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Here Or Lost Love, Yes?
My name is Gemma. I was born in Rhodesia. I’m 36. I’m a pretty Native Indian woman. I have many interests like tattoos of which I have eight, including an Indian wise woman on my back and a traditional fishing scene on each shoulder. Red hearts dangle from fishing lines on them. 

Music is one of my loves from when I was a teenager. I listened to goth, metal, punk and local bands as a form of rebellion to my strict overzealous parents. They controlled me and stopped me being happy, forbidding that precious emotion. I do like traditional native music, it’s so simple and connected to the land. As I am, being pagan.

I like to cast spells, do witchcraft and rituals. Many see me as a dark witch but I am just me. My spells always worked. Until now. The last one didn’t. It was a protection spell. Karma gave me a really rough ride. This relates to what I did and led me to where I am now – in the local Jehovah’s Witness Temple in the San Jamine.

I’m having a breakdown, my mind collapsing. This isn’t good. I really screwed up and ruined things with John. I imposed my will upon him and he went crazy. Things went bad so fast. He was a man I met on the internet six months ago. We shared the same interests like music, tattoos, poetry, reading and paganism. 

The only difference was that John liked planes, war and weapons. He said he was antiwar but I do wonder? War destroyed my people; scattered them far and wide, murdered them, stole their land and a dozen other evil things. All carried out by the white man. He did this because we were Native Indians doing forbidden things in his eyes: spells, rituals, witchcraft, worshipping nature and more.

This bothers me, is a dark shadow I carry, as does the rest of my kin. As were my parents strict rules and discipline against music and being happy. My mind is collapsing. I feel the anxiety rising up. I feel deeply depressed. Real darkness in my heart overwhelms me. The same darkness that I love and hate. Oh I need the light! I must speak to the Minister. 

Why did I forbid John from having new tattoos? When I had one two weeks ago. We even planned to have poetry tattoos, written by the other person. John having mine, me his. How nice. And now I have ruined it! I became the oppressor. I became the white man oppressing my race. I became my parents, forbidding my happiness. I oppressed John and forbade new tattoos. I became the oppressor.

There’s the Minister…
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