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f3v3rw0lf · 8 years

Text

1/4/2017

after t-dump got elected, the day after, there were protests in downtown Portland. I watched the bus tracker app until I saw the notification that buses would be delayed by protests; I did a lot of googling. I wore my shitty blue denim vest and a shirt id made earlier that day (NO TRUMP NO FASCISTS). in the interest of full honesty, it was the second one I made, because I spelled "fascists" wrong the first time.

I remember it being awkward at first; I didn't know what to do with myself, where to stand, or what to do with my hands. I saw a boy with bright green hair (id talk to him later, and even later than that id realize we already had a friend in common). but when the marching started, I found a place.

I got adopted by another trans boy, and his partner. when he screamed something, i'd echo, and vice versa. we walked with each other for a good two hours before we actually addressed each other; we just bounced off each others energy, off each others voices. he looked at me, in the face, and smiled. my raw throat matched his raw throat. he didn't let me get separated from them; I orbited like a stray dog.

there were other marches; I have looked riot police in the face, I have screamed at them (fat lot of good it did) and I saw people tear gassed around me. I worried then, like I'm worrying now, that nothing is good enough. we're not doing enough concrete things; the marches have stopped. there will be more (the biggest planned for the 20th of this month. I'm going, as are my housemates, who have been protesting since before I was born) but will they help people? what can I, a 19 year old idiot, actually concretely do? I have plans to try stencils, street art, civil disobedience. probably I should spend less time worrying and more time doing.

at the marches, I heard from a lot of people, a lot of my neighbors, and god is this what people mean by community? there was so much talking, so much of it good, but it was obvious when people ran out of patience. we did good though, I think, there were so many incidents I can recall-- all the impassioned speeches, the circle of kids in the middle of an intersection. we walked on the freeway, both sides, and the police didn't stop us because they hadn't expected anywhere near that number of people. I was probably on the news (I'm ashamed of that-- the screaming in front of cameras, just like every other idiot white boy) (craving recognition, craving an image to show kids one day when I'm old and wilting-- "look at who I was, what I did, what I believe" and I hope to hell it matters then. I hope I have more to show than that)

I had to stop going to most of them-- I didn't manage the student rally where our three leaders got arrested for nothing. I had two jobs (technically still do, but ones almost over and the other is occasional now) and I wonder if it was worth it, if I made the right choice. life goes on, but should it?

I forget daily about whats happened. I try not to think about it because there are no marches, because I have no outlet for the god-awful dread and hopelessness. I sold a short story, I made friends, I made a fuckton of money, but does it mean anything? I could've been doing more, I could've been learning, I could've been shielding people.

I'm trying not to think about the fact that some of us will not survive the year. some of us wont survive the next four years. will my relationship with my family survive? (I love my father enough to name myself after him, enough for that particular brand of hero worship they write about in books, the kind that blinds and crushes. but can I love him still when he is so fucking stupid, so much a white straight cis man who won't look at his own damn privilege? am I the one who's wrong? I fucking hate the way he talks, the way he can say things that make sense and then total utter bullshit the exact same way and what if I'm the one that's wrong? how can I know? I can listen to those around me but damn fucking shitballs, am I smart enough to recognize the truth? am I brave enough to trust them, to act?)

but anyway, the whole death thing. will it kill me? my loved ones? I mean calico, my soulmate from Kentucky, who's ace and genderqueer and sick and in the closet; I mean Xavier, my boy in Wisconsin, who hurts so deeply and feels so much, my little brother joel in Connecticut, who is so fucking young and so good at lying and hiding himself, vicki in Louisiana who is so goddamn smart, so smart and far away from me, all of them. (and me but that is another post, another topic for another night) I'm scared and tired. I know I have to stay strong, but I'm afraid I'm going to fail. if I say it here maybe I wont.

loving with all my aching being isn't going to be enough, here. I just hope when it comes time to do more, when it stops being enough, will I know what to do? if I just know what I must do, I can do it. if I can figure this out I can do it, I can keep us all safe (or try, or die trying)

with everything that happened-- so much has felt unreal, and I cant tell if that's just life or part of my brain. I wasn't scared, because I'm young and stupid and flighty and I have not died yet, I have not been seriously hurt, so my brain doesn't register that it can happen. I know, in my head, it can and maybe it will, but I don't feel it. I don't really feel anything (sometimes-- connected-- mostly scared, always tired) and I'm afraid that will fuck me over. I'm going to make mistakes. I already have. but maybe I can do more than that, too. I'm talking myself up here, or trying to, putting my feelings on record, making promises and brainstorming to an empty room.

at least, going in all the way, the worst I can do is fail. if I exhaust myself every day, if I do my all, if I constantly reach into that tiny well in my chest and drag out words, true words, promises and willpower, the worst I can do is fail. at least ill have given it my all. at least ill know I didn't back down, didn't give up before the war.

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