I ran into a journal entry called Love List on the blog MotherLovely. For those of us with serious mother issues read the title again. It does NOT say motherly love, it says mother lovely. Anywhooo, the entry talks about looking around your house and noting things you love about your home. I like her idea for a number of reasons but for my purposes I’d like to change the angle a little bit and direct it to PTSD. She listed things in her home that she loves but I’d like to list things in my home that make me feel safe, secure, comforted and grounded.
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Today my legal council explained to me that when fighting off an attacker there is an alternative to pepper spray. She said the first down side to pepper spray is that it’s often accidentally sprayed in your own face instead of the attacker’s. Even when sprayed forward it can fly back in your own face hindering escape. Today I was told that a good alternative to pepper spray is wasp spray. Wasp spray has a more direct hit and unlike pepper spray, wasp spray requires medical assistance to be removed.
These questions aren’t psych related but female health related. I don’t know the answer to these questions and pretty much don’t have anyone to ask. If I have a cold I can go to my doctor and ask questions about snot. That’s covered by my insurance but I can’t go in and ask basic questions about my body and have it covered by my insurance. Heck, I could look up stuff on Google but who knows if the answer is right or not. I feel kind of stuck really cause I have so many embarrassing questions with so few answers. I have questions about sex, about my body, about love after 40 and a few questions about aging.
Here we go: I can’t believe I’m actually going to say these things then press publish. Gracious!
I have a serious hatred for cell phones. I see them and I mean to tell ya I just want to spit. I’m offended by them because everywhere you go someone has a damn cell phone attached to their ear. It seems like when they put the phone to their ear common courtesies disappear. Instead of making eye contact with the cashier or watching your kids, you’ve got everyone in line on the phone. People go up and down the isles talking just as loudly as possible on these little life interrupters. Heck, I have a friend that pisses me off because her phone rings every 20 min or so. I told her one time that we don’t ever have a moment together where it’s just two girls hanging out. It’s me, her and every person in the world calling or texting for the most mundane things. A two minute phone call every 20 min would get on anyone’s nerves. It seems everything comes second to that phone.
On Tuesday I cleaned a 1000 gallon fish tank for a person here in town. It took only a few hours because there wasn’t much to do. Taking it all in, looking at the sheer beauty and size took about 20 min so factor that in the time spent there. I mean to tell ya, WOW!!! That thing made my little 75 look like a toy.
People pay to have a lot done. They’ll pay to have their dog walked or their window’s washed, their house cleaned, etc, etc. I’ve never really understood that either. Heck, I’ll clean my own house. I enjoy it, so why would I bring someone else in to do it? Now with increased depression, Lupus symptoms and a host of other things I’ve come to appreciate the value of outside help. If I had the money I’d have someone come in every 2 weeks and clean my restroom, do detail vacuuming and dust from top to bottom. That would be most helpful. I figure I could keep up with everything else but those three things get away from me easily.
I do not take delight in seeing Lindsay Lohan walk this path nor did I find joy in watching Britney Spears fall down. I do not enjoy listening to Mel Gibson tear apart Oksana Grigorieva, nor do I sit in mocking judgment as I await the disastrous end to the unlikely marriage of Bristol Palin and Levi Johnston. I’m not pleased when others make mistakes or commit crimes but some are and they love it enough to market it and pass it off as news.
In commercials I see TV hosts use words like, “Exposé” and “investigation” when spewing the latest gossip they themselves started. I’m not even sure how this happens but it does, and it happens on prime time television. All that said, my actual rant isn’t about the gossip itself but about jobs created solely for the purpose of tearing down other human beings.
It’s important for human beings to connect and feel as if they belong. We want to know we aren’t alone and that what we’re going through doesn’t separate us from the rest of our peers. I believe this is why lists of famous people with disabilities are compiled. Since its Black History Month I decided to gather a list of African-Americans who have reported a disability or were a victim of sexual assault. As I gathered names and diagnosis I came upon several male survivors who are not black but I felt compelled to list them.
My lists include people we see on the big screen, in the news room, on the football field and in music halls. They are famous faces that fit in the crowd with no mark on their forehead saying, “I’m Bipolar” or “I’m Schizophrenic”. There are no scarlet letters written on the chest of these men and women marking them as abuse or rape survivors. Instead we see there faces and connect them with accomplishment. If we can see accomplishment in them maybe we can see it in ourselves.
Continue reading ‘Famous African-Americans with a Disability’
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