Assumptions

"Do you know what assume stand for? Assume means making an ass out of you and me."- Old saying.


So the other day, I splurged a little and got my eyebrows and upper lip waxed. Yes, I am one of those crazy women who let somebody put hot wax on my facial hair and then rips it off. Cos it makes me feel sexy. Go figure. Full disclosure: it really doesn't feel that great and I've been known to take the Lord's name in vain and other colourful words as well when the hair is ripped out.

That plus my youngest son wanted to know why I had hair growing on my upper lip. I informed him, at the time, that I was going for the walrus look, but I wilted a little. I've never been a fan of hair on my upper lip and if it's THAT noticeable (he had been studying my face with unnerving intensity for a few minutes prior to his question), I'd like to have the hair GO AWAY.

Thus, to the awesome lady who waxes my hair and makes me look like a movie star. *cough* But I digress...

I remember a few years ago now, I had a good friend of mine want to know how I could justify spending money on getting my brows and upper lip waxed when I was poor. Boy, did I see RED. I commented back to him and laid it all out. Basically, I spend $19 total, including tip, to go once a month to get these services done. I don't spend money on other things. I don't buy new clothes. I don't go on trips. Shoot, I can't remember the last time I had bought anything new because, at that time, things were really really bad economically and I budgeted like mad and I received some help, and I didn't think that doing this one little thing for ME was a horrible, horrible thing.

I most certainly didn't think that I deserved these comments and I refused to feel bad. People who know me know I'm responsible with the money and that I am doing the best I can, thanksmuch. I'd really like to see most *any* of my detractors make do like I have the past, oh, seven years or so.

My friend was awesome. He apologized for assuming things and I accepted his apology and we're still friends. He's a sweet guy and I think, for a moment, that assumption on his part had him typing before thinking. Or asking.

I hadn't had my stuff waxed since last...oh, October, I think. Money was tight and I just couldn't justify spending $19 on myself. I know, silly, right? It makes me feel pretty and good and it's not a huge amount. But it is when I don't have it to spend and it is to others who look from the outside and make assumptions.

And then I had to really think about the following: have I ever been guilty of the same thing? Have I ever looked at someone and thought, why do they have that? Why do they do that? Do they have the money for it when I know they're poor/on food stamps/on government help?

Yeah, I have to raise my hand and sigh. I've done that. Here's the scenario, which is ironic. I'm at the grocery store and I'm at the checkout, waiting to use my own food stamp money to get groceries (irony, thou art mine). The lady in front of me also has her food stamp card out and I notice she has a fancy purse. She has brand name clothes. She has her nails done and looks like a million bucks. "Huh," I think, "how can she afford all that when she's on food stamps like me?"

GAH!!!! Busted.

I'll say one thing about more and more middle class people being on food stamps. I don't get the "Look" from cashiers anymore, for the most part, when I take out my food stamp card to pay. I guess after seeing their version of "well to do" people use their food stamps card rattles their own biased opinion on "Those People."

But back to the lady with the expensive designer clothes and purse. It's not my business to assume. I don't know the circumstances in which she received these clothes and such. I don't know how they're paid for and for all I know, this woman works THREE JOBS so she can afford a little extra that makes HER feel good. Who am I to suck my teeth and click my tongue and go, sister, that ain't right???

I, myself, like designer labels. I've always been a clothes horse. So I buy nice clothes at thrift stores. I also like Coach purses (huge weakness of mine)and I buy those at thrift stores, too. I'm talking the vintage Coach purses that are all leather, none of that fabric stuff. I haven't bought one in a while cos I have enough and I don't normally use a purse but when I do, I take out one of my vintage purses and I dress up nice and I feel pretty awesome. Waxed eyebrows, upper lip, and Coach purse, that's me.

So do other people look at me when I pull out my food stamp card from my Coach purse and raise their eyebrows? Probably. I'm kind of cringing anyway, cos even though I know I shouldn't be embarrassed by using food stamps, I still am. That's a post for another day.

But I would very much appreciate it if people didn't judge me by MY appearance. And not make assumptions.

And I'm sure that the lady in front of me looking all glammed up would appreciate it very much if I didn't judge HER by how she looks and not make assumptions.

It's like this: being poor sucks. It's hard balancing bills and paychecks and Peter paying Paul and all that nonsense. It's hard asking for help from Chosen Family and friends when the boys want to do extra things and I don't have enough to cover it. I cry late at night when I barely scrape by at the end of the month and wish I could get that little extra thing for my boys because they, too, bear the burden without complaint for the most part. They are pretty darn good at waiting to get something they really want and they understand that money does NOT grow on trees or from my pocket book.

So every now and then, I like to dress up nice. I like to spend $19 and feel pretty and put together. I like to go out and not "look" poor. It raises my self esteem and I can hold my head high. I should, anyway, of course...but I think it's pretty clear that being poor is along the lines of being invisible. And God forbid if a poor person wants to look nice. Wants to have some status symbols.

We're supposed to be down trodden and miserable and, oh, grateful, and hey! How DARE we NOT look the part? Why, we don't deserve the help we're getting then.

Please. Bite me.

So after thinking about my own assumptions and judgments, I can definitely say that I'm not going to look at anyone ever again and sneer. Instead, I'll say, "you really look nice." I've done that before and the smile I've received and the sudden glow from the person makes me feel good, too.

And it doesn't matter that we're both poor, that we're both using food stamps to make sure our family has enough to eat every month--we're one human to another, recognizing the effort put forth to feel good about one's self.

And that, I think, is what really matters.



K.

Spoons

I have heard about the Spoon theory before and without reading the blog post, I understood it when it was summed up to me.

To wit, this post was written for those who "don't look sick." I'm talking about people with illnesses that strike and affect a person inside out. Fibro, rheumatoid arthritis,Chrohn's disease....those sorts of things that, when flaring, make a person's life hell.

Add to this list the mental illnesses that also can level a person with hardly any effort and it's a formidable list.

People who have these illnesses are given a limited number of "spoons." Each spoon represents doing ONE thing and once those spoons are used up, game over for that day. It doesn't matter what time of day it is or if there is anything more to be done....a person is tapped out and has to rest. There is no pushing one's self because one has all ready been pushed to the limit.

There are days when I have more spoons than other days. Those days, I can go around and do things but I have to be aware that if I push myself too hard, if I don't keep track of my spoons, I'm well and truly fucked.

Yesterday was one of those days. And I ran out of spoons but I kept pushing myself.

Last night, when I went to bed, I was beyond exhausted. I had to keep going and I made myself when that inner voice said, "Stop! Please, stop!" and I said, "I can't. I HAVE to do this. I have to do that."

I was hit by the Darkness and oh boy....all my spoons were gone. I had no energy and I laid there, crying, because I didn't know how to make It stop screaming at me. But, like any good veteran, I always have one spoon in reserve.

I tapped into Bear and Bear told my Awesome Guy what was going on and he held me and helped my mind calm down and helped me get through the worst of it. I pushed the Darkness back...PUSHED that Motherfucker back as HARD as I could until I could shut It down again...or at least, enough so that I could sleep. Sleep is a depressive's friend....it gives me my spoons back and the energy along with them to get through the day and do what must be done.

Today, I have a few spoons. Not as much as I wish I had but that means I just am careful. I have to buy shoes with my Galoot. I have to complete my study guide for my Health class. I have to do one errand with my roommate. After that, I rest and keep my energy in reserve; I can feel the Darkness breathing and waiting for an opening and I'd rather not. I have to be careful and cunning and keep a careful count.

I'm not sure when I'll have more spoons or when I'll feel as though I have limitless spoons (that's an illusion that I've pushed much to my regret). I know that because of my Illness, I don't "look sick." And I hide it as much as I can--most people don't know that there are days when I think about hurting myself every few minutes.

This is why I treat everyone I meet (especially strangers) with kindness. I don't know if they, too, are a fellow Spoon person. I can't tell just by looking at them if they're "sick" or hurting inside (although, I can usually feel the emotional stuff). I have learned that judging by appearance cheapens me and should be strongly discouraged.

After all, look at me. I don't look sick today. I'll take a shower and dress in nice clothes, and you couldn't tell that inside, I am crying and crying and keeping it together by sheer will and habit.

It'll be OK. I hopefully will feel better tomorrow. I'm just going to be careful today. I have about six spoons at my disposal. I hope to have more tomorrow.



K.

What's up with that?

So tonight, my youngest son and I were walking into Walgreen's when he asks me a really interesting question. He wanted to know why most of the songs today were about "sex, drugs and money." That stopped me.

I looked down at him and said, "I think it's because those songs sell. People listen to them and buy the music."

"Huh," was his reply.

I do like my pop music. I also like dance music and techno and stuff that makes me want to shake my tail feathers. I always have and I probably always will. So I'm pretty in tune with what's currently popular these days and boy....it's a far cry from the songs of my parents' generation.

I remember when "Wake Up Little Susie" was a shocker. I mean, look at those lyrics! They fell asleep at the movie show and now, boy oh boy....trouble!

And let's not forget Olivia Newton-John's song, "Physical" which was...um....stimulating, indeed. I remember when stations wouldn't play the song and it was banned and there was this HUGE outcry. What filthy lyrics!

Hah. Hah hah....hah....what would those people think of the songs today?

Let's see. We have Rihanna singing about "S and M" in the song with the same title. We have another group of men singing about the "backseat" and yet another man singing about "loving you" in the clean version but the explicit version is more blunt: change the verb to the F word instead.

And boy, those explicit versions are explicit. There's the F word. The B word. The Ass word and even sexual organs are named. I think the naysayers from the sixties and seventies would dead away faint if they listened to the lyrics.

Which brings me to another thing. What in the world is up with this Autotune business? T-Pain sounds all right but he can actually sing. It seems as though Autotune is a tool to give even the worst rapper a sideass way to carry a "melody", as laughable as that is. It's getting to the point where my sons and I groan when a song comes on and it's almost all Autotune. Bleagh.

As for drugs, it seems that I should be smoking a joint or a blunt these days to be sexy and all that. Mostly, weed is the drug of choice in songs but alcohol is also strongly suggested. After all, as Jamie Foxx sang, "Blame it on the Alcohol" when it comes to dumbass behavior. Gosh, that's an example to set, isn't it?

And then there's the money. I know that's part of the appeal of the glamour but ye gods. Money money money....and the stuff money can buy. All that bling and status stuff.

My boys and I talk about the songs we listen to. I have them listen to songs that aren't about the money or the sex or the drugs. My current favourite songs are by Taylor Swift and by Janelle Monae and by P!nk. Empowering songs and by women in different musical genres. That's pretty sweet.

So I'm glad my youngest son brought up his astute observation. It gives me the opening to tell him that even though some songs are about sex and drugs and money...there are plenty of good songs out there that aren't. And it's OK to like a song because of the music or the beat and the bass. But it's OK to say, "I like the music but NOT the lyrics because they're degrading to women/gay people/minorities."

I think it's important to not shame our kids if they like songs that we aren't comfortable with--it's important to find out why they like the song so much. And then, it's crucial to talk to them about the message the song is putting forth--so they, too, can say, "I can embrace this whole song" or "I'm not OK with this part of it" or even "I won't listen to this song because I don't want to support any part of it at all."

As for me, I'll keep on listening and singing along and keeping track of the music my boys are listening to. It lets me keep a pulse on what they think and feel. And if I can dance around the house to it, that's not necessarily a bad thing, either.


K.

So this is what it feels like? Bleagh.

I tried today to eat like I would if I were dieting. Or watching my caloric intake.

I have decided that I'd rather be happy and eat what I like and go for walks than sit there and eat these portions that are fit for small birds.

I have also decided that the real reason some people who are super skinny are in such a bad mood most of the time is because they're *starving*. Seriously, how in the HELL can you concentrate when your body is saying, 'look. Just put a goddamn cheeseburger into me, would ya? Or a shake. Just one freaking shake.'

And they're going, 'noooo...because if I don't watch my weight, I'm going to be undesireable and called fattie and I won't ever be able to wear a bikini or something like that ever and I will just die of shame.'

Wow. No wonder these people walk around with either a half glazed look on their face or else a grump that would impress Eeyore.

Granted, I'd like to be as thin as I was about four years ago. I'm not. I've seen pictures of myself when I was in my early twenties and I could cry. But I won't.

See, the thing is, I'm fed up. (no pun intended) I'm fed up with these airbrushed photos of women. I'm fed up of the way people are made to feel when they get old. I'm fed up with how society shoves aside our elders and instead fixates on the young, the shallow, and the physically attractive.

Seriously?

I've mouthed this before but this time, I mean it. I'm OK with getting wrinkles. I'm OK that I am not super thin. I'm OK that I have grey in my hair and that I'm beginning to show some signs of aging. Yeah, I do grimace a bit from time to time and I have been known to examine myself in a mirror to see exactly where those lines are forming but overall, I remind myself that I am buying into what the media wants me to believe and I am so against that.

My Awesome Guy Loves me for me. He doesn't care that I don't look like I did four years ago. My sons Love me for me. My friends and Chosen Family Love me for me. It's true, you know...the people who really matter don't give a rat's ass if you fit into a size 2 or a size 24...they Love YOU.

So this was a grand experiment today. I will eat healthy, yes. But I'm not going to starve myself to be "thin." I want to be the role model my sons emulate and more importantly, I want to be the kind of woman they want their future mate to be like: someone who is comfortable in her own skin, no matter what her age or weight.

I am going to still go on walks and I think I'll do some Wii fit because it's good to be toned and healthy to encourage longevity...I want to be around here for a while. But to do all of that and starve myself so that I can look like every other miserable woman who bought into the Bullshit?

No, thanks. I'll pass.

But pass me that cheeseburger, please. And some fries on the side.

It's good to be me.



K.

When the Darkness rolls...

I was 17 when I was diagnosed with bipolar.

I can remember it starting when I was 12. It flared when I was 14. And from there on, it has been part of my life, over half my lifetime now.

I don't have strong manic episodes. They usually consist of me unable to sleep so I read. Or get up and do housework. Or watch movies. My mind agitates. I can't sleep because I have thoughts rushing up and down the expressways of my mind and I can feel them whooosh up and down, back and forth, like race cars. It is a bit disturbing and I am grateful when they slow down, when my mind stops spinning, and I can sleep.

But those are nothing compared to the depressive episodes. When the Blackness hits (a term I've used for my depression), things slow down. I move slower, I talk slower, I think slower. Somebody dumped molasses into my think tank and it gums up the works. Those days, I take slow, deep breaths and do what needs to be done but I don't push myself. I know that I need to take the time to let my chemistry balance itself and if I exhaust myself, that puts me square into another danger.

The Darkness comes. The Darkness (which is my suicidal thoughts) is awful. It's insidious and remorseless. It washes over everything, mutes everything in my head, shuts down as much as It can. Some days, I don't hear it. Not much. Just a subliminal murmur that I can ignore as I go about and enjoy the day. When the Blackness hits, that murmur gets pushed up a few notches. I can still ignore the Darkness, it's harder, but I concentrate on eating well and sleeping and not triggering anything if I can help it.

Once the Darkness is in full effect, that murmur becomes a full out roar, a scream, a rush of noise that overshadows and overwhelms. Its goal is to grind me down, to tire me, to make me pick up the blades and end it. When the Darkness is calling, I won't touch the knives in the house. I am not in a good place in my head and I know now, that I can tell my Awesome Guy and he will hold me while I cry and while I fight and while I push back as hard as I dare to. Exhausting myself emotionally is just a very bad idea.

So I push back. I try to Remember that this will pass. The Darkness will again fade away to almost nothing and I will be here, still. There are people who DO Love me. They Love me for me. I don't have to hide who I am. Or be someone I'm not.

I try and Remember this while I'm lost in the fog in my mind and all I can hear is the Darkness screaming at me. I do have One Weapon, though.

I call Him Bear. He is the sum and substance of my subconscious and my inner strength and wisdom. He is the entirety of my Soul and my Guardian of the Gates. He treads the Garden Paths inside and sends me Bear Dreams, rich with magic and wisdom. I don't get those often but I recognize them when I do. Bear resides deep inside and when I am at my wit's end, He comes out, lumbering, His great grizzly form rearing up to full measure and I retreat, letting Bear deal with the Darkness.

Bear does so with grace and strength. He pushes It back. He has no patience for the lies nor the knife edge and He gives me the breathing space I need to gather my resources and shut It down.

I am exhausted after a fight with the Darkness. I sleep a lot. I am fragile emotionally and am prone to tears until my equilibrium catches up with me.

The Darkness tells me that I am alone. It says that no one would care if I left. It says that I would be a good riddance as I am nothing but a burden to those who Love me and that it would be a relief when I'm gone. It says that I am Worthless. It says so many things that have hurt me ever since I was small.

Bear says that these are all Lies. Lies and things people have told me because they wanted to hurt me, because they wanted to control me, because they could not accept me for who I am and that I could not be what they wanted me to be. Bear says that I need to continue to fight and that I need to let others know that they're not alone when they hurt inside and when their own Darkness comes calling their Name.

When I am doing Ok, when I can feel the sun shine inside of me, I don't believe the Darkness one moment. I know the Lies for what they are and I can dismiss them easily. They are but shadows in the sun.

It's when I'm not doing Ok, when the Blackness has twisted my perception and the Darkness is waiting in the wings, that's when it's easier to think that perhaps I'm just being delusional. Perhaps I am lying to myself.

Today is a good day. My head is clear, my wrists don't ache (a sign that my chemical balance in my body is gone awry) and I don't hear the whispers very much at all. I'm taking it easy today. I will probably nap later on and make sure that I keep my resources as full as I can.

I am so very grateful for the people who Love me. I am so very grateful for my friends who are there for me, when I feel alone. I have my sons and my Awesome Guy and a great great roomie who understands my struggles and I am enriched so much by the people in my life.

The Blackness and the Darkness seek to isolate, this I know. I think it's important for people who fight it, to seek out just one person to talk to. I think it's important for those who Love us who fight, to let us know that they're here for us, that they will hold our hand,lead us out or walk beside us until we can walk away.

I write about this because I want people to know they're not alone in the Good Fight. There is nothing to be ashamed of. There is always hope. There is always Love.

Don't believe what the Darkness tells you. The Darkness is a Lie.



K.

Part II: Consequences and Actions

This wasn't the blog post I was going to write. But I think it's important.

In South Africa, there recently was a meeting of government officials and other people to discuss "corrective rape." Yes, I didn't write that wrong.

For those of you not in the know, corrective rape is when a lesbian is raped by a man or men (!!!) to "change" her to becoming heterosexual. I kid you not.

This has been going on for YEARS and until only recently has received the international attention it should have and now the government is going, please stop barraging us with petitions to stop this and we'll do something about it.

I am, grimly, pleased. Stop petitioning for this awful crime to cease? Sure 'nuff. When the government stops the actions legally. When the women who have been raped are provided free medical and psychological care. When these men are put behind bars for their actions.

Rape is a controlling device. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. It's not sex. It's not seduction. It's certainly not something done to let a woman (or man) know that they're desireable.

Rape hurts. It physically hurts. It psychologically hurts. The damage can go on for years. The body heals. The mind, on the other hand, takes time and sometimes, it never does heal. PTSD is a bitch.

I know these things because I've been raped. I've been raped more than once and I've been raped by men I thought I could trust--boyfriends and friends. I've been sexually assaulted too but that's a whole different kettle of fish. It was thisclose to rape but I managed to avoid actual penetration. Everything else was up for grabs, shall we say.

A while ago now, there was a person on Etsy who had designed a card which was supposed to be funny. Except the picture on the front wasn't so funny. It was a photo of a woman sitting in a shower, nude. Her eyes were blank. Her position was as fetal as one could get, for sitting in a shower. The point of the card? "Congratulations! You've been bad touched."

Yeah....that...triggered the hell out of me. See, after a woman has been raped, she's not to take a shower. That destroys evidence, see. I knew that. So even though I wanted to take a shower, I didn't. I waited. Waited for seven HOURS because I wanted my boyfriend at the time to be there when the police came so I waited with my rapist's smell on me and his semen inside of me. I felt....well, I wanted a shower so badly but I wanted this man to be nailed to the wall. So I waited.

Afterwards, I got into the shower. I may have sat down in it. I know I scrubbed myself obsessively clean. I know I cried. I hurt. I hurt so badly.

A person can logically point out to me that the person who made this card has rights under the First Amendment. This is correct. A person can point out to me that I don't have to buy this card. This is also correct. A person can also say that I shouldn't let this affect me as it did and at that point, I am going to tell said person to take a long walk off a short pier. (I'm being nice).

Every rape I endured, I told myself I'd get through it. I'd survive and go on. Every rape I recovered from, I told myself that I am not at fault for it. I didn't ask for it. I sure in hell didn't deserve it.

And I am a survivor. I'm an advocate. I'm here for other women and men who have gone through this kind of hurt and hell and I can tell them that it is OK. That they're not worthless and they're not objects and they have the goddamn right to be as angry and sad and whatever else emotion they feel and they have the fecking right to tell others, this is NOT OK.

I, of course, signed the petition for the leaders of South Africa. I signed the petition for Etsy to stop the making of this card, First Amendment rights be damned.

It needs to start with one. One person who will be vocal and will not stop until their voice is heard.

My hats are off to the brave women of South Africa who brought this to our attention. My hats are off to the men and women who are there for rape victims and who work to make sure that the rape culture that pervades our society and the world is pushed back, is slowly eliminated.

These are signs of hope. I hope one day that it doesn't matter what the circumstances are. Rape is rape. And people who respond to that for what it is.



K.

So, how's that working out for you?

Wow.

College is intense. Not that I didn't know it wouldn't be but I am up to my ears in homework and making sure my assignments are due on time and all of that and boy.

Hi, how are you? I haven't talked to you in AGES.

I am, however, going to write in this blog at least once a week because the writing is my way to let the stress out and if I don't write, I'm a gonna blow like a tea kettle.

How are things going? Well, let me update you.

College Writing II is about writing a Research Paper. Gah. The good thing is that I get to choose the topic. The other good thing is is my teacher is pretty cool. That plus I have somehow been adopted by some highschool girls who are taking this class. They are on the danceline and they come from practice to the school so they have their hair all done up and are kind of adorable. God, I feel old.

At any rate, I have about nine articles to read and highlight and write on index cards (I was way proactive and bought 300 of the Motherfeckers) This is Writing!!!

I also am doing interviews. I have one set up for tomorrow afternoon and am scheduling another for this weekend. Booya!

Math for Dummies is going reasonably well. I get the concepts and thus far, I'm pulling an "A" in the class. I got an "A" on the first big test so now I've changed the name of the class to Math for Hopeful Geniuses. Yes, I hope big time that I can keep my "A". We shall see. Thanks to an awesome tutor and a teacher who really breaks it down, I'm doing pretty good. We're working on fractions right now.

Intro to Sociology is a hoot. I have a professor who is blunt. How blunt? He had us write down the keys to doing well in this class. It was: RTFQ and RTFB. Which stands for Read the Fucking Question and Read the Fucking Book. Awesomesauce. It also helps to Read the Fucking Syllabus correctly as last time, I misread it and was expecting a lecture but no, it was the first exam. Feck and feck. I hope I got a "B" but I might have pulled a "C". I'm not going to let myself get messed up like that again.

My Health class is interesting. It's a Health and Drugs class that's almost entirely online and since I regard this class as a "class" I am being very very good about doing my work ON TIME. I took the first big test there and scored 39 out of 40 so that made me pretty darn happy! That plus I'm turning in all my work and getting "A's" so we shall see.

What this means, however, is I have no social life. I study each night. I do the boys' activities with them. I take my Big Guy to cello lessons on Tuesday nights. He also has Boy scouts twice a month. I have a Committee meeting to go to (which I haven't been able to but will start up soon) once a month for Boy scouts.

My youngest is finishing up Cub scouts. I am pushing myself to make it through until mid March when he graduates from Cub scouts and goes on to Boy scouts. Whew. Until then, I am his Den Leader, the Awards Chair, and also am supposed to go to Cub scout Committee meetings (I have pretty much failed at that since I began spring semester).

I do keep in touch and I do my duties as a Den Leader and Awards Chair so I don't think people can say too much about it. It'll just be much easier when I'm only involved in the one Scouting activity.

Then, we have other stuff going on and they need their Momma time and my Awesome Guy needs his Us Time and I kind of need some Alone time. Somehow, I make it all work.

It just gets....tiring. Is it worth it? Oh, hella yeah.

But yeah. And now, it's time for bed. I've run around a good portion of the day getting Things Done and now I need to get some sleep. I have two classes tomorrow and that interview so I best be sharp for all of it.


K.