Wordsmiths Unite

Ta da! My work is currently on display at New Earth Market! I’m excited to have my writing gaining visibility in the community!

To continue the trend of growth for my words, I have taken the next step in broadcasting my words across the land: Instagram! You can now find excerpts and corresponding artistic collaborations on my Instagram account dedicated to my writings. As per my usual technological style, I am showing up fashionably (or maybe not so stylishly) late to the diverse social networking party. It would be my pleasure to connect with you through Instagram. Please comment below with your account information, or better yet, follow me and I will happily return the favor!
Thank you for your support!


Versatile Sunshine: Awards Unite

Wow! I have been nominated for four blogging awards over the past couple of weeks by incredible women. I treasure these recognitions dearly, perhaps more than you may know. The reality of my lifestyle is that I am very often homebound because of my health fragility. The necessity of my encapsulated existence precludes me from interacting with other people. My sense of loneliness over the years seems to have become pathogenic in and of itself. Therefore, the sanctity of human connection, even in what may seem to be superficial forms, resonates as a lifeline for me.

The process of answering blogging award questions is arduous for me. Therefore, I will not be adhering to the typical requirement for awards. Instead, I have taken the liberty to augment what I believe to be the core value enhanced by said awards: connection.

Below you will find links to the aforementioned bloggers who kindly nominated me for The Sunshine Blogger Awards and The Versatile Blogger Awards. Please visit their blogs, if you have not yet already.

Blackness Across Borders

Jena Pendarvis 

The Scribblings

Bitchin’ In The Kitchen 

 Thank you all for your support!

My Doctor Thinks He Is God

Here is what I really want to know: do doctors have a underestimated lack of knowledge or do they fail to employ it? I am currently working with a skilled, multidisciplinary nutritionist who has a superior command of knowledge to any doctor I have seen. Literally. After three decades of consuming doctors like water, I have never come across another health professional that actually attempts and succeeds in not only constructing a thorough history of my life, but also making intelligent, informed decisions for my treatment. I am flummoxed by the inaction and inappropriate lethargy of the medical community. This medical community includes not only Western medicine, but also naturopathic, holistic and all integrative approaches.

So, what do you think? Is it ignorance precluding healing or is it laziness? Or, perhaps, money?

One of the most catastrophic malignancies of our society is the discrimination practiced within the medical realm. Minority members have decreased access to medical care, limited options for payment for chosen care, and disproportionately fewer support services for obtaining related treatment. This statement comes as no surprise. We are all well versed in the hegemonic barricades to resources for people who are not white men with robust purchasing power.

My suspicions that I have been dismissed within the medical community as a failure and enigma have solidified over time. I believe that doctors have conveniently dubbed me a freak, yes, that is the technical term based upon two factors. Number one, I think the fact that I have a physical disability makes for a cop out. Doctors can simultaneously blame the entirety of my suffering on my disability while also dismissing me because people with disabilities are regarded as inferior. Although no medical professional will ever admit to having overlooked my case because of my disability, I have evidence to the contrary. The discrimination based on disability and income coalesce; ideological frameworks posit that people with disabilities will not be socially productive and therefore do not matter as much. If my life is inferior and I won’t be contributing to capitalism, why would I be worth helping? Additionally, or perhaps, more importantly, how will I pay my bills to continue supplementing the opulent lifestyle of my doctors?

And, thus, here I am fighting still to save my life.

Cheers to Community

We have gathered here today to celebrate 100 followers! Just a few months out of the starting gate, and already The Wrongs I Must Write is galloping along! Wowza! Your readership and commentary not only contribute to the vitality of this blog, but also illuminate my life. On a daily basis, I eagerly await opportunities to engage with you in candid dialogue about society.

The inclusion of your voices, from a cornucopia of countries, with diverse experiences is truly a wonder. That we are able to communicate respectfully about what imprisons some and stratifies others, I believe will facilitate the amelioration of the human condition. It is no secret that I have thus far catalogued a handful of chapters dedicated to my own experiences with injustice and discrimination. The overwhelming support, encouragement and open-mindedness to listen and validate my life, my existence, my fight is it a gift for which I feel much gratitude. As subsequent virtual pages turn, I welcome and encourage you all to continue voicing your opinions, asking questions, and considering the perspective of others.
From the bottom of my activist’s heart, thank you dearly for being here. 

Follow me on Instagram 

Confessions of a Double Life

I think a growing number of you may be onto my secret. I’m leading a double life; I’m double dipping, feasting upon the saccharine delight of blogging in twin doses. Confession: I am the writer behind the curtain of two blogs. The story sourcing the birth of this very blog differs starkly from the haunted beginnings of Tick Talk.

When I first created The Wrongs I Must Write, I wanted to offer myself a space dedicated to pieces of my identity that illness has forced into the fringes. While not exactly divorcing myself from tales of trauma, abandonment and unscrupulous behavior from the brink of life and death, I wanted to be able to rebuild other parts of myself. Ironically, however, as people gravitate toward my impassioned rants, they also seem intrigued by my other style of expression. Perhaps the multidimensionality of each individual is stitched together with the overlapping anecdotes of confusion, conviction, and even a dash of hypocrisy. Though the ramifications of constructing barriers are myriad, these barricades begin within the mind. Erasing one fewer obstruction, one fewer detour, could only enhance reality. So, should you feel the desire to get to know me better, I invite you to explore the underworld of my evolution. Thank you for coming along for my journeys.

While I’m tossing links at you, why not add another? You can also follow me on Facebook. If you have a Facebook page celebrating your blog, please share a link in the comments. It would be wonderful to connect with you via social media.

BANG! Gun Talk: Uncensored 

Spontaneity is the antidote to strategy. Sometimes, what every diligent researcher and writer craves is deviance. And by deviance, in this particular scenario, I mean the unscripted scrawl of words, right here, right now. I know, I’m a rebel. 

I have been hesitant to enter the conversation about gun control. For a host of reasons, I find myself without a reliable hypothesis regarding this social phenomenon. Big shocker. Much to the contrary, I am usually impassioned about sociological details to the point that my bedroom walls tremble in the shadow of my soliloquies. The foundation upon which I have structured a paradigm of inquiry takes my hand, leading me along in a familiar inquisitive path. Race, class, socioeconomic status, education, religion… They all float effortlessly to the top of the tide, bobbing like shellacked apples, crimson for the picking. Only, in an unusual turn of events, they sour.

So, in this circumstance of indecision, I will turn to my old reliable favorite method for learning. Connection! I ask you, my dearest readers, what do you believe to be the factors influencing repeated school shootings? What underlying societal influences perpetuate this pattern? What solutions would you propose? Please feel free to share your truest thoughts without the need for censorship. 

Thank you in advance for taking the time and thought to include me in your conversation. By elongating the opportunities for conversations into less reactive rants, I believe we may be able to learn more from one another.
Ready, set, go!

Cupid: The Messenger of Consumerism

Roses are red

Violets are blue 

Valentine’s Day is an extension of the consumer-capitalist agenda we have bought into.

The commodification of love is what Valentine’s Day is made of. The ties between economy and the demonstration of love, compassion, commitment and other emotions associated with Cupid are myriad. By reducing the capacity for exchanging warm hearted sentiment to the purchasing power of any given person, we put people of lower socioeconomic classes at a disproportionate disadvantage for expressing love within these confines. In addition to the materialistic definition of human compassion propagated by this holiday, I find therein many other issues of exclusion.

The patriarchal subtext of a man’s power and influence over a woman and her emotional health is transparent. Women commonly are reduced to self-loathing when February 14 rolls around again and they find themselves single. I would imagine there are numerous posts dedicated to this gendered analysis of Valentine’s Day. Therefore, I will not expand heavily upon this. 

I suppose my usual disapproval and generalized nausea surrounding the superfluous exchange of mass produced pink and red forgettable fluff is higher this year. With the apparent lack of authentic love seeping from political institutions, government officials and political ideology, pretending to give and receive love for one day out of the year seems hypocritical, at best.

Is deportation love?

Is the exclusion of immigrants from the labor force love?

Is the construction of a barrier between “us” and “them” love?

Is the objectification and harassment of women love?

 It is my belief that doing justice to true love is a mindset necessitating daily commitment. Love is acting with respect and dignity towards those with whom we share few ideals; it is the recognition that humanity intersects along the continuum of existence. Love is not confined to confections, it is both intangible and as viscerally satisfying as sharing a smile.

Say What?

Wow. I am stupefied by the level of some people’s ignorance. I received a long winded message today from a vague acquaintance all but informing me she believed me to be stupid because of my visual physical “limitations.” Having stumbled across my blog, she apparently figured out that I have a brain. Oh, and by the way, now that she is so with the times, would I mind educating her about how to interact with people with disabilities?

Eye roll. After a pregnant pause of confusion and disillusionment, I crafted what is most assuredly a snarky response. One common aspect of propaganda relating to those with disabilities is that we have a societal duty to educate others about how to be kind to one another. Should someone show an interest in this topic, we should be subservient and grateful for their attention, says the cultural subtext. In addition, people often commonly assume that I have nothing better to do than to illuminate their minds with my apparent pearls of wisdom. I do my best to make sure both of these erroneous assumptions are debunked by my reply.

While most definitely not the curriculum she had been expecting, I can assure you she received an education.

Adaptation Artist

Society has it backwards. As with so many bureaucratic institutions, those designed to serve individuals with disabilities have made a profound paradigm mistake. Under the guise of providing accommodations, they have underestimated the fortitude and lifestyle of an individual with a disability. Throughout my life, from kindergarten through college and extending to present day, educational and governmental agencies pretend they are doing me a favor; they are granting me adaptations; They are permitting me modifications. They are wrong.

People with disabilities are, instead, the ones accommodating. Every day, every moment I am altering my existence to fit a rigid world. My survival, accomplishments, education, have not been because of social institutions, but in spite of them. So numerous and diverse have my adaptations become, that many remain unknown even to me. However, even more are poised on the tip of my consciousness, arguing for better. I deserve better. We deserve improved access, respect, equality, higher expectations and opportunities. The therapeutic model currently activated within social institutions precludes these and other necessary values to empower and facilitate robust lives for individuals with disabilities.

Inherent within the institutionalized philosophy, booms the message that I don’t matter; people with disabilities don’t matter. Both unspoken and spoken voices have attempted to stifle my opportunities, define my parameters and tell me, “no.” 

With relentless, albeit frustrating righteousness, I keep saying yes. 

Daddy Issues: A Myth 

Upon meeting again, face-to-face, the other half of my DNA, I was sedated by a surprising lull of indifference. Though long-distance and litigious in nature, his resume of leaving is noteworthy. Equally stunning was his history of evaporating as ether, especially at the eleventh hour of my trajectory. And still, with the human who had shown up for a little else than my conception folded awkwardly atop my couch, I felt a blissful nothingness.

Much to his chagrin, the realization that the dozens of abandonments he had accrued paled when juxtaposed with my battles within my bones. Whatever psychobabble he projected within the confines of his professional and personal circles were negated by my very existence. No, thank you, Freud, I do not have daddy issues. Much to the contrary, it is my “daddy” who has issues.

There are most likely cadres of women brainwashed into believing that the absent father figure has trampled their minds. Issues with their fathers have dictated a cycle of insecurity which is manifesting in their… And so on. While I’m not underestimating the trauma that can occur from abuse or abandonment of a parent, I am calling attention to the notion that such circumstances create a pathology within the child. Many times, I think the internalization of a parent’s mistake is preyed upon by our society.

Instead, I offer a remedy of self-acceptance and compassion. It is not a diagnosis of daddy issues quite necessarily, I have come to find. I am comforted by the indifference I feel toward the stranger who helped bring me into this world. I take refuge in my knowledge that indeed, the apple did fall far from the tree.