in the five weeks since this photo Dakota, on the right, lost her job and her van (home). today the community that failed her are dithering over whether the OD was accidental, and exchanging mutual backpats over how hard they all tried to fix her.
I'd known her barely a year. we had great conversations, some fun outings, a sleepover once. meanwhile I heard all sorts of secondhand stories about her, about a history of frantic or even violent outbursts, about official psychiatric diagnosis. when my roof provider found out she'd stayed over, he gave me a pained grimace and a "hey be careful with that." all I ever saw was a woman swimming in trauma but trying her best, and in fact actively working on fixing bad patterns when she found them.
I couldn't always make time for her. the texts were a lot more scarce in the past month, and I noticed that, but I was burning spoons dealing with my own situation. the thought occurs that maybe if I'd been there more, she would have made it through this. but see, the guilt of that belongs to everyone who wasn't there at all. this close-knit small town she grew up in who couldn't love the person she actually was, only pummel her with ideas of who she should be.
she was cisgender and androphilic and Teutonic. just, please be sure your sense of intersectional solidarity recognizes that saneism has a body count all by itself.