Ferguson Has FINALLY Stopped Trending [Poem]

Two lives.

Stolen.

Injustice mourned.

Voices raised.

Hands up.

Sons.

Trending.

Four women.

Rape.

Four students.

Bullied.

Action sought.

Voiced raised.

Signs up.

Daughters.

Trending.

Thanksgiving.

Turkey and dressing.

Macy’s Parade.

Turkey Presentation.

Trending.

Seven days of thanks.

Stuffing our bellies.

Eating our pie.

The others?

Starving.

The trending?

Dying.

Our culture.

Trending.

Nothing is wrong?

We schedule

When to give thanks

When to love.

This is our culture.


If you enjoyed this post, please click “like”” and share it. Thanks for reading!

Click here to find out how you can give to someone in need in your area!

 

I Attempted Suicide & I’m Not Sure It Was Wrong

It was just after Thanksgiving. My head was pounding, and I was freezing as my feet hit the pavement running.

My parents had gone to my grandma’s house for leftover turkey and dressing. I stayed home, eager for the time to myself.

While they were enjoying their family dinner, I took a bottle of Tylenol: 350 capsules. It didn’t help matters much that I had taken a muscle relaxant from my mother’s collection.

I wasn’t suicidal.

I had a migraine from running.

At least, that is the story I told.

By the time my boyfriend found me, my body temperature had dropped, my lips were blue and I was freezing.

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

When I was 15, medical professionals tried to tell me that it was “depressive disorder.” Even then, I knew better.

While on Facebook, some days, just viewing my profile can cost me an entire day or a few hours. It’s one day one minute, and the next minute, it’s Tuesday.

The days just disappear and so do the hours. Facebook regularly prompts me to update my profile and poses this question:

What are some of your favorite memories?

I should mention . . .

I also have Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID).

As an adult, I have learned that extensive physical and emotional trauma have conditioned my brain to a specific, organized, way of thinking.

Some days, it feels like it did the same to my emotions.

I couldn’t tell you exactly what at the time, but something changed just before I started seventh grade. I stopped going by my first name. I adamantly went by my middle name and became verbally aggressive if challenged otherwise.

Please, call me, ‘Grace.’

I also took a creative writing class that year. When we returned from Spring break, we were assigned a writing project prompted with this question:

What was the favorite part of your Spring break with your family?

In tears and confused, I approached the teacher’s desk and quietly whispered that I had nothing special to tell about my Spring break.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

I can’t remember what happened that year. There were many hard years. My counselor tells me,

We have a way of blocking the hard parts out.

I’d like to know what she considers as hard. 

The teacher told me to write about any happy memory with my family instead. On that day, I realized I didn’t have any happy memories—not one.

Not that I never had any happy moments, that is just how my mind works.

Ethics

As a teenager, if had succeeded in taking my own life, would the decision have been ethical? Would it have been right or wrong? After all, I was the victim of an abusive culture and upbringing, innocent in my youth and my thinking.

I was a child.

If mental health did not play a role, but rather a pure response to real trauma, would you tell a child he/she is selfish for escaping abuse the only way the child knew how or does the abuse give a logical and acceptable justification to suicide?

Physician-assisted Suicide is legal in the Netherlands, currently being determined in Canada, and moderately approved (with restrictions) across the United States. According to the American Medical Association:

Physician-assisted suicide occurs when a physician facilitates a patient’s death by providing the necessary means and/or information to enable the patient to perform the life-ending act (eg, the physician provides sleeping pills and information about the lethal dose, while aware that the patient may commit suicide.)

If the physical need for an escape from pain or the fear of the pain that is coming is an ethical justification for suicide, then, wouldn’t the same be valid in the case of a teenager escaping physical abuse or other trauma?

If suicide is justifiable for any reason, what gives anyone the authority to govern who and who does not deserve to choose if they live or die?

If an adult, undergoing extensive medical treatment for a terminal condition, can choose to end his/her own life at will, why would an adult undergoing daily pain and torment not also deserve that same right?

Wouldn’t it be “ethical” to determine that is for the greater good of all who are hurting to cease suffering, if possible?

The problem is human nature. It makes the majority believe that the method by which death is achieved is not moral. 

I would by lying to say that I am not torn on the topic. Losing a loved one to suicide feels like a shock to the heart. It feels like an injustice, like a life was stolen.

A close friend who lived in my neighborhood was shot in the head during the summer of 1996. His name was Michael Lime. At first, they tried to claim it was suicide. Then, there was rumor and speculation of murder. In the end, it was chalked off to boys playing with guns.

But nobody really knows because we don’t talk about it.

Why do we fight against the justification, ethical theory and legality, of suicide being socially acceptable?

Morals.

If we determine and declare that suicide is an acceptable way of dying, what message do we send our children, friends and family, when they reach out during that moment when life feels like too much?

In those moments, we want to send one message:

Choose life!

So, we declare it unethical, immoral, sinful, selfish and crazy. But is it?

To want to escape something unreal, unimaginable and unbearably painful, is that unethical? Is that wrong?

I’m not sure, but I choose life and every good or bad day it may bring.

I choose life.


Suicide Prevention

Image Credit

Let’s Talk About Sex

It all started like this.

She slipped her arms tightly around my waist and pulled my body close to hers. The warmth of her skin made it hard to let go. I could feel my heart begin to pound and my face grow warm with the blush of surprise and uncertainty. As she slowly traced her fingers across my back, the air grew thick with tension and arousal. This was not our usual “text me later” way of saying goodbye.

No. This was better.

All I could think, in that moment, was that I never wanted her to let me go. My mind battled morals while my body responded as if it knew exactly what to do and the rest of me had no need for concern.

Maybe that’s the point (according to some) that I should have been ashamed, offended, or even appalled, by merely the thought of a same-sex relationship. Maybe I should have spoken to a minister, claimed to have had an emotional breakdown or a quarter-life crisis. Maybe I should have blamed drugs, alcohol, social networks and media; anything other than the truth seemed preferable. The truth was this:

‘Gay love’ and I didn’t even attempt to resist it.

Sex was hot.

The sex was beyond words at times; ardent, breathtaking, and unreal. It was a whole new world, and I was a desolate vessel that hungered for affection of the mind, body and soul.

It was never about having sex with a woman. It was about unfathomable, compassionate abyssal connection; the complete understanding of someone else, intellectual stimulation, late night conversation; our favorite songs and laughing throughout the night, all the way until dawn.

It was the dream of a home, a family, and a future. I could see it all in her eyes as I weakly surrendered to the lure of her warmth and desire. She gazed into my eyes as if she was lost and knew I had gone astray, too — long before she had ever ventured.

I could hear her soul calling out to mine in a whisper, “We can still find our way if we travel together!”

I was hooked.

She was the fix that I needed, and I was in love with the drug.

I used to be a lesbian.

This is the point that many of us stop reading. What if we didn’t? What if we inquired and questioned, and then we stuck around and truly listened to the answers? What keeps us from connecting and relating to the one another? Fear — our loyal companion.

We don’t want to ask the hard questions because we’re scared of the potential response. Not to mention, many of us have already rendered our own opinion as fact; silently relishing our right to judge and exercising it to the fullest extent.

Like whores who grow bored in their own beds, we begin peeking in the neighbor’s window to seek satisfaction instead.

We’re content sleeping in the wrong bed, every bed, any bed, except our own.

The Gay Bed

The LGBT community shouts, “Equality!” “Rights!” “Love is love!” “We are all the same!” Then year after year, we gather to parade our diversity in the middle of the street. We throw beads and candy. We crank up the music. We raise our beers, make our toasts and cheer. We print “pride” on flashy posters, and paint our faces with glittering colors for the world to see.

We raise rainbow flags and wave to the kings and the queens, and we all line the town to declare, “We are who we are!”

And what are we?

We’re different. We’re diverse. We’re not equal. ‘We’re gay and proud of it!’

At least that is the message we send an uninformed world as we disregard our lack of connection, grow comfortable with our fear of intolerance, and make excuses for our absentminded effort to open the door to understanding.

Instead, we flaunt the very labels we despise in the street and flood the social networks with monologues on freedom, equality, and pride. We rally behind our cause and defend our own people, who are accomplishing nothing more than validation of branded stereotypes and biased perspectives that we have struggled to overcome.

The Straight Bed

The rest of us, who have firm ethical or moral convictions that prevent us from being able to accept the idea of homosexual, intimate, connection — we grab our Bibles, raise our voices and defend the American tradition, proclaiming,

Sin! Moral corruption! Marriage is between a husband and wife! One man and one woman!

While we’re busy setting straight the sins of others, with our humble opinionsand scriptures, what do we fail to do? Exactly what the gay side doesn’t do either. We neglect to voice the very concerns that could help create understanding and acceptance.

Sex is the hot topic every day of the week. So long as — it’s traditional sex between a man and a woman. Anything other than our personal belief is wrong. Gay people are corrupt, worldly and immoral.

At least that’s what we claim as we quickly deflect the idea that there’s more to the LGBT lifestyle than just carnal desires and lust. We shout our hatred and discernment confidently. We post objecting memes, “pray the gay away,” and shake our heads in disgust.

All the while, quietly indulging our secretly embellished pleasure of entertaining and expressing our thoughts on such a forbidden topic such as homosexual love, and our newfound permission to exploit what was intended to be private.

We remain casually oblivious to our biases and we refuse to be bothered to ask the whys, hows, and what ifs, of the gay crisis that’s corrupting the world. We’re more content with our eyes closed, even if we appear callous and ignorant.

The Same Bed

The thing about sex is that we all have it, and those of us who aren’t having it want it.

Our intimate desires, sacred fantasies, lustrous experimentation, the thoughts that nobody hears — they are all the same “sin” no matter the facade we’ve created. The only difference is that one side’s sin is exposed, while the other side lives its sin in secret, and shouts its prejudice without reserve.

We are all people — strategically placed and intentionally created as unique individuals. We’re human, vulnerable, authentic, raw, breakable, dirty, and weak. Own it. Stop limiting the scope of it and embrace it.

Pin it like a Scarlett Letter for all to see.

How do we teach our children to love unconditionally
when they are surrounded with a culture of
violence, discrimination and hate?

If we stayed out of our neighbors’ beds and spent just a little more time seeking to understand them, maybe then we’d stand a chance at restoring value to the meaning of love. One that transcends beyond the sexual escapades to which we have limited it over the years.

Because, believe it or not, sex is still meant to be valued and private, not placed in the spotlight and exploited in public exhibition on our own front porches.


Click “like/share” if you enojoyed this post, so that others can stumble across it!

Raymmar.com: Straight or Gay: Did I Have Sex With The Wrong Sex For 5 Years?
Elite Daily: Click here!
Good Men Project: Click here! 


Image Credit