The last few months have been chaotic for me. I am still very unclear as to my mother's charges against her, her condition, her psychological state, etc... With the holidays singing in the air, I have struggled terribly to be happy with everyone else. My mind keeps going back to the most ridiculous scenarios I have dealt with for the last decade and a half.
One memory that refuses to leave my mind is how my mother was treated, in my presence, by a mental health tech in Lake City, Florida. My mother had been on a "petty crime" spree and the jail transferred her to an indigent facility, I later transferred her to a better facility in Gainesville, Fl. The building was beige, all beige even the chairs. It stunk and it was tiny. There were 30-40 patients in a small T.V. room to the side of the intake room where I met police as they transferred my mom. She had been there just the previous week and getting her transferred the week before had been unsuccessful by phone, so I chose to drive the 100 miles to do it in person. It was required that this facility take her vitals before we loaded her back into the police cruiser and head south to her usual facility. I stepped in quietly and listened as the barely-eighteen tech began taking her vitals. My mother was calm and doing as he asked, raising her arm for the blood-pressure cuff, lifting her tongue for the thermometer, etc..
He began speaking to her extremely condescendingly, but I knew he didn't know who I was so I chose to keep my mouth shut. He began "Now Juliet, are you going to behave for me this time?" She was still being perfectly cooperative. He continued "You don't want this to get physical again do you? You aren't going to act like you did last week, you saw how that ended for you!" and with his last statement I opened my mouth. I questioned first "do you realize I am her daughter?" He shook his head no, then decided to jump to his own defense, "you didn't see it! She was a wild woman!" I cut him off "and she is being perfectly fine now. I understand she can get belligerent, but you are trying to instigate her to action!" "I am not!" he retorted. With my smirk and head wobble I began my speech "if I am here right now and you are speaking to her this way, what are you doing to the family-less patients here? I do believe you are the reason my mother had 2 black eyes last week, I was suspicious of that, but now I know!" His supervisor came out to intervene and "deescalate" the "situation." He explained the tech was new and please forgive his indiscretion. I refused forgiveness and demanded he be fired, the supervisor looked at me blankly and said "no!" I requested his supervisor, whom conveniently was on vacation, and a contact number. I called numerous times and was never contacted nor informed whether the tech still works there. I cannot let go of what my mind tells me happens to those patients that don't have family willing to intervene.
It is extremely difficult balancing having my mother around when I have 4 children myself. I often worry, and am blatantly told by some, that her being around my kids will damage them somehow. I never choose her over my children, when an incident beyond control takes place, thankfully there have only been a few. My children love and accept my mother. My older two understand there are issues that play into the often strange advice that comes from her, but they have a tremendous understanding of how delicate our minds truly are. They are fully aware of how grateful they should be for their minds and ability to think. The twins adore my mother, and while sometimes they know she does silly things, she meets them at their level and they have a kinship with one another. If it weren't for my being unwilling to forget my mother, I don't know what would have happened to her.
Yes, "letting her go" would realistically be "simpler" for me, but deep within me I cannot do it! I rarely receive thanks from my mother, but when I do it is touching. My heart hurts for those like my mother defenseless and in our justice system. They have no one fighting for them, no one in their corner, and are often "demonized" by local media. They receive no fair trial, because so many have used "insanity" pleas, and accept whatever heavy-handed judgement is deemed. They sit in prisons, often being taken advantage of by other inmates, and waste away. No visitors, no letters, no commissary money, nothing. Those that make it to hospitals for their sentence often end up in indigent care where "techs" are a dime a dozen and provoke their illness.
I am currently working on getting my mother's official police incidents, papers, etc... I have help from a family member that is an attorney and she has been such an amazing gift! Truly I hope my mother will not die in a prison in Georgia, but the possibility remains. The next time you see a "demonized" criminal whose actions seemed unreal, they may have been. They may be like my mother.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
The Little Thief!
As a child, I spent many, many long road trips and often times extreme-hiking trips with my mother. Being a schizophrenic, she went when she got "god's orders." Sadly, "god" forgot to mention little kids need to eat. I would walk and ride with her mile after mile after mile. When we ran out of gas, we walked. Depending on which mission she was on, we couldn't stop unless she said so. Most times, she would get distracted and I could find a way to steal a meal. A meal was a snickers bar and if I got really gutsy a bottled water. I was good at it or maybe gas station employees knew I was starving. I got caught once, but quickly stole a dollar from a little old ladies purse. To this day, I still love snickers, but pay for them now.
Going 12-30 hours without food as a child was torture. As I aged, I kept a "kit" on hand at all times. One can of creamed corn and one can of sweet peas. I even brought can-openers. I remember, when I was around 11, my older sister realized I brought these items everywhere I went when I stayed overnight with her. She asked "why is there a can of corn and a can of peas in your bag?" I answered quickly, "I really like corn and peas!" She explained she could get some if she didn't already have any. What she didn't realize, was hers wasn't the only house I went to with the items in tow.
Many things from my childhood boiled over into my life even now. I don't cry, if it starts I dry it up with a quickness. No one cared when I was little if I cried or not, so I guess I learned not to. I want to cry so badly! I also read every street name as I pass. Every intersection! Survival techniques die hard I'm afraid. There are other "lingering effects" I won't discuss, simply because it hurts to tell them and since I can't cry, it will frustrate me. Trying to "break" old habits is beyond difficult.
When I look back and try to determine which ones originated where, then decide if they are useful, it is overwhelming! For instance : My husband HATES road trips with me! The entire drive from Florida to Arkansas must have been torture for him. I have this overwhelming need to know at our current distance (adjusted about every 10 miles) and speed what time will we arrive at X destination. After determining the distance and time frame desired I insist on a steady speed at the preformulated rate. I have tried not to do this, but it is beyond my control! I cannot keep myself from doing it. If I try, I look on the verge of peeing myself and he instinctively knows and tells me the speed he is traveling. I check the map, note the time, plot mileage, and announce what time we should arrive. Normally 2 hours of my questioning and he is driving 120 at a 10-2 position floating in "the zone."
These "annoyances" are hard to break! I have decided to give up actually, the little thief in me is refusing to let go of her stolen goods. Who says I need to break them anyway? Why am I pushing to break them? Does it really matter that I am impossible to ride in a car with? I understand everyone has their "little thieves" as well. Maybe a change in perspective is in order? For now, I am letting go of the "break those bad habits" ideals and just being me. Formerly tortured, now peculiar and amazing me!
Going 12-30 hours without food as a child was torture. As I aged, I kept a "kit" on hand at all times. One can of creamed corn and one can of sweet peas. I even brought can-openers. I remember, when I was around 11, my older sister realized I brought these items everywhere I went when I stayed overnight with her. She asked "why is there a can of corn and a can of peas in your bag?" I answered quickly, "I really like corn and peas!" She explained she could get some if she didn't already have any. What she didn't realize, was hers wasn't the only house I went to with the items in tow.
Many things from my childhood boiled over into my life even now. I don't cry, if it starts I dry it up with a quickness. No one cared when I was little if I cried or not, so I guess I learned not to. I want to cry so badly! I also read every street name as I pass. Every intersection! Survival techniques die hard I'm afraid. There are other "lingering effects" I won't discuss, simply because it hurts to tell them and since I can't cry, it will frustrate me. Trying to "break" old habits is beyond difficult.
When I look back and try to determine which ones originated where, then decide if they are useful, it is overwhelming! For instance : My husband HATES road trips with me! The entire drive from Florida to Arkansas must have been torture for him. I have this overwhelming need to know at our current distance (adjusted about every 10 miles) and speed what time will we arrive at X destination. After determining the distance and time frame desired I insist on a steady speed at the preformulated rate. I have tried not to do this, but it is beyond my control! I cannot keep myself from doing it. If I try, I look on the verge of peeing myself and he instinctively knows and tells me the speed he is traveling. I check the map, note the time, plot mileage, and announce what time we should arrive. Normally 2 hours of my questioning and he is driving 120 at a 10-2 position floating in "the zone."
These "annoyances" are hard to break! I have decided to give up actually, the little thief in me is refusing to let go of her stolen goods. Who says I need to break them anyway? Why am I pushing to break them? Does it really matter that I am impossible to ride in a car with? I understand everyone has their "little thieves" as well. Maybe a change in perspective is in order? For now, I am letting go of the "break those bad habits" ideals and just being me. Formerly tortured, now peculiar and amazing me!
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
"Thanks-Giving"
Thanksgiving week: busy, hectic, busy, everyone posting "what I'm thankful for facebook posts", busy, starving yourself, and finally the big meal pay off. We are supposed to remember what we are thankful for tomorrow, then post-meal shopping planning around the kitchen table for the ladies and hands in your pants, one-leg-up farting, and football for the guys. Awe, holidays in America.
What if Thanksgiving were a "fasting day" and Black-Friday a day of ZERO shopping, a "black-out" if you will? Would we feel somber? Joyous? Indifferent? Would we celebrate at all? Would time spent away from what we see as convenience truly make us more thankful?
I had one of those "wow my life is changed" days and became beyond thankful for what I have about 6 years ago. I was reading a women's magazine article about a woman that "made the most of what she had." She was giving examples of the things she had done to make her home more appealing. She set her table with candles, got new dishes, polished the floors, made new curtains, etc...she was so proud of how beautiful her home looked afterward. Her excitement was contagious! As I was reading I was coming out of the "funk" I had been in. I remembered a rug I had in a closet, some place mats and curtains I had stuffed away for years. I remembered my grandmother's china and decided to get it all out. I continued reading feeling quite pleased I had crept out of my "blues." As I read I realized her candles had been made from broken crayons she dug out of neighbor's garbage cans. The china, 5 pieces all chipped and broken. The curtains were flour sacks from a factory in the area. The floor she polished was the bottom of a sewage run-off pipe. Her spirit was vivacious! She felt no sorrow, only luck at finding all these beautiful things! Her children came home to the most beautiful, inviting home in the 3rd world slum they lived in. Here I was grabbing a damn $200 area rug out of my closet!
I was immediately yanked back to my place in the world. Groaning, moping, and whining about my "home!" How dare I! My tiny house would be a mansion to this woman! Remember if you are among the poorest of Americans, you are still richer than about 90% of the entire world!
While we all feast tomorrow and throw away our scraps, stop for just a moment! Think about others on the planet with us! We live in a bubble here in America. We are blissfully ignorant of the struggles faced by our fellow humans. In keeping with the "thanksgiving posts" on facebook. I am most thankful for having a world view. While I can save my children with a bottle of gatorade and 2 tylenol, another mother just like me is holding her baby while their last breath escapes them. While our plates will be bountiful tomorrow, a mother, just like me, will give all the food she has on her plate, a metaphorical plate because a plate is money for food not spent, to her children. Enjoy your feasts tomorrow, your plate could feed a family for a week!
What if Thanksgiving were a "fasting day" and Black-Friday a day of ZERO shopping, a "black-out" if you will? Would we feel somber? Joyous? Indifferent? Would we celebrate at all? Would time spent away from what we see as convenience truly make us more thankful?
I had one of those "wow my life is changed" days and became beyond thankful for what I have about 6 years ago. I was reading a women's magazine article about a woman that "made the most of what she had." She was giving examples of the things she had done to make her home more appealing. She set her table with candles, got new dishes, polished the floors, made new curtains, etc...she was so proud of how beautiful her home looked afterward. Her excitement was contagious! As I was reading I was coming out of the "funk" I had been in. I remembered a rug I had in a closet, some place mats and curtains I had stuffed away for years. I remembered my grandmother's china and decided to get it all out. I continued reading feeling quite pleased I had crept out of my "blues." As I read I realized her candles had been made from broken crayons she dug out of neighbor's garbage cans. The china, 5 pieces all chipped and broken. The curtains were flour sacks from a factory in the area. The floor she polished was the bottom of a sewage run-off pipe. Her spirit was vivacious! She felt no sorrow, only luck at finding all these beautiful things! Her children came home to the most beautiful, inviting home in the 3rd world slum they lived in. Here I was grabbing a damn $200 area rug out of my closet!
I was immediately yanked back to my place in the world. Groaning, moping, and whining about my "home!" How dare I! My tiny house would be a mansion to this woman! Remember if you are among the poorest of Americans, you are still richer than about 90% of the entire world!
While we all feast tomorrow and throw away our scraps, stop for just a moment! Think about others on the planet with us! We live in a bubble here in America. We are blissfully ignorant of the struggles faced by our fellow humans. In keeping with the "thanksgiving posts" on facebook. I am most thankful for having a world view. While I can save my children with a bottle of gatorade and 2 tylenol, another mother just like me is holding her baby while their last breath escapes them. While our plates will be bountiful tomorrow, a mother, just like me, will give all the food she has on her plate, a metaphorical plate because a plate is money for food not spent, to her children. Enjoy your feasts tomorrow, your plate could feed a family for a week!
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Giveaway Winner!
I kept track of all entries throughout the giveaway week. This morning, I plugged the numbers into Random.org and it chose the number 3. My number 3 name is Paramod Singh ( I may have misspelled it). Congratulations! I am trying to contact him now. Thank-you everyone that entered and read my blog!
Monday, November 18, 2013
Spare the Rod! and Smile at Your Child!
I swatted my own leg with the implements, the Pearl's advocate using in their book, chosen for infants one year and younger! The Pearl's believe literally in the bible's teaching to beat your children with a rod. On their website they refer to having beat their daughter at 6 months old with a switch simply because she was crying while they were trying to sleep. The red lines are from me "switching" myself with a weeping willow branch (the exact same kind they beat their infant daughter with) I took off the neighbors tree. The red splotch is from the wooden spoon I smacked myself with. I won't be going any further into the teachings of the book, my facebook friends will be having nightmares from my quotes of the book already, but instead I will be fighting in opposition to many christian beliefs that parents should be beating their kids with a "rod." Just so you know, I only flicked my wrist and did not beat myself. These marks weren't hard to produce and it stung pretty bad.
My first argument, and stemming from a recent conversation I had with a christian, is related to the idea that "because of Christ's death the old testament teachings are no longer valid." My daughter had titled her blog "The Bible is Over-The-Top with The Stoning" and many had expressed that she could not use the Old Testament in her arguments against christianity. I have rarely met a christian that doesn't believe in spanking and quickly quotes the Old Testament for support of their belief in such; however, when my daughter quoted it for stoning, it suddenly wasn't valid. Which is it? Can we use the Old Testament or not? Is it more along the lines of "you can use the Old Testament when it suits you?"
My second argument is that the King James version had to interpret the original word from Hebrew. Words change from generation to generation, fond, gay, cool, etc....have all changed throughout the years. I knew "rod" would be the same. The original word was "shebet" its meanings are: to branch off, tribe, staff, sceptre, offshoot, and stick. Most of the "teachings" used as proof to beat children are found in proverbs. Most mainstream religious institutions agree proverbs is to be taken figuratively not literally (I honestly think it is all one big made up tale, but for arguments sake, we'll go with one book having many different genres). If we exchange "rod" for "tribe" in this verse from proverbs 13: 24 "He who spareth the tribe, hateth his son" it takes on an entirely different meaning. I published a post a few days ago about where we used to live in Florida. You could certainly call it a "tribe" and our children thrived being part of a "tribe." Being part of a "tribe" and teaching your children to harmoniously live in one sounds right to me! Then of course, one would have to accept the teachings of the Old Testament in order for this argument to even matter. Most christians aren't stoning their kids, sending their daughters into a mob of angry, horny men to be raped, murdering entire villages of men, women, and children, honoring the sabbath day (they changed it to Sunday from Saturday) etc... Why are they insisting society accept it as their right to follow this particular teaching?
Finally, and most probably the reason christians agree with beating their kids is: they want to! It is easier, faster, and helps you get a little exercise. How else are you supposed to deal with your heathen, demon-possessed spawn? They were born with sin in their hearts and deserve to have their parents pull them up by the arm, and while dangling helplessly in the air, have their parents swing harder each time until they submit to their parents will! Parents don't want their tactics changed so they claim "god" says to do it. If Jesus is their example, why aren't they acting like him? If you were driving down the countryside and saw a shepherd in a field tending his sheep, would it shock you to see him raise up his staff with arms stretched as high over his head as he could get them, then pull the staff down with all his might until it slammed onto the back of one of his wayward sheep? Would you cringe with disgust? Would you possibly stop to rescue the sheep? Jesus loved children and even advised that people should strive to be like them! Yet, there are people believing the love, excitement, wonder, and magic only a child possesses should be driven out of them! It is in direct contradiction with the supposed savior of the entire religion!
I understand not all Christians spank their children and that there is some conflict concerning this teaching. However, those that are, need waking up. Too many people claim the god they design (through their own interpretation of texts) leads their lives. It is simply their own desire to do as they see fit, but refuse to claim responsibility for. Children are not born to please their parents or provide some other benefit to them. Children simply mimic their parents. Don't like the way your children act? Maybe you should reevaluate your own self. I am not advocating allowing children to run crazy and raise themselves. Each new stage in a child's development brings on new challenges, but unless you are willing to beat yourself for mistakes, don't hit your kids!
Times for physical discipline do arise. The other day my son ran around the back side of the car while I was loading groceries. The truck backing out next to us never saw him running for the back door to get in. At the very last second, I saw what was happening and was only able to reach the back of Blake's neck and head. I grabbed on as tight as I could and flung him backwards to me. He was so upset because he thought I was trying to choke him! It wasn't until I explained he was about to get run over that he realized I wasn't trying to hurt him. If your 1 year old is headed for a light socket with a fork, certainly a tap on the hand is ok to express what could happen had the fork made contact, but beating a child "into submission" is not ok, it is abuse.
As children age, guidance is needed and sometimes punishments, but if you listen to your child an agreed upon punishment works best. The twins had a disagreement the other week. I had each one whisper into my ear what they thought the other should receive as punishment. Natalie whispered "I think it was an accident mom, Blake should spend 30 seconds of quiet time." Blake said "Mom! She was yelling and she bent my finger back and .....she should get 30 minutes in the corner!" I announced the punishments to them and Blake lit up while Natalie's head dropped. She started to walk to the corner while he trotted to the "chill-out pillow." Then I announced they would be serving the punishment they chose for the other. I told them to learn to settle arguments themselves and this wouldn't happen again. I haven't had them come to me for any disagreements yet. No ritual beatings necessary!
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Giveaway Update
In order to be entered, you need to comment on the original post, but I haven't received comments and had 200 views yesterday. I had 1 person comment, so far she is the only entry. Is it working for you? Please let me know! I don't want anyone to not be able to enter.
Thanks!
Thanks!
Saturday, November 16, 2013
The Magical World of Positive Reinforcement Land
I am what some would call "strict." I never viewed myself as strict I just have rules and parameters that are well-established and my children are expected to follow. Step out of line......they know the consequences. My 12 year old son approached me a few weeks ago asking to be homeschooled. After explaining he would need to make a convincing case for me to agree, he decided against it. Then, his grades came in. Let's just say I was not thrilled. I called the school and requested a conference with all of his teachers.
At the conference, it was determined he simply does not do the work assigned. There is no aptitude problems and I took him to the optometrist as a precaution to rule out any issues (he is getting glasses due to an astigmatism, but it has no bearing on the freedom given by his teachers for already having partial deafness he is free in class to move closer when needed). I explained BMX is his end all and be all. If any teacher saw fit to email me of his non-compliance, I would restrict him from the BMX park until his assignments were turned in. His guidance counselor interrupted me and said "Mrs. Young, we need reassurance that if he brings these grades up you will reward his efforts." "Sure" I responded "he can keep his bike." She argued further "No, Mrs. Young, he deserves further reward for turning in those missing assignments. He needs Positive Reinforcement." I know my look said "oh hell no she just went there" because I felt my neck snap around and start bobbing at the thought. "She wants me to reward my son for doing what was required to begin with?" was all my mind kept thinking. Then my sarcastic side attempted, somehow I managed to keep my mouth shut, to say "how about a big, shiny gold star for mommy's little superstar!" I left the conference fuming. No! I will not reward my son for doing what was assigned. That is rewarding wrong behavior and it is counter-productive, it serves no good purpose.
I came home and explained what the school wanted me to do to my husband and then our son. The most surprising was my son's reply ( I thought he would be boarding the positive reinforcement train). Kaleb said "No! I don't want pity! I did not do my work, I didn't want to! I thought it was dumb and don't want to be rewarded for it! I will do my work simply because I know it is expected of me!" Wow! My kid thinks like me after all! He went on further to explain BMX is his life and he will not jeopardize it by refusing to turn in assignments. This conversation sent me down memory lane to where we lived before moving halfway across country to "Positive-Reinforcement Land."
Our older two children and my baby sister were raised in a tiny Florida town until Maggie (my sister) was 13, Kaeli was 10 and Kaleb was 8. The twins were 20 months old when we moved, so they have no recollection of it. It was redneck, crazy, close-knit, and protective. Our house was the first as you "left the paved world" and around the corner was another family with a son our kid's age and further down was another with 2 sons our kid's age. There was 1 other mother and her daughter that frequented often. Our 3 properties formed a triangle which formed our children's "safe zone." There were moderately dense woods within the triangle and our three houses sat at each corner. Each of us mom's had our signature "call." There was the pit-bull, she barked at the kids. Not yelling actual barks, 2 in a row the first loud and crisp the second less pronounced and a bit more ascending. Then there was "the warrior princess" she called like Xena "aaah-yah-yah-yah-yaaaaaah!" I was the game-show buzzer "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee." There was "the whip" she said nothing. She would raise her right arm stiff with all fingers squished and whip her neck around, cut her eyes downward and stare with laser-precision. "The whip" lived across town, but stayed in our triangle as often as possible.
The children all knew The Whip, The Buzzer, The Warrior Princess, and The Pitbull meant business! If they heard the sound, or felt lasers burning through their heads, they stopped immediately and assessed the situation. Were they out of line? Was there danger? It didn't matter they went to the source of the call to find out. All 4 of us knew the rules and all the kids knew the rules were the same in the triangle. Within the triangle, my children were safe, I knew any of these women would gladly lay their life down for my kids just as easily as their own. The expectations never changed from corner-to-corner. The kids thrived in the triangle. They were free to explore, experiment, get into "acceptable amounts of trouble," they developed their own little kingdom, and truly had no worries. The children's accomplishments were celebrated and punishments were upheld by each mother as deemed by that child's own parents. There was no sneaking past authority. Each child was so unique and I have to say, they are all stellar students. Each one of them has found their joy and their passions. They had a very structured freedom in their formative years and everyone of them is determined, amazing young men and women now. The triangle truly enabled them to accept responsibility for what they did; however, we never rewarded doing what they were originally expected to do and chose to avoid. That is not deserving of reward! Everyone of the "triangle children" accomplished beyond the expectations of the triangle when we lived there and every time it was a party! There is no reason to reward lazy, late effort!
The triangle is my proving-ground for my refusal to reward "beyond the usual" my son accomplishing his late work. I will not do it! My son has been celebrated time and time again for amazing accomplishments. If we reward everything, what then is really spectacular? I am certain he doesn't want "the triangle moms" coming after him.
At the conference, it was determined he simply does not do the work assigned. There is no aptitude problems and I took him to the optometrist as a precaution to rule out any issues (he is getting glasses due to an astigmatism, but it has no bearing on the freedom given by his teachers for already having partial deafness he is free in class to move closer when needed). I explained BMX is his end all and be all. If any teacher saw fit to email me of his non-compliance, I would restrict him from the BMX park until his assignments were turned in. His guidance counselor interrupted me and said "Mrs. Young, we need reassurance that if he brings these grades up you will reward his efforts." "Sure" I responded "he can keep his bike." She argued further "No, Mrs. Young, he deserves further reward for turning in those missing assignments. He needs Positive Reinforcement." I know my look said "oh hell no she just went there" because I felt my neck snap around and start bobbing at the thought. "She wants me to reward my son for doing what was required to begin with?" was all my mind kept thinking. Then my sarcastic side attempted, somehow I managed to keep my mouth shut, to say "how about a big, shiny gold star for mommy's little superstar!" I left the conference fuming. No! I will not reward my son for doing what was assigned. That is rewarding wrong behavior and it is counter-productive, it serves no good purpose.
I came home and explained what the school wanted me to do to my husband and then our son. The most surprising was my son's reply ( I thought he would be boarding the positive reinforcement train). Kaleb said "No! I don't want pity! I did not do my work, I didn't want to! I thought it was dumb and don't want to be rewarded for it! I will do my work simply because I know it is expected of me!" Wow! My kid thinks like me after all! He went on further to explain BMX is his life and he will not jeopardize it by refusing to turn in assignments. This conversation sent me down memory lane to where we lived before moving halfway across country to "Positive-Reinforcement Land."
Our older two children and my baby sister were raised in a tiny Florida town until Maggie (my sister) was 13, Kaeli was 10 and Kaleb was 8. The twins were 20 months old when we moved, so they have no recollection of it. It was redneck, crazy, close-knit, and protective. Our house was the first as you "left the paved world" and around the corner was another family with a son our kid's age and further down was another with 2 sons our kid's age. There was 1 other mother and her daughter that frequented often. Our 3 properties formed a triangle which formed our children's "safe zone." There were moderately dense woods within the triangle and our three houses sat at each corner. Each of us mom's had our signature "call." There was the pit-bull, she barked at the kids. Not yelling actual barks, 2 in a row the first loud and crisp the second less pronounced and a bit more ascending. Then there was "the warrior princess" she called like Xena "aaah-yah-yah-yah-yaaaaaah!" I was the game-show buzzer "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee." There was "the whip" she said nothing. She would raise her right arm stiff with all fingers squished and whip her neck around, cut her eyes downward and stare with laser-precision. "The whip" lived across town, but stayed in our triangle as often as possible.
The children all knew The Whip, The Buzzer, The Warrior Princess, and The Pitbull meant business! If they heard the sound, or felt lasers burning through their heads, they stopped immediately and assessed the situation. Were they out of line? Was there danger? It didn't matter they went to the source of the call to find out. All 4 of us knew the rules and all the kids knew the rules were the same in the triangle. Within the triangle, my children were safe, I knew any of these women would gladly lay their life down for my kids just as easily as their own. The expectations never changed from corner-to-corner. The kids thrived in the triangle. They were free to explore, experiment, get into "acceptable amounts of trouble," they developed their own little kingdom, and truly had no worries. The children's accomplishments were celebrated and punishments were upheld by each mother as deemed by that child's own parents. There was no sneaking past authority. Each child was so unique and I have to say, they are all stellar students. Each one of them has found their joy and their passions. They had a very structured freedom in their formative years and everyone of them is determined, amazing young men and women now. The triangle truly enabled them to accept responsibility for what they did; however, we never rewarded doing what they were originally expected to do and chose to avoid. That is not deserving of reward! Everyone of the "triangle children" accomplished beyond the expectations of the triangle when we lived there and every time it was a party! There is no reason to reward lazy, late effort!
The triangle is my proving-ground for my refusal to reward "beyond the usual" my son accomplishing his late work. I will not do it! My son has been celebrated time and time again for amazing accomplishments. If we reward everything, what then is really spectacular? I am certain he doesn't want "the triangle moms" coming after him.
My First 1,000 views GIVEAWAY!
********************************GIVEAWAY TIME!!!!*****************************
I am so excited that my blog hit 1,000 views! I am having a small giveaway of my favorite things! So, "what do I win" you're wondering? This picture shows the items (the greenish bracelet is only there for an example the silver one is the one I am giving away) in the giveaway, they are my current favorites. They are listed below:
NYX eyeshadow Love in Rio trio in En Fuego (brand new sealed in package). The package does not list the color names, but they are a shimmer champagne, a shimmer plum, and a matte blue-grey. I love this color combination for the holidays! Will make a gorgeous smokey eye for the get-togethers and parties.
A small package of Lindt Milk Chocolate Truffles.
A 3 pack of Ferrero Rochere Chocolates
A shambala-bead bracelet I enjoy making in silver beads.
Rules:
1. Entries will be taken for 1 week from tonight 11/16/13-11/23/13
2. Earn 1 entry PER DAY! Comment in the comments section under this post. Not "hey! yo' entry!" Tell me something about your holidays, your "faves" this time of year, etc....
3. Earn extra entries by sharing a post via your chosen social media, not this post, and comment down below naming which post you shared.
4. If friends visit the page and say you sent them, earn another entry! Simply have them write your name in the comments under this post.
5. Follow my blog for an extra entry.
I will tally everyone's entries and enter them into random.org for the drawing. Thanks so much for helping me reach 1,000! I am very excited. I will be posting a youtube video of the giveaway in a couple days, but my CURRENT readers get a head-start and more entries for helping me reach 1,000! My comments do have to be approved by me via email (this is to ensure the anonymity I swore to my mother), so don't worry if you don't see your comment right away. I will probably do them in batches for easier entry tallying!
THANK-YOU EVERYONE! GOOD LUCK!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Extended Perceptions
I have the downright worst virus I have had since the Shingles two years ago. I was running a fever all night, so my perceptions were utterly distorted. My dreams were wild and the slightest noises took on an entire different meaning to me.
My kids were making gingerbread men, blame Walmart for the skip from Halloween to Christmas, and my daughter left some in the oven entirely too long. I must have smelled the smoke and my dreams turned it into a wild scene. I started dreaming the house was on fire and the fire department refused to put it out. They told me I had to put the flames out myself, so they gave me buckets full of vienna sausages! As I would throw the buckets, the vienna sausages would burst into popcorn. I soon realized there were no more flames and my house was intact, but there were easily 1 million vienna sausage-popcorns to now dispose of.
Later in the night, with a fever still, I dreamed I was put in charge of the "world's computer brain." There were men in hazmat suits handing me wrenches to fix the machine and I would look for bolts to tighten. I kept saying "do you realize I have no clue how to fix this sparkling rainbow machine!" They just kept insisting I was the one chosen to maintain the brain and refused to understand I had no concept of what I was doing. I was getting furious the longer this scene went on. I can't remember much else of the dream except my utter exasperation with the ridiculousness of it.
My perceptions were terribly distorted during the "sleep-wake" of my sickness. I remember absolutely nothing accurately from the last 36 hours. This has me once again thinking of my mother and our justice system. My mother is constantly in a torment of the mind, yet the justice system's sole purpose is to get her sane enough to stand trial. If I, with a simple virus, could not make any sense of reality, how is my mother expected to do so? How is it justice to seeks a harsh penalty on a person who was not in their right mind at the time of the crime?
It leads me to believe, some form of our justice system was perverted. Are we confusing "crimes of passion" with "insanity?" My mother has decades long proof of insanity, yet I am told it will be nearly impossible to get her an "insanity plea!" Our court systems have become judge, jury, and executioner of the mentally ill. My mother is ill-equipped to defend herself from cellmates and others looking to take advantage of her medical state. At 60, 5 foot tall, and 97 pounds, she is no match for about anyone, but "justice" must be served so they say. Justice is an idea of course and the severity of justice sought depends on the people and the environment. In my corner is my schizophrenic mother whom I have no right to demand preventive measures for, but when she "breaks" (for lack of a better term) it is my fault and I hear "why din't you do sum'in bout' her?" Then in the other corner, is the rest of the world seeing a crazy-eyed lunatic that needs to be removed from society forever.
Of course, removing her from our presence would be the easiest resolution, but what about her life? Is her life being lived fully? Is "justice" for her being sought? How about others like her? I know I am not the only one coping with this set of circumstances thanks to Google. As a collective group, we need to stand up and say "hey! this isn't ok!" We expect accommodations for the physically disabled and some mentally disabled, yet my mother's group is left "out in the cold." She deserves a life where she is safe, where she is protected from the rest of us. Not in a jail cell and not in the headlines of the "local ignoramus news" labeled "Bonnie" from Bonnie and Clyde.
My kids were making gingerbread men, blame Walmart for the skip from Halloween to Christmas, and my daughter left some in the oven entirely too long. I must have smelled the smoke and my dreams turned it into a wild scene. I started dreaming the house was on fire and the fire department refused to put it out. They told me I had to put the flames out myself, so they gave me buckets full of vienna sausages! As I would throw the buckets, the vienna sausages would burst into popcorn. I soon realized there were no more flames and my house was intact, but there were easily 1 million vienna sausage-popcorns to now dispose of.
Later in the night, with a fever still, I dreamed I was put in charge of the "world's computer brain." There were men in hazmat suits handing me wrenches to fix the machine and I would look for bolts to tighten. I kept saying "do you realize I have no clue how to fix this sparkling rainbow machine!" They just kept insisting I was the one chosen to maintain the brain and refused to understand I had no concept of what I was doing. I was getting furious the longer this scene went on. I can't remember much else of the dream except my utter exasperation with the ridiculousness of it.
My perceptions were terribly distorted during the "sleep-wake" of my sickness. I remember absolutely nothing accurately from the last 36 hours. This has me once again thinking of my mother and our justice system. My mother is constantly in a torment of the mind, yet the justice system's sole purpose is to get her sane enough to stand trial. If I, with a simple virus, could not make any sense of reality, how is my mother expected to do so? How is it justice to seeks a harsh penalty on a person who was not in their right mind at the time of the crime?
It leads me to believe, some form of our justice system was perverted. Are we confusing "crimes of passion" with "insanity?" My mother has decades long proof of insanity, yet I am told it will be nearly impossible to get her an "insanity plea!" Our court systems have become judge, jury, and executioner of the mentally ill. My mother is ill-equipped to defend herself from cellmates and others looking to take advantage of her medical state. At 60, 5 foot tall, and 97 pounds, she is no match for about anyone, but "justice" must be served so they say. Justice is an idea of course and the severity of justice sought depends on the people and the environment. In my corner is my schizophrenic mother whom I have no right to demand preventive measures for, but when she "breaks" (for lack of a better term) it is my fault and I hear "why din't you do sum'in bout' her?" Then in the other corner, is the rest of the world seeing a crazy-eyed lunatic that needs to be removed from society forever.
Of course, removing her from our presence would be the easiest resolution, but what about her life? Is her life being lived fully? Is "justice" for her being sought? How about others like her? I know I am not the only one coping with this set of circumstances thanks to Google. As a collective group, we need to stand up and say "hey! this isn't ok!" We expect accommodations for the physically disabled and some mentally disabled, yet my mother's group is left "out in the cold." She deserves a life where she is safe, where she is protected from the rest of us. Not in a jail cell and not in the headlines of the "local ignoramus news" labeled "Bonnie" from Bonnie and Clyde.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Raising a Freethinker
Truly, I think it all started with Rihanna's song S & M! She was 11 and simply asked "mom, what does s&m mean?" My first thought, after "oh shit", was "sugar and milk! Say sugar and milk Jennifer! SAY IT!" Of course my mouth defied me and in the most scientific terms I could think of quickly and concisely explained the true definition of S&M. She said "ooooooooo, why would anyone sing about that?" To my relief, that was the very last time we ever discussed S&M.
Since that day, I have chosen to be honest with my children. Of course, I use age appropriate definitions, but I find honesty works well. I also allow them full access to their own souls. Whatever they choose, they are allowed. I certainly do have limits, but so long as they prove it is something they truly want and not something they have been peer pressured into, I permit it. Which leads to my children's religion, or lack thereof.
I do sometimes wish they could be unquestioning sheep, especially when it comes to chores! Choosing the path my oldest daughter has is a difficult one. She is badgered and berated regularly for her atheist un-beliefs. The most disheartening is the misconceptions many have of atheists. My children have very strong moral compasses and both of their parents are happily married to each other. We believe in family, love, and truth. Anything worthy of pursuit, finds its way into our schedule. It is difficult to field some of the more difficult questions and troubling to see our children's struggles, but it makes us stronger as a family.
My daughter surprises me with her steadfast devotion to her pursuit of truth. I often encourage her to "tame it down" a bit. She immediately chastises me with "well you raised me to be this way!" I of course did raise her to stand up and not cower in the face of danger or repression. I have to give it to her, she is brave and amazing!
Since that day, I have chosen to be honest with my children. Of course, I use age appropriate definitions, but I find honesty works well. I also allow them full access to their own souls. Whatever they choose, they are allowed. I certainly do have limits, but so long as they prove it is something they truly want and not something they have been peer pressured into, I permit it. Which leads to my children's religion, or lack thereof.
I do sometimes wish they could be unquestioning sheep, especially when it comes to chores! Choosing the path my oldest daughter has is a difficult one. She is badgered and berated regularly for her atheist un-beliefs. The most disheartening is the misconceptions many have of atheists. My children have very strong moral compasses and both of their parents are happily married to each other. We believe in family, love, and truth. Anything worthy of pursuit, finds its way into our schedule. It is difficult to field some of the more difficult questions and troubling to see our children's struggles, but it makes us stronger as a family.
My daughter surprises me with her steadfast devotion to her pursuit of truth. I often encourage her to "tame it down" a bit. She immediately chastises me with "well you raised me to be this way!" I of course did raise her to stand up and not cower in the face of danger or repression. I have to give it to her, she is brave and amazing!
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Peace
We speak of peace often in our society and worldwide; however, do we each understand what peace is? Beauty queens sing it, preachers preach it, and politicians argue for it. It slips from everyone's lips, but we utter a different meaning each and every time. My peace may not be your peace and our peace may have no pieces in our neighbors peace.
I requested other's definition of peace and got a few answers. "Knowing my spouse and children have what they need," and "loving myself" were some. Another believed it unattainable if you were a living human. Others were at peace when their bills were paid or from the satisfaction they felt from helping another person. While all these lead to a comforting end are they peace?
Peace varies from person to person, family to family, nation to nation, all across our earth. Peace is the mountain standing highest for us to see. It has remained steady and claims the character of the most enlightened people. Yet, no one actually knows its true definition.
While we cannot define peace, we certainly can define what it isn't. The neighborhood drunk disturbs the peace, nations destroy another's peace, and all will finally rest in peace. Simply defining the opposite of destroying peace does not define it.
We cannot define peace simply because so doing destroys it! My peace is mine, your peace is yours. Peace has a meaning all its own within the minds of each and everyone of us. We seek it, we fight for it, but only if our own peace is destroyed by another's peace being taken. It is our soul. There is always peace in us; yes, every moment in our lives is at peace. Every moment we live, every dream we create is our peace. When we resist the peace within us, turmoil happens. It is when we fight against our peace that we lose it.
Peace is single. Each piece of another's peace makes the network of peace in our world.
We have long attempted to define this matterless spirit. Each of us shares in this spirit the world and universe over. Yes, we can lose it and also reclaim it. Our peace is us! With our peace, we can come into harmony with one another.
Just as beautiful music takes harmony, so does the network of peace. Our peace is individually different, but the tune from each sings the beautiful harmony. While we cannot define it, we can develop and encourage it. In a world as eclectic as ours, acceptance and encouragement of another is the only way the song can be heard. We may not like each other, we may completely disagree, but the easiest way I can find to "define" peace is: Agreeing to disagree.
This is how I define peace. Certainly, my definition is much different than others expected. Of course, I love moments of tranquility and rest. Love from seeing my family's individual triumphs, but peace to me is agreeing to disagree with another. I do give up my peace momentarily when I humor a loud argument (disagreeing to disagree). I give it up foolishly and regret it when I do. The "path to peace" is quite simply non-action. While I certainly am willing to die for many things and will intervene when necessary, I am giving up my peace when I do. If I give you my peace accept it for the worthy gift it is.
My friends described their peace and most likely think I am slightly aloof, but that is ok. That is why we are friends, we come together in beautiful harmony. Harmony is used synonymously with peace, but these words are quite different. Just as our voices have different tones and pitches, so does our peace. We can fight for our "peace voices" to be heard, but we cannot fight for or against another's peace.
To Close:
While we may not like our neighbor, we are here together. While we may view the world different, it is the same. While we desire different, it is the same. Unity, harmony, and peace are here, there is no way to stop it, you will only destroy yourself. Live your life as you see fit and allow another to live the unity, harmony, and peace within themselves.
I requested other's definition of peace and got a few answers. "Knowing my spouse and children have what they need," and "loving myself" were some. Another believed it unattainable if you were a living human. Others were at peace when their bills were paid or from the satisfaction they felt from helping another person. While all these lead to a comforting end are they peace?
Peace varies from person to person, family to family, nation to nation, all across our earth. Peace is the mountain standing highest for us to see. It has remained steady and claims the character of the most enlightened people. Yet, no one actually knows its true definition.
While we cannot define peace, we certainly can define what it isn't. The neighborhood drunk disturbs the peace, nations destroy another's peace, and all will finally rest in peace. Simply defining the opposite of destroying peace does not define it.
We cannot define peace simply because so doing destroys it! My peace is mine, your peace is yours. Peace has a meaning all its own within the minds of each and everyone of us. We seek it, we fight for it, but only if our own peace is destroyed by another's peace being taken. It is our soul. There is always peace in us; yes, every moment in our lives is at peace. Every moment we live, every dream we create is our peace. When we resist the peace within us, turmoil happens. It is when we fight against our peace that we lose it.
Peace is single. Each piece of another's peace makes the network of peace in our world.
We have long attempted to define this matterless spirit. Each of us shares in this spirit the world and universe over. Yes, we can lose it and also reclaim it. Our peace is us! With our peace, we can come into harmony with one another.
Just as beautiful music takes harmony, so does the network of peace. Our peace is individually different, but the tune from each sings the beautiful harmony. While we cannot define it, we can develop and encourage it. In a world as eclectic as ours, acceptance and encouragement of another is the only way the song can be heard. We may not like each other, we may completely disagree, but the easiest way I can find to "define" peace is: Agreeing to disagree.
This is how I define peace. Certainly, my definition is much different than others expected. Of course, I love moments of tranquility and rest. Love from seeing my family's individual triumphs, but peace to me is agreeing to disagree with another. I do give up my peace momentarily when I humor a loud argument (disagreeing to disagree). I give it up foolishly and regret it when I do. The "path to peace" is quite simply non-action. While I certainly am willing to die for many things and will intervene when necessary, I am giving up my peace when I do. If I give you my peace accept it for the worthy gift it is.
My friends described their peace and most likely think I am slightly aloof, but that is ok. That is why we are friends, we come together in beautiful harmony. Harmony is used synonymously with peace, but these words are quite different. Just as our voices have different tones and pitches, so does our peace. We can fight for our "peace voices" to be heard, but we cannot fight for or against another's peace.
To Close:
While we may not like our neighbor, we are here together. While we may view the world different, it is the same. While we desire different, it is the same. Unity, harmony, and peace are here, there is no way to stop it, you will only destroy yourself. Live your life as you see fit and allow another to live the unity, harmony, and peace within themselves.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Perception, Perfection, and Ease (Part 3)
Finally! I have made it to part three! The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of bad news, guilt, worry, and downright emotional exhaustion! My mother was arrested and is currently in jail. She was released from a mental hospital the morning of September 26th and arrested on 5 felony charges and 2 misdemeanors that very evening. I discovered her arrest by googling her name when she never arrived at her home as was the hospital's release plan! I have run myself through the wringer these last few weeks and am desperately trying to pull myself out of my self imposed punishment. I have beat myself up terribly over these recent events. Unfortunately, my blog has suffered and I have postponed it and mounds of homework. I am in a pit! So, without further procrastination.......I give you part 3!
As I previously stated in part 1, I skipped class to listen to a classmates talk in another class. I am by nature very curious and had to follow. Tonight I read about a young girl at the center of a fabricated battle in California. The young girl is transgender and a right-wing, hate-group claims she is harassing other girls simply through her presence in the girl's bathroom. While I actually have experience in this scenario, I can attest I have in no way been harassed by the presence of a transgender female in the women's restroom. We all go in, get to our business, and get out. Rather quiet and hurried, aside from the occasionally noxious fumes from some stalls causing immediate gagging, in the women's bathroom! As a parent, I would hope my children would in no way be uncomfortable with a peer's sexuality or female/male status.
One definition of perspective is "what is noticed easily." Yes, it is easy to notice my classmate is transgender. She is still in the midst of transition, so yes, one can easily tell her current phase of transformation. I naturally am curious and had so many questions. I also have manners and kept quiet while she spoke. Expecting to hear more "transgender life 101" in her speech, I wasn't surprised by most of it. She began by asking how many in the room were parents; me and two others. I am not naive and know there are parents out there that refuse to accept their children as they are. Many parents cast their children aside for any assumed slight. Many more disown their children for something like coming out as gay, lesbian, or transgender. I could see it in her face. As she pleaded on behalf of any child that may be transgender, her eyes welled up with tears. She explained her fundamental christian family, had disowned her and her brother had gone so far as to get a no trespassing order against her. What struck me the most, was the altruistic love for other's like her. She pleaded with us parents to love our children no matter what path their life takes. For me, this is a no-brainer. Quite truthfully, my children could murder someone and I would assume that person needed killin'!
Sadly, I am the minority (at least where I live in the south). Of course as parents, we dream of our children's futures, but separating our dreams from our children's is an integral phase in "growing up." Yet, not only are some willing to meddle unnecessarily in their children's lives, but also in the lives of their fellow man. I cannot count how many times I have heard "transgender (I used the preferable term, but this is not the word used) people are gay and only want to have more gay sex!" Well, let me argue that point with those holding to such beliefs.
After listening to my classmate pour her heart out, I still had questions. First, I needed to know, are there transgenders born straight that keep their original sex orientation after their transformation? Yes, I googled it and found numerous instances where born-males were straight, but after their transformation identified with being lesbian as they still were oriented to (what was by birth) the opposite sex. There were numerous born-females that did the same. I wasn't done with simply that answer. I needed more information, so I searched for a video of a sex-change operation. I can attest and swear to you, if it were simply the desire to be "extra-homosexual (I honestly am at a loss for words as to how to communicate this idea in some people's minds)," a sex-change operation is by far the absolute worst way to do it! Transformation takes years, and the operation I watched was very detailed. If you are unaware, I am positive homosexuals value their sex-organs just as much as heterosexuals. A sex-change would absolutely be the worst thing someone could do to "get some extra homosexual sex." In my mind it answered a huge question. Transgenders look in the mirror and every morning hope to see their true self. It isn't a "homosexual thing" its a "self" thing.
I do not struggle with this and therefore, in my mind, have absolutely no right to tell someone they can't choose the life they desire. I want no ones perception of how I should live my life to be forced on me. How are we, as a country, still enslaving others with our beliefs? Historically, we humans must always enslave others. We would like to believe we are different and more civilized than generations past, but we aren't. We keep repeating history like a broken record.
I hope my classmate will find a true loving family. The hate she has endured does not show. Love pours forth from her soul. Love for those she has never met and even for those who have cast her out of their lives. I can imagine the freedom she feels finally choosing herself. No longer does she have to stare into the mirror and wish to see someone else. She can now see herself.
**** Most words in quotations were my attempt to explain beliefs of others. In no way are they intended to offend.*****
As I previously stated in part 1, I skipped class to listen to a classmates talk in another class. I am by nature very curious and had to follow. Tonight I read about a young girl at the center of a fabricated battle in California. The young girl is transgender and a right-wing, hate-group claims she is harassing other girls simply through her presence in the girl's bathroom. While I actually have experience in this scenario, I can attest I have in no way been harassed by the presence of a transgender female in the women's restroom. We all go in, get to our business, and get out. Rather quiet and hurried, aside from the occasionally noxious fumes from some stalls causing immediate gagging, in the women's bathroom! As a parent, I would hope my children would in no way be uncomfortable with a peer's sexuality or female/male status.
One definition of perspective is "what is noticed easily." Yes, it is easy to notice my classmate is transgender. She is still in the midst of transition, so yes, one can easily tell her current phase of transformation. I naturally am curious and had so many questions. I also have manners and kept quiet while she spoke. Expecting to hear more "transgender life 101" in her speech, I wasn't surprised by most of it. She began by asking how many in the room were parents; me and two others. I am not naive and know there are parents out there that refuse to accept their children as they are. Many parents cast their children aside for any assumed slight. Many more disown their children for something like coming out as gay, lesbian, or transgender. I could see it in her face. As she pleaded on behalf of any child that may be transgender, her eyes welled up with tears. She explained her fundamental christian family, had disowned her and her brother had gone so far as to get a no trespassing order against her. What struck me the most, was the altruistic love for other's like her. She pleaded with us parents to love our children no matter what path their life takes. For me, this is a no-brainer. Quite truthfully, my children could murder someone and I would assume that person needed killin'!
Sadly, I am the minority (at least where I live in the south). Of course as parents, we dream of our children's futures, but separating our dreams from our children's is an integral phase in "growing up." Yet, not only are some willing to meddle unnecessarily in their children's lives, but also in the lives of their fellow man. I cannot count how many times I have heard "transgender (I used the preferable term, but this is not the word used) people are gay and only want to have more gay sex!" Well, let me argue that point with those holding to such beliefs.
After listening to my classmate pour her heart out, I still had questions. First, I needed to know, are there transgenders born straight that keep their original sex orientation after their transformation? Yes, I googled it and found numerous instances where born-males were straight, but after their transformation identified with being lesbian as they still were oriented to (what was by birth) the opposite sex. There were numerous born-females that did the same. I wasn't done with simply that answer. I needed more information, so I searched for a video of a sex-change operation. I can attest and swear to you, if it were simply the desire to be "extra-homosexual (I honestly am at a loss for words as to how to communicate this idea in some people's minds)," a sex-change operation is by far the absolute worst way to do it! Transformation takes years, and the operation I watched was very detailed. If you are unaware, I am positive homosexuals value their sex-organs just as much as heterosexuals. A sex-change would absolutely be the worst thing someone could do to "get some extra homosexual sex." In my mind it answered a huge question. Transgenders look in the mirror and every morning hope to see their true self. It isn't a "homosexual thing" its a "self" thing.
I do not struggle with this and therefore, in my mind, have absolutely no right to tell someone they can't choose the life they desire. I want no ones perception of how I should live my life to be forced on me. How are we, as a country, still enslaving others with our beliefs? Historically, we humans must always enslave others. We would like to believe we are different and more civilized than generations past, but we aren't. We keep repeating history like a broken record.
I hope my classmate will find a true loving family. The hate she has endured does not show. Love pours forth from her soul. Love for those she has never met and even for those who have cast her out of their lives. I can imagine the freedom she feels finally choosing herself. No longer does she have to stare into the mirror and wish to see someone else. She can now see herself.
**** Most words in quotations were my attempt to explain beliefs of others. In no way are they intended to offend.*****
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Perception, Perfection, and Ease (Part 2)
To better understand perception in my own home, I turned to the utter mirror of my actions (drum roll please).......my teenage daughter! There is no denying the brutally honest, no holes barred, often feared opinion of your own teenage daughter! Mine is more like me every single day; I am uncertain whether the world can handle two of me. Time to find out what perceptions are reflected in my home.......
She has decided to shave her legs while we talk. Apparently, multitasking is acceptable in our home.
Our conversation:
Kaeli: OK......what are we talking about!
Me: tell me about perception.
Kaeli: what is perception?
Me: you want Miriam-Webster version?
Kaeli: sure
Kaeli (after Miriam's definition): alright.....
Me: alright, are you paying attention?
Kaeli: I don't believe in perception. I think everyone should be able to "go about" without being judged.
Me: did you understand the definition?
Kaeli: um, yeah, um I don't think you ever asked a question.
Me: I didn't, I made a declaration. You just need to explain your view.
Kaeli: well, it is evil, good, bad, nice... does that sum it up for
ya?
Me: let's try this a different way
Kaeli: (cutting me off mid-sentence) Ok, what's the next question?
Me: what is your perception of our home? Pretend our home is your only world.
Kaeli: This house is good. We don't get along good and there sure could be a change around here! First, lets get rid of every dish in the house. (I cut her off to explain a little better) She decided we need to improve the way we talk to each other and stop arguing as much.
Me: why do you think arguing is bad?
Kaeli: arguing makes people sad and not want to talk to one another. Lack of communication is what causes arguing.
Me: Let's change a bit. Imagine a couple. The couple are traditional and the husband makes all the rules. The wife must wake at 5 am, prepare and pack his breakfast and lunch for the day, lay out the husband's clothes, wake him up, put his clothes on him, never look him in the eyes, kiss him goodbye and tell him to have "a wonderful day my king." While her husband is at work, she is to prepare a seven-course meal, set the table formally, and clean the house spotless. She is never permitted to choose her own clothes, what will be cooked, whom she will speak to, etc....She also, is never allowed to argue with her husband, she must only accept what he dictates. Now, tell me about arguing.
Kaeli: MEN ARE IN NO WAY SUPERIOR TO WOMEN! I will never ,ever, ever allow a man to do that to me! I will speak my mind! No woman SHOULD EVER allow a man to treat her that way! She should stand up to him! She should leave him!!!!!
Me: you just said arguing is bad.
Kaeli: she should argue!
Me: but you said arguing is bad
Kaeli: But Uhhhhhhhhhh.......
Me: if you don't argue someone isn't expressing their opinion.
Kaeli: OK, OK, OK! Arguing is not bad, non-effective arguing is bad.
Me: I am teaching you perception.
Kaeli: OK fine!
After my experiment. Kaeli explained "it was hard because you got me angry." It changed her perception of the merit of arguing. She mounted her soapbox and stated:
"I have learned, through the compelling evidence you provided, that arguing can be good if closure is reached." Before my "moral story" Kaeli was adamant that we argue a little too much in this house. Yes, we are loud and voice our opinions often and with passion, but sometimes resolutions and concessions are reached. Kaeli said "it was hard to explain my opinion when I was angry!"
When our opinions mix with our emotions, sometimes nonsense comes out! Kaeli kept getting tongue-tied and became more and more angry. When our perception clouds our understanding, we can't make fact-based decisions! I fueled the flames by insisting "how do you know you are right?" She finally decided it truly was just her opinion and not hard fact. She didn't agree women should live that way, but could not give me one fact-based reason it should not be permitted; yet, everyday in the USA we are enslaving and denying the rights of our fellow citizens because of our clouded perceptions. What is "right?" What is "wrong?" Who makes these decisions for our fellow man?
My next post will explain why I had to follow my peer to listen to her speech. My heart went out to her as a woman, mother, sister, and friend. Our perceptions can always be altered.
She has decided to shave her legs while we talk. Apparently, multitasking is acceptable in our home.
Our conversation:
Kaeli: OK......what are we talking about!
Me: tell me about perception.
Kaeli: what is perception?
Me: you want Miriam-Webster version?
Kaeli: sure
Kaeli (after Miriam's definition): alright.....
Me: alright, are you paying attention?
Kaeli: I don't believe in perception. I think everyone should be able to "go about" without being judged.
Me: did you understand the definition?
Kaeli: um, yeah, um I don't think you ever asked a question.
Me: I didn't, I made a declaration. You just need to explain your view.
Kaeli: well, it is evil, good, bad, nice... does that sum it up for
ya?
Me: let's try this a different way
Kaeli: (cutting me off mid-sentence) Ok, what's the next question?
Me: what is your perception of our home? Pretend our home is your only world.
Kaeli: This house is good. We don't get along good and there sure could be a change around here! First, lets get rid of every dish in the house. (I cut her off to explain a little better) She decided we need to improve the way we talk to each other and stop arguing as much.
Me: why do you think arguing is bad?
Kaeli: arguing makes people sad and not want to talk to one another. Lack of communication is what causes arguing.
Me: Let's change a bit. Imagine a couple. The couple are traditional and the husband makes all the rules. The wife must wake at 5 am, prepare and pack his breakfast and lunch for the day, lay out the husband's clothes, wake him up, put his clothes on him, never look him in the eyes, kiss him goodbye and tell him to have "a wonderful day my king." While her husband is at work, she is to prepare a seven-course meal, set the table formally, and clean the house spotless. She is never permitted to choose her own clothes, what will be cooked, whom she will speak to, etc....She also, is never allowed to argue with her husband, she must only accept what he dictates. Now, tell me about arguing.
Kaeli: MEN ARE IN NO WAY SUPERIOR TO WOMEN! I will never ,ever, ever allow a man to do that to me! I will speak my mind! No woman SHOULD EVER allow a man to treat her that way! She should stand up to him! She should leave him!!!!!
Me: you just said arguing is bad.
Kaeli: she should argue!
Me: but you said arguing is bad
Kaeli: But Uhhhhhhhhhh.......
Me: if you don't argue someone isn't expressing their opinion.
Kaeli: OK, OK, OK! Arguing is not bad, non-effective arguing is bad.
Me: I am teaching you perception.
Kaeli: OK fine!
After my experiment. Kaeli explained "it was hard because you got me angry." It changed her perception of the merit of arguing. She mounted her soapbox and stated:
"I have learned, through the compelling evidence you provided, that arguing can be good if closure is reached." Before my "moral story" Kaeli was adamant that we argue a little too much in this house. Yes, we are loud and voice our opinions often and with passion, but sometimes resolutions and concessions are reached. Kaeli said "it was hard to explain my opinion when I was angry!"
When our opinions mix with our emotions, sometimes nonsense comes out! Kaeli kept getting tongue-tied and became more and more angry. When our perception clouds our understanding, we can't make fact-based decisions! I fueled the flames by insisting "how do you know you are right?" She finally decided it truly was just her opinion and not hard fact. She didn't agree women should live that way, but could not give me one fact-based reason it should not be permitted; yet, everyday in the USA we are enslaving and denying the rights of our fellow citizens because of our clouded perceptions. What is "right?" What is "wrong?" Who makes these decisions for our fellow man?
My next post will explain why I had to follow my peer to listen to her speech. My heart went out to her as a woman, mother, sister, and friend. Our perceptions can always be altered.
Perception, Perfection, and Ease (Part 1)
Lately, I have found myself keenly aware of the differences of opinion in our society. More troubling, is the hatred that will pour forth from the mouth of opinion. Perception can be clouded by many factors, but I don't want to cover those in this particular post.
A few nights ago, me and the I Ching again, I was meditating to try to figure out what in me has been very troubled. We are recovering from a rather nasty virus at my house, but the "funk" I was in was more than that. I kept finding my mind wandering to the thought of perception and how two people can be present in the same situation, but see two completely different scenarios. I allowed my mind to wander and I kept seeing different words paired with their opposite: good/evil, happy/sad, right/wrong, etc... It occurred to me that my "good" may be another's "evil." What makes me happy makes others sad. What causes this?
Certainly, environmental factors "cloud" our perception. This "clouding" is inevitable and there isn't much we can do to stop it. If we allow our clouding to become intolerance for other people's "truth," we have extinguished the freedoms we each hold precious. Justice is itself also an opinion. Most things in this life are opinion and we must work to grasp the "reality" of "falsehood."
What do I mean by "reality of falsehood?" In my quest to understand my current mental state, I needed definition. I started with perception and one portion of one definition stood out: to understand or notice something easily. Easily, easy, with ease. Let it sink in. What we notice easily. How many quotes are there throughout time about avoiding the "easy path" or the "easy way?" It is synonymous with being lazy. If we choose to understand and accept only those things we notice easily, what would we miss?
Would we miss the smallest bees pollinating the smallest flowers? Shooting stars? The magical twinkle in the eye of a small child who has experienced something amazing for the first time? What else would we miss? The list could go on. When we only notice the easy things, our reality is false; thus, the "reality of falsehood."
Today, I did something I rarely do. I skipped class! I went to class, took my seat, and pulled out my notebook; then, the woman that sits directly behind me got a call from a professor in the psychology department. The teacher wanted my classmate to give a short speech to her class. I followed her because I had to hear it too.
I will finish this story in part 3 of my "series." I hope to finish it shortly. What is your perception telling you my "shortly" will be?
A few nights ago, me and the I Ching again, I was meditating to try to figure out what in me has been very troubled. We are recovering from a rather nasty virus at my house, but the "funk" I was in was more than that. I kept finding my mind wandering to the thought of perception and how two people can be present in the same situation, but see two completely different scenarios. I allowed my mind to wander and I kept seeing different words paired with their opposite: good/evil, happy/sad, right/wrong, etc... It occurred to me that my "good" may be another's "evil." What makes me happy makes others sad. What causes this?
Certainly, environmental factors "cloud" our perception. This "clouding" is inevitable and there isn't much we can do to stop it. If we allow our clouding to become intolerance for other people's "truth," we have extinguished the freedoms we each hold precious. Justice is itself also an opinion. Most things in this life are opinion and we must work to grasp the "reality" of "falsehood."
What do I mean by "reality of falsehood?" In my quest to understand my current mental state, I needed definition. I started with perception and one portion of one definition stood out: to understand or notice something easily. Easily, easy, with ease. Let it sink in. What we notice easily. How many quotes are there throughout time about avoiding the "easy path" or the "easy way?" It is synonymous with being lazy. If we choose to understand and accept only those things we notice easily, what would we miss?
Would we miss the smallest bees pollinating the smallest flowers? Shooting stars? The magical twinkle in the eye of a small child who has experienced something amazing for the first time? What else would we miss? The list could go on. When we only notice the easy things, our reality is false; thus, the "reality of falsehood."
Today, I did something I rarely do. I skipped class! I went to class, took my seat, and pulled out my notebook; then, the woman that sits directly behind me got a call from a professor in the psychology department. The teacher wanted my classmate to give a short speech to her class. I followed her because I had to hear it too.
I will finish this story in part 3 of my "series." I hope to finish it shortly. What is your perception telling you my "shortly" will be?
Monday, September 23, 2013
Selfish
"Give 'till it hurts" and "walk that extra mile" are preached from pulpit and stage across the world, but have you ever truly done that? If so, you understand the strain these two statements have. Children have been brainwashed with these for generations and as adults discover they come up short every time. Why do they preach this nonsense? Because if you are willing to give everything, you are completely their puppet. These two statements are always synonymous with their supposed "evil" opposite of "selfish, self-centered, and greedy." There is a huge flaw in these "moral" teachings; when you give all of your "self" to another you no longer control the one thing you are guaranteed for your entire lifetime.
A more accurate form of these two statements would be:
A more accurate form of these two statements would be:
"Let me tell you what to do and don't dare complain about it"
and
"When you think you have done enough, you're wrong"
With these two weapons, generations have been imprisoned by those that they have given authority over their lives. Suicide is prevalent in our country and most didn't believe themselves "worthy" of this life or the shame and hurt were unbearable. How could they when they never walk far enough or hurt enough? Dare go against the "teachings?" Selfish! is labeled on you immediately; wretched, selfish fool! You strayed from the "good" flock.
Having been victimized terribly as a child, I found myself looking for a savior. Church taught me to "give it to god," but I did and I felt worse. God wasn't saving me and the pain was worse, because now I had to contend with not being worthy of the help. "You don't have enough faith" was the answer I was given. Never truly any answers; dare question enough and find yourself solemnly "counseled" to find another church. There is a reason they want you to never search your own soul; you will find yourself and there will be no more room for them. No more "proving" yourself worthy and no more hurting.
My soul found itself screaming out to me about 3 years ago. As usual, I tried to sweep all my hurt back under the rug, but this time the pieces had shattered so many times they were now the size of single grains of sand. I had no choice but to pick up each piece individually and deal with that problem. It was the biggest fight of my life.
Each piece hurt worse than the previous, but as I searched for closure I noticed my burdens being lifted. I began to realize all the knowledge of this life, "my" life was within my own soul. There was no reason to fight to be worthy of another's imagination and demands because I am worthy. I began to rescue that hurt little girl from my past and grow to the woman my life was destined for. There was no more falling on the altar and begging for escape because all I needed was in my own soul.
Our bodies and our soul are the only things we are guaranteed to have our whole life. That being said, take care of them! Don't willingly give them away to another because you fear you can't possibly care for your self. Self preservation is key and if you refuse you'll end up dead until you die. Selfishness is used to shame people. Would you shame a baby for crying because they were hungry (I have discovered there actually are some freaks that preach babies are indeed selfish and should be spanked for their incessant crying. This statement does not include these demons)? No, it wouldn't be considered evil. It is only considered evil by the one that asked you to give what you couldn't. We allow these perpetrators to hurt us by accepting selfishness as shameful.
What then is selfishness? It isn't evil as some want and need you to believe. Selfish, to me, means tending to my soul. If my soul needs rest, peace, harmony, to say no, to say yes, to give, to receive, to love, to be intimate, to smile, cry, laugh, or scream, I let it! I refuse to be shamed by any that are insecure and believe they need my soul. Wretched soul stealing monsters they are! Don't give in no matter the pressure. You have permission give it to your self! I am the master of my universe and now that I have reclaimed my soul, don't dare try to steal it!
Too many people need to recover and conquer. Too many believe the man-crafted lies to keep them under-thumb. Flush out those shameful teachings! Let them flit away in the wind! Don't be ashamed of YOUR successes, everyone can succeed if they choose. Sadly, many refuse to choose themselves; because that my dear, would be selfish.
"Freedom will you find, when your own soul you seek"
-Jennifer Young
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Son Forever
Son Forever
With me currently writing my book, my son wrote his story for me; he scribbled it on a sheet of notebook paper front side and halfway filling the back. Sons are a special treat for mothers. We "boy moms" can tell you "daughter only" moms from a mile away. Daughter only moms stick out like a sore thumb. Perfect hair, schedules to the very minute, white pants at the park complete with matching hair bows, and the ever annoying requests to have my sons "calm down" a bit. Boys live for the moment. There is no "deeper meaning" we women try to analyze. Until a woman has a son or sons, we never truly realize men are in fact easily pleased. Basically, you just keep them fed which is much more difficult than one might think. I remember attempting to find a food my son wouldn't eat; one word, impossible. Boys are loyal. As a woman, I never understood the required butt woopen' that would ensue a "momma" put down. As a boy's mom, I understand. There is no greater insult to a boy that loves his mom. So much weight has been placed in the media on "fathers and daughters." Mother/son relationships are just as important! Here is my son's life:
My life started, obviously, when I was born
(simple, like I said earlier)
I remember my great-grandpa Bob,
He died when I was only 2. I wanted to know him a lot better. My dad
says he was a really nice guy; I guess that's where my
dad gets it from. I guess he knew me better than I thought
because when I was four he appeared to me. We were at
my great-aunt's house. That night, I was showing
everyone my paper-airplanes. I heard a voice
from behind me say "Kaleb, squeeze the middle of your
plane and ball up the ends like a telephone. Now hand it to your aunt."
I handed the phone to her and she pretended to talk to it.
She asked me "who is it?" I told her "your dad."
She started to pretend talk to him, but I told her
"he really is on the phone. He gave you a
present today." Everyone, started to realize
I was talking to grandpa Bob. Grandpa had given
them all a present that day (he had pre-planned it before his physical death)
and I hadn't known
about it. He stayed that night walking around
he stood by my great-grandma a lot, but
she couldn't see him. He smiled the whole time as he
walked around. He stood behind me a lot. He was very bright
like the sunshine. He visited me more through
my young years. I always wanted to know him
and I guess he knew that so he visited
me a lot. My great-grandma needs him more
than me now, so he stands by her bed at her house. He
always gives me a smile or wave when I go
visit her, but he stays with her now; he is waiting for her.
Did you see that coming? I didn't think so. Like I said, raising sons can be amazing. With the life I have lived, I refuse to tell my children things aren't possible. Yes, accepting my son is a medium was strange to say the least. The special thing about that day, there were so many others, was his grandpa had promised one of his daughters a phone call after he passed. He called, loyal beyond the grave, as promised. I am inspired by what our children can do if we never tell them "no" or "that is wrong or evil." My oldest son has always had a strong sense of self. He is passionate, caring, and has a strong moral compass all developed within his own soul. Who am I to tell him "that isn't possible" or "can you calm down?" How could I when not only is he my son, but other's son, and loved so much some return beyond the grave to watch over and guide him.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Light,Growth, and Perfection.
As I mentioned in a previous post, it took a long time to reach the acceptance and satisfaction I have with my life. To understand that statement, my journey needs to be better explained.
My mother was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic shortly after my older sister's birth; I never knew the "sane" version of my mother (I consider myself fortunate I didn't watch her decline). My life was lived for her, as was my grandmother's wishes, we "accommodated" whatever her whims were so as not to upset her. This accommodating led to her free rein over my childhood. My younger sister was terribly sickly and our dad spent most of his off time in hospitals with her because my mother couldn't handle the burden. This left me with my mother when she was unmedicated, insane, and she was never held accountable. Many terrible things happened to me and left terrible emotional scars. I was a skilled thief because my mom always seemed to forget little kids need to eat. I also was, and still am, very good with directions and maps. I knew how to "find my way" back home. I struggled early on with detecting "reality" from "fiction" and refused to watch cartoons at an early age simply because I knew they weren't "real." I was not disciplined and made my own rules; in short, I was an obnoxious, spoiled brat. My adolescence was terrible. I became a "woman" much earlier than most girls did and this led my mother to believe other worldly things were happening (think the movie Carrie where she burns the school down with everyone in it). My teen years brought on another pursuit after "truth" and religion. I wanted desperately to have unconditional love and god was the answer. I strove for perfection and wore myself down quickly. I joined a cult hiding under the "christian" blanket and worked harder than humanly possible to become worthy of the lord. At 15, I met the boy who would become the man I married a year later at 16. I was disgusted with myself for disappointing "god" with my pregnancy and shot-gun wedding. Ever the inquisitive (I will question people to the point of insanity) type, I led myself away from the cult I had dragged my husband and then 2 children into some 8 years later. My mother's decline had progressively gotten worse and her range was over 3 states. Many of my days were spent chasing her over the countryside. My husband and I took temporary custody of my baby sister due to my mother's illness and the situations she was putting my sister in. I found myself still searching for god and spiraling down into a terrible depression.
At 25, I became pregnant with our twins and the economy crashed. My mother still was at the forefront of my struggles, but now alongside losing everything we had. My husband had his own struggles he needed to overcome and his no longer being my "stability" took me over the brink of sanity. When my twins were 18 months old, I looked at them with disdain and blamed their birth on the current turmoil our lives were in. A few weeks later, we decided to sell everything but the clothes on our back and move 1100 miles away. Many accused us of "running away" from our problems, but I am forever grateful we had the courage to leave.
It wasn't easy leaving everything we both had known and taking our children away from all they had known either. We successfully left behind most of our "problems," except my mother. She walked the 1100 miles here; however she did hitchhike, got raped and the man attempted her murder. He dropped her body in the woods in Tennessee, but tough as she is, she came around, crawled to a light in the distance, and drug herself onto an elderly couples porch; they called 911. After a 6 day hospital stay, she was back on the road to my house.
After years of blaming god and everyone else for my hardships, I decided to "find" myself I had buried years before. I realized god wasn't for me, but finding myself was the tricky part. I started by claiming how I felt from one day to the next. I didn't allow myself the generic "fine" I really identified how I felt. Three months of that before I finally could identify with my feelings. I realized I had built a fortress of emotionless "strength." My strength was truly weakness because it was false. I had lived a life for someone else and denied myself any growth. Never had I done what I wished, desired, or wanted. I didn't love and was driven by fear; fear of life, death, failure, and success. I didn't know how to do anything, I was crippled and it was self inflicted.
Looking back, I know it was me that endured these hardships, but it wasn't "me" that shouldered them. I blamed others not accepting I was the one that said "yes." When I was tired, weak, burdened, or downright exhausted, still I said "yes." I allowed others' burdens to overshadow my own. I extended my own neck out on the chopping block.
I have learned from my life. I have learned to say "no" and when to say "yes." I no longer strive for perfection because I know I am perfect. Perfect for the life I live. Perfect for my husband. Perfect for my children. Perfect for the world. I used to see my mother as a direct reflection of myself. I now know she is her own. She too is perfect; perfect for her life. While she still needs my help and I freely give it, I do allow her to suffer the consequences of her actions; this has lifted yet another burden from me. I have let her sit in jail and serve her time, I have gone to courts and made her go to the hospital, and I have learned to not feel guilty about it. I can only do what I can do when I can do it. That has become my motto.
Oh what freedom to escape my self-inflicted trials!
Driving Ms. Crazy: Laughter Gets Me Through It
Driving Ms. Crazy: Laughter Gets Me Through It: While many people are often shocked to hear what I have been through with my mom, many times I choose to laugh rather than giving in...
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
I Ching, My Daughters, and Me
For the last week, my I Ching has repeatedly encouraged me to return my life to balance. The same hexagram everyday for an entire week is never a good thing. What, I wondered daily, was blocking me? "Burdens of the ego," was the answer (my interpretation) the I Ching kept giving. Being a mother of four school age students, being in college myself, and a wife makes for quite the hectic schedule. How was I supposed to identify what the burden/block I was experiencing was? The I Ching told me that too.....give some time to myself, consecrated, sacred time set aside for myself. So, I started off the first day at 5 am for my "time." I found nothing, but the need for an early nap. The block to my creativity and ability to maintain my equanimity continued and I gave up, the burden would find me itself.
Saturday morning at 6 am I woke up and readied myself to walk to the farmer's market. My twins were awake, so they came along too. About two blocks from the market, my 5 year old daughter began to skip and squeal with delight. I remembered how I loved to skip too; I was like Forrest Gump with his running. Why walk when you can skip? It is much more fun! I remembered the things I thought when I skipped. How I escaped into an imaginary world where everything was right. Where birds sang beautiful songs and floated down on your shoulder to say good morning. I found myself hoping my daughter didn't need to escape and that I had a place in her daydreams while skipping. We tasted great foods and bought plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. We returned home and I began making fresh bread.
Later in the afternoon, my oldest daughter, the twins, and I went for a walk to the ice cream shop. We had a great time. Not long after we arrived home, I received a phone call, from a sherriff's deputy. Just great! My mom was being arrested. I called out to my oldest daughter to quickly bring me a pen and paper. She responded with "what?" Angered I shouted "I need a pen and paper now!" She still didn't understand me. Frustrated with the situation her younger brother declared "in the panda cup!" She handed me the pen and I jotted down the numbers I would need to inquire what to do about my mother. Thoroughly frustrated, kneeding bread dough seemed to be the answer to my anxious nerves. While kneeding the dough, I could faintly hear "mom" being called down the hall. I ignored it because as usual I had no time for teenage demands. Again, but this time more urgent, faintly I heard "mom" twice. I marched down the hallway and spat out "what?" To my horror, my 14 year old daughter was not ok. Her entire body heaved as she tried to talk to me. She was becoming more upset and began to cry. As I looked her over, felt her head for fever, and began to question her, I began to realize she had experienced a severe medical issue. Her eyes were fully dialated with no iris showing and she wasn't able to easily move her body. She had a seizure while I was pissed at her. I was devastated. How could I just assume she was being a "pain" as teenagers usually are?How could I have denied her sensitivity when she needed it most? To the hospital we would go, but much like her mother, this would be a fight. After 30 minutes of threats to drag her if necessary, she finally agreed to go. She stumbled down the hall and out to the waiting car. The hospital had no answers, just more tests her doctor would need to run. 6 hours later, we were back home.
I sat with my I Ching, again, and it said the same exact thing once again. "Seriously?" I thought. What in the world am I supposed to do? I took myself to the art museum, alone for once, and there in a painting from the turn of the century was my oldest daughter. Dressed in a sailor's uniform and hung beautifully for all the world to see. I wondered in awe at the painting, but was elated to realize if my daughter wanted to, she wouldn't be resigned to play dress up as a sailor, she can be one! I hoped in that moment she knew I will support whatever path her life takes; whatever choice she makes. I still felt no "answer" for my burden.
Today, me and the I Ching, again the exact same hexagram! So, I locked my door, turned up Beethoven, and waited for the answer. Finally, it came. The same hopes, regrets, dreams, and worries I have for my daughters, I need to give to myself. I worry about them, I hope for them, I would fight to the death and kill for them (my sons too). I must remember I once was those two young girls. Skipping to escape, but no mother to protect me. There is the answer, my burden is fear. It always has been, but how do I let it go?
Another poem. I guess I have had too much emotion lately, so poetry will be my outlet:
Little Girl
Saturday morning at 6 am I woke up and readied myself to walk to the farmer's market. My twins were awake, so they came along too. About two blocks from the market, my 5 year old daughter began to skip and squeal with delight. I remembered how I loved to skip too; I was like Forrest Gump with his running. Why walk when you can skip? It is much more fun! I remembered the things I thought when I skipped. How I escaped into an imaginary world where everything was right. Where birds sang beautiful songs and floated down on your shoulder to say good morning. I found myself hoping my daughter didn't need to escape and that I had a place in her daydreams while skipping. We tasted great foods and bought plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. We returned home and I began making fresh bread.
Later in the afternoon, my oldest daughter, the twins, and I went for a walk to the ice cream shop. We had a great time. Not long after we arrived home, I received a phone call, from a sherriff's deputy. Just great! My mom was being arrested. I called out to my oldest daughter to quickly bring me a pen and paper. She responded with "what?" Angered I shouted "I need a pen and paper now!" She still didn't understand me. Frustrated with the situation her younger brother declared "in the panda cup!" She handed me the pen and I jotted down the numbers I would need to inquire what to do about my mother. Thoroughly frustrated, kneeding bread dough seemed to be the answer to my anxious nerves. While kneeding the dough, I could faintly hear "mom" being called down the hall. I ignored it because as usual I had no time for teenage demands. Again, but this time more urgent, faintly I heard "mom" twice. I marched down the hallway and spat out "what?" To my horror, my 14 year old daughter was not ok. Her entire body heaved as she tried to talk to me. She was becoming more upset and began to cry. As I looked her over, felt her head for fever, and began to question her, I began to realize she had experienced a severe medical issue. Her eyes were fully dialated with no iris showing and she wasn't able to easily move her body. She had a seizure while I was pissed at her. I was devastated. How could I just assume she was being a "pain" as teenagers usually are?How could I have denied her sensitivity when she needed it most? To the hospital we would go, but much like her mother, this would be a fight. After 30 minutes of threats to drag her if necessary, she finally agreed to go. She stumbled down the hall and out to the waiting car. The hospital had no answers, just more tests her doctor would need to run. 6 hours later, we were back home.
I sat with my I Ching, again, and it said the same exact thing once again. "Seriously?" I thought. What in the world am I supposed to do? I took myself to the art museum, alone for once, and there in a painting from the turn of the century was my oldest daughter. Dressed in a sailor's uniform and hung beautifully for all the world to see. I wondered in awe at the painting, but was elated to realize if my daughter wanted to, she wouldn't be resigned to play dress up as a sailor, she can be one! I hoped in that moment she knew I will support whatever path her life takes; whatever choice she makes. I still felt no "answer" for my burden.
Today, me and the I Ching, again the exact same hexagram! So, I locked my door, turned up Beethoven, and waited for the answer. Finally, it came. The same hopes, regrets, dreams, and worries I have for my daughters, I need to give to myself. I worry about them, I hope for them, I would fight to the death and kill for them (my sons too). I must remember I once was those two young girls. Skipping to escape, but no mother to protect me. There is the answer, my burden is fear. It always has been, but how do I let it go?
Another poem. I guess I have had too much emotion lately, so poetry will be my outlet:
Little Girl
I see you little girl
From the past,
Those memories you burn,
They last.
I see you little girl,
With your smile so big.
Isn't it fun,
To skip down the path.
Where is your mother?
Could it be,
She grew up?
Somehow, you got me.
Where is your mother?
Did she say,
She would watch
And keep you
Safe?
I see you little girl
So scared.
No compassion for you
Only pity.
I see you little girl
Wishing to fight.
Fight for the life
You dream.
Where is your mother?
Is she gone,
Back in her head,
Where the voices consume her.
Where is your mother?
Are you alone?
In this mischievous land?
I see you little girl,
Half grown.
Powerful inside,
Yet gentle without.
I see you little girl,
Take my hand.
Great memories
Will we make;
Old memories
To replace.
From the past,
Those memories you burn,
They last.
I see you little girl,
With your smile so big.
Isn't it fun,
To skip down the path.
Where is your mother?
Could it be,
She grew up?
Somehow, you got me.
Where is your mother?
Did she say,
She would watch
And keep you
Safe?
I see you little girl
So scared.
No compassion for you
Only pity.
I see you little girl
Wishing to fight.
Fight for the life
You dream.
Where is your mother?
Is she gone,
Back in her head,
Where the voices consume her.
Where is your mother?
Are you alone?
In this mischievous land?
I see you little girl,
Half grown.
Powerful inside,
Yet gentle without.
I see you little girl,
Take my hand.
Great memories
Will we make;
Old memories
To replace.
Too many people have tried to tell me I don't know how to be a mother. True, I didn't have the "best" around, but she was my mother nevertheless. Why do we think we must model ourselves after another to do "right" and avoid "wrong?" My daughters are mine, and I must remind myself I am their mother. No one else could do what I do. Not with my girls. I also have to mourn for the little girl who dealt with my life. If it weren't for her trials, I would never have triumphed! Tomorrow, I hope, the burden will have lifted and I can return to peace.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Laughter Gets Me Through It
While many people are often shocked to hear what I have been through with my mom, many times I choose to laugh rather than giving in and crying myself to sleep. Police officers have become street psychiatrists; unfortunately, this is neither fair to the mentally
Ill facing arrest nor the officer. A rookie officer got "broke in " well a couple years back when he called me, my mother's official contact in these situations, to inquire of her "mental state."
My mother had been hallucinating for weeks and fasting to purge demons from her life. Many midnight calls had been received from her at my house; in each, she was frantically begging me to seek forgiveness from the voodoo witch I had apparently pissed off. The witch had sent a message to my mother, via a german shepherd in my mother's yard, that I must be sacrificed for my sins. I ignored these as usual, did not call the police for a welfare check because I knew it was futile with as elusive as my mom can be in these episodes, and hoped she would somehow get herself placed on a mental hold. My mother was being tormented by the demons she saw and they were commanding her to do as they wished.
She later described these events to me, I am explaining them prior to my phone call from " the rookie" ( I have names for them I make up) to help set the scene. The events she described:
Her priest had given her special prayers to ward off the demons tormenting her. As she began the prayers, with rosary in hand, her house began to shake. The walls moved as if flags driven by the wind and the floor became gelatin like. This opened a portal for demons, sent by the witch, to interact with her. They told her she was no match for them and they were now attacking her seven fold. They threatened to dismember me and spread my bowels in the great lake of fire if she did not do as commanded. They began by making her remove her clothes then walk to the riverbank beneath her home. As she looked out across the moon blanketed water, she saw the orange glow of gator eyes. The demons commanded her to get in. She pleaded not to and again they threatened me. She did as she was told. She said they made her stay until dawn. When the sun rose, the demons commanded her to walk to a nearby home. There was a young mother outside playing with her toddler son. The demons commanded she kill them, my mother begged them to kill her instead. The demons replied "instead of killing them, walk to her garden and pee in it." My mother did as she was told and was commanded to walk into the woods and not stop until the demons returned to direct her. For four nights she wandered in those woods until the demons returned. They promised not to kill me if she walked to the interstate and committed suicide in the median for all the world to see. She obeyed.
With the back story in mind, hopefully, understanding of my actions with "the rookie" might make sense. I hadn't heard from my mom for ten days (truly a short time in comparison to her usual) when I received the officer's call. I knew it was an officer by the area code, I also knew it wasn't being routed through the dispatch team at the sherriff's office, this was a personal cell phone; absolutely a terrifying sign. Our conversation:
" Hello, is this Jennifer, daughter of Juliet Austin?" he began.
Me: "yes, what do you need?"
The Rookie, " well, ma'am. I am here with your mom and miss if I can say, something is very wrong with her."
Me: "continue"
The Rookie: (stumbling over his words terribly) " I am so afraid to upset you."
Me: " I highly doubt you will, but go ahead and spit it out!"
The Rookie " we recieved 17 calls within 3 minutes of a naked woman on the interstate trying to commit suicide. I got here, and ma'am I do not think your mother is ok, she is suicidal! She has a broken beer bottle and has repeatedly stabbed herself in the neck, arms, and torso. She is refusing all medical treatment. She wants to be left here to die. Has she ever been suicidal before?"
Me: (irate at this point) "well! ROOKIE! My mother is a devout catholic and would never commit suicide. She is SACRIFICING herself to save me from the voodoo witch. Get that correct first and she may allow you to get her treatment!"
The Rookie: a long pause then "well, ma'am how long has she been considering sacrifice?"
Me: " I guess at least a few days, but sacrificing herself is new to me. Put her on a psych hold and I will call her doctor."
The Rookie: "ma'am, I called you from my personal phone because I was so concerned about your mother. I will do my best to get her the help she needs."
Me: "I wish you the best of luck with that! I will call her doctor. Goodbye."
As I sighed while hanging up, I glanced at my husband who was driving us onward to our vacation. He was driving with hands at a perfect 10 and 2, not his usual 6 o'clock, his lips folded in, and his face beet red. I asked " what the hell is wrong with you?" One look in my direction and the laughter burst from within him! "Do you think my mother trying to sacrifice herself is funny?" That did it, he had to pull over. With tears in his eyes from the now hysterical laughter, he explained "while you were 'schooling' the rookie, nice name for this one might I add, you certainly didn't think before you spoke!" I was livid now, I raged "what is your problem, you are being so insensitive! I can't stand you!" He said "I am sorry honey, but I won't be surprised if you end up on a hold!" It was then that I realized what I had said. Yes, it was me explaining sacrifices and witches. I was now laughing too. Truly, that poor officer was probably scratching his head as to why I, the "supposedly sane" one, was my mom's emergency medical contact! Oh how we laughed together. A nice respite from the usual tears. While the situation was in no way a laughing matter, somehow my mistake made it better; it lightened my burden.
My mother was hospitalized, medicated, and released 96 hours later. She was on to new missions and quests. Of course, I got her out of that trouble too.
Ill facing arrest nor the officer. A rookie officer got "broke in " well a couple years back when he called me, my mother's official contact in these situations, to inquire of her "mental state."
My mother had been hallucinating for weeks and fasting to purge demons from her life. Many midnight calls had been received from her at my house; in each, she was frantically begging me to seek forgiveness from the voodoo witch I had apparently pissed off. The witch had sent a message to my mother, via a german shepherd in my mother's yard, that I must be sacrificed for my sins. I ignored these as usual, did not call the police for a welfare check because I knew it was futile with as elusive as my mom can be in these episodes, and hoped she would somehow get herself placed on a mental hold. My mother was being tormented by the demons she saw and they were commanding her to do as they wished.
She later described these events to me, I am explaining them prior to my phone call from " the rookie" ( I have names for them I make up) to help set the scene. The events she described:
Her priest had given her special prayers to ward off the demons tormenting her. As she began the prayers, with rosary in hand, her house began to shake. The walls moved as if flags driven by the wind and the floor became gelatin like. This opened a portal for demons, sent by the witch, to interact with her. They told her she was no match for them and they were now attacking her seven fold. They threatened to dismember me and spread my bowels in the great lake of fire if she did not do as commanded. They began by making her remove her clothes then walk to the riverbank beneath her home. As she looked out across the moon blanketed water, she saw the orange glow of gator eyes. The demons commanded her to get in. She pleaded not to and again they threatened me. She did as she was told. She said they made her stay until dawn. When the sun rose, the demons commanded her to walk to a nearby home. There was a young mother outside playing with her toddler son. The demons commanded she kill them, my mother begged them to kill her instead. The demons replied "instead of killing them, walk to her garden and pee in it." My mother did as she was told and was commanded to walk into the woods and not stop until the demons returned to direct her. For four nights she wandered in those woods until the demons returned. They promised not to kill me if she walked to the interstate and committed suicide in the median for all the world to see. She obeyed.
With the back story in mind, hopefully, understanding of my actions with "the rookie" might make sense. I hadn't heard from my mom for ten days (truly a short time in comparison to her usual) when I received the officer's call. I knew it was an officer by the area code, I also knew it wasn't being routed through the dispatch team at the sherriff's office, this was a personal cell phone; absolutely a terrifying sign. Our conversation:
" Hello, is this Jennifer, daughter of Juliet Austin?" he began.
Me: "yes, what do you need?"
The Rookie, " well, ma'am. I am here with your mom and miss if I can say, something is very wrong with her."
Me: "continue"
The Rookie: (stumbling over his words terribly) " I am so afraid to upset you."
Me: " I highly doubt you will, but go ahead and spit it out!"
The Rookie " we recieved 17 calls within 3 minutes of a naked woman on the interstate trying to commit suicide. I got here, and ma'am I do not think your mother is ok, she is suicidal! She has a broken beer bottle and has repeatedly stabbed herself in the neck, arms, and torso. She is refusing all medical treatment. She wants to be left here to die. Has she ever been suicidal before?"
Me: (irate at this point) "well! ROOKIE! My mother is a devout catholic and would never commit suicide. She is SACRIFICING herself to save me from the voodoo witch. Get that correct first and she may allow you to get her treatment!"
The Rookie: a long pause then "well, ma'am how long has she been considering sacrifice?"
Me: " I guess at least a few days, but sacrificing herself is new to me. Put her on a psych hold and I will call her doctor."
The Rookie: "ma'am, I called you from my personal phone because I was so concerned about your mother. I will do my best to get her the help she needs."
Me: "I wish you the best of luck with that! I will call her doctor. Goodbye."
As I sighed while hanging up, I glanced at my husband who was driving us onward to our vacation. He was driving with hands at a perfect 10 and 2, not his usual 6 o'clock, his lips folded in, and his face beet red. I asked " what the hell is wrong with you?" One look in my direction and the laughter burst from within him! "Do you think my mother trying to sacrifice herself is funny?" That did it, he had to pull over. With tears in his eyes from the now hysterical laughter, he explained "while you were 'schooling' the rookie, nice name for this one might I add, you certainly didn't think before you spoke!" I was livid now, I raged "what is your problem, you are being so insensitive! I can't stand you!" He said "I am sorry honey, but I won't be surprised if you end up on a hold!" It was then that I realized what I had said. Yes, it was me explaining sacrifices and witches. I was now laughing too. Truly, that poor officer was probably scratching his head as to why I, the "supposedly sane" one, was my mom's emergency medical contact! Oh how we laughed together. A nice respite from the usual tears. While the situation was in no way a laughing matter, somehow my mistake made it better; it lightened my burden.
My mother was hospitalized, medicated, and released 96 hours later. She was on to new missions and quests. Of course, I got her out of that trouble too.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
She Would Have Been a Shaman
About 5 years ago, I watched a primetime show (I don't recall which one) about shamans. As they portrayed their amazing feats: extended fasts, holding their breath while heads buried in the sand, etc..., I remember saying to my husband "hell, that is nothing compared to my mom!" He agreed with me and we discussed some of her "feats." She has walked thousands of miles to see me, I have seen her place acid in her eyes and have no lasting damage (she was curing her "cancer of the demons" that had been plaquing her brain), she has fasted herself to the point of kidney failure twice, and yet here in the USA she is "crazy" not a spiritual leader of her community.
The show awakened something in me that night and I truly believe it is worth investigating. Aside from the obvious question: who IS this "normal" person psychiatry and psychology use as their grand measuring stick? I needed to answer questions for myself. Here is my "short" list of questions:
Is she actually a shaman?
How is she "different" from a shaman?
Is there any merit to her visions and dreams?
Would she be "cured" if only her fellow man would leave her alone?
The only answer I could come up with is Yes! indeed she is a shaman. Like a shaman, she had a "death and rebirth." Before schizophrenia "claimed" her she was prom queen, well educated, and athletic ( all normal by American standards); afterward, she was distant,stuck inside herself, and on a quest for enlightenment. Like a shaman, she regularly practices amazing miracles. I have removed her shoes after she hiked 1096 miles to my house, to reveal blackened skin and exposed bone. As I pleaded with her to allow me to take her to the ER, she calmly walked to my bathroom, grabbed rubbing alcohol from the cabinet then poured it on her feet without flinching, then calmly asked if I could spare a pair of clean socks. Her feet are still attached and they healed, so yes, she MUST be a shaman. She and shamans are one in the same no doubt.
Many of her visions require interpreting. Much like the bible (yes, the prophets were either shamans or schizophrenics too), but beneath the often garbled, non-sensical words, lie deep truths. I will "interpret " for you as I am her "student" if you will.
"All people are useful and desire to help"
" graciously accepting a gift is as important as giving one"
" truth is not real, only lies"
"Karma will get you 100 fold"
The answer is yes. Her visions have merit and are worthy of repeating.
"Coexist," with all the symbols of the major religions, is seen on the bumpers of cars everywhere. My mom deserves that too. While she has had a few major crime incidents, I can whole-heartedly proclaim she was the victim, she is honestly rather harmless. Our judicial system would disagree, but her attacks were provoked, and her perpetrators warned numerous times to leave her alone. She truly is more afraid of the world than the world is of her. She constantly avoids crowds because she believes everyone is uncomfortable (because she believes there is ink she cannot see on her forehead warning others she is "psycho") around her. If people could and would accept that she may say or do things they wouldn't understand, a life lived happy and free could be attainable for her.
A poem (yes, I wrote a poem) about my mother:
Shaman Mother
She would have been a shaman,
In another place and time.
Her death and rebirth complete.
Control of the spirits at her will.
This world subdues her!
With its medicine.
Medicine Man she would have been
With her cures seen,
through enlightened eyes.
They cure her themselves,
As she prepares for a long sleep.
Never to truly awaken.
Stop! She tells them,
Let me be!
But they won't.
Only through their eyes,
Will they see.
Her words garbled,
They refuse to hear.
Only the outward appearance,
She is their plaque.
Hide your children!
She comes!
Wild eyed and crazy,
Weaving tales of demons!
Do not hear!
We have the cure!
You shout!
But you are weak ,
Refusing to listen,
In your ignorant state.
Walk on by!
Do not stop!
Fast you should run!
Take your seats.
Bow your heads,
In humble remembrance
Of your Lord.
Where is he,
When she cries out?
Won't save
Her wretched soul.
Give her peace!
Yes you can!
Leave her be!
Look away!
Let her live
And be free.
Because she sees,
What you won't.
Only a poem could express what I feel. While my road to this state of acceptance has been long, I propose we change. Change our minds, our hearts, and our souls.
The show awakened something in me that night and I truly believe it is worth investigating. Aside from the obvious question: who IS this "normal" person psychiatry and psychology use as their grand measuring stick? I needed to answer questions for myself. Here is my "short" list of questions:
Is she actually a shaman?
How is she "different" from a shaman?
Is there any merit to her visions and dreams?
Would she be "cured" if only her fellow man would leave her alone?
The only answer I could come up with is Yes! indeed she is a shaman. Like a shaman, she had a "death and rebirth." Before schizophrenia "claimed" her she was prom queen, well educated, and athletic ( all normal by American standards); afterward, she was distant,stuck inside herself, and on a quest for enlightenment. Like a shaman, she regularly practices amazing miracles. I have removed her shoes after she hiked 1096 miles to my house, to reveal blackened skin and exposed bone. As I pleaded with her to allow me to take her to the ER, she calmly walked to my bathroom, grabbed rubbing alcohol from the cabinet then poured it on her feet without flinching, then calmly asked if I could spare a pair of clean socks. Her feet are still attached and they healed, so yes, she MUST be a shaman. She and shamans are one in the same no doubt.
Many of her visions require interpreting. Much like the bible (yes, the prophets were either shamans or schizophrenics too), but beneath the often garbled, non-sensical words, lie deep truths. I will "interpret " for you as I am her "student" if you will.
"All people are useful and desire to help"
" graciously accepting a gift is as important as giving one"
" truth is not real, only lies"
"Karma will get you 100 fold"
The answer is yes. Her visions have merit and are worthy of repeating.
"Coexist," with all the symbols of the major religions, is seen on the bumpers of cars everywhere. My mom deserves that too. While she has had a few major crime incidents, I can whole-heartedly proclaim she was the victim, she is honestly rather harmless. Our judicial system would disagree, but her attacks were provoked, and her perpetrators warned numerous times to leave her alone. She truly is more afraid of the world than the world is of her. She constantly avoids crowds because she believes everyone is uncomfortable (because she believes there is ink she cannot see on her forehead warning others she is "psycho") around her. If people could and would accept that she may say or do things they wouldn't understand, a life lived happy and free could be attainable for her.
A poem (yes, I wrote a poem) about my mother:
Shaman Mother
She would have been a shaman,
In another place and time.
Her death and rebirth complete.
Control of the spirits at her will.
This world subdues her!
With its medicine.
Medicine Man she would have been
With her cures seen,
through enlightened eyes.
They cure her themselves,
As she prepares for a long sleep.
Never to truly awaken.
Stop! She tells them,
Let me be!
But they won't.
Only through their eyes,
Will they see.
Her words garbled,
They refuse to hear.
Only the outward appearance,
She is their plaque.
Hide your children!
She comes!
Wild eyed and crazy,
Weaving tales of demons!
Do not hear!
We have the cure!
You shout!
But you are weak ,
Refusing to listen,
In your ignorant state.
Walk on by!
Do not stop!
Fast you should run!
Take your seats.
Bow your heads,
In humble remembrance
Of your Lord.
Where is he,
When she cries out?
Won't save
Her wretched soul.
Give her peace!
Yes you can!
Leave her be!
Look away!
Let her live
And be free.
Because she sees,
What you won't.
Only a poem could express what I feel. While my road to this state of acceptance has been long, I propose we change. Change our minds, our hearts, and our souls.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
I Have a Best Friend
Sometimes, best friends start seemingly as enemies. Mine was the neighborhood "bully" and coincidentally, her name rhymed with her label. She was mean as sin, tough as nails, and sneaky....just like me. We have been through so much together, our goal is to go out reaking havoc hiding sweetly behind our moomoos and toothless smiles. She can listen and understand, correct me and set me straight, laugh, cry, and celebrate with me. Plus, if something happens to my husband and I, she inherits our 4 versions of ourselves.
I hear so many women say " my husband is my best friend " or "I just hate other women, we don't get along!" To that I say " does your husband know which coupon insert has the good tampon deal?" I didn't think so. Oh and you can't get along with other women because we tend to call each other's bluffs worse than men at a poker table!
If you are a woman without a female best friend, you are missing out! There is power in uniting woman to woman, loving a friend enough to die for her. My best friend has guaranteed bail money for me!
We have been through her beloved father's death ( I was scared I would lose her with that one!) and my mother's "missions" from the lord that always end with a phone call from sheriff Barnie out in HeeHaw Neverland USA.
I have been fortunate to have her for 29 years of my 31 and glad she has let me tag along. All women need a best friend, not a guy, and certainly not your husband. There is more to this life than you can keep for yourself, connect with that person. You never know, it might be a bully!
I hear so many women say " my husband is my best friend " or "I just hate other women, we don't get along!" To that I say " does your husband know which coupon insert has the good tampon deal?" I didn't think so. Oh and you can't get along with other women because we tend to call each other's bluffs worse than men at a poker table!
If you are a woman without a female best friend, you are missing out! There is power in uniting woman to woman, loving a friend enough to die for her. My best friend has guaranteed bail money for me!
We have been through her beloved father's death ( I was scared I would lose her with that one!) and my mother's "missions" from the lord that always end with a phone call from sheriff Barnie out in HeeHaw Neverland USA.
I have been fortunate to have her for 29 years of my 31 and glad she has let me tag along. All women need a best friend, not a guy, and certainly not your husband. There is more to this life than you can keep for yourself, connect with that person. You never know, it might be a bully!
Driving Ms. Crazy
Much of my adult life, has been spent caring for my paranoid schizophrenic mother. I have been asked my favoritequestions "why don't you do somethin' bout her" and "is she on drugs?" The answers always are "No!"and "No!" The truth is, it isn't illegal to be "insane" in the USA and my mother is completely medication/drug free (unless of course she has been court ordered to take her meds for her mostly petty crimes).
It is time for this country and its doctors and scientists to wake up, listen, (I hope you notice my purposeful exclusion of law enforcement because that is a novel's worth of reformation) and insist on change. Medications need to change, interactions need to change, and acceptance and insistence need to lead the reform.
Having driven her cross country numerous times, after rescuing her from our legal system, has taught me lessons no one could comprehend. I am grateful for the unique perspective on what I call the "human condition" because of my crazy little mom. From learning how to stand up to her "victims" and give them the "I told you to leave her alone" speech, to simple, yet moving children's stories only her and her "crazy mind" could pen, my life is lived abundantly and fully because I know full well of the 7 billion + of us that share this planet, most of us take our minds and souls for granted.
My life has seen many horrors, but I have lived, been scarred, and been awakened. Trust me when I say, many "sane" people quickly take advantage of the mentally ill, and in my life, the small daughter that wandered with her. I hope to give some understanding (never try to understand it fully you will drive yourself mad), peace, and a sense of equanimity for those like me; and a glimpse of truth for those untouched by mental illness.
It is time for this country and its doctors and scientists to wake up, listen, (I hope you notice my purposeful exclusion of law enforcement because that is a novel's worth of reformation) and insist on change. Medications need to change, interactions need to change, and acceptance and insistence need to lead the reform.
Having driven her cross country numerous times, after rescuing her from our legal system, has taught me lessons no one could comprehend. I am grateful for the unique perspective on what I call the "human condition" because of my crazy little mom. From learning how to stand up to her "victims" and give them the "I told you to leave her alone" speech, to simple, yet moving children's stories only her and her "crazy mind" could pen, my life is lived abundantly and fully because I know full well of the 7 billion + of us that share this planet, most of us take our minds and souls for granted.
My life has seen many horrors, but I have lived, been scarred, and been awakened. Trust me when I say, many "sane" people quickly take advantage of the mentally ill, and in my life, the small daughter that wandered with her. I hope to give some understanding (never try to understand it fully you will drive yourself mad), peace, and a sense of equanimity for those like me; and a glimpse of truth for those untouched by mental illness.
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