I have just 1 hour to get out what I am feeling before I relinquish the airways to our beloved Indigenous brothers and sisters. I can’t impede on their space. What a time to decide to get off of anti-depressants. It was only 37.5 mg for just one day and the wormhole is here. All I can see is I hope the other side is worth it when I get there. Not the other side that is so finite. The one where I get to be happy and loved. Does that place exist? Are all these tears worth it? What if I fail in the worse possible way at everything. I have worked all that cognitive behaviour stuff until I was blue in the face. Where did that get me? Here? 42. Scared of my own shadow but even more scared I will never be anything to anybody. I have to get up every day. Every damn day to be a mom. And every damn day I will do so with a smile on my face and my head held high because my son deserves the best life. My chest feels like it is going to deflate and never reach for another breath of air. What’s the purpose of life?
Rejection. Nothing rips at your soul than being told you aren’t good enough. I can’t even imagine what some people are forced to live for. I can’t even see through the tears that run down my face. What I see now is how numb we have all become. Who are we trying to kid? Ourselves? I am telling you four years of being pushed aside for anything but you, that pain. Shatters your heart. Imagine this was your fate. Your children’s fate. I can’t imagine their sweet cherub faces looking up through hope filled eyes and one by one their spirits are broken. All their hope dies. I know now. I see it now. Not exactly. Not entirely. How could I possibly? What I am experiencing is supposed to be pain by somebody who loves me. Maybe possibly their is a miscommunication but for some, and those eyes. The grotesque cover up just to get closer to their pray. My husband gets mad when I say burn those churches down. Sometimes I feel like the Catholic Church should be listed as a hate group (please don’t hate me). Children. Sweet children being made to believe they have no souls and their worth less than dirt. Dirt is life. They became life. Although when they laid to rest they could have showed hate and discontent but they did not do so they just became life. If you lay your head down to the Earth and be very still you can hear their laughter. You have the power deep inside you to hear their whispers and let them know that they will be ok. That the ancestors that are here in the here and now we will treat differently. Now that we know your story give us all a chance to do right by your lives and praise your people, hear your rituals, return you to the sky. This is what I think when I think of rejection and I know that what I have experienced is only a piece of their pie.
The truth will set you free. Am I real or am I crazy. Who really knows right but we all like to follow along. I am so tired of the rich getting richer and people over profit and is it just me or is the firework display kind of a ridiculous joke! Is that how you honour our Indigenous communities by blowing lil colourful bombs into the sky? Is it just me or does it make more sense to have a bombfire or a big traditional Pow Wow. I mean profits over people right? You already bought the fireworks so let’s just change the title from Canada Day to Indigenous Pride and call it a day. Is that all it’s going to be when July 1st comes and goes. Oh wait yes we are permanently changing the day going forward. No wonder why they prefer us medicated, intoxicated, addicted become so numb that we can barely move. And then there was the divide by saying hey why don’t you integrate (ok now that I say that it should have been hey is it ok if we stay? kill most of your people? enslave the rest? make sure that all you feel hopeless and wanting to die? I mean that is what I see from all that is going on. It’s almost like everybody forgot this is a culture we tried to snuff out. We just can’t imagine it because, “Oh we weren’t there,” “oh it wasn’t me,” “my family never owned slaves”. Uhmmm ok you are here now. And if you aren’t making everyday consistent changes like supporting Indigenous talent such as art, beadwork, bath and body products, oil and taking the time to listen to their stories and educate yourself and your families then it is even worse because it is like you brought that life here. And not to be judgey or to point fingers but is there a chance you never had slaves because you couldn’t pay the going fare. What I am trying to say is, “WHO GIVES A SH*T.” Honour their lives, their trauma, their nightmare and start doing the right thing. Should be simple but it isn’t is it.
I used to worry so much about what other people would think about me and then I realized my story isn’t about anybody else it is only about me. I want to live my life so when I am 80 years old sipping lemonade on my porch swing I can look up at my Grandkids and say what my Grandpa said to me, “When I die nobody better cry. I lived a good life. I was happy. There is no reason to cry here.”