Chapter 4 Book 3

***Please note I am sorry I have not been able to post on a regular basis. I have been very busy here lately and the blog is not something I have been able to keep up on. So once my work load slows down here, hopefully I will be able to post a blog once a week. I will do my best...***

Have you ever sat at the edge of a cliff in your mind? While the world continues on around you, things encourage you to jump, just jump to end the pain? Then somewhere out of nowhere someone comes along and pushes you back. Telling you, "You are too close to the edge and you might fall." In your head a voice is screaming, ‘I know I was getting too close to the edge, damnit, that was the point.’
These are points in life where you sit back and you feel like you cannot take any more, the pain is too much, and then something shiny is put in front of you and well, you go and chase the shiny thing for a bit until you get bored and you want to go back to the edge of the cliff.
I can’t tell you how many times I have stepped to the edge of insanity, knowing full well there is a room at Belleview waiting for me. It’s been there since the Government knew I moved to NYC, the room that is.
One of my favorite songs is “They are coming to take me away”. ( http://it.stlawu.edu/~x0tsing/takeaway.htm ) To the funny farm. In my life, the walk that I have taken, I have seen some things. A lot of people have seen more than me definitely. I have never traveled outside the US, except for Alaska. I did drive through BC and the Yukon at 19. Surprise, surprise, I rode/drove it again at 24 or 25. Canada is a beautiful world, just to let you know. So are Glaciers. Yep, I have seen those too. Touched one called Exit Glacier. ( http://www.nps.gov/kefj/planyourvisit/exit-glacier.htm )
My life has been riddled with me moving from one place to the next, each one more challenging than the one before it. Lamar High was a cake walk compared to Maine and Boston. In NYC the people are not rude; they just know how precious time is. They run on a dime here. In order to understand a culture, you must immerse yourself into it. Become part of the world around you. Experiment and enjoy the taste of the culture and what it has to offer. I often wonder why it took me this long to actually sit down and write the journey of my life.
I know in the back of my mind it is my strength of faith that draws me nigh. I am a single woman in NYC and I like it. However, there is a point here, just hold on; I do like mixing with people now and then. I try to find people that I can get along with, but my relationships always end up with issues.
My issues, issues of things I will not tolerate. Like being with someone who believes in Ethnic Cleansing. I have a small issue with that, it is called Hitler. I have issues with people who cannot keep their words or lie to me. I prefer the truth. I also have a sense of journalistic morals. Research, research, research. This is all I can say. Don’t talk about something and then have to get called out to support your words, because if you do and you can’t back your words up, the words will allow others to know you lied. My whole career lies on my truth in my words when you think about it.
I don’t just write books of surviving PTSD, I write many other things too. In this case, I am writing because I have chosen not to take some FDA drug to ‘fix me’. I choose old-fashioned things like writing, sharing, and therapy.
Also, if you remember, the State of New York says I am unfixable. That means even if I take their drugs, I am not fixable. So I will be on addicting drugs and missing my friends that no one else can see. Why would I want to do that? At least I will go crazy with my invisible friends sober rather than drugged and my mind destroyed waiting for 1984 to come around the corner so I can tell Big Brother I love them. Hell will freeze over first in my world.
Why is it that when I see dead people I am crazy, yet millions of people tune into supernatural shows or turn to psychics on a regular basis in today’s world? That is why more and more shows are being made. It is what the public demands. Is it because I have not sold my code of ethics; that my soul is not for sale? Gasp, someone quick, call I.C.E. ( http://www.ice.gov/ ) Wait, that is immigration. Let me think, yes the FBI. I don’t think they have changed their name. ( http://www.fbi.gov/ ) I am sure one of those offices can help you with me. Just tell them I write about Abbie Hoffman and Hunter S Thompson on a regular basis and support education, oh and I have PTSD.
Everyone out there has unique gifts. We are told to have imaginations as children, yet as we get older, we must pack those thoughts away because that is not what big boys and girls do.
For me, that is a bit confusing. Imagine for the child who was allowed to create and have invisible friends, but now they must pack them away in a trunk because they are too old to play with those friends anymore.
At what age does this twist in thought occur? See, I refused to give up my Imagination. It’s mine. You can share it with me, but you cannot take it away from me. What happened to dreaming for something better? Being able to share our good and our bad sides? Why have we become this society that must be put on drugs to survive because we all have something wrong with us? Admit it. Tell me you don’t have issues. You probably are reading this saying in your mind, “I have volumes too.” So let’s open up a library together.
It is what we do with this imagination that defines us and our motives. I have a dream. No, I am not repeating Dr. King. I am saying I have a dream, a beautiful dream that we all one day will accept each other for all of our faults and frailties. To make up for past transgressions in a positive way rather than destroying everything in our wake. Imagination created the ability to have light, phones, and computers. People, who dared to dream, refused to give up their imagination; they gave us our world today.
I want to write about me, before anyone else does. Why, you may ask. Because I have my memories, people have theirs. I believe in free speech. I believe in the power of one voice becoming two. I have silly dreams that this is still the greatest Nation in the world today. This American Nation, even with our issues right now in the Government, the Governments of the past that still haunt the halls of the White House.
Right now if you look outside your window like I do, you see the world in this nonstop motion, falling to a pivotal point in history. As much as I go off on Generation X, I know we are also the start of a very Angry Generation. Look at our parents. They survived a time in life in which death was a part of not only their homes but every corner of the United States and other countries as well. Useless deaths that our young men and women were sent to die in a war we did not belong.
Is it necessary to have to parade Honourable men and women again from Dover as they come in by the masses flashed on our screen every night? Do we need the press to disregard and destroy what little honour is left in that person who has come home in a pine box covered with a flag? Do our children’s children deserve to continue to die because we can’t wake up and do what is right for our country?
What is it going to take before people put two and two together?
I am speaking to you, Generation X, because I grew up in that Generation. I know our anger, our passion. I know what it is like to have friends who were close to me die because of something the Government decided to do. Whether it be defending our country or a medicine that killed us. We are the Generation who should be saying, “Listen Asshole, we have a problem. We need to talk.”
Every Generation leaves its mark but what do we want to be remembered for? Being an Exponent or being an Exclamation?
I am an optimist. I see we can change. Things can change no matter who the king is on the hill. It is the people behind the king who determine if he falls. I talk a lot about questioning the powers that be. I believe in questioning. Why does it work this way? Is there a better way? What can I do to change the elements around me? How do I fix this?
I would love to sit down with someone like Hoffa or Malcolm X, Dr. King, Tennyson, Orwell. Why did they follow that voice inside? Did they know they would have such an impact on the world? What was their drug of choice, if they even had one? Did they see dead people like me too? Little things like that.
I would, just for one moment, like to feel what it was like in their shoes when they knew they were on the verge of being on the edge of a cliff of a revolution. I see this nation as a strong, proud nation, with great opportunity, with endless possibilities. I cannot be crazy; it is still there. That American dream. Yet when I envision it, why do people not hear what I am saying? Why can’t they see it? What will it take for the canvas to be painted?
I wonder if the experts who diagnosed me with the unfixable PTSD ever sit back and wonder where their sanity went? At what time did they sell out? Who is to say those of us with PTSD have not just been programmed to believe that there is something wrong with us? A lot of healing comes from within: setting goals, limits of what you will and will not tolerate, accepting your weaknesses and admitting them fully.
When this project of my life for full view started, it was over a bowl of French Onion Soup. With everything I have done in my life and all the food that I have tasted, French Onion Soup was one soup I had never had. After being interviewed for a job placement in New York City, while I was living in Boston at the time, the lady who interviewed me knew I had not eaten a good meal in a few days, so she bought me dinner. She said that whenever I was in doubt, French Onion Soup was usually a safe choice. I have found out you can learn a lot about a kitchen and the restaurant by ordering French Onion Soup. If the French Onion Soup sucks, put down the menu and walk away from the Restaurant. No harm, no foul. It is worth the 4 or 5 dollar fee you will pay to find out if the place is good to eat at. Well, at least here in NYC, that is the case.
As I was growing up, I always felt I was going to be an impact in my world to the people around me. That I could and would make a difference. Even with everything that stood in my way. At 12 years old, I stated I would make it to NYC. I did not know why or how, but I would, and I am here. I live in NYC. The Statue of Liberty is my Neighbor and if I walk over the bridge of the LIE, or Long Island Expressway for those of you who don’t live here, I can see the Empire State Building in living color.
I am also reminded every time when going to Manhattan, though I may not have been here, that there is a hole in the ground that is still there 8 years later, reminding every New Yorker of how precious life really is.
The world is an amazing place and we are amazing pieces in it, but we have to make that change.
No one has the right to say you are ‘unfixable’ unless you let them. No one can take away the imagination if you are truly meant to have it. I mean, don’t go overboard and see dead people like I do. Then we will all be in Belleview together. There might not be enough room. Remember, imagination is for the dream makers.
This concludes our bumpy ride on this chapter of our blogcast/bookcast day. I am still working on the ending of the chapters, as you can see. Nothing is really fitting yet. You are now free to move about the cabin space provided.