I had planned to begin writing here, again. It was to be an embodied expression of my hope, in a new year filled with all kinds of optimism and healing.
Instead, it seems there is a particular kind of walloping in motion, enacted already, that has circled back and is striking repeatedly with a vicious and long-lasting venom. Exploitation is not too harsh a word for these toxic coils circling my daily existence, and it has again departed the furthest bounds of acceptability.
The trauma here is manifold: not just the indignity of unmet need, but the callous absence of care that permits it once, let alone repeatedly. I curse you, empty-mouthed promiser of care. I see your absence, eloquent in its lack of diligent reassurance. Your complicit failure is the cruellest sting.
