Dangerous Compassions


I made some more Nevada postcards.





I’m working on embroidering this patch too.


Embroidering, I think of the kid I was who embroidered.  I was telling Ming how I made this embroidery thing for my best friend, when I was in jr high.  I learned then how making a project for someone I love can help me get out extra energy.  That best friend wasn’t someone I had a crush on, but I did have a lot of emotions directed at her, and needs.

Long ago I would make mix tapes or mix cds for people, all the time.  This Las Vegas Radical Mental Health Collective embroidery is not for a specific person.  But the action of embroidering makes me think of love.  The friend who wanted to cook more, so I sewed her an apron for Christmas one year, with my mom’s help, and embroidered her name on the pocket.  So much love in every stitch, and so much loss, when things fell apart less than a year later.

I’m struggling with my place in the world.  Being social feels too painful and confusing.  My mama helped me feel stable–she anchored me.  I didn’t realize how oriented I was to her and the coast, and how the safety I felt with her reverberated out, helping me feel safe in all of my relationships.

Interacting with people, I experience too much flaking, not enough hugs.  Hugs did so much to non-verbally connect me to people!  They helped smooth things over.  Covid is confusing.

to be well

Thinking about what we need to do, to keep ourselves well.  I didn’t understand for a long time that many people need to do certain things daily, in order to stay functional.  A few times I got my feelings hurt, when I felt ignored or neglected by a visiting friend.

But now I understand better.  I need to write a few hours a day in order to be well, and that’s nothing personal to anyone.  Writing is something I prefer to do alone, so I could seem unfriendly or uncaring.  But I’m just keeping myself ok, like taking a shower or brushing my teeth.  It’s my life.


Love to all of us, doing what we need to do.  Like riding trike in Nevada.


By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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