you donate to endless non profits, sit on boards of organizations that want to bridge communities together, you volunteer at the soup kitchen or as a mentor for underprivileged at risk kids you share your stories of trauma and you do all of this telling yourself I want to help others I want to be a healing light this cesspool of a world desperately needs and despite dozens of explanations I’ll ask you are you doing it to help others or are you doing it to fuel your ego? are you doing out of the purest of intentions to make a difference or to make yourself feel better about your mediocre first world privilege existence?
Susan from Oconee County calls concerned about the smell in the air from the sludge in the farms- and my Latina working class immigrant self rolls her eyes in disgust silently mouthing off- “are you fucking kidding me? another rich bitch on a mission to solve her problems of discomfort in her every day bane of existence” but I quietly listen to her as she talks about how it’s impacting the environment and the drive to the pilates studio because she just has to drive with her windows down to breathe in the autumn air as her PSL cools down in the drink holder but now she can’t enjoy her drive because of the sludge and then she breaks down and cries because of the inconsiderate farmers and I think of 1001 ways her privilege white woman ass is being a bitch and the audacity of how, me, a Latina immigrant working class woman is being forced to listen to her idiotic and inconsequential problems but rent needs to be paid and my kids need to be fed so, instead, I say “m’amn, I understand” in my best and whitest customer service voice- while calling her a pinche estupida pendeja in my head- and I reassure with a smile in my voice and tell her, “I’ll make sure someone get your messages which is of utmost importance, and calls you back” and as I hang up the phone, I want to scream and vomit at the same time thinking “I don’t think this was part of my American Dream”
Life on the BPD 