The Bricks We Know

There’s an indentation, the absence of a mark that should rest on the lines of my soul

A weightless shell, empty and without inward form, lacking design and longing for purpose

A quiet whisper known only to the wind, long gone before the realization hits

Leaving the echo of your words bouncing off these walls we’d built

The dreams we created, brick and mortar dripping with the lies that once glued us together

You leave behind chasms of sorrow

Deep seeded loss reaching every red blood cell, tinting them white 

The knowledge that what once was a known, now betrays 

Preparing for the fight

But the heart stills its beat, the lungs sting without oxygen 

It never fails, every damn time

Just when the next action is assured, the memories cling with sharpened nails 

When you are by my side, with bloodshot eyes

I see it clearly, like the finest crystal on display

Locked in a cabinet for sale by owner 

The only sign that remains 

A future left in doubt

A past no longer claimed

The Hurt Business

Some of you may know that I have a Bachelors in Psychology and a Masters in Social Work with a few extra certifications thrown in for added measure. I’m currently working on getting my licensure for Clinical Social Work and Substance Use Disorder Professional. The point I’m trying to make is that I’ve been in school the vast majority of my life for one thing or another, I’ve lost track of how many classes I have taken, how many chapters I have read, how many exams I have struggled through and how many research papers I have written. And if I’m being totally honest, I would do it all again and then some. I have at least 3 books in mind that I want to write and a never ending desire to get my doctorate in forensic psychology. But let me backtrack a bit before I go too far off the beaten path, because I’m throwing a lot of words at something that really only needs a sentence or two to convey.  

At no point in any of my educational courses, materials or lectures was I taught about what to do, how to feel, how to process or where to turn when a client dies. Sure, sure I’ve taken courses and read books about death, grief and loss...but when it’s a client, it feels different. Not only does it feel different, each one hits you differently because of how long you knew them, the context of the relationship, how they died and what your last interaction with them was like. In the 13 years I have worked at my current position, I have purposely chosen to lose track of how many clients have passed on my watch. Yes, some have affected me more than others, but all of them I have cried over. They have died as a result of homelessness, not taking medications, refusing medical treatment, murder and suicide...and while my heart hurt for each of them, there is one I have just newly experienced and I have found myself in a very bad mental place since I learned of this clients overdose. 

I fully understand, probably better than most that in social work and addictions, death isn’t too far removed at any given time. But I take no comfort in the fact that this client was not the first, and will most certainly not be the last to pass on my watch. I carry regret, anger, sorrow and guilt for each and every one of them, and each chip away at my soul...and I know that eventually I will have nothing left.

Today I attended the funeral service of a young client who as I previously mentioned died of an overdose, specifically heroine. Maybe it was a purposeful overdose, maybe it wasn’t but I and his family will never know. I sat alone in a room with about 20 people, watching photos move across the screen showing clips of his life...before he was ever a client. I learned things through stories about his childhood, what he was like as a brother, a son, a friend. I learned about how devoted he was to the people in his life, about how talented he was in everything he set his mind to and that he took young women in school to dances simply because “they didn’t have anyone else to take them.” 

I tried to keep it together, I tried to be strong, I tried to be professional. But I failed at that too.

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling like angry molten lava from a desperately overloaded volcano. They stung my eyes, and I swear I could feel them burn their way down my cheeks only to be met by my mask and soaked up by the fabric, waiting for more to fall. I could hear others in the room sobbing, and I could hear the sorrow in the voices of those that spoke. But there was anger too, anger because someone so young died for seemingly no reason save it be poor choices and addiction. They talked about how he changed after a car accident, about how different his personality was, how just seemed “off” since that day and I thought to myself that I don’t remember ever hearing about that and I’ve known him for 10 years. I can’t say that having this knowledge would change my treatment of him, but it would account for much of what he was dealing with and how he presented. Maybe I would have been more patient, maybe I would have been more persistent and maybe everything would have played out exactly the same. 

What I do know is that my heart hurts, and I know that my pain is nothing compared to that of his mother, father, sister and friends. Mental illness and addictions are everywhere, and I’m angry that the stigma keeps people from feeling safe to seek out treatment and services and that our society deems those suffering as less than and never equal to. My client could have been so much more, done so much more...yet even with all that said, he was suffering and not just a little. His road was arduous and fraught with danger, pitfalls and landmines. He no longer carries his burdens, no longer walks that path alone and no longer feels broken. Just as one of the speakers today said, “his pain is over, and it is now we who carry the sadness of missing someone who was taken too soon. Remember the tears that we shed in times of sorrow are made up of the same salt and water that make up happy tears and tears of joy. They come from the same place, hold the same composition and each is designed to help us heal. So cry, cry, cry and let the healing begin.”

I was too weak to say this to his parents at the time, so I will say it now.

“I knew him for 10 years, and while I didn’t know his times of joy and happiness, I did see his battle with demons and I saw how hard he tried to make something of himself even when there was little to piece together. I wish more than anything that I could take your pain away, and I am so sorry that I couldn’t fix him, I’m sorry that I didn’t try harder, push harder or insist that he do things differently...but I couldn’t make him. I couldn’t make my will his own and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

I am sorry F. I am also glad that you aren’t hurting anymore, and it’s okay that it’s my turn now. I take this moment, this responsibility and I will keep going, keep helping and doing everything I can to carry you in my heart. I miss you, and I will miss you. Please know how sorry I am that I failed you, but I will try harder. 

I will see you again, but until that time, goodbye.

Thank you Ruth

Do you ever just find yourself sitting in the silence, not realizing that you’ve zoned out and are lost in thought for an undefined amount of space and time...sometimes not even aware of the world around you, seemingly adrift in some mental abyss...I’ve been there a lot lately. In reflection, I can almost hear a soundtrack of melancholy playing like the overture carried on the wind during an epic battle scene where bullets are zipping along your peripheral view, debris being thrown onto your path and the camera pans out to show the mangled remnants of those who came before you but were unsuccessful in their campaign. For a moment your actions still, everything stops and the only sound that remains is the blood pumping in and out of your heart and a shuttered breath...the whoosh deafening inside you. 

I think the country is standing on a very dangerous precipice, much like standing in the middle of a battlefield where the initial rush and anticipation of action has us suddenly...with one foot on a landmine, only realizing too late once your brain registers the ‘click.’ Or like so many times before we have all been warned about frozen lakes, that while they look solid, many times we do not clearly see what our eyes have refused to comprehend until the moment there is the soft ‘ping’ and ‘crackle’ of a break in the seam. 

What we do not understand or frankly fail to see is that it is our own actions that have placed us in this moment, this spot, this plain of existence. We question reality, and mentally trace back our steps and actions as though that act alone could save us now. We rack our brains trying to play out the what if’s and what about’s in a desperate attempt to beg the universe for a redo, and then slightly curse it for not answering those prayers. We have moment after moment to define who we are, what our message will be and yet we remain reactive to situations as though that very moment has snuck up on us. Very rarely should we be caught off guard by something, after all we’ve had hundreds of years learn, process and grow.

But we don’t.

History is littered with the discarded remains of lives lost, lessons supposedly learned and broken promises that were utterned with the best of intent to ‘never forget’ or ‘do better.’ We talk about change like it’s a new idea, the grand solution to an age old problem or an idea whose time has finally come. But it’s always been here, knocking on the door because the bell is broken, sometimes a tiny ‘rasp’ and other times a harsh ‘pounding’ yet we wonder every day what happened? How did it get so bad? Where did we go wrong? 

The thing about history though, it’s not really in the past, because it keeps coming round and round and round. Disaster after disaster, disease after disease, war after war...the lesson never fully learned. So here we are again, standing in the middle of this battlefield or standing in the middle of that frozen lake...fear racing through our veins like venom. 

Fight or flight? Panic or process? 

In these defining moments our character shines. Our instincts kick in and we do what must be done. Sometimes that means accepting our fate, after all it is our choices that led us here. Sometimes that means taking decisive action regardless of the consequence and sometimes that means waking up…

This is a call.

This is a call for action.

This is a call to wake the fuck up.

We can do more.

We can be more.

We can do this....but you have to wake up.

Please stop dreaming. 

Please end the nightmare.

Please. Get. Up.

Before Gay, was Gay

I can’t believe it’s been 25 years since Xena Warrior Princess appeared on television...suddenly I feel incredibly old, as if my muscles and joints didn’t remind me daily. I seem to always be late to the party when it comes to amazing television shows, currently the title belongs to Wynonna Earp as I was three years late to that party, I didn’t jump on the wagon with Xena until 1999, four years into production. At that time, I didn’t understand why I loved the show. It was cheesy, had lots of goofy one-liners and in all honesty had a plot that was crazy making. The storyline was full of inaccuracies but dammit, I just couldn’t get enough. The odder, the better...the more ass they kicked, the more I watched. With each season Gabrielle’s clothing got more form fitting and I was all in watching the ginger goddess beat the crap out of anyone who threatened her relationship with Xena.

Wait. Hold up. Did I just say form fitting? Relationship with Xena? Oh my God. Maybe I am gay? Oh shit, what if I’m gay? No...I can’t be gay. Wait, what is being gay even mean? Sure I had heard the word before, mostly when the bullies in middle and high school were shoving me in lockers, punching me and the words were always stained with vile hatred. I remember, like it was yesterday...walking the halls and hearing the words “dyke, fucking fag, carpet muncher.” I was often called a lot of names because I was fat, you know the usual “wide load, fatty fatty two by four” but I took more offense at being called a dyke because it honestly felt like more of an attack. Being fat was one thing, being a “woman lover” was beyond forbidden and laden with sin, strife and torment. So when Xena came along, there was just something that resonated with me, even though I didn’t understand it. The more I watched, the more I realized how beautiful their relationship was, the more attached I felt to the story, the journey and when the show went off the air, I was left mourning a relationship that had brought me so much joy, comfort and safety that I vowed to never fall in love with another television show. It took years for my heart to grow scar tissue over the wounds left behind that to this day still leave craters on my heart and soul. 

I know it’s taking a really long time to carve a path through this journal entry, and I apologize for taking the scenic route but I write what comes to mind, and more often than not I have no destination in mind. So I thank you for walking along this path with me and hopefully you get something from it. If not, it was still nice of you to visit.

My world, much like so many others was turned upside down when COVID hit. The world stopped spinning, restrictions on where you could go and who you could see seemed to grind all of us to a halt. Movies stopped, production companies shut their doors, and sports vanished. It was the ladder that really shook me to my core because I live for sports. Not just watching them but doing photography is my passion and when that went away I was lost in an abyss that I had no coping skills to apply to help me keep my mind calm. Enter stage left...Netflix. First I blew through Flash, then Supergirl followed by Legends of Tomorrow, Batwoman, Dark Matter and then I had my mind blown by Wynonna Earp. 

My world has never been the same...because Wynonna Fucking Earp. 

I watched because Netflix recommended it, not because I’m into Syfy, demons, gunslingers or vampires..but I watched assuming it would fall to the wayside just like the rest. 

It did not.

By the time the second episode of season one hit my screen, I was a goner. It was like getting a blood transfusion, I could feel the freshly rejuvenated cells coursing through my body and I was addicted. Seriously, life as I knew it before this show ceased to be. I know it sounds so overly melodramatic, but this isn’t a ‘fluff’ piece about a queer show, or potential cult hit. This is about finding a show that changes my world view, shows me that love can be found even in the darkest of places, that forgiveness can always be granted, that family is what you make it, and more than anything else...I’m perfect just the way I am because I can see myself on the show. There’s an example in every episode that celebrates being queer, finding love, making mistakes, working through disputes (as long as you aren’t a revenant) and loving whoever the hell you want. The show has become a part of who I am, what I can be and has shown me that I matter.

That’s why I put so much focus on #representationmatters, because it does. Had this show been around during my younger years, showing me that it’s okay to be who I am, I can testify that I know without a doubt, my life wouldn’t be anything like it is now. I wouldn’t loathe myself, I wouldn’t think I was a mistake or that my thoughts are bad or wrong. I would have had doctrine to offer counter arguments from that of my religion. Maybe, just maybe I could have lived a life worth living. So when this show came along, bringing an on screen relationship between Nicole and Waverly (known as Wayhaught), and it being one of respect, empowerment and independence...I suddenly was able to breath in fresh clean air, giving my stale lungs the oxygen to stand up and more forward. Wayhaught is an experience that I’ve never witnessed before, even in the representation of heterosexual relationships. The actors have taken such reverence and respect in portraying these characters, that the chemistry between them is unmistakable. Between the impeccable writing and the life that Kat Barrell and Dominique Provost-Chalkley breathe into Nicole and Waverly...you can’t help but be mesmerized and forever changed. It’s not porn, it’s not wasted movement, it’s not fluff for fluff sake, it’s not dirty sex for kicks or used to appease the lookielews. It’s real. It’s powerful. It’s everything that I never believed possible in my lifetime.

Can you imagine being 46 and finally finding your way through the haze and marshlands to stand side by side with others who feel just like you? I never thought it possible to find a group of people who love, inspire, encourage, support and cherish each other like we’ve been starved for simply existing. I found my family, my #duckingfamily who I zoom with weekly or more and it’s like having dinner with the family or game night. Sometimes we fight, and sometimes we cry, but every time we love, listen and support each other. The only thing that brought us together was Wynonna Earp. The more I get to know others that this show has brought into my life, the more I find our stories similar regardless of gender, sexual orientation, location and age. This show truly is speaking a language that knows, no boundaries. It is without a doubt, extraordinary.

So when I was given the opportunity to share my thoughts about Wynonna Earp and Wayhaught with Monica Rodman at the Washington Post, of course I recorded, then recorded again and then a couple more times to make sure I adequately conveyed the importance of seeing this relationship on television. I wasn’t sure if anything I said would be used, and honestly I didn’t know much about the vision for the end result and a few weeks passed after I sent in my submission...I just brushed it all off and kept on, keeping on. Eventually the article came out, I wasn’t quoted which was fine but I didn’t realize there was a video that accompanied the article. Then my Twitter DM’s blew up and suddenly I was face to face with myself and I cried. Not because I was in the Washington Post, but because I finally felt like I’m alive. There’s actual proof that I existed, someday when I leave this world, there is evidence that I was once here. I have no children, no one to pass my name to, no one that will miss me and carry my stories to...so, seeing myself on this video actually made me feel seen. The link below will take you to the article and video.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/video/entertainment/how-wynonna-earp-is-giving-back-to-the-queer-fans-who-saved-it/2020/08/30/8d3df785-7170-4372-a06c-390464f57043_video.html

httpwww.washingtonpost.com/arts-entertainment/2020/08/30/wynonna-earp-midseason-finale/

I guess in conclusion I want to say that this journey I suddenly find myself on is totally unexpected and worth every freaking minute. It’s not without its drama and pitfalls, the fandom is just like every other group in society. There’s good, bad, indifferent but in the end the people you surround yourself will offer you the chance at not only finding yourself, healing yourself but empowering and growing into someone you never thought possible. It’s no small thing finding your tribe, the people who love you as is. For as much as COVID has wrecked the world, it led me to a show that forever changed mine. I joke with my found family (my ducking earp family) that I’m in a relationship with Wynonna Earp the show...but it’s kinda true. No matter what kind of day I had, how lost I feel I can watch the show and find a sense of peace that the real world won’t afford me. It may sound trite but this show has literally saved my life. And you want to know a secret...I am just one of millions who have the same story. 

Never discount the passion that fuels those of us who have lived a life in the shadows, told we are broken and wrong...who have not witnessed burning love as it actually is in real life, on the screen. The tide is turning and best be warned now, the showrunner for Wynonna Earp, Emily Andras is on a mission...so when you hear a knock at the door, best answer. The strong female characters in her shows are just an extension of the strong female actors that breathe life into her vision. They are all coming to tear down the old ways and pre-established norms of conformity and for one, am here for all of it.

So what’s a gay...simple.

Me.

Social Media: Katherine Barrell

During the down time between Wynonna Earp Season 4A and 4B, I’ve decided to take this period of mourning as a time of reflection and in so doing, I am watching and yes, rewatching various conventions on YouTube. Today I was watching the WayHaught panel from Earpercon UK 2019 and was struck by a moment where Katherine Barrell was talking about social media. “Social media is a beautiful and fun thing that we get to engage in but it’s not real, it’s not real life and you know you should never compare yourself to others, I think we all know that but it can be very easy to compare yourself to friends that look like they’re living these amazing lives. I like those shirts that people wear that say ‘I hope your life is as wonderful as you pretend it is on Instagram’. I mean we all know that Instagram is another form of media and we all know that media is manipulated and it’s there to entertain us but it’s not there to give us the true barometer of real life.” I think I must have rewound that segment a couple dozen times just so that I really heard the words she said, but also to give proper respect to words with intent that we all could use a little more of. 

When I started shooting roller derby, I became obsessed with just how horrible I was at it because no matter what I did, my photos looked like shit compared to the photos that my mentors were taking. Everything was perfect from the lighting to the design...it was maddening. There were more days I felt useless than I felt like I had done anything right, and one day I confided to one of my most supportive mentors that I was thinking of giving up because it was clear that I would never be like him. He proceeded to tell me that “if you give this up, you will never forgive yourself. You are not meant to be like me, or have your photos look like mine. You bring different eyes to this sport and as such your photos will never be anything other than yours, it’s your vision that makes you good at this.” Admittedly it felt good to hear the compliment but I wasn’t sold on the notion that anyone would ever appreciate my work. It was about a week later that I found one of my old flash drives with photos from two years earlier, back before I was really working to improve my photography skills. I remember looking at the photos and before I knew it, the words “holy shit” escaped my mouth as things started to click in my mind, like finely focused shutter speed clearing my mind and giving me the ability to focus with added clarity.

The photos from 2010 looked horrible, but at the time I thought they were pretty good. The images were blurred, out of focus, tinted the wrong color or just plain gross. It was like looking at the artistic skills of a child in kindergarten. Fast forward to 2016 where I was disappointed in everything I produced but when comparing the difference between those years, I had made it to high school as far as skill acquisition. When I talked with my mentor about it he laughed and said, “you have to stop comparing yourself to everyone else. You forget that we all started with crappy looking images, but you also need to remember that we don’t show the world all our side B stuff, we only publish the side A stuff. You were spending so much time comparing your side B with everyone else’s side A...that’s just crazy. You would never be able to catch up that way. So compare yourself then, to yourself now. Have you gotten better, have you learned things, are there places that you’ve made strides in? If the answer is yes, then you should stay and continue getting better.” I’ve never been so humbled. 

Fast forward to 2020, I stuck with roller derby photography, that destination took me on a journey to international photography, billboards and magazines. Eventually leading to shooting for the women’s football league both internationally and nationally and more magazines. Then came lacrosse and that took me to where I am now, shooting high school sports for the Marysville School District where I can capture moments in time that are just stepping stones in the growth of the newer generations. This wasn’t at all the direction I wanted to take this post, and I’m a little confused as to whether I should keep or delete it all, but ultimately, it is what it is. The lesson that I was quoting Katherine Barrell for still holds true, we have to stop comparing ourselves to each other, especially since we all don’t start at the same place or take the same roads with the same potholes. We try so hard to keep up with those we admire and look up to but forget that they are trying to keep up with others too, and rarely if ever do we see the mistakes and foibles that it takes to get to the beauty and perfection. 

Social media for all it’s greatness can just as quickly destroy the best of us. There’s a certain amount of unashamed risk inherent in anonymity that makes us feel that we have a right to share our opinions regardless of the hurt it may cause. It’s a place where trolls manipulate and create division just for entertainment fodder, a place that removes safety and compassion from interchanges that cannot exist in that void. It’s easy in those moments to forget that real people are on the other end of the keyboard, with real thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams. It’s easy to hate what we don’t know or understand and despite the connection we have to people all over the world, I find us more distant and further apart than ever.

I may go against the grain on this, but I tend to be on social media the person you would find in real life. Rarely do I front for any lengthy period of time because I value authenticity in every form, and if I want to have it come back to me, then I have to put it out there. It is by no means easy to real and raw on social media given how easy it is to attack others with no threat of consequence, but hear me now...we all reap what we sow. I may not be the one driving the karma bus, but rest assured she will find you. To that end, I treat those near and far the same way I want to be treated. 

With respect. 

With honor.

With compassion.

With understanding (that doesn’t mean 100% agreement).

With the knowledge that we are all doing the best we can with what we have and that can change from day to day. We all carry our own cross, we all deal with our own inner demons and we can all do better. 

We can all listen more and judge less. 

To that end, #EarpKindly 

::Katherine is not associated with writer statements. They are my own::