They claimed that there was a name for what I am. They labeled me as depressive, bipolar, and even classified me as having borderline personality disorder. I had the ultimate in mood swings, from the highest high to the lowest possible low. But because I was never suicidal they couldn’t truly classify me. I was terribly paranoid; everything was a plot against somebody for some reason. It was a difficulty just to go outside some days, so even if I had the energy to get up and pull myself together it took remarkable effort to force myself outside the front door.

But despite all these things, the truth of the matter was that there was nothing wrong with me. The world I lived in was filled with duplicitous, scheming, greedy, unethical, madmen and I was surrounded by them on a regular basis. They lied about everything and forced others to live by those lies so often that they themselves had begun to believe they were true. But I was born in the before time, before the lies existed, before the medications, before the mass media and computer connectivity. I knew like some of the others had known at first, that the lies they told weren’t true. But the others did not listen to their own mind.

It started as a rumor about the changes in the atmosphere; they said there was no such thing as climate change that it was a science fiction horror story. The next thing they lied about was need to purchase things in order to be happy. People ran around filling their homes with things they never used or needed because they believed that just having them would make them happy, but no matter how much they accumulated it never fixed the true difficulty that was beginning to surface. An underlying dissatisfaction with the way life was progressing, or should I say not progressing at least not for everyone.

I began to notice it as a discomfort at first. Not wanting to participate in things, feeling better when I didn’t interact with others. I was slowly beginning to feel afraid and lonely on a regular basis. When I did interact with others it left me feeling unhappy and angry misused and distrustful. It wasn’t like people did anything to minimize these feelings; they simply compounded the reservations I was experiencing way too often now. I had realized quickly that most people had been mesmerized by a hallucinogen that was gradually affecting everyone. I tried to avoid it when I could, but it was everywhere.

When I was inside, I didn’t hear the constant humming of incessant chatter or see the images being used daily to bombard everyone. Sex, spend money, war, spend money, fear, spend money, were the messages embedded in everything, but spend money was the loudest despite being the most subliminal. I watched as everyone dived headlong into debt and suddenly found themselves enslaved to their spending habits and unable to relieve themselves of the debt they had created no matter how long or how hard they worked. Even the most sensible of people fell victim and found themselves in a debt purgatory. I kept telling people to stop spending to save their resources, they would need them but they laughed at me and called me a skinflint, labeled my frugality as miserly and said I would never amount to anything because I was afraid to take risks.

The housing crash scared a lot of them, but not enough to convince them to change their behaviors. When the water began to run low was when the real panic began to set in. For some they believed having enough money would fix it, but they soon realized that people didn’t value anything they could not use to survive. Lack of water made everything scarce. It was a necessity to produce food, without it there were no crops, and no animals. We watched as they destroyed it, spilling poisons into it and fowling it up with their mass production. We let them make laws to enable them to more easily destroy the earth and its contents. My protests fell on death ears. I grew more afraid daily. It was no longer about living. To me it was about survival. One day soon, I would not be able to go outside. The toxic content of what now passed for air would one day not support my fragile frame. The things I once held as valuable would have no meaning.

Though our numbers dwindled daily, still they did not listen to me and labeled me many things. The one thing they had never called me was that which I truly am, an environmentalists.

Labels © DJuna Blackmon 2014, All Rights Reserved


written-for-30 (3) copy


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