IT'S BEEN A LONG A LOT - II

Little did I know that the social worker at the Job Center was gonna end up having such a great time when I first came into her office, with no translator, in a panic, rent cut, no moving or storage budget, recently hospitalised, with a Sozialgericht klage in hand and a Brazilian passion in vocal tone propelled by a Mars in Leo and Mercury Sagitarius about to blow like a fire arrow at her very first eye roll at my poor german skills and sheer AuDHD burn out desperation.

I started the day late for my own timing, no shimmy a day to keep the sad away. Gobbled down to soft boiled eggs, 30mg Elvanse, one pot of greek yogurt and stuck Chicken, my chihuahua, in his travel bag and a pouch of dry food with a couple of “snackinhos”. Bag in shoulder, low battery foldable scooter in hand, stinky jumper yet impeccable nails, off I went with a stack of Job Center letters, Sozialgericht Klage, laptop, and a recently found back of licorice Rizzlas brought to me in Brazil by an artist friend who still lives in the UK - the licorice Rizzla became the highlight post Job Center meeting.

I write this post meeting “vrawwwrrrr” sitting outside Gorilla cafe as unsupecting Brazilians speak their deepest secrets unbeknownst to them that yet another undercover Brazilian is present. I lowkey want to let them know that I know, but the distraction and undercoverness of it all is too pleasurable and useful to keep my mind monkeys on track as I retell of what happened today.

First things first. I may or may not have mentioned that I remain in some kind of shock at my situation. Who would have known that a person with a CV like mine - including the academic one - would find themselves with absolutely no cash, maxed out overdraft, spiraling on a bureaucratic rollercoaster for this long, stuck in Germany, when a simple move to Brazil, or even a neighbouring country could probably set me back on track with both my mental and physical health by providing a healthy emotional landscape and WORK - aka INCOME.

If you know me, and of me, you might be thinking “WTAF Cibelle?! HOW?! There’s a Wikipedia entry to your name, you are cited in numerous publications and surveys on cyber-feminism, you’ve lectured at Stanford, you’ve been in incredible keynote line ups with the likes of Geert Lovink, Julieta Aranda, Daniel Jhave Johnston, Ana Teixeira Pinto, like really what in the actual fuck of all the fucks? You literally performed at the Carnegie Hall, Montreaux Jazz Festival, Auditorio Ibirapuera, you have close to a million streams a year on Spotify alone, like, not to mention showing work at MASP, ICA London, Martin Gropius Bau, WTH?!”
Same. I think the same. The Job Center person looks at me bemused when they check out all I’ve done, and this is just a tiny percent.

With all of this said, it’s time for a some backstory, and really, one of the true painful blessings this emotional, financial and health rollercoaster has brought me with its never ending thread of silver linings.

The thing that I’m realising this surprisingly late in life is just how deep is the impact of trauma. The trauma of abandonment wounds, emotional distance, conflict avoidance, shaming, emotional neglect, diminishing, scapegoating and all other kinds of othering can have on a neurodivergent person, and if FLINT*, add exxxtra layers.
Weirdly enough, it wasn’t until I practically lost everything - tho I was recently shown that nothing is truly lost - nevertheless, being made to believe that no matter what you have achieved, it may amount to nothing to those who you’ve been conditioned to want to please.