Jan. 23rd, 2017

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Sometimes I do art. This is what I did today. It's called "Resistance."

Resistance
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It's so hard to hear all the voices asking where was I when POC were marching, with the implication that those who do not march, do not demonstrate physically, put their bodies visibly on the line, are betraying all struggles except their own.

Please remember that some of us cannot march, cannot even walk. We do what we can. Believe me, I would give anything to have been able to stand physically, visibly, with others in the struggle for social justice for everyone.

But I can't.

And I hate feeling guilty for being too disabled to walk with all of those I support.

And yes, I do feel guilty that I can no longer stand and protest. I'm ashamed that my body will not let me do even the simplest of things to back my intent with action. It's been years since I was healthy enough to do more than write letters and, when I was able, contribute financially. Now that I'm no longer able to work, even from home, and am living on disability insurance payments, I can't even afford to support in that way.

i know I csn no longer contribute to the world in any meaningful way. I know I have nothing worthwhile to give. I have no value to offer to the struggle.

And it makes me feel guilty, and powerless, and ashamed, and unworthy.

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