Broken system

Where do people go for help in a broken system?

A block of self contained flats about 60 give or take 10, fill these self contained flats with young vulnerable people and have 3 underpaid and overworked staff members.

The people here come from the care system, dysfunctional homes and what have you. Most of them under 30, mix in mental health, substance abuse and you have a hotpot of mayhem, a whole world unseen to the wider public and ignored by lawmakers. These are the victims of a system that allows services including, mental health services to dwindle to criminal inhumane levels.

'Bob' is autistic and has learning difficulties, he has bounced from supported living, to this block of flats where he has been served with an eviction notice, but this young man doesn't understand the severity of his situation and there isn't anyone helping him. His friends all hooked on various drugs use him continuously to run errands for him ranging from getting meal deals to running drugs across town. He is a vulnerable man over looked by society and a hidden statistic. 

Without the right support 'Bob' will be on the streets and once on the streets theres it's a 50-50 probability he will be on some kind of substance. Is this not based on proper statistics he either will or he wont. 

'Bob' isn't the anomaly in this place, he is the norm, until people know and understand how desperate his situation is, he is on the fast track to homelessness where he really will be lost in the system, a mere face in the streets.

So where should 'Bob' go for support or help?

Check in Check up

Yo yo yo!!

Fam!

By 'fam' I am referring to you my one reader - I see you my G, I do this for us -. 

After a month, yes we celebrating a month, end of. After a month of successful posting I want to say why do I stop each time with this shit, it's so therapeutic.

But then honestly it's because happy shit barely rouses anything worth jotting down. I am not saying I don't want happy stuff, what I am saying is that I like to shine a light on sadness/injustice and generally not niceness because what is in the dark must come to light.

It's like 4am I am not sober I am tiyaad. 

P.s I am sure if I sat down and actually thought and wrote this I would make a point, but however this is just a filler post and you read the whole thing. Your country loves you.
P.p.s anyone with a physical copy of Gaddafi's GreenBook holla me innit. I will give you a shout out on all my super active socials.
P.p.p.s snoring friends are only funny when you are awake.

The gist of it all.

In front of me a new employee is trained by a manager, next to them a colleague has searched 'cancer' into his email. Opposite the manager is a young man staring at his computer, most likely not looking at a work related screen. Next to him is a man whose head I can only see the top of and behind him two, one on his phone one in his emails. In front of me there's 12 or so rows where this or scenes like this play out.  And behind me a mere 4 rows.  

If it hasn’t dawned on you yet, I am in an open plan office. Where the day starts with murmured greetings, tapping keyboards, polyphonic ringtones, numerous phone calls occurring simultaneously, sneezing - Jesus so much sneezing-, whispering, tapping, knocking, chewing, every type of noise imaginable, at every level of irritation.  

You wouldn’t be mistaken if you walked in and immediately visualized a greenhouse, with the large double glazed windows, the orange toned lighting. The only thing that grows in this greenhouse is the toxicity that is fertilized from the higher echelons of management and allowed to sip its way through to very depot, department and team.  

The swirling chairs and the cleared throats that make way for whispering are one of the most sinister aspects of working in an open office environment, at my particular office some of the whispers include, judging colleagues' ability to provide for their children – nothing prompted this, no unusual bruising on a child's shin, not a wayward comment about a child, nothing-, how black guys are thieves – the man applied for a job-, giggles were shared when they suspected a slimmer framed workmate had an eating disorder-  this prompted interrogation every time food was mentioned or seen, and my personal favourite – two black colleagues cannot be friends, unless they fuck. Obviously this is simply scratching the surface of the whispering.  

Spending 12 month where I am, I am convinced that there is some kind of mass hysteria. 

Initially all the cold sweats, the pains, the dizziness, tight chest, the faintness, was explained by something, maybe my sugar levels too low, the broken sleep got a lot of the slack, I would catch colds and flus like it was nothing. Always tired and frustrated I started to take vitamins in hopes once my vitamins are at least levelled I would be energetic at least. Or so I thought.  

One morning while laid in bed, my alarm went off. Unbeknownst to me this was the start of an ugly ugly wake up style.  

With my heavy heart weighing heavy on my chest, like sleep paralysis, but all I could see was the carpark at work, and the large purple logo engulfing me and my car. I giggle now but believe me it's scary as fuck.  

It was then it dawned on me I was anxiously depressed from Monday to Friday from 6-6 and free on the weekends and days off. My mental health was affected in shifts I thought it was great and would make it manageable. My triggers were clearly work.  

While I was trying to get my head around this new epiphany,  the whispers intensified and because I was tired, tirreeeeeeed. I got HR and my line manager involved I couldn’t be coming for work always feeling like one more polyphonic ringtone would make me jab a homemade pen worked into a prison style shank to the neck of the nearest fucker.  

Then they told me all my feelings were just opinion and I shouldn’t care what others think of me. I sat in that room fighting back tears. So I did what I had to do and kept coming to cesspool of toxicity.  

Months passed and I was barely coping at work, but who would listen if I spoke up again, I just had to make sure my life outside work was full of life and joy. Only that there is no such thing as work life and life, FAM its all just life.  

Essentially this is about how my 'work life' and life started to merge in violence - metaphorically- and my brain became a cocoon of misery. Side note - cocoon is a weird word coz sounds more like ca-coon, anyway English is not my mother tongue languages.

The depression and anxiety I was feeling at work started to linger, it wouldn’t leave at 6pm and would already be there before 6am, everything I was doing outside work to try and fulfil my life started to feel emotionally taxing and physically no amount of 'doing nothing' weekends energised me. My appetite had practically disappeared and I was essentially force feeding myself, my gynaecologist told me my job will kill me if I wasn't careful, I joked and asked if he would pay my bills, then promptly directed his attention to my spread legs, thats what he was to exam not my work situation. The weight melted off me and people congratulated me on my weight loss, a change in weight I didn't really care for as it was a result of my failing mental health rather than disciplined training and eating. But I would smile and say 'oh thanks', and strike one fierce pose, laughing internally at the ridiculousness of the situation. My mind couldn't think past the next sentence, I was unable to think or even compile coherent sentences,just dropping adlibs, like I was a lil Jon tribute act. 

I still couldn’t say more at work, so they can tell me again that it is in my head? Nuh mate, not gonna waste my time.  

 Instead I kept applying for the few jobs that were around, but not one of them resulted in an interview in anything, now my depression and anxiety cannot and does not take rejection well. I was rejected left right and centre. I couldn’t do it anymore.  

Then the survey came.   

I was perplexed when the managers expressed the disappointment in the results. Turns out I am not the only person who was unhappy in the department. Was anyone going to apologies or at least acknowledge that they swept my concerns under the rug? Was anyone now going to try to get to the bottom of this? Was there anything to change these conditions? If the people who soured the place in the first place are now saying they don’t like it where do you go? Will the western world acknowledge the human rights violations they oversee to protect their worldview? Will the Zambian president put his people's needs above his own? Okay I got carried away. Lets pretend I was hopeful.  

Instead a group meeting where the anonymous survey was questioned for authenticity, where instead of actively trying to look at ways of improving the conditions, people where aggressively questioned about their presence at work if they don’t like it that much. As if anyone's bills will say "forget about me, I am going to take some time  while you work out your work situation".  

My job was killing me, I still need to find a new job.

My job was emotionally ruining me, I would roll my eyes when watching sad stuff. 

I had a breakdown.  

I actively remind myself to eat.  

I occasionally have paralysing anxiety at the thought of being at work.

I was stuck at work with no feasible way out. 

Then my doctor signed me off.

I spent the time reminding myself I am the baddest EVER, with the help of my loved ones obviously big up yourselves. Not to brag but I am pretty cool, ask my harem.

While my experience is not unique but is valid.  

P.s - dude do not let these 'systems' kill you sha, go get that time to rediscover yourself coz the butterfly that flies out that CACOON is worth protecting, celebrating, loving and thriving. It's no longer enough to just live sis, lets motherucking THRIVE.

Keep the people who be blowing your horn when you don't have the strength to do it yourself, they celebrate the hardest when you back to blowing your own.

Peace Out.

p.p.s I postponed my masturbation to rewrite this and I must say time well spent. 

Isms, Phobias and Us

'Well to be honest I voted Brexit because I have had enough of the immigrants, she says this nonchalantly as she sips her tea. Milky, one sugar, as the rest of the group grunts in agreement, the conversation moves to detailed talk of immigrants coming for their jobs, schools and what have you. It's at this point I can't help but roll my eyes in frustration.  

This essentially is a safe space, a place where trans, and questioning people can come for support, and to socialise. Imagine a young black second generation person desperately looking for a safe space walking into that. 

Its undeniable that racism is as British as beans on toast, Islamophobia, homophobia and sexism as British as chicken tikka masala.  

Why we act shocked, flabbergasted bamboozled, when we find out that trans women of colour are at the worse end of anti trans violent sentiment is beyond me.

The lack of UK statistics and studies concerning trans people and particularly trans people of colour, means we relay extensively on figures produced in the USA as a starting point, both countries are built on structural and systematic racism, its safe to assume the findings will not differ drastically. 

While the details of individual cases aren't always readily available, the intersections of race, gender, sexual identity and transphobia conspire to deprive trans people access to employment, housing, healthcare and other necessities, this coupled with reports of islamaphobia and racism in trans spaces, people of colour will join groups and not last long within them, isolating them further.

My friends of colour can go into detailed analysis of the systematic racism and my queer identifying friends can speak candidly of the homophobia in straight places and how they feel this limits them. However whenever we speak of the injustices faced by trans women and especially black trans women all the aforementioned groups act as though their homophobia, racism and bigotry do not push these women to the barren outlands of society.  

When 49% of a population group reports having contemplated suicide and 41% of the same group reporting homelessness at what point does the urgency for action come into play. According to a 2018 USA study in conjunction with National LGBTQ Taskforce the National centre for Transgender Equality.

Empress

'I swear one day Imale I will lock you in a room and we will fight' my mum screamed angrily at teenage me.

See my mum and I then were chalk and cheese, water and oil, flammable substance and a spark, safe to say we did not get on. My father's cool demeanor vanishing when he had to play peace maker. I would push my mum to the edge, not on purpose I just seemed to really get on her nerves and I played on that. For years this continuted and my mother and I grew further and further apart, I never understood her nor her me. But I was cool, my dad loved me, enough for both of them and that was good enough for me.

My dad would always tell me my mum was my only friend, I would snort and roll my eyes at this statement. How was he gonna say this woman is my friend? I was offended, friends dont spend 95% of the time fighting. The other 5% was for sleeping, eating, work, school.

Then our world crumbled, when out the blue, my father dyeed - this is great four lions reference btw - then it was just my mother and her kids, she had lost her best friend, we had lost our father. And yet the distance kept widening.

Then I got into situations I can now identify as ridiculously toxic, but its calm innit I can now admit I was looking for some sort of love. Deep.
At the breakdown of that shitstorm I decided I would come out to my mother, hell she was the only person, I felt who didn't know me. I spent days and weeks mentally going back and forth about telling her, but I felt like a fraud and stifled by my facade.

Then a lot of my black gays know this part LOL. I ain't trying to relieve that.

At this point I became comfortable with the idea of being alone, emotionally. I consumed with the desire to be loved relegated the need for my mother's love to the part where all that is disdained inhabits. I greedily gorged on the desire shown to me with little regard to where it came from, it was never about them.

Laziness killed the wanton beast within me, in time for me to move out of my mother's house.

Turns out this is the change we needed. At this point I started to see my mother not as my mother but as a woman, who had kids.

We started to smile more, together.

And as my birthday nears, I see my mother not as a woman but as a fucking hero bro. The love that my mother continues to bestow upon me has been the most radical thing.

Her love feels like the sun on your face on the first day of summer heat after months of winter. Her love feels like nshima after hunger, like finally getting hot water after weeks of kettle boiled bucket bathes, like the £30 contactless limit. Ethereal.

As hard as the last couple of years have been, she has been relentless and has raised 3 fucking awesome well adjusted independent children.

I realise now that all that time that we weren't chalk and cheese, but rather two peas in a pond. Albeit different boats.

Guys hug your mum man.

P.s - Imagine being loved like this. This is God level love. I am gonna go make my mummy a brew.
Lol jokes I am cosy in bed.

Open Office Fishbowl

The day usually starts with a loud blaring alarm.  

Then my heart drops in a drop akin to how your heart feels just before the first drop on the big rollercoasters. Only that this time there is no jovial under or over layer, a large dark void fills the space that excitement once filled.

I reluctantly get up and out of bed, hoping some debilitating illness befalls me before I reach the bathroom. I giggle at the ridiculousness of praying that a stray shower spray goes up my nose and drowns me. I mean we all know a drop of water can kill you.  

This is suicide ideation I will not deny it, nor downplay it. But these feelings hit me at very specific times. Every morning before work. Showers wash this away and give way to nothingness.

The drive to work usually soundtracked by loud blaring music.  

It doesn’t matter what I listen to, it replaces any thoughts or feelings that might have instead occupied my mind.  

I get to work.  

I sit in the car park to the very last minute. I gasp as I leave my car, it feels like I have entered a fishbowl, its filled just below the point of where I can breath freely, when the fishbowl tips in a particular manner I can breathe. But for the most part I am constantly trying not to drown, my nose filled with the stench of humid dank chemical water. 

15:59.

Relief and a little disappointment that I have to do this again tomorrow.

Return of the Mack

Mate.

So I am back.  This time with a vengeance ngl I have heard this before somewhere, maybe in a movie or a diary entry, I dunno my point is my point.

Anyway this time, unlike the other times my motivation is consistency, because now man goes to the gym regularly, enough to not have to be specific, and runs 5km park runs, so why can't she be consistent on a blog right?

You nodded in agreement and I appreciate the belief.

And with this ladies, gentlemen, those that are non-binary, I say stay tuned to this show.

I also want to thank the great cousin Mwambz for igniting the flame, for encouraging me to dust off the soapbox and to clear my throat and to pretend my musings will be coherent and easy to follow each time.

Also I kinda had a mental breakdown and was encouraged to write as a way to express and explore my situation. That is also a motivator I guess.

P.S - This time I will try to be purposeful with my edits, but I am not promising anything. Because proofreading is for proofs.

Peeaacceeeee.