Ghosts of my Past and Other Trite Titles

My therapist gave me some homework to do this weekend, wherein I was to list all of the traumas I have survived and then explore the feelings associated.  He (therapist) has suggested that I am detached from those emotions as a coping mechanism, and he is not the first to make that statement.  He is also right, and it is up to me to break through that barrier.  When certain people experience traumas, some of us file those moments away in our minds as something akin to a movie once seen on late night teevee; it didn't really happen to us, so we don't really have to face it.  Unfortunately, these moments never go away.  They ripple out into our lives for a long, long time, and if we stubbornly refuse to digest them then our every decision is skewed as a result.  Or so I've found.  I, like my father, am a compulsive list maker.  Outlining, numbering, bullet-pointing - these are the comforting routines for organisation in my life.  This list I've made today is not a comforting list.  It is on one hand a sad and scary account of a hard life; on the other hand it is a testament to strength and resilience.  I survived rapes, I survived molestations and I survived physical and mental abuse.  Goddammit, I survived.  That is something to be proud of, no?  But I can't be completely proud, because this shit all happened.  It was no story book, it was no late night movie on the teevee, it was my life. It still is, actually.

This morning, my husband left to go to work and returned one minute later to tell me that someone broke into his work van and stole his GPS unit.  Not the thousands of dollars worth of electrical equipment he carries for his job, not the cds, not the sundry other items worth more than the van - just the GPS.  Two neighbors in our building have apartments facing the van, and there is no doubt that they heard his alarm going off whenever it occurred, but they didn't do anything... they didn't say anything.  They let it happen.  What is wrong with this world?  No one wants to risk a moment of their time to help another human?  Le sigh, true believers; le sigh.  Had one human stepped up to help me in my times of dire need, maybe I wouldn't be so scared of men, so fearful of disapproval and so yearning for acceptance.  Maybe I would be strong enough to face my past head-on, instead of in a dodgy little list.

Not really a Bitch, per se...

Today I ran into an old friend from High School at the local TJ's.  The last time we saw one another, I was using my cane to get around and she was working there.  Today, I was in my wheelchair and my husband was pushing me around in the store as we hunted for suitable noms.  I saw my old friend and said hey! and when she turned around, it was obvious shock on her face.  She asked how I was and what was with the wheels, so I briefly explained that my conditions had deteriorated in the past few years.  After a very awkward few moments, we said goodbye and I rolled back to the man.  Since I don't go out very often (aside from visits to my Mommala and Gran's house), I forget sometimes that others aren't used to seeing me in Good 'Ol Jack Burton*, so there is always a moment of discomfort.  I'm glad it happened, though, because it was a lesson to be gentle and pleasant, calm and cheerful in these situations.  It seemed to make it easier on her, and on me as a result.



* Good 'Ol Jack Burton is the name of my wheelchair (each one I've had, actually).  If you've ever seen "Big Trouble in Little China", you'll know who I mean and if not - go rent it this week.  80's cheesy kung-fu action with Kurt Freakin' Russell.

Small Victories

Remember that piece of shit I mentioned previously, the woman who faked her disabilities to get money?  Stupid bitch.  Well, we have vindication!  It is nice to see the government stepping in to stop liars from getting benefits they don't deserve, but I'd like to see the government start giving benefits to those to do deserve them.  Just sayin'. 

Still, though, this is a wee little victory in my book.  Now if I could just figure out how to de-brain the shithead upstairs neighbor, I'd be in business.