I have approval from my primary doctor, my psychiatrist, and my psychologist to proceed with plans to have both acupuncture and hypnotherapy.
My psychologist is all but holding my hand while I prepare. I'm optimistic, but the niggling anxieties are still poking me in the temple.
Will it work? Can I even be hypnotized? Can I afford it? How long will any results, if there even are any favorable results, last? What next if it doesn't work? What next when it does? And, the list goes on.
I can be certain of one thing, I will log my experience here; so someone else can have a clearer idea of what to expect all around, especially financially. I have to contacts to choose between based on my doctors' information.: Mercy St John's may have an affiliated alternative medicine facility (my primary doctor is checking into it for me) and Abba Anderson, a local reputable acupuncturist and hypnotherapist.
Now, we wait. Ugh, my parents named me Charity, not Patience; I am a terrible wait-er.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
"Depressed for no apparent reason" days
Ugh, today's one. I got up and within an hour went back down.
Depression headache, there's no other explanation, followed by tears and a worse headache, and finished with a full-blown migraine was my morning's dip in depression.
Huh, I wonder what one should call a depression in depression?
I closed the blinds, turned on a quiet fan, stripped and sipped on ice water very slowly so as not to shake my brain too much.
I carefully removed my ponytail-holder and gingerly brushed my hair.
Once all of that was done, I curled into the fetal position and prayed for peace.
Migraines, in my experience, hit when I am blasted by a bright light or go up in elevation too quickly. Today's culprit? The glare of the sun off the snow. I always take down the valance, pull up the blinds and enjoy the sunrise while I walk on my treadmill to my cardio mix. I burned calories, but I didn't get any in because nausea is the nature of the migraine beast.
So, I'm dizzy, photosensitive, audio sensitive, nauseous, crying silent hot tears uncontrollably, and I look like a pod person from the Matrix.
Not my best day.
But, my 2 1/2 year intense cognitive-behavioral-therapy kicked in and I emailed my Mother. I let her know, I'm at a 6 out of 10 (worst) on the depression scale. She came to the rescue with crab rangoon and Goobers.
We're going to watch the last ever Extreme Home Makeover Joplin, 7 Homes in 7 Days together.
I am depressed, and I am okay.
Depression headache, there's no other explanation, followed by tears and a worse headache, and finished with a full-blown migraine was my morning's dip in depression.
Huh, I wonder what one should call a depression in depression?
I closed the blinds, turned on a quiet fan, stripped and sipped on ice water very slowly so as not to shake my brain too much.
I carefully removed my ponytail-holder and gingerly brushed my hair.
Once all of that was done, I curled into the fetal position and prayed for peace.
Migraines, in my experience, hit when I am blasted by a bright light or go up in elevation too quickly. Today's culprit? The glare of the sun off the snow. I always take down the valance, pull up the blinds and enjoy the sunrise while I walk on my treadmill to my cardio mix. I burned calories, but I didn't get any in because nausea is the nature of the migraine beast.
So, I'm dizzy, photosensitive, audio sensitive, nauseous, crying silent hot tears uncontrollably, and I look like a pod person from the Matrix.
Not my best day.
But, my 2 1/2 year intense cognitive-behavioral-therapy kicked in and I emailed my Mother. I let her know, I'm at a 6 out of 10 (worst) on the depression scale. She came to the rescue with crab rangoon and Goobers.
We're going to watch the last ever Extreme Home Makeover Joplin, 7 Homes in 7 Days together.
I am depressed, and I am okay.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Retreat! Day 1 of my solo adventure...
I'm checking out of society and outings for 22 weeks and checking into myself. I need to focus on what I think, how I feel and what I want. No more pressure of what others expect or perceive as ideal or proper or acceptable. Just the satisfaction of knowing I'm having original thoughts and not being manipulated is fabulous
Friday, January 6, 2012
Once Upon a Time In Reality pg 5
Chernobyl blew all of us inside our flat for weeks...
While living in Neu Ulm Germany (pre-Berlin wall tear-down), a reactor at Chernobyl blew, devastating an entire country and sending much of Europe into a panic.
I was a toddler, with 5 older siblings. Children and non-essential US Army persons (spouses, civilians, children, pets, etc) were to stay inside our homes. Period. There was an eerie dust that settled over the entire city outside our window. If you've seen footage of 9/11, you know what it looked like. Scary thing? We were in a different country; so the devastation was of epic proportions.
With a potentially radio-active dust everywhere, we were all, all 7 of us: Mom, 3 boys and 3 girls, cooped up with no television - we didn't have one until 1990 -, no fresh air, no sunshine, and plenty of boredom.
Let's see, one of the boys had a sax, our oldest brother and sister had recorders, one boy knew how to play the piano, one sister could sing, and I had my toys and dolls - what? I was 4!. We also had several board games - it was the 80's! We were accustomed to playing Bible Trivia board games once a day as a family after Devotion, Bible Reading and Prayer as a family. Somehow, we managed to survive unscathed, God bless our Mom. Although I didn't envy the soldiers and clean-up crew outside. They had to wear hazmat suits and/or those huge gas masks that made them look like monsters to my little eyes.
Thankfully, our little city was spared any illness or harm.
Catch ya later!
While living in Neu Ulm Germany (pre-Berlin wall tear-down), a reactor at Chernobyl blew, devastating an entire country and sending much of Europe into a panic.
I was a toddler, with 5 older siblings. Children and non-essential US Army persons (spouses, civilians, children, pets, etc) were to stay inside our homes. Period. There was an eerie dust that settled over the entire city outside our window. If you've seen footage of 9/11, you know what it looked like. Scary thing? We were in a different country; so the devastation was of epic proportions.
With a potentially radio-active dust everywhere, we were all, all 7 of us: Mom, 3 boys and 3 girls, cooped up with no television - we didn't have one until 1990 -, no fresh air, no sunshine, and plenty of boredom.
Let's see, one of the boys had a sax, our oldest brother and sister had recorders, one boy knew how to play the piano, one sister could sing, and I had my toys and dolls - what? I was 4!. We also had several board games - it was the 80's! We were accustomed to playing Bible Trivia board games once a day as a family after Devotion, Bible Reading and Prayer as a family. Somehow, we managed to survive unscathed, God bless our Mom. Although I didn't envy the soldiers and clean-up crew outside. They had to wear hazmat suits and/or those huge gas masks that made them look like monsters to my little eyes.
Thankfully, our little city was spared any illness or harm.
Catch ya later!
Once Upon A Time In Reality pg 4
This is a small blip on my life's timeline, but I think it's worth mentioning if only for jokes.
I was a government test subject when I was 3 and living on the Neu Ulm Pershing Missile Base in West Germany (this was before the wall came down, and shortly before the reactor at Chernobyl blew).
My Mother took me in for a checkup and was informed that I was going to be part of a case study. My Mother was taken aback of course, and refused. She was then informed that if she didn't comply, I would no longer be insured. So, grudgingly, my Mother agreed.
Soon after that, I was a "healthy" test subject in an HIV medication study. The cool thing is, this was a big deal looking back. We were still learning about more than fighting HIV in the early 80's; so I feel proud to have been a lab rat for the sake of bettering and prolonging the lives of others by as much as 30 years.
I sometimes wonder if the prolonged effects of the drug, if there are any, are the reason I rarely get ill. I get the flu of some kind once every other year or so. Maybe it's karma, maybe it's the hygienic caution my Mother taught me :P
I was a government test subject when I was 3 and living on the Neu Ulm Pershing Missile Base in West Germany (this was before the wall came down, and shortly before the reactor at Chernobyl blew).
My Mother took me in for a checkup and was informed that I was going to be part of a case study. My Mother was taken aback of course, and refused. She was then informed that if she didn't comply, I would no longer be insured. So, grudgingly, my Mother agreed.
Soon after that, I was a "healthy" test subject in an HIV medication study. The cool thing is, this was a big deal looking back. We were still learning about more than fighting HIV in the early 80's; so I feel proud to have been a lab rat for the sake of bettering and prolonging the lives of others by as much as 30 years.
I sometimes wonder if the prolonged effects of the drug, if there are any, are the reason I rarely get ill. I get the flu of some kind once every other year or so. Maybe it's karma, maybe it's the hygienic caution my Mother taught me :P
Once Upon A Time In Reality pg 3
Please, allow me to emphasize: I harbor no hard feelings, resentment, or grudges for the abuse I experienced. Because I cannot forgive myself and leave others unforgiven, at least I can't, personally, and because I want to live a life free of chains, I have forgiven every single injustice. I will not forget, quite the opposite, I will remember so that I may never make the same mistakes or leave myself so vulnerable again. But, I have forgiven and moved on to better relationships with those people or removed myself from their world if I see a toxic person.
Also, some of this information came to me secondhand; so there is potential for bias. Some of this may be wrong, but I trust the sources.
I have a sibling who was wronged greatly by her biological parents and my father. Her father didn't want her, her mother abandoned her, then my father ignored her after choosing to adopt her. He had a daughter born before, let's call her "Jenny", and I who was his focal point. As you can imagine, Jenny was hurt deeply by this and it affected her behavior, outlook and relationships throughout childhood and her adulthood to a point. She deserved better. She deserved love. I wish I could go back in time and hold her, just hold her until all the tears are cried, the wales are screamed, and until she KNOWS she is loved unconditionally by at least me. We may be sisters by law alone, but the bond goes much deeper. Blood may be thicker than water, but love is stronger than blood. Period.
Because of her neglect, she was changed. What chances she had at happiness were denied and she hated my very existence. I could have had green hair and orange eyes and she still would've seen me as yet another "in her face" favorite or attended child before her.
There were days when our cousins witnessed her enticing me to place my tiny toddler hand between the door and the jamb so she could shut the door on it. There were often days when I would "accidentally" get my hands shut in our old Dodge Ram van doors while we washed and dried it as a family. Because of this and other incidents, I was locked in my room at night for my own safety, I always had to have my own room, and my big brothers ranging from 5 to 9 to 10 years older kept me close.
When I was around 10 years old, I looked over my shoulder. she wanted me dead, would show up at my Mom's house (after our parents divorce) drunk and threatening me with imminent death. My classmates made fun; they never knew how sad and scared I was 99% of the time. They made jokes, laughed, scoffed in disbelief, but never offered me their company as a sense of security. I felt so alone throughout my teenage years that I eventually attempted suicide. That happened 3 years from the first death threat.
I should jump forward to today. My sister and I have reconnected after a great loss that devastated us both. All is forgiven. We're moving forward as sisters, building a relationship anew and slowly so that it lasts throughout the next 50+ years of our lives.
After all the pain and trauma she was plagued with, how could anyone hate the child she was or not forgive who she was, when no one looked (or, in my Mother's case, she wasn't permitted to look)beyond the surface to the cause, how could anyone judge. Love, patience, empathy, these are what everyone in these situations need, not hate or judging or grudges.
She's my sister. Anyone who wrings her, wrongs me. She's my sister, in every way that matters <3
I know, I've rambled and left a few holes, but I'll only tell what I know from my own memory and from trusted sources when the topic involves me. I won't disclose if I wasn't involved.
Also, some of this information came to me secondhand; so there is potential for bias. Some of this may be wrong, but I trust the sources.
I have a sibling who was wronged greatly by her biological parents and my father. Her father didn't want her, her mother abandoned her, then my father ignored her after choosing to adopt her. He had a daughter born before, let's call her "Jenny", and I who was his focal point. As you can imagine, Jenny was hurt deeply by this and it affected her behavior, outlook and relationships throughout childhood and her adulthood to a point. She deserved better. She deserved love. I wish I could go back in time and hold her, just hold her until all the tears are cried, the wales are screamed, and until she KNOWS she is loved unconditionally by at least me. We may be sisters by law alone, but the bond goes much deeper. Blood may be thicker than water, but love is stronger than blood. Period.
Because of her neglect, she was changed. What chances she had at happiness were denied and she hated my very existence. I could have had green hair and orange eyes and she still would've seen me as yet another "in her face" favorite or attended child before her.
There were days when our cousins witnessed her enticing me to place my tiny toddler hand between the door and the jamb so she could shut the door on it. There were often days when I would "accidentally" get my hands shut in our old Dodge Ram van doors while we washed and dried it as a family. Because of this and other incidents, I was locked in my room at night for my own safety, I always had to have my own room, and my big brothers ranging from 5 to 9 to 10 years older kept me close.
When I was around 10 years old, I looked over my shoulder. she wanted me dead, would show up at my Mom's house (after our parents divorce) drunk and threatening me with imminent death. My classmates made fun; they never knew how sad and scared I was 99% of the time. They made jokes, laughed, scoffed in disbelief, but never offered me their company as a sense of security. I felt so alone throughout my teenage years that I eventually attempted suicide. That happened 3 years from the first death threat.
I should jump forward to today. My sister and I have reconnected after a great loss that devastated us both. All is forgiven. We're moving forward as sisters, building a relationship anew and slowly so that it lasts throughout the next 50+ years of our lives.
After all the pain and trauma she was plagued with, how could anyone hate the child she was or not forgive who she was, when no one looked (or, in my Mother's case, she wasn't permitted to look)beyond the surface to the cause, how could anyone judge. Love, patience, empathy, these are what everyone in these situations need, not hate or judging or grudges.
She's my sister. Anyone who wrings her, wrongs me. She's my sister, in every way that matters <3
I know, I've rambled and left a few holes, but I'll only tell what I know from my own memory and from trusted sources when the topic involves me. I won't disclose if I wasn't involved.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Once Upon A Time In Reality pg2
The baby, tho not a boy to be called Jr, she was so developed by the lapsed time that the doctor chose to pull her from the womb when she got stuck. As you can imagine, squeezing a fragile baby thru a too-small space will cause damage.
Her right hip was turned, but this wasn't discovered until months later, after the mother had purchased two pairs of every shoe; the doctor diagnosed it as "two left feet." infant shoes are monstrously expensive; so for a family of eight, on one Army paycheck, the cost hurt. Sadly, there's more.
Erb's Palsy. The trauma paralyzed, stunted and stiffened the baby girl's left arm and shoulder. A child's mind won't begin to recall memory until about age two, but for a mother, she never forgets her baby's pain. She, the mother, we'll call her "Nancy," was instructed to perform therapy on the infant girl daily: straightening the arm at the elbow, and the fingers of the tiny tight fist. The baby girl's nerves were so taught, straightening was stretching and felt nearer to tearing. So, baby screamed bloody murder every day. Imagine the trauma a mother experiences mentally and emotionally when her baby is suffering and she has to deny her protective instinct and cause the pain herself. I'll come back to this later; there was one other bizarre event at the birth.
The mother repeatedly told the doctor, "There's something different about this baby." But it fell on deaf ears. That is, until the I initial exam revealed a sight unseen until this child. She, the newborn baby girl, was born fully developed. --- !!!This is a bit graphic, if you're not an adult woman; so skip it if you are too young or too male to understand and/or not get sick!!! ---
Okay, I said full disclosure, but even I feel trepidation sometimes when divulging. Oy... Okay, fully developed may be an understatement. There were three key anomalies that occurred: she was menstruating, lactating (producing milk), and her breasts were enlarged. Even I go "Ick!" when I think about that. Anywho, the family pediatrician had a friend at MU who decided to use baby girl in a study that was ongoing, because this was the first case they'd heard of. Ever. (Ugh)
Okay! Moving on! All... "That" vanished within days I believe, but the Ern's Palsy reared it's ugly head for the next three months before a checkup revealed yet another oddity medical science had yet to grasp. Aye-aye-aye!
At baby girl's, okay! Charity's (thank You God for convincing my parents NOT to use the traditional Grandmother's namesake baby name of Mary Francis. I take back all the moaning about "Charity Churchmouse," "There's my favorite Charity; here's my donation (a penny usually)," and the slew of others). At this checkup, Nancy was anxious as always about her baby's condition. The insensitivity and carelessness of some nurses blows my mind. The nurse comes rushing out to Nancy and gasps, "What have you done to this baby???!!!???"
My Mother starts imagining the worse. (Had she hurt her baby during therapy???) Next thing Nancy knows, doctors and nurses are rushing over in groups to get a look at "The Erb's Palsy Baby" (why they refuse to use names around patients; so we at least think they care, I dunno).
Nancy is about to panic, she's already crying, when the nurse or the doctor came out to reiterate the question, not waiting for an answer, rushing on to say something along the line of, "The Palsy's gone! She's squirming and trying to roll over!"
No one was ever able to explain how the palsy healed literally overnight. Fine with me, I won't stare that gift horse in the mouth. I'm just grateful. So is my Mother.
13 years later, the very same arm would once again be paralyzed, but that's another chapter entirely.
Back at home, tempers began to flare when number six was born, and born gimpy. No one could hold her and she got most of the attention. When you have five children from three different parental pairs, somebody or more will not be happy.
With the palsy a non-issue, Charity was fair game for sibling rivalry to some. But, the abuse didn't begin- we think - until after she'd begun to walk. That's for next time.
For now, Mom and Dad are relieved and all outward appearances show a Brady/Walton-reminiscent family.
Til then
Her right hip was turned, but this wasn't discovered until months later, after the mother had purchased two pairs of every shoe; the doctor diagnosed it as "two left feet." infant shoes are monstrously expensive; so for a family of eight, on one Army paycheck, the cost hurt. Sadly, there's more.
Erb's Palsy. The trauma paralyzed, stunted and stiffened the baby girl's left arm and shoulder. A child's mind won't begin to recall memory until about age two, but for a mother, she never forgets her baby's pain. She, the mother, we'll call her "Nancy," was instructed to perform therapy on the infant girl daily: straightening the arm at the elbow, and the fingers of the tiny tight fist. The baby girl's nerves were so taught, straightening was stretching and felt nearer to tearing. So, baby screamed bloody murder every day. Imagine the trauma a mother experiences mentally and emotionally when her baby is suffering and she has to deny her protective instinct and cause the pain herself. I'll come back to this later; there was one other bizarre event at the birth.
The mother repeatedly told the doctor, "There's something different about this baby." But it fell on deaf ears. That is, until the I initial exam revealed a sight unseen until this child. She, the newborn baby girl, was born fully developed. --- !!!This is a bit graphic, if you're not an adult woman; so skip it if you are too young or too male to understand and/or not get sick!!! ---
Okay, I said full disclosure, but even I feel trepidation sometimes when divulging. Oy... Okay, fully developed may be an understatement. There were three key anomalies that occurred: she was menstruating, lactating (producing milk), and her breasts were enlarged. Even I go "Ick!" when I think about that. Anywho, the family pediatrician had a friend at MU who decided to use baby girl in a study that was ongoing, because this was the first case they'd heard of. Ever. (Ugh)
Okay! Moving on! All... "That" vanished within days I believe, but the Ern's Palsy reared it's ugly head for the next three months before a checkup revealed yet another oddity medical science had yet to grasp. Aye-aye-aye!
At baby girl's, okay! Charity's (thank You God for convincing my parents NOT to use the traditional Grandmother's namesake baby name of Mary Francis. I take back all the moaning about "Charity Churchmouse," "There's my favorite Charity; here's my donation (a penny usually)," and the slew of others). At this checkup, Nancy was anxious as always about her baby's condition. The insensitivity and carelessness of some nurses blows my mind. The nurse comes rushing out to Nancy and gasps, "What have you done to this baby???!!!???"
My Mother starts imagining the worse. (Had she hurt her baby during therapy???) Next thing Nancy knows, doctors and nurses are rushing over in groups to get a look at "The Erb's Palsy Baby" (why they refuse to use names around patients; so we at least think they care, I dunno).
Nancy is about to panic, she's already crying, when the nurse or the doctor came out to reiterate the question, not waiting for an answer, rushing on to say something along the line of, "The Palsy's gone! She's squirming and trying to roll over!"
No one was ever able to explain how the palsy healed literally overnight. Fine with me, I won't stare that gift horse in the mouth. I'm just grateful. So is my Mother.
13 years later, the very same arm would once again be paralyzed, but that's another chapter entirely.
Back at home, tempers began to flare when number six was born, and born gimpy. No one could hold her and she got most of the attention. When you have five children from three different parental pairs, somebody or more will not be happy.
With the palsy a non-issue, Charity was fair game for sibling rivalry to some. But, the abuse didn't begin- we think - until after she'd begun to walk. That's for next time.
For now, Mom and Dad are relieved and all outward appearances show a Brady/Walton-reminiscent family.
Til then
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Once Upon a Time in Reality...
... a father of 3 and a mother of 2 met at church and romance ensued. Not long after, a marriage and adoptions of their spouse's respective children occurred. Don't be mistaken, this is no Brady Bunch story, there was no smooth transition or sailing. Ever
Not long into the marriage, the father wanted a child; a boy, with dark hair and eyes to pass his heritage and name on to. No romantic notions now, it was more Henry VIII than "completing our family."
Sadly, pregnancy failed. But.
But, 3 years into the marriage, the mother was pregnant and quite large with it. Some thought "Twins" she was so large for her tiny 100pound frame. Needless to say, bed rest was ordered for the last month or so.
Being an Army family, the doctor wasn't the cream of the crop. He was Peruvian, trained and licensed in Peru, an immigrant who was re certified and licensed in the US. Think about it; some doctors who graduate are NOT at the top of their class. Someone has to be at the bottom...
Anyway, the due-date was misjudged and "false labor" weeks early, would've been "on-time."
Two weeks late by the wrong date, 4 weeks late in reality, a 23 1/2" tall baby girl with, Ha! black eyes and dark brown hair was pulled mercilessly from the womb.
She was damaged... by the pulling...
To be continued...
Not long into the marriage, the father wanted a child; a boy, with dark hair and eyes to pass his heritage and name on to. No romantic notions now, it was more Henry VIII than "completing our family."
Sadly, pregnancy failed. But.
But, 3 years into the marriage, the mother was pregnant and quite large with it. Some thought "Twins" she was so large for her tiny 100pound frame. Needless to say, bed rest was ordered for the last month or so.
Being an Army family, the doctor wasn't the cream of the crop. He was Peruvian, trained and licensed in Peru, an immigrant who was re certified and licensed in the US. Think about it; some doctors who graduate are NOT at the top of their class. Someone has to be at the bottom...
Anyway, the due-date was misjudged and "false labor" weeks early, would've been "on-time."
Two weeks late by the wrong date, 4 weeks late in reality, a 23 1/2" tall baby girl with, Ha! black eyes and dark brown hair was pulled mercilessly from the womb.
She was damaged... by the pulling...
To be continued...
Long sleeves, high necklines and long t's
4 months after my first and worst suicide attempt, I was still on steroids, heart and nerve medication. I was also riddled with gnarly red scars in places a bikini couldn't cover. I was self-conscious, but I have a strong Mother who encouraged me. Literally. She, through her warmth and devotion, gave me courage.
That summer, at church camp near Joplin MO, my best friend, we'll call her Tiff, and I walked happily, Sun-In in hand to "color" our hair (what were we thinking??), to the girls-only pool. Once there, we organized our things in cubbies, stripped to our bikinis and stepped slowly into the pool; so we wouldn't damage our hair with the pool water (yet our adolescent minds thought Sun-In wasn't damaging :P ).
At some point, I stepped out of the pool to get some water - I tired easily and became dehydrated quickly with the heat/exhaustion. As I walked back to the shallow end to rejoin Tiff, a girl I'd never met before approached me, "What are those scars from?" she exclaimed with a near-squeal. "I'd rather not talk about it," I answered, darting my eyes left and right with nowhere to side-step unless I wanted to dive into the pool. Looking back, maybe I should have. "Oh, okay! But, what happened?" She must be a reporter now, or she missed her calling, because she was good at rewording a question to wheedle out info. "I'm not comfortable talking about it," I reword myself.
This went on for another relay, and I was near tears. I was ready to just collapse onto the concrete and assume the fetal position; she'd drawn a crowd and my BF was at the other end of the pool, facing the opposite direction. These girls were talking around me and about me as though I were a maimed lioness in a glass zoo enclosure. I felt sick, terrified and humiliated; I was so exposed in my dinky little two-piece black and white polka-dot bikini, but I felt naked and spread out for observation at a freak show.
Just as the first tears began to silently, and hotly run down my face and neck, dripping onto the cement even, two upperclassmen, one from church and the other from both church and school, flanked me, standing just in front of each of my shoulders -- I needed to pause here; it always has me weepy with gratitude --
As, "Deborah" and "Tammy" flanked me like Amazon sentinels (I'm short and they're model tall and thin :P ), they said in curt, clipped tones, "She. SAID. She. Doesn't. Want. To. Talk. About it."
Huh, and that was all it took to hesitantly disperse the crowd of little hoydens.
I've never been so humbled, so flabbergasted, or felt so loved by any of the other upperclassmen growing up before or after.
I'd ;like to say, that was a one-time incident. I can't. When we got back home, "Tiff" and I went to a public pool one day. More than any of the oblivious murmurs, the forward questions hurt, direct spitting of insults and heckling stung like daggers hurled at my heart, where I was still so tender.
A woman had the gall to tell me to cover up, because I was frightening her children. Other mothers stared and glared as though I were a monster.
I never wore a swimsuit again. To this day, I cover up with a long t-shirt that skims mid-thigh; so ALL of my scars are concealed.
It hurts still. My own Grandmother tells me to cover the scar across my heart, left lung and part of my arm. She says it makes people uncomfortable. She said this nearly a year ago to me for the last time. I haven't had contact with her since. I let her know why.
There are toxic people out there who are so pitiful, they can only gain strength and power and amusement by poisoning us. Every time we willingly engage in contact with these people, we willingly down a shot of poison.
Once my psychologist, Bobbi, put it in those terms, I felt empowered and armed to make my move and get away.
I hope this horrific experience helps some other little girl (I was 13 at the time). I hope this lets some little girl know she's not alone and has someone who would stand between her and the poisonous bullies of this world. <3
-Charity
That summer, at church camp near Joplin MO, my best friend, we'll call her Tiff, and I walked happily, Sun-In in hand to "color" our hair (what were we thinking??), to the girls-only pool. Once there, we organized our things in cubbies, stripped to our bikinis and stepped slowly into the pool; so we wouldn't damage our hair with the pool water (yet our adolescent minds thought Sun-In wasn't damaging :P ).
At some point, I stepped out of the pool to get some water - I tired easily and became dehydrated quickly with the heat/exhaustion. As I walked back to the shallow end to rejoin Tiff, a girl I'd never met before approached me, "What are those scars from?" she exclaimed with a near-squeal. "I'd rather not talk about it," I answered, darting my eyes left and right with nowhere to side-step unless I wanted to dive into the pool. Looking back, maybe I should have. "Oh, okay! But, what happened?" She must be a reporter now, or she missed her calling, because she was good at rewording a question to wheedle out info. "I'm not comfortable talking about it," I reword myself.
This went on for another relay, and I was near tears. I was ready to just collapse onto the concrete and assume the fetal position; she'd drawn a crowd and my BF was at the other end of the pool, facing the opposite direction. These girls were talking around me and about me as though I were a maimed lioness in a glass zoo enclosure. I felt sick, terrified and humiliated; I was so exposed in my dinky little two-piece black and white polka-dot bikini, but I felt naked and spread out for observation at a freak show.
Just as the first tears began to silently, and hotly run down my face and neck, dripping onto the cement even, two upperclassmen, one from church and the other from both church and school, flanked me, standing just in front of each of my shoulders -- I needed to pause here; it always has me weepy with gratitude --
As, "Deborah" and "Tammy" flanked me like Amazon sentinels (I'm short and they're model tall and thin :P ), they said in curt, clipped tones, "She. SAID. She. Doesn't. Want. To. Talk. About it."
Huh, and that was all it took to hesitantly disperse the crowd of little hoydens.
I've never been so humbled, so flabbergasted, or felt so loved by any of the other upperclassmen growing up before or after.
I'd ;like to say, that was a one-time incident. I can't. When we got back home, "Tiff" and I went to a public pool one day. More than any of the oblivious murmurs, the forward questions hurt, direct spitting of insults and heckling stung like daggers hurled at my heart, where I was still so tender.
A woman had the gall to tell me to cover up, because I was frightening her children. Other mothers stared and glared as though I were a monster.
I never wore a swimsuit again. To this day, I cover up with a long t-shirt that skims mid-thigh; so ALL of my scars are concealed.
It hurts still. My own Grandmother tells me to cover the scar across my heart, left lung and part of my arm. She says it makes people uncomfortable. She said this nearly a year ago to me for the last time. I haven't had contact with her since. I let her know why.
There are toxic people out there who are so pitiful, they can only gain strength and power and amusement by poisoning us. Every time we willingly engage in contact with these people, we willingly down a shot of poison.
Once my psychologist, Bobbi, put it in those terms, I felt empowered and armed to make my move and get away.
I hope this horrific experience helps some other little girl (I was 13 at the time). I hope this lets some little girl know she's not alone and has someone who would stand between her and the poisonous bullies of this world. <3
-Charity
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