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E-book Static Palace
The writing collected here is bookended by rupture. I began writing these essays because my body gave out in November 2016, at a time that was eerily aligned with the moment when my last thread of faith in American democracy also gave out. Or gave in, or gave way. The first time I wrote about chronic pain and politics was for an anthology curated by Essay Press just after Donald Trump’s election.1 In my essay for that anthology, I wrote about a trip to the emergency room just after the election. That trip was the beginning of what has now been years of managing mysterious and evolving and gendered chronic illness that often disables my body. This management occurred simultaneous to what I see as crucial moments of uprising and resistance to state repression in the United States. It was awful, at times, that these things were happening simultaneously. Awful because sometimes I couldn’t get out of bed or couldn’t go to protests that I knew would make me feel something — anything — good was happening. But at the same time, being both sick and being around and a part of collective resistance allowed me to feel both culpable and vulnerable. I began looking at how I could be both a victim and an oppressor, my white skin visible mostly, my illness invisible sometimes. What was slippery here? And what wasn’t? I began to write to try to see this all more closely.In that Essay Press anthology, I wrote about how I lay in the CT scan machine and found myself thinking that if I could sur-vive this pain, I could probably survive giving birth to a child, because the pain of labor couldn’t possibly be worse than the pain I was experiencing at that moment. I wrote, “will this pain make it possible for me to pass something on?” I began think-ing about inheritance: of white supremacy, of genetic illness, of trauma. In this writing I was thinking not only about the origin story of our 45th president and then about rising global fascism, but also how this reach toward an origin story belied my own individualism. Why did I think it was about an individual? Why did the individual matter to me most?
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