At long last I’m letting some true feelings bubble to the surface in the hope that the “poison” carried in the bubbles will dissipate once the bubbles burst. I do receive some criticism from well-intentioned folks about the content I share, but if I don’t “ain’t nobody else gonna.” (You have no idea my challenge of writing incorrectly.) Sometimes you gotta do something different to make a point.
I’ve learned that too many of my thoughts and memories reside in my far past. I thought that was a time of happiness, in many ways it was, but now it serves almost as a punishment. I rail at the present me because I never lived up to my own expectations. So I’ve begun to take inventory.
Recently I read an article that discussed how many teenaged girls were thought to have anxiety when they were actually dealing with ADHD. And, naturally, they were treated for the anxiety and not given skills to cope with the ADHD. My feeling is anxiety carries less stigma in our society, so it’s an acceptable diagnosis and reason for medication. I may be wrong. It happens.
Throughout my life, I spent many years (30) as a tennis instructor/coach as well as 25 years as a high school English teacher. Many of the “difficult” kids ended up on my court or in my classes. Why? Because I knew what it was like to be different. Thankfully I was brought up to acknowledge each individual as an entity who mattered. I used my broad background of interests to make connections. I treated these kids as I wished to have been treated.
In giving them all I’d never received, it rendered me devoid of any capacity for self-care. My energy went to those for whom I was responsible. I strove to provide a well-rounded experience no matter what I was teaching. Each day it became more and more difficult to regain vital energy. Blah, blah, blah. Decades of doctors not listening to me, as soon as they saw I was taking psych meds, created some long-lasting damage both physically and mentally.
One of my pediatricians once told me he was convinced I was faking an illness. I asked how I could fake a fever. He said there were ways. From then on, I had a healthy distrust of doctors. Add to it that as a 49 year old woman, I was made to wait over 7 hours in the ER waiting room because I wasn’t “that sick” according to triage Nurse Cratchett. My mom was with me and couldn’t understand why I was being ignored. Turns out I had a ruptured appendix and it had been ruptured for six days. Can we say emergency surgery?
And all of those palpitations and “hippy-skippy” heartbeats ascribed to my anxiety? It turned out I was experiencing bouts of atrial fibrillation. Um, hello? As a mature adult, I’ve learned the difference between psychological angst and physical distress. Oh, and six years ago when I told my doctors I was exhausted and very short of breath? Instead of pointing fingers at each other and not finding a reason, a silly blood test resulted in me visiting the ER the next day to receive a blood transfusion because my hemoglobin level was so low. And, yes, I drove myself.
I have reason to be bitter but it doesn’t keep me from trying to help those who are underdogs in this life. Not all of us received stellar genes, were raised without financial woes, and had our educations paid for by family. Many of us paid for our Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees, bought our own cars and houses, and worked multiple jobs for decades.
It all goes back to my senior year in high school. I was walking down the hall with two of my “friends.” A girl not from our “in” crowd walked by and I greeted her by name. Further down the hall, my “friends” asked why I would speak to her. I replied she was in my gym class and I liked her. They rolled their eyes and I saw the writing on the wall.
And, yet, I’m still here. And I’m still kind to people. Most people deserve it.
“If this world makes you crazy/And you’ve taken all you can bear/You call me up/Because you know I’ll be there/And I’ll see your true colors/Shining through…”. Cyndi Lauper
“If you want the world to know/We won’t let hatred grow/Put a little love in your heart.” Jackie DeShannon
“I am everyday people.” Sylvester Stewart (Sly and the Family Stone)
Stories Are For Eternity 