I knew it would happen. The human body can only take so much before it takes things into it's own...hands. After four months without proper nighttime meds, my body is starting to shut down. For those of you that have not experienced chronic sleep deprivation, think of the effects of this ailment like a laptop running low on battery power. The screens dims, then vanishes, to conserve the battery. Today the screen is vanishing quickly. It's been dim for quite awhile. Go ahead, laugh. I did. Until today. Today my ability to walk straight is compromised. I am dizzy. I have blurred vision, shaking, confusion, itching, inability to concentrate, nystagmus (?), and of course the obsessive thoughts of when I get to sleep. Consider this. I was behind the wheel of a car. Life doesn't stop because you can't afford to get your sleep meds.
As I was driving the twenty minutes to pick up my meds, so many things were coursing through my mind. I was hoping I could keep my focus on the road. I was grateful that I would finally be able to get the meds necessary to ensure more than a few hours of broken sleep. I was grateful that my boy was returning home from his nature camp. I was thankful to be alive. Even as awful as I felt/feel...the alternative is unthinkable. I was also angry. Angry that in a country so wealthy it "can" help other nations overcome their trials, average people have to chose between food, mortgages, utilities and medical care. I am so angry! This month I chose to fill my prescription for sleep. Chose? That should not be a choice that anyone has to make! It should be a certainty. As John Q. Archibald shouted to police, "Sick. Help. Sick. Help." They should go together. Simple. It shouldn't be a partisan issue. It should be a human issue.
Once upon a time, getting a job at even a moderately sized company ensured not only a steady income, but reasonably priced Group Insurance. Today, neither is guaranteed. In the case of health care, some employers have had to raise the cost of the employee share of insurance to the point that employees have had to drop their insurance. A friend of mine had to do this, and he feels as though he has gotten a sizable raise. Being a reasonably healthy man, he was able to do this with only the nagging fear, that at age 51, his body warranty will run out. This is inexcusable. We have decades of greed to thank for it. Greed by lawyers, pharmaceutical companies, advertisers, insurance companies and a generation or so of "the world owes me". What is a person to do, after all, if Neosporin doesn't heal that hangnail instantly? Sue, of course! And up go the medical costs.
I hate acting girly. Forget that I am a girl. Feeling like this, so broken down, uncovers my tears. You name it, it makes me cry. On a normal daily basis, I am able to talk myself strong. I am proud of that. I can read, recite and recall positive thoughts and I can move forward. No matter how bad the pain is on that day. Chronic sleep deprivation threatens to toss it all out the window. Tears come too easily. On this day I pick Nick up from Loredo Taft, a nature camp. After spending nearly eight hours a day outside, he will be exhausted and cranky. I need to counter that. And I will. I will. I will collapse tonight and sleep, but during the rest of the day I will be comforting and understanding for Nick. Why did today have to be the day my screen started going blank?
Okay. Half hour to pick-up. Deep breaths. Focus. Only eight hours until bedtime......
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
What I Have and Why I Write
I have had many ailments throughout my life. Everything from the common childhood diseases of my day--Red Measles and Mumps--to Hepatitis (not C). It never occurred to me until I began working my first job that other people did not get ill frequently. It's always just been a part of my life.
I currently entertain a myriad of illnesses. Nearly all are "invisible". Nearly all have a stigma attached to them. Chronic Depression has lived with me for as long as I can remember. My first memory of not wanting to walk among the living is from around age 10 or 11. Of course, in 1971, depression was not openly recognized, and certainly not something children suffered from! Thankfully, through intensive therapy, and the introduction of medication, I was able to grab a hold of my life. It was a weak hold at first, but with practice has gotten much stronger.
I am also Bi-Polar. This disease exists on a sliding scale, having varied degrees of severity, or variants. I am fortunate to be on the lower end of the scale. The governing symptom, for me, is depression, but racing thoughts invade my head--particularly at night--keeping me awake all night. Yes, all night, without medication.
My depression runs in the family. My father, mother, and sister have all suffered, as have scores of cousins. The home environment suffered, as a result, lending spark to the illnesses. The biggest law in a dysfunctional home is the look of normalcy. Therefore, no one ever knew. No one could help. I am so proud that I took the steps and did the very hard work of therapy, and have been willing to be a bit of a guinea pig with regard to my medications. But, the stigma remains.
My biggest battles theses days are with Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. It was theorized by a prominent Infectious Diseases doctor that my Chronic Fatigue was launched as a result of the Hepatitis I contracted (as a result of Mono gone wild). The theory was that as a result of such a serious (life-threatening) disease, my immune system went into overdrive to kick it. However, the signals got mixed somewhere in the fight and it forgot to stop fighting. So, everyday, needed or not, my immune system fights. Eventually, they fight my own...system! This is an exhausting process for the body. Think about how worn out you feel after you've just beaten a nasty flu. You are glad to not be at the mercy of your bathroom, but, at the same time you are just whipped. That is CFIDS everyday. Fibromyalgia is like mutant CFIDS. All the fatigue, and compromised memory, IBS, dizziness, blood sugar drops, sore throat, swollen lymph nodes, numbness and tingling, headaches, sleeplessness...an endless list of symptoms...and pain. So much pain. We have a general list of things that could help, but what works for one, does not necessarily work for the next in line. And the line is long.
You probably know someone or of someone that has Fibromyalgia. You've probably looked at them and wondered, "How bad could it be? They look great!". I hope you've never said it out loud. One of the battles we fight--aside from the above listed--is others' disbelief that our disease is real. We've been called lazy, liars, fakers and wimps, to name a few terms. Fibromyalgia has one of the highest suicide rates. And this is as much for lack of compassion as it is for physical pain.When your family talks about you negatively behind your back because they don't believe you, why go on? Shouldn't the people that are supposed to love you unconditionally be the ones that stand tallest behind you? Somewhere along the line we've been programmed to not believe what we can not see. I hope this frame of mind is discarded soon.
And, that is Why I Write. I post how I feel on particularly bad days. I don't do it to gain pity or whine. I do it to make these diseases real. Someone you know may be suffering from something you can't see. The "invisible" diseases include more than just Mental Illness, CFIDS and Fibromyalgia. Included are Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME), Epstein Barr Syndrome, and Lupus. The are many others...many.
It occurs to me, as I write the final paragraph, that perhaps these diseases should not be invisible to those who live with the sufferer. Look more closely. There will be a wince as we get up, or a foot shuffling as we walk because we are too tired to lift them. There will be rubbing of shoulders and irritability from fatigue. See it. Do not deny it because "we all get tired", or you think we should "buck up". These diseases are as real as a broken arm, heart disease, and cancer. Recognize the reality of the diseases and support the ones you love. We will love you for it, and it may even help the pain!
I currently entertain a myriad of illnesses. Nearly all are "invisible". Nearly all have a stigma attached to them. Chronic Depression has lived with me for as long as I can remember. My first memory of not wanting to walk among the living is from around age 10 or 11. Of course, in 1971, depression was not openly recognized, and certainly not something children suffered from! Thankfully, through intensive therapy, and the introduction of medication, I was able to grab a hold of my life. It was a weak hold at first, but with practice has gotten much stronger.
I am also Bi-Polar. This disease exists on a sliding scale, having varied degrees of severity, or variants. I am fortunate to be on the lower end of the scale. The governing symptom, for me, is depression, but racing thoughts invade my head--particularly at night--keeping me awake all night. Yes, all night, without medication.
My depression runs in the family. My father, mother, and sister have all suffered, as have scores of cousins. The home environment suffered, as a result, lending spark to the illnesses. The biggest law in a dysfunctional home is the look of normalcy. Therefore, no one ever knew. No one could help. I am so proud that I took the steps and did the very hard work of therapy, and have been willing to be a bit of a guinea pig with regard to my medications. But, the stigma remains.
My biggest battles theses days are with Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. It was theorized by a prominent Infectious Diseases doctor that my Chronic Fatigue was launched as a result of the Hepatitis I contracted (as a result of Mono gone wild). The theory was that as a result of such a serious (life-threatening) disease, my immune system went into overdrive to kick it. However, the signals got mixed somewhere in the fight and it forgot to stop fighting. So, everyday, needed or not, my immune system fights. Eventually, they fight my own...system! This is an exhausting process for the body. Think about how worn out you feel after you've just beaten a nasty flu. You are glad to not be at the mercy of your bathroom, but, at the same time you are just whipped. That is CFIDS everyday. Fibromyalgia is like mutant CFIDS. All the fatigue, and compromised memory, IBS, dizziness, blood sugar drops, sore throat, swollen lymph nodes, numbness and tingling, headaches, sleeplessness...an endless list of symptoms...and pain. So much pain. We have a general list of things that could help, but what works for one, does not necessarily work for the next in line. And the line is long.
You probably know someone or of someone that has Fibromyalgia. You've probably looked at them and wondered, "How bad could it be? They look great!". I hope you've never said it out loud. One of the battles we fight--aside from the above listed--is others' disbelief that our disease is real. We've been called lazy, liars, fakers and wimps, to name a few terms. Fibromyalgia has one of the highest suicide rates. And this is as much for lack of compassion as it is for physical pain.When your family talks about you negatively behind your back because they don't believe you, why go on? Shouldn't the people that are supposed to love you unconditionally be the ones that stand tallest behind you? Somewhere along the line we've been programmed to not believe what we can not see. I hope this frame of mind is discarded soon.
And, that is Why I Write. I post how I feel on particularly bad days. I don't do it to gain pity or whine. I do it to make these diseases real. Someone you know may be suffering from something you can't see. The "invisible" diseases include more than just Mental Illness, CFIDS and Fibromyalgia. Included are Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME), Epstein Barr Syndrome, and Lupus. The are many others...many.
It occurs to me, as I write the final paragraph, that perhaps these diseases should not be invisible to those who live with the sufferer. Look more closely. There will be a wince as we get up, or a foot shuffling as we walk because we are too tired to lift them. There will be rubbing of shoulders and irritability from fatigue. See it. Do not deny it because "we all get tired", or you think we should "buck up". These diseases are as real as a broken arm, heart disease, and cancer. Recognize the reality of the diseases and support the ones you love. We will love you for it, and it may even help the pain!
Friday, December 31, 2010
A New Beginning...Again
I sit here gazing out at a blinding, white fog. The temperature is supposed to hit 50 degrees. In December. In the Midwest. Such crazy weather we've had this year. Such a crazy year!
My 2010 brought pain--physical and emotional, stress (where da money at?), and new friendships. Some, not "new" so much as revived. Some, new friendships with old acquaintances. And some, brand spanking new friendships with people I have never, or will ever, meet. I've learned that you can learn something about a person by how they play the game. Whether the game is life, or Farmville, if you play nice people will respond positively. Such a simple philosophy, yet, at times, so hard to follow.
During this year, there were many, many days filled with tears. Fear exploded from me in panic attacks...one that lasted three months. Because of the stress, my pain levels stayed in the upper echelons, making even the small things into great obstacles. But, I found that friends and family were ever-giving, ever-supportive. I realized, day in and day out how blessed I am!
I turned 50 this year. And, I feel a confidence that I wish I'd had when I was in my twenties. They say youth is wasted on the young, well, I wonder if wisdom if bestowed too late in life! Oye, if I'd only known then what I know now! Funny, but true! I've learned that I am strong...have been for quite some time. I am talented, which I knew, but did not feel free to share. I love with intense passion, which makes my fall back to reality a hard fall. But, after that hard fall, I've discovered that I can pick myself up and march forward...building a slightly thinner wall than before. I've always known my sense of humor was a gift, but I've learned when I'm using it as a cover-up, and when I'm being just plain silly. Oh, I love being silly! And I've learned that 50 really IS the new 30! Lookout future, this woman is hot!
This day is also the end of a decade. I've gone through all the modern-day textbook things. Divorce, loss of home, raising a teenager, moving to a new town, then moving to a new place in that town, losing pets, losing loved ones, and...surviving. Surviving! It does'nt seem like the Y2K scare was ten years ago. Hmmm, I wonder if there was a Y1K scare? Sorry, Bi-Polar moment, there. The point is, I suppose, that so very much can happen in a decade--in a year.
Today, I will look at the stark white fog as a whiteboard. A clean slate. A place to write new experiences, quests, and love. When the fog clears it will be a new day.
I hope this new year and decade bring wonderful things for my son and me. I pray it brings endless blessings to my friends and family. The year will be 2011. An adventure awaits!
My 2010 brought pain--physical and emotional, stress (where da money at?), and new friendships. Some, not "new" so much as revived. Some, new friendships with old acquaintances. And some, brand spanking new friendships with people I have never, or will ever, meet. I've learned that you can learn something about a person by how they play the game. Whether the game is life, or Farmville, if you play nice people will respond positively. Such a simple philosophy, yet, at times, so hard to follow.
During this year, there were many, many days filled with tears. Fear exploded from me in panic attacks...one that lasted three months. Because of the stress, my pain levels stayed in the upper echelons, making even the small things into great obstacles. But, I found that friends and family were ever-giving, ever-supportive. I realized, day in and day out how blessed I am!
I turned 50 this year. And, I feel a confidence that I wish I'd had when I was in my twenties. They say youth is wasted on the young, well, I wonder if wisdom if bestowed too late in life! Oye, if I'd only known then what I know now! Funny, but true! I've learned that I am strong...have been for quite some time. I am talented, which I knew, but did not feel free to share. I love with intense passion, which makes my fall back to reality a hard fall. But, after that hard fall, I've discovered that I can pick myself up and march forward...building a slightly thinner wall than before. I've always known my sense of humor was a gift, but I've learned when I'm using it as a cover-up, and when I'm being just plain silly. Oh, I love being silly! And I've learned that 50 really IS the new 30! Lookout future, this woman is hot!
This day is also the end of a decade. I've gone through all the modern-day textbook things. Divorce, loss of home, raising a teenager, moving to a new town, then moving to a new place in that town, losing pets, losing loved ones, and...surviving. Surviving! It does'nt seem like the Y2K scare was ten years ago. Hmmm, I wonder if there was a Y1K scare? Sorry, Bi-Polar moment, there. The point is, I suppose, that so very much can happen in a decade--in a year.
Today, I will look at the stark white fog as a whiteboard. A clean slate. A place to write new experiences, quests, and love. When the fog clears it will be a new day.
I hope this new year and decade bring wonderful things for my son and me. I pray it brings endless blessings to my friends and family. The year will be 2011. An adventure awaits!
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Imagine
While reading, visualize this situation, feel the emotions...
Imagine being young and innocent, and striking up a deal with someone you don't know, but have heard wonderful things about. Imagine knowing that this decision will make you an outcast. Imagine trying to convince--pleading with--the man you've pledged yourself to that you have not been with anyone...ANYone! Imagine loving this man all the more when he realizes that you are being honest--that he must help you fulfill this "deal."
Imagine a journey in the heat. Riding on a donkey, while nearly ready to deliver your part of this deal. Your fiance' guiding you over rocky terrain; through empty lands. Imagine your fear and desperation. Imagine second guessing your decision over and over again. Imagine seeing that fear in the eyes of your love.
Imagine the joy of seeing the village you were instructed to visit, only to find no one willing to help you. When your only hope of shelter appears, you are excited! Then you learn they can not help you because all of their rooms are full. Not even room in the lobby. The delivery is at hand. You are terrified. Imagine the owner of the establishment offering you shelter in the only place he can think of. Imagine your fiance' rushing, clumsily, to arrange hay for you to lay on. The animals rustling as your delivery arrives.
Imagine holding your baby for the first time. Imagine your joy, your fear, your overwhelming love. Imagine looking around you and seeing light. It is a bright, warm light full of love and promise. Even the animals are smiling.
The deal you struck was with God. The delivery you made was the King. The payment you receive is God's appreciation...the World's exultation!
Christ is born! The world is full of promise! Imagine the possibilities!
Imagine.....
Imagine being young and innocent, and striking up a deal with someone you don't know, but have heard wonderful things about. Imagine knowing that this decision will make you an outcast. Imagine trying to convince--pleading with--the man you've pledged yourself to that you have not been with anyone...ANYone! Imagine loving this man all the more when he realizes that you are being honest--that he must help you fulfill this "deal."
Imagine a journey in the heat. Riding on a donkey, while nearly ready to deliver your part of this deal. Your fiance' guiding you over rocky terrain; through empty lands. Imagine your fear and desperation. Imagine second guessing your decision over and over again. Imagine seeing that fear in the eyes of your love.
Imagine the joy of seeing the village you were instructed to visit, only to find no one willing to help you. When your only hope of shelter appears, you are excited! Then you learn they can not help you because all of their rooms are full. Not even room in the lobby. The delivery is at hand. You are terrified. Imagine the owner of the establishment offering you shelter in the only place he can think of. Imagine your fiance' rushing, clumsily, to arrange hay for you to lay on. The animals rustling as your delivery arrives.
Imagine holding your baby for the first time. Imagine your joy, your fear, your overwhelming love. Imagine looking around you and seeing light. It is a bright, warm light full of love and promise. Even the animals are smiling.
The deal you struck was with God. The delivery you made was the King. The payment you receive is God's appreciation...the World's exultation!
Christ is born! The world is full of promise! Imagine the possibilities!
Imagine.....
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Thanks--My Version
Today is the day that we, as a nation, give thanks to those who suffered to make this country prosper.
Over the years the thanks have become more personal. For some it amounts to nothing more than wealth, or that seat in Congress, or the "dopest" ride. For me, it is the following.
I am thankful for family, past, present, and future. They have lent a hand in making me who I am; what I might be.
I am thankful for friends. True friends. The ones that actually hear me, share in my joys, and stick by me through years of lost contact.
I am thankful for my God-given talents, passed down through Irish genes.
I give thanks for doctors. Their knowledge, along with God's help have cured many ills and continues to help heal those I love.
Most of all, I am Blessed and Thankful to have been chosen as the one to give birth to my greatest accomplishment--My Nick. He is funny, wise, strong, handsome and intelligent. I will never be able to offer the world anything greater.
Blessings to All,
Ann
Over the years the thanks have become more personal. For some it amounts to nothing more than wealth, or that seat in Congress, or the "dopest" ride. For me, it is the following.
I am thankful for family, past, present, and future. They have lent a hand in making me who I am; what I might be.
I am thankful for friends. True friends. The ones that actually hear me, share in my joys, and stick by me through years of lost contact.
I am thankful for my God-given talents, passed down through Irish genes.
I give thanks for doctors. Their knowledge, along with God's help have cured many ills and continues to help heal those I love.
Most of all, I am Blessed and Thankful to have been chosen as the one to give birth to my greatest accomplishment--My Nick. He is funny, wise, strong, handsome and intelligent. I will never be able to offer the world anything greater.
Blessings to All,
Ann
Monday, November 15, 2010
Like A Son
I'm wondering how the mind of a teenage boy works.
This morning I got a call from my son, shortly after he left to walk to school, reporting that someone found it funny to write F*** Nick on our door and a penis on our garage door. Oh, and a large happy face, as if that made it all better. For some reason, my heart is breaking.
My son's best friends frequent our tiny apartment to hang or play Xbox, often. They are always welcome. In fact, they walk right in. They help themselves to my food and drink, and most call me "Mom". I love that they are that comfortable. Why, then, would one or more of them vandalize the property at which we live? Not only that, but write a derogatory phrase toward Nick? Kids will be kids, right? Uh uh. Not on a rental. Not at all, but definitely not on property that I do not own!
I have an idea who did it. And that makes my hurt even greater, as he is a good kid, but can be a stinker (much like my own). And he is just about Nick's best friend--one of my favorite visitors. He, like so many of my son's friends, is like a son to me. I feel free to tell him to hold down the noise, or not dis someone, or stop eating so much,
Although my son said he would clean up the graffitti after school, I did it, as I would not have the obscenities staring at the street all day. This is not an easy thing for me to do. Scrubbing, thanks to my diseases, leaves pain and weakness. Nick's best friends know that I have a disease that makes doing some things difficult. Apparently, they/he don't/doesn't care about us as much as I thought.
I had to call the Sheriff. They said to report it to the landlord to find out how to procede. So then I had to answer to my landlord. Although he was glad to hear it was cleaned up, he wants to press charges if the person(s) are found. This will leave me with an ethical dillema, if it is who I suspect it to be. The landlord thinks that perhaps 30 hours of painting somewhere will teach the offender a lesson, but I just don't see that happening. This is a town of 800, with one full time cop. Around half the population are children. There is little for them to do, but take walks, or drive around. And those things get mischevious sometimes.
My son is popular. Perhaps this comes with that. Years ago, our house/property was TP'd by my then stepdaughter's friends. She too, was popular. I don't know. I was not popular, nor did I live in town. I am just confused. And all that keeps running through my mind is "how could they/he do that"?
Lately, in this tiny town there has just been too much of this going on. Thefts, vandalizations. I know it's not all done by one person or group. It's small town entertainment. I spose I should "get over it". But, it's hanging on. The hurt and disappointment are sticking with me because the one I suspect is like a son. And I would expect more from my son.
I hope above hope that I am wrong in my suspicions. I hope it is one of the usual suspect trouble makers. We may never know. But, I'll always wonder who found insulting my son good fun.
This morning I got a call from my son, shortly after he left to walk to school, reporting that someone found it funny to write F*** Nick on our door and a penis on our garage door. Oh, and a large happy face, as if that made it all better. For some reason, my heart is breaking.
My son's best friends frequent our tiny apartment to hang or play Xbox, often. They are always welcome. In fact, they walk right in. They help themselves to my food and drink, and most call me "Mom". I love that they are that comfortable. Why, then, would one or more of them vandalize the property at which we live? Not only that, but write a derogatory phrase toward Nick? Kids will be kids, right? Uh uh. Not on a rental. Not at all, but definitely not on property that I do not own!
I have an idea who did it. And that makes my hurt even greater, as he is a good kid, but can be a stinker (much like my own). And he is just about Nick's best friend--one of my favorite visitors. He, like so many of my son's friends, is like a son to me. I feel free to tell him to hold down the noise, or not dis someone, or stop eating so much,
Although my son said he would clean up the graffitti after school, I did it, as I would not have the obscenities staring at the street all day. This is not an easy thing for me to do. Scrubbing, thanks to my diseases, leaves pain and weakness. Nick's best friends know that I have a disease that makes doing some things difficult. Apparently, they/he don't/doesn't care about us as much as I thought.
I had to call the Sheriff. They said to report it to the landlord to find out how to procede. So then I had to answer to my landlord. Although he was glad to hear it was cleaned up, he wants to press charges if the person(s) are found. This will leave me with an ethical dillema, if it is who I suspect it to be. The landlord thinks that perhaps 30 hours of painting somewhere will teach the offender a lesson, but I just don't see that happening. This is a town of 800, with one full time cop. Around half the population are children. There is little for them to do, but take walks, or drive around. And those things get mischevious sometimes.
My son is popular. Perhaps this comes with that. Years ago, our house/property was TP'd by my then stepdaughter's friends. She too, was popular. I don't know. I was not popular, nor did I live in town. I am just confused. And all that keeps running through my mind is "how could they/he do that"?
Lately, in this tiny town there has just been too much of this going on. Thefts, vandalizations. I know it's not all done by one person or group. It's small town entertainment. I spose I should "get over it". But, it's hanging on. The hurt and disappointment are sticking with me because the one I suspect is like a son. And I would expect more from my son.
I hope above hope that I am wrong in my suspicions. I hope it is one of the usual suspect trouble makers. We may never know. But, I'll always wonder who found insulting my son good fun.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Like A Fist
Twenty years ago the message in the commerial was "Words Hit Harder Than A Fist." It was geared toward domestic and child abuse. Apparently, few people took this to heart, or perhaps, believed it. I believed it. Words had beaten the shit out of me all my life. At school, and at home. And yes, they leave scars. Deep scars that never heal completely because the next word, and the next, keep tearing them open. And for some reason, unlike physical scars, they don't get tougher. Each painful word or phrase hurts just as much, or more than they did the first time. And no one can see them.
Or can they? Self destructive behaviors are, many times indicative of verbal abuse. Whether it is excessive piercing, tats, promiscuity, or drugs, it does show. For me, it was alcohol and promiscuity. After being told repeatedly by my father that no man would ever want me, that I was homely, lazy, stupid, I believed it. I went bat-ass crazy trying to prove him wrong. I thought of suicide many times before I was finally forced into seeing a doctor and a therapist. I learned that I wasn't so bad. But, it took years and years of therapy, and medication combos to get to the point I am, at age 50, believing I deserve what anyone else deserves. To exist.
There are several campaigns active right now to bring awareness to bullying. Most are focused on the GLBT community, and the teens in it. Of course, that is because, recently, the suicide rate in that demographic has risen at a shocking rate. But, it is not just the GLBT community that is affected by the thoughtless, evil(?), tossing of hurtful words and phrases.
Try on these words and phrases....Cow, Fatty, Beanpole, Slut, Emo, Fag, Heifer, That's so gay, You're so queer, You run/catch/talk/ like a girl, She's so butch, Dike, Lesbo, Does your face hurt, cause it's killing me, You're a waste of air, Loser, Spoiled, If I want it done right, I have to do it myself, Waste, Stupid, Weeby, Rice Burner, and my personal favorite--Butter Butt.
I almost wish I could say that only kids used these words, but I can't. They learned these words. From parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, older siblings. The new campaign states that "it can start as a joke." And I suppose, to some, the words are funny. Unless they've been directed toward you. Or maybe because they were directed toward you. It Ain't Funny. Period.
A local school district is being sued by the family of an African American girl who was subjected to racism/bullying by her algebra teacher. Get this. The Caucasian teacher writes an algebra problem on the board. The AA girl raises her hand and states that she doesn't understand it. The C teacher tells her that of course she doesn't, "it's a White thing." The C teacher then writes another problem on the board, and asks the AA girls if she understands it. The AA girl asks "why because I'm black?" The C teacher laughs and says "yes." At what point did Algebra become a race issue? And even if in some alter universe it was, how could a teacher--of any ethnic origin--belittle a student--of any ethnic origin--in in front of the entire class. In the school, where children are sent to learn.
I've preached this before. Parents learn respect. Google it if you need help. Grandparents, come out of your "that's how we did it in my day" frame of mind, and learn from your kids. Kids. KIDS, talk to your parents if you feel hurt, talk to your peers if they are hurting someone. Don't "go with the flow". If you see hurtful, act, tell. Don't let someone suffer the pain of verbal, but invisible fists, because you don't want to be next. If enough of you stand up for the bullied, there will be no one left to bully!
"It gets better", "stand up and be counted", "make a difference", "just do it". There are positive messages out there too. Grab them. Embrace them. Practice them. To the recipients of the good deed..."Pay It Forward." Someday, maybe some of the scars can stay healed.
Or can they? Self destructive behaviors are, many times indicative of verbal abuse. Whether it is excessive piercing, tats, promiscuity, or drugs, it does show. For me, it was alcohol and promiscuity. After being told repeatedly by my father that no man would ever want me, that I was homely, lazy, stupid, I believed it. I went bat-ass crazy trying to prove him wrong. I thought of suicide many times before I was finally forced into seeing a doctor and a therapist. I learned that I wasn't so bad. But, it took years and years of therapy, and medication combos to get to the point I am, at age 50, believing I deserve what anyone else deserves. To exist.
There are several campaigns active right now to bring awareness to bullying. Most are focused on the GLBT community, and the teens in it. Of course, that is because, recently, the suicide rate in that demographic has risen at a shocking rate. But, it is not just the GLBT community that is affected by the thoughtless, evil(?), tossing of hurtful words and phrases.
Try on these words and phrases....Cow, Fatty, Beanpole, Slut, Emo, Fag, Heifer, That's so gay, You're so queer, You run/catch/talk/ like a girl, She's so butch, Dike, Lesbo, Does your face hurt, cause it's killing me, You're a waste of air, Loser, Spoiled, If I want it done right, I have to do it myself, Waste, Stupid, Weeby, Rice Burner, and my personal favorite--Butter Butt.
I almost wish I could say that only kids used these words, but I can't. They learned these words. From parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, older siblings. The new campaign states that "it can start as a joke." And I suppose, to some, the words are funny. Unless they've been directed toward you. Or maybe because they were directed toward you. It Ain't Funny. Period.
A local school district is being sued by the family of an African American girl who was subjected to racism/bullying by her algebra teacher. Get this. The Caucasian teacher writes an algebra problem on the board. The AA girl raises her hand and states that she doesn't understand it. The C teacher tells her that of course she doesn't, "it's a White thing." The C teacher then writes another problem on the board, and asks the AA girls if she understands it. The AA girl asks "why because I'm black?" The C teacher laughs and says "yes." At what point did Algebra become a race issue? And even if in some alter universe it was, how could a teacher--of any ethnic origin--belittle a student--of any ethnic origin--in in front of the entire class. In the school, where children are sent to learn.
I've preached this before. Parents learn respect. Google it if you need help. Grandparents, come out of your "that's how we did it in my day" frame of mind, and learn from your kids. Kids. KIDS, talk to your parents if you feel hurt, talk to your peers if they are hurting someone. Don't "go with the flow". If you see hurtful, act, tell. Don't let someone suffer the pain of verbal, but invisible fists, because you don't want to be next. If enough of you stand up for the bullied, there will be no one left to bully!
"It gets better", "stand up and be counted", "make a difference", "just do it". There are positive messages out there too. Grab them. Embrace them. Practice them. To the recipients of the good deed..."Pay It Forward." Someday, maybe some of the scars can stay healed.
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