In life, changes are made on a regular basis regardless of the intention. Every decision that is made affects a person’s life. What one eats today will affect the nutrition, health and body of that person. This is a small change and one where the affects are not seen until later when the person is wondering how the heck they put on 15 pounds.
There are instant changes made by a split second decision or a decision that was agonized over. It can be as simple as taking scissors to one’s hair and cutting off a fair amount. In the past I have cut 11 inches or more off the length of my hair and donated it to Locks of Love. My long hair disappeared to a cut shoulder length do. Instant change is possible. Sometime it is positive like my donating my hair or something negative like the car accident and so forth.
People like to make big changes or even small changes slowly in order to not overload themselves. These people make a small chain of changes in order to reach their intended goal. However, some people are like me. They like to make several changes at once.
I am a rather indecisive person. I don’t like to make decisions. I could care less what I eat for dinner so long as I eat a meal. When asked to a movie, I do not really care what movie I go to see. Yet, when I make a decision, I make big changes in my life.
Within a month or two, I went back to school. I cut my hair short donating my lovely long locks to Locks of Love. I moved out away my parent’s jurisdiction. I started hanging out with friends, where I lead a solitary life. These are big changes in a very short period of time. I had to adjust to being a student again and I had to set up home. I had to learn how to take care of myself and interact with my peers again. It was a great deal in a small amount of time, which meant it required quite a bit of balancing. I was busy, drew back from some of my pre-existing activities to be able to cope with the new.
Recently, there was another series of significant changes. My father was in the hospital with a heart problem. He was sick enough that Doctors couldn’t figure out why he was still alive. My mother took a day trip to the ER because of heat stroke. I was finishing the last class of my associates and working on a ton of paperwork for my new school that I started this week. I am leaving a job I have worked at as staff and a volunteer for nearly 16 years of my life. Tomorrow, I say goodbye to the last thread of my past by leaving my safe job and moving on. On Friday, I start a new job as an assistant teacher. It is exciting and new, but it is also something that I will struggle a time to master. In the weeks to come, I will be volunteering as a Teen Councilor. I have helped advise people before, but now my words will have weight and a direct affect people’s lives.
I do not seem to make small life changes, nor do I take them one at a time. It unbalances me some. There is a time of calibration in order to balance things. It is not easy cutting or saying goodbye to the past and welcoming in the future. The middle ground of the present shifts a little like a teeter-totter. Time is at a premium. I don’t have the time I used to talk to people or write. I don’t have the ability to deal with other people’s stress. When overwhelmed, I go into self-protection mode until I can deal with what I have placed on my plate.
I have learned that life changes in my life make it harder for me to help other people with their life simple because I am not stable. This unstable stress has me fighting nasty migraines at times. Anyone adding stress to my life or trying to force me to do something that I cannot do for one reason or another, I walk away from them in order to avoid pain. I come back eventually, sometimes it takes months or years to move back to a place where I can handle or interact with certain people or places.
I think we all do this. As we go alone our path, the friends we have change or the places we hang out change. What we value tends to change as well. It isn’t a matter of abandonment. It is a matter moving in different direction of life’s path.
Each of us walks our own path. Sometimes during this walk, we walk together with friends and family. At others we walk it alone or with other people. People cross each other’s paths infrequently or frequently depending upon the respective paths. There are points were a person crosses our path for a few moments and yet affects us greatly. In this, there is no abandonment, because we are all moving towards or away from each other. As our values change, mature and transform, we move away from people who share old values as they continue on their path.
I am aware that the changes I have made move me away from certain places and people. I know these places and people are moving equally away from me as they continue and change on their path. Am I sad about this? Yes. In a way, it is a goodbye. It is also a vibrant, excited hello as there are new people to meet, new places to see, and new skills to learn.
Our past has been shaped through our change and our future will be forged by our decisions that bring on change.
Fallen Angel
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Fear of the unknown??
Human nature is to fear the unknown. Few can boldly stride forth into the unknown without feeling some minor anxiety in their hearts that they are treading new ground. Something that is different or new can cause a great deal of anguish for a person. An example, in an abusive relationship, the one being abused fears what the repercussions of being free often sticking with the known evil versus the possible unknown. Being free from an abusive situation poses new struggles. Some of these are learning to provide for oneself, possibly going to school in order to get a better job in the future, finding a place to live, and so forth. In addition a person who comes from an abusive atmosphere is constantly trying to gauge what the people around them are like. Sometimes this results in the person shying away from social interactions or drifting away from people who are harmless, but do not seem harmless in the mind of the person who was abused due to characteristics in similar enough nature to the person (s) that abused them.
From first hand experience, I can say it is hell learning to be apart of society. Making friends is not difficult for me; however, it is a matter of how close I let my friends get before I feel the need to walk away. For the most part, I am doing rather well with this. I have not strayed away from my friends except when I need my space or way too much drama is occurring. It was a hard lesson to learn. It is not easy to learn to trust people when you basic framework of trust has been skewed and twisted. Truth be told, I would trust my friends with my life and about half my heart. The other half of my heart remains locked close to me. It is something I cannot completely give, not possibly will be able to do. I suppose it is a good thing that I was gift with a big heart. (Not physical, but an emotionally caring heart)
So, it is human nature to fear the unknown. In some cases it is really unhealthy. Unhealthy cases would be more on the end of being a recluse and never venturing from home. There are other factors that go into being reclusive, I am just using over generalized examples. Another would be too afraid to seek help because their perception into the unknown is that the answer is going to be a resounding “NO”. Healthy instances are when possibly doing something reckless. What is going to happen if you speed down the highway at 110 miles per hour? That fear of the unknown kicks in to preserve our self and those who might be around us.
Then there are those moments you wish would never end. These are usually comfortable moments where you feel good about where you are or whom you are with or what you are doing. These are also moments where you know whatever is waiting for you on the other side is not good. Is this fear of the unknown? At times yes, at others no; however most of the time it is both. Fear of the unknown comes in the dread. You know something unpleasant is waiting for you, you just don’t know what. You fear getting a concrete answer. On the other hand, a person may simple not want to know. They are content to remain in the moment. They know it is unpleasant, but they don’t want it to affect them until it absolutely has to.
Well, I felt both as Shabbat wound down and out. It wasn’t until after Shabbos that I actually felt the full hit of the emotional upheaval. The last thing I wanted to do was to go home and check my phone. I knew there were going to be messages waiting for me. I didn’t want to know what these messages contained. I worried about the unknown information, but I also just wanted to simply push it off so that it did not spoil and otherwise decent Shabbat. As soon as Shabbat was over, as soon as davening was over, there was no reason to push the unknown off. As much as I did not want to go, I took myself back home and did what I needed to do.
There is a fine balance between pushing something off in for a short time such as the reason to preserve something beautiful like Shabbat and another to just continually push something off. In today’s society more and more of the latter occur. We push things off so much that they are never dealt with, then it comes to ahead and the person explodes emotionally and/or destructively. We have so much we try to balance in so little time that finding the time to deal with the unknown and push ourselves through it to a better place is sometimes impossible. It is healthy to fear the unknown, yet it is not healthy to let it rule over one’s life to the point where a person is crippled by it.
Happy adventuring
From first hand experience, I can say it is hell learning to be apart of society. Making friends is not difficult for me; however, it is a matter of how close I let my friends get before I feel the need to walk away. For the most part, I am doing rather well with this. I have not strayed away from my friends except when I need my space or way too much drama is occurring. It was a hard lesson to learn. It is not easy to learn to trust people when you basic framework of trust has been skewed and twisted. Truth be told, I would trust my friends with my life and about half my heart. The other half of my heart remains locked close to me. It is something I cannot completely give, not possibly will be able to do. I suppose it is a good thing that I was gift with a big heart. (Not physical, but an emotionally caring heart)
So, it is human nature to fear the unknown. In some cases it is really unhealthy. Unhealthy cases would be more on the end of being a recluse and never venturing from home. There are other factors that go into being reclusive, I am just using over generalized examples. Another would be too afraid to seek help because their perception into the unknown is that the answer is going to be a resounding “NO”. Healthy instances are when possibly doing something reckless. What is going to happen if you speed down the highway at 110 miles per hour? That fear of the unknown kicks in to preserve our self and those who might be around us.
Then there are those moments you wish would never end. These are usually comfortable moments where you feel good about where you are or whom you are with or what you are doing. These are also moments where you know whatever is waiting for you on the other side is not good. Is this fear of the unknown? At times yes, at others no; however most of the time it is both. Fear of the unknown comes in the dread. You know something unpleasant is waiting for you, you just don’t know what. You fear getting a concrete answer. On the other hand, a person may simple not want to know. They are content to remain in the moment. They know it is unpleasant, but they don’t want it to affect them until it absolutely has to.
Well, I felt both as Shabbat wound down and out. It wasn’t until after Shabbos that I actually felt the full hit of the emotional upheaval. The last thing I wanted to do was to go home and check my phone. I knew there were going to be messages waiting for me. I didn’t want to know what these messages contained. I worried about the unknown information, but I also just wanted to simply push it off so that it did not spoil and otherwise decent Shabbat. As soon as Shabbat was over, as soon as davening was over, there was no reason to push the unknown off. As much as I did not want to go, I took myself back home and did what I needed to do.
There is a fine balance between pushing something off in for a short time such as the reason to preserve something beautiful like Shabbat and another to just continually push something off. In today’s society more and more of the latter occur. We push things off so much that they are never dealt with, then it comes to ahead and the person explodes emotionally and/or destructively. We have so much we try to balance in so little time that finding the time to deal with the unknown and push ourselves through it to a better place is sometimes impossible. It is healthy to fear the unknown, yet it is not healthy to let it rule over one’s life to the point where a person is crippled by it.
Happy adventuring
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Who Am I? : Up by My Bootstraps
Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps is not the easiest thing in this world to do. Yet, it is possible and it was seems to be a never-ending process. We work on one thing and succeed only to have to turn around and pull ourselves up for another. Constantly, we are working and improving and striving for something. However, when you reach hell, well, you basically don’t have much further to fall. It is time to yank yourself back up to your feet. It is scary. I know. I have been there. I know what it is like to fear the tiny breath of negative wind, because it felt as if it were strong enough to send me careening back into the pits of hell.
People seem to imagine hell as being a fire hole. Actually, hell is more like dead numbing cold. You know you are alive and no matter what you do you can’t feel anything. You can’t laugh. You can’t cry. A smile is something to be forced. Even anger subsides into nothingness. There is nothing. You feel nothing. Nothing matters. Nothing affects you. That is hell. No warmth, no cold. It just exists. Even a depressed of mind is negated. Sleep only comes upon collapsing. There are no dreams. There are no hopes.
For me, I had one flame in the distance. I had my faith in Gd. That was constant. Out of reach and nearly unattainable, but it existed and that was what mattered. There were prayers for things to change. However, really emotionally feeling anything, I was numb. As a person, I did not exist. I went through the motions of life. If was lucky my temper would break through with a gush of icy anger. In my anger, I was a coldhearted bitch. Well, truth be told, I couldn’t be coldhearted because my heart was neither cold, nor did it exist. I seemed to keep it in a box guarded closely. It took it out only when it was safe and before the worthy. There were not many who were.
Now every so often I left the complete oppressive prison of hell. There were moments of humanity. However, for the four years after we gave up our nice home of 14 years, this was my reality. There was no end to the fighting and bickering. To make things worse my grandfather passed away and there was whole big drama over that. My family broke apart to be a bunch of strangers living together. They didn’t know me and frankly, I didn’t want to know them. I kept a dead family together for four years longer than I should have. I should never have tried, yet I did and I try with whatever I had in me. Looking back this seems to me what Gd had in mind for me.
Anyway, you are probably wondering where I am going with this. Well, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps. I went back to work at my beloved library where I was surrounded by people I could trust. I hate to commute, but I wanted to be back where I was wanted. I decided to go back to school. I had finally saved enough to go community college. I took two courses at first, one a History and the other English. In my English class, I met two girls my age. The three of us began to hang out after class. I started to have a life. I still e-mail and talk to the one periodically. She’s now in the navy and very difficult to get a hold of some days.
I made a bold move. I decided I was going to move out. An apartment was offered to me and I jumped at it. I made this decision around Rosh Hashana of that year. My father, who at the time had separated from the family, walked back into our lives. I told my mother I moving and she told me that my father was whisking her and my littlest sister to NJ to live with his sister until they could find a place to live. Instead of moving in around November/December, I moved into my new place October 24th.
I was back in school. I had the job I loved. I had a place of my own to live in. I was hanging out with friends and doing things.
I yanked myself up to where I wanted to be. It felt weird and I was scared. For the first eight or nine months, I slept on an air mattress on the floor. I eventually got a bed when the mattress got a hole in it. I got a queen size canopy bed. I put the sucker together myself. I got curtains for it too. I had fun going through the curtains that ended up on the clearance rack or at oddball stores that take discontinued items. Yes, I admit it was girly, but to me, it was a palace and it was mine.
The second semester, I took karate. Here I met a very good friend of mine. I met her fiancé too. She just didn’t know that he was going to be her fiancé at the time. I had a ball with them. I lost so much weight. I drop nearly forty pounds. In addition to weight loss, I learned how to better protect myself. In addition to that, I was showed off to my friend’s friends and became involved in a much bigger group of people. I now had a community of people to hang out with. The number of people I met exploded. I became friends with a whole bunch of people around the country and frankly, the world.
Now that I had myself in a safe place taking care of myself the best I can, I went searching for a closer connection to Gd. It was very faint most of the time during the previous four years. Other days it was very strong. The day I decided to move out, it was very strong. I felt confident and I knew I wasn’t going to waver. Gd was letting me leave hell. I got a reprieve for meritorious service; at least this is what I envision. I owed it to myself to keep Gd in my life and to find my true connection to him.
A friend invited me to NY for a weekend of Shabbat. Since I was not about ready to go through the subway system alone, I came in early and experienced my first really Shabbat. When I went to shul, when I read the prayers, I found what I was looking for. Being a stubborn child, I refused to admit that I found what I had been looking for simply by putting myself at the right place at the right time, so soon after picking back up my quest. See, I had tried to find that closer connection to Gd before and got nowhere. Here I walked in to shul and began reading. It was weird. I was alive. I was at peace. I knew where I belong. I know every time I am in shul that I am where I belong and I am doing right by the convictions of my heart and honoring the miracles that Gd has given me.
I pulled myself up by my bootstraps. One leg at a time, little by little, I moved forwards and up. It was hard work. It is still hard work. There are days I want nothing more than to cry my heart out. There are days were I feel broken and worthless. Then it passes. Then I remember. I have come a long way in a relatively short amount of time. I also know, I still have a long way to go and I have the rest of my life ahead of me.
Fallen Angel
People seem to imagine hell as being a fire hole. Actually, hell is more like dead numbing cold. You know you are alive and no matter what you do you can’t feel anything. You can’t laugh. You can’t cry. A smile is something to be forced. Even anger subsides into nothingness. There is nothing. You feel nothing. Nothing matters. Nothing affects you. That is hell. No warmth, no cold. It just exists. Even a depressed of mind is negated. Sleep only comes upon collapsing. There are no dreams. There are no hopes.
For me, I had one flame in the distance. I had my faith in Gd. That was constant. Out of reach and nearly unattainable, but it existed and that was what mattered. There were prayers for things to change. However, really emotionally feeling anything, I was numb. As a person, I did not exist. I went through the motions of life. If was lucky my temper would break through with a gush of icy anger. In my anger, I was a coldhearted bitch. Well, truth be told, I couldn’t be coldhearted because my heart was neither cold, nor did it exist. I seemed to keep it in a box guarded closely. It took it out only when it was safe and before the worthy. There were not many who were.
Now every so often I left the complete oppressive prison of hell. There were moments of humanity. However, for the four years after we gave up our nice home of 14 years, this was my reality. There was no end to the fighting and bickering. To make things worse my grandfather passed away and there was whole big drama over that. My family broke apart to be a bunch of strangers living together. They didn’t know me and frankly, I didn’t want to know them. I kept a dead family together for four years longer than I should have. I should never have tried, yet I did and I try with whatever I had in me. Looking back this seems to me what Gd had in mind for me.
Anyway, you are probably wondering where I am going with this. Well, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps. I went back to work at my beloved library where I was surrounded by people I could trust. I hate to commute, but I wanted to be back where I was wanted. I decided to go back to school. I had finally saved enough to go community college. I took two courses at first, one a History and the other English. In my English class, I met two girls my age. The three of us began to hang out after class. I started to have a life. I still e-mail and talk to the one periodically. She’s now in the navy and very difficult to get a hold of some days.
I made a bold move. I decided I was going to move out. An apartment was offered to me and I jumped at it. I made this decision around Rosh Hashana of that year. My father, who at the time had separated from the family, walked back into our lives. I told my mother I moving and she told me that my father was whisking her and my littlest sister to NJ to live with his sister until they could find a place to live. Instead of moving in around November/December, I moved into my new place October 24th.
I was back in school. I had the job I loved. I had a place of my own to live in. I was hanging out with friends and doing things.
I yanked myself up to where I wanted to be. It felt weird and I was scared. For the first eight or nine months, I slept on an air mattress on the floor. I eventually got a bed when the mattress got a hole in it. I got a queen size canopy bed. I put the sucker together myself. I got curtains for it too. I had fun going through the curtains that ended up on the clearance rack or at oddball stores that take discontinued items. Yes, I admit it was girly, but to me, it was a palace and it was mine.
The second semester, I took karate. Here I met a very good friend of mine. I met her fiancé too. She just didn’t know that he was going to be her fiancé at the time. I had a ball with them. I lost so much weight. I drop nearly forty pounds. In addition to weight loss, I learned how to better protect myself. In addition to that, I was showed off to my friend’s friends and became involved in a much bigger group of people. I now had a community of people to hang out with. The number of people I met exploded. I became friends with a whole bunch of people around the country and frankly, the world.
Now that I had myself in a safe place taking care of myself the best I can, I went searching for a closer connection to Gd. It was very faint most of the time during the previous four years. Other days it was very strong. The day I decided to move out, it was very strong. I felt confident and I knew I wasn’t going to waver. Gd was letting me leave hell. I got a reprieve for meritorious service; at least this is what I envision. I owed it to myself to keep Gd in my life and to find my true connection to him.
A friend invited me to NY for a weekend of Shabbat. Since I was not about ready to go through the subway system alone, I came in early and experienced my first really Shabbat. When I went to shul, when I read the prayers, I found what I was looking for. Being a stubborn child, I refused to admit that I found what I had been looking for simply by putting myself at the right place at the right time, so soon after picking back up my quest. See, I had tried to find that closer connection to Gd before and got nowhere. Here I walked in to shul and began reading. It was weird. I was alive. I was at peace. I knew where I belong. I know every time I am in shul that I am where I belong and I am doing right by the convictions of my heart and honoring the miracles that Gd has given me.
I pulled myself up by my bootstraps. One leg at a time, little by little, I moved forwards and up. It was hard work. It is still hard work. There are days I want nothing more than to cry my heart out. There are days were I feel broken and worthless. Then it passes. Then I remember. I have come a long way in a relatively short amount of time. I also know, I still have a long way to go and I have the rest of my life ahead of me.
Fallen Angel
Who Am I? : Glimmering Moments
Despite the hell I lived in there were a few glimmering moments. These moments are what made things marginally bearable.
When I graduated from elementary school, which for me was 6th grade. My parents threw a party. Well, it was a combined graduation of sorts because my youngest sister was moving from preschool to kindergarten in the fall. There was also something to do with one of my cousins meeting a milestone, as well. In addition, it was my family’s turn to host some kind of family gathering. Thus I got a graduation party.
Now the party itself is not the glimmering moment. It was a gift I received at the party. To this day I still own said gift. It is a 14 carat gold necklace. The charm is a heart with Austrian crystals at the point on each side. The chain has long since died and all I am left with is the charm.
This was my special occasion necklace. I wore this to every chorus concert I was in. I wore this to every marching band competition. I wore the necklace the day I was inducted into the national honor society. I wore it again when I received recognition for volunteering at the volunteer banquet at the library. I wore it at my high school graduation. In a sense this was my good luck charm. It was the one thing I could count on, since I could not count on my family being present. For a long time I took it as a symbol of my parent’s love and pride in me. I knew then that I was holding on to dream, but it was nicer to pretend than not. The necklace is beautiful and it made me feel good, so that was what mattered. I can look on it and remember all the memories that were made when I when I wore. Those were happy memories.
Disney:
The big music trip happened when I was a junior. We went to Disney for 6 days. That was amazing fun. My parents couldn’t keep me locked at home because it was a school-organized function and they would have looked bad after all my efforts to go, if they made me stay home. While there I sang for the president. We didn’t know we were singing for the president until after we got back, but it was cool to find out that we entertained the president. This was still under the Clinton administration. I marched down Main Street with the rest of the marching band and color guard in parade. It was just incredible to be there. I saw Toy Story II in Disney with two good friends. All in all it was amazing.
Championship:
I was in colorguard for a year and half. I did two outdoor seasons with the marching band and one indoor season. The indoor season is just the colorguard in competition. We had a fabulous season. We won many of the competitions we entered and went to East Coast championship in really good standings. The last championship competition was held in Wildwood, NJ.
It was a blast. There was a dance held the night before competition. That was fun. I think most of the males present were gay, except for the one that spun with us. We knew he was straight, well, mostly straight, anyway. Gay guys can dance. It was blast.
Competition could be brutal. I believe we had to perform our show twice. All I remember about the show was that I dropped my flag in the championship performance. I was so furious with myself. I had not screwed up by dropping my flag in any of the prior shows. However, when I looked at the tape later, you couldn’t tell I dropped it. I seamlessly picked back up the routine. So, in the end, I know I messed up, but I messed up in such a way that no one else noticed.
We won our division. It was exhilarating. We all received medals, but true be told, I don’t know where they end up in the packing. Those might be lost to me for forever. At least I can remember my flag twirling accomplishments without them.
The volunteer banquet:
I mentioned above about receiving recognition at the volunteer appreciation day banquet. That year I received federal and state certificates for excellence for my work as a volunteer at the library I now work at. I had over 500 hours of volunteer service around the time of my high school graduation. I was going to be surprised at the banquet that I had no choice to go to. I didn’t usually go to the banquets because my family couldn’t be troubled to take me. However, this time my mother was adamant about it. Then I started to receive mail from government representatives. This let the cat out of the bag. I knew what was going on.
This was fortunate for me because I needed to throw together a senior project. It was the first year my high school was doing senior projects, so we were told in like October that we would not graduate without one. Well, I just pulled all my volunteer stuff together and presented it. People were impressed. It made me happy that someone took notice of my work and dedication. More importantly there were people proud of me efforts for the right reasons. That felt good.
Prom:
The summer between my junior and senior year was supposed to be spent looking at colleges. I did not see one single college that summer despite my plans. My grandfather went in for double knee replacement surgery. I spent most of my summer taking care of my grandfather’s house and cooking for him. It was a long summer without TV, just my laptop and notebooks, and the heat running. Yes, I said heat. My grandfather was always cold, so the heat ran even in the summer on 90-degree days. I slept on a mattress on the floor where it would be easy to wake me in case something happened or needed to be done. Also, the bedrooms upstairs were like sleeping in an oven.
You are probably wondering what this has to do with Prom. Well, this is where I earned the money for the dress I wore and paid for the tickets for my friend and me. My grandfather paid me for the work that went into taking care of his house and caring for him. It was a big house and I often had to get on my hands and knees and scrub those floors. I would have done it for nothing, but my grandfather believed you paid people for the work they did. Of course we set a price and be made me fight for it. He taught me a valuable lesson. Know what you are worth. Know what your work is worth and don’t let people tell you otherwise or push you around. Grant doesn’t always were in a free market economy, but it was a very good lesson that I struggle to put into practice.
Anyway, I got a beautiful dress. My mother went with me the day I tried stuff on. It was slightly an embarrassing time trying stuff on, but in the end I picked a dress. Usually I gravitate to dark blues, however, I chose a dress of a different color. I chose a light gold. The bodice had embroidery in what looks to be metallic thread. I looked like a princess in that dress. I felt like a princess in that dress.
I still own it. In fact, I am currently making pieces in order to be able to wear to a Renaissance Faire. Someone told me that I could get married in that dress. Frankly, I like the idea. Perhaps I will have a Renaissance faire inspired wedding. However, I am not ready to get married.
Glimmering moments that stand out in my life. Some of them have bittersweet undertones to them, but in general they are happy memories. There were other happy moments. One of those was wining the local competition of history day and going to state competition. Another would be graduation itself, though there is a dark cloud hanging over that. There are some fond memories of people. For the most part, most of the happy moments in my life were mundane tiny things that only mean something to me. These, however, were glimmering moments, moments that stand out as being something great.
Fallen Angel
When I graduated from elementary school, which for me was 6th grade. My parents threw a party. Well, it was a combined graduation of sorts because my youngest sister was moving from preschool to kindergarten in the fall. There was also something to do with one of my cousins meeting a milestone, as well. In addition, it was my family’s turn to host some kind of family gathering. Thus I got a graduation party.
Now the party itself is not the glimmering moment. It was a gift I received at the party. To this day I still own said gift. It is a 14 carat gold necklace. The charm is a heart with Austrian crystals at the point on each side. The chain has long since died and all I am left with is the charm.
This was my special occasion necklace. I wore this to every chorus concert I was in. I wore this to every marching band competition. I wore the necklace the day I was inducted into the national honor society. I wore it again when I received recognition for volunteering at the volunteer banquet at the library. I wore it at my high school graduation. In a sense this was my good luck charm. It was the one thing I could count on, since I could not count on my family being present. For a long time I took it as a symbol of my parent’s love and pride in me. I knew then that I was holding on to dream, but it was nicer to pretend than not. The necklace is beautiful and it made me feel good, so that was what mattered. I can look on it and remember all the memories that were made when I when I wore. Those were happy memories.
Disney:
The big music trip happened when I was a junior. We went to Disney for 6 days. That was amazing fun. My parents couldn’t keep me locked at home because it was a school-organized function and they would have looked bad after all my efforts to go, if they made me stay home. While there I sang for the president. We didn’t know we were singing for the president until after we got back, but it was cool to find out that we entertained the president. This was still under the Clinton administration. I marched down Main Street with the rest of the marching band and color guard in parade. It was just incredible to be there. I saw Toy Story II in Disney with two good friends. All in all it was amazing.
Championship:
I was in colorguard for a year and half. I did two outdoor seasons with the marching band and one indoor season. The indoor season is just the colorguard in competition. We had a fabulous season. We won many of the competitions we entered and went to East Coast championship in really good standings. The last championship competition was held in Wildwood, NJ.
It was a blast. There was a dance held the night before competition. That was fun. I think most of the males present were gay, except for the one that spun with us. We knew he was straight, well, mostly straight, anyway. Gay guys can dance. It was blast.
Competition could be brutal. I believe we had to perform our show twice. All I remember about the show was that I dropped my flag in the championship performance. I was so furious with myself. I had not screwed up by dropping my flag in any of the prior shows. However, when I looked at the tape later, you couldn’t tell I dropped it. I seamlessly picked back up the routine. So, in the end, I know I messed up, but I messed up in such a way that no one else noticed.
We won our division. It was exhilarating. We all received medals, but true be told, I don’t know where they end up in the packing. Those might be lost to me for forever. At least I can remember my flag twirling accomplishments without them.
The volunteer banquet:
I mentioned above about receiving recognition at the volunteer appreciation day banquet. That year I received federal and state certificates for excellence for my work as a volunteer at the library I now work at. I had over 500 hours of volunteer service around the time of my high school graduation. I was going to be surprised at the banquet that I had no choice to go to. I didn’t usually go to the banquets because my family couldn’t be troubled to take me. However, this time my mother was adamant about it. Then I started to receive mail from government representatives. This let the cat out of the bag. I knew what was going on.
This was fortunate for me because I needed to throw together a senior project. It was the first year my high school was doing senior projects, so we were told in like October that we would not graduate without one. Well, I just pulled all my volunteer stuff together and presented it. People were impressed. It made me happy that someone took notice of my work and dedication. More importantly there were people proud of me efforts for the right reasons. That felt good.
Prom:
The summer between my junior and senior year was supposed to be spent looking at colleges. I did not see one single college that summer despite my plans. My grandfather went in for double knee replacement surgery. I spent most of my summer taking care of my grandfather’s house and cooking for him. It was a long summer without TV, just my laptop and notebooks, and the heat running. Yes, I said heat. My grandfather was always cold, so the heat ran even in the summer on 90-degree days. I slept on a mattress on the floor where it would be easy to wake me in case something happened or needed to be done. Also, the bedrooms upstairs were like sleeping in an oven.
You are probably wondering what this has to do with Prom. Well, this is where I earned the money for the dress I wore and paid for the tickets for my friend and me. My grandfather paid me for the work that went into taking care of his house and caring for him. It was a big house and I often had to get on my hands and knees and scrub those floors. I would have done it for nothing, but my grandfather believed you paid people for the work they did. Of course we set a price and be made me fight for it. He taught me a valuable lesson. Know what you are worth. Know what your work is worth and don’t let people tell you otherwise or push you around. Grant doesn’t always were in a free market economy, but it was a very good lesson that I struggle to put into practice.
Anyway, I got a beautiful dress. My mother went with me the day I tried stuff on. It was slightly an embarrassing time trying stuff on, but in the end I picked a dress. Usually I gravitate to dark blues, however, I chose a dress of a different color. I chose a light gold. The bodice had embroidery in what looks to be metallic thread. I looked like a princess in that dress. I felt like a princess in that dress.
I still own it. In fact, I am currently making pieces in order to be able to wear to a Renaissance Faire. Someone told me that I could get married in that dress. Frankly, I like the idea. Perhaps I will have a Renaissance faire inspired wedding. However, I am not ready to get married.
Glimmering moments that stand out in my life. Some of them have bittersweet undertones to them, but in general they are happy memories. There were other happy moments. One of those was wining the local competition of history day and going to state competition. Another would be graduation itself, though there is a dark cloud hanging over that. There are some fond memories of people. For the most part, most of the happy moments in my life were mundane tiny things that only mean something to me. These, however, were glimmering moments, moments that stand out as being something great.
Fallen Angel
Who Am I? : Living in Hell
Life had descended into hell for me.
At school, I was teased and picked on rather brutally. My clothes were ill fitting and frumpy and teenage girls can’t resist picking on a fashion disaster. I kept to myself and usually had a book with me. Another unpopular thing was to be caught reading. Only nerds brought books to read for pleasure from home. Also I went from being this skinny child to being over weight. I no longer went outside and got the exercise I used to get. I gained a great deal of weight, so that was another strike against me. What few friends I did have in school were also social outcasts.
This was the way of things until I hit high school. Somewhere along the line the majority of people gave up trying to pick on me. This happened for two reasons. I no longer reacted to the taunts. I finally figured out that it was them who had the problem and not me. I was happy to be who I was. The second got me respect. People needed help with homework or projects and stuff for classes. I wasn’t willing to do the work for them, but I was willing to help them. This gained me some respect. Now, this didn’t work for everyone, but it was nice to no longer be the number one target.
Despite being mostly invisible at school, which was what I strove for, it was the safest place for me. I would often get a ride to school with a friend. This meant I got there early and could participate in some of the clubs. I also tried to stay late. However joining activities after school seemed to get me more hell, than not.
I was on scholastic scrimmage. Since this was right after school, this meant my mother picked me up. This was a good thing. I was apart of the colorguard (bandfront) {marching band: I was the one with the 6-foot flagpole; and yes, I knew how to wield it}. It was fun. It was also exercise. I lost weight, which was good, however this meant being picked up from my dad because it wasn’t right after school. Those five minutes drives were hell.
See my father would drop me off ten minutes, sometimes 15 minutes or more late. He did this for everywhere I needed to be. He would then expect me to be waiting for him on time. It was ok for him to pick me up ten or 15 minutes late, but heaven forbid I was kept 5 minutes late at a practice. I got reamed at the entire way home. There worse things than being reamed at in that car.
In the end, I stopped going to school activities that involved my father picking me up. It was better to be completely locked at home than to endure what happened if I tried to spend any time out of it.
The only place I was free was the library. There I hid in the shelves. For the first three or four years, I worked as a shelver. It was my job to put books back on the shelf in the proper place. I was happy to hide in adult fiction or in YA (young adult) sections. I would find books to take home and read.
Reading was the safest activity for me. Of course, nothing was safe for me when my mother or father was screaming for me to do something. Yet, it was something I could easily go back. I also spent a great deal of time writing on an old beat up laptop my father pieced together so I wouldn’t be using my mother’s computer. It had Microsoft Works on it. That was all I needed. In fact, I still have that laptop. It no longer works, but it is currently sitting in my closet. It was my one true and constant companion. When that laptop died, my father pieced together another laptop from parts for me. That one still runs, but has a broken screen. So long as I NEVER EVER close the screen, the laptop will work.
Making sure I had a working laptop was the most decent thing my parents, actually my father did for me. In fact the laptop I use now was a birthday present two and half years ago. The other laptop wasn’t going to be able serve much longer. All I wanted for my birthday was a working laptop with wireless internet. It was one of those must have for college.
I surprised when they actually got it for me. Of course, there were people for my parents to impress by showing how much my parents loved me and took care of me. It was a rather insulting birthday. My mother went out of her way with gifts for me because others were watching. I got what I needed and wanted. I would have been happy with just that. Of course this was the only birthday that my parents even tried. Since my birthday falls so close to Christmas, I got a few things, enough to say they got me something for my birthday. I also lost out at Christmas because I was the oldest and “grew out of it”. However, they kept chugging away with the Christmas gifts for my two sisters long after the age they stopped doing decent Christmas loot.
Oh, nothing is worst than shooing your sisters to bed, then to wrap their gifts, stick them under the tree, that you put up and decorated, drink disgusting warm milk, so that it looked like Santa Claus came, nothing there was hardly anything there for you, doing this all while you are sick and running a fever, to finally collapse into bed, and then not be woken up Christmas morning, but then to be sent into the kitchen to make Christmas dinner. Yup, sucks to be me. Personally, I hate Christmas. I have hated it for years. Frankly, Jesus isn’t the reason for the season. Look at how the children act at Christmas: “Santa will you bring me this” or “Santa, can you bring me that”. It has become about presents and out decorating your neighbors. If it were out Jesus and his birth, there wouldn’t be presents or decoration trees, which, mind you, is a pagan aspect of Solstice.
There were too many Christmases where I did all the work and got absolutely nothing. I didn’t even get to see my sisters happy with the gifts they received. Heck, I picked them out and wrapped them. My mom pretended that she was the one who did the stuff. She helped minimally with wrapping. Every holiday that ever hit my house was hell.
I like Chanukah. I set up my menorah and light my candles. I recite the bracha beside it. True the holiday is rabbinic and to commemorate the 8 days the oil lasted, but it means a little more. By lighting the candles each night, I recognize the miracles that Gd gives to us. It reminds me that Gd listens and sees us. We are Gd candles here on earth. We try very, very hard to do good and sometimes we fail, but we keep trying to serve him. In that we hold a light, a little candle. I might be weird in thinking that, but by doing mitzvahs, we bring light to others and to ourselves in the name of HaShem.
Stress relief in the pit of hell was playing RPG video games. It was the only place I got to kill things. I enjoy killing things. I could do it all in the guise of saving the world. True, I liked watching the story on unfold and go on missions, but killing mean, nasty monsters was good therapy for me since I couldn’t destroy the mean, nasty monsters that plagued my life.
I was once told by a friend that she would understand if I had become an ax murder and killed my parents and ungrateful sisters. Yeah, that is a doozie of a comment. I didn’t become an ax murder despite it all. I prefer swords. Yes, I collect. No, I don’t kill people. Well, I did keep a sword by the bed in case someone broke in. I like being able to defend myself. I no longer keep a sword by my bed.
Anyway, I lived in Hell for years and years. After graduating high school, my father was trying to move us to Delaware. Our house was given up before we had a permanent place to stay and before my father actually got the job he was supposed to get. This meant bouncing around motels and hotels until a permanent place could be found. Living in one room with your family and pets, sucks. There is no privacy and no space for yourself.
I was forced to leave school half way through the semester and leave the job that I loved. I gave up everything to take care of the family. Essentially, I gave up all the good in my life to go live in a blacker, deeper pit of hell. My college dreams were shattered by the endless need of my mother to have me there to take care of her and my two sisters.
It became evident that I would need to work if we were going to eat. I got a job at 5.75 an hour. At the time minimum wage was 5.15. Not bad and I after 90 days I got a raise and I got a promotion several months after that. It was a job that I could get to no matter where we were living. I worked long hours schlepping heavy stuff around. It killed my back further.
So for four years my life is basically as follows. I can remember the rough lines of what happened and very few actual detailed memories. I became a rather nasty bitch.
I fought with my parents to get my youngest sister back in school. They didn’t want to get her in a school only to move her. I had someone call Children and Youth on my mother, because if I called, I probably would not have lived to type this up. Children and Youth only helped the situation minimally, but it got my sister back in school.
I fought with my parents to get permanent housing. Living in a motel for 4 years sucked royally. My mother ran the TV 24 hours a day and the lights were never completely turned out. Try learning to sleep like that night after night after working sometimes 10-hour shifts doing a job you pretty much hate.
Money was tight. I had to fight to make sure there was enough food to cover the bill at the place we were staying, put gas in the car so I could get to work and put food on the table. My mother didn’t seem to be too interested in making sacrifices. She still needed the expensive treats and cakes she had when we weren’t living in temporary quarters. It came down to fights.
It was the first time in my life that I learned how to make and expletive an expletive. I was didn’t know I could curse with meaning behind it. I am not proud of that. It did get my parents attention. I had gained power with age. I stood up to my parents when they were unable to retaliate. I might not have been so brave if I knew they could retaliate. See, I had lost everything at this point. I had no contact with friends my age. I lost both school and work.
I went to work, did errands, came home, did chores and collapsed into sleep. When not doing chores at home, I was on call. I sat at my laptop writing with headphones on my head. A quarter of the time I played music. The headphones were for show. With them on, I was not bothered as much, only when I was really needed.
I had no life. I prayed every night before I went to bed. I prayed in the car when I was alone. When things got to be too much, I cried in the car. It was the only place that I was ever alone. I wasn’t even alone in the bathroom. I often had to remove the door so my mother’s wheelchair could get in. A curtain got hung across the door. So, yeah, I didn’t have the shower to myself. Think about that evasion of privacy.
I did everything. I got nothing but heartache. I was more servant or slave than an actual member of the family.
I know Hell exists. I lived there. I now only occasionally vacation there.
Fallen Angel
At school, I was teased and picked on rather brutally. My clothes were ill fitting and frumpy and teenage girls can’t resist picking on a fashion disaster. I kept to myself and usually had a book with me. Another unpopular thing was to be caught reading. Only nerds brought books to read for pleasure from home. Also I went from being this skinny child to being over weight. I no longer went outside and got the exercise I used to get. I gained a great deal of weight, so that was another strike against me. What few friends I did have in school were also social outcasts.
This was the way of things until I hit high school. Somewhere along the line the majority of people gave up trying to pick on me. This happened for two reasons. I no longer reacted to the taunts. I finally figured out that it was them who had the problem and not me. I was happy to be who I was. The second got me respect. People needed help with homework or projects and stuff for classes. I wasn’t willing to do the work for them, but I was willing to help them. This gained me some respect. Now, this didn’t work for everyone, but it was nice to no longer be the number one target.
Despite being mostly invisible at school, which was what I strove for, it was the safest place for me. I would often get a ride to school with a friend. This meant I got there early and could participate in some of the clubs. I also tried to stay late. However joining activities after school seemed to get me more hell, than not.
I was on scholastic scrimmage. Since this was right after school, this meant my mother picked me up. This was a good thing. I was apart of the colorguard (bandfront) {marching band: I was the one with the 6-foot flagpole; and yes, I knew how to wield it}. It was fun. It was also exercise. I lost weight, which was good, however this meant being picked up from my dad because it wasn’t right after school. Those five minutes drives were hell.
See my father would drop me off ten minutes, sometimes 15 minutes or more late. He did this for everywhere I needed to be. He would then expect me to be waiting for him on time. It was ok for him to pick me up ten or 15 minutes late, but heaven forbid I was kept 5 minutes late at a practice. I got reamed at the entire way home. There worse things than being reamed at in that car.
In the end, I stopped going to school activities that involved my father picking me up. It was better to be completely locked at home than to endure what happened if I tried to spend any time out of it.
The only place I was free was the library. There I hid in the shelves. For the first three or four years, I worked as a shelver. It was my job to put books back on the shelf in the proper place. I was happy to hide in adult fiction or in YA (young adult) sections. I would find books to take home and read.
Reading was the safest activity for me. Of course, nothing was safe for me when my mother or father was screaming for me to do something. Yet, it was something I could easily go back. I also spent a great deal of time writing on an old beat up laptop my father pieced together so I wouldn’t be using my mother’s computer. It had Microsoft Works on it. That was all I needed. In fact, I still have that laptop. It no longer works, but it is currently sitting in my closet. It was my one true and constant companion. When that laptop died, my father pieced together another laptop from parts for me. That one still runs, but has a broken screen. So long as I NEVER EVER close the screen, the laptop will work.
Making sure I had a working laptop was the most decent thing my parents, actually my father did for me. In fact the laptop I use now was a birthday present two and half years ago. The other laptop wasn’t going to be able serve much longer. All I wanted for my birthday was a working laptop with wireless internet. It was one of those must have for college.
I surprised when they actually got it for me. Of course, there were people for my parents to impress by showing how much my parents loved me and took care of me. It was a rather insulting birthday. My mother went out of her way with gifts for me because others were watching. I got what I needed and wanted. I would have been happy with just that. Of course this was the only birthday that my parents even tried. Since my birthday falls so close to Christmas, I got a few things, enough to say they got me something for my birthday. I also lost out at Christmas because I was the oldest and “grew out of it”. However, they kept chugging away with the Christmas gifts for my two sisters long after the age they stopped doing decent Christmas loot.
Oh, nothing is worst than shooing your sisters to bed, then to wrap their gifts, stick them under the tree, that you put up and decorated, drink disgusting warm milk, so that it looked like Santa Claus came, nothing there was hardly anything there for you, doing this all while you are sick and running a fever, to finally collapse into bed, and then not be woken up Christmas morning, but then to be sent into the kitchen to make Christmas dinner. Yup, sucks to be me. Personally, I hate Christmas. I have hated it for years. Frankly, Jesus isn’t the reason for the season. Look at how the children act at Christmas: “Santa will you bring me this” or “Santa, can you bring me that”. It has become about presents and out decorating your neighbors. If it were out Jesus and his birth, there wouldn’t be presents or decoration trees, which, mind you, is a pagan aspect of Solstice.
There were too many Christmases where I did all the work and got absolutely nothing. I didn’t even get to see my sisters happy with the gifts they received. Heck, I picked them out and wrapped them. My mom pretended that she was the one who did the stuff. She helped minimally with wrapping. Every holiday that ever hit my house was hell.
I like Chanukah. I set up my menorah and light my candles. I recite the bracha beside it. True the holiday is rabbinic and to commemorate the 8 days the oil lasted, but it means a little more. By lighting the candles each night, I recognize the miracles that Gd gives to us. It reminds me that Gd listens and sees us. We are Gd candles here on earth. We try very, very hard to do good and sometimes we fail, but we keep trying to serve him. In that we hold a light, a little candle. I might be weird in thinking that, but by doing mitzvahs, we bring light to others and to ourselves in the name of HaShem.
Stress relief in the pit of hell was playing RPG video games. It was the only place I got to kill things. I enjoy killing things. I could do it all in the guise of saving the world. True, I liked watching the story on unfold and go on missions, but killing mean, nasty monsters was good therapy for me since I couldn’t destroy the mean, nasty monsters that plagued my life.
I was once told by a friend that she would understand if I had become an ax murder and killed my parents and ungrateful sisters. Yeah, that is a doozie of a comment. I didn’t become an ax murder despite it all. I prefer swords. Yes, I collect. No, I don’t kill people. Well, I did keep a sword by the bed in case someone broke in. I like being able to defend myself. I no longer keep a sword by my bed.
Anyway, I lived in Hell for years and years. After graduating high school, my father was trying to move us to Delaware. Our house was given up before we had a permanent place to stay and before my father actually got the job he was supposed to get. This meant bouncing around motels and hotels until a permanent place could be found. Living in one room with your family and pets, sucks. There is no privacy and no space for yourself.
I was forced to leave school half way through the semester and leave the job that I loved. I gave up everything to take care of the family. Essentially, I gave up all the good in my life to go live in a blacker, deeper pit of hell. My college dreams were shattered by the endless need of my mother to have me there to take care of her and my two sisters.
It became evident that I would need to work if we were going to eat. I got a job at 5.75 an hour. At the time minimum wage was 5.15. Not bad and I after 90 days I got a raise and I got a promotion several months after that. It was a job that I could get to no matter where we were living. I worked long hours schlepping heavy stuff around. It killed my back further.
So for four years my life is basically as follows. I can remember the rough lines of what happened and very few actual detailed memories. I became a rather nasty bitch.
I fought with my parents to get my youngest sister back in school. They didn’t want to get her in a school only to move her. I had someone call Children and Youth on my mother, because if I called, I probably would not have lived to type this up. Children and Youth only helped the situation minimally, but it got my sister back in school.
I fought with my parents to get permanent housing. Living in a motel for 4 years sucked royally. My mother ran the TV 24 hours a day and the lights were never completely turned out. Try learning to sleep like that night after night after working sometimes 10-hour shifts doing a job you pretty much hate.
Money was tight. I had to fight to make sure there was enough food to cover the bill at the place we were staying, put gas in the car so I could get to work and put food on the table. My mother didn’t seem to be too interested in making sacrifices. She still needed the expensive treats and cakes she had when we weren’t living in temporary quarters. It came down to fights.
It was the first time in my life that I learned how to make and expletive an expletive. I was didn’t know I could curse with meaning behind it. I am not proud of that. It did get my parents attention. I had gained power with age. I stood up to my parents when they were unable to retaliate. I might not have been so brave if I knew they could retaliate. See, I had lost everything at this point. I had no contact with friends my age. I lost both school and work.
I went to work, did errands, came home, did chores and collapsed into sleep. When not doing chores at home, I was on call. I sat at my laptop writing with headphones on my head. A quarter of the time I played music. The headphones were for show. With them on, I was not bothered as much, only when I was really needed.
I had no life. I prayed every night before I went to bed. I prayed in the car when I was alone. When things got to be too much, I cried in the car. It was the only place that I was ever alone. I wasn’t even alone in the bathroom. I often had to remove the door so my mother’s wheelchair could get in. A curtain got hung across the door. So, yeah, I didn’t have the shower to myself. Think about that evasion of privacy.
I did everything. I got nothing but heartache. I was more servant or slave than an actual member of the family.
I know Hell exists. I lived there. I now only occasionally vacation there.
Fallen Angel
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Who Am I? : Welcome to Hell
Ah, I can remember the year things went to hell in a hand basket so clearly. I was twelve. It was a rainy day. My mother walked out the front door and broke her leg, both bones into three pieces, one a spiral break, a couple inches above the ankle. Now, a broken bone can lay up a person for several months. In the case of my mother, it was a permanent lay up. See, my mother has MS or Multiple Sclerosis. So, a broken bone isn’t the injury to deal with when you are losing the ability to feel the limb that has been injured. Still, despite the pins, she healed.
Now, I had already started doing chores. It wasn’t anything that would have been considered oppressive. However, when my mom broke her leg, I pitched in more like a good girl. My father couldn’t be bothered to do much and neither of my sisters would pitch in or frankly, keep from making a mess. In fact, they found great joy in making more and more mess than usual so I would have to do the clean. Anyway, my mother didn’t do much of anything and that included keeping the peace and making my sister’s behave. If something was done, I got yelled at. I was 12 and doing all the cleaning and cooking for a family of five, plus taking care of a cat and dog, fish and I think, at the time hermit crabs.
Many of you are probably going that’s not fair, but livable under the situation. Well, here’s a kicker for you. My mother took her Girl Scout troop camping with a cast up to her hip, but she could not do a single thing around the house. Yeah, makes you wonder doesn’t it? Oh, to top that off, whenever I wanted to do something, I got some guilt trip story about how things were for her growing up and how she didn’t want to do what she was doing to me. Funny, she put me through more than her guilt-laden stories.
Even after the bones had mended, my mother gave up pretty much all responsibility for anything around the house. She only did something when it suited her and for herself. Otherwise, it became my place to make sure everything was done. I was 12. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere until things were finished, which basically meant, I went nowhere. I went to school. I went to the library to volunteer because it made my mother look good. I got a two-week reprieve at summer camp, which my mother bragged about being able to send me. And summer camp stopped when I was 14, so then I spent all summer being on call.
My mother’s MS got worse. Of course looking back over this time period, she would haven’t gotten worse if she just took care of herself like she was telling her doctor she was. My mother didn’t exercise. She did not eat a balance diet and she did not regularly take her medication. I had to learn how to mix up the solution and give the daily injection. Yes, I know how to give a shot and the proper places for a tissue injection. I learned because there was days when she could not make her hands behave to do it herself. However, even on days when she could, my mother refused to take care of it herself. Often she would blame me for missed doses. Then something called the Auto jet came out. This made giving the whole injection easier, but still my mother kept missing doses, not because she wasn’t able, because she could still play video games, hold books, do puzzles and craft, it was because she was lazy.
My mother refused to fight for physical therapy. This meant her body got weaker and weaker. She didn’t even have the common sense to exercise on her own until she could get physical therapy. This meant her ability to walk became a bit of a challenge over time. For a time my mother refused to walk with a cane, despite the fact she couldn’t get very far without one. So what did she do, she would take my arm and use me as a cane. I was willing to help my mother then, however, knowing the damage she did to me, I would not be so willing now. She then started to walk with a cane, but sadly by that time, it wasn’t enough, she still clung to my arm or occasionally one of my sister’s. Then there were the frequent falls. Helping someone stand up that weighs more than you without the proper support isn’t good either. However this happened more and more as things progressed. There came a point where my mother could no longer walk long distances or actually walk around the block or even half that. She started taking to a wheelchair. This meant pushing her everywhere because she would not wheel herself, despite she was capable of doing it, and it took a very long time for her to get an electric wheelchair. However as soon as she took to a wheelchair when long distances were involved, she stopped walking the short ones. She literally stopped walking, so her legs atrophied.
So, by the time I was 19. I had been used as human cane from about 13 to when she stopped walking. I was a wheel driver for many, many years. I was also a sort of forklift from when my mother fell. At 20, I was lifting her in and out of bed to and from the wheelchair. I also did all the maneuvering in a small ill equipped bathroom. My sisters started helping more, but the bulk of lifting went to me simply because I was stronger. Add in the fact that I was working full time and making dinner and doing the chores. My life was hell.
This is just part of it, a set up if you will.
At puberty, my father started sexually abusing, molesting me. I told my mother. She didn’t believe me and would do nothing about it, despite the fact that she knew what my father was doing. In fact, she made my life more of a nightmare. My father and mother could be physically abusive. I got hit for things that I did not do. I got physically punished for things I did not do. My father would get angry with my sisters for being wild and loud. I would get punished because I should have been the one keeping them tame. I still want to know how I was supposed to tame my sisters when neither one of my parents disciplined them, in fact they rewarded them by getting them whatever they wanted. I was punished harshly for the tiniest of things and constantly watched my sisters get away with whatever they damn well pleased.
Hell, it is the place of my memories.
My father nearly broke my arm, a couple of my fingers, tailbone, and nose; that I can recall. I had bruises on my shoulders and my arms where he would shake me for emphasis at the scolding I got for not being able to read his mind. My mother did this as well. My father sexually assaulted my body and acted as if it was my fault that it was happening. My mother made my life difficult by stacking on the chores and taking what few privileges away from me. Instead of taking care of herself, it was ok to use me in place of developed health aids. I was locked in the house and unable to go play with friends. If I so much as slipped grade wise from having A’s or at least B’s I was grounded. Mind you, I watched my one sister fail out of high school and for the longest while was my mom’s pride and joy. I essentially was forced to watch my sister’s twenty four/seven and basically do the work to up keep a household of five with pets.
Modern Day Cinderella. ::shrugs:: I am no princess and frankly, not looking for a prince. I do however know what it is like to be the scapegoat, the slave, the sometimes servant, the object that made my parents look good and so forth. There are memories I have blocked or tried to eradicate from my memory banks. There are times when I will go to recall something and can’t. It is annoying, but I know deep in my heart it is probably good that I can’t clearly recall those nightmares. As curious as I might be to know what they are, I am not stupid enough to want to be balling my eyes out for hours. There are still memories I wish would disappear. There are things I wish would just go away. Sadly, that is not the case. I just keep dealing with those demons the best I can and one day, hopefully soon, I will win the war and not just battles here and there.
Fallen Angel
Now, I had already started doing chores. It wasn’t anything that would have been considered oppressive. However, when my mom broke her leg, I pitched in more like a good girl. My father couldn’t be bothered to do much and neither of my sisters would pitch in or frankly, keep from making a mess. In fact, they found great joy in making more and more mess than usual so I would have to do the clean. Anyway, my mother didn’t do much of anything and that included keeping the peace and making my sister’s behave. If something was done, I got yelled at. I was 12 and doing all the cleaning and cooking for a family of five, plus taking care of a cat and dog, fish and I think, at the time hermit crabs.
Many of you are probably going that’s not fair, but livable under the situation. Well, here’s a kicker for you. My mother took her Girl Scout troop camping with a cast up to her hip, but she could not do a single thing around the house. Yeah, makes you wonder doesn’t it? Oh, to top that off, whenever I wanted to do something, I got some guilt trip story about how things were for her growing up and how she didn’t want to do what she was doing to me. Funny, she put me through more than her guilt-laden stories.
Even after the bones had mended, my mother gave up pretty much all responsibility for anything around the house. She only did something when it suited her and for herself. Otherwise, it became my place to make sure everything was done. I was 12. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere until things were finished, which basically meant, I went nowhere. I went to school. I went to the library to volunteer because it made my mother look good. I got a two-week reprieve at summer camp, which my mother bragged about being able to send me. And summer camp stopped when I was 14, so then I spent all summer being on call.
My mother’s MS got worse. Of course looking back over this time period, she would haven’t gotten worse if she just took care of herself like she was telling her doctor she was. My mother didn’t exercise. She did not eat a balance diet and she did not regularly take her medication. I had to learn how to mix up the solution and give the daily injection. Yes, I know how to give a shot and the proper places for a tissue injection. I learned because there was days when she could not make her hands behave to do it herself. However, even on days when she could, my mother refused to take care of it herself. Often she would blame me for missed doses. Then something called the Auto jet came out. This made giving the whole injection easier, but still my mother kept missing doses, not because she wasn’t able, because she could still play video games, hold books, do puzzles and craft, it was because she was lazy.
My mother refused to fight for physical therapy. This meant her body got weaker and weaker. She didn’t even have the common sense to exercise on her own until she could get physical therapy. This meant her ability to walk became a bit of a challenge over time. For a time my mother refused to walk with a cane, despite the fact she couldn’t get very far without one. So what did she do, she would take my arm and use me as a cane. I was willing to help my mother then, however, knowing the damage she did to me, I would not be so willing now. She then started to walk with a cane, but sadly by that time, it wasn’t enough, she still clung to my arm or occasionally one of my sister’s. Then there were the frequent falls. Helping someone stand up that weighs more than you without the proper support isn’t good either. However this happened more and more as things progressed. There came a point where my mother could no longer walk long distances or actually walk around the block or even half that. She started taking to a wheelchair. This meant pushing her everywhere because she would not wheel herself, despite she was capable of doing it, and it took a very long time for her to get an electric wheelchair. However as soon as she took to a wheelchair when long distances were involved, she stopped walking the short ones. She literally stopped walking, so her legs atrophied.
So, by the time I was 19. I had been used as human cane from about 13 to when she stopped walking. I was a wheel driver for many, many years. I was also a sort of forklift from when my mother fell. At 20, I was lifting her in and out of bed to and from the wheelchair. I also did all the maneuvering in a small ill equipped bathroom. My sisters started helping more, but the bulk of lifting went to me simply because I was stronger. Add in the fact that I was working full time and making dinner and doing the chores. My life was hell.
This is just part of it, a set up if you will.
At puberty, my father started sexually abusing, molesting me. I told my mother. She didn’t believe me and would do nothing about it, despite the fact that she knew what my father was doing. In fact, she made my life more of a nightmare. My father and mother could be physically abusive. I got hit for things that I did not do. I got physically punished for things I did not do. My father would get angry with my sisters for being wild and loud. I would get punished because I should have been the one keeping them tame. I still want to know how I was supposed to tame my sisters when neither one of my parents disciplined them, in fact they rewarded them by getting them whatever they wanted. I was punished harshly for the tiniest of things and constantly watched my sisters get away with whatever they damn well pleased.
Hell, it is the place of my memories.
My father nearly broke my arm, a couple of my fingers, tailbone, and nose; that I can recall. I had bruises on my shoulders and my arms where he would shake me for emphasis at the scolding I got for not being able to read his mind. My mother did this as well. My father sexually assaulted my body and acted as if it was my fault that it was happening. My mother made my life difficult by stacking on the chores and taking what few privileges away from me. Instead of taking care of herself, it was ok to use me in place of developed health aids. I was locked in the house and unable to go play with friends. If I so much as slipped grade wise from having A’s or at least B’s I was grounded. Mind you, I watched my one sister fail out of high school and for the longest while was my mom’s pride and joy. I essentially was forced to watch my sister’s twenty four/seven and basically do the work to up keep a household of five with pets.
Modern Day Cinderella. ::shrugs:: I am no princess and frankly, not looking for a prince. I do however know what it is like to be the scapegoat, the slave, the sometimes servant, the object that made my parents look good and so forth. There are memories I have blocked or tried to eradicate from my memory banks. There are times when I will go to recall something and can’t. It is annoying, but I know deep in my heart it is probably good that I can’t clearly recall those nightmares. As curious as I might be to know what they are, I am not stupid enough to want to be balling my eyes out for hours. There are still memories I wish would disappear. There are things I wish would just go away. Sadly, that is not the case. I just keep dealing with those demons the best I can and one day, hopefully soon, I will win the war and not just battles here and there.
Fallen Angel
Being Screwed-Up versus A Screw Up
There is a difference between being screwed up and being a screw up. Some would claim it is a matter of tense and an article in front, but is more than this. They actually mean two different things. Though they may be related there is some major differences. There are times when being screwed up and being a screw up go hand in hand, however there are times when a person is one or the other.
Being screwed up:
Things can be screwed up in a person’s life. Their family can be more than dysfunctional. Life just can’t seem to go right shattering or skewing dreams. Views on the world can change harshly as reality gets darker and harsher. On and on, I could go.
Being A Screw up:
A screw up is a person who has given up. They stop trying to change their screwed up reality. They sit back with their bitter view of the world being harsh and analytical. They often become hypocritical in this by pointing out the wrongs of another, yet doing nothing with the ills in their life. On and on, I could go.
My life is on the screwed up end of things, but I am not a screw up. There was a time that I came close, but those years are far behind me. All might life things have been rather messed up. I lived in an abusive home. Over a period of more than ten years my conception of reality and the norm was wrapped. My dreams were shattered. Nothing I ever did ever seemed to be good enough to the people around me. I was picked on mercilessly. But I was never a screw up and to this day I refuse to be identified as such.
Yes, I suffer from depression. It is true that there are periods where I lose more battles than I win; yet I still manage to do what I need to do for myself at the end of the day. Against all odds, I am putting myself through college despite all the obstacles that have been and are being placed in front of me. Not only am I succeeding in going to college; yet my grades are beyond grade. I will not settle for anything less than my best. If I was a screw up, I would not be in college and I certainly would not be working my ass off.
I bought my own car and I pay my own rent. I keep food on my table. It is a struggle some days, however, I manage. I hate the feeling of barely eking by, but I know one day I will come out on top.
I am insecure. I have my issues with touch; yet, my religious beliefs have changed something I was so terrified and leery of to something potentially beautiful. Though I will not touch member of the opposite sex over the age of nine by religious choice, I no longer shy away from proximity. I have learned the value of no shrinking back to shake hands, accepting a hug from a guy who does not know or understand this aspect of observance in me, or the occasionally high five. See, the one thing about being from the secular world, converting and choosing to be shomer negiah “Protect” or “Guard” and “Touch” is that some expect a physical response. One of concept attached to being shomer negiah is not to embarrass the other person. Some do not hold this, however I do. I will not cause another harm when it will not cause me harm. Do I actively seek out touch? No. However, when situations where it would be wrong of me not to shake a person’s hand no longer terrifies the hell out of me. At first I though, my heart felt I was using it hide behind and protect me from my fears, but in truth it has strengthened me. Are my issues with touch messed up or screwed up? Yes, but that does not make me a screw up.
No matter how screwed up things get, I still remain true to myself and my ducted taped dreams. One day, I will be a published writer. I need to get over my fear of rejection, but I still write. In fact, I post here on this blog my thoughts, feelings and views of the world. There is also another blog that hosts my poetry. One day I will see my work bound and on bookshelves. The day will come in its time when it is meant to be.
Keeping myself above water. Hell, I end up treading water a great deal, but all of this that I do, it is so I never ever become a screw up. I may make horrible mistakes. I may screw up royally, but I keep trying to learn and correct my mistakes. That value alone keeps me from be a screw up. Screw ups do not bother learning or growing. I refuse to stop. One day, I will be health, happy and all my dreams that I value will happen. There will always be screwed up things in my life. Everyone has those screwed up things, but no one should settle for being a screw up. We can make our worlds better. We can learn from the things we screw up. We can be what we dream ourselves or want ourselves to be. All we need to do is keep trying. For the moment we stop fighting for it, stop doing battle; that is when we become a screw up.
Fallen Angel
Being screwed up:
Things can be screwed up in a person’s life. Their family can be more than dysfunctional. Life just can’t seem to go right shattering or skewing dreams. Views on the world can change harshly as reality gets darker and harsher. On and on, I could go.
Being A Screw up:
A screw up is a person who has given up. They stop trying to change their screwed up reality. They sit back with their bitter view of the world being harsh and analytical. They often become hypocritical in this by pointing out the wrongs of another, yet doing nothing with the ills in their life. On and on, I could go.
My life is on the screwed up end of things, but I am not a screw up. There was a time that I came close, but those years are far behind me. All might life things have been rather messed up. I lived in an abusive home. Over a period of more than ten years my conception of reality and the norm was wrapped. My dreams were shattered. Nothing I ever did ever seemed to be good enough to the people around me. I was picked on mercilessly. But I was never a screw up and to this day I refuse to be identified as such.
Yes, I suffer from depression. It is true that there are periods where I lose more battles than I win; yet I still manage to do what I need to do for myself at the end of the day. Against all odds, I am putting myself through college despite all the obstacles that have been and are being placed in front of me. Not only am I succeeding in going to college; yet my grades are beyond grade. I will not settle for anything less than my best. If I was a screw up, I would not be in college and I certainly would not be working my ass off.
I bought my own car and I pay my own rent. I keep food on my table. It is a struggle some days, however, I manage. I hate the feeling of barely eking by, but I know one day I will come out on top.
I am insecure. I have my issues with touch; yet, my religious beliefs have changed something I was so terrified and leery of to something potentially beautiful. Though I will not touch member of the opposite sex over the age of nine by religious choice, I no longer shy away from proximity. I have learned the value of no shrinking back to shake hands, accepting a hug from a guy who does not know or understand this aspect of observance in me, or the occasionally high five. See, the one thing about being from the secular world, converting and choosing to be shomer negiah “Protect” or “Guard” and “Touch” is that some expect a physical response. One of concept attached to being shomer negiah is not to embarrass the other person. Some do not hold this, however I do. I will not cause another harm when it will not cause me harm. Do I actively seek out touch? No. However, when situations where it would be wrong of me not to shake a person’s hand no longer terrifies the hell out of me. At first I though, my heart felt I was using it hide behind and protect me from my fears, but in truth it has strengthened me. Are my issues with touch messed up or screwed up? Yes, but that does not make me a screw up.
No matter how screwed up things get, I still remain true to myself and my ducted taped dreams. One day, I will be a published writer. I need to get over my fear of rejection, but I still write. In fact, I post here on this blog my thoughts, feelings and views of the world. There is also another blog that hosts my poetry. One day I will see my work bound and on bookshelves. The day will come in its time when it is meant to be.
Keeping myself above water. Hell, I end up treading water a great deal, but all of this that I do, it is so I never ever become a screw up. I may make horrible mistakes. I may screw up royally, but I keep trying to learn and correct my mistakes. That value alone keeps me from be a screw up. Screw ups do not bother learning or growing. I refuse to stop. One day, I will be health, happy and all my dreams that I value will happen. There will always be screwed up things in my life. Everyone has those screwed up things, but no one should settle for being a screw up. We can make our worlds better. We can learn from the things we screw up. We can be what we dream ourselves or want ourselves to be. All we need to do is keep trying. For the moment we stop fighting for it, stop doing battle; that is when we become a screw up.
Fallen Angel
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