A couple of notes before we begin:

I live in Minneapolis, which is still heavily occupied by ICE & Border Patrol due to Operation Metro Surge.. To lend aid directly to those most affected, visit the Stand With Minnesota website.

I have had this post written for weeks, and I kept saying to myself that I would post when everything "calmed down." It doesn't look like this is happening any time soon; however, dealing with the reality of living in an occupied city has both materially worsened by symptoms of both suspected ME/CFS and c-PTSD; and has caused me to have to cancel medical appointments due to safety concerns for myself & my wife/caregiver, who is a trans woman of color.

I'm posting now for two reasons:

1) The information is still actively relevant to my life, even while other crises occur, and

2) Abolishing ICE, CBP, and all incarceration is a disability justice issue.

Immigrants and BIPOC in Minneapolis have been avoiding medical care because of the risks of kidnapping, detainment, or other state-sponsored violence.

Disabled people, especially BUT NOT EXCLUSIVELY immigrants and BIPOC, are also dealing with this threat. I cannot seek care because of Operation Metro Surge; I also cannot seek certain types of care or sometimes care at all because of the unmitigated airborne pandemic still rampaging through the public.

My lack of care access is part of why my condition has declined since 2019. It's also why I feel like documenting honestly what's happening in my life and my body is the only choice I have, despite the fact that it often takes effort than makes me sicker for days or weeks.

Why write a whole post about your health & disability?

I often don't have the physical energy or cognitive ability to sit and discuss the progression, next steps, and current concerns of my health, even if people are well-meaning, concerned, or wanting to help. It's also difficult to remember or keep track of who I spoke to about what developments & when.

I've also always considered myself someone who uses my own experiences as information, advocacy, and a catalyst for change. In that spirit, I've decided to set down some things to (digital) paper so I can do the digital equivalent of handing people this business card when they ask, "Hey Crash, what's wrong with you...?" no matter what the tone is behind that question.

If you're curious, you can read more about my disabilities, unexplained symptoms, and some FAQ in this post. This is by no means exhaustive (I reserve the right to some privacy!) but I try to be transparent. I learned about disability, access, and intersectionality reading peoples' blogs online; I see no reason not to continue that free flow of information for others.

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The Short Version

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Physical Health Stuff

Stuff We Know for Sure

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Stuff We're Unsure About

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Mental & Neurological Stuff

Stuff We Know

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Stuff We Don't Know For Sure

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Frequently Asked Questions

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As always, if you have questions: comment here, message me wherever you find me, or send archaic messenger birds!

In the immediate aftermath of Renee Good's murder, her parents lie about her. Her mother says she isn't politically active. Her father says her young son "has no one else," as if her legal wife who shares her last name, Becca Good, is not there at the scene of Renee's death. They erase her even as she is dying.

"If they kill me," says one of my people, "you have my permission to call my fucking father and tell him to keep my name out of his mouth."

"I was going to say the same thing," I say. "So now, I guess, I'm saying the same thing." As if that's a surprise. As if he didn't tell me to my face when I was thirteen that he would never call a woman my wife.

My partner and I decide to order silicone wedding rings and start calling each other spouses out loud sometime between standing at her vigil and when we realize the news is calling them "partners"; that Trump says, "That woman and her friend."

We can't get legally married, because she is already married, but we are married anyway, in all the ways that matter. Her wonderful extant wife also picks out a ring pair for the two of them, so we all match a little. We work on a little announcement to post to the Internet. We tell our moms.

I know it won't matter. They will tear me away from her screaming, rings or no rings.

I know, in the end, they'd just tear the paper up, too. That my wife's other wife won't be any safer. I know my dad told me how it was 20 years ago while I cried in an Old Country Buffet somewhere outside of Minneapolis:

"I'd have nothing against her. She could be the nicest lady in the world. But I'd never call her your wife, because that's not what she would be. Not in any way that mattered."

It smells like chemical fertilizer outside, which is not a normal January in Minnesota smell.

I can only assume it's the chemical weapons my governments are using &/or watching being used on my neighbors.

The worst part about all of this is after there's a measure of peace I still won't be safe outside because no one will wear a goddamn respirator.