I Don't Have An Emergency Contact.

Every now and then, it dawns on me that I don’t have an emergency contact.

It’s not just when I am asked to provide one at the doctor’s, leasing office, yoga class, or pretty much anything else.

I think about it when I’m chopping vegetables and I realize that all it takes is a wrist sprain for me to struggle to independently feed myself.

I think about it when a driver is pridefully about to hit me as I walk through a crosswalk. I realize that I could lose my home if I ever had to stay in the hospital for too long.

(((They always love to pardon themselves with an anxious wave that says, “Sorry I didn’t stop to let you cross when you clearly had the right of way but I’m in a large metal vehicle and you’re not, so therefore you’re of lesser value and I really don’t give a fuck if I cripple you for the rest of your life or even just destroy your quality of life for a few months while you can’t work, feed, or bathe yourself, tee-hee!”)))

I think about it when I realize I couldn’t foster a cat because even one overnight hospital visit would lead to a baby’s missed meal.

I think about it when I realize that whatever happens, I have to go through everything alone, with no safety net, and nobody knocking on my door to check on me.

For my entire life, my parents have been my emergency contact.

My family has provided shelter when I would have otherwise been on the street, and they have come to my aid when I came down with a freak illness and had to stay in the ICU…on 3 different occasions.

My Mother has always made sure to let me know that her home was my “soft landing”

Over the years, it reached to a point where my survival was the only thing tying our relationship together.

But having my parents in my life for such basic support came with a cost.

The cost was—as much as they supported me through life’s emergencies, they also created crises, too.

Fire crises that hit me like a ton of bricks when I least expected it, and slow-drip crises that ate away at my body and spirit like cancer.

Crises that pushed me to create emergency fundraisers, leave town, and sleep on couches and blow-up beds of people I just met.

My parents still welcome me with open arms. They would be happy to be my emergency contact. But I am tired of enduring the endless cycle.

I am out here raw-dogging life because that’s the only way I can set my path towards true safety, health, and peace of mind.

But I can’t lie about how vulnerable I feel, and sometimes it hits harder than others.

Community has been my sore spot for many years.

On the outside, I have a rich social life…at least during summertime.

When I go out, people are drawn to me. It’s easy for me to strike up lengthy conversations, and enjoy genuine “hang out” moments.

But at the end of the day, I’m alone.

And as much as I hate to say it—the controversial work I have done creates a real barrier with many people who could otherwise be good community.

We can laugh, talk, and enjoy each other’s company—but I don’t trust them because I know they will abandon me purely based what I have stood up for.

So I don’t nurture the connection, and it feels like wasted potential.

Sometimes I keep my distance for other reasons, but this is a major one.

This has happened with neighbors, and women I have met in my local area…

And it’s part of my sore spot.

I had a sore spot already, and it has compounded.

It is not my fault. I have identified this as a structural problem. But it’s exhausting and discouraging.

That is already on top of how challenging it is to make friends as an adult in general.

There are additional barriers I face that are quite frankly, stupid & unnecessary…yet extremely pervasive.

I’d like to think that these barriers (or standards) create a filter for higher-quality relationships. And maybe it does.

But it doesn’t change how exposed and vulnerable I feel during the long chapters of life that I have to walk alone.

I recently published an essay on my journey with celibacy.

I’m cool with taking time off from intimate relationships, especially when I do not have an emergency contact.

I’m done with getting intimate when I am building my foundation, especially after people have used fractures of my vulnerability as an opportunity to insert themselves where they didn’t belong. NO THANK YOU.

But everybody needs community, no matter what’s going on in their world. It’s part of being human.

This final chapter of family estrangement has required advanced adulting skills.

I’ve scrambled to opt-into every single safety net I can find. Long term disability insurance. Paid Family & Medical Leave. Welfare.

I even looked into hiring a pro-bono lawyer to be my medical proxy, to honor my wishes in case I ever become a human vegetable (((¡please pull the fucking plug!)))

I even looked into having a social worker be my emergency contact.

And I know it’s still not enough!

There is no substitute for someone who simply gives a fuck about you, and who has the capacity to show up for the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I’m extraordinarily resourceful, and resourcefulness has gotten me this far.

But I can’t do this life all alone. And that’s the part that I’m surrendering to.

I can’t effort my way into having friends, community, or family.

I can’t effort my way into having a good emergency contact.

And I can’t regress my morals out of fear of not having those things.

So until I build that support system in my life, I have to trust that I’m protected.

And maybe that’s the journey that I’m meant to walk.

Or let’s be real…maybe this is some bullshit that comes with living on a ghetto ass planet!!!