First, I'll get a little whining out of the way. Brace yourself.
My family of origin was pretty messed up, like a lot of families. I don't think either of my parents ever wanted to get married or have kids, but they did because that's what people did back then. My dad wanted boys and got three girls, and he didn't do a very good job of hiding his disappointment. Mom was depressed and popped pills, so I was neglected and fled the house looking for nurturing. I got something else instead.
The 'rents divorced when I was nine, and Mom dragged two of us girls to New Mexico, leaving my bipolar, violent, alcoholic sister with Dad. I slogged through adolescence and young adulthood until I was 25, when both of my parents died in separate incidents 36 days apart. The next 15 years or so I basically adopted many of Mom's lesser habits and coping mechanisms, accompanied by health issues, frequent unemployment, and even a bout of homelessness.
It took a long time, but I am really happy now. I have a job I love, I am healthier than I have been in a long time, and I've made peace with most of my past.
I always thought a bad upbringing was pretty par for the course - everyone had a bad childhood, right? Everyone has baggage and trauma and all that.
But there is this one certain family that keeps popping into my head and filling me with resentment because they are so...damned...normal. Life is perfect for these people!
The head of this family makes six figures in the same job he's worked for 20 years. They live in an idyllic town in a huge house. They had several children, boys and girls, none of whom have any illnesses or special needs. To my knowledge they've experienced no untimely deaths. No one in this family has addiction issues or health problems or even bad habits. They're all thin and beautiful and when they want to take vacations or buy cars or whatever, they just do it. All the kids grew up and dated and got married and had beautiful, normal, healthy, perfect kids. Just like that.
Where is the freaking trauma in this family? It's not fair. I love these people and I don't wish bad things for them. But it seems so unbalanced.
This sounds embarrassingly whiny even as I'm writing it, even in my own head. How lucky I am that I was born in America, that I was born caucasian, that I can see and hear and walk...someone out there might be cursing MY name over how unfairly fortunate I am.
I'm just venting.
Am I a better person than the members of this family will ever be because I had to develop strength early on in my life? Who knows. I just know that I don't regret or curse who I am today, so I suppose being grateful for the crap that fertilized it is the best way to go.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
"I Am A Lonely Soul..."
Meant to post this yesterday. I wrote it almost four years ago.
April 25, 2007
"I Am A Lonely Soul..."
It's old news by now, but Brad Delp, lead singer of the classic rock band Boston, was found dead in his home on Friday, March 9, 2007. Brad was probably the most underrated vocalist in rock history. He brought class, discipline, and perfection to a world often blasted as messy and irresponsible.
Despite his accomplishments and full life, Brad committed suicide. In his note, he wrote (in French), "I am a lonely soul."
I keep wondering how someone with a wedding in the offing to a loving fiancee, two children, and many adoring fans, could say he was lonely. I know that is a very simplistic way to think...fans are not close friends, and you never know what's going on in someone's mind and heart.
Once, in college, I planned to commit suicide. I started writing my goodbye letters. After a couple hours, somewhere around letter number 17, I realized with a little chuckle that if I had at least 17 people in my life who would care that I had died, and who I knew would be sad and want an explanation from me, then what the hell was I killing myself for?
Of course, my suicidal ideation was borne of teen agnst and self-pity, not a serious mental illness. I guess that's why I lucked out and Brad did not.
Of all the gifts God gave to us, music is the one I treasure most. He could have just given us all angel choirs to lift our souls, but he decided instead to open the world of music to any taste, any mood, any imaginable instrument, any rhythm, and any volume. The deepest parts of my heart and soul are moved as much by songs like "Dust in the Wind" and "Highway to Hell" as they are by Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
One of the songs I always loved most, however, was "Don't Look Back" by Boston. On top of the usual amazing guitar work, precision drums, and Brad's gorgeous vocal harmonies, the lyrics shined:
I can see, it took so long just to realize
I'm much too strong not to compromise
Now I see what I am is holding me down...
I'll turn it around.
This song helps me celebrate my arrival out from the darkness of my past. Today when I hear it, I am heartbroken that the peace Brad sang about in these words, was lost to him for reasons I will never understand.
But I know that the joy of the music and the beauty of the voice who gave it to me will transcend the pain, and grief, and stand forever as a monument to Brad, and to the Creator who endowed us all with a gift to share with the world, whatever that gift may be.
Rest in peace, and thank you, Brad.
April 25, 2007
"I Am A Lonely Soul..."
It's old news by now, but Brad Delp, lead singer of the classic rock band Boston, was found dead in his home on Friday, March 9, 2007. Brad was probably the most underrated vocalist in rock history. He brought class, discipline, and perfection to a world often blasted as messy and irresponsible.
Despite his accomplishments and full life, Brad committed suicide. In his note, he wrote (in French), "I am a lonely soul."
I keep wondering how someone with a wedding in the offing to a loving fiancee, two children, and many adoring fans, could say he was lonely. I know that is a very simplistic way to think...fans are not close friends, and you never know what's going on in someone's mind and heart.
Once, in college, I planned to commit suicide. I started writing my goodbye letters. After a couple hours, somewhere around letter number 17, I realized with a little chuckle that if I had at least 17 people in my life who would care that I had died, and who I knew would be sad and want an explanation from me, then what the hell was I killing myself for?
Of course, my suicidal ideation was borne of teen agnst and self-pity, not a serious mental illness. I guess that's why I lucked out and Brad did not.
Of all the gifts God gave to us, music is the one I treasure most. He could have just given us all angel choirs to lift our souls, but he decided instead to open the world of music to any taste, any mood, any imaginable instrument, any rhythm, and any volume. The deepest parts of my heart and soul are moved as much by songs like "Dust in the Wind" and "Highway to Hell" as they are by Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
One of the songs I always loved most, however, was "Don't Look Back" by Boston. On top of the usual amazing guitar work, precision drums, and Brad's gorgeous vocal harmonies, the lyrics shined:
I can see, it took so long just to realize
I'm much too strong not to compromise
Now I see what I am is holding me down...
I'll turn it around.
This song helps me celebrate my arrival out from the darkness of my past. Today when I hear it, I am heartbroken that the peace Brad sang about in these words, was lost to him for reasons I will never understand.
But I know that the joy of the music and the beauty of the voice who gave it to me will transcend the pain, and grief, and stand forever as a monument to Brad, and to the Creator who endowed us all with a gift to share with the world, whatever that gift may be.
Rest in peace, and thank you, Brad.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Coming Out of Poverty
After years of financial and emotional poverty, I started a new job two weeks ago that so far, I love. I opened a bank account. I filled my car with gas instead of getting five dollars' worth at a time. I've started saving money for my own apartment.
I'm worried that this pink cloud of normalcy won't last. I'm scared that I'll revert to my old ways of thinking. I am filled with hope, but not security. I feel like I'm wobbling on new roller skates.
In six months or so, when I start getting used to having a job and an income and things to do and all that stress that comes with this "regular" life, I want to remind myself what it was like without those things.
When I start complaining about having to get up in the morning, I want to remind myself what it felt like to lie in bed for 16 hours of every day watching reruns.
When I have a stressful day at work, and I'm sure I will, I'll be thankful that I am working at a desk, sitting at a computer, doing things I love to do like proofreading and helping important social causes -- not standing on my feet all day serving fast food, not digging holes on a cold day, not scrubbing toilets. I will pray for those people who are forced to do labor they hate, instead of working jobs they enjoy.
When I start to bitch about traffic to and from work, I want to remember that I was six days away from having my car repossessed.
When I moan about having to pay the electric bill, I want to remember what it was like when my landlord and friend shut off my electricity in a humiliating, yet effective, attempt to motivate me and save my life.
When I dread having to grocery shop, I want to make sure I recall what it was like to gather my records and wait for hours and hours at the food stamps office.
And I want to access the emotional memory of trying to figure out how to pay for things that food stamps do not buy, such as toilet paper and toothpaste. Should I sacrifice yet another piece of my dignity and ask for another handout from a church, a friend, a family member, a stranger? Or should I risk my self-respect, my freedom, and my clean criminal record to steal from a grocery store?
If my beloved kitten gets sick or injured, I will remember the fearful tears I shed knowing that without money to pay for a veterinarian, I might have had to give her away or put her to sleep. And I will remember the guilt over having to skip her vaccination last year.
When there's a line at the bank some Friday afternoon in the future, I'll be grateful that I don't have to pay another exorbitant fee to some seedy check-cashing store.
When my rent goes up, I need to picture in my mind the boxes piled in the spare room of my friend's house, and be grateful that I have a whole apartment to myself, no matter how small, in which to place my things.
The day the doctor bills come in the mail, I'll praise God for health insurance and for the privilege of waiting an hour for my doctor to be ready to see me. I'll remember sitting in the emergency room lobby at the public hospital for nine, ten, eleven hours, because there was nowhere else for me to go.
Next time I want to stop for an expensive cup of coffee, I'll recall that day I sat outside a Starbucks trying to sell a gift card I had gotten for Christmas for half-price, quietly crying the whole time out of shame.
When my friends want to see me, they won't have to sponsor my meal or pay for my movie ticket. I'll enjoy paying forward the gifts I was given, footing the bill for someone else's meal to help them out.
If I'm driving down the road and I see a police car in my rear-view mirror, sure, I might feel a little anxious, but then I'll remind myself that in my glove compartment I have proof that my car is insured and registered, that there are no warrants for my arrest, that I am not under the influence of drugs, and that I am driving in accordance with my love for traffic safety.
When I get a bad cold or when my back hurts, I'll go back to that summer of 2010 when my kidneys failed, my blood pressure dropped to 50 over 20, and the crash team came running into my hospital room as I lost consciousness.
I will thank God that I am alive, that I have to work, pay for things, wait in lines, suffer through stresses and setbacks, and even hurt.
Thank you.
Thank you.
I'm worried that this pink cloud of normalcy won't last. I'm scared that I'll revert to my old ways of thinking. I am filled with hope, but not security. I feel like I'm wobbling on new roller skates.
In six months or so, when I start getting used to having a job and an income and things to do and all that stress that comes with this "regular" life, I want to remind myself what it was like without those things.
When I start complaining about having to get up in the morning, I want to remind myself what it felt like to lie in bed for 16 hours of every day watching reruns.
When I have a stressful day at work, and I'm sure I will, I'll be thankful that I am working at a desk, sitting at a computer, doing things I love to do like proofreading and helping important social causes -- not standing on my feet all day serving fast food, not digging holes on a cold day, not scrubbing toilets. I will pray for those people who are forced to do labor they hate, instead of working jobs they enjoy.
When I start to bitch about traffic to and from work, I want to remember that I was six days away from having my car repossessed.
When I moan about having to pay the electric bill, I want to remember what it was like when my landlord and friend shut off my electricity in a humiliating, yet effective, attempt to motivate me and save my life.
When I dread having to grocery shop, I want to make sure I recall what it was like to gather my records and wait for hours and hours at the food stamps office.
And I want to access the emotional memory of trying to figure out how to pay for things that food stamps do not buy, such as toilet paper and toothpaste. Should I sacrifice yet another piece of my dignity and ask for another handout from a church, a friend, a family member, a stranger? Or should I risk my self-respect, my freedom, and my clean criminal record to steal from a grocery store?
If my beloved kitten gets sick or injured, I will remember the fearful tears I shed knowing that without money to pay for a veterinarian, I might have had to give her away or put her to sleep. And I will remember the guilt over having to skip her vaccination last year.
When there's a line at the bank some Friday afternoon in the future, I'll be grateful that I don't have to pay another exorbitant fee to some seedy check-cashing store.
When my rent goes up, I need to picture in my mind the boxes piled in the spare room of my friend's house, and be grateful that I have a whole apartment to myself, no matter how small, in which to place my things.
The day the doctor bills come in the mail, I'll praise God for health insurance and for the privilege of waiting an hour for my doctor to be ready to see me. I'll remember sitting in the emergency room lobby at the public hospital for nine, ten, eleven hours, because there was nowhere else for me to go.
Next time I want to stop for an expensive cup of coffee, I'll recall that day I sat outside a Starbucks trying to sell a gift card I had gotten for Christmas for half-price, quietly crying the whole time out of shame.
When my friends want to see me, they won't have to sponsor my meal or pay for my movie ticket. I'll enjoy paying forward the gifts I was given, footing the bill for someone else's meal to help them out.
If I'm driving down the road and I see a police car in my rear-view mirror, sure, I might feel a little anxious, but then I'll remind myself that in my glove compartment I have proof that my car is insured and registered, that there are no warrants for my arrest, that I am not under the influence of drugs, and that I am driving in accordance with my love for traffic safety.
When I get a bad cold or when my back hurts, I'll go back to that summer of 2010 when my kidneys failed, my blood pressure dropped to 50 over 20, and the crash team came running into my hospital room as I lost consciousness.
I will thank God that I am alive, that I have to work, pay for things, wait in lines, suffer through stresses and setbacks, and even hurt.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Monday, December 6, 2010
IQ
I took my first IQ test in elementary school. I had already learned to read by watching Sesame Street and The Electric Company, so while my teacher was instructing my classmates how to sing the alphabet song, I was whisked into the coat closet with the teacher's aide to read, write, and play word games. Back then, before I learned the proper, socially unacceptable ways to escape feelings, reading was my refuge. Even the little pervert next door was fascinated that I could read at three years old. He used to pull soup cans and cereal boxes off the shelves to watch me read the labels.
Supposedly, IQ tests are developed in such a way as measures one's capacity to learn and think, rather than the amount of knowledge in one's head. Thus, your IQ score at age 5 should be the same as your IQ score at age 35. I'm not sure how they do this; perhaps my friend Susie can fill me in sometime. She develops IQ tests for a living. My personal experience tells me this is not the case, however. My IQ in elementary school was measured at 140. In high school it was 130. As an adult, it had dropped to 125.
Do we naturally get stupider as we age? I don't think so, although it's hard to dispute when I am driving down the street, in my car, frantically wondering where I left my car keys.
In my opinion, and Susie, correct me if I'm wrong, intelligence is a muscle. In school, it is exercised daily, challenged, stretched, warmed up and on the job. After schooling is completed, it atrophies and gathers dust. One can hardly expect it to lift the same amount of intellectual weight that it did in one's youth.
Even if you have a job that challenges your mental capacity, ask yourself just how much of each day you really spend exercising your brain, as opposed to attending meetings, walking down hallways, making copies, fantasizing about vacations, drinking coffee, loading the paper tray, pretending to listen to coworkers or customers, etc.
I still enjoy reading these days, but most of the time I'm too lazy to make it through a book. But I try to exercise my brain by asking questions. I am still curious about things, stupid little things like who decides what key a car's horn beeps in, and huge philosophical things like how regional accents develop or why we haven't all been sucked into a black hole yet.
Whenever one of those silly little ponderings enters my mind, I jot it down so I can look it up later when I get bored. Undoubtedly, when I die, some of those questions will be yet unanswered. I want the people who attend my funeral to find my jotting notebook, pick a question or two, and find out the answers for themselves. Maybe that little exercise will raise your IQ a few points.
Supposedly, IQ tests are developed in such a way as measures one's capacity to learn and think, rather than the amount of knowledge in one's head. Thus, your IQ score at age 5 should be the same as your IQ score at age 35. I'm not sure how they do this; perhaps my friend Susie can fill me in sometime. She develops IQ tests for a living. My personal experience tells me this is not the case, however. My IQ in elementary school was measured at 140. In high school it was 130. As an adult, it had dropped to 125.
Do we naturally get stupider as we age? I don't think so, although it's hard to dispute when I am driving down the street, in my car, frantically wondering where I left my car keys.
In my opinion, and Susie, correct me if I'm wrong, intelligence is a muscle. In school, it is exercised daily, challenged, stretched, warmed up and on the job. After schooling is completed, it atrophies and gathers dust. One can hardly expect it to lift the same amount of intellectual weight that it did in one's youth.
Even if you have a job that challenges your mental capacity, ask yourself just how much of each day you really spend exercising your brain, as opposed to attending meetings, walking down hallways, making copies, fantasizing about vacations, drinking coffee, loading the paper tray, pretending to listen to coworkers or customers, etc.
I still enjoy reading these days, but most of the time I'm too lazy to make it through a book. But I try to exercise my brain by asking questions. I am still curious about things, stupid little things like who decides what key a car's horn beeps in, and huge philosophical things like how regional accents develop or why we haven't all been sucked into a black hole yet.
Whenever one of those silly little ponderings enters my mind, I jot it down so I can look it up later when I get bored. Undoubtedly, when I die, some of those questions will be yet unanswered. I want the people who attend my funeral to find my jotting notebook, pick a question or two, and find out the answers for themselves. Maybe that little exercise will raise your IQ a few points.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
My Divorce
We met in school, early enough in life to be excited, but late enough in life to know what we each wanted. I won't say it was love at first sight, but I don't think many hours passed before we knew there was something special about our bond, and that we were meant for each other. We each decided, first in an unspoken way, and later spoken many times over, that we would spend the rest of our lives together.
The next few years were filled with happiness, change, silly laughter, challenging moments that strengthened us, and a few heartbreaking moments that threatened to divide us. While others around us left, focused on different things, we stayed together.
As years tend to do, years passed by, and another color was added to our world together. My partner in life started to look around, finding other people to spend time with, other activities preferred over those I offered. I was startled, of course, but not overly concerned. I chalked it up to a seven-year-itch sort of situation, only the 20-year-itch version.
But when it became clear that those dabblings meant that my partner in life had found and chosen another partner in life, that new color started to overtake all the wonderful colors I had come to know and love and need.
It started as a fear, but not a fear of anything that could really take anything from me. Plans began to be made, and fear became sinking horror, reality, knowing...they are leaving together. I have been asked to leave the house. I am packing my things. I am sad. But we are still partners, aren't we? Aren't we still irrevocably intertwined together in the eyes of God and in each other's souls?
Time has passed and the color is gone now. I make a phone call when I need to be renewed or when I need a laugh or a memory. I hear the voice on the recording of the one who stole my love away, telling me they have no time for me now. If a conversation happens, it is brief and shallow, telling me without telling me that my partner has untwined from me, irrevocably, permanently, no matter how deep my need. My thread waves aimlessly in the occasional breeze, longing for another thread, but all the threads are woven by now.
I live, I am, alone.
Bet you never thought I'd been divorced, did you? I bet none of you even thought I'd ever been married. I haven't been. Fourteen months ago, when we were both nearing 40 years old, enjoying an adulthood of childless singleness, my best friend got married and moved away.
The next few years were filled with happiness, change, silly laughter, challenging moments that strengthened us, and a few heartbreaking moments that threatened to divide us. While others around us left, focused on different things, we stayed together.
As years tend to do, years passed by, and another color was added to our world together. My partner in life started to look around, finding other people to spend time with, other activities preferred over those I offered. I was startled, of course, but not overly concerned. I chalked it up to a seven-year-itch sort of situation, only the 20-year-itch version.
But when it became clear that those dabblings meant that my partner in life had found and chosen another partner in life, that new color started to overtake all the wonderful colors I had come to know and love and need.
It started as a fear, but not a fear of anything that could really take anything from me. Plans began to be made, and fear became sinking horror, reality, knowing...they are leaving together. I have been asked to leave the house. I am packing my things. I am sad. But we are still partners, aren't we? Aren't we still irrevocably intertwined together in the eyes of God and in each other's souls?
Time has passed and the color is gone now. I make a phone call when I need to be renewed or when I need a laugh or a memory. I hear the voice on the recording of the one who stole my love away, telling me they have no time for me now. If a conversation happens, it is brief and shallow, telling me without telling me that my partner has untwined from me, irrevocably, permanently, no matter how deep my need. My thread waves aimlessly in the occasional breeze, longing for another thread, but all the threads are woven by now.
I live, I am, alone.
Bet you never thought I'd been divorced, did you? I bet none of you even thought I'd ever been married. I haven't been. Fourteen months ago, when we were both nearing 40 years old, enjoying an adulthood of childless singleness, my best friend got married and moved away.
Trying Out for Wheel! Of! Fortune!
Yes, after many years of hearing from family members and a few friends, "You should go on this show!" it is finally coming true. My cousin Stuart saw a billboard advertising the Wheelmobile coming to Buffalo Thunder Casino next weekend (Oct. 23-24), and he called to tell me about it. (Thanks, Stuart!)
Hopefully my friend Janet will come with me. We always wanted to go on "Best Friends Week" because that's where we're best at the game. But I don't think the Wheelmobile version of the game allows for that.
To have a chance, you fill out an application, then sit in the crowd and hope to be called at random to go on stage and play. While you are playing, staff members evaluate you as a possible contestant for the TV show. The odds are pretty astronomical that you'll be picked. But you know...I've been struck by lightning, I've won a trip to Europe from one of those peel-off McDonald's stickers, I had a documented-as-miraculous recovery from kidney failure that should have put me on dialysis...WEIRD, strange, unusual, fateful things just tend to happen to me.
So I have hope. I have personality. I solve the puzzles quickly. I'm just crazy enough to be a good contestant without freaking people out. Watch for me on national television on WHEEL! OF! FORTUNE!!!
Hopefully my friend Janet will come with me. We always wanted to go on "Best Friends Week" because that's where we're best at the game. But I don't think the Wheelmobile version of the game allows for that.
To have a chance, you fill out an application, then sit in the crowd and hope to be called at random to go on stage and play. While you are playing, staff members evaluate you as a possible contestant for the TV show. The odds are pretty astronomical that you'll be picked. But you know...I've been struck by lightning, I've won a trip to Europe from one of those peel-off McDonald's stickers, I had a documented-as-miraculous recovery from kidney failure that should have put me on dialysis...WEIRD, strange, unusual, fateful things just tend to happen to me.
So I have hope. I have personality. I solve the puzzles quickly. I'm just crazy enough to be a good contestant without freaking people out. Watch for me on national television on WHEEL! OF! FORTUNE!!!
Friday, October 15, 2010
Wow, I totally forgot that I have a blog. I guess it's been about a year and a half since I've posted anything.
Turning 40 last year hit me like a wall. I was in the hospital SEVEN times this past year. In August, the last hospitalization, I suffered my third round of kidney failure, and at one point my blood pressure crashed down to 50 over 20, and I very nearly died.
I'm healthy now. Lots of people are commenting on how good I look. I guess I wasn't aware of how bad I looked when I was sick! It's great to be alive, it's great to feel a little healthier. I've lost about 30 pounds, and I hope that continues.
Like many people, I am currently unemployed and broke. But my emotional health is good today. I don't know what to attribute that to, except the love and constant presence of God. I know that He will be with me, even if the worst should happen, and He will take care of me. I need to cling to that. He talks to me in the applause of the autumn leaves when a breeze blows through the trees. He is there when I breathe deeply of the cool clean air. He is in control, when He shows me the constancy of the stars in the night sky. He is there. Be there for me, God.
Turning 40 last year hit me like a wall. I was in the hospital SEVEN times this past year. In August, the last hospitalization, I suffered my third round of kidney failure, and at one point my blood pressure crashed down to 50 over 20, and I very nearly died.
I'm healthy now. Lots of people are commenting on how good I look. I guess I wasn't aware of how bad I looked when I was sick! It's great to be alive, it's great to feel a little healthier. I've lost about 30 pounds, and I hope that continues.
Like many people, I am currently unemployed and broke. But my emotional health is good today. I don't know what to attribute that to, except the love and constant presence of God. I know that He will be with me, even if the worst should happen, and He will take care of me. I need to cling to that. He talks to me in the applause of the autumn leaves when a breeze blows through the trees. He is there when I breathe deeply of the cool clean air. He is in control, when He shows me the constancy of the stars in the night sky. He is there. Be there for me, God.
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