Hog Mountain

 I was with a group of rambunctious teenage boys on hog mountain, the sun was setting and lighting up beautiful red cliffs, I wanted to carve a spoon and was splitting some wood. I waved my machete up and down and instead of the juniper I hit my left index finger. It was a deep and long cut, but I still had sensation and was able to move it. I'll be fine, my coworker Kyle did some awesome first aid.

I thought of my violin, I thought if it was worth it to call my supervisor to take me to the hospital, I thought about missing work, I thought about what kind of example I was setting for the boys if I went to the hospital for such a wimpy injury, I thought about how rude the boys were to me that week. I thought about how I needed to lead the band down hog mountain. Hog mountain is incredibly hard to navigate and it's dangerous if you go the wrong way and I was the only one who knew the way down. Had to make a lot of decisions, and decisions are hard for my tiny little brain, especially when I'm bleeding everywhere.

I decided not to go to the hospital. The next morning when my supervisor Rachel came the next morning to deliver some more first aid supplies. It was definitely too late for stitches the next morning but she let me know if I still needed to come off trail to not be embarrassed and just take care of myself. The sun was hot, the boys were telling homophobic jokes, we were sitting under a tree and I realized there was no way to keep my wound clean and closed in the desert during the monsoon season. I asked to come off trail and then led the boys down hog mountain, Rachel then took me off. 

Why didn't I come off trail right away? When I just gave up and came off trail the next day? That was not very consistent of me. Like, maybe I used this injury as an excuse to run away from a homophobic environment. I want to say the homophobic comments from the boys didn't influence my decision to come off the trail, but I don't think I have that much integrity. My anger affects my mindset, it's not like I'm actively trying to manipulate the situation or punish anyone. I'm just trying to do the right thing while not knowing what the right thing is and I'm stressed out. Maybe I wasn't practicing knife safety because I was so mad at the kids. 

The clientele of wilderness therapy is always hard, like, I deal with homophobic jokes from the boys often, but this week it definitely disturbed me more. I started to cry in my sleeping bag one night because of some awful things the boys said. It's weird to think I left because I was being bullied. Like, isn't that admitting defeat? Am I really so weak that I let teenagers make me cry? Am I really so weak that I quit my job mid-shift because of a little cut?

And like, the homophobia wasn't always directed at me, it was mostly generalized jokes about how all gay people are gross and deserve to be beaten. But sometimes it was directed at me, even though I was giving them safety on hog mountain, they don't realize how dangerous that mountain is and probably didn't appreciate the safety and guidance I provided. 

I feel pretty selfish for wanting that appreciation from the kids. You can never demand appreciation, and there was one kid who wasn't homophobic and he might've appreciated me but couldn't say it. It's incredible that feeling the pain from an injury (and it sure does hurt) can bring your demons to the front of your mind. Like, if I didn't slice my finger open, I probably would not have had to confront these feelings.

I'll be in Tucson keeping this wound clean and killing time. I have a ton of trail mix I'm tryna give to the homeless if anyone wants to help me do that tomorrow or Thursday. Love you all