Live in America - Too Fast

What has happened to the block parties that I grew up with? Where did the weekend parties that happened in someone's garage go with the kids running perhaps a bit wild in the street? When I grew up I could tell you what family lived in every house on our block. I could tell you what houses were "safe" houses and which ones were a bit "weird" even though we all got together from time to time. Now as an adult - I don't even know who my neightbors are and I live in an apartment building. For help I have to call someone who lives 30 minutes away and she has to bring her 4 kids with her. God bless her for being in my life and mine in hers, but is that what we really want in America... to live next to strangers? To really have one person to call in case of an emergency. Used to be my parents could leave us at just about any house on the block at any time if something happened to someone. Now taking 3 kids with me to the ER has become common place. How sad is that for a country to have lost the love for each other. No more dancing in garages, no more banging of pots and pans on new years eve, no more bonfires at the beach with skin tight from a day of swimming and jackets and sweats on because the beach has cooled down and now we have a fire. Where have te celebrations of our lives gone? Our are worlds really that much better? Have they become that full that people don't take the time to send a card or letter just because they can... show care to people who need care just because it will make them feel good. Spending time down at the local pub just to talk wiht the older generations before all of those stories are gone. That is where the history of our country, the history of our being is... in the stories of the forgotten people. I ask you - when was the last time you really listened to a story with your heart instead of your ears... when was the last time you really processed a story of someone 80 years old and let that story change the path of the life you were living?

US Soccer

the US produces some fine soccer players, but I think they will never really have a world class team even though they have made it to the quarter finals in the world cup before. You see these other men start playing ball with a rolled up t shirt tied with string almost before they can walk... and they play on a rocky dirt patch, bare foot... soccer is born and bread into their blood. Does that mean US players have less heart? No just means we aren't raised with the attitude of play or die when it comes to soccer as we are in other sports of our country. Most of our players do play in for Eurpean teams throughout the season - but what about playing in our own country. I remember as a child going to professional soccer games with my mom and dad - now I don't even know where to find a professional soccer game in our country. Are the bars filled with spectators arguing about calls made by the ref? Nope? Basically no one truly has the heart to even watch a game and to put a heart in the game. If you go to Mexico, Argintina, England or Germany I guarantee you the bars were full, people were yelling - perhaps even arguing during the game - then sitting down and having a cold beer together for watching a fight well fought despite who wins are loses. It is about the game, the ballet played the tackles made - gthe beauty of the sport... the love of the battle. This country has that in football, perhaps baseball... but soccer - they just don't get it. The love of sport... the love coming from the heart and the battle goes on.

Home or House - Views of a Traveler

I was born and mostly raised in Huntington Beach, CA that will always be my home. That is the place where I remember the most about growing up, the place where I feel most connected to. From there we moved to Libya - that certainly wasn't a home, it was barely a house; it was survival and a hope for safety. From there we moved on to Wisconsin where we were for 7 years and moved 3 times. None of those houses even had a chance to become a home. At least under my definition of home. A home being where one is accepted with faults and strengths and unconditional love even when you completely screw things up; because lets face it we all do from time to time; but it shouldn't be the end of something it should be an opportunity to spur growth on - to make what people had just a bit better; a bit stronger. As an adult the longest I've lived in a general facility was in Guam; 9 years - 4 houses. The closest I ever came to a second "home" was with my mom and dad and I was 22. The first time I felt close to any one since being about 9. Then moving to Arizona we moved 4 times in 10 or so years... are there roots here to call home? No there are houses we have lived in; non of which have been full with unconditional love and support. Most filled with verbal and mental abuse. So now in search of a real home... a place where we can all screw up and life goes on; brings the family closer rather then throwing up walls. Doesn't really matter where a home is because it is a feeling not a place. So my chance at having a home again may for the moment be lost and gone. I can only hope that someday that feeling of home will come around again. In the mean time there is sadness, hurt, pain and canatonic lostness.

Standing True

So I've been reading a book about the fact that no one can steal your dignity or security unless you let them. Sounds easy enough in a book... but in real life it is much more challenging.

For example the other day I was approached by one of my ex's current or past girls friends (or screws - yes that was a dig) and she completely verbally attacked me. She accussed me of being a horrible person and a person not worthy of being a mother. I stood there and took it... I have her my dignity and security. So as I think back on the situation I try to analyze it and find the best way I could have handled the problem... this is what I have come up with 1) I could have punched her in the face and told her to mind her own fucking business (probably not the best option but atleast a reaction; 2) I could have told her how I raise my kids was my business and not hers (probably a better reaction; 3) I could have just gotten in my car and not spoken to her at all (probably the best option keeping the most amout of my dignity in tact.

Instead I took the beating which no one should have to stand for. That was 3 days ago, and reminds me how my ex-husband treated me. I wonder - have I really not grown at all? was I just caught that off guard? did I just not see it coming? or am I just that non-confrontational that I will avoid conflict at any cost to myself. Today is day three - I'm still recovering. For someone like me it may take two weeks to recover from an attack like that.

I need to remember my training and the things I learned and stand up for me - because I'm really the only one who has the ability to do so.

Peace,
G

The Dark Recess of the Mind and BiPolar Disorder

Usually my goal is to make light of my mental disability called Bi Polar 3, but today is a day to take a look at the dark side of the disorder. Yes, I am mentally ill. Yes, it has made it so at least for the time being I can no longer do the work I love so much. Yes, it has put me in the hospital three times in the last year - one stay for four days the others for ER sucidial watch. It means regular visits to the psychiatrist. It means trying different medications and trying to find a combination that works best to control the highs and lows of the disorder.

The lows look like me curled up on the floor in the fetal position crying for hours. There is no consouling me during these times, often my mind is unreachable as I'm no longer in control of my thinking processes. Is there an emergency plan in place in my house so when this happens we are all taken care of? Yes, it is called -get on the phone with my one and only best friend and get her ass down here as fast as possible; in the mean time my 11 year old daughter gives me my anti-anxiety medication to slow down my mind and allow myself to breath although I still stay on the floor crying.

Other times the lows are more dangerous and I have to stay in my room. I cannot go into the kitchen because I can't trust myself around knives. Or I can't even drive myself to the doctor because I know I won't get there or get home. These types of days hardly ever happen when my children are around as I know they can't see me in that type of situation or be involved in that kind of situation. So far I have been able to control those feelings. Is there an emergency plan in place for these days... yes it is to get on the phone with my one and only best friend and give me the phone until she can talk me back down. Sometimes that takes an hour other times it takes half a day.

Do all people with Bi-Polar disorder suffer in the same way that I do. NO! But there is a specgtrum we all fall on and we all suffer in different ways. It is a disabling disorder that I'm still struggling to accept into my life. I fight it every day... some days I win, some days I lose. Mostly I wish it didn't have to be a part of who I have become. It is always triggered by a tragic moment in one's life although there is a biological predisposition. I have chosen to treat my disability with medication... my brother chooses to treat his disability with alcohol - luckily for him it has not interfered with his ability to work. My mom, bless her, chose to self-medicate with alcohol as well, costing her several jobs that were close to her heart.

Ways I also deal with the down days - I want to shop, I want to spend money and it doesn't matter what on. It is a hard battle to try not to meet my emotional need in this way as it really screws up bills, rent and daily living. Then there is moving, bi-polar people move much more often then people with out bi-polar in the hopes to get away from the hauntings of the mind and it works briefly; but they always return.

I try my best to be kind and loving and helpful to all people, but there are days I cannot even get out of bed. There were days I watched my mother crawl to the bathroom. There are days, even with my three beautiful children, that I wish my life would end.

Peace,
G

To Thine Own Self Be True

To thine own self be true - who first said that? Sounds like something Shakesphere (even though I can't spell his name) would say in his easy flowing yet challenging to understand language. Yet it is so true. So many of us sell out who we really are deep within our soul for the person the rest of the world wants to see - and that can be many masks to wear while still denying the truth that lies deep inside our souls.

Now that I'm 43, yes it took me 43 years to figure this out, I have learned that people in the world either have to accept me the way I am, with my faults and my brilliant moments and love me for me. If they need something else, or someone else, well then don't let the door hit you on the ass as you leave. That doesn't mean I'm not sympathetic to others or that I won't help others... I will go out of my way to do what I can for anyone, but don't expect me to do it with a mask on that only you approve of. I have finally begun the journey of learning exactly who I am and what I stand for, what mountains I'm will to fight to the death for. In the past I was told who I was, what I was suppose to do, and to not voice my opinions even politely as to not scare the public off from our school. The real thing is this - the school had so many different faces as a corporation it no longer knew what it originally set out to do - it is no wonder I was confused.

So I set fourth on my journey with few people in my boat that are willing to understand when the boat takes on more water than it should, or when I hook someone in the ear when I'm fishing, or to help me look out for rocks so we don't crash... the few people who accept me for the person I am - and not the person they wish I was.

On with the adventure, peace,
G