Two weeks ago, my Dad relapsed and died. I’ve been sulking and I haven’t wanted to talk about it. I can’t be fucked to explain and dislike the pity in peoples eyes when I try. My life seems to be in a different reality to most people, a war. On the other hand, I want to be open because others being candid about these things helped me so much.
So this is for the child carers and child criminals who grew up in poverty. Those ones that made it out but haven’t found an island yet. This is also for the ones that didn’t make it, like my dad who lives with the addict and alcoholic ancestors. And the ones who died in custody or homeless.
I lost three dads now to addiction in various ways. My grandad, my step dad, my biological dad. I feel ok about it. I’ve let it break my heart. I know things not many people know. I used to see myself as always on the back foot. But it doesn’t make sense to put myself at the center of this. It’s just happening all around me.
I’ve learned transmutation. That’s my gift. For everything I went though. I know how to turn shit into gold. I’m a diamond. What does it feel like to be this strong? I’ll tell you. It’s like watching everything else around you crumble to dust.
The people I loved. The places I lived. Everything I owned.
My family is continually criminalised, humiliated and punished. Groomed into low paid controlling suffocating jobs and work conditions, with no opportunity or break socially or spiritually. Doing work that society relies on but condemns. Watching your kids with a constant cold sore and cough. Even if you get out the people who worked for your happiness don’t.
I wish becoming a diamond was not such an individual process. My life wasn’t an individual process. It was made up of people who despite being very floored, taught me to blag, fight and dance. People who gave me care, And of neighbours, dealers and slumlords who worked for my freedom. And of siblings, who are less able to hide their class, and weren’t welcome where I was.