Bullets from the Bulletproof

I love Luke Cage. I came to it blind, having never read any of the comics in the past, and that was a feeling to revel in. I did the exact same thing for Jessica Jones and was not disappointed, so it felt right to do the same for Luke.

It's an odd feeling; the excitement of something new in a space that I have grown up in. All of a sudden I have this opportunity to have the rug pulled from me and look at something completely fresh. I was not disappointed.

This however is not a review of Luke Cage, nor Jessica Jones or anything to do with MCU or DC. This is about me. This is a call.

This year has been a shit show, in fact I'm going to leave it to a much funnier Brit than me to sum up this year:

That's about right Mr Oliver. In fact I could literally create an entire blog on every definition of 2016. 

I could use alot of sociological background to talk about it, but that in the words of Zoe Washburne would be "too much foofarah"

I got words, and I got them because of my husband. To explain, we were having a tense conversation and he said to me, tearfully, "Baby, we all thought you were bulletproof." Thus the seed was sewn. 

I have been in near constant pain in one way or another since Dec 2015. It was bad enough to put me in hospital in January 2016 and I still have no diagnosis. I've had surgery and along the way been treated with disdain, contempt, disinterest, vagueness which has become straight up rudeness in most of my interaction with the NHS. I can count on one hand those medical personnel who have actually treated me with kindness and sympathy. 

When your own GP is banging his head on the desk at the way you've been treated, you know that something is truly rotten in the state of Denmark. The main issue is that not only are they not sure what is wrong but I have committed the sin of being overweight, eating a balanced diet and up until this all kicked off was steadily losing weight through a regime of Shaun T and Chalean Johnson. My sin is that I don't have high blood pressure, am not diabetic, anaemic or have high cholesterol. I know this because I've been tested for this all over 15 times this year. At one point I was told that my bloods were "surprisingly good".

I've had surgery, which added new symptoms and was unsuccessful. I couldn't work for 3 months and that ol pain is still there. Icepick sharp, stomach first, then down. It bites, crawls insidiously and pulls at everything from my waist down. Sometimes, it burns...almost like a xenomorph dripping its' toxic blood on nerves and muscles. Then the fatigue, a wave that wants to envelop you and shut you down. The world slips away and sparkles with bright painful light. You know that if you give in, its lights out so you fight it, with the little you have. I'll spare you the description of my menstruation.

None of this takes into consideration the emotional toil, the side effects of drugs, the weight of isolation and the pressure on family.

I wish I was Luke Cage. I wish I was bulletproof. 

I know that there are people out there suffering more than me. But we do that now, we diminish our pain, we judge it against a societal expectation that it's not enough, so it doesn't count. BUT it does count and it doesn't abide.

As I thought about this blog and a bulletproof black man in 2016 and the desire as a black woman to also be bulletproof and impervious to pain, I realised that actually Luke Cage isn't bulletproof. A combination of events changes the elasticity in his skin so he receives the impact differently. In a rudimentary sense, it bends. Just like Wolverine, it still hurts.

That's why I'm moved to write. When you are strong, people depend on it, they build structures around that interpretation of the truth, like Luke Cage is bulletproof. The reality is that I feel that strong people are pliable because they have battled; they are callused in places, bending and pushing back further. But it still hurts.

I have experienced what it is like when people think you are strong and then you have to be weak. You have to rebuild, the new callused flesh must take hold and some folks become afraid because you have to challenge that idea. Emotionally that's as much as the physical pain and that was depressing enough.

So...here I stand. I am facing another invasive surgery in 4 days. My lips tremble, I'm frightened and I'm writing about a superhero. I am fighting the enclosing dark using my treasured weapons of words, sarcasm and nerdiness. I want to be bulletproof but even in this state there are others I wish were more bulletproof able to withstand all that is being thrown at them right now. My lesbian friends in the US, my people here, the people in Aleppo, Syria, everyone scared by the rise of the right.

What I am trying to say is that people are more than a phrase. More than ever, we must remember that and we must fight. We must challenge our own ideas and thoughts, now more than ever before. It's not about being bulletproof. It's about combining and being there more than ever so the bullets won't be fired. Maybe the strong person needs to be held. Maybe we need to just stop the bullshit and be there more than ever for those struggling. It's also self preservation...we cannot just depend on ideas, we need to put boot to ass.

So I'm sorry I haven't blogged loads this year, but I haven't been asleep at the wheel. I've been dealing and now I'm confessing that I'm not strong. I'm callused but hopefully, I'm getting back up to fight whatever is coming. These words are a way for me to remind myself that I've got me and a reminder that we should have each other.

Thanks for your time, much love xx

Fuck 2016

"Never backwards, Always Forward"

Execute Resolution 66 - How I learned to not slap the righteous

Greetings and Salutations on a new year. Now for those tuning in maybe hoping to find the latest diet or so such or maybe something about losing 60lbs and discovering the secret of the kale and quinoa enema, switch off now….seriously this is not that.

This is just some shit that happened that put the gears into thought mode….the steam of industry is pouring out of my ears. So I was in Tooting a few days ago, picking up bits for my dreads when I spotted this woman across the road with the usual pamphlet. I marked her and tried to take the best route to avoid her but ended up in the rush almost running slap bang into her, “Would you like to talk about Jesus?” I was silent, I really was not in the mood to issue my favourite killing words that day and my religious rants are infamous, long and harsh (Full disclosure: I'm a pagan, raised a Methodist and through a lot of introspection and education chose paganism from about age 20).

Unfortunately, this lady was not going to accept my silence, “Do you want to hear more about or Lord and Saviour Jesus” Now here I wanted to for laughs, respond with the sacred words a very good friend told me, “No but would you like to hear about my Lord and Saviour, Cthulhu?” But it was wet, I was cold and I really wanted to play Halo and drink Cherry Brandy, so I just said, “Nope!” in a sarccy and abrupt way. I should mention that all of this happened while I was still walking. At that she belts out, “Well he saved my life and maybe if you knew him you would be happier!” Now there were several scenarios that ran in my head at that point. Instinctually I was almost moved to cuss her into non-existence, coupled with a righteous right hand upper cut asking her is Jesus saw that coming, shouting rage and annoyance, but I kept on walking and by the time I was scanning my oyster, I saw it for the ruse that it was; a play to get me to stop and justify myself to this random woman.

I put the thought away got on with my life and today while commuting, seeing the numerous diet ads and better life and supplement ads, I recognised the same attitude that I had encountered from the God botherer in Tooting. This woman wanted to engage me and chose the tactic of telling me that by her assessment of what happy SHOULD be, I didn’t measure up. My terse response was not because of cold, wet, a desire to game, a craving for some patty, cocoa bread and Peardrella and period pain but in fact because I lacked Jesus. Because Jesus is a fix all don’t cha know? Now for some people it is and more power to you if that is your thing. But that same tactic of telling us that the fix all is just an insert diet/superfood/supplement is the hymn of the New Year. 

And you are made to feel weird if you don’t join in, “What’s your resolution? How is it going? Have you broken it yet? Are you doing Dry January?” It’s continuous against the sharpened blade of those lovely numbers 01-01. I’ve taken to responding with such things as, “Nah, but are you doing Minge March?” which I must say has garnered a merriment of confused eyebrows. But the truth is that from what I can see, it all amounts to the premise that you cannot be happy in the skin and mind you are in and changes must be made because…the numbers say 01-01 goddamnit! 

Now I am all for the folks who want to make positive changes in their life, to their health and to their mind etc, what I don’t like is the idea that you need to externally justify your happiness using someone else’s tickbox. Also who said we had to be happy all the time? Humans are complicated and our brains ever more so, there are peaks and troughs in all. I remember when my daughter was smaller people used to say to me to love everyday, especially because some people aren’t as lucky as me to have kids. Talk about pressure! Because some people can’t or don’t want to have kids I have to face every nappy with a grin, every but of manipulation, late night crying, tantrums, fevers, general rudeness, trips to A&E, dyslexia, school applications and dodgy friend choices like Doris Day. Err no blud, bun that! I don’t have to. And the same applies in this case. I’m not entitled to be happy all the time, none of us are. It sucks. However I find that being on a level is cool. 

Not miserable, not happy just cool. 

We’re not children. There came a point when I told my daughter that I cannot make her happy all the time, that was not how the game went. That she would have to make herself content, just chilled out not deliriously happy all the time. For me it grants perspective, it gives me appreciation to just dwell in the mists of alright. It doesn’t mean that my aspirations are any lower or my drive stops. I exercise because I want to keep my heart healthy and my limbs as active as possible and I happen to like a bit of Chalean and Cize. I eat well and enjoy the sensation and after a life of battling fucked up lessons about food, I enjoy each morsel and cook with love. I read voraciously because I always have and don’t find it a chore, I've committed to completing more projects but not out of some resolution, out of a want to improve myself and chill in my alright times. So when the gloom comes and sometimes it does rain down hard and heavy, I can pick up and find the pieces and get back to alright which tends to lead to happy.

“Self-love is a good thing but self-awareness is more important. You need to once in a while go ‘Uh, I'm kind of an asshole.” – Louis C.K.

So what am I saying? I'm saying do you. Or don’t it’s really down to you but hey thanks for taking the time to read these words on a cold day. I won’t wish you the best in your resolutions but I will wish you the best in your life endeavours, each day, Every damn day.