— -. . / - .– — / - .– — / ..-. .. ..-. - -.–

Unfortunately for you, you aren’t very well versed in translating Morse code, merely recognizing it. You reach into your purse to grab your phone, but after a moment of searching, you realize you had left it at home before you left for work. “God damnit,” you mutter. You’re more than halfway to your office, and you’re already running late due to the fact that that you decided to follow some whim and jot down some cryptic message from a provocative rapper. Concluding that it would probably be best for you to mosey to work, you pull back onto the expressway and try to make it to work on time.

Upon arriving at work, you ask any coworker in sight if they know Morse code. Nobody seems to, and some don’t even know what Morse code is. You slump your shoulders in disappointment and head over to your desk, when suddenly, the quiet, mouse-like secretary clears her throat and says, “Excuse me, I know Morse code!”

You turn around with the same wide eyes as before. “You do!?” you ask vigorous excitement, which seems to startle the young woman.

“Yes,” she says, “when I was younger, I planned on joining the navy, so I taught it to myself.” You feel a bit sorry for her, that she wound up as a mere secretary instead of a naval officer, but that feeling of pity didn’t stop you from being grateful for the lucky coincidence of her knowing Morse code. You show her the pattern.

— -. . / - .– — / - .– — / ..-. .. ..-. - -.–

“That’s all there is?” she asks, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “it just kept repeating that over and over again. What does it say?”

“One, two, two, fifty.”

Your heart sinks a little. “What is that? What does that mean, is it like a phone number or house address or something?”

The secretary shrugs. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know. It’s too short to be a phone number, but beyond deciphering it, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

You nod slowly, and though you understand, you are still not at all satisfied. You go to sit at your desk. 1 2 2 50. The sequence plays over and over in your head all day, and needless to say, your curiosity an wonderment got the best of you. It was not a very productive work day.

You head home, and the same damned song plays on the radio. You shake your head as if that would make the song stop, then decide to plug 12250 into your GPS to see if there are any autofill results. None. You become increasingly frustrated.

When you get home, your daughter is sitting at the kitchen table, working on homework. She runs up to you and gives you a big hug, and asks about your day at work. You put on a fake smile and sigh. “Interesting,” you say— no doubt sugarcoating the intense excitement, disappointment, and confusion.

“Will you help me with my homework? I have to memorize something for my history class tomorrow.”

“Of course, doll! What are you memorizing?”

She hands you a laminated sheet of paper. “Roman numerals!”

You glance over the page, your eyes quickly darting from one, to two, to fifty.

It dawns on you. You’d recognize this pattern anywhere.

We should be teaching people harm reduction not that self harm means you're broken. I'm sorry if anyone has ever made you feel that way. If self harm makes you feel better, even for a moment, why shouldn't you be allowed to do that? people do shit that harms their body all the fucking time but this one thing is off limits?

I'm edging around the topic because it's almost certainly ban worthy but like, if it helps fucking do it, id much rather you use a "less than ideal" grounding technique (which im already rolling my eyes just typing that) than have no way to help yourself.

💙🤍💗

Jonathan Joss was an Indigenous, gay man who was murdered on the first day of Pride month as well as Indigenous History Month. He died protecting his trans husband. Homophobia and racism aren’t marks of the past, and this is a heart breaking reminder of that.

Please increase your contribution to The Sameer Project.

"Updates from The Sameer Project team in the last two weeks:

13 year old relative of team member hung himself and died, may he rest in peace

The cousin of a team member was killed by a drone, may he rest in peace

One of our team members got injured yesterday with shrapnel in his arms and hit his head from a car bombing in Gaza City

One of our bus drivers got hit with a metal rod on his head today because there was no space in the free bus we provide

When our team member went to the police station to report the bus incident, the station was full of boys from age 11 to 15 years old who were accused of stealing. Levels of desperation are high and the mental health of Palestinians in Gaza is extremely low from a genocide that surpassed the 2.5 years.

On top of all this, mutual aid groups are closing or significantly decreasing their distributions.