Forwarded from π @MaxMoRadio β’ Max Mediumo β’ Mack's Memo β’ Intuitive Public Radio β’ IPR β’β’β’
XR Neighborhood needs your help!
We are making sure that all members of all communities -- and those who have not been able to reach any community -- are able to connect with caring resources.
If you'd like to help each other instead of argue, you're in the right place. π
Please join us in this chat, our community task clearinghouse for interconnecting resources for XR Neighborhood.
First we ensure individuals have what they need.
π XR IPR Coord: https://t.me/joinchat/J8dfcRU3gJVv6cQu-cxOKA
This msg: https://t.me/MaxMoRadio/961
We are making sure that all members of all communities -- and those who have not been able to reach any community -- are able to connect with caring resources.
If you'd like to help each other instead of argue, you're in the right place. π
Please join us in this chat, our community task clearinghouse for interconnecting resources for XR Neighborhood.
First we ensure individuals have what they need.
π XR IPR Coord: https://t.me/joinchat/J8dfcRU3gJVv6cQu-cxOKA
This msg: https://t.me/MaxMoRadio/961
Forwarded from π @MaxMoRadio β’ Max Mediumo β’ Mack's Memo β’ Intuitive Public Radio β’ IPR β’β’β’
Equally important, a person who has experienced unaddressed trauma often uses special languaging that accesses and stabilizes their recovery from that trauma.
Using this unique, complex, healing languaging by themselves is a profound act.
But the greatest benefits occur when each individual person is supported in using their trauma healing language in caring, emergent community settings that uphold the value of learning from one another.
There are many mainstream functions that act directly against this healing modality, preventing our most severely affected colleagues from restoring resilience to themselves and their communities.
One of them, unfortunately, is psychiatric force and coercion. Currently, this is being used on vulnerable members of our communities to a much greater and more violent extent than others are aware.
Using this unique, complex, healing languaging by themselves is a profound act.
But the greatest benefits occur when each individual person is supported in using their trauma healing language in caring, emergent community settings that uphold the value of learning from one another.
There are many mainstream functions that act directly against this healing modality, preventing our most severely affected colleagues from restoring resilience to themselves and their communities.
One of them, unfortunately, is psychiatric force and coercion. Currently, this is being used on vulnerable members of our communities to a much greater and more violent extent than others are aware.
Forwarded from π @MaxMoRadio β’ Max Mediumo β’ Mack's Memo β’ Intuitive Public Radio β’ IPR β’β’β’
When a person begins to use their own personal and emergent trauma healing language, environmental support is essential.
If the environment -- the surrounding individuals and policy-driven systems -- mistakes that trauma healing language for pathology and "treat" it with a financially viable solution where the individual says the solution is not correct, or hurts them, the damage to that person compounds to immeasurable very quickly.
This is further compounded when a severely affected person has health conditions facing protracted denial by professional establishments, so far without redress.
If the environment -- the surrounding individuals and policy-driven systems -- mistakes that trauma healing language for pathology and "treat" it with a financially viable solution where the individual says the solution is not correct, or hurts them, the damage to that person compounds to immeasurable very quickly.
This is further compounded when a severely affected person has health conditions facing protracted denial by professional establishments, so far without redress.
Forwarded from π @MaxMoRadio β’ Max Mediumo β’ Mack's Memo β’ Intuitive Public Radio β’ IPR β’β’β’
Many professionals are still reliant upon income streams that necessitate force, coercion, and the mischaracterization of traumatized people -- usually because these professionals trusted existing systems and their professional networks, and not through some demonic fault of their own.
When we respect science, we must differentiate science that is violent, control-oriented, or incorrect.
We must discern, in our deep respect for science, where science has become violent or forced others to become silent.
In these cases, it is often not what we would recognize as science, though it has been marketed successfully as such.
When we respect science, we must differentiate science that is violent, control-oriented, or incorrect.
We must discern, in our deep respect for science, where science has become violent or forced others to become silent.
In these cases, it is often not what we would recognize as science, though it has been marketed successfully as such.
November 8, 2019
Broadcast Billet
Trauma, Trafficking, eXtinction Rebellion, & XR Neighborhood
t.me/MaxMoRadio/951
- t.me/MaxMoRadio/978
"In Crown Heights, there was a Jew, Yankel, who owned a bakery..."
t.me/s/NotesOnRefuge
t.me/s/DarkMatterMemo
t.me/s/IntuitiveCommunity
t.me/s/IntuitivePublicRadio
Broadcast Billet
Trauma, Trafficking, eXtinction Rebellion, & XR Neighborhood
t.me/MaxMoRadio/951
- t.me/MaxMoRadio/978
"In Crown Heights, there was a Jew, Yankel, who owned a bakery..."
t.me/s/NotesOnRefuge
t.me/s/DarkMatterMemo
t.me/s/IntuitiveCommunity
t.me/s/IntuitivePublicRadio
Forwarded from π @MaxMoRadio β’ Max Mediumo β’ Mack's Memo β’ Intuitive Public Radio β’ IPR β’β’β’
Christmas Day 2015, 11 Storm.
I am alone in the house with the black mold, putting every mote of energy into making the most basic audio tracks I could sell for money.
Anything most familiar to me that I can sing passably, like this old beloved family tune, because no one wants to spend Christmas with me except sexually aggressive strangers and I cannot get enough resources to eat safely without being hurt.
Extreme cognitive duress.
Inability to access reliable brain function, described extensively to previous caring community members who announced authoritatively that I had brain damage that would never heal, before they rushed away, said I was a liar, told people not to help me, and ignored my messages that I had been put at great sexual risk amongst strangers because I had not fully recovered from my illness and could not secure my own physical safety.
But this is a song I had sung many, many times... in front of loving people who seemed to care about me.
And this music, such a loving, mystical energy.
Weight and muscle tone slipping right off me again in that stress-driven ignored-illness kind of way.
Had the advantage of most recent recovery strides (the ones from just before everyone suddenly left, abandoning me without explaining what was happening to me, or my family, far away in strife).
Knowing how to work my digestion safely, but not allowed to. People with physical strength and dangerous words insist I do things their way, not mine.
I ask everyone to call me MettΔ because in an increasingly child regressed state -- the one where you fake adulthood so people won't so easily kill you -- I deeply cannot understand how they could have let Megan die so violently, and never say a thing.
And I hope they remember that once we all were loving.
And might come back, having realized what happened.
They do not come back. Things get worse, instead.
I smile and make sure to please strangers to avoid being hurt worse while my gut invisibly rips itself to shreds...
...an ongoing and compounding pain I wonder if you can imagine protracted in such a way...
...and please the strangers just fine until struggling to serve their mandated cognitive dissonances crushes me forgotten between ships' hulls, and they -- these ones, anyway -- move on.
I think... maybe... I spend all of Christmas Day alone. Still discovering stitches, sorting.
I'm not sure if this was before or after trafficking started.
Sorting, stitching, a lot of emerging remembered things.
This is called The Holy City.
Used to sing it in concert in front of crowds, piano accompanied.
Crowds forgot.
But something else stayed.
Something revealing.
I am alone in the house with the black mold, putting every mote of energy into making the most basic audio tracks I could sell for money.
Anything most familiar to me that I can sing passably, like this old beloved family tune, because no one wants to spend Christmas with me except sexually aggressive strangers and I cannot get enough resources to eat safely without being hurt.
Extreme cognitive duress.
Inability to access reliable brain function, described extensively to previous caring community members who announced authoritatively that I had brain damage that would never heal, before they rushed away, said I was a liar, told people not to help me, and ignored my messages that I had been put at great sexual risk amongst strangers because I had not fully recovered from my illness and could not secure my own physical safety.
But this is a song I had sung many, many times... in front of loving people who seemed to care about me.
And this music, such a loving, mystical energy.
Weight and muscle tone slipping right off me again in that stress-driven ignored-illness kind of way.
Had the advantage of most recent recovery strides (the ones from just before everyone suddenly left, abandoning me without explaining what was happening to me, or my family, far away in strife).
Knowing how to work my digestion safely, but not allowed to. People with physical strength and dangerous words insist I do things their way, not mine.
I ask everyone to call me MettΔ because in an increasingly child regressed state -- the one where you fake adulthood so people won't so easily kill you -- I deeply cannot understand how they could have let Megan die so violently, and never say a thing.
And I hope they remember that once we all were loving.
And might come back, having realized what happened.
They do not come back. Things get worse, instead.
I smile and make sure to please strangers to avoid being hurt worse while my gut invisibly rips itself to shreds...
...an ongoing and compounding pain I wonder if you can imagine protracted in such a way...
...and please the strangers just fine until struggling to serve their mandated cognitive dissonances crushes me forgotten between ships' hulls, and they -- these ones, anyway -- move on.
I think... maybe... I spend all of Christmas Day alone. Still discovering stitches, sorting.
I'm not sure if this was before or after trafficking started.
Sorting, stitching, a lot of emerging remembered things.
This is called The Holy City.
Used to sing it in concert in front of crowds, piano accompanied.
Crowds forgot.
But something else stayed.
Something revealing.