The rain, rain, rain stopped, and a beautiful sun appeared while it got chilly quickly. If this were the new weather pattern for the coming years, I would be happy enough, but it seems to be the old weather pattern, before the unending drought appeared. I think the drought will come back.
But let's be happy together this morning. The New Adventurers are here right now, and run about with reckless abandon. They made a friend smile yesterday, over coffee, and what better job have they done for me? I need them, too. But I am resolved, no matter my anxiety as to their future, not to keep them. I think they have someone to make them very happy, who waits for them. That's my kitten prayer.
I should have gone to therapy yesterday, and didn't. It's something in my head, that I am not prepared to discuss at the moment, and may not reach the blog. I try to give as much information as I can about my disorders, a first hand account, to promote understanding while I reserve enough of my own boundaries to keep my sanity. A violated boundary, by another, or even oneself, is a truly terrible thing.
It seems to me to be a deep matter, that of boundaries, but it's bound to be cultural and changeful. What seems to be an inviolate part of my person, a very real acknowledgement of my right to some portion of human dignity, is a very needful thing to a person with MI's, or mental 'illnesses'. Especially since a good many live in poverty: everyone, government, one's neighbors, relatives, want to know what is done with 'the money'. How are resources expended?
My life is stripped bare on government forms. Do I have a vehicle? Any remnant of previously having had money? I must be utterly destitute, for the government to start helping me. I understand the rationale behind that way of thought. I have paid taxes most of my life, and pay them today.
The point I think about is this one, obviously. People with MI's are targets. Not only does the government, society, want to keep us at a certain level of poverty, but we are targets for those who have always had targets...the stalkers, thieves, con-artists, those without conscience.
Back to government forms and societal norms: it's especially poignant that there exists a level of poverty that is acceptable. For instance, $10 here or there, and one loses food stamps. No gain is possible. There is no way to save for a car repair, or buy organic food. If one makes too much, one loses healthcare. In society's eyes, I feel that one is asked to wear the marker of poverty, so that one can be seen and dealt with. Profiling, as it were.
I have found, especially on places like Facebook, open, naked hatred of those who live with MI's, or in poverty. Those who receive public assistance, are particularly targeted. Although, mercifully, most of those who post that rubbish have unfriended me.
And yes, yes, yes, I do know those who live with public assistance, who are irresponsible with their money. Some people are, poor and rich alike. It is a lot to ask: to look and be treated, and buy with the same respect that the middle class have.
One really pays with TIME. Modern conveniences, fast food, quicker cars are luxuries Americans of all classes have come to expect. But the poor are denied that luxury in most ways. The poor "shouldn't" be able to grab a quick meal, as they run about their daily lives, which are just as busy, if not busier than others. Because they are expected to expend their lives, and pay with time, what cannot be bought with money.
For instance, instead of a quick burger at McDonald's, a person of limited income is expected to cook at home, and somehow keep it with one at all times, in case hunger and inconvenience strikes, or there is a delay in schedule. It takes 10 minutes to pick up a burger. It takes 4 hours to cook a pot of beans. Or an hour to cook some chicken. And the toys they give out with the apple slices in the kid's meals. Should poor children really expect toys? After all, they are "welfare babies" and can't expect any more than that...upon which time we may castigate their generation.
They do have an easy out: selling drugs, or weapons, or sex slaves or whatever the market calls for.
And yes, now I rail on about injustices. I mind life under a microscope. I don't like to ask for help in the first place. And then to be judged for it, is too much for my borderline mentality to handle. I never wanted to be in a car accident, or raped, or assaulted by a coworker. Where is the justice in that?
It was supposed to be a happy morning. And I am not unhappy. In a very sad way, I have my "things"; I have reminders of how much I used to mean, materially. I have my nicest clothes, still, and my best furniture. I have good shoes that will last for many years.
I have to say that the source of this rant, is having used my food stamps card at the grocery store yesterday. Ok, Kroger. I will tell you that I shop Kroger because it is a union grocery store. I don't like to shop Wal-Mart because of their labor practices. But I stick out much less at Wal-Mart, using my EBT card, than I do, at Kroger. In fact, I once had a manager at Kroger, poor man, try to teach a young clerk a lesson about how to mind his business when a customer used food stamps to pay for food. Unfortunately for the manager, and the clerk, the customers who stood in line, and myself, being brought to attention in front of others like that, singled out, triggered a dissociative episode for me. All the poor man said was, "Exactly why do you get food stamps?"
I suppose that he expected me to point out that it was none of anyone's business. Thus would have ended the lesson. But no, I told everyone, very loudly and clearly, exactly the most excruciating, and embarrassing events of my MI's. The rapes, and by whom. And once triggered, I could not stop. The boy actually ended up with the dry heaves.
So now, every time I walk into any Kroger, and I go to that one particularly, almost every day, I am reminded of what I consider to be a most horrible and devastating event. I feel the same way walking into my bank. It's just too many people, with too much information, that I would not willingly divulge to anyone. So much of our self worth is tied to money, and the jobs we hold that provide it.
I have friends that do not target me for what they can get. Being mentally ill and poor is to be a target for the rapacious, as well, as men used to move on a battlefield, stripping the dead of anything useful. I have my mind, my values imbued by my class, and my education. They are all markers of "what used to be." They are the star on my lapel, my red robe with gloves, my beggar's hat.
I could go on and on this morning, and I have. It is a day for writing, and I would like to put some poetry together for the next Liminal reading, downtown. So I will leave you with the pleasant picture of my room: the four kittens, all grey, and fluffy, and precious, are settling on the bed covered with the wedding ring quilt, and the red, toile blanket. The patient, loving, gold-colored dog, snores by my side. He has to touch me to sleep.
And even this, is tinted with poverty. I would like to buy them Iams kitten wet food, not the adult cat food they eat.
But what should really matter, is that there is room to spare in my heart to raise them, and give them back up, so that they have a good life. What should matter, is the friends who worry about how I will feel, when I give them up.What does matter, is that all of my animals are rescue, and neutered and spayed, and well groomed.
What does matter, is the love I feel now that I am taking the correct anti-Evil pill. This is love that is blocked without the pills. I simply cannot see it. I am blind to love without the pills. I cannot imagine anything more terrible than to be blocked from love, simply by the twist of a brain injury. Can you?
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