Bianca Xunise is a Black goth and describes herself as “unapologetically hood.” An artist from the Southside of Chicago, her work is incredibly diverse, exploring anti-blackness, the reappropriation of problematic personas like Josephine Baker, beauty, gender, and of course, her love of goth icons. She was awarded the coveted 2017 Ignatz award for Promising New Talent for her comic Say Her Name, which took aim at the silence surrounding Black women killed by police violence.

My first exposure to Xunise’s work was at Pitchfork Music Festival 2017 in Union Park. I was looking through the book vendor area, when a print of Poly Styrene—the Somali-English frontwoman for the ‘70s jazz punk band X-ray Spex—caught my eye.

X-ray Spex was a band from that era that actually had a member of color, and seeing her iconic lyric, “Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard, but I think, oh bondage up yours!” memorialized in Bianca’s art warmed my heart.

I bought the print right then and there and continued to follow her work.

From her meticulously chosen outfits—made up of leather harnesses, berets, and ’70s-inspired high-waisted pants—to her unrelenting love of The Craft, and her penchant for singing along to songs by the Damned or David Bowie, Xunise is part and parcel of a very Chicago Goth experience.

As a Chicago transplant, Bianca Xunise seems to be an all knowing insider of the city. I was lucky enough to meet up with her recently to talk about nightlife in Chicago, her unique experience as a Black goth and comic, and the political importance of going out and dancing.

How do you identify your taste in music? I ask because I tend to use the words “new wave,” “post-punk” and “goth” interchangeably.

I use those terms interchangeably too and I feel like a lot of times people misunderstand what I mean by goth. When I say goth, they’re probably like, ‘oh she likes Evanescence and new goth from like the mid 2000s or early 2000s.’ But when I say goth I mean something older—bands like Batcave and Darkwave, The Cure and Siouxsie Sioux and stuff like that.

Sometimes I use the Pitchfork video to inform people. It’s been really helpful…

That video was really helpful! Again, cause I feel like people misunderstand what it means and in our modern society with the internet and everything else, all cultures have begun to be kind of melted into one. A good example of this would be like Lil Uzi [Vert]. He like does trap rap, but he’s also sort of goth and sort of emo at the same time—it all blends together. And say if you’re like 15, 16, 17 and if you think Lil Uzi’s goth, then what you understand as goth is not going to be where it actually came from. You’re gonna have a whole new understanding of what you think goth is.

Often, as far as they want to go is Evanescence or Avril Lavigne, but you gotta keep going further and further back. I just started listening to some older goth music like Virgin Prunes—that’s from the ‘70s—so I am exploring how goth intersects with my Blackness and listening to bands like Screamin’ Jay Hawkins.

Why did you start drawing about these experiences with the goth subculture? I saw one of your comics—Saturday at the Goth Club—where it’s just a little ‘slice of life’ comic where you’re just at the club and you have poison written on your shirt?

One of the reasons is I was just trying to find something to write about. A lot of my work is political. But when I first started out as a comics artist, much of my work was kind of simple—about everyday life—and I missed writing about those things. My work was getting so heavy.

I wanted to bring some more lightness to it. I thought it’d be fun to show people a window into this world—there’s a lot of misconceptions about it, ‘like what do you guys do all day, hang out under the highway underpasses and dance?!’ I think people don’t understand a lot of it is just a bunch of nerds hanging out ’cause we like the same music—we’re all pretty dorky.

What are your favorite goth clubs/nights in Chicago?

I go to Late Bar, which is a big one for me. I used to go to the old Neo when that was still open. RIP. Not everyone agrees with me on this, but I feel interested in what has been happening now, ‘cause I feel like everyone is splitting up and making new safe spaces—like a lot of things happening at Berlin now. And that would be more Wax Trax! [the industrial music label based in Chicago]. Exit is another place that does ‘80s music either on Thursdays or every other Saturday.  

And then there’s the new Neo. That was really rough at first. People were very against it. Actually, one of the things I really like about “Deboneo” as they call it, is how queer it’s become. There’s been a lot more black and brown queer faces showing up there. So for me seeing the goth culture blend with the club kid culture and become this one safe space of, like, weirdos and queers and drag queens and awesomeness—that’s super important to me. That’s when it gets to the best place—when it’s come as you are. No matter how weird. This is a place for you. Let’s all dance to this old shitty song.

What about them makes them feel safe?

Not all the clubs have done this, but I know Late Bar made a statement that they’re a safe space—I think this happened maybe during the election last year. Or maybe even the year before when we heard that Trump was gonna be running. They released a press release and they said, ‘we want to be known as a safe space. This is not a space for discrimination.’ They definitely upped their security after that. There’s always people on the floor.  

But I’ve seen it misunderstood as though they were being predatory—like, ‘there’s this man and why is he coming up and taking my drink away from me. Get away from me.’ But a lot of times when they do that, it’s cause they saw something put into your drink or something like that and they’re trying to make sure that you get home safe—they filter people out all day. And make sure that it stays a place that people can feel comfortable going to.

The best place is when it’s 'come as you are. No matter how weird. This is a place for you. Let’s all dance to this old shitty song.'
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The people there are of every race and gender and you know it’s grown to be a really great thing. I’m not really sure where the crossroads is of different cultures come together, but I think it’s just about the music. A lot of it is being borrowed from each other. Like punk has always been influenced by like the ballroom scene and the ballroom scene in turn is influenced by punk, but it’s all counterculture.

The goth community is a blend of everything.

Also it’s no longer just old white dudes anymore. Brown kids want to be a part of it and you should be allowed to identify with multiple things—you may be into goth music and goth culture but you also may be really into feminism and witchcraft. You might be really into drag and you’re also really into punk rock—you can pick and choose whatever you want. You shouldn’t have to choose what you love. Take it all in and make a new culture out of it.

It’s like, everyone else is kind of shitty, so like why be shitty here?

So your impression of goths and the goth community is pretty positive?

Yeah, I think that’s one of the reasons why I find goths to be pretty nice—they’re so used to everybody else treating them poorly. That’s how I felt about the older goths who set up the bar. They’ve always been kind of kind to me, which I’ve always kind of been a little nervous coming into the scene as a black woman who is used to—especially in like my comics world—white guys pushing back when they see me come and take up space. But in the goth community I see, ‘You’re weird. I’m weird!’ That’s all that matters.

I actually drew a comic about how the goth community is one of the few that I feel I’ve been able to be a part of and the first thing people don’t register about me is that I’m black. In every other space that I take up people think as soon as they see me—Black woman. And then with that they have all these other ideas about me in their head about black women and who they are.

But when I enter a space like Late Bar or Exit or Neo—I don’t feel like people see that right away, they just see somebody that’s just like them and they accept me.

That’s beautiful. Have you had any negative and racist experiences in the scene?

Oh yeah. I have racist experiences everywhere.

I think you mentioned an incident at a Nine Inch Nails show…

I was at a Nine Inch Nails show—actually this was before Nine Inch Nails—it was New Order. I was at New Order and this woman grabbed my hair because I was dancing—as you would—to New Order and apparently my hair touched her face and as I was bouncing or whatever and it brushed her face. So she dug her hand into my scalp and tried to rip my hair out. She grabbed my hair and said, ‘I grabbed your hair because I didn’t like it!’ That was her reasoning.

It was really upsetting and frustrating, but I don’t really attribute that to the community as much as being at a concert. I’ve always had pretty bad experiences at festivals and concerts in general. I’ve gotten into a few fist fights at concerts. It kind of goes hand-in-hand for me there.

In my comics world, white guys pushing back when they see me come and take up space. But in the goth community I see, ‘You’re weird. I’m weird!’ That’s all that matters.
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You try to reason with it and then you realize that racism is the only reason that’s going to work here. I wasn’t the only person there. It wasn’t just me being rambunctious in a group of people sitting quietly on the ground. It was me and bunch of other white dudes that were all dancing. But I’m the one that she decided to attack. I confronted her about that and when I called her out, the dudes that I was dancing with were like no need to call her that. [A racist]. That was really frustrating. And then what was weird was that the two dudes she was with ended up apologizing to my boyfriend and I was like, why isn’t anyone apologizing to me.

But it hasn’t gotten to the point where it’s made me feel unsafe—I also know the punk and goth community have done a lot to combat racism and fascism. I don’t feel like the first person I’m going to meet [in those spaces] is going to be a racist.

You try to reason with something that happened and then you realize that racism is the only reason that’s going to work here.
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I was working on a piece on if you want to check it out, about Rock Against Racism. A lot of the bands that I like—the Clash, X-Ray Spex and stuff—they did what they could do in the ‘70s to try to combat racism.

Going back to going out and goth nights as safe spaces. I’m going to reference your tweets. “I’ve been trying to figure out the point in society where we deemed going out and dancing a sinful thing to do.” I was hoping you could elaborate on this perspective. Why do you think it’s looked down upon and why is it so special and important that you are able to go out and dance? People obviously shit on it, right? Like, ‘you’re just going out and you’re drinking!,’ but to you it’s important. What is it that makes it important, in terms of your identity and your interests?

I definitely got a lot of feedback on that tweet and people brought some stuff up to me that I hadn’t considered before—especially us being a country founded on puritan beliefs and how that’s still affects American society—even in terms of our movies where it’s OK to show violence, but it’s bad to show sex.

We like to market things as sinful and I think that’s where it’s confusing to me—how is it sinful to have community and feel uplifted by this community and feel safe? Where is the sin in that? The drinking part is not super important—you can add or remove alcohol. Yes that exists there, but I also have friends who are sober and still go out to the goth club because it’s not about the drinking. It’s about being around your friends. It’s a chosen family. It’s a family you only want to be around so long and then you want to go back home.

I know I’ve mentioned this a few times but there’s so much happening in the world. I’ve noticed that I’ve gone dancing more this year probably than any other year because I just need that place, a place to not have to hear about Donald Trump, and not have to uplift all the hate that’s going on.

Every time I go to Late Bar they always play this song, “(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thing.” It’s a place be around people who are gonna give you love. Every time I’m there people ask me, ‘how are your comics? What’s going on in your life? How’s this art show going?’ We know each other enough to know what’s going on in our families and stuff like that. It’s never like a place of hate.

How is it 'sinful' to have community and feel uplifted by this community and feel safe?
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I’ve gone to normie clubs that everybody else goes to and I can see why people hate them. I feel like it’s a different experience. When you add “club” to something then people have this idea that’s it’s going to be this bump and grind, overly sexual, predatory space. In fact, I was at the Owl last Saturday and I was there for half an hour and I think I got groped like 8-10 times just from walking back and forth. Someone put their hands on my butt; they put their hands on my shoulder and tried to put their hands in the curve of my side. And I was like, I don’t want to be here.

Most dudes that I’ve dealt with at the goth club ask permission to dance with you or they have the nice Catholic school space between each other—where it’s just enough room for the holy spirit.

It’s good exercise too. I think everybody needs a space to be able to turn their brain off and just exhale. It saddens me that I try to explain this to my parents and they think I’m out living this life of sin when I’m really just sitting around with a bunch of nerdy people and we’re talking about Stranger Things.

What songs are a must for a perfect new wave night?

Love Will Tear Us Apart — Joy Division

Ant Music — Adam Ant

Girls on Film — Duran Duran

Spellbound — Siouxsie and the Banshees

I Know What Boys Like — The Waitresses

Let’s Go To Bed — The Cure

By Bizzy Coy

Dear Sebastian and Samantha,

Congratulations on your new baby! I can’t wait to meet sweet little Samuel, give him lots of cuddles and kisses, and impress upon him the importance of his generation banding together to save us all from The Huge Darkness.

I looove the photos you sent. Samuel definitely has his daddy’s eyes, his mama’s nose, and the clenching and unclenching fists of a miniature revolutionary. You must be exhausted, what with him waking up all night and howls wafting from the Waterboard Warehouse all day. Try to catch some shut-eye whenever you can. It’ll all be over soon! (The newborn part, not the howling.)

Treasure every minute of this incredible experience — the ups, the downs, the early morning diaper changes, the middle-of-the-night realizations that your child is the world’s only hope. Before you know it, Samuel will be a surly adolescent and you’ll be hiding in an underground bunker. You’ll look back on these precious years and say: Gosh! We didn’t realize how good we had it, with that cute little face and the benefits of natural sunlight.

Before you know it, Samuel will be a surly adolescent and you’ll be hiding in an underground bunker.
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Trust me. Time goes by so quickly, whether you’re watching baby grow up or witnessing the ascension of a terrifying authoritarian administration. Like, what?! That happened so fast! Slow down and take the time to enjoy it all.

Sorry if this note is a little dark, but it’s dark (and cold) here inside the Great American Dissident Depot. I’ve lost track of how long it’s been — weeks? Months? My fellow political prisoners and I communicate via a complex system of taps and scratches on our cell walls, as conversation is forbidden. They tell me to tell you: Tap tap. Scratch scratch. Tap scratch scratch tap tap. That means: Warmest wishes on the blessed birth of your son; we look forward to the day he infiltrates the walls of the Depot to set us free.

Not that I want to put too much pressure on the little guy right out of the womb. But, if there’s one thing I learned from our generation’s helicopter parents, it’s that coddling and participation trophies don’t prepare you to instigate an uprising. (Just look at yours truly, stuck behind bars for retweeting a photo of our Dear Leader looking puffy in the face!) Sorry, but you’re gonna have to push Samuel a little harder, a little faster, if he’s going to overthrow our fascist overlords and learn to drive by the time he’s 16.

Your bundle of joy will be full of beautiful surprises as you discover what kind of person he’ll become. Will he be a gutsy firebrand who explodes the status quo from the outside? A scrappy journalist who orchestrates an investigative takedown for the ages? Or a Hollywood sound editor whose passionate Oscar speech inspires the nation to topple the regime and call their mothers? Whatever Samuel’s path in life, though, steer him away from the Social Media Freedom Enforcers. Those guys are a bunch of jerks.

Now, about the package. Assuming the sympathetic guard who acts as our secret courier completes the delivery, you’ll find enclosed several works of Young Adult fiction to inspire teenage Samuel to rise up in righteous anger along with a posse of his peers. You’ve got your Hunger Games, your Harry Potters, and a few Nancy Drews, just in case the revolt involves an old clock or a hidden staircase. I also smuggled copies of 1984 and Animal Farm — but not the Animal Farm you’re thinking of. It’s an adorable picture book where you touch illustrations of barnyard critters and they make sounds. Even a rebel has to know what the cow says.

Even a rebel has to know what the cow says.
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Which brings to me a little lullaby I wrote for Samuel while I was locked in the Patriot Hole:

Twinkle twinkle little Sam

How I wonder where I am

Down below the ground so deep

Wish that I could fall asleep

Twinkle twinkle little Sam

How did this even happen I’m losing my grip on reality

I’ll sign off now, as the guards are coming soon with our daily ration of Liberty Gruel. I pray this letter finds its way to you and eludes the tiny, evil hands of the Free Speech Squad. Lots of love to my new nephew, upon whose shoulders the revolution rests.

Yours in resistance,

Aunt Stephanie

If you’re one of the more than 16 million human adults in America affected by depression, and the current advent of fascism feels like a one-way ticket to hell, know that you’re not alone.

Watching the country I now call home unravel one headline at a time knocked me off my feet for most of January, threatening to undo my attempts to rebuild my life after I spent more than three years incapacitated by major depressive disorder.

The fog has only intensified since Inauguration Day, smothering America in a thick blanket of bizarre language and threats—doled out in “presidential” tweets and surrogate TV interviews alike—all the better to conceal laying the foundation for dismantling the Affordable Care Act in the middle of the night, among innumerable other heinous policies.

Now, when I can get to sleep at all, I wake up aghast at how quickly the new regime is pushing through executive orders and taking apart democracy.

You understand the political ailment because you already have firsthand experience of living under a dictatorship of lies.
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Much of the time, things feel desperately hopeless.

It mirrors the pain of depression; when it’s become so debilitating that you collapse further into yourself, sometimes the energy required to get out of bed is all you’ve got — never mind getting out in the street — and you end up feeling completely bereft, like you’re somehow failing at being human.

Well, you’re not.

Instead, you’re being defiantly alive in the face of an illness that has the power to kill you.

Amid the rampant confusion of our current times, it’s easy to overlook how similar depression and fascism are. If you understand the mental illness, you understand the political ailment because you already have firsthand experience of living under a dictatorship of lies.

What’s more, if you’re already resisting depression, then you’re automatically equipped to resist fascism — so even if you feel far from well, safe, or strong right now, take heart… because you’ve got this.

Both depression and fascism thrive on fear and terrorizing their host — be it your mind or your country — until you systematically question what your eyes, ears, and heart are reporting back to you; until you no longer trust your senses and either endorse the agenda of that which seeks to destroy you, or just give up.

For its part, depression gradually injects doubt into every aspect of personhood. It may undermine a once competent professional until their skills appear worthless and unemployability certain, or shred someone’s self-esteem until they believe a romantic relationship can only exist out of pity rather than love, or put the kibosh on one’s dreams — because, let’s face it, what future is there for someone who’s such an incapable and unlovable waste of space?

Both depression and fascism thrive on fear and terrorizing their host.
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At its most virulent, depression corrodes your sense of self and erodes your identity, and the parasite feeds until only the physical representation of the host remains.

Our fascist leader is having the same effect on America that depression has on an individual. And he’s doing it the same way: by distorting reality, strafing journalists and citizens alike with falsehoods.

In both cases, the aim is for lies to supplant reality altogether.

If the farce endures in its grotesque glory, it’s because it takes initiative, courage, and knowing exactly who you are in order to stand against what you’re being told to accept as the norm, whether by your mind or the new White House occupier.

To the unsuspecting onlooker, when I was in the throes of deepest depression, I looked as I always had. But whenever I opened my mouth, it was clear that it wasn’t me speaking, but depression—through pained, inarticulate self-doubt.

To the unsuspecting onlooker, America still mostly looks like it always has. But whenever our leader opens his mouth, it’s clear it isn’t democracy speaking, but fascism, through absurd sentences almost entirely devoid of syntax or meaning.

Similarly, just as I remember a different life before depression flattened me, many of us remember a different life before our current political regime began normalizing hate.

How To Help The Cause When You Need Help Yourself

Now that white supremacists are in charge, they believe that order can be restored by returning anyone who doesn’t fit their norm to their respective sub-human category, ranging from most similar and tolerable (healthy, able-bodied straight American-born Christian white women) to most different and undesirable (anyone else). Plainly put, many of us are now regarded as inferior, as lesser than, based on national origin, immigration status, religion, sexual orientation, skin tone, reproductive choices, physical and mental abilities, etc.

Our leadership would like us to believe that this hierarchy is “normal” — but it is not.

That we should have the audacity to define our own identities and demand equality — because America was founded on the basis of all people being created equal— is to invite shaming, if not mockery.

Shame and mockery are devastatingly powerful tools.
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With depression, too, shaming wields great destructive power.

When depression became larger than life itself, it bullied me into identifying with it. The illness kept me under house arrest, stewing in shame because I couldn’t work, and therefore I couldn’t afford to consume health care and get well enough to work, a conundrum familiar to many sick Americans.

In the eyes of a staunchly individualistic society like ours, in which we’re always supposed to win, to achieve, I didn’t pass muster. I failed to measure up, I was weak, a “ridiculous loser.” Depression also built a wall around me to keep out other humans, chipping away at my self-esteem and declaring isolation as the new normal.

Under such conditions, staying alive — that is to say, performing the most basic human functions required to do so — becomes the greatest act of resistance you’re capable of.

Trite though it may sound, “While there’s life, there’s hope,” and your making it through each brand new day is proof of this.

Do not ever discount the hope of better days buried deep inside you.
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In America, we’ve now got a Muslim ban, and soon we’ll even have a border wall to keep out other fellow humans. Those of us who refuse to fall in line with the regime are constantly being othered, divided, derided, debased — and yet we keep coming together regardless because we remember life before.

Do not ever discount the hope of better days buried deep inside you. As the intellectual ability to envisage alternatives to what is, hope is one of the most powerful weapons of all.

The modus operandi of the illness and that of the new regime are one and the same: to break you down little by little by destroying your critical faculties until you no longer protest, until you abdicate your own agency and trust them to do what’s in your best interests.

Like protecting you.

Like providing for you.

For the record, here’s what depression did for me — for over three years, it took away my ability to think and write so I could no longer earn a living, convincing me I’d become unemployable and forcing innumerable hardships onto my household.

My downfall was gradual and contradicted everything in my life at the time. On the surface, everything was great — love, marriage, immigration to a new country, a fresh start — but depression took hold regardless because deflecting torrents of abuse and lies is unsustainable in the long run.

It’s exhausting, and it wears you down.

Your one job is to keep yourself — and the hope contained within you — alive.
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Whether the lies are manufactured by your own mind or your own government, the desired end result is the same: capitulation.

The enemy thrives on confusion.

But remember that the impact of depression can be lessened, as can that of a fascist regime, so long as you resist them.

Your one job is to keep yourself — and the hope contained within you — alive, which has the added benefit of inconveniencing those fascism enablers who may bully you for being a “snowflake.” If you feel up to it or just fancy a laugh, remind them that one of the collective nouns for snowflakes is an avalanche.

Little do they know that depression has made you a veteran of resistance.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1–800–273-TALK

Content warning: suicidal ideation

Last week, I did something I hadn’t done since coming out of my last mental health crisis: I took all the sharp knives, razors, and scissors in sight and hid them in a plastic bag under the sink. Out of sight, out of mind, or so my magical thinking goes. I have bipolar disorder and struggle with complex-PTSD. Often I want to die; last week and this week were not unlike many others.

Like many, I have found the American elections triggering and excruciating. I have sat for days fixated on a feed of pain and terror scrolling before my eyes. I see the flood of calls for action and organized resistance: the ever-growing lists of numbers to call and email (senators, governors, mayors, the media, etc.) and organizations to donate to; the petitions to call out family members and friends; the protests and rallies to attend; and everything else presented with the same level of urgency. My mind fragments with information overload: the guides, the think pieces, the memes, the latest reports of fuckduggery.

But how can I be of any help to any cause when I’m truly mentally sick? When a good portion of my time and energy has been focused on resisting the desire to kill myself? How do I resist feelings of worthlessness and despair when I feel worthless in supporting the cause right now?

As someone who often battles with suicidal ideation, I’m a bit “old hat” when it comes to strategizing new ways to resist self-destructive thought patterns. Over the last few weeks, I’ve had to navigate a storm of emotions and combat feelings that have threatened to pull me under while still finding ways to contribute where and when I can.

For those who contend with suicidal ideation as a lived, perhaps daily, reality, below is a guide to engagement and self-care, as well as a few approaches to activism.

Have Empathy For Yourself

I have, first and foremost, forced myself to acknowledge this fact: I am sick. I am limited. Even when I’m feeling mentally well, my health is so precarious that I’m one triggering phone call or email away from plunging back into suicidal ideation. It is imperative that I prioritize my mental health, even when the drum calls are banging otherwise.

But when you are mentally ill, prioritizing one’s mental health in the face of calamity can feel like the ultimate form of selfishness, leading to a shame spiral marked by feelings of worthlessness, particularly in times of great need for social action.

I have to ask myself, do I extend the same judgmental attitudes toward others working in the cause whom I admire? Is it reasonable for me to expect others to put their mental health so at risk by being on all the time? And if not, why do I apply this judgement to myself? Would I really want any of my activist friends to drive themselves to suicide? Can I not work on extending the same love and empathy I have for others towards myself?

Realize that active compassion for your illness is a form of resistance.

Resist Internalized Ableism

Understand that not all calls to action are directed at you, and resist descending into shame over not being in a position to do specific activities. When we see calls that are beyond our ability and means, rather than allow those messages to contribute to feelings of abject worthlessness, perhaps we need to allow that those calls are meant for those with the means to take action, who have been so far complacent.

There is a difference between those who haven’t called out racist/misogynistic/trans and homophobic family members because it is hard, awkward, and uncomfortable, and refusing to speak to abusive family members who are the source of trauma in which any conversation might trigger suicidal thoughts.

If using the phone sends you into a panic, understand that calling congress is not for you. Likewise if you are agoraphobic and can’t attend protests and rallies. When you are struggling with suicidal ideation, making room for these nuances and allowances for yourself can be the difference between life and death.

When battling fragmented identity, trauma, feelings of worthlessness, and suicidal ideation, it can be all too easy to project ableism inward (and outward as well). Resist the poisonous capitalistic concept that your value depends on productivity. Acknowledge that this often leads to counterproductive fronting and “good allyship” performativity even at the best of times.

Try reflecting on your intrinsic value. Keep reminding yourself: My life has value outside a lack of productivity. And this applies even when thinking about activist activities.

Keep reminding yourself: My life has value outside a lack of productivity.
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Reflect instead on how your struggles with mental illness bring perspectives and skills to the table that are unique. Do not underestimate the value of your empathy even at times when you cannot afford to act on it. The mentally-sick are well acquainted with having to contend with an overwhelming storm of emotions, which might be new terrain for many. Don’t discount your experience with your struggles. Even catastrophizing, kept in check, can be a positive skill, as it can help others imagine worst-case scenarios and plan contingencies for resistance.

Separate The Fragility Of Your Mental State From White Fragility

Having a mental illness does not give you a free pass on white fragility. Last week, at a time when I was feeling mentally fraught, a friend made a post calling out white people, and I have to admit I did feel hurt about being indirectly called out regarding some of my own recent behaviors (no, it was not safety pins). I also had to acknowledge that I was too sick in that moment to contend with those feelings of knee-jerk defensiveness, and had to resist taking up the space to act on how the post made me feel.

My mental health requires attention; my white tears do not. There is a difference between ignoring your problematic behaviors and persisting in them, and acknowledging that you might be too sick to address call-outs in this moment. At these times, it might be better to tap out for a little while to come back and reflect on how you can make transformative changes, and do better, when your mental health is a little less fragile. And while calls for succor to help alleviate anguish stemming from mental health issues are always appropriate, taking up the space of others, particularly people of color, to validate hurt feelings around your own problematic behaviors separate from your mental illness are not.

Map What You Can And Cannot Do

When simple tasks such as brushing my teeth or cracking open a Babybel cheese become unsurmountable, I have to acknowledge I can do very little, whether it is one of my worst days, worst weeks, or worst months. In those moments, even self-care looks like doing my best not to give into feelings of shame about crying in bed all day in the fetal position.

But not every day is my worst day. Some days, all I can do to offer support is to signal boost activist writers online. If the only thing you can do is retweet when you are too unwell to do otherwise, you have taken part. On better days, I can manage to write something. On good days, I can attend a protest, knowing I have to pace myself, I cannot go the distance, and I will have to bow out after an hour or two.

Sometimes it is easier to learn not to compare ourselves to others than to learn not to compare our most unwell self with our most well self. Map out a staggered checklist of things you can and can’t do based on the spectrum of your mental health. Celebrate even the tiniest of victories, like remembering to take your meds on bad days, assuring yourself that when you are well enough you can and will do more, no matter how insignificant that contribution might feel at the time.

What To Do When There Are No Good Days

There might be an endless stream of worst days. During the height of my last mental crisis, it felt particularly cruel to be called upon to stay on this earth because I was “needed” when I was battling the worst psychic pain.

Instead, I try to resist ideation around suicide as an act of martyrdom for the cause. It has been reported that a Neo-Nazi site has been encouraging its readers to troll targeted people into suicide. Resist adopting a strategy endorsed by the enemy by turning projections of their violence inwards.

Drawing upon all the resources you need is a form of activism in combatting ableism.
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Do not give into feelings of being too much of a burden when you are in deep despair and psychic pain because you imagine resources are better spent elsewhere with world conditions as they are. Reach out (I know how fucking hard this is, I know, I know). Make the calls to suicide hotlines. Or reach out to text or chat support if phone calls are too overwhelming. Understand that drawing upon all the resources you need is a form of activism in combatting ableism. Issues around mental health and suicide have value. YOU HAVE VALUE.

You have value today, you have value tomorrow, and you have value all the days to come.