I think there are a lot of people of good faith who have privilege and know it and don't understand how they can use it to defend the marginalized, or if they should. They've seen that well-meaning privileged people can cock up a situation by erasing the actual marginalized perspective on it, or they're afraid that they're going to tread all over some fundamental principle of society in trying to make sure individuals don't get hurt.
My advice to these people is: Be bold in your defense! You know that oppression is real, you know people getting attacked for who they are is bad, and having you say that is by itself worth a lot. Absolutely do listen to the marginalized, understand their perspective, don't defend them when they don't want or need to be defended - but be unstinting in your conviction that their problems are real, that their viewpoint takes priority, and that to say otherwise is wrongheaded and destructive. In a world where people hem and haw over whether it's okay to say that human lives matter, being confidently compassionate can only make things better.
I think I've come to that point in my life where I'm a lot less scared to come in to someone's inbox off anon and just tell them whatever the fuck I think. *rubs my hands together* I must use this new found power for being rad with giggles to boot.
(This is sort of long, sort of overdue, and sort of inspired by a snapchat one of my good friends sent me.)
As teenagers, we're often caught saying things like we're "down with death" and we often act like death can't touch us. A sense of invincibility? This is almost innate to us. But our out and out fascination with decay when our lives have barely begun? This is something a lot harder to define.
I understand there are many points of view on an issue like this. Some of my friends are close to death, they have seen it firsthand, and as a result, are perhaps less afraid. Others, view death as a destination, or as a way out of their struggles. The truth is that death is extraordinarily personal and that none of us are untouched by death. I have dead friends, dead family, and events in my past that I characterize as personal deaths. But it's hard for me to say that I'm down with death.
After suffering from severe illness in December 2013, the concept of death has become extremely less palatable. While in all reality there wasn't a real likelihood of me dying, the experience was terrifying all the same. I had developed an adverse reaction to the penicillin based drug I was taking to clear out a respiratory infection. On day one I had an itching rash that I blamed on the bug killer the county uses on football fields and other grassy areas. Then on day two I had a searing pain and the inability to move my hands or arms. Knowing it was something less trivial, I went to the doctor and got something to stop the symptoms (of what would amount to be a drug allergy) before more adverse symptoms could crop up. Routine enough, right? Not really. The second drug triggered more reactions. I lost some of my cognitive abilities, including the ability to comprehend words. I had problems knowing what day it was (it was my birthday, and I sometimes had no clue). The passing of time slowed or sped up. I remember being excessively paranoid on the drive to the hospital, my blood pressure soared, I was considered for stroke watch at one point, I think. I remember my chest tightening and pain and crying a lot.
I felt like and thought that I was dying.
In my perceived last bits of life, nothing flashed before my eyes. I had to recall it back for myself. And I didn't like what I saw. I saw all the shitty things I'd done, I saw all the missed opportunities, and I saw all the self segregation and self isolation that had compromised my life. (((There were good bits of course, I've got a pretty good life with a pretty great family, but that's not the point.))) Faced with death, I didn't feel sorry for myself, I didn't have a sensation of my life being complete, I didn't see the destination - instead I was angered by how I had squandered what time I had been given. And in those seconds I thought, "I've got to fight this, it isn't right, this isn't who I'm supposed to be, this is NOT what I had planned"
While I could credit this to the drug's effects wearing off, I don't want to. Sure, I still have weak moments and I stumble off the path I want to have. Sure, it took a while to get the courage to even start fresh. And sure, I'm still a teenager with the occasional macabre thought. But those things are no longer the basis of my life. Because, damn, I've got a whole lot more living to do. I don't want to be back on that hospital bed thinking about a life I shot down the drain. I can't. I've got so much to capture and capitalize. There's no sunlight in sadness. Me, sitting at home, resisting change and fearing the unknown consequences of putting myself out there, well.. it's not going to make for an exciting slideshow for when I really do face death.
So for right now, I'm not down with death. I respect those of you who are, just know I won't be applying for entry into your club. I still have too many what if's left to sort out; I can't go gently into that good night in good faith at this point in my timeline.
Do I accept and understand death as a part of life? Completely. My old rabbi even had my age group watch a vhs outlining our last rites in Judaism and how to properly treat the recently deceased. Growing up with death punctuating here and there has left me with an education that tells me it's not something that's supposed to be scary. The scary part is not living enough.
When my time's up for real I don't want to want more. And right now I want more of everything, more friends, more school dances, more laughs, more parties, more dumb crushes, more scrapes and bruises and testimonies to my LIVING than I could imagine.
So that's my life plan. To do more and to be more. I hope you guys will help keep me on that path. I want to have some great adventures, and they're a little overdue, so let's get to living.
