Zero desire to make content or advocacy things lately, because the niche environment I was in feels so toxic to me nowadays. Breaking out of that into a more general mental health area leaves me feeling very lost and most definitely out of my depth. Searching for reasons as to why I even wish to ‘advocate’ at all, searching for answers as to what even defines an ‘advocate’. By all means I would love to read more, find studies, share findings, but truth of the matter is that I find reading extremely difficult due to dissociation. Even with things I am super interested in, “special interests”, it is difficult to maintain focus.
Follow with a paragraph about something happy. Talking too much about the negatives makes it seem depressing, too depressed over “first world problems”, obviously fake. Too happy, enjoying life , also fake. Fluctuations? No, you cannot have both; also fake. You have a mental health issue and society only believes that when you’re in a constant state of sadness, yet at the same time expect you to “get the fuck over it” and “contribute to society”. If you can’t ‘contribute’, then why are you here? You try to leave, then you are “attention seeking”. You end up leaving, you were “too young to go”.
You seek solace in a community of likeminded people, until you discover that you arent all the same. It was a naive assumption let’s admit. We are but a microsegment of society, a group with an intangible umbrella to hold.
I used to want to share my story, but then it felt like my story was worthless in comparison to the grand tales other people shared. People were wasting their time consuming my content, I felt bad that I was subjecting them to boredom. But I realised I had somewhat became a symbol, of people who looked like me, I was the visible of the invisible. My lighter skin tone makes me palatable. Exotic but not too exotic. Opinions influenced by a white upbringing made me even more desirable for white folk to consume my words and receive their certificates on being ‘woke’.
Those with less recognition and visibility, thanked me for my service. I was humbled, yet saddened to be the only voice being heard and respected. My words were not all that different to messages they had shared, and yet my plagiarism was heard because I was more palatable, exotic but not too exotic, I had friends in whiter places, so this meant I had to be respected.
Oh woe is me that I recieve attention. How terrible it must be. But do you not see the pressure there, the idea that I exist to maintain the peace between the two colours of my lineage. Share the stories of my people, but delicately so as to not spook others away for their wrongdoings. Being traumatised makes you immune to the thing many preach the most. How do you define accountability? Is it only applicable when it is relevant to your circumstance? Accountability is selective you see, it does not exist for racism. But do remember that “microagressions do not count”, for the white man is more knowledgeable than I.
Do not misinterpet what I am saying, because other poc wanting me to advocate is not the issue; for the issue is the white man seems to find my content instead of theirs because of algorithms and my connections. I implore you to go out of your way to see their stories, poc experiences are not a one size fits all. This constant feeling of tokenisation envelopes me on a micro and major scale to a point where I have no more spoons left to keep the peace.
For a peacekeeper, my frustrations are not so peaceful. I live in a constant state of second guessing messages of power versus messages fueled by a borderline response. Then again, I am entitled to my frustrations, yet where is the line? Is there a line, or is it whisked away in the sand?
High tides, low tides, will I ever have a concrete answer as to my desires? Moments like this it seems that I want to just concentrate on me. Selfish, selfless, either way I can no longer ride each wave clinging to this niche crate of expectations.
I don’t want to be an advocate for your disorder anymore. I want to be an advocate only for myself, for MY mental and physical well being; I just happen to be someone who shares your diagnosis. My brain is drained from all of these rambles yet I know there is so much more in my head for sharing, I suppose that is for another time.