Member preview

Invisible Liminal Spawn

Proof how little people care about Black impoverished folk, and about the ways in which the multiply marginalized still bear the brunt of the burden:

I am and have been the main emergency support for my family. For decades, I was the caretaker, provided emergency funds from the already pathetic undervalued amount I earned, and served as sounding board and punching bag.

It has consistently fallen to me to support my able-bodied, working, cishet, rather normative family because their poverty and Blackness (or Black adjacency) renders them unworthy to the rest of the world.

This means, even while homeless, in health crises, single parenting, and facing multiple interconnected forms of violence, I STILL AM and have been the main financial backup and emotional support for the family.

This is how abuse culture divvies up the labor of survival. It splits us into bits, demands we be “independent”, and has us try to solve the impossible problem of not having nearly enough to do everything we need to do.

So, it falls on multiply marginalized bodies to fill in the gaps.

Instead of receiving resources and support and having my access needs met, I have been used as literal fuel for my family’s survival. They literally have had no other choice but to enslave me because that’s how little of a shit anyone gives about our poor Black lives.

I am not allowed to exist or have needs: impoverished BlaQueer indigenous Othergender disabled intersex autistic single parent Aro ace non-mono lefty (as in handed, not that pathetic excuse for politics) survivors are the fuel ground up for the disempowered to scrape by. We are the sustenance on which predatory abusers feast. We are the invisible foundation - that everyone else mistakenly refers to as time - that put in the labor of lifting the world.

Every comfort comes at our expense. Life is extended by sacrificing ours. Everything is stolen and nothing given.

There's no compassion in these limited notions of compersion. We share no intimacies, we simply endure atrocities.

Resources are actively diverted away from us despite how many claim to care. I deserve so much better, so much more, with a shit-ton of interest! But excuses will continue to be made to deny me on all fronts. What I need and deserve will be dangled in front of me, accessible only to those who have not earned it and can only misuse it.

Everything written about but not by us blames us, inexplicably claims we work, and does everything it can to justify the lack of accountability to us. It gaslights until our very history, lives, and effort are erased and lost.

But here. I exist. I work. I create. Despite it all. Being vulnerable is not weakness. Being exploited does not make it our fault. Being devalued does not mean that what we do isn’t “real” work.

What I’ve done matters. What I create matters. What I treasure matters. My existence matters; no matter how many ways the world tells me it doesn’t. Odds are I’ll never receive what I need or deserve. But it will never erase the fact that I know or that I am.

I am the edge that protects, but what happens if the delusion wears us all away?

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.