s like riding a bike though, as I discovered when I sat down with my mum, for the first time in almost decade, neither of us expecting the other to apologise for abandoning one another, just two women with an understanding of the lives we’d been forced to lead; violence being a feature whether in the home or on the streets.

It was nice. She was older but less stressed and receptive to me, as me. I felt as if we’d glued together the gap in our relationship, and we could continue from this point forward without having to look back; an unspoken understanding that there was no agenda only life reminding us how painfully short it is. I was thrilled to feel at home and close to her once again. She seemed genuinely proud of every little thing I could do, without the usual expectations one has of an individual in a white western patriarchy. She doesn’t care about my lack of a job or mortgage or husband. I had surpassed her expectations by coming back to her and apologising for choosing this country over her.

When I was a kid I sneered I had no idea how I had come from her body and was composed entirely of her and my dad. I looked down upon them, thought them unintelligent and unrefined. Whilst I cannot say this has changed about my father, I take back the judgments I made about her. I judged her through the White Gaze™ and it doesn’t treat women like my mother very well. It considers them weak and unattractive, an easy target, and she was targeted, even when she had four under 5s in tow. I blamed my mother the victim for the abuse white people subjected her to. I am ashamed I put her through this.

My mother is a highly intelligent individual. She has a self-awareness that is missing in most people. She taught herself English by reading our textbooks over the years. I wasn’t even aware of her level of comprehension until one day she flipped at me for lying about my whereabouts, because she’d actually been reading an email I’d sent to my friend over my shoulder and I hadn’t bothered to cover it up assuming she didn’t have the first clue.

Never underestimate a woman of colour. We haven’t had an easy ride of it so we’ve gotten good at adapting to our surroundings. I know where I got these skills from now and it was a joy to talk politics with her over a cup of tea. I wondered what she could have been if she wasn’t a housewife and mum of four at the age of 21. What could she have achieved if she hadn’t been abused by my father and abandoned by her own family who lived thousands of miles away? They thought they had done their best by her, 1 of 8 daughters, by marrying her off and to a young man living in England too. They hadn’t anticipated the power and control that would govern her life.

This Mother’s Day, the first for me in almost a decade is a special one. I’ve bought her some comfortable shoes, biscuits for diabetics and a posh card to make up for all the ones I never sent. I’m excited about it, and looking forward to wishing her a happy one. For a while it was a day of triggers and self-hate, because under the defiance and stubbornness of underlining my grievances I actually felt unworthy of her love. I felt abandoned. I had burnt that bridge by rejecting who she was for some fake promise of acceptance if I assimilated with the white people of this land.

I was wrong and I am sorry. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom (I’m a Brummie by birth, alright?) x

jamesmay

Britain is racist, fact

If you were one of those people sharing the video of James May speaking for his knob friend as an example of the way we should all be feeling about this then take it from me, you’ve a stack load of unchecked privilege and a hint of the ol’ white supremacy about you (white people do not get to define what is and isn’t racist, rather the victims do). Hear me out..

Jeremy Clarkson assaulted a colleague. You’d be hard pushed to find an employment policy which does not recommend an immediate suspension in cases like these, if not the sack. That’s not all Clarkson has done though is it? If anything, this occasion may have been the straw that finally broke the camel’s back but if you’re a minority you could probably think of at least another three examples of problematic behaviour, for example, his defence of the sale of golliwogs through his family business. Or the fact that he asked for public sector workers to be shot in front of their families. Do you remember the time he used the N word and then issued a half arsed apology because no doubt a BBC producer insisted he do so? Perhaps his obsession with black lesbians would convince you of his complete fuckwittery? How about the time he ‘joked’ about the recently deceased passengers of flight MH370, leaving his sickofans to deal with me on his behalf? No? Well I suspect that is because you are also a bigot, and an insidious one at that too. It is people like you who maintain the status quo. You minimise the abuse people suffer, exhibiting some kid of psychosis where your beliefs do not reflect the external reality.

The petition to save Clarkson is a shameful indictment of ‘Great’ Britain. It marks us out as an intolerant, bigoted people excelling at nothing more than hypocrisy and entitlement.

Oh, how they crowed that I was just an idiot for calling everyone a racist..  Wasn’t too fucking wrong though, was I? When the Prime Minister of the country counts one of the most bigoted faces on the planet as one of his nearest and dearest then you know you’re fucked. To deny this fact at this late a stage, well, I think they’ve stopped denying it to be honest. They tested the water with all the rhetoric of the past few years, and Britons, starved and homeless still blame the immigrants and not the banks because white is right and the rest of us are just wrong even if we’re smarter, more truthful and respectful of life. Especially because that.

I Am

I Am

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows;
My friends forsake me like a memory lost:
I am the self-consumer of my woes—
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life’s esteems;
Even the dearest that I loved the best
Are strange—nay, rather, stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man hath never trod
A place where woman never smiled or wept
There to abide with my Creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie
The grass below—above the vaulted sky.

John Clare

(This poem is as true for me today as it was when I first read it aged 12.
Things have changed but these imprints on my brain can never be erased, only manipulated)