People are going to say I'm Schizophrenic. Already assume it in a lot of ways because I talk to myself. I hear the voices so to speak. When the truth is it's composition. Vocal stems. And trying to imagine how people will react.
Like playing chess against myself to figure what moves can be made on a finite number of spaces.
They're going to claim DiD. Dissociative identity disorder.
When in truth, I'm just really good an code switching, because if I hadn't become that I would have been killed by my abusers for speaking out.
"Well, why didn't you reach out, people would have protected you, especially as a child."
"You mean the same people that protected those abusers? Ate and drank with those abusers? The people that broke bread and shared lives with those abusers? That's who I was supposed trust and be myself?"
"I'm sure there was someone."
"In a place where queer kids were attacked with impunity and harassed on the street? Where open farm land and hunting accidents were a thing? Where sterilization and institutionalization was the common practice for people with mental disabilities? You mean I should have trusted those authorities to keep me safe?"
"...."
"Yeah, go fuck yourself."
So yeah, if you want the actual diagnosis for what is wrong with me. Especially now as an adult?
It's called the Doc Holiday complex.
It's a mentality of "I'm going to die anyway, so I might as well do it honestly and on my feet."
I'm Autistic.
With a mild form of Tourette's and less than mild Tinnitus caused by various head injuries.
And instilled with a sense of Justice shaped by Super Heroes and Fantasy Novels. the only places the world ever made sense. When, literally, in a world the very same people tried to Gaslighting me, and every other kid of my age, into thinking was no longer a problem. Taught in schools with the same Vague hand waving as the Greeks and Romans. When in reality the Janitor that looked us for us kids, helped fix our box cars, and looked for us is the same person that, now, under the current administration would be tossed in detention and shipped "back to where they came from." That even though I lived in a neighborhood that's as close to Spanish Harlem as you can get in Kansas all of the teachers were white. Save for one young Mexican? Puerto Rican? Doesn't matter. Her accent was like mine and she taught with an awareness that most others didn't.
So yeah.
I played pretend so I wouldn't be lobotomized.
But, that's the story of any young person or woman, black man, non-English as a first language person in that area at that time. You dance for whitey and pretend you don't hear what's being said at or about you.
"No hablas English senior."
"Fuckin wet backs."
"Si Puto"
"Puto? What's the mean."
"Porque Amigo, Como se dice perra?"
"Ah, yeah, Amigo. I know what that means."
"Si amigo, Eres Una perra."
"If you weren't such a hard worker I'd throw you in a ditch and bury you."
"Si lo se, por eso no hablo contigo."
"los see ento?" That mean's "I'm sorry" right? You don't have to be sorry for not understanding me amigo, I don't know why they don't make you learn English before letting you in the country. At least you work harder than the Darkies."
"Debarias aprender espaniol."
"I comprende amigo. You don't understand english"
"Si, solo espaniola para perros"
"What were you saying there Jack?"
"Oh...uh...speaking in tongues I guess. The devil got a hold of me for a minute."
"Sounded like Spanish."
Oh na, Elvish. You know, like from the Hobbit."
"That has Witchcraft in it doesn't it?"
"oh...uh...I guess so."
"Have you been baptized?"
"mmmhmmm"
"Good, we don't need to loose any more good Christian soldiers to Satan's lies."
"Yes sir, what ever you say sir."
"Good man."
So yeah.
Official diagnosis Doc Holiday complex. At least that's what it's called colloquially.
'Dunno what the current DSM has it classified under.
Put simply an acceptance of death and not letting the fear of it control you.
In the Wheel of time they call it "Sheathing the Blade"
So, dear reader you ask; how did I, Jack, disarm multiple armed attackers without being shot?
I didn't.
I just made sure they shot me where I wanted them too, like sacrificing a queen to take a knight who's exchange leaves the King open for the killing blow. Then watched their confusion as I took their guns away.
Other than that It was no hesitation, dumb luck, and the arrogance of youth.
Stay Safe
Intentare hacer lo mismo
almusaeadat qadima
"In a place where queer kids were attacked with impunity and harassed on the street? Where open farm land and hunting accidents were a thing? Where sterilization and institutionalization was the common practice for people with mental disabilities? You mean I should have trusted those authorities to keep me safe?"
"...."
"Yeah, go fuck yourself."
So yeah, if you want the actual diagnosis for what is wrong with me. Especially now as an adult?
It's called the Doc Holiday complex.
It's a mentality of "I'm going to die anyway, so I might as well do it honestly and on my feet."
I'm Autistic.
With a mild form of Tourette's and less than mild Tinnitus caused by various head injuries.
And instilled with a sense of Justice shaped by Super Heroes and Fantasy Novels. the only places the world ever made sense. When, literally, in a world the very same people tried to Gaslighting me, and every other kid of my age, into thinking was no longer a problem. Taught in schools with the same Vague hand waving as the Greeks and Romans. When in reality the Janitor that looked us for us kids, helped fix our box cars, and looked for us is the same person that, now, under the current administration would be tossed in detention and shipped "back to where they came from." That even though I lived in a neighborhood that's as close to Spanish Harlem as you can get in Kansas all of the teachers were white. Save for one young Mexican? Puerto Rican? Doesn't matter. Her accent was like mine and she taught with an awareness that most others didn't.
So yeah.
I played pretend so I wouldn't be lobotomized.
But, that's the story of any young person or woman, black man, non-English as a first language person in that area at that time. You dance for whitey and pretend you don't hear what's being said at or about you.
"No hablas English senior."
"Fuckin wet backs."
"Si Puto"
"Puto? What's the mean."
"Porque Amigo, Como se dice perra?"
"Ah, yeah, Amigo. I know what that means."
"Si amigo, Eres Una perra."
"If you weren't such a hard worker I'd throw you in a ditch and bury you."
"Si lo se, por eso no hablo contigo."
"los see ento?" That mean's "I'm sorry" right? You don't have to be sorry for not understanding me amigo, I don't know why they don't make you learn English before letting you in the country. At least you work harder than the Darkies."
"Debarias aprender espaniol."
"I comprende amigo. You don't understand english"
"Si, solo espaniola para perros"
"What were you saying there Jack?"
"Oh...uh...speaking in tongues I guess. The devil got a hold of me for a minute."
"Sounded like Spanish."
Oh na, Elvish. You know, like from the Hobbit."
"That has Witchcraft in it doesn't it?"
"oh...uh...I guess so."
"Have you been baptized?"
"mmmhmmm"
"Good, we don't need to loose any more good Christian soldiers to Satan's lies."
"Yes sir, what ever you say sir."
"Good man."
So yeah.
Official diagnosis Doc Holiday complex. At least that's what it's called colloquially.
'Dunno what the current DSM has it classified under.
Put simply an acceptance of death and not letting the fear of it control you.
In the Wheel of time they call it "Sheathing the Blade"
So, dear reader you ask; how did I, Jack, disarm multiple armed attackers without being shot?
I didn't.
I just made sure they shot me where I wanted them too, like sacrificing a queen to take a knight who's exchange leaves the King open for the killing blow. Then watched their confusion as I took their guns away.
Other than that It was no hesitation, dumb luck, and the arrogance of youth.
Stay Safe
Intentare hacer lo mismo
almusaeadat qadima
