abuse

Metal Rings

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment

(Photo by Tatiana on Pexels.com)

This was written and recorded prior to hearing the news about Robb Elementary school. My heart is in deep pain and I am choosing actions of activism in regards to gun safety. I’m not sure that I have the right to feel this pain. The following is sent out into the world with the deep soul knowing of my own privilege at having my sweet SonHerisme with me, as well as both of my parents, siblings, and friends as I tumble through this messy messy life.

(prologue added post recording)
(or listen here)

SonHerisme recently joined a rock band as their drummer. He is very enthusiastic about the entire experience. After playing violin for six years, he took a break and tinkered on the piano for a bit, bought himself an acoustic guitar, and finally got his mother to sign him up for drum lessons. He has been playing some kind of rhythm instrument since he could crawl and bang. It has been his calling but I have tempered it (mean mommy) with pushing him learning to read music and unlocking the most difficult instrument family to understand – the strings – first. He asked his father, MrexH, for a drum set last Christmas. SonHerisme now has his eyes set on enclosing a part of the garage to accommodate a sound proof area for his drumming and other instrumental explorations. Later this week he has an interview to be accepted into our local Fine Arts Academy for High School *fingers crossed.* So, yes, he is hooked.

This well intentioned momma is handing over the reigns to follow the bold screaming adolescent calls of the soul interests of the boy-teen-man. I can do this. Right? I mean, we can do these hard things, right? Is Glennon right? Can we?

He wants to try High School football too. All I see are brain damage and permanent paralysis looming along with peer pressure for sex, hazing, alcohol and drugs. I hope that the summer tennis coach can charm him into focusing on tennis. Maybe I can do the soccering consent? His cousin (boy crazed Rugby fan) is pressuring him to do rugby – hard pass on that too, please and thank you. SonHerisme says/yells in a giant man voice, “Momma, look at my body! Look at it! I am MADE for contact sports! *flexes* No one can hurt me! Look at how big and strong I am!” Ohmyholywildturkeynesses How have mommas been doing this?!!? Why won’t he do swimming? Golf? Horse Riding? I mean, c’mon universe. Can we, can I, really do this final sprint to my tiny newborn giant tiny baby bear’s adulthood? You guys. I have my doubts, but also cannot comprehend an alternative. More tea STAT STAT STAT

SonHerisme’s band is practicing to participate in a Rock v Grunge outdoor weekend lineup. SonHerisme says he and the band are working on mental health. How cool is that? His band is practicing mental health exercises to prepare for performing in front of a large audience! Blogisphere friends – it took me a few days to figure out he meant that his band is playing a cover of Quiet Riot’s METAL HEALTH. When I pointed this out to SonHerisme, he said the song is by Quiet Riot but it is mental health. Oh my sweet baby tiny puffin boy, yes, yes, yes, alliteration, yes. He did not believe me until I showed him a YouTube. Then I felt super sad and old that as a part of popular culture, I am old enough to know of Metal Health despite my calling leaning towards Hootie and the Blowfish, The Sundays and such. Then I felt super love and protection for my precious baby bear who is not quite grown, but so full of all of the teen hubris earnestnesses. Squeezy delicious babes working on their Me(n)tal Health indeed.

Side Note: Charlotte (shar-LOT, a former co-worker insisted I read boy centric interest books and not just 398’s and 811’s, to become a great children’s librarian – she was *sigh* correct) is, “I told you so,” -ing from the great beyond.

I suspect FatherHerisme’s parents are doing the same from the great beyond. I never met FatherHerisme’s parents. They passed when FatherHerisme was 4 (his father died) and 12 (his mother died). When FatherHerisme’s dad passed away, his mother remarried an extremely abusive criminal, and had two more girls. She had a total of five children: 2 girls and a boy (FatherHerisme) with her first husband, and 2 girls with her second husband. ZoeLorriane and Bertie – what a pair they must have been. Perhaps they crossed paths at some point with David Lee and Emily B.

When FatherHerisme’s mother died, the two older girls married their boyfriends right away so they would not have to live with their abusive stepfather. FatherHerisme was sent to live with a childless, very religious, aunt and uncle. Within a year, the abusive stepfather, known as, “Whitey,” *charming* was in federal prison, and FatherHersime returned to Indiana to live with his oldest sister while he finished High School and went to college. The two younger sisters split their time between family members’ homes, including with FatherHerisme at the oldest sister’s home. Her husband was also abusive. He passed away many years ago, but she is alive and well, in her 90’s and thriving in the same house where she raised her son. The second oldest sister married an abusive man who moved her to the hills of Kentucky. She rapidly mentally deteriorated in severe poverty and isolation from everything, and eventually died. The two younger sisters married challenging people, had children, and are alive and well surrounded by grandchildren and great grandchildren. Some are doing well. Most have struggled with mental health, addiction and abuse. Generational trauma for reals y’all.

FatherHerisme continues to struggle making very slow progress at a skilled nursing home rehabilitation facility. 2 steps forward, 1 step back, 2 steps forward, 3 steps back, 2 steps forward, 2 steps back etc. He receives dialysis three times each week and physical therapy five times each week. When his blood pressure drops too low(frequently), they stop physical therapy, or dialysis, and he rests for the remainder of the day. SisterHerisme sees FatherHerisme everyday and brings him something tasty to keep his calories up and continue to help his kidneys work. I never know if I am making the best decisions for his health care – but I am trying my best to do what he has expressed to me in the past that he expects or wants.

At our most recent conversation, where he was very lucid, he clearly communicated that staying where he is in order to seamlessly get his next surgeries, is what he would like to do. His other option is to be transported via interstate ambulatory stretcher service to a hospital local to me (about 450 miles or 725 km from where he currently is) and begin the process of diagnosis/procedures with new physicians. While he would be closer for my brother, my mother, and me to be more supportive of his recovery and progress, he does not want to delay any procedures further than they have already been delayed at this time. BrotherHerisme is very frustrated that I am not forcing FatherHerisme to relocate (I’m POA). I am trying to be respectful. This is another exercise in letting go.

FatherHerisme has cycled in and out of lucidity these past few months. He was at a point where he “forgot” how to swallow, he could not feed himself because he could not control his arm well enough to find his head or his mouth, and he could not control or reliably track anyone with his eyes. Today he can hold a conversation, transfer from chair to chair (with assistance), and, with special utensils, feed himself and drink from a straw or cup. Miracles!

FatherHerisme FaceTimed me yesterday while BILHerisme was visiting with him. FatherHerisme was concerned he had mixed up his Dr appointments (he had not), and wanted to tell me that something was wrong with his fingers and his eye. He was feeling small metal rings getting caught underneath his skin in his fingers. The metal rings were like small washers or the backs to snaps on clothing. 

FatherHerisme was worried that the metal rings were coming off of his hospital gown and getting stuck underneath his skin in his fingers. 
He was able to push on some and get them worked out to the tops of his fingers, carefully push them through his skin and flick them onto the floor. 
He was worried that he was making a mess on the floor and that someone would get hurt on the metal rings he was leaving there. 
He was worried that if I didn't tell the janitors, they would not be able to see the metal rings and get them all swept up, or they would be upset with him that he flicked them onto the floor. 
He was worried that one metal ring accidentally got caught in his eye and he hadn't been able to get it out on his own. 
He was worried about how many more metal rings would get caught underneath his skin and how he could get them out more efficiently. 
He already phoned SisterHerisme asking her to bring precision tweezers and a magnifying glass for him to use to pull out the metal rings.
I listened to all of his words as he stumbled through trying to say everything he needed to say about the metal rings so that I would understand how concerned he was. 
I listened with what I hope was respect and honorable space holding for his worries and problem solving processes. 
I asked him if he shared his concerns with one of the health aids or nurses. He had not.
I asked him to hold his fingers up to the camera so that I could take a look.
I asked him to put the camera close to the eye he is worried about so that I could take a look.

Bloggees, I had to then gently walk my father through how all evidence points to his brain playing tricks on him. His fingers and eye do not show signs of trauma, which would be expected if metal rings were being poked through them. I had to walk my father through possible explanations for these sensations – nerve pinch, nerve damage, neuropathy, medication side effects, or growing toxicity in his body from kidney failure/blockage or another developing UTI. FatherHerisme then asked for tweezers just in case. I had to walk my father through on why tweezers are not the best first intervention for these metal rings. My suggestion was that BILHerisme go find a small bag for FatherHerisme so that he could catch the metal rings in there and not on the floor, alleviating his worries about safety and cleanliness. Secondly, I sent a large magnifying glass to FatherHerisme so that he could get a better look at his fingers as he is feeling the metal rings push through them. Lastly, I told FatherHerisme I would let the nurse know what was going on so that they can help him determine what is happening with his fingers too, since he might need support in retraining his brain signals if there are not metal rings getting caught beneath his skin and needing extraction. I explained to FatherHerisme that if tweezers are needed, the nurse will bring them for him, or we can discuss that after he has some rings in his bag to confirm what his brain is telling him.

FatherHerisme asked me how he will know if there are other incidents where his brain might be playing tricks on him but he truly believes what is happening is real. I requested that he pick two people he trusts who are physically with him, ask them for confirmation, and then no matter what he sees or feels, he will need to trust them until he cannot. Once he cannot trust his two trusted people physically with him, he needs to call me and I will fly there to help him.

My brilliant, funny, difficult father is struggling and it is painful to witness. My heart hurts and it is so painful that my already giant eyes feel like they are going to pop out of my head from the pressure of not being able to cry. I can hear my heartbeat all of the time now.

When I was a little girl, FatherHerisme wanted me to write a book when I got older and title it, “My Pop was Carbonated.” He was trying to connect with me in his own ways, but I too was hiding in my protective bubble from the time I was born. We have the same eyes, but his are more blue than green now. While I have the odd old lady hairs popping up hither and thither, he can still grow one impressive Santa competitive beard!

FatherHerisme told me this year that his mother died on March 24th 1952. He has never spoken of her, other than she died when he was young. ZoeLorraine and her sweet baby puffin bear boy (and girls). I hope I am doing the right things. Or at least in these instances, leaning right things.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps. apologies for all of the things I am not measuring up on atm irl people and friends and family. I am pushing love out to you in absence of my follow-up on whatever I have missed. Or maybe I am too distracted by showing SonHerisme Between Two Ferns clips lol

Dia

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
Photo by Sagui Andrea on Pexels.com
(or listen here)

Dia de los muertos – Day of the dead is coming up next month according to my calendar. For many, their day of the dead is already here, or recently passed or imminent. Our collective grief at knowing much of the death might have been postponed with accessible resources until some other future old-aged kind of thing reached us, is shaking about palpable everywhere.

Oh – do you think I am referring to COVID? I suppose my sentiment applies to COVID as well. However, it’s domestic violence that’s on my mind this dia.

As you may have guessed, I have some thoughts…

The story of Gabby P is horrific. It is awful. As soon as she went “missing,” we knew she was dead. Every victim of domestic violence knew she was dead. All of us. We need to talk about domestic violence. Our willingness to push shame, passively or outright, on the victims, is killing us. We are sending mixed messages while ignoring the heart of the matter. Perhaps the police should have been better trained – but my goodness, they do not have the superpowers of reading the future and peeling back layers of narcissistic deceit. Perhaps Gabby should have phoned a hotline for help – but holy cow people, I doubt she was able to fully perceive her situation or predict these consequences (much less communicate her needs to a second or third party). Perhaps her online community should have seen through the cracks and offer support – but sweet beegeezus people, we were not able to save the person in our real life community from being a victim of domestic violence, much less recognize what is happening over the plastic programmed filters of perfection on the socials.

But, Herisme, I want to do something. So I will post a meme.

Memes are great at pounding home an image or message. I must admit, it is difficult for me to see your memes about how we should reach out, tell someone, know how many women are raped at what frequency in this country or around the world. It is hard.

It is hard because while you might be able to feel that something is not right with your relationship, you might not know you’re being abused. It sounds silly because to you it is obvious. He coerces and forces himself inside you – you are being abused. He controls all aspects of the finances and hides things from you – you are being abused. He belittles you, gaslights you, threatens you, threatens your child etc – you are being abused. What you see is that you: haven’t tried hard enough to do the right things, forgot to be compassionate towards his challenges, made your choices and must pull up your bootstraps and make the best of it, help him by role modeling love, etc. You are groomed to pull everything back into a space where it makes sense to gain some semblance of control. If it is somehow your fault, then you have a chance of correcting whatever it is in order to make things better. This takes away any recognition of what you know of as abuse because you are smart, intelligent, a problem solver, a doer, a thinker, a feeler, and in control of the solutions.

I know this does not only happen to cis women – but that is what I am and what I can speak to.

Maybe we can change the meme or conversations into speaking the truth about what it is to have been in a domestic violence situation. It is not all Hollywood sunglasses and smokey make-up to cover up a bruise. Sometimes it is forced penetration, sometimes it is you in the hospital after he’s slammed your head into the corner of the countertop, sometimes it is finding out he has cut off your access to the bank accounts, sometimes it is email/phone/socials tracking and using the information against you, sometimes it is accusing you of being crazy and threatening to have you lose your children and be locked up.

Instead of the, “why didn’t you reach out sooner so I could help?” or, “why didn’t you leave?” Maybe we could flip that to, “who is doing these things and how can we prevent them from doing them?” I think we need places to go and support resources for sure. I also think that those things are far too often not accessible, either due to our own feeling of disconnect from the idea that we are being abused, or fear of the fallout if you do reach out (loss of home/income/family/children etc).

I think we need honest, often and early conversation about how to recognize healthy and unhealthy relationships.

I think we need to use our voices of hindsight to lift up the next generations.

Will this eliminate abuse?

No.

I’m not that naive.

But, will it ground and save some people (in addition to support resources)? Yes, I believe it will.

Professional support to stop generational cultural normative abusive patterns, is critical. Dialogue and hearing about what people have learned and experienced, is critical. The situations I mention are either my own or someone I have an irl connection with. That is just me, one teeny tiny little glittering piece of sand on an endless beach, and I know so many more. I am sure that you do as well. If you say you do not, you have not opened a safe dialogue with enough of the people that you love and care about. Open it. I implore you to OPEN that box and talk about what we are doing to each other in our communities and how we can best support each other, and our sweet children for a healthier tomorrow.

To be silent does not work – it only enables more abuse.

To meme it up gets the word out there (important) but it is not enough.

To talk about it openly, honestly, and sit with the reality that we all know someone who has been abused, and hold space for that grief, recognition with a focus on health and safety, is vital.

My truth is that I know for sure both maternal and paternal grandmothers were abused, my maternal grandfather was abused, MotherHerisme and FatherHerisme were abused, SisterHerisme and BrotherHerisme were abused… as was I. I hope that the buck stops with me. Sadly SonHerisme has early abuse, one NieceHerisme was molested as a young tween, and other NieceHerisme had suspected physical abuse. My G-d. I never processed that truth until this moment. It is so ingrained into our culture … wth

*sigh* Carry on Cycle Breakers Carry on Peace Warriors

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

this was h e a v y so I will use the goings out into the natures as a balm this afternoon my teeth are numb

Thyme

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(Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)

Hello out there!

We had a few power outages over this past week. One of which lasted a little over 7 hours. All of the people and the pets are fine. The refrigerated food was not fine. After a huge grocery shop and cooking extravaganza, including a vat of potato salad, having to toss much of everything, except medications and fresh fruits/veg, my brain and my arms were sad. I actually thought I was getting ahead last week after the week-prior’s turmoils.

Oh? What happened the week prior? SonHerisme’s therapist facilitated phone call with his father. It really threw SonHerisme off this time. His sleep was disturbed, his schoolwork was disturbed, his usual patterns of relaxation and play were disturbed.

SonHerisme constantly amazes me with his strong soul and kind heart. He was generous and gentle with his father. He was articulate and patient with the therapist. But it did take a toll on my tiny sweet puffin giant newborn almost teenager bear man boy. He is fine. We are fine. Just a tiny derailment. He is the most and best and favorite person in the world to me with his super resilient super gentle soul.

I am the luckiest momma, because he just came that way. Like a super special order! In a way he was a special order. He is an IVF baby because I was aging and not getting pregnant.

At the time I did not know, or could not comprehend, MrexH was tracking my cycle for years, specifically so that I would not get pregnant. It’s so wacky to even know this truth today especially considering that I was very upfront that my reasons for formally partnering had everything to do with making a family. I wanted 3, 4, 5, 6 kids in a partnership with one parent primarily at home until everyone was in school. My openness about this topic has been well known since… at least high school, maybe longer (?). Not everyone I encountered was into talking about family planning at 16 lol. Some people want to be doctors, or get into an ivy league school. I have never really cared about what job I’ve had or what degree I earned, as long as it could get me a decent income in order to afford having a family. Note to self – this approach did not work out, so pivot next lifetime. For those irl who have said, “oh, but you have time, you never know!” Trust me, I am, not being an outlier Frenchwoman, well out of time (despite having my period atm), and I am not partnered in any sense of partnering.

I have been asked multiple times by different professionals about my marital sex life, and how I didn’t catch on to what what happening. I didn’t even know part of what was happening was marital rape, much less tracking of my cycles. bonus note: when you’re going through an intense divorce involving domestic violence and custody issues, all of your everything will be considered topical open discussions for everyone in every detail. This is of the awkwards y’all, even if you are a disassociator of the highest powers. Trust me, avoid it by not getting into an abusive relationship, ever never ever ever ever.

My job now is to get SonHerisme onto the most solid footing I can for his adulting times. I am trying y’all, I am. It seems like I need to break the passing on of generational traumas. I do not know how to do that, but I am working on it. I am running out of time, of course, but still trying. I do not have any plans after that. Throw something my way and I’ll see if it sticks.

Another thing to share (and far from tmi – no worries!), is my time issue. For my entire adulting time I have set my clocks to different times in different rooms, including the car. Not hipster cool different time zones, like it’s always Paris time in the shower and Japan time on the sofa. More like, exactly like – same time zone that I live in plus usually fast by 7 minutes, 13 minutes, 17 minutes or some other number requiring extra brain maths to get to the actual time.

Somehow I got sick of all of the time warping between rooms after multiple power outages and resets, that all of my clocks, including the car, are now set to real actual time. Good job, me. Time Warp (not) again! Poor SonHerisme has been asking me to do this ever since he could read a clock. He finally got his wish but made himself late to the soccering practice because he thought he still had 13 minutes to get to the car. Sweet silly bear.

Have you ever tried to rush to put on those sportsing compression soccer socks when your feet have been running and sweating in other socks all day and you’re in a super rush because your mom changed the clocks so you don’t even know what time it is and how late you’re going to be? That was an almost massive meltdown. I tried Eckhart Tolle-ing him up with, “let’s take a deep breath and act AS IF we have chosen to be late and accept the present as it is.” “MOM YOU CHANGED THE CLOCKS!” “I am living in this present moment as if I have chosen it with you.” “MOM, UGH-A!” Teenage time is upon us fuh reals.

I am keeping the clocks on real time. I need it now. One more step to something. The goat king still rules down the street, though. But I am hearing rumors of the excommunicated pig court planning on staging a coup to eliminate the goat king and goat court to insert their own king. The flock remains neutral as it is taking all of their energies to survive Mr. Fox’s advances and supply both courts with food and nutrient rich soil. Maybe they grow thyme down there and could spare some for me. I am already living on a large borrowed amount…

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

The Theater, The Theater!

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My empty theater… #carryonhealthwarriors so these people can get back to work please and thank you
(or listen here OR skip to the end and follow the link to listen to Brené Brown bc she delivers much more eloquently for sure!)

The theater, the theater! What’s happened to the theater? Especially where dancing’s concerned?

Chaps, who did taps, aren’t tapping anymore. They’re doing choreography.

Chicks, who did kicks, aren’t kicking anymore. They’re doing choreography.

Heps, who did steps, they would stop the show in days that used to be.

Through the air they keep flying, like a duck that is dying.

Instead of dance, it’s choreography.

By the late great Irving Berlin from his lovely movie, White Christmas, and performed by the lanky limber-limbed lively laughing Danny Kaye with seriously pony-tailed and eyelinered dancers (he too has a strong eyeliner game!).

Civil discourse, civil discourse! What happened to civil discourse? Especially where politics are concerned? (This is a great companion to the other song running through my head this past week plus… Sedition! Sedition! sung to the Tradition! song from Fiddler on the Roof. Anyone else tune-altering to get through the day? Anyone? Okay. It’s okay. I know… it’s just me *sigh*)

My perspective – civil discourse is a productive and necessary process for our democracy. We need to have varied opinions and perspectives with solid facts, figures, projections, philosophies and passions present and accounted for in a respectful and productive manner. My optimism leads me to believe that most of us are in agreement on this.

We are massively off track at the moment. Too many of us seem to have an unwavering expectation that when we reach out to engage in civil discourse it will be reciprocated. Sometimes it is not, it cannot be returned. When we lose holding people accountable, we lose our credibility and grounding. This is where we lose our democracy. We are arriving at the theater expecting the productive dance of civil discourse. There are many emboldened folks arriving at the theater to execute choreography, obliterating the dance altogether.

It is all theater, of course. But one with a lethal component (which I am, as you know, familiar with).

There is no reasoning or possibility of civil discourse with delusion, sociopathy, or sociopathy by association or programming. As long as we try to pretend that there are two sides to a conversation when one side is clearly showing up in a sociopathic way (check your trusted experts), we will suffer shock, disorientation and grief at the inhumane concessions we are expected or forced to make at their insistence. There are not two sides in this scenario. Promoting inhumanity is what it is – no both-sides-isms.

If you are entering civil discourse with others of different philosophies, opinions, passions etc, there are many many sides of the conversation because you are all entering the political theater with intentions of civil discourse with each other.

There is no civil discourse with sociopaths, with narcissists, with abusers. Only very firm and clearly defined healthy boundaries with very firm and clearly defined healthy consequences.

It’s hard, I know, unless you have had the unfortunate experience to have been in a relationship with someone or even an institution built on abuse. Even in the situation you feel as if you are crazy (which is the point of being abusive btw so that you will fearfully concede and be abused).

There are signs. There are always signs.

(blah blah blah every single town has an, “oh wow! I had NO idea there was abuse happening in that home!” story. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.)

Abusers systematically break down healthy boundaries until you have difficulty reconciling that what they do is hurtful and wrong. They cannot be reasoned with. Unless you are a very skilled and intensive professional with a willing-to-reform abuser, you cannot change them with any of your words, skills, compromise.

Engaging with abusive sociopaths (and those succumbing to their inhumane base as a result of association with a sociopath) to try and reach a compromise is futile and damaging.

There must be consequences, there must be accountability, even if they are the consequences of redefining and expanding our own personal boundaries as we define what accountability means for us (in a healthy and respectful manner).

My heart and soul aches for those who are experiencing the absolute devastation of just now knowing how much is out of your control and how precarious real protection is. Co-workers, family, friends, neighbors cannot protect you and sometimes, even without the ability to recognize it, they will put you directly in harm’s way. The police, the court, security, etc have rules and personal biases which guide them and sometimes put you directly in harm’s way too.

It is hard. It is disorienting. It is not funny, I know. But it is supremely ridiculous.

Apologies from an abuser are hollow at best unless they make great efforts at correction (which rarely if ever happens, also this link is an excellent article from Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg). This is why boundaries, accountability and consequences are so very important – your boundaries, your defined consequences without any expectation from the abuser. Engaging in dehumanizing the abuser is also counterproductive. Lack of consequences for dehumanizing people enough to abuse them is what led us here – avoid it yourself. Zero engagement other than boundaries and accountability.

Entering into some choreographed theater with people who, in any capacity, helped foment the circumstances which led to last week’s scenes at our Capitol building, is futile and harmful to building unity. These fomentors at all levels of society, bear total responsibility for the fear gripping us now. They failed when their country, when we, needed them most. Their failures will never be forgotten. We will persevere and move on with the doing of the things and living of the lives, once we have established our firm boundaries and accountability for all, but this… this knowledge of experience, will never leave us. (paraphrased from Cincinnatian, former politician, and writer, David Pepper)

It is time to let those people go from our feeble futile attempts at reaching out across the schism of humane vs inhumane approach to life as though some reasonable discourse can occur. Treat them with humane regard, everyone deserves that consideration. Then, let them be accountable in whatever way our boundaries allow, so that the rest of us can unite, adult up, get the shit cleaned out, and run forward with engaged civil discourse and a functioning democracy.

Thank you for coming to my TEDious talk today 😉 You’re the best!

*free form tap dances off the stage* *also, not wearing a top hat but yes to the patterned tights*

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

“As in theater, the eyes of men, after a well-graced actor leaves the stage, are idly bent on him who enters next.” William Shakespeare Richard III (1595) act 5, sc. 2, 1.23

also, I wrote this yesterday and today listened to Brené Brown, so I am adding this link bc HOLY CRAPtastic y’all she is a consummate professional and says all this much better than I do and with receipts instead of links to White Christmas and a voicebox that works! She’s the package, people. She is THE package. *bows down*

Long Black Branches

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the Potomac
(or listen here)

Here is what I need and perhaps you need it as well:

Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives —
tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, hanging
from the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, feel like?

Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you?

Never to enter the sea and notice how the water divides
with perfect courtesy, to let you in!
Never to lie down on the grass, as though you were the grass!
Never to leap to the air as you open your wings over the dark acorn of your heart!

No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint
that something is missing from your life!

Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch?
Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot
in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself
continually?
Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed
with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone?

Well, there is time left —
fields everywhere invite you into them.

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away
from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk!

To put one’s foot into the door of the grass, which is
the mystery, which is death as well as life, and
not be afraid!

To set one’s foot in the door of death, and be overcome
with amazement!

To sit down in front of the weeds, and imagine
god the ten-fingered, sailing out of his house of straw,
nodding this way and that way, to the flowers of the
present hour,
to the song falling out of the mockingbird’s pink mouth,
to the tippets of the honeysuckle, that have opened

in the night

To sit down, like a weed among weeds, and rustle in the wind!

Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

While the soul, after all, is only a window,

and the opening of the window no more difficult
than the wakening from a little sleep.

Only last week I went out among the thorns and said
to the wild roses:
deny me not,
but suffer my devotion.
Then, all afternoon, I sat among them. Maybe

I even heard a curl or tow of music, damp and rouge red,
hurrying from their stubby buds, from their delicate watery bodies.

For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,
caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!

A woman standing in the weeds.
A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what’s coming next
is coming with its own heave and grace.

Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things,
upon the immutable.
What more could one ask?

And I would touch the faces of the daises,
and I would bow down
to think about it.

That was then, which hasn’t ended yet.

Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light,
I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the ocean’s edge.

I climb, I backtrack.
I float.
I ramble my way home.

Poem by Mary Oliver From West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems

A poem, Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches, by Mary Oliver read by me for you which is my way of reaching out and giving you all a post-COVID hug with maskless wild abandon! (except for K who wishes to receive this as a cup of hot tea *wink* which will be shared with M who brings all of the Emma Bridgewater à la table!)

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps. Well

If our government officials who can make a difference today, choose to not make a swift decisive hard boundary difference today, I’m afraid that we are in for even worse over the next 10 days. The time of separation is the most lethal when leaving an abuser. If this is too obtuse for you – our president is a narcissistic abusive criminal and voting him out of office has made us vulnerable on a lethality scale used to measure the likelihood lethal harm will come to spouses/partners/children in abusive situations. I don’t want to know this, but I do and now you do too. You’re welcome!

Also, the COVID variants which are anti-body resistant have a faster spread including through children. *sigh* Wear a damn mask fuck all please. Assume you have COVID and everyone you are breathing the same air space with is going to die when you breathe masklessly with them. Get your damned shit together and stop being a virus spewer. (not intended for you bc I know that you are wearing a mask – I am yelling into the ether of lost people devoted to inhumane thoughts and actions then couching it in dramatically swishing righteous cloaks of Jesus and conspiracy wack-a-do as moral superiority).

I digress because my emotions and brainiac are what they are… koyc (kiss on your cheek, post covid natch)

Letter to Government Representatives

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

(or listen here and catch my mother & niece yell conversationing
with each other through facetime on the OTHER SIDE of my house with doors shut wth)

Feel free to copy/edit my letter for your use.

Go to The United States House of Representatives to easily search and contact your representatives.

I modified it a bit and also sent it to my state Governor whom I frequently disagree with but have much respect for. He might think that I think that we are besties now because I have been frequently writing to him over this past year. Maybe we are secret bff’s and will enjoy a post-COVID post-sedition scotch on the porch whilst watching dusk settle over the Potomac… I mean, anything is fucking possible at this point, right? Maybe Greg Davies will join us (for you, Liz!).

Also, just say, “NO!” to treason and murder please and thank you.

Letter:

Dear (person who represents me at the Federal Government level),

            I am writing to request that you do your duty as an elected public official for our country by officially and publicly denouncing the actions, words and role by current President Trump by impeaching him, immediately removing him from office, and once out of office, formally charging him with the applicable criminal laws immediately.

            In addition, I am requesting that you continue with your duties as an elected public official by impeaching and criminally charging all members of Congress and support staff who aided and abetted President Trump’s treasonous actions, through their actions, words, or supportive roles.

“No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of Congress to support the Constitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same.” 14th Amendment, US Constitution

With President Trump and his entire staff leading the charge, these Representatives have

  1. Incited deadly insurrection at our Capitol
  2. Exhibited erratic terrifying behaviors
  3. Caused multiple deaths and harm to people and property
  4. Have lied repeatedly about the election, inciting violence

This is clearly and plainly seditious and treasonous behavior.

I do not envy your position and I applaud your courage in standing for truth and appropriate justice for the essence of our democracy.  This is not a short-term problem.  However, the initial steps to ensuring that we come together as a country is that we speak and honor the truth with very clear boundaries which have full and immediate consequences (divorce from abusers 101). 

I know that you can do hard things.  I know that you can do this.  We are all counting on you.  I believe in you and so does my 12 year-old and all of his classmates who are watching and waiting to see who the helpers really are and how they step up to these unprecedented challenges.

Sincerely, Ms. Herisme and SonHerisme who is 12

*******There are run-ons, grammatical errors and such- I am aware. Take it and make it better and send it to your representative too******* (two, three, four, who can knock it out the door? YOU can!)

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Trust Exercise

/ herismeorg / 3 Comments
(I grabbed these meme from a retweet source unknown)
(or listen here – my voice is waverly todayverly)

Remember in that awesome cinematic wonderment sensation Frozen (copyright Disney trademark Disney forever Disney pretty pink perfect plastic Disneyverse etched permanently into my brainaic Disney) movie where Ana or Anna or braid girl with dirndle says, “that was like a crazy trust exercise!” ?

*sigh*

This post is not about that at all.

In real life I have been telling the people that not only does that man pictured above, use phrases and odd speech similarly to MrexH, but his bodily movements and gestures are similar as well.

I see that it is hard to accept when you have been programmed with targeted gaslighting and abuse.

I know that it is so very disorienting to grasp that someone could be so abhorrent, inhumane and charismatic.

Know this: trusted experts are telling the truth.

How do you know that you are listening to a trusted expert?

  1. They are a recognized expert in their field by a group of their peers
  2. They are making humane decisions
  3. They are honest and appropriate when sharing uncomfortable unpopular information
  4. They conduct themselves in an ethical manner especially in regards to their expertise
  5. Someone you personally know with these characteristics is telling you that this is a trusted expert

Like many of you, I have lived through this kind of relationship in my personal life. As a nation, we are living it now. And while we appear to have enough people rallying to disengage from this particular elected abusive public servant by electing non-abusive public servants, we still have a massive problem. There are still too many of us that are so deep into being abused, gaslit, disoriented, abusive ourselves believing we benefit from aligning with other abusers, that rallying against the abuse is a tiny step – an important and critical one, but still teeny tiny compared to the work which needs to be done for our country, state, city, community.

Who is responsible for this work? I am.

(personal anecdote below or skip to very brief *comments regarding yesterday’s news below)

At first, I could not comprehend why a police officer was asking me if I would be willing to speak with someone at our local domestic violence shelter if he phoned them and handed me his phone. I was in my garage with my 5 year old son locked in our car, per 911 operator instruction, until the officers arrived to give me further instruction. At the advice of my credit card company, I had phoned 911. The credit card company representative said it was a standard question to ask if 911 had been called when a customer phones in the middle of the night to ask if their spouse had cut them off from using the credit card they desperately needed in order to leave the house to a safe space because their spouse was behaving increasingly aggressive with them and their son and they were afraid of him. If the credit card representative had not suggested I phone 911, I would have never known that officers were already on their way because MrexH had already phoned them saying I had kidnapped our son and was mentally unstable. btw – You cannot kidnap your own child (unless there is some court order you are violating in which case you are violating court orders, still not kidnapping) which was clue #1 to the police that something was very not right. And then the story of what happens next, happens…

Fast forward to a conversation with my attorney. I could not comprehend what she was saying about filing for divorce, about domestic violence, about the state law regarding children, marital assets, witnesses, discovery documents etc. I found this attorney through a friend whom I trusted my child to be with in a safe place while I tried to figure out my next scary steps after the 911 calls. When I phoned her from the parking lot of the secretly located domestic violence shelter to beg her to help me find help for MrexH who was obviously in crisis, her response was, “I hear what you are saying about (MrexH) and I see where you are in your thinking. Here is what you need to do right now and then come to my house to pick up (SonHerisme) after you make an appointment.” She then proceeded to give me the name and telephone number of the woman who became my family law attorney from April 2014 until May 2020 (my last billing cycle from her). That’s right, it took me six years with a professional expert highly experienced and very well regarded family law attorney to feel legally safe enough to say, “thank you, I’ve got this unless we’re back in court.” That is a HUGE amount of money. She took her family to Paris a few summers ago. You’re welcome, international economic support.

During one of our conversations at the beginning of this whole process, I was continuing to question everything happening because I could not discern reality (hells to the bells, I still have occasional difficulties with that today), or truly understand that MrexH was not the person I essentially fabricated based on his gaslighting abuse, somewhat influenced by his pervasive mental illnesses. Many of my questions to my attorney elicited the responses, “Are you still seeing a therapist? Remind me who you’re seeing. Oh yes, she is wonderful. When is your next appointment? When was the last time you checked in with (domestic violence shelter)?” She knew that I had no ability to understand my situation, requiring professional support on a far different scale than hers in order to get through the very real, very legal, very potentially lethal processes I was facing. My family had no experience with this, I could not rely on them for guidance. Oftentimes potentially well meaning friends and family would offer up completely harmful misinformation and I took it as truth not quite understanding that they did not have solid trusted expert information themselves.

Despite my multitude of shortcomings(some of which were affecting legal issues), my attorney was determined to do her job. Not very long into our professional relationship, she called me into her office and took me to the conference room. This is not a good sign, just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. Gird yourself if you’re summoned to the office conference room, or the little conference rooms at the courthouse. Actually, gird yourself for all of it if you are going through a difficult divorce, especially those with looming lethal components. After we sat down, she asked me, “do you trust me?” I must have looked utterly confused because she followed up with, “do you trust me to make the best legal decisions for you and to represent your best interests to the court?” I know that I still did not answer because she added, “It is okay for you to say that you do not trust me. I need to know where you stand on this in order for me to proceed. Do you trust me?” In that split moment of clarity I realized that I no understanding of the process of what was happening at all. This woman had years of experience and expertise so presumably did have clarity and understanding of my situation. She had seen dozens if not hundreds of me’s over her professional career. She had been the advising attorney and held a seat on the board for our local domestic violence nonprofit. She had been recommended to me by a dear friend whom I trusted with my child during a precariously dangerous time. I might not understand or agree with what she was saying, but did I trust her? Yes. Yes, I wholly and completely trusted her and told her just that.

At that time, I was unable to comprehend or acknowledge that I was in an abusive relationship – but I was frightened enough to instinctively seek help based on the guidance and support of people I did trust. The credit card person led to the police led to the domestic violence shelter led to my friend watching my child led to our phone call which led to the attorney that then eventually led to us all being divorced, healthy and alive today.

*Listen to the trusted professionals. Allow space for others who can reach that point to listen as well. Set firm boundaries and consequences to know your relationship with those who will test your commitment to healthy truth. I believe as a nation we need to do this as well. I am sorry that we all have to go through this, but in order to be healthy and alive as a country, each of us committing to going through the yuck is the only way.

Good luck us

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps. this post was written early on January 6th, before the attempted coup on our democracy by white supremacists emboldened by and under direct orders from our president. Disgustingly predictable. The most lethal time in an abusive relationship is when the victim draw boundaries. Fellow Americans, we have drawn our boundaries rightfully and appropriately with our votes and commitment to calling out truth. We must now wholly support our representatives to administer the consequences for those abusers violating those boundaries.

What I explained to my vulnerable Mr12, SonHerisme is to focus on his personal boundaries and understanding of humane based rights and wrongs. Support and listen to trusted expert helpers. Embrace civil discourse and philosophical discussions with those having a fundamental humane moral compass. The others, those who incite/commit atrocities, deserve only to know your absolute boundaries, the consequences of their inhumane actions, basic humane consideration, and nothing else from you. I then provided SonHerisme with concrete examples from our real life. Adulting is hard. Parenting is hard. Drawing boundaries with abusers is so very terrifying and hard. We can do hard things, and on days that we cannot, there are helpers who will pick up the slack and even pick us up as needed so that we can all #carryonpeacewarriors.

Lanterns

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Or Listen Here)

I cannot tell you how we moved. I had rather not remember. I believe my “effects” were brought in a bandbox, and the “deathless me,” on foot, not many moments after. I took at the time a memorandum of my several senses, and also of my hat and coat, and my best shoes – but it was lost in the mêlée, and I am out with lanterns, looking for myself. Emily Dickinson letters

As we move out of this Gregorian calendar year 2020 and into Gregorian calendar year 2021 (shout out Pope Gregory XIII matching the Easter celebrations with Spring equinox!), it seems as though we will all need our very best lanterns to find each other, to find ourselves and our paths wherever they may lead. Many of us have lost precious people, precious things, income, health insurance, our own world order where we defined ourselves, and more to 2020.

At this time last year, the meme was “How do I know what to expect next year, I don’t have 2020 vision.” Damn, that seems like a dark foreshadowing omen now. Not the wicked cool Gaiman/Tennant/Sheen Good Omens kind of omen, more the creepy fucked up serial killer psychotic orange clown kind of omen that nobody wants. Now we’re all going to be, “hindsight is 2020 yo!” (apparently we are all beast boy now)

The vaccine is coming of course, but it will be some time before it reaches most of us (myself included). This is right and proper, for me, since I am okay to stay at home for the time being. Vaccines should be going out to front line COVID medical workers, all other healthcare workers, grocery/gas station/essential living workers, teachers and school staff, vulnerable populations (including children), then finally people such as myself. Currently there is not a vaccine for children at all. There are recent medical reports that question what we have been thinking about children, schools, and covid. DUH seriously every single bacteria/virus spreads like wildfire through childcare/school institutions. 1 kid has lice/pinworms/ringworm/flu/cold/bronchitis/etc = everyone gets lice/pinworms/ringworm/flu/cold/bronchitis/etc in every family with even little to remote contact with that child. WTF were we thinking that somehow this particular virus was just going to skip that ripe environment. The ol’ HH (human hubris) strikes again!

In the meantime, we are all mentally exhausted. We have reached a space where the realness is hitting very hard and direct. Even those entrenched in the conspiracy world can no longer deny the effects of COVID-19 whether they “believe” in the existence of the virus or “believe” in mask wearing/social distancing or “believe” in a vaccine – the world has changed for everyone. Far too many of us have allowed too much space for persistent lack of empathy. We are literally killing ourselves for a truly fucked ideology which says it is a noble individual’s right to purposefully inflict defined potential lethal harm on others in the name of personal freedom!

This is taking a serious toll on our mental health. Those of us who have experienced relationship with narcissistic abusers have already gone through the excuses, denial, numbness, shock, grief cycles innumerable times. We have coping strategies, not all of them healthy of course, but we have them. Again, this ain’t our first yo-yo through the crazy rodeo.

As we see everyone else moving through these same emotions with us, we are in pain. We are all in pain. This is a deep collective grief.

Those unhealthy coping strategies are cropping up as the pain is too great. We may choose not to remember anything from this year or how we landed where we are in this lifetime. I can feel the mental distress rising and I am sure that you can too, if you are able to feel anything beyond grief at this moment. This is where the rest of us, despite having lost our navigation as well, grab our lanterns (as we can and when we can) and go out into this deep darkness to look not only for ourselves but for you as well. Even if only through prayers, ringing bells, texts, memes, delivering cookies and meals, fixing coffee for a peaceful moment, lighting candles, burning sage into a New Year’s Fire, opening doors letting the old ways pass and the new ways in – we are out there with each other trying our very best.

I am not sure that I can light your lantern for you – most likely that is an unhealthy fool’s errand and I cannot. But know that I am trying very hard to light my own and will gladly share it with you.

Healthier 2021 Wishes to you all

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

#carryonpeacewarrior #carryonhealthwarrior but whatever you do, please do #carryon or let someone else carry you for a bit by phoning one of these Mental Health Hotlines:

Mental Health America and National Suicide Prevention Hotline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

Noetic Noel

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment

Read below or listen here:

Circular talking power philosophers know stuff that we mortals can only digest in bite sized banal platitudes.  This is my way of saying, “I am not a philosopher and only dabble in grabbing potentially resonating pithy wordsies, so STOP JUDGING ME when I make inevitable errors in interpretation of which you, of course, will know infinitely more than I.”

Am I jealous of super clever philosophers?  Yes.  Yes, I am.  shhhhh wraskely wrabbit

I am most definitely a dreamer with an overactive imagination which sounds like I could be drawn to understanding and engaging in adept philosophical convo… sadly, no.  Or perhaps, lucky for all of us, still nope.

Despite the above, I am drawn to this Noetic Noel season where it seems we are all brought together by knowledge we’d rather not have. 

We’d rather not know hundreds of thousands of people have/are dying from COVID-19, or know another hundreds of thousands of people infected, some with long-term consequences, due to our collective disregard for basic science and humanity.

We’d rather not know what it is like to be governed by abusive, misogynistic, gaslighting, treasonous, criminal narcissists.

We’d rather not know what it feels like to see friends lose income and worry about their mortgages, rent, food, electricity, water, schooling etc.

We’d rather not know that a significant number of our neighbors continue to be in the initial spiral of textbook victims of abuse: denying its very existence, lashing out at helpers despite vast evidence that their own suffering is brought on by the abusers. (The awful bit of autonoetic consciousness, I suppose – cue philosophers for correction on this)

We’d rather not know how awfully deeply painfully lonely and despondent this holiday season feels while we muster whatever cozy happy Christmas we can find for our sweet only child who is feeling the pangs of isolation from his buddies too – and at the same time immensely grateful that we are so far healthy, so far still able to get our mortgage and bills paid, so far still plugging away with the everyday to feel grateful for the things we are dumb lucky to experience in this life (oh, wait, that might be just me). 

thought break side note:  It JUST started snowing a beautifully magic lovely gentle lush snow outside which is predicted to transform into a full-on winter storm of inches and feet later!  I love weather – all weather.  I love that it changes and makes up something different as the seasons change, or the day, or even the hour.  Weather is pretty amazing when you have the stupid lucky privilege of enjoying it in a safe way. 

Sending warmth and safety wishes out to all and I’ll pack up donations again today to deliver tomorrow when I can safely leave my crazy steep mountainside driveway in humble acknowledgement. 

But, of course, now I cannot wax on about our collective painful Noetic Noel because the snow has enchanted me.  Tea break and then I’ll be back. Stash brand Licorice Tisane. FYI, I am American, therefore I soak the hell out of the bag before plopping the soppy thing out and into the trash.  You’re welcome for that visual!  Oh, but yummmmm soothing hot liquid (not of the G-ds, though – that distinction is only for smooth silky so dark I will take over your life coffee).  Unless I am out and order a chai, I take all of my tea straight up (no milk, no sugar), altering the bag soak depending on the tea with black tea soaking the least amount of time.  It is possible that on certain days I drink vats of tea.  My kettle is a trooper to put up with me knocking that “on” button over and over and over throughout the day. 

And now you know something about me irl other than my wandering brainiac and bumpy history. Huzzah!

aaaaand back to Noetic Noel…

We do have some peek into hope here with the upcoming presidential change.  Of course even that is tainted as the gaslighting abusers continue their rhetoric and intimidation tactics, stirring up those who are already prone to doing their dirty work. 

Nothing mentioned here is difficult for some of us to understand (too many, really).  Many of us predicted all of this with uncanny accuracy since this is not our first time at the gaslighting abusive narcissistic mental illness yo-yo rodeo.  It is quite painful for us to watch you all experience this too.  We would not wish this mindfuck on our worst enemy. 

Unfortunately, recovery is painful as well.  I have not worn my wedding ring since June 2014 and still occasionally feel phantom weight from it and reach to twist it around.  It is like a gut punch when that happens.  Sometimes I think about taking it out of its storage box and putting it on just to try and distinguish the real weight of it from the phantom weight.  Like maybe that will break the spell of my own disturbing grief/recovery/whatever cycle.  I haven’t done that… yet.  I am not sure if I ever will.  But, I do think about it. As I also think about when my inevitable nervous breakdown is coming. Perhaps it is always bubbling out in bits and I cannot see it – I have no idea really. Tra-la

All of this has me thinking about how very connected we are in this space of abuse exposure compounded with isolation.  I do not subscribe to conspiracy that somehow places blame on our current leadership for the creation of COVID-19, but I wholeheartedly blame them for our current condition/isolation/economic and emotional strains.  Making it not unlike textbook abusers who use gaslighting and isolation to keep victims victim-y.

I am sorry that now we all have this personal experiential knowledge about abuse.

This is hard stuff.

New leadership will help but is not the answer to us moving forward.  If we look there, we will be disappointed and angry with them because they cannot be held responsible for anything other than a helper role. 

I feel that we are our own answer to moving forward. Embracing the knowledge of our situation, our roles with their privileges and limitations, and then using that knowledge as we move through our feelings, I think is the only way to reach our own versions of forward. 

I know it is hard. 

I know we will all feel that soul breaking whole body aching painful loneliness. 

We will all desperately want the comfort of the memory of how we thought our trusted neighbors had our backs with the most humane basics, not realizing that they too were being set up as victims of abuse who’s refusal to recognize it results in them lashing out at others in most inhumane ways. 

We will all feel the phantom weight of the ring and feel for it on our finger before we simultaneously feel it is missing like a hole punched in our hearts and remember what it really represented in our lives. 

We might feel the need to try that ring of abuse back on again and again until we can distinguish it from phantom comfort.

We might live the rest of our lives never knowing what healthy external comfort feels like.

It is a Noetic Noel fuh reals y’all and I am here with you in the thick of the emotions and hard knowledge of needing to recognize the abuses in order to set them down and move forward.

It is lonely out here. 

Hug those you can (even virtually).  Receive what you can.  Give what you can.  All things when and if you can.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Gentle reminder that I am not a mental health professional by anyone’s standards. I am a mommy, daughter, auntie, friend, cousin, neighbor, survivor, dreamer, writer, librarian, reader, shower-singer, giggler, nature enthusiast, cooker of foods, lead gillie, and (first time I am ever saying this) ex-wife. Please do reach out to a mental health professional for support, and linger here for simple-minded musings of a wild haired noetically challenged lady loon.

Behold(er)!

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

(ps already – this quote is not sent as a demand for you to find joy in service, it is sent as an idea that if you are called to find joy, you might find it in service)

Moving away from the politics of American elections and into the politics of everyday relationships.

I just cannot yet.

We all know that this 2020 general election in the USA was not about politics between conservative and liberal democratic parties.

Our election was about choosing to embrace or reject an ideology which bases all actions and decisions on the premise that many groups of people are unworthy of consideration or being treated humanely, in order that the select premium group of people can elevate themselves and thrive.

We continue to be mired in the blatant fascist hypocrisy which has risen in a terrifying way: whose putrid messages continue to be spewed and elevated by neighbors in our communities, cities, counties and at the highest levels of leadership across our country.

This is vile and should be called out at every opportunity.

If you have not taken a firm stand against the current president and his sycophants, then you are enabling the continued death of thousands of your neighbors and encouraging the blatant disregard of democracy and humanity (for yourself as well, btw).

You may leave now and do some serious self examination along with a total destructive gaslighting media detox.

I’ll be here for you when you find your mea culpa.

In the meantime, I’ll keep fighting for all of our rights as humans (yours too). #carryonpeacewarriors #carryondemocracywarriors

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo