Not Okay

I am not okay. You know how, whenever something big happens, you see all those Facebook posts and Tweets that say “I’m okay?” Yeah, I’m not one of those.

I have no particular reason to be afraid, except for living in an area where people refer to themselves as Ore-GUN-ians as they cruise around, maskless and bearing Trump or MAGA banners. I’ve no particular reason to be afraid other than being disabled. I’ve no particular reason to be afraid, except for clinging to existence by one fingernail as I fight a system that seems more inclined to help goldbrickers than it is people with legitimate problems, a system that can apparently be brought to a grinding halt by a bunch of nuts who believe anything the internet tells them.

People tell me I have no right to be afraid, that people like me are the problem. “Like what,” I ask, but only get a knowing glare.

I’m told I’m not allowed to take solace in writing, not allowed to reach out to others. I’m supposed to use my platform to uplift others and condemn this goddamn mess. What platform? I really doubt anyone cares what I have to say on the matter, and given that I did have things to say on the matter, things people ignored, the abuse becomes even more perplexing.

I am not okay.

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