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they gave me drugs to ease the pain

[my accident this past weekend]

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
but they don’t even know my name…

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
but no dreams to go to sleep,

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
but not a tissue when i weep,

and now i sit here here really drained,
just trying to make it through the week,

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
but no dreams to go to sleep,

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
but they told me not share,

they put the bottle in my name
& made sure they kept it there,

so that they have someone to blame,
when all they do is stop and stare,

they gave HER drugs cuz she’s “insane”
but nobody thinks it’s fair,

that i have all of this pain,
& that she’s barely even there,

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
cuz nobody really cares,

the memory of it remains,
i’m hiding it under despair,

I’m tired of playing little games,
with silly chance and sticky air,

they gave me drugs to ease the pain,
but didn’t tell me why it’s there.

it helps me numb the pain away,
but adds nothing to my worth,

the rivers pulling me astray,
and I’m just trying to quench my thirst,

they say to take them everyday,
my views have changed about this earth,

cuz they gave me drugs to ease the pain…
but they STILL, don’t know what hurts…

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Dear Professor: Reflections of a Radical

A day before this assignment was due, my teacher personally told me to be completely honest with my essay.
I don’t think he realized what he was getting himself into.

  • Tell us what you enjoyed about the class and what information you found interesting.
  • How did you feel writing the first journal?
  • Please reflect on: J.K. Rowling commencement speech at Harvard.
  • Share with us the life you always dreamed of living?

Vanessa Renee Ramos
March 13, 2013

Final Summary

        This class was very enjoyable and refreshing because the structure of the class was different than what I’m usually used to. I felt like this class was less focused on the institutional gratification of the memorization of facts and final exams and more focused on whether or not students got valuable information for their everyday lives. This is very similar to the Health and Wellness Program’s attitude of not teaching abstinence or unrealistic goals, but rather things that are actually applicable for a person’s experiences. I may not know all the specific scientific terms for the processes that take place during synergism but I definitely know the risks in mixing certain drugs together, dangerous signs to look for, and the history behind why drugs hold certain places in society today. I definitely think more classes should take this approach to learning because memorizing useless information to achieve numerical measures of success rather than actually feeling confident enough to use this knowledge in everyday life, makes me less and less confident in the factory designed system called “public education”. In my opinion this class did very well in achieving its goals to give practical and accessible information for college life but I did notice a few things that I was not necessarily pleased about. I would like to note the sense patriarchy present during the main structure of the class. Patriarchy is a loaded word, but I’m not quite sure how else to put my discomfort in simpler terms. I would suggest all facilitators of this course take advantage of the Safe Zone trainings offered by the Resource Center of Sexual and Gender Diversity and Queer Commission. I usually always felt interested and engaged in this class but was easily disappointed in the lack of inclusivity and awareness normalized in such an institutional space. Every time any example of any nature was brought up, especially in situations regarding the discussion of status or research, women were virtually never included. Every single time any type of professional (doctor, pharmacist, professor) was brought up in discussion with the class, the professional is most certainly always referred to as a “he” or “him”. The entire class gets addressed as “guys” repeatedly, rather than “everyone” or “you all” and every time the teaching assistants gave a presentation they were always referred to as “guys”. Female identified teaching assistants may or may not even care, but it bothers me because the unequal representation and recognition of professional status based on gender, is socially, academically, politically, and culturally apparent in my everyday life, so when I see another woman giving a presentation with a group of men I would like to see her presence acknowledged when I am asked to “give these guys a hand”. The fact that some people think I’m “dramatic” for speaking out on these things doesn’t even bother me anymore because I truly understand it is so much easier to say that I’m “over-reacting” than to collectively or individually admit the everyday actions and language deemed “normal” by our society are actually apart of reinforcing micro systems of oppression and inequality. The feelings and observations of the invisible social systems present in this class coincide with my feelings in writing my first journal. Feelings of being misunderstood and over- analyzed arise whenever I explain my thoughts on society, my drug usage, and my intersectional position in a post- colonial, hierarchical, capitalist society. Every single time I am asked to write about my life or anything I do, my analysis of institutional and systematic social forces of inequality is inevitable. I honestly wish I can write an essay about my life without feeling compelled to express my discomfort in the institutional organization of the settings I’m surrounded in. I wish every time I performed in front of a group of strangers I could just talk about something easy going and funny, but society slams its fists against my door every single day, this bridge called my back doesn’t get any breaks.  I regretfully and honestly understand why minorities exist in places like this University. I don’t even think college itself is that hard, what’s hard is balancing the systemic, “invisible”, and hierarchical forces obnoxiously apparent in everything I do, what’s hard is figuring out how to deal with circumstances I never asked for and having to “educate” people with just enough patience to understand what I’m talking about but too much privilege to understand why it matters. This is where my drug usage and use of other “alternative” means of coping come into play.  Sometimes I’m just tired.
J.K. Rowling publically and humbly explained to a group of strangers that “failure taught her things about herself she couldn’t have learned any other way,” and our very notion of what “failure” even is has been involuntarily shaped by forces out of our control. Ten weeks ago, when I wrote a reflection similar to this one I would have loved to be able to write without needing to reflect on my many “struggles” but in this very moment I couldn’t be more proud to say I have, and I am still here. Coming from a “poor” background, most people from my home town think I “made it” yet I am trying to “make it” here every week. My experiences as a working class, radical, queer, Latina, differently- abled, first generation college student with teen parents have shaped the way I perceive the world and the way it perceives me. Ten weeks ago I thought I needed to explain myself to people. My inner peace no longer stems from the compassion and solidarity of other people. Although this is truly beautiful, I needed to find the deepest contentment in myself. I needed to be able to feel okay without my friends, lovers, family, and my positions. There is nothing more powerful than collectives of people but before I could connect with anyone else I need to connect with myself and nature. My experiences with sexual assault, systematic inequality, addiction, abuse, depression, anxiety, poverty, and fibromyalgia have been experiences in which I have spent all my life trying to justify, explain, and “fix”.  I looked at my past and my struggles as something to move on from, or something to move passed but I now have come to realize I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, and these experiences will never be memories of my past, but in fact vital parts of my being that manifest themselves in forms of strength and resistance. There is no “moving on” only moving forward. I’m not trying to get better from anything, I’m trying to accept all the parts of me I falsely believed I had to correct. I’m not looking for people to tell me “I know just how you feel” because they don’t, and actually accepting the fact that no one will EVER know really know how I feel is a feeling of liberation I cannot explain. Accepting the fact that no matter what I say, you will never understand the world the way I understand saves me a lot of time and stress. It allows me to exist. Not focusing on trying to “get better” from experiences the majority of people would think are bad, and focusing on accepting the fact that these things happened to me, and make me who I am, is the only way I managed to even stay in school this quarter. I’ve been through things I never asked for, and things people can’t imagine, but my body is resistance and rhyme & art is my reaction.
Conceptualizing the “life I’ve always dreamed of living” is internalized in several ways, mainly emphasizing in accepting the fact that there are things that I can change, and things that I have no control of. I do not necessarily have the choice of living a life without discomfort, but I do have a choice in the way I handle that discomfort. Yoga, meditation, art, empathy and mindfulness. I do not have a choice in dealing with the constant physical pain of Fibromylagia, but my appreciation for the fact that I am still alive is also a choice very much directed by my adversities. I do not necessarily have a choice in continuing to attend a public school system in an industrial society that only measures success numerically, but I can cultivate a great sense of gratitude in being among the less than one percent of people in the world who even have the opportunity to be literate. I do not necessarily control the nature of this individualistic, capitalist, post- colonial, hierarchical, stolen land we call “America” but I can recognize my privilege in being born in a country much more “free” than the rest of the world, use my stories as resistance, and actively surround myself with like-minded individuals. I may not be able to control haunting memories of my past, and lurking doubts within my being, but I can control how much they affect me and my present actions in the world. I have cultivated such a strong love for myself and everything about my existence through art, yoga, and activism that most beautiful thing about reflecting on the “life I’ve always dreamed of living” is realizing I am already living it. It’s just a matter of being able to realize this on a day to day basis.


Sunday March 3 ASPB Poetry Slam

New month, beginning of the week– why not.

  • Spent most of the day smoking by the beach and writing a completely new piece for the ASPB Poetry Showcase. Performing a piece the same day it was written has always been a goal of mine.
  • 6:30 pm Got to the HUB to perform a piece I was literally working on thirty minutes before I got there. By the time I met Anis Mojgani and shit got real it was too late to change my mind.
  • 8:00 it was about my time to go on stage. My piece was basically me rambling but also sarcastically and conceptually diving deeper into the idea of having the undivided attention of a room full of a hundred strangers and “what kind of poet” i wanted to be in that time and in that space. What would anyone say for six minutes to a hundred strangers?
  • 9:00 Anis Mojgani was absolutely amazing. One piece of advice we talked about back stage before the show was making the time every single day to write. Setting time aside for all things I want to do (ironically especially things of artistic nature) is the best way to become the person I want to become otherwise I’d be waiting all day for the “right moment”. I need to get back into my “one poem a day” swing.
  • This also made me realize my poetry works best with a specific audience. my style is simply, NOT for everyone. i like that.
  • Smoking on the balcony, eating chocolate, with like minded homies talking about music, poetry, writing, grass, energies, poverty, spirituality, and life was the perfect ending to the night.
  • Image

“Angry –Feminist. Radical. Dramatic. Hippie. Bitch.”

Angry –Feminist. Radical. Dramatic. Hippie. Bitch.

Call me whatever you want, I understand. & I’m not mad.

Because it is so much easier to pretend like this is all “not that serious” than have to wake up every morning and live each day knowing you are a vital contribution towards your own creative deprivation, capitalistic robbery, rape and violent perpetuating culture, and institutionalized oppression.

It is so much easier to say I’m “over-reacting” than to admit we are killing ourselves every single day—with every bite of the processed pesticide food we eat, with every false notion of beauty we conceive every time we view anything in the media, and with every use less fact you fill your head with to try and please a scantron in a factory designed school system….

We’re in this frustration together

You are also responsible for the beauty,  creativity, and compassion in this world, but how to decide to use it is entirely up to you. I want to make something beautiful with you, I want to connect. I want to share stories and make love, gardens, art, and community– where success is based on happiness and people start sharing again.


One Saturday Morning

Subtle feelings of this moment could be said to be qualities of being in a state of “ekagrata” where the mind is relatively clear, has a direction, and can move forward– with one’s day, intentions, and contentment.

ANother Saturday Morning

It’s Saturday morning, the sun is amazing and I can already tell it’s going to be a beautiful day but I can’t help but acknowledge my overwhelming feelings of creativity, gratitude , and enlightenment, despite the fact that I am extremely behind on my school work, I’m ‘broke’, I’m behind on organizing deadlines, and have tons of unread important emails, I have an injured back, I’ve missed 4 classes this week and a million other things society tells me I should worry about.

Whenever my roommate is home for the weekend I literally spend most of my time butt naked in my room. So here I am, writing, trying to make sense of what I’ve been through to make me feel better about what I have to go through. Not wearing any clothes doesn’t make me feel any more empty, just as filling my lungs with smoke doesn’t make me feel any more full. I don’t know what to write—so I take an inhale as deep as I can, holding it in until I’m satisfied enough—my body knows this feeling. I can’t help but think where I was a year ago. I feel more at peace and I feel more myself than I’ve ever been before and it has nothing to do with this herb, his love, her touch, or they’re oppression. Every part of my being has changed and it has all come from sitting with myself. And now I’m doing something I never thought I would do….Image