a disaster zone update

gratitude and survival

My dear ones,

This is an emotional post for me to write, but it’s important. Please stay with me.

Last Wednesday evening, I drove home from the south of Asheville where I’d been working to the north of town. The flooding and rains were already so prolific by 6 p.m. that those few miles took over an hour to cross — none of us could see the roads ahead of us, the gushing, dangerous shoulders, the swaying streetlights.

I felt real fear then. I hadn’t thought to fill my car with gas that morning, had only a mountain girl’s hazy understanding of hurricane weather. When I made it to my apartment complex, I gratefully shut the door on all that wind, assuming that’s all I’d need in the coming days — a simple shut door.

Last week’s naivety feels like a long time ago. But most of us experienced it. Everyone I’ve spoken with since has said the same thing — we weren’t prepared.

I don’t want to talk here (yet) about the devastation Helene wrought on this beloved town, largely because the Outside World, as we’ve been calling it, has been privy to the facts and images of this since the beginning. I tell everyone I love that you likely know more than I do, and will for some time.

(For those who don’t know, we lost cell service entirely on Friday and didn’t regain it until the early hours of Monday morning — and for most of us, it remains spotty and unreliable. I still can’t really place or receive a call. And data is minimal or virtually nonfunctional. Wifi is elusive, and I’ve finally snatched a paltry handful at a grocery store, which is how I’m able to send you this today.)

But I’m also not talking about the devastation yet because it’s very painful. Since yesterday, as cell service has slowly improved, giving us meager pockets of data, we’ve started to see the photos and videos. It’s too much to bear. We have to take it in small doses.

It’s hard to describe all of this to those who aren’t living it. The grief is just starting to make her rounds. And we must continue to do what we’ve been doing for seven days now: survive, a word I’ve utterly relearned and redefined.

Every morning, I wake with the sun and go through my list of loved ones. Who needs food? Who has gas? Where can I get gas? Who needs water? Who needs mental health support? What requires my immediate attention? We’re using words like basic needs. We’re saying do you have. We’re saying holy fuck, I’m alive.

What I do want to talk about here is this: my gratitude.

I’ve seen such extraordinary acts of kindness in these last, brutal seven days. These are what have made me — and my friends here — weep.

I want to include you on that list.

Thank you for reading this. That’s the first gift you’re giving me right now. I’m telling everyone that staying informed and not simply moving onto the next pressing news story is essential. This is a crisis that five states will be recovering from for an extremely long time, and that recovery will be multidimensional.

Thank you for other ways that you’ve supported me. By posting on social media and Substack for me when I couldn’t do so myself, checking in on me regularly, sending your version of prayers, offering generous financial support, sending emails for me, researching gas stations and accessible grocery stores and distribution centers, passing on vital info I can pass on to my community in turn — for your love. It multiplies.

Thank you for being with me, and all of us.

Thank you for making it easier for me to practice what I want to get better at: asking for help, and receiving.

I will say that it will be a while likely before I can create regular posts here. There’s no space outside of surviving and supporting my community right now for the kind of careful illustration and storytelling I want to make for you. I can’t say when it will return. But hopefully soon. Thank you for understanding.

I’m going to add a list here of ways that you can continue to support me and the other survivors of this disaster here in WNC. But in the meantime, I am grateful for you and your readership - always. And if you are also in this region and have been impacted by Helene, know that I love you and I care. We are hungry, we are thirsty, we are unwashed, we are surviving, but will get through this.

Ways that you can help

• Creative

  • Your readership is everything, and I don’t wish to lose it because of this. Please keep reading and sharing My Dear Queer if you’re able. And consider subscribing if you haven’t already, or generously upgrading to a paid subscription. Lots of working artists are now out of work because of Helene, and your support of queer artistry matters now more than ever.

• Financial

  • Many of us, myself included, have lost work indefinitely due to this or are unable to pay rent / bills or afford in-demand supplies. Consider sending a Venmo to a loved one here to help. There are FEMA and unemployment support options, but timeline and availability of these resources remain ambiguous. My Venmo is here (and I am making every effort to use donations to help others here!). Everything helps, everything is deeply appreciated.

  • Other donation opportunities:

    • BeLoved Asheville

    • Firestorm Bookstore

    • MANNA FoodBank

    • You can also email helenedonations@buncombecounty.org to inquire about donation possibilities.

    • I strongly suggest donating to local, on the ground orgs and non-profits, as the aid we have received tangibly thus far has come from these and good samaritan efforts from local citizens. Local efforts are also targeting vulnerable populations, including our beloved unhoused folks.

• Logistical

  • Spread the news! read the news! stay informed! This has been a catastrophic event and that’s an understatement. Its impact will linger for a very long time. I recommend anything from Citizen Times Asheville or Buncombe County directly.

  • We appreciate info about how we are being directly helped - it’s very reassuring right now as not many of us can be out there witnessing the acts of aid we are receiving. and wifi and data are virtually nonexistent.

  • Some folks are still needing manual directions to the following:

    • operating gas stations that take credit cards

    • distribution points for water and food

    • open and stocked grocery stores

• Emotional

  • Your love and care are everything. A sweet text, bit of poetry, cat meme, or check-in means the world. Thank you.

In gratitude, and more soon,

Bardette