So.
Real talk.
I had a recent situation that eroded my rights.
I’m addressing it through legal channels.
No — I don’t want to talk about it yet.
Between trying to finish my first term in my master’s program
and everything happening in this country,
I broke my sobriety.
I’m not happy about this.
But I’m also realistic:
the human psyche can only take so much.
I was white-knuckling it just to reach the end of the term.
When I finally crossed that line, I collapsed.
Hard.
I let myself sink into nostalgia —
watched the final season of Stranger Things.
I ate junk food.
I numbed.
I breathed.
And curled inward.
And slowly, day by day,
I felt myself slipping further away.
I dissociated. Deeply.
Losing pieces of myself in small, quiet increments.
How in the fuck do I expect to help others like this?
Fear took over.
The very real fear of further state action against me
had me pinning my drapes shut,
making myself small,
trying to disappear.
No daylight in my house.
No sunshine on my skin.
I stopped riding my bike —
part depression,
part terror at being seen.
Down the hole I went.
My creativity stalled.
My energy drained.
My focus evaporated.
And I was terrified my trajectory had only one direction left:
down.
So I did whatever I could
to avoid thinking.
Because thinking right now
hurts like hell.
I tried to come back.
Again and again.
And failed.
Each time scrambling back
to the so-called safety of numbness.
Until the day I watched a mother be murdered
by people masquerading as authority.
Masked thugs.
Fragile egos.
Guns.
Our streets.
Renee’s crimes?
Not submitting to fear.
Not complying with unlawful commands.
Trying to remove herself from danger.
Being kind.
Being calm.
Her condemnation was immediate.
Her character assassinated without hesitation.
Her killer?
A hero.
“Self-defense.”
This administration lies to our faces daily.
I’ve been sick to my stomach since that piece of shit “won”
— read: rigged —
the election.
I’m a veteran.
I was young and naïve when I served in OIF.
Escaping an abusive marriage.
Living in a red state.
I didn’t understand the machinery behind the war.
I fell for the emotional avalanche of 9/11.
I thought I was serving my country.
I was serving the rich.
I’m educated —
and I was still fooled.
I’ve watched the dystopian films.
Read the books.
Feared this outcome.
But I don’t think I truly grasped
how fast it could happen.
I think of everyone already dead
because of this criminal administration.
Of the families who will carry that loss
every day,
forever.
I lost my brothers.
I lost my father.
Those losses nearly broke me —
and they were natural deaths.
I cannot comprehend the weight
of losing someone
to violence sanctioned by your own government.
My heart breaks for Becca.
For their children.
For their community showing up —
huge, blue, defiant waves —
despite the danger.
Every. Single. Day.
I don’t have the answers.
But I’m awake again.
I’m sober again.
And I refuse to look away.
When it becomes unbearable,
I allow myself relief —
not comfort.
I’m rewatching The Hunger Games saga now.
No nostalgia.
Just the chilling realization
that what once felt speculative
now feels uncomfortably familiar.
It’s wild how quickly
a madman at the wheel
can warp reality.
This is not okay.
I am not okay.
But I am not giving up.
And I am not giving in.
And neither should you.
We can’t.
There is the other side of this —
and we have to fight like hell
to reach it.
— Liora
That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.
— Renee Nicole Good
#SayHerName
This piece is accompanied by a witness poem, Say Her Name, written for Renee Good:
Thanks for reading this reflection. If something here resonated:
– Buy me a coffee — fuels the late nights.
– Feed the kitties — meals for the colony + Whiskers in the Dark mini-zine.
– Grab my chapbook — Through the Fire, Vol. I, the poetry that started it all.
Paid members get the deeper dives: full context, sources, and actionable steps.
Lost in the fire? Head to the Home Page