benji's Radical Community Care Fundraiser

My name is Tuluģaaķ "benji".

WHY this Mutual Aid fundraiser?

At this time I am unable to afford my bills (basic costs of living) and I need financial help. My physical health/stability is rapidly declining. Not only is this making the search for/ability to maintain employment arduous, but threatens stability with my mental and emotional health. Ultimately, money is the resource I need in order to stay in my current home, and afford basic bills/living costs as I confront the system for palliative care, and evaluate my own lifeclock countdown against the reapplication process for SSDI-please read about me, my story, what this fundraiser will do for me, and see my budget at the bottom of this page.

Money adds up when many people contribute, so we WELCOME contributions of $5, $10, $15 etc., in addition to larger donations. If you are able and interested in making monthly contributions please back channel me for set up details through the “contact” button at the bottom of this page.

If you have a skill to “donate,” things that would be helpful to me are:

-house cleaning assistance

-garden grown foods

-body work (massage, craniosacral, acupuncture, cupping, etc)

-automotive maintenance/referrals to trusted mechanics

-medicinal herbs

-reach out with other offerings you feel could help!

A bit about Me:

To begin, I am 35 years old, Gwi'chin Iñupiaq with Kaínaiwa ancestry, queer in gender and sexuality, disabled, poor, and neurodivergent. I live in a 1-bedroom apartment in Portland, OR.

Most recently, I have come to terms with a cancer diagnosis that does not come with available treatment and the possibility of remission. Multiple myeloma will afford me up to one more loop around the sun. Receiving financial resources will offer the comfort and dignity in continuing to secure a roof over my head during the last months of my bodylife. I have also been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, neuropathic damage, and have a longstanding journey with chronic pain. I’ve also had a longstanding journey with mental/emotional “adventures,” and I’m being treated for BiPolar Disorder, Insomnia, Manic/Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, and Anxiety - all stemming from CPTSD (complex post-traumatic stress disorder). I am working on my second attempt at applying for SSDI, though that process may outlive me. My amazing PCP and Gastroenterologist have been working hard in advocacy to get me access to testing procedures so I am able to be fully informed on the state of this physiological vessel. I have been subjected to multiple TBIs and spinal injuries which were left untreated due to inability to afford the visits, being in an abusive and controlling relationship, stranger hate crimes, and my biological “sperm donor” (aka “Father”).

A Little More about Me:

If y’all are coming back to this page you will notice even more updates. If this is your first time, here is the “resume and cover letter”.

I graduated Portland State University with honours in June 2021 with a double major and a double minor. Throughout the ten years attending PSU I was working 2-3 jobs while enrolled as Full Time student (call me masochistic). Despite that, I have acquired 100k in student debt. I would love to pursue a Masters program, but have had to put that on hold.

I was working at New Seasons Market as a Meat Clerk since March 2021 and was promoted to a Department Lead 6 months later. After experiencing the increase in corporatization of the company and discriminatory, ableist practices, I had to quit. I was able to get a temporary paid contract position as an Outreach Specialist with Haymarket Pole Collective (HMPC), a grassroots org that advocates for/serves BIPoC/Queer Sex Workers. I, myself, have a history of 14ish years as a sex-worker. I contributed to curriculum development with the Equitable Care Coalition (ECC) in Portland for mental/emotional/physical healthcare providers to better equip them in meeting the needs and holding space for the narratives of the BIPoC/queer/sex-workers they serve.

My top surgery was successfully completed and I am grateful for the support of my community that allowed me to achieve this affirming care. Unfortunately, the toll that surgical recovery took on my body further exposed underlying major bodily injuries that are [now] more rapidly debilitating.

In April 2023 I obtained employment that would provide livelihood-security. However, I was unable to accrue the PTO, sick days, and/or OFLA eligibility quickly enough in the first three weeks to cover the absences needed to stay home with a loved one in their last few days. Due to a very strict attendance policy, my employment was terminated after missing two consecutive shifts. It was a conscious decision I made to prioritize the relationship and opportunity in caring for whom showed me, for the first time in my life, what love truly is.

My fur lifemate of 10 years was released from his body on 28th of May, 2023. Having the honour of serving Sir Hubert Cumberdale as his Death Doula and Companion was one of those excruciatingly-beautiful moments of love that cracks open your ribcage, leaving shards in your throat, around your heart and you – forever changed – and I hold all nuance of such in beloved awe. Every single atom in my being has the memory of holding his soft warm body against my chest and looking into his peridot eyes – the most transcendent gratitude and compassion – as he bowed with grace, free from bodily restrictions. Hubey and I were able to share that moment – the most important moment that I will ever experience – through exhausting the funds I have received thus far.

I am an independent contractor as a Rover Sitter, providing services for your nonhuman companions: from drop-in visits checking on your beloveds and sharing walks with them while you are out for the day, to house sits and round-the-clock care, behavioural training, and deepening the bond between y'all.

My Sweet Divine Hubert, my counselor of nearly a decade, and my sibling/soul-bond (R), are the three longest and healthiest relationships I have ever been in. These days, they are the only ones I am in.

A bit of My Story:

I was born into an “ideal” family home. In my journey of personal identification I was “other-ed” as: non-heterosexual, non-rich, “crazy” (neurodivergent, highly empathic/sensitive, trauma survivor), non-cisgender, Indigenous to Turtle Island as an Iñupiat with Kaínaiwa ancestry but still wyte-privileged, and disabled. I felt myself being shoved into societal cracks of containment. My biological "Father" paid the state to take custody of me years after he had m**ested me from infancy until the young age where long-term memory begins to take hold. I was forced from fosters-to-jails-to-residential/boarding schools as “home.” I was forced to make a home where there was none.

My body will never forget what it is like to wonder how long one can make a candy bar last because you don’t know when your next food will be: scrounging for quarters in the street to hit up the vending machine at work while thinking “at least I have a bed to sleep in tonight.” That bed is only temporary, though, because the man whose bed it is is only letting you share it because of what your body looks like and he will get sick of it once he realizes you are a child who became an adult-in-survival the moment you were sexualized by your own blood. Your paycheck goes to paying for transportation to/from work, utilities for a month so you can shower there for a couple weeks, and things at the store they keep locked up so you can't steal (menstrual supplies, safer sex supplies, etc). My heart will never forget what it is to learn “love” from the end of a fist, the edge of a curb, belt straps, wall corners, my own childhood bed... My biology has the seared remembrance of electroshock "therapy", myriad pathologized medication cocktails, and human/e connection severance as "what [the State of Alaska-then-Utah, my legal guardian] know is best [for me]". My brain holds memory of manipulative language, slurs, sadistic syllabics and stipulations all in the name of “love.”

I was able to secure a one-bedroom apartment in a familiar and queer-friendly neighbourhood in Portland, OR. I was only able to secure this housing because of the financial reparations R’s former husband is paying for sexually assaulting me 5 years ago. This apartment, for myself and (formerly) Hubert, has been the first and only time I have ever had to create intention within a safe home and to trust in the safety of that home. This is the first time in 35 years of living that I have not had to sacrifice my mental/emotional/physical/spiritual survival/security. This is the first time I have glimpsed what "safe[ty]" and "secur[e/ity]" looks and feels like. Ever.

But it was secured only because I was sexually assaulted by someone in a class-privileged position.

Because I came forward in telling R that their husband of 20+ years and father to their children sexually assaulted me years prior and continued to sexualize me up until that day, was I able to move out from under his roof and into a home. I had to do the heartbreaking work of watching the world of R and their children shatter in the most painful way possible – in order to honour the trauma my body holds and the healing it deserves. . . and in turn honor the truth and healing R deserves for themself, their kids, and the healing He deserves in interrupting harmful behaviors.

However, I now find myself in a position of sacrifice and in a financial power dynamic akin to how my biological father manipulated me for many past years – despite R’s former husband finding a higher paying job to continue supporting R/their kids and paying for a portion of my housing costs, he cannot afford to begin making payments on R’s medical school loans. It is not an option (to neither myself nor Him) to place R/their kids’ security in jeopardy, so the onus of responsibility/burden fell onto me again.

I have been battling suicidal ideations because I know my value/worth and because I have gotten a taste of what it is like to not sacrifice safety/trust/home/comfort in order to survive. I would rather die than kill off parts of myself/violate my values and boundaries and go back to how my body was existing for the last 34 years. While I could find different housing for self that is more affordable, none exists. I have been on affordable housing waitlists for years. Despite waiting, I still apply for newly-developed affordable housing sites’ waitlist. I have scoured all avenues to obtain rental assistance, utility assistance, etc. Coming after COVID-19 relief, all funds are exhausted. The likelihood of new funds being distributed is slim-to-none.

While there are plenty of jobs to apply for, there are only a select number that I would be functionally able to hold and even fewer that would knowingly hire someone with a laundry list of diagnosed and undiagnosed disabilities – physical *and* mental/emotional. Further, while survival in this society means paying your way by working for your right to exist, I will neither waste my time nor precious/fleeting/scarce energy to apply for/knowingly omit information from to obtain employment that I know is not sustainable – I refuse. Not only do I refuse to lie/cheat/steal time/energy/money from an employer I know I will be unable to uphold my commitment to before they ever read my name on a resumé, I refuse to sacrifice one/some security – safety/trust/home/comfort because I have taught myself and allowed myself to learn from others what is possible.

I have learned the myriad of ways to define ‘safety/trust’ in what we call “love” only to learn that it is not safety/trust/love. Sharing in caring and love with Hubert was when I was able to begin redefining what “love/care” truly is. R has made multiple trips, hours each way, to come hold space for me. They have dressed my wounds, bore witness to my pain, cried with/for me, made meals, and pulled me from depths with no map.

My therapist sparked the possibility of a GoFundMe: an idea that the mutual aid, community carework, and unconditional love while honouring boundaries/capabilities that I do for myself, for HMPC and ECC, loved ones, strangers, etc. CAN be done for me. Because I am of worth and value and deserve to receive care without the expectation/obligation that I must prove my worth, but because my existence is worth being cared for.

“This is for all the times I have relaxed into the miracle of being cared for well, that I knew what was possible…” –Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha.

This Fundraiser will…

Calm the chronic flow of financial stress (and frequent financially-based panic) and help me stay in my home until I decide it is time to transition from this body on my own terms.

Allow me to truly center my own needs and make my own choices about my wellness: something that cannot be done while in survival mode.

Allow me to afford much-needed bodywork (cranio-sacral therapy, massage, acupuncture, cupping, neurological exams, etc).

Get needed repairs done to my vehicle which is essential for my safety (brakes, ball joints, fuel injection leak, tyres, rotors).

Allow me to focus on nurturing creativity that is being suffocated inside me while in survival mode.

Give me time to re-apply for SSDI, and get through the difficult and long process of qualifying for it.

Let me know I don’t have to do it all on my own.. That I am cared for by others.. That community does exist.

This is my budget/monthly expenses:

Rent $1500/mo

Phone $80/mo

Internet $75/mo

Utilities $80-200/mo

Car Insurance $800/6mos

Gas $200/mo

Groceries ~$300/mo.

Student Loan Payments TBD

Laundry (coin-op) $20/mo

Total: $3125

Income (before Taxes): currently up to $300/month