Support Mercy's Journey to Independence

In 2017, Mercy (formerly known as Diane) showed up downtown in the middle of Capone’s in a lolita dress, graphic eyeliner, and a profound determination to find her way in this world so magnificent that in short order, she managed to charm a couple of blocks of hateful seasoned bar staff. We too lived on our own island of broken toys.

Diane walked in the door into my eyes at 21 years, awkward and terrorized young woman, from what I would later learn was a lifetime of horrific levels of educational neglect, control, exploitation of her also extreme physical disability, isolation, alcoholism, and what I think has most affected her, a profound and functional isolation from the world at large that has left her with nearly impossible odds of surviving it.

I was often harsh with her, I think many of us were, on more occasions than I am proud to admit. We were busy and anxious, there were so many drunk people. It was the middle of the night. Mercy never failed to ask how we all were doing. Never forgot a birthday. Brought us candy. I ordered her to stop, to save her money. She never once listened. I was deeply, deeply, concerned for this naive young girl, one that loved recklessly and openly, to be wandering in and out of the bars.

I began watching more closely, her interactions with her parents. Their behavior. And as I gathered more of the story, I grew more concerned. I began to push her to attend a vocational rehabilitation program. I attempted to communicate and provide transportation and educate her parents on these programs, ways to support her desire to work and be independent. I was met with rage and threats. Mercy was met with assertions that “the state would commit her due to mental illness.”

Having emphatically lost that battle all those years ago, I silently committed to staying an active presence and supporting her in any way that I could. And somehow, she made it. Somehow, she figured it out. I watched her make friends. Get a job. Tomi & John taught her to drive, helped her acquire a car. She acquired an apartment on her own. For far more years than I could have ever thought, she showed up every day and made it all work. Worked on her art projects. Step outside the fear of society and structure that her parents abused her into. In spite of it all, in spite of the tumors that visibly cover her body, she insisted- demanded even. That she be able to work and work in restaurants no less. Manual labor. Endlessly. She figured out how to self support for years. The odds were impossible. And yet she did it.

Until recently when a lack of financial education, support structure, and a lifetime of neglect and abuse finally caught up with her. Mercy is currently homeless. She is sleeping in her vehicle in Asheville

I have rarely known anyone as determined to self support as Mercy. I have never known anyone with a physical disability as extreme as the one she has (osteopoiesis).

If Mercy has ever offered you a hug, or birthday cupcakes, now would be the time to say thank you. She has never asked for help. It has been foisted upon her more often than not by adults that, even those of us that cared deeply, were best case scenario, inconsistent.

She is actively engaged now with vocational rehabilitation and John Hernholm and myself are working with them to support her into a move back into Johnson City in an independent apartment that she can sustainably afford, appropriate medical and mental health care and a path to independence that she has always deserved.

Abigail + John