So how did I end up in the psych ward?

Basically someone I dated stepped on my non-physical toes in a way that bordered on broken laws and broached rights. They didn’t mean to. That’s the important part. But they also meant their actions. That was the most painful part. I hope that made sense.

[Side Note: Actually I know you’ll get that. Humans need to do better with constraining ideas, events, people, and concepts that span 3 or more dimensions. We’ve started to struggle at 3…we’re regressing a bit…and while we’re not there yet, we need to move to 4 to save ourselves as a species. I think the number 4 is also likely integral to the protection of trans identity. I wish I could show you how deeply I care for the safety of trans people without it feeling “pander-y”. Frankly I do not understand it myself. Someone is speaking through me I think. Similarly when I told that person to scar me. Whose intention am I following Ale? Either way, I hope it keeps me in your orbit a little longer a bit]

At this point I want to move forward with all the amazing knowledge I’ve gained through this journey and I don’t even plan to press charges anymore on my ex. We need more leniency for certain circumstances so that people still have room to bloom and grow better, instead of a society trying to constrain them only as bad. She and I have traumatized each other enough. I’m calling for the growth now.

I tried to do this initially with the person who harmed me, but in trying to speak to them I think the idea of them facing my banged up toes made them feel as if was positioning them as an evil entity instead of something we all are— flawed humans.

But truly all I wanted was recognition—

“I love you, and you really hurt my toes badly. Could you acknowledge this?”

Instead of being honest with me this person did some more scary things. People don’t often understand how the world can be frightening for me from the identity of being a Black man. Society will make me out to be this apex predator, when ironically the words of most of society can have me easily locked away or have my life ripped from me in fractions of seconds by the guns of law enforcement. I can be taken from you all so easily. It’s an awkward place for my identity to exist…to be the “dangerous” hunted predator that people have so much delusion around. King of the jungle, eh? Often times I just want to love the people I care for but they don’t make it easy.

After feeling what seemed to be entitlement against recognizing the way they harmed me, this person did more scary things. They doubled down on making me the predator, and I began losing everything I worked for in my life here in NYC. If my identity is projected as “bad” I pretty much become the target of a societal purge type of situation which begins a process of losing my cat, my job, just lost my place…

I get the crap kicked out of me by society, Ale. Certain ‘friends’, job, family, and nearly everyone leaves me. This whole thing spans months. A entire year really. This all happens in a narcissist attack type of way— so everything occurs behind my back. It’s been pretty heart breaking…

Wanna know what though?

[cue this!]

I’M STILL THAT DUDE!!!

haha. Im not gonna fake like I haven’t shed mad tears, but this journey gave me something valuable and it’s been telling me to share that value with you. This is also what brought me back into your orbit. way. I’m happy to be here. I hope it at least brings a smile to you

👉🏾👈🏾

As everything was getting scary, and unbearably painful I smoked some 💊 to stay focused and figured out the how to stop the consistently incoming harm from my ex. Everytime I stood up for myself they “defended” themselves by knocking me down via my identity. The people who say “that could never be me!”….end up being terrors because they don’t recognize when they brutalized others. And don’t worry about 💊 cause it’s not needed. I’m a boss with or without it. Don’t need it to be me. That’s the trap. Feeling like you’re no longer you without it.

The 💊💨 led to some psychosis, but frankly much less than people think. I know society finds it uncomfortable but we hear about a black male dying due to a crime of what I’ll call “stolen identity narrative” nearly monthly. It’s a constant worry for me but it’s also not trivial or paranoid. It likely analogous in ways to women organizing their days to avoid an INCREASED victimhood from a scoecity that could treat them much better. That’s my reality.

So when my ex claims I’m crazy and maybe unhinged online (this happens way before I even realize it does), it’s painful because it’s like she’s selected me to be next up for “The Lottery” (Shirley Jackson version…yeah the “😵” lottery).

This also all collides with my bi identity cause societies sees bi people as an oeu d’ourves plate and between all these new and shocking things to my family it’s way to overwhelming for any of them to help me in ways they can constrain, I get constantly pushed to the wall cause our society is amazing at helping all the varied identities of queer folks (sarcasm) even before an assault gets mentioned.

Which basically leads me to be all “Get Rich or Die Try’n” so I tell them I’mma get strapped and “do what I gotta do” (It’s actually very badass and cavalier though none of them will admit it 🙄That’s ok though hahaha. Seriously though…zombie apocalypse husband material here. Just saying…finger guns, pow pow 👈👈😮‍💨). It’s actually is quite funny to watch this side of myself scare people. Cause when you find out who I really am all I do is help the people society isn’t as fair too. So if I were to “get strapped” it would be like me and a very diverse crew of 65+ women all named “Ethel”. And we’d all have each others back, lmaoooo. It would be like an age shifted version of the last Mad Max except it’s:

Mad Nax, FurEy Road— “Make Room for the Ethel’s”

And they are not stopping us from getting 4 sugar packets with our morning, lunch, and dinner coffee’s— I can tell you that much 😤 nuh-UH!