What Do I Say?

I don’t know.

I’ve been trying to write since Tuesday. I really have. Other than that short piece I wrote for here that originated on Twitter. I’ve been coming up empty. But I want to get my punk ass moving. So here goes: my rambling thought process over the past week.

Everyone, I’m so sorry. An overwhelming number of white people voted for Donald Trump. I saw someone say (I can’t remember who, so if you know, please let me know so I can accurately credit them) that “you can’t ridicule not all men for years and then say not all white women”. And that’s true, you can’t. I have to own what white people have done, because if I don’t, then I can’t even begin to protest, and I don’t deserve to.

This apology isn’t enough, I know. I need to donate to charities. I need to protest. I need to make my voice heard. But I believe that the start of fighting back is acknowledging who fucked up this election. And I’m doing my best.

And trust me, I intend to donate. I intend to protest. I intend to exercise my right to free speech as long as I goddamn have it. I will not be one of the people crying “give him a chance” or “he won, settle down”. I will not settle down. I will scream at the top of my lungs until I no longer can, and even then I will do my best to shout.

The night of, I went to bed not by the time it was declared, but late enough that I was 99% certain of the outcome. I woke up the morning after, checked the news on my phone, and held back tears. I got ready for school. I sobbed into my mother’s shoulder. I fell into a deep despair.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this on WordPress before (I’m certainly not shy about it on Twitter, Facebook, & tumblr), but I’m bisexual. I am terrified of what Trump and Pence will do to people like me, LGBT folk who have finally started to be granted certain rights and may now have them taken away from them.

I spent most of the week in a deep depression. I struggled through school, the grades on my daily homework slipping. I sobbed most of Wednesday, cried in occasional fits on Thursday, made it through Friday only teary. Yesterday I became angry and motivated and determined.

Today I am a mixture of both. I had a panic attack today because of everything in the world. I feel like I have nowhere to run to, even though I want to stay and protest. I feel lost and scared and tired.

But I’m still angry. I’m angry all the time.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to say it. Everyone has been so much more eloquent, so much wittier than I can be. All I can do is apologize again and again, and promise to try and educate people to do better.

I’m so sorry.

(If you’re a POC and I said anything here that is wrong or ignorant, let me know, I want to know better)

Ten Things on the Fallout the Day After (Please Note: I Voted for Hillary Clinton Yesterday. Giving Me Shit For Doing So Will Not Be Tolerated)

I made a similar version to this on Twitter.

One: Everyone who is making jokes about the election right now to cope- I understand you. I understand you and I get you and I more often than not am you. But I’m not quite there yet myself. Please understand.

Two: Last night’s fury towards third party voters (as seen last night if you follow me at all on Twitter) has subsided. I still believe it contributed to splitting the Democratic vote, but in the light of day it is far too irrational to blame this on third party voters alone.

Three: This was, when you get down to it, the fault of white Americans. Both white men and white women came out and voted overwhelmingly for Trump. It’s easy for many to sweep the fact that white women were heavily involved under the rug while saying “oh, it’s all the fault of old white men again”. But it’s not true. White America, we must own up to what we’ve done.

Four: Do what you have to do to protect yourself right now. No one is going to judge you for doing what you must to stay safe, and if they do judge you, then their opinions never really mattered in the first place.

Five: Protect and love each other. Now more than ever.

Six: I won’t be here every moment of every day. But if you comment here needing someone to talk to, or message me on Twitter @cipollakate, I will get back to you.

Seven: Since yesterday evening, I’ve seen a lot of reactions from people ranging from rattled to traumatized. If you need it, the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 1-800-273-8255.

Eight: It is acceptable to take today to lie on the floor and cry. Lord knows that’s what most of my day has looked like.

Nine: I am still learning. If I’ve said anything wrong or insensitive here, please correct me. I want to be educated.

Ten: To everyone who is/will be negatively affected by the results of this election- you are so strong and so brave. I love all of you.

able, but not willing

A while back, the podcast for Cracked.com (I can’t remember which one, sorry) suggested an idea for a Superman movie. I loved the idea, and wrote a short story around it. I worked really hard on this, and I hope you like it. DC, please don’t sue me.

                               “IS GOD WILLING TO PREVENT EVIL,

                                                 BUT NOT ABLE?

                                    THEN HE IS NOT OMNIPOTENT.

                                    IS HE ABLE, BUT NOT WILLING?

                                       THEN HE IS MALEVOLENT.

                                 IS HE BOTH ABLE AND WILLING?

                                  THEN WHENCE COMETH EVIL?

                             IS HE NEITHER ABLE NOR WILLING?

                                    THEN WHY CALL HIM GOD?”

                                                  –EPICURUS

I was five years old when the last of the ships left. I watched them go with the rest of the Library Shelter, just white streaks in a gray sky.

“They’re pretty,” I whispered to Ma’am Estella, who had her hands on my tiny shoulders as she too gazed up at the ashen roof of the Earth that the silver veins were so close to breaking through.

In retrospect, Ma’am Estella of course knew exactly what the departure of the ships meant, but she didn’t let on to the children. She just clasped my shoulders a little tighter.

“Very pretty, little one,” she murmured. “Very pretty.”

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