Thanksgiving Memories

Growing up in the United States, I learned that the last Thursday in November was set aside for family, food and giving thanks.  When my grandmother was alive, this was a very happy time for me.  Not only did I get to spend time with her cooking for days before, I would spend time with her cleaning afterward.  There was always lots of family, some I only saw once every year or so and others that I would see a lot of.  Mostly I remember happiness with lots of wonderful food on Thanksgiving Day as I was growing up.

About a year or two before my grandmother passed away, my aunt began hosting the annual fun-fest.  I say this with tongue-in-cheek as things began changing when my grandmother got sick and could no longer host the family events.  Bitterness set in and that brought lots of bickering.  Since I was a young teen, I was not privy to most of the issues at hand.  One constant was those who presumed they did most of the work were angry that others were partaking without even offering to lend a hand.  Funny, as a child I recall it was Grandmaw who did most of the work, but I do not remember her ever complaining as she enjoyed the time with her family.

I came to dread the holidays and spending time with the family, especially after my grandmother passed.  It seemed the holidays were the appropriate time to bash each other and hurl the worst insults that could be found.  I thought holidays were supposed to bring families together and, especially Thanksgiving Day, finding all the reasons to be thankful.  I must have had a grave misconception in this area.

The happiest Thanksgiving I recall following my grandmothers death was the year my long-time friend Denise invited me to spend it with her and her family.  I was probably about 19 at the time and expected to feel very claustrophobic as she comes from a rather large family.  At the most, growing up, we had about two dozen coming and going from my grandparents home.  With Denise’s parents, siblings, their spouses and children alone they had over two dozen.  Then you sprinkle in an odd uncle and aunt or two.  That is a lot of people.

Denise knew how miserable I was contemplating another Thanksgiving dinner with my family and being the main source of abusive entertainment for everyone.  Therefore, she suggested with an insistent tone that I come to her parents house and spend the day with them.  I knew her family quite well and admired them for their closeness and love for each other so I graciously accepted the invitation.

I walked up the block to the Fulton abode and almost before I could knock on the door I was greeted heartily by a couple of the children.  Everyone else filtered in and made me feel welcome.  One thing I really enjoyed was they treated me, not like a guest, but as they treated each other, like family.  There was no difference with any other time I had been to their home, except ALL of them were there at one time.

Dinner was very animated with all the lively conversation.  It was filled with respect for each other and very comfortable as if they had been acting this way all their lives.  I knew they had, because this is how they behaved any other time of year when I would have the honor of being within the warmth of this home.  Mr. Arness (my name for Denise’s dad due to a photo of him resembling James Arness the actor) reminded me a lot of my grandfather, except he was more vocal than my grandfather.

After the feasting came the festing.  Christmas music was put on and everyone just had fun with each other.  I was sitting there watching the whirlwind of excitement and entertainment going on around me and comparing it to my own family.  Denise came over and grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet to begin dancing to the upbeat holiday music swelling the air with the lingering aromas of turkey and pie.

As tears fill my eyes remembering times long since committed to the archival parts of my brain, I ponder my more recent Thanksgivings.  I have not had a full thanksgiving dinner since 2005, the last time since being sick that I was still able to cook it.  As this dragon makes life more and more difficult for me, I spend most of my time resting and doing little things.  I also try to use it to get some writing done as I know I will not be receiving IMs or anything from anyone since the majority of my US friends (who all live in my computer) will be with their families and loved ones.

For this Thanksgiving, provide your kin with reasons to be thankful, not regret.  I bid all y’all a wonderful time with your loved ones giving thanks for each other and letting them know you are grateful for them being in your life.

Ostriches In The Sand

Having an invisible illness gives a person a different view of the world.  I struggle when I go anywhere and have no one to help me except the very small handful of compassionate people who may see me and come over to help if it isn’t out of their way.  This morning I had to run a few errands.  I went to the post office to check my mailbox and there were no kind folks around to hold the door as there usually are. This is not really a big issue.  I returned to my car and drove down to the supermarket.

The supermarket can be a bit of a challenge as it is so big and I must make my way around, staggering with my cane and a buggy.  Occasionally I am met with smiles and nods from the front end employees and then by other employees as I make my way around.  Today, it was as if I was invisible.  Not just invisible to employees, but to other customers as well.  I couldn’t help but think as I was struggling in the dairy isle to get an item lower than what I could safely reach.  I saw via peripheral vision a man walk past me as I struggled to keep my balance and remain standing.  Clearly, he had to notice my difficulties, but kept on walking. 

There were others as well that seemed to do this.  It was as if they made eye contact they would be obliged to assist me and they were far too busy to show compassion or kindness to a fellow human being.  I just couldn’t help but think about the myth of the ostrich burying his head in the sand.  Pliny the Elder once wrote, “imagine, when they have thrust their head and neck into a bush, that the whole of their body is concealed.”  This is to believe to be the source of the myth regarding the ostrich.  Humans are a lot like this though.   Not that by hiding their heads they believe their entire body is hidden, but if they cover their eyes, then the ugliness and ailments of their fellow human beings does not exist.

Too often, we cover our eyes or put on blinders to the outside world hoping that what is wrong with it will just go away and cease to exist.  We hope that the poor soul struggling to keep herself on her feet to finish her shopping will just disappear because we are too busy and too important to stop for just 30 seconds to assist someone else.  Or by putting a blindfold on the bruises and cuts on the child next door will fade and never return because we just can’t take a minute of our own time to at least look that child in the eye and show them that there is something other than the pain they feel.  Our own lives and families are far more important than to get involved with the likes of that.

Sometimes just one moment is all it takes to show another human being the kindness and compassion we all deserve.  After I left the supermarket and was driving home I continued to let this subject twirl in my mind.  I knew I was already worn out and didn’t feel like preparing food upon arriving home.  I stopped by my local Hardee’s (yes, the same one where I called the employees a bunch of plebeians) to pick up a burger, fries and a lemonade.  It was 1040 and I knew they were already serving lunch.  My order was taken at the drive-thru and I pulled up.  There were two vehicles in front of me.  The car ahead of me stopped briefly at the window and then pulled up to a space apparently to await a staff member bringing his food to him.

Being hearing impaired I watch the window till someone arrives.  I saw two employees pointing at a monitor and eventually the young girl I saw there came to the window and asked if I was the one who ordered the two sausage biscuits.  I said no and advised I ordered a burger.  She apologized and left the window.  Upon returning she opened the window and I could hear a female voice verbally assaulting her.  She said it would be a few minutes and asked if I could pull up or she could just return my money.  I asked how long and she went to check.  She returned to tell me one minute and thirty seconds would be my wait.  At that moment a very rude woman pushed into the window demanding to know what the problem was.  The young girl told her I was waiting for my burger and trying to decide if I wanted my money back due to the wait.  The other woman snapped at the girl and said my order was ready.

Due to the other woman’s behavior I was ready to just ask for my money back.  When the girl returned with my food I asked who the woman was and was advised she was the General Manager of the store and the girl said she just got into trouble due to my order.  I was not happy at this point and asked if that woman’s supervisor was around, however seeing she was the General Manager, she was the top of the food chain here.  I told the girl that she was the only reason I was not asking for my money back.  If it had just been for the other person, I would ask for my money in a heartbeat and leave.  I further told this girl that she remained calm and reasonable even though it was apparent the manager was losing her self-control.

Normally I would praise someone like this in front of them to their supervisor.  This time, I knew that was not an option.  This manager seemed the type who would retaliate against the girl.   As I praised her, I saw her demeanor change.  She felt much better than when I first pulled up.

It only takes thirty seconds to make someone’s day.  It takes just a short amount of time to help a person who needs it.  Human compassion and kindness should be demonstrated, not only to those we know and feel have earned it, it is something that should be part of our daily lives toward strangers who may never cross our paths again.  Burying your head in the sand or putting blinders on does not make life’s ugly struggles go away.  Taking a few meager moments of your valuable time, however, can make it go away, or at the very least make things easier.

Hatred Unfounded

The other morning, like most of you, I woke to the news of the latest cast selected for the ABC television reality show Dancing With The Stars.  Apparently this selection has stirred up more controversy than the first season which came back to provide a dance-off.  This morning I woke up to more news regarding the selection of Chaz Bono for DWTS.  It seems the good christian folks in the United States find fault and are trying to make a statement.

I do not make it a habit of watching reality television.  Real life is reality enough for me.  However, there are times I am flipping through and land on one or two and may pause for a moment to see what is on that channel.  Doing this I have landed on DWTS several times.  Before I got sick, I loved to dance and especially ballroom dances.  So I pause longer at times if the pair dancing is dancing well.  There have been times in doing this that I have regretted my decision to pause.  It seems more and more that DWTS gets away from the dancing and focuses on the costuming, or lack thereof.  Dancing should be about dancing and NOT about the lack of clothing, unless of course it is striptease.  It is my understanding that DWTS was designed to showcase ballroom dancing and not tawdry stripping.

That said, back to the issue at hand.  So-called Christians all over the United States are saying they are going to boycott DWTS if Caz Bono is not removed from the cast.  This morning on the news they were claiming it would cause confusion for children.  I don’t understand how a man dancing with a woman on a television show is going to cause confusion for anyone especially children.  These same people don’t have an issue with their children watching strippers so why should they have a problem with their children watching a person who is very happy and healthy dancing and enjoying life.

Chaz Bono did not feel happy in his own body and like many people decided to do something about it.  The only difference between Mr. Bono and the rest of the celebrities is that he didn’t just have cosmetic surgery, he changed his gender.   I have heard arguments regarding transgender from the churches where they use a statement that God doesn’t make mistakes.  This implies that we should accept our bodies as they were given.  If I were a gambler, I would lay bets on the mass majority of those protesting Mr. Bono have and do attempt to change themselves on a daily basis through dieting, exercising, potions and lotions for anti-aging and so forth.  In my opinion, their claims hold nothing more than a lot of hot air.

Humans have difficulty looking within and how the festering hatred they harbor is worse for them than anyone else.  I never rally considered the reality of transgender until I met someone who is in the process to transgender.  I accepted this dear sweet soul as a human being long before I learned of what they were going through.  When I learned of my friends’ decision I could have deserted and forsaken the friendship formed to latch onto hatred toward the decision.  Had I done that I would have missed out on further getting to know one of the most gentle souls I have ever met with a heart bigger than the state of Texas.

It seems to me that as a whole, the christian sect is full of even more hatred that white supremacists and other radical groups.  These outcries only serve to add even more tarnish to their group and those who are part of the group and don’t harbor such hatred have to endure the ugliness heaped upon them due to those who go too far.

Hatred causes even more pain.  Acceptance of each other on the grounds that we are all human beings is what will go the distance to bring about peace.

Borrowed From Mr. Bono's Website http://www.chazbono.net/

**NOTE:  This is not meant to say that all Christians are haters.  I personally know some Christians who have very good and kind souls.

After I Am Gone

I have a lot to get done in the next two weeks so this will probably be the last words I post here within Blogtopia.  Some have said they read my Meniere’s Blog regularly.  Either they missed my Letter Of Resignation, or they just didn’t care.  Since I am an advocate of giving people the benefit of the doubt, I will believe that they just lied to me in saying they read it regularly.

I spent last night in and out of sleep.  When I was out of sleep I was thinking about everything that still has to be done.  I woke up thinking about this post.

There are those who will wonder why I didn’t come to them with all of this.  Well, how could I bring you my tears when you didn’t want to share in my laughter?  In my life I have had one thing in my heart that I have striven to bring forth to the world in my meager words and that is peace through understanding and acceptance.  The world has not listened.  My heart is not to be heard.  The world is not ready to hear what is in my heart, for it would rather hold onto its anger and hatred.

Perhaps in my next life, the world will be ready to hear what is in my heart.  I believe that the intent of the heart follows you into your next life, so perhaps I have been trying to get the world to hear my heart for generations.  Not this life, but hopefully the next.  If you desire to me honor after I am gone, then remember the message of my heart and learn to accept others no matter the differences and understand that everyone is a human being above all else.

True peace will come when people move beyond the fears of what is different and accept everyone as individual human beings without the anger and hatred that continues to bind this world through ignorance.

To Trust And Trust Not

What is trust?  Why do people trust?  Is trust a commodity to be bought and sold?  Or, perhaps, trust is a liability.  Where do I begin to answer my questions and try to figure out why one five letter word stifles me faster than any other, save love alone.

Random House begins their definition as such; “Reliance on the integrity, ability, etc. of a person or thing.”  But, doesn’t reliance mean trust?  OY!  The English language is confusing.  Maybe the part I have trouble with in this definition is “of a person…”  Roget didn’t even attempt to tackle the word trust.  They went from ‘truss’ straight to ‘trustee’.  Smart people they have working for them.

Trust is so overrated.  People use the word without really understanding it, like ‘love’.  They say “just trust me” or “you have to trust me”.  Why?  Every time I have put blind trust into another person, I alone have been hurt.  One should be able to trust the folks who gave them life.  Mine abused me physically and emotionally; and they allowed another parental figure to physically, emotionally and sexually abuse me.  Why trust?

I trusted my grandparents who had me most of my childhood.  They protected me until they wanted to make it permanent.  When they were denied this by my mother, they too gave me away.  They gave me back to the very person who wanted nothing more than to hurt me.  Why trust?

I trusted a man.  I gave him my heart and two years.  However, after a year and a half engagement, he decided to marry someone he knew for only two weeks, pretty much leaving me at the alter by sending me a letter one week and three days prior to our wedding.  Why trust?

I have trusted doctors who wrongly diagnose me and put me on medication that I do not need and which causes other more severe problems.  Doctors think they have all the answers and look at me as a troublemaker of sorts because I know more about me than they do.  Just be cause you have a degree is not a reason for me to trust you.

I used to trust myself.  But now Meniere’s is in play.  I never know if I am going to have a bout of vertigo or perhaps a drop attack.  I stagger along my way running into walls and furniture.  I can’t trust me or my body to do what I want them to do.   How can I trust me when I am laying sprawled out on the floor in pain from an illness that I cannot control nor vanquish.

Long ago, I would trust those who were, or at least seemed, different from my parents.  Until they proved I couldn’t trust them.  Now I trust no one.  I try to, but it just never comes.  I am finding more and more that there is a lot to be said for cynicism.  Maybe there is a future in it.  Or perhaps just a nice side venture till I can at least trust me once again.

So, why trust?  I still have not found any truly viable reason to trust flesh and bones.  When I have to rely on others, I suffer and always feel that it is not from goodness that they help me, it is for good old fashioned currency or some other form of repayment.

WHY TRUST?

Cynicism And Pain

Losing a loved one.  Losing your life as you know it.  Pain enters when there is loss.  To truly grieve means you allow yourself to feel exuberant amounts of pain.  In essence, you swing open the flood gates and pain, hurt and anguish spew in.

I don’t remember the last time I fully grieved.  Maybe it was in 1981 when Grandmaw died.  I remember the pain when I went through it and how stifling it was.  Now I remember Grandmaw and I am sad because I still miss her, however, the memories are sweet.

There are so many that I have lost since Grandmaw, but I don’t remember fully grieving.  I remember the pain at the loss, but when I try to go further in my memories there is anger – so I stop.  I stop and bury the feelings.  Yes, I know everyone has a right to their feelings and they should be expressed, but not me.

To be the good one, I always desired, but never was.  I have, through the years, learned to repress my feelings.  When I was angry, I was punished.  When I would cry because I was unhappy, I was punished.  When I would be happy, I was turned away.  When I would show love or affection, I would be hurt.  So the easy thing to do was to repress.  The English have it right – don’t display what you feel.  This I can do.

I am neither a masochist nor a sadist.  I have virtually no tolerance for pain, nor do I enjoy inflicting pain, especially on myself.  This is reason enough for me not to grieve.  If I start, I may not stop at this point.  And then again, there is no one there to catch me as I fall.  So I repress.

Recently I have discovered a new tool to add to my repertoire –cynicism.  Although I am new to this concept I am finding it to be just another useful mechanism to keep from dealing with the hurt, pain and anger that keeps coming my way.  When posed with the age old question “is the cup half full or half empty?” I would always respond half full!  Now I retorted, “It’s not my cup.  I don’t care.”

I can cry. I do cry — when I am alone. I scream -– when I am alone.  I yell and fuss — when I am alone.  To bring my anger against me means much frustration. To bring my anger against others could mean they retaliate and well… So I remain angry and frustrated while displaying to the world that all is well. It has to be.  Debbie is always fine.  Debbie needs no one.  Debbie will always be fine. At least that is what the world will always see.

Pain, I am resolved, will always be part of my life.  My deductions for now are that I am only meant for pain; be it physical or emotional.  So, for now at least, cynicism is a means to escape the pain, anger and drudge of life.

Will this to become my sole way of dealing with things?  Probably not. Will cynicism always be in my life?  Probably not.  However, for now it is useful.  Maybe someday someone will enter my life and I will be able to trust them enough to let them be there as I open the floodgates and feel the pain. For now, the cup it isn’t mine, find the owner yourself.

There Is NO Excuse for Abuse

There are so many things that the mass majority of people in my life do not know about me.  There are many people who think they know me, really know me.  I am not, nor have I ever been one to wear my heart on my sleeve.  A lot of those I have allowed to get close to me know this.  Very few of those in that group know the why behind it.  Yes, there is a very thick wall around my heart.  There has to be.  It has been the only way I have been able to survive the past 44 years.  There is one thing that those closest to  me, be they my inner-most circle or even a level or two outward, know and that is the one issue that I am the most vocal about, my main soapbox, if you will ~ ABUSE!!!  Abuse of any kind is down right intolerable in any society.  Child abuse, spousal abuse, animal abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, elder abuse, and the list goes on.  there are so many names these days given to abuse, but in the end it is all the same.

I grew up with abuse.  I saw my father beat my mother when he was drunk.  My father nearly killed me three times, when he was drunk.  My aunt’s husband abused her till, finally she left him and they divorced (I had very eerie feelings whenever he was around).  I was also emotionally and physically abused by my mother and step-father (who also sexually abused me).  I have seen friends in relationships with people who had abusive and controlling tendencies.  I am not a violent person, however, there was one time in  my life that I looked in my friends eyes and said “If he ever lays another hand on you or one of those babies, I will kill him”.  This is someone I had known from childhood.  She knew I meant it.  She cut me out of her life instead of him.  The last I heard she followed suit and cut off everyone else.

Working in an emergency shelter for children, we once had a caseworker bring a toddler in after the child was released from the hospital where she was taken after being found severely beaten by her father.  She still had raccoon eyes.  The caseworker refused to give us even the father’s name as we (the director, two other workers at the shelter and I) were gathering bats and anything else we could find to go and beat the father.  The worker said he would have to have the first shot.  We cried knowing what the possibility was for this child to be returned to her father and just the sight of what he had already done sickened us.

Recently in the local news, a man was arrested and is going to stand charges after dragging a terrier-mix dog behind his truck.  The man says he didn’t know, however the witnesses that attempted to stop him say otherwise.  The dog is now doing fine but lost a lot of skin and fur on her paws and belly as well as had her nails worn all the way down.

Being graphic is not my intent here.  The human race is immune to the face of abuse.  We pay money to watch brutality.  Vulgar and abusive language is part of our every day lives to the point that most people don’t even realize they are saying it or hearing it.  So what do we do about it?

Laws have changed over the years to where the legal system now recognizes and brings charges against those who decades ago would have been lauded for their repulsive behavior.  There are still those who claim that an abused child is just receiving discipline from their parent(s); or a spouse who is abused, belittled and dominated has no right to file charges as it is within the sanctum of marriage and therefore no laws are broken.  To clarify at this point, I use the term spouse in a generic manner.  This is male and female and extends to significant others not just husband and wife.  Yes, men can also be abused by a spouse.  There are women who find satisfaction in being dominant and controlling in a relationship, but these cases are usually thrown out as no one wants to believe that a man can be abused.

My study in psychology is limited, but I chose that field to help others like me.  I was an adolescent counselor working mostly in juvenile justice for many years.  I was able to relate to a lot of the kids I worked with who were from abusive and neglected backgrounds.  I think they felt this and I believe I helped at least a few of them.  I don’t pretend to know what causes individuals to be abusive.  I have read case studies and seen movies made about real life cases.  Some believe it to be an imbalance of chemicals in the brain.  Others aver it to be victims of abuse becoming abusers themselves.  Watch any crime drama on television and see this depicted over and over again.    There are those who also give credence to the stress the abuser is going through at the time of the abuse.

It is so easy to use these excuses, but all that does is further allow the abuse to continue.  I can go out on a rampage and hurt, maim or kill a lot of people.  Then when I get to court, I plead innocent as I didn’t know what I was doing because I was abused as a child.  I don’t see the justification in this, but it is done every day.   Perhaps I do not know what was going through the mind of my abusers when they abused me.  I don’t know what goes through the mind of any abuser.  What I do know is that there is NO excuse for hurting another living soul, man or beast.   Saying things that are hurtful about a certain group, especially if there is someone within earshot that is in that particular group, is mean and abusive.  The words are said as a joke, but where is the funny side when someone gets hurt?

Before you raise your hand to hurt, raise your words to praise.  Before using hurtful words, think and say something good.  Hurting someone is not a sign that you love them, it is a sign that you need help.  If you know someone or suspect someone is being hurt, don’t tell that person they probably already know it.  Tell someone who can do something about it.  When my gym teacher saw bruises on me, a note was sent home.  I was beat even more.  Telling the abuser or the victim will not stop the pain.  My bruises have gone away and the physical scars have faded, but the emotional scars are still there buried with  my heart behind the fortress that was built up to protect it from those who said they loved me by hurting me.