Time Traveling

First let me begin by saying yes I know it is late or early for some 3:33 AM. I am having a bad night physically. I am sure by now most of those that read this know I had my 20 year class reunion in August. What most did not know at that time was about a week before I heard the words that altered my life and shook me to the core as nothing ever before or since. The doctor came in the room and gently and softly said she was sorry but the mammogram, ultrasound, and MRI all showed that I had one rather large tumor and another that was not as big. They did the biopsy and again the doctor came in the room and said I have an aggressive stage 2 breast cancer. OK now I had to figure out how to process this. I couldn't. I didn't tell anyone, literally no one. Hell, no one even knew I had a mammo. Slowly I began to tell a very small circle of people I felt I could really trust. I was referred to a cancer care center and I have since had surgery and it was discovered that there was actually a third. The problem was it was growing between the collarbone and the breastbone. Like being wedged in. Now my doctor who is wonderful began to consult with other docs to figure out how to remove it without breaking or fracturing the bone because of the high concentration of cancer cells the chance of them getting into the bone according to the docs would only have given me maybe a 30% survival rate. The next surgery they did it with 3 surgeons in the room. I was terrified going into the OR but felt confident. I have since had many more imaging tests and they showed that there was part of that tumor they did not get. So it is still there. I have been going through radiation therapy and it is exhausting. It scares me and puts things in a perspective that I have never had before.
Now to the time traveling. Tonight first, I am in physical pain, and to be honest emotionally I am not in a good place. I have lived a colorful life to say the least. I fear that if this tumor is unable to be taken care of I don't what my life expectancy is. I have learned over the years of my colorful life to smile and just act as if nothing is wrong. I am very good at that, mastered it. Tonight I am having a bad night. There are so many things I want to do and kids I want to help and future teachers to help them understand kids as I was. Therefore, it has thrust me into a place that I am unfamiliar with. So I have begun to share my life story with future teachers. I did so on Tuesday to a group of college students specifically going to be special education teachers, which I was a sped kid too hyper and smart for my own good. I don't know if it the docs can get this into remission or not I don't know how much time I have on this earth no one does and I have decided that it is time to share my story with those it can help. I have the help of a former teacher which is a HUGE blessing. I couldn't do it alone. It is still difficult. I tire very quickly. It's like taking someone who lives their live at a 100 miles an hour and taking them to 50 mph instantly. That has been the hardest adjustment. There are times I am still in denial that this is even happening to me. I feel like I brought it upon myself because of things I have been through in my life. It doesn't matter if it was willing or not I still feel it is my fault and I brought all this on myself.
Due to speaking to these college students has sent me on a journey that is difficult but I want my message to get out to many people as possible so when they become teachers or whatever they will have a greater understanding of those kids that have live a life similar to mine. I want other kids to not have to experience things I did in school or home. The problem with that is it brings it all back to that moment. The time it happened, my mind goes back to that age and I feel it as if it is happening all over again. Now with the cancer my perspective on life. I need to share my life so others can learn learn from it. I will do anything I need to do regardless of how difficult it is. I can handle the physical pain; the emotional pain is more challenging. Sharing my life story is even more difficult.
My perspective on life has changed and I don't know what it holds for me. Will I live or die from the cancer. I am terrified to share it but I will do it through the terror. It is not easy thank God; I have a friend that helps me through the hard parts. She is a blessing in my life and was in sixth grade. She just didn't know it then. I hope she knows it now.
This person does not get everything I have been taught to believe but that is OK. Sharing my life with a group of strangers let me tell you it challenging, but this person challenges me in ways no one has done before.
I don't know that my future holds, but I am going to do as much as I can and make s much of a difference as I can. I know that I need to share my life with people and as hard as it is, I will do it. I will do whatever it takes to make a difference for all the kids like I was. You can look back at other blogs I have written to see what some of those are.
Maybe it is the medicine my defences are down I am taking, but I feel compeled to share just a few instinses. (I edited somethings out here in case my young neice or nephews see this) I have had some awful experiences with former teachers. However, I have survived it all. Not without repercussions, but what can you expect when I basically raised myself. I have compassion for people more don't. My life isn't that bad there are bright spots, my parents aren't bad parents, nor were all my teachers were horrible only 2 in particular.
This whole cancer thing and speaking to future teachers has caused me to think differently. Life is precious and I try to make a memory of everything that I do.
Tonight is a tough night for me. I am feeling very discouraged tonight, not to mention the physical pain tonight. I put a smile on my face and just continue on as if everything is just fine with me. Even when it's not. Which is now. I am afraid to tell people the latest result of all the imagine tests.
My life is what it is. I can't change it, but I can help others with it. I am fighting to beat this but there are times I feel I just can't do it. Thank God for good friends, a great doctor, and the prayers that are going forth for me. I have never run from a fight or backed down from a challenge. I am tired of the pain and and being tired. I am still feisty and there are days I feel I can beat this and other days that that I want to through up my hands in defeat and just let the cancer take its course.
If my life story will help one future teacher or save one kid, it's worth it. I had never shared it with anyone until speaking to the university students until that evening. I walked away from the college students was a milestone for me. Being told you have aggressive breast cancer everything. I will say that it puts thing about life in a completely new perspective.
When I was talking to the college student it really, it was difficult. They seemed respectful of my life. I pushed myself harder to get the job done.
So I do have pain and but to save 1 kid or help 1 sped teacher it's all worth it. So the physical pains groans on, I have a smile on my face, this time traveling through my life as hard but continue I must.

How throwaways do it part trois (three in French)

I have been asked why and how some throwaway kids make it through and furthermore make it intact to grow and sometimes even flourish into adulthood. I'll try to explain.

Saying that we make it through unscathed, integral or unbroken would be a lie. Truthfully, we don't. There is no way we can. Some may remain lost souls forever. We will forever struggle to reconcile all that has been embezzled from us either by force or of our giving out of fear of retribution if we don't give freely, to the silent part of us that has been thrust to the deepest darkest part of our souls after time even we forget it's there because it never sees the light until we know beyond all doubt we will be safe, even then others have to work impossibly hard to even catch a glimpse of it. Yet, there is a third and forth part that we need to interconnect to the above. Our intelligence or psyche, and the obstinate or as some would say defiant nature some of have, yes some more than others so stop laughing already folks..

Let me see if I can try and simplify this without over thinking it.

Every time a throwaway kid is hit, called stupid, dumb, or told we will never amount to anything so why don't we just drop out of school, or check ourselves into jail, some that are suppose to love and care for us will even go as far to tell us that we should just kill ourselves so they don't have to look at us anymore or so we will no longer be able to bring shame to the family or the good family name and that it would save the tax payers money is they didn't have to pay for us in prison for the rest of our lives. Basically anytime things happen to us that most say shouldn't happen to a kid we have to allow ourselves to separate just a little bit more from the core of the essence of what others say we were born to be even though we know differently what our true purpose for us is (that was covered in the previous post). We have to leave a small amount of what we think is an insignificant part of us behind in that place.

Let me add here it's not like a psych disorder like dissociative disorder, or schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder or anything like that. There is no psychological disorder that plays a role in this process at all, except maybe oppositional defiant disorder that that will eventually work for us.

We just know we can't hold it all at one time so we leave some behind and move on to the next event. It is how define survival of the fittest. Those that cannot do that may not make it out the other side. I know I almost didn't. I was holding it all and it was bubbling, raging, and boiling just below the surface and began to overtake my brain because as a throwaway who was I to tell not to mention as a throwaway who can we tell that may believe us regardless of how many bruises, and if we do we can be assured even more trouble will be waiting for us at home or where ever we go later. Throwaway kids are just seen as selfish, disconsolate, emotionally aggrieved children If we do take the risk and bring someone into our confidence, oh hell, it makes the situations worse. So we stay silent and pray someone notices something so we don't have to say it.

Another adjunct here, we throwaways can write about everything that has happened in our lives in beautiful or really dark prose or poetry, sometimes even songs, make the most spectacular and disturbing drawings and paintings, play wonderful or dank music, or develop our own language or words, codes sort of, only we will ever know what it means, but for us to sit down and say the words as the rest of society knows them, to speak them it brings an even greater shame, guilt, self loathing, resentment and hate for ourselves, blame and solidifies our conviction to our belief that it's why we were born to be the takers of everyone else's crap. Most will never know this but to a throwaway it brings a whole type of pain. Not pain per say but heaviness or burden on us that now we have to stand in the reality of the true word definitions and then see the horror on others faces when they hear them. That becomes more severe, cumbersome, and almost feels more violent then the occurrences themselves. We feel like we are being pounded into the ground and would rather melt right then and there to avoid that. Yet, we also know that if we get the chance to get older that we will eventually need to face that. Again, that is where having our friends listen to our silence is important no matter how old we get.

Throwaways also are masters at compartmentalizing things. This is also part of the separating things from ourselves. We must keep every event apart from the others. We don't like to just stack everything on top of the others. Although there are times we have to because our compartments become to full. At that point we categorize them by type of event it was, what it involved. Speaking from experience here when we do that we actually do forget about some of those things especially if the one who did it we are trying to hold on to some at least neutral memory. We forget it so it won't be on instant recall and bring the 'bad' memories to cloud the semi neutral ones we want to keep. I wonder if that even makes sense to anyone reading this.

As a side note: another thing throwaways do and I know this drives many people nuts; is minimize everything. Nothing is a big deal, nothing no matter the severity is a major occurrence. In our minds we believe this because we feel that if we survived it, than it's just not that big of a deal. Anyone that is not a throwaway kid past or present will never be able to see things that way. To them anything bad that happened to us is a big deal. We honestly believe in our hearts it's not a little thing but that inner voice does not yell loud enough to over take the inner voice that whispers in our heads., it's just another part of a throwaways life that is what it is. As long as we continue to survive than everything is fine and it's just another day in the life. Even if we do actually know it's something is not just a blip on the scale we have a hard time acknowledging it to anyone. To do so in our minds would mean that we were or are not tough enough to just not have it effect us. By a throwaway minimizing everything it makes it easier to continue to get out of bed each morning and continue to move ahead. Some how it is just easier to understand everything that's going on in our lives. A throwaway knows that at some point they will have to grasp the magnitude of things but they can't until the whisper of the heart over takes the screaming in their heads. Some throwaways just may need a little help making the heart voice louder. However, unless you are a throwaway one would never know that.

By keeping things separate we can hold them easier. It is at those points in our life I don't know what you call it but where some force enters your life and pulls some hidden rip cord we didn't even know was there that kicks those nice neatly stacked boxes over and creates a continuous running movie in your mind of everything. That is where we freak and become anxious. Now it's a film and all the emotions we thought we didn't have ascend and we have to make a choice to feel and acknowledge them or walk away from them. Although by walking away from them all a throwaway usually will self destruct in short order. Even if they have to take them in stages that is better than trying to leave them in the dust.

This is where our oppositional defiance helps us. This next part is going to sound stupid and completely brainless but follow me. Somewhere in the recesses of our mind where our self reliance and independence we had to have to raise ourselves because no one else wanted to participate, we intellectually know we are incredibly strong individuals. We are stubborn to a fault. From there is where we have to make our choices once we are free to do so without anyone else beating their own agenda on our already scarred bodies. We have to find our passion, decide what will rule our every thought and action and pursue whatever that is with as much violence, force, authority and control that was used against our every waking moment during all the time we were held hostage.

We have to find a very delicate equilibrium and calculate everything down the minutest of details. We have to make sure that all of the pain, mistrust in all humanity, the hate we have for ourselves and that others have for us, betrayal we felt around every single corner we turned, brutality we lived with and know as our normal and comfort zone, all of that we still have to keep hidden.

I'll simplify a bit and bring it to a more understandable situation.

You don't walk into a job interview or when you first meet someone that has the potential of being a friend, I really want this job and to be your friend but oh by the way if you ever feel the need to have to vent some anger and want to give me a fist to the face because either you or I feel I deserve it go ahead it's ok really, I'll be fine. And since were on that just so you are aware I may have certain quirks that you may find unusual like I may be really jumpy around people I don't know, or large crowds, and I may jump up and punch you in the face if you approach me from my blind spot without letting me know in some way you are coming, I'm sorry in advance for that it's just because when I was growing from as long as I remember and I remember much farther back that anybody I know, I had to endure through some very excruciating things that killed my spirit and soul and took things from me by force that was not for them to take but for me to give if I chose but deserved it every single time because I am a throwaway and my purpose in life is to be your slave and servant here to satisfy and gratify you in any way you may choose to use me, but by way when do I report for my first day, and lets go see a movie sometime new friend. That job and friend would poof right out of there leaving nothing but a charcoal trail they left as they burned the ground they left so fast. That is what the throwaway has to process to keep themselves appearing to be as normal as everyone else, when inside they know they must have a huge mark on them that everyone can see listing all their faults.

So we have to make sure none of that shows in our eyes or little quirks. We have to force ourselves to do things that at the time make us feel like we are going to hyperventilate and pass out. All to appear that we are just like everyone, or at least what they link is normal. We have to be every vigilant of what and how we say things. We over think to such an extreme other joke about it and tell us to just stop doing it. We can't that is another way we survived to bring us to where we are today. Now it is even more important. There are things that are still in the shadows even the memories are faint but some of those people could still actually get in trouble even if we are now adults. So we censor and edit every word that escapes our lips. It also prevents us from letting anyone get to close to that little scared and worthless child in us still lives. We still say all the same things in the high decibels of our silence I stated in the previous post except to an adult throwaway we have to control that too. Let's face it we would be and look stupid If we didn't. It is all part of the balance.

My last point is most people that find out there are throwaways out here are amazed that we have any capacity to love, care, know what Is right and wrong, have a solid moral compass on which we stand, and just basically turned out to be some of what appears to be the most forgiving and compassionate people they have ever met. They can't begin to fathom how we raised ourselves, and are not jaded, or filled with so much fury and resentment that we don't want to destroy everyone that ever laid a hand on us like a friend of mine told me today how "disgusted and angry" at this person being discussed because of what happened.

We can't acknowledge or have access to all those feelings my friend mentioned today. We don't understand why others get so worked up about things that to a throwaway are just a part of our life. It is just another given that things like that happen to us. It is our normal, it is what we know as love and self worth. We know it is better to be wanted for something even if it hurtful to us. We can't stay in that angry spiteful place because if we do we will spontaneously combust. We have to chose what is important and worth wasting time on and what isn't. However, we have to be defiant and rebellious just enough to be able decide ya know what screw all you people! All of you, all of you wretched, miserable, putrid, repugnant, disingenuous, ungrateful, sorry sons and daughters of bitches, poor excuses of a human beings, you are a living, breathing proof that not only have human genomes not only been through several stages of evolution but that huge mutations as do really occur. What you will never know unless you have a highly developed and sensitive ear to read and hear the silence you won't know that while we convey that on the peripheral in the confidential, secret recess of a throwaways mind we will still know and believe with every ounce of our being that we not only deserved but in someway asked for every minute of it and feel worthy to have been chosen.

As to why we love so deeply regardless of all that has been done to us it is very simple and complex all at the same time. Simply speaking because we can so why not? On a multifarious elevation we do because we HAVE to, because despite any of the broken bones people may have caused, type of violation committed against the throwaway especially if by societal norms some of those people had been entrusted with safeguarding our hearts, minds and bodies are the exact people that began the conditioning they would need to numb themselves out and learn how to separate and leave those little particles of myself behind so they could continue to take more from anyone else that may want a piece of them. We have to love because it's how can continue to see the same people and and continue to endure day after day.

The populace that our voices will not be silent for is those that have been entrusted to care for the throwaway. They will protect them at any cost even if it is with our spirit and body. They will be thunderous in our defense of them. They will fight and argue that those people didn't mean to do it. They didn't mean to teach us that the definition of all love is total and complete viciousness annihilation of the throwaways innocent child's spirit, soul and body that was placed in their arms through whatever channels it took to get that throwaway there. The fresh untarnished unwritten upon slate of the life you now hold. That is what a throwaway knows and believes is love. Anything thing that wavers off that base line we do not understand and is ironically viewed as abuse.

It is also an undying need that another driving intensity is our conceded selfishness that is if a throwaway continues to love them with all our might maybe just maybe someday it will come back to them. The way all our unspoken silent screams beg and yearn for and not the way we know it love to be. If we love them deep enough, hard enough, and with every ounce of everything we have in us eventually they will come around and finally protect us, keep us safe, hold and hug us the way we have needed so long ago. All along we know that will never happen. We will continue to deserve to be a throwaway to all civilization and know that we will be thrown right back into the dumpster or trash mountain we had to climb out of just so you could hurt and accost the throwaway again.

Yet, we love also so we can help all the throwaways that are still coming behind us. So we can teach them how to survive through it. So we can tell them we understand their silence in a way no one else ever could or will. So we can reach our hand out to them so they can grab hold to be pulled out of their deepest secret place. So we can hold them and tell them they too will be OK. So we can do for them every single thing that all the people in our own lives failed to do no matter how loud we cried, begged, needed, wanted or pleaded for. So we will not have to look back and wonder if we did enough, if we touched them, improved their life, made them feel safe and did everything we could for them regardless of bureaucratic red tape. That we jumped every hurtle, and scaled the tallest of buildings, cut the chains and protected them no matter what harm may befall us. So that they will know that anything that maybe be coming to them we will step in front of their small, bruised, broken and violated body so that the attack will have to pass through us first now. We will wipe away their tears, even those that run hot down their throat so no one can see them. So they will know we not only see them we hear them. We will take them home and make their life better and not just tell them we want or wanted to. We will take action to safeguard your spirit, soul and body even if that means our bodies get broken, bruised, violated, and more scars form on top of the ones already there. We will fight to the death for them until we no longer have even the smallest amount of oxygen left in our lungs or own body collapses and falls into the grave that was dug for us the day we were born. So they will know how to champion and wage war for all the ones that will follow after them.

It all follows what we know to be our purpose in life. Fulfill everyone else's needs at all costs. Do it all to us, we can take is, they cannot. Let us take it or you steal it from us, let us service you and please you. We must place all throwaways that are to follow into that equation too, so their burden will not be so heavy, and maybe by us taking it they won't have to and may even be able to end up in the 'good' ones group.

That is why we must love, have compassion, come out on the other side, and be as oppositional and defiant as we can be.

I hope this had some semblance of reason I explained it well enough.

There may be more to follow later. This post seems scattered to me and may get some tweaking later. For now, here it is...

In the silence -- Of the throw aways part deux

I was having lunch with a friend today and we were discussing my blog post from the other night. The one titled Voice of the Throw-aways. We got to talking about emotions and all that goofy stuff.

Before I go on let me give you the picture. We were sitting in a restaurant, I was sitting sideways in the booth so my back was up against the wall, and my legs were stretched out across the bench. I was in jeans and a tank top and having what I think is a good hair day. She was dressier because she was on her lunch break. She sat normally at the table. She, as she says, wears her emotions on her sleeve. Me, I do not. It actually takes a great deal too illicit emotion from me unless it is anger, frustration or the like. The more sensitive or as we, the throw aways see them, 'bad' ones hurt, fear, insecurity, sorrow, and others, well those do not surface often at all. This person provokes me to think deeper for understanding or ways of explaining than most do. She challenges me with her naivety of her grasp of a throw away kid. The phrase alone can bring tears to her eyes. She knows we throw aways’ exist in her head but it hurts her heart to know it at the same time.

Throw away kids have been conditioned to not allow those bad emotions to show because they would always be used against us and at times in some of the vilest of ways. So we teach ourselves how to walk around with a blank stare on our faces, or just plain mean and angry. That way no one can hurt us or take advantage of our most private thoughts and feelings. We already are made to feel blameworthy and condemned for what we do show. If we cry it's too much, if we explode in anger it's too much. If they only knew that the little they see is not even scratching the surface of how deep and powerful those sensations or passions are. They only see the smoke that burns off the top of the stack; it's only a diminutive amount of all that lies beneath, it's the part we cannot contain or control anymore and needs to be burned off. The cauldron of emotions the power of all of them never make it to the surface. How could they if the little that escapes the stacks is viewed as too much.

So we teach ourselves to not feel the pain, you can't get hurt if you don't feel the tenderness of pain. We can't get disappointed if we don't get excited or happy about anything. We can't get sad or grieve if we don't know all we are really missing, and we can't believe that everything in our life is not our fault if all people do is blame us for everything. We can't achieve confidence if the rug gets pulled out from us at every turn. We can't gain success if we do not know how to feel proud of ourselves. We cannot begin to trust if everyone always fails us. Yet, we are afraid to show it if we do something that we are proud of because someone will point out even the smallest of mistakes we may have made to get to that miniscule proud moment. Those never last.

We won't make the first move with anything. We wait for someone else to make it and then watch very closely all the reactions. We can't learn to trust if no one trusts us. We can't learn not to duck when a hand comes up to pat us on the back or give us a hug, if all we know hands to do is to hurt or hit. We won't tell you what we are thinking because we know you would not understand it. We don't try to explain how we feel or what we need or want because not only will it be used against us, but you may see us as weak, clingy or demanding attention. When that is exactly what we are doing but we don't do it through all we say or do. We do it by saying can't you see me? Can you even hear what I am really saying underneath this bravado? Can't you see all the marks? Can't you see something in us has changed? Are you blind to the fact that we are dying right before your eyes? Do you even care at all? Do you believe you can try to love a kid back to life? I don't right now but I would be willing to try to be brought back to life, will you try? I am right here waiting! That is all said in the silence of things left unspoken, but passed along through the eyes, by that throw away taking a step closer to you than before, looking at you in the eyes even for the briefest of moments, a coy smile or smirk, or even an all out fit or rage for no apparent reason. It all speaks the same language. It is the poetry that describes the sensitivity of the throw aways’ inner soul, the prose of their life and their raw thoughts and feelings

That is where the truth of who we are resides. That is where you find the core of what we are. Where all the skinned and bloody emotion, the reality of our private world dwells, and where the foundation of the walls of protection we build are formed. It is in the silence where we feel all those emotions that others wear on their sleeves. They are intense and strong, sensitive and natural. It is where all the sorrow resides beneath the anger and rage. It is from this place where we wish to be seen and heard, but are too afraid to poke our head out of the sand long enough to stand in the power of our emotions. So to break the muted tension we look at you and tell you we are fine, I’m OK. With that you move along your way never stopping to wonder if that is true.
It’s not that we want to lie to you; we have to lie to you. Even if we as throw aways’ have a mild level of trust with you and have allowed you to inhabit some small corner of our inner sanctum and we tell you the truth that we are not fine or OK, we are terrified of being physically touched in that very real and weak moment that our armor is failing us. Our skins is thick and sore to the touch our spirit bruised and aching, and as much as we silently plead for that compassionate, warm gentle touch we fear it more. In that instant we are at our most vulnerable point. Our trepidation is that if you get too close or reach in our soul too far and we will rupture. We fear we will begin cry and will never be able to stop, that our dejection will envelope us and we worry about you and what others think of us at the time, or if our emotional wash out is too much for you. Even in those moments we are still worried about you, taking care of everyone else but ourselves. The throw away is concerned our weakness will be exposed, our secrets revealed. What makes it worse is the terror when it’s over you will walk away from us and never look back. What will happen to us then? We go back to the trash heap we crawled out of. While all this is going through the throw aways’ mind and the silence is deafening we are also inaudibly beseeching you to do just that. Touch us, hug us, put your hand on our back or head let us know you are still there. Help us find a safe place to land to eradicate the overwhelming tide of emotion surging through us at that time. Be that safe place for us to fall if even for a second, tell us it will be OK, and that it is alright to let it flow because all the throw away hears in their head is this in not good, pull it back, pull it back, control control this is not good reign it in fast. I am weak here and am not able to defend myself; I am going to get hurt if I don’t stop right now! That voice gets louder and louder inside until we do regain composure. Look past our barricades and take the chance. Reach out to us; we need it at the time to know if we are still alive and breathing in that second. We can’t ask for it, the words will never surface for a throw away. We don’t feel worthy of any form of compassion. That kind of touch we shy away from because we don’t know what to do with it.

It's the silence that speaks louder than any of our tantrums or screaming rages ever will. All you see from those are the things we can't control anymore. Those paroxysms are never about anything substantial and often seem to be trivial or about something so insignificant to others they can't understand what the big deal is. To the throw away it is a huge deal. It allows them to blow off the stream or raw emotion without fearing giving up their secrets that could get them trouble. If we didn't do that we would look for other means of release and we are usually our own victims.

Those who try to talk to us throw aways after the incident we usually will say we don't know why we did it, or what we were feeling. That is true; we are not lying when we say that. We don't know. Those 'bad' feelings we carry over time become just there. Meaning they may still be there but indistinguishable from the others. They roll into one and no longer have names. We teach ourselves and have been taught by others that our feelings just like us as being humans do not matter. None of what is a part of us is worth knowing or understanding. That would take an effort on their part and energy expulsion. No one wants to spend that energy on throw away kids because they think it is wasted energy. So they don't invest in us on any level and we slip through yet another crack. We fall onto the next conveyer belt of the next person in the assembly line until we fall through the cracks or off the end of the belt altogether. No one looks back to even notice we are no longer there.

Our worth is tied up in how or when people need us for something. If they ask us to do something we are elated, and feel wanted at least for something. After all we throw aways' know from the moment of our conception we would not be wanted. We were born to serve, please and fulfill every desire man or woman kind may have. We don't have a voice in those decisions it becomes part of who we are. Across our foreheads is an invisible stamp that reads we are here for your pleasure all of your pleasures. Please feel free to take and do what you wish from us and don't worry about leaving anything behind for us to grow or learn from. Our lessons will be learned in the words you say to us, the way you treat us, and trash heap you throw us away in when you are finished with us. Proving the throw away kids hypothesis of their life is true. We are born to serve, please and fulfill all people’s needs no matter the cost to us. That is our purpose, that is the job we are here to take, and we know that for one reason or another it is the punishment we had coming or one we are taking to spare one of the 'good' innocent ones the misery and certain death. You can't kill the soul or spirit of a throw away kid when it has been taken and beaten down by those kids, those adults we should be able to trust, teachers, parents, so called best friends, strangers we meet along the way, or even by those we willingly gave our hearts to for love a long time ago. We do not see ourselves as victims at all. We see ourselves as saviors of sorts. The 'good and worthy ones' will never feel the touch of malice graze their virtuous countenance as long as there are throw away kids walking this planet. That is what society calls on the throw aways to do. They say to us in their silence protect the wholesome 'good' ones you discarded, loathed, not fit to be in our presence using our air throw away kid you.

Throw aways’ are saving all the 'good' ones from the torturous dreams that wake us screaming in the night and haunt us during the day. They will never know what it's like to weep from the unfathomably desolate caverns where the sound of silence is the only thing that reverberates off the walls from the abyss throw aways' call life. Those 'superior ones will never have an idea of what it feels like to lay on the cold damp floor of our private hell and scream with every ounce of our throw aways small bruised and broken body for help, begging and pleading for anyone that will listen PEASE HEAR ME, PLEASE SEE ME, I AM HERE I might be worth salvaging won't someone try? A throw away will never tell you but what we silently yearn for more than anything in that moment is a liberating hand to grab a hold of us and yank us to a safe place, protect us, put salve on the wounds and guard the ones you can't see until we are strong enough to stand on our own again.

They need us to be there when they must release pent up emotions, even if it means through violence, we will stand and accept it as our created destiny. It does not matter what form their need may take. We believe that we were born to gratify every whim and fancy, regardless of how evil and putrescent or harmful physically or emotionally their urge is. We will endure it all the while saying to ourselves this can't hurt me nothing can hurt something that is already gone. Let me break that down a little: Nothing can hurt us anymore then we have already been hurt in any form. We grow accustomed to what pain is and train ourselves not to feel it. For example if you have a cigarette snuffed out on your forearm the pain does not last long. It only hurts when the top epidermis layer and half way thru the second dermis layers are being burned, and even that the pain does not last long. Once you get past that halfway point and into the subcutaneous layer there is no more feeling. It is from this subcutaneous level that we live our life from. When we fulfill the needs of others willing or not we feel human, good for something wanted even if it's violent. It does not matter what form the need presents itself to us. In the throw-ways’ thought and emotional stand point it is a chance to acknowledge to ourselves that we do matter to someone. At least in that moment anyway.

We won't cry about it were you can see us. We will take it, keep our chin up and keep surviving. We will not let you know if we suffer, are wounded or injured in the least. That too is uttered in the hush of our voice but is palpable in the vacancy of our eyes and lack of spirit in our bodies. We will not let the normal average 'good' people know if we feel violated, desecrated, hurt scared. Why would we those are the same people that pass us everyday terrified to make eye contact and pretending to not even notice that we are even there. All that throw-away kids throbbing pain inside and out remains translucent. To a throw away kid it is during those times we have learned the definition of love, and what it is like to be wanted or worthy enough to stand in your presence. We feel validated and worthy that we are needed at all for anything even if it hurts us. That is what a throw away interprets as self worth.

To the throw away kind expressions or comforting gestures are foreign but that does not mean we don't crave them. It just means we don't know immediately what you want from us to deserve those kind and soothing things. We don't want you to give up trying to help us understand them but we need you to be patient with us as we try and find your true meaning behind them. We are always searching for the ulterior motive. So when there is none and they are genuine we struggle to grasp it. We try and figure out what we did to deserve it, what trouble did I get into to illicit this response. It is so out of whack for us we assume we did something wrong. At first sometimes if feels like we are being punished when the good soothing things are said or expressed. We need to see if you really mean it or if you are just trying to get something from us for you own satisfaction, and then try to figure out what you will take or do to us to achieve that. We won't give up trying to understand but we need you to keep trying with us.

Some will try to tell us that none of it is our fault. The majority tell us it is, we tell ourselves it is. It is the only way it makes sense to us. For those that tell us it is; these are the same people that are too afraid to share their oxygen because we might breathe too heavy and take something that 'good' ones will need or want. Oh it's OK to breathe but only in short shallow inhales and exhales, which they know will inevitably cause us to pass out and fall to the wayside. However, the majority must be right because their record is the loudest and most frequently repeated.

Those that tell us it is not our fault they don't have the volume to overtake the soundtrack that plays in our head. Their voices cannot be heard over the clamor and battle that rages inside when we hear that. If it is not our fault and we did not deserve everything than we are left with the question of why? Why did those things happen? Why us? Why just the throw aways? We do not like to entertain all the whys because it sounds like pity. We don't want pity; we don't need anyone feeling sorry for us. We need someone to speak louder through actions, but while not stopping the words to convey the message of no blame, guilt, shame or fault. We need someone to overtake the record and be willing to stick around long enough to help us rewrite a new track. We need you to have patience with us. This mindset may have taken just a few years or a few decades to settle in and we may know your message intellectually but that 12 inch drop from the head to the heart is a long one and the hardest to achieve. At times you will get frustrated with us and feel like we are just not getting it or listening to you. We are trying to understand why you believe what you do. At other times you will see the understanding in our eyes and the whys begin. To us the only thing that answers that question is because we asked or deserved it. That is when our silence may be seen on the outside through the eyes, even as they struggle to hold back the Niagara Falls of tears. It is in that moment where the hearer will understand all the things that have been unspoken by the throw aways' heart.

In those silent moments between the rage and being fine is where the child waits. It is from that position our hearts will speak the loudest. Where our truths as we know them lay. It is there where we keep our secrets our sadness, regrets, hopes and fears, it is there they reside. It is that place we try to keep as small as possible so there is not more room for anyone to steal or hurt us. We don't visit it often because we know we can't carry all of that on the surface and it is too hard to disguise.

We long for that safe person to reach in and touch it. To let us know that we are more than our experiences with life. That we are more that what others say about us in the hallways, behind closed doors, secret meetings, or whispers in the dark. That we are worth more than being a servant for others satisfaction or gratification. That we matter to someone. That we are not invisible to the rest of the world even if that is what we are trying to be. We need someone to help us feel safe.

Safe from all harm physical and emotional, safe to let our silence speak for us, safe that if you tap into our deepest emotions and learn all our secrets that we will not be judged for what we did or didn't do. Safe that we will not have to carry your guilt of not knowing soon enough or not doing enough, safe even though we know we are damaged goods and not worth the dirt you walk on that we will not look up and see that on your face. Safe that if tears roll down our face we will not get hurt or hit for it, safe that you will stop and think if this was my child what would I do.

Safe that we can trust you will help protect us once you hear our silence loud and clear. Protect us from all those that are so afraid we will taint the genetic pool of humanity with our kind of shame and diminish the resources for all those that so want to safeguard the 'good' of civilization.

Those that don't believe we will ever amount to anything will never know we are capable to loving deeper, seeing the world more vibrantly, caring for others to the point our heart bleeds, learning how to reprogram our thoughts to hear the spoken and unspoken but mostly understanding the silence of the other throw aways.

If only more people would be willing to be a champion, like my friend I had lunch with today, to a throw away kid by just being that brief rest stop on the highway of that child’s life, knowing they made more of an unspoken difference then they may ever know.

If only someone would take the time to listen to the silence of the throw aways..

It’s the silent if onlys that continue to echo in the throw-aways mind.

If you listen and want to hear our still silent voice you will hear.

If only.........

Voice of the Throw Away's

Life can certainly be full of interesting turns of events at times.

When I was a kid I didn't dream of a future for myself. It seemed like a waste of time. I never thought I would have one and if I did it would not amount to anything anyway, so I just did not dream. Partly because when I did someone was always right behind me shattering them. It was better to not wish or dream so when things did not come true I would not know what I was missing. I was what is known as a 'throw away kid.' The ones that no one had any hope for or wanted, the ones that people never even really saw as human. We were simply useless vessels using up some of their precious O2.
We are the ones whose job it is to absorb all of the evil and bitterness in people so the 'good' people don't get jaded by the malevolence of human nature. It's like we get singled out before we are even born to be the ones to sacrifices at any and all costs. So we do, do we know better? Maybe. When we are young no we don't, we just continue to take it knowing nothing different. We pray to be seen by someone, ANYONE, but we always just get looked over or straight through. We do what we need to do to just survive anyway we can. In our own silent hell we can't figure out what we did wrong or what we need to do to be loved, accepted, or just be noticed for something other than what everyone sees on the outside. It never happens. We continue to just flicker in and out of sight. We hide in the shadows but scream in the dark.
They don't bother trying to educate us because God forbid we learn there might be something better out there. Oh no, of course not. They don't want us to take those positions that are deemed to have worth because that would be taking something away from all the 'good' people in the world. Why would anyone want a throw away kid right? No they want us to continue to soak it up and be the whipping posts, the violence takers and whatever else. After all we are good at it. We can take it; it does not hurt us anymore. If it happened to one of the 'good ones' it would shatter their world to a million pieces and who knows if they would come back from it. Us, we always do, maybe a little more numb, or separated from ourselves then before, but we come back.
I had a conversation the other day from someone from my past. She came into my life at that critical time where my hope was waning fast. She is someone that does not understand the throw away kid aspect of life. She has never experienced it. She is an idealist that wants to save all kids. She wants to be the intercessor in the lives of kids like I was. In our many conversations she has asked me what it was I needed or wanted at that time. She asked me again the other day.
I had the answer in my head but could not get it out of my mouth without bursting into tears. I wanted to be saved. To be rescued from my own private hell. I wanted someone to reach out their hand to me and tell me it would all be OK. I wanted and needed to feel worth that next breath of air or the space my little bruised body took up on this earth. All those people who said they wanted to take me home with them and make things right, I never showed it but I wanted them to do it. To help me salvage anything that was laudable. I wanted to be Peter Pan; I wanted to be taken to Never Never Land. Where all is good and nothing bad happened to us and our worst fear would be of Captain Hook and Smeety. Where we could fly by just thinking happy thoughts. Where every kid there are ones no one wants and that is what makes them all equal. Or be the kid Mary Poppins came to help. Where we could jump into a chalk picture on the sidewalk and run in a horse race with horses off a merry go round. Or go to a friend's house and laugh so hard you floated up to the ceiling and had to think of something sad to come back down, dancing and singing on roofs with chimney sweeps, or where going to fly a kite solved all that ailed a young soul. Those are the kind of wishes you only get once in a life time. I either used mine too soon or too late. I should have saved it for a couple of years later. It was then my light was snuffed out, almost permanently. I was really a loss cause after that.
Interestingly enough this person from my past she reading something's to me that was not pleasant to hear. Frankly I still think I only heard half of it. I know I did not get the emotional impact I was suppose to get from it I did try though, I was afraid to feel the words she was reading like I know I should have, that I know I need to so I can put it on the table and walk away from it and be able to share my story with anyone it will help. I did not even remember some of what she read. Oh I remembered the events but not the emotions. I took some Benadryl before hand to try and keep myself calm so I would not shake or what have you, (it worked she commented that I seemed so calm) I would not take my sunglasses off, and was more worried about her then I was myself, I was afraid of her reaction to it all. The worse part of it is that think I may actually need to hear it one more time for the full impact to resonate with me to hear the emotions that child wrote about the one that seems so far away from now. I guess it would have to be without shades or hair in the way. However, sometimes things are beyond being able to ask for twice. Even if you do the guilt of asking never goes away. You always feel guilty for asking anything like it's a burden. So you just don't ask again. For many there are dates or times of the year that are more difficult than others. Where the events of life leave you feeling raw and exposed and most vulnerable. It could be a month, or a day on a month that has substantial memories attached to them, anniversaries of sorts. Maybe this year it could be my release day? Ah who am kidding, don't ever be an inconvenience to someone by asking for something more than once. That is the limit. So I blew that one too. So I won't be asking for that help again. Over and done with right? If you miss the opportunity the first time don't expect or ask for it to come around again. At least that is what I was taught.
See that is the mentality that never goes away no matter how old we 'throw away kids' get. We feel guilt if we involve anyone in our worlds. In the murk and mire or even joys and successes of it, even if it is to maybe help provide knowledge to those that might be able to change things for other 'throw aways.' That guilt never goes away. We always feel like we are a perpetual burden on everyone around us. We do our best to smile and just say everything is fine. Let me define what FINE means in the mind of throw away's. FINE = we are handling it. Don't get too close or I'll break, if I smile and say it enough maybe they will even believe that there is nothing wrong with us. It means we are screaming so loud inside and are shocked no one on the outside can't hear it. It's a way of saying things are a mess but we can't tell you or we will get in trouble, it means look deeper please don't give up. It means hug us, tell us we will be fine, don't let our defenses stop you if we crumble just don't tell anyone or think worse of us for it. However, we also know that is exactly what happens. They hear fine and assume it is true. So they walk away satisfied feeling like they had performed their duty of charity at least asking a question to the throw away. They are grateful as they walk away that part of their day is over, now they can focus on those kids who are not a waste of oxygen.
Eventually we throw aways grow up and become adults. Sometimes we turn out OK other times we don't. Even if we do we never lose that mentality of the world taking everything they can from us and giving nothing in return. My motto has always been if I lived off of other peoples love I would have been dead by 5 years old. You do what you need to do for yourself. That has its own issue because then people think you are selfish, when the opposite is true. I don't know what it would take to overcome that mentality but I know have tried and will continue to do so. I don't give up easy. It just gets tiring when around every corner is a reminder of just how worthless we really are. That 'throw away' status is a hard one to shake.
I remember reading a scientific study once that said that infants and children can actually die from lack of human touch and affection, that their brain actually stops growing. I think I was in middle school at the time. I remember thinking that can't be true because I was alive. My brain had not shrunk. Then I realized it did not only say affection. It just said human touch and stimulation. Well, being that it did not define the kind of touch, I figured my brain must be huge. I got touched all the time. Violence is touch, slapping, hitting that is all touching. I could not figure out why my brain was not getting so big it would blow apart my skull. Irrational thoughts from a kid.
When we get thrown back into roles we held as a child, where the responsibility is ours to shoulder. Where we are the caretakers of everyone else's emotions of physical well being, we step up to take it when no one else does. We do what we do not as martyrs but as the sacrifices we were ordained to be. The ironic thing is we love harder and deeper than most ever will. Even those that hurt us we don't give up hearing those words. When they need us for something that is where we find our worth. What most don't know is how lonely this actually is. People think it is so noble to take care of someone older. Noble? I am not sure about, it's lonely and isolating. We do it because we have to. Because we love the people we care for at all costs no matter what they have done or continue to do to us. Why we still love… Maybe because we have to. Like we feel that if we stop loving them that it will permanently close the door for the return to come our way. Like we have that power in our hands to make them love us. Even though we know it is a futile adventure.
Even if after you serve what is wanted for dinner and get it thrown in your face. Even if after your best friend betrays you on such a level that forgiveness can't get past the deep sting of infidelity of spilled secrets and the old record of pain that continuously plays in our head. That friend that has always been our sanctuary in times of tribulation, that place where tears are OK, feelings are understood and comfort is given. Where a hug or being held by that friend as you weep is not seen as threatening to the one shedding the tears. The one that tells you it will be ok soon enough. The one that you don't feel like a needy, clingy freak around when you need to talk. When that confidence in the friendship is broken it should not come as a surprise but it always does. All you can do is ask yourself what you did wrong for that to happen. You want to apologize to the person even if you did nothing wrong just to get back what you had; but you don't because you can't bow to it again.
That is when you look around to try and take a new inventory and realize that once again you are totally on your own. Even at this point in life it is second nature. However, you try not to allow yourself to fall into those old thought patterns of not shutting everyone out, and our trying to make new friends and let them into what pains our heart, but when you go up to the roof and get a glimpse at the big picture what you see is a dry and barren land where there is no oasis in sight, no trees to offer shade from the storms, or arms to hold you to tell you that things will be OK again.
So you polish the tears from your blurry eyes, clean up the tomato sauce mess, go back and make something else and hope that this one won't illicit the same response as before. You try not to feel all those things that the words and phrases of 'how can you be so stupid' when will you ever learn' you have always been a screw up' when will you ever do anything right' bring up from old. You try not to hear them and if you do you try and steel yourself to not feel the burning hot knife that just cut you apart from stem to sternum and left you bleeding inside. You try not to let them get to you, but get to you they do. Yet, we continue to try to love, give and lay ourselves out for anyone and everyone to persist in walking all over you but when asked your response it is always fine, that is what is safe.
You put your head down on the pillow and cry a little harder and relive the emotions and thoughts of the little child inside you that had to grow up so fast she never had a childhood to even speak of. The one with the wishes I could not express to my friend the other day when she asked me what I wanted or needed then. That I wanted to be saved. To be rescued from my own private hell. I wanted someone to reach out their hand to me and tell me it would all be OK. I wanted and needed to feel worth that next breath of air or the space my little bruised body took up on this earth.
Yet, now as an adult you realize just how stupid it is to even think that much less want or need it.
And still…. We continue to love even the ones who hurt us in hopes of someone making the trip to Never Never Land or popping through that chalk picture on the sidewalk and rescuing us from the throw aways. You learn that hope does not spring eternal, and friendships are conditional and superficial and never meant to be two ways streets.
So we stop crying because it does nothing to help.
This is the voice of throw away kids. Monotone, numb, scared, fearless, lonely, and searching for that person to start the rescue mission they can only convey through their eyes.

Oh well, more rabbit tale wonderings.

Haunts, Taunts and Blessed Teachers Part 2

Sophomore 86 - 87 / Junior year 87 -88

If you thought 6^th grade was bad….

After I began communication with my 6^th grade teacher she happened to mention my name to a colleague. They realized I had been a student of both of them. Not the best thing to have in common. Mrs. K from 6^th grade told Mrs. S that she was going to have lunch with me and she said she might join us. All I was thinking when she said that was "Oh great 2 former teachers, both of whom I was incredibly mean to, at one time in one place. Crap! OK breathe deep. Don't panic, I'll survive." Let me just say when I met Mrs. K today I was constantly looking around to see who was coming. Nervous, Oh ya. Needless to say Mrs. S could not make it. Although, I will say it actually would have been OK. Mrs. K and I talked a bit about Mrs. S and I think I would have survived had she shown up.

I do have a thing with people approaching from the back. That is why if I go into a restaurant or something I like to sit where I can't be approached from blind spots and I can see the door, and if I can get a table where I can actually put my back against the wall and see all angles. I know why but it's not important for you to. It did play into my jitters a bit though because we were sitting outside and people would approach the door from the blind.

But I digress…

I'll give just one example of what I put this teacher through.

I moved back to the school district and back in with my parent's second semester sophomore year. I had just turned 15. I left after 8^th grade and was gone 1 ½ years. During that time I went to several different schools. None of which boosted my confidence that there were any kind of qualified teachers left in the world. When I came back I was still in the "special Education" program. It is here that I met Mrs. S. Ya that was her lucky day right? NOT! 6^th grade had nothing on me now. I was really jaded, angry, walled off, untouchable, and virtually a true lost cause by then. What was the school to do? By law I had to attend they had to take me, poor them. I had been well schooled in the art of pushing people away, saying blah blah blah in my head whenever anyone was talking to me, raising all hell, not to mention sarcasm. Can you see how lucky Mrs. S was to be my primary coordinator and teacher? Again NOT! Did I mention sarcasm?

I don't know what she thought when we were all in that little room the day I was enrolling. She had my file, heard all the dirt and I swear was trying to tell me via her body language "it's OK you can trust me, but I am ready for you." at least that my interpretation at the time. I am sure now it was way off. I remember thinking "ya, you ready? Hang on tightly cause I do nothing lightly. Ah the challenge". That really is what I was thinking. Little did I know how true of a thought that would prove to be in a matter of months.

I had been hardened by a juvenile care system that was and still is a massively dilapidated, understaffed system that was crumbling under its own weight. I was one of thousands that fell through those proverbial cracks that social services does not acknowledge even exists. My behavior showed that. I knew where the invisible line was between the gray and the black. Heck I lived my life dancing on it. I got in trouble sure but never enough to get me into any legal trouble. Too smart for my own good? Maybe…

OK here I am going to get a bit more personal…

I was living with my parents again and things were worse than ever. I was growing more and more depressed. The anger was subsiding. I guess I should have known that something was really wrong. I spent a great deal of my life angry about one thing or the other. So this was a drastic change. My behavior was really spiraling down quickly. I was in the office damn near everyday for something. Mrs. S used to tell me she could hear me in the East office all the way from central hall as she was on her way to get her mail. If you know the layout of West Bend High School you know that central hall and East office is a LOOOOOOOOOOOONG ways.

I had only been in the back in town a few months. Long before that I already had no hope for myself or my life. By that time it had been trampled out of me by people that "just didn't know how to handle me and I was just a bad apple." Others told me "I might as well drop out of school because I would end up in jail for the rest of my life anyway. " By people that were to be there to help me. What wonderful people. Again sarcasm, gotta love it.

Over time I came to realize that I just didn't want to be alive anymore. Why would I if I was worthless, bad apple, even people that were "hired" to care were ruthless. Now, here I am not going to say what I did but I was told by a doctor that in all his years of practice he had never seen anyone do that or more determined to die. Literally doc told me he could not believe I was still alive. Needless to say I didn't die (obviously) but not for lack of trying. Somehow someone at school the next day found out. I still am not sure how, I thought maybe I turned my head the wrong way or something in class. I had not told anyone anything. It would have screwed up my after school plans.

I got called into the office and before I knew it both my parents were in there, Mrs. S and the vice principal were there. Again, can I just say Crap! I was busted big time. I just thought it is not to be this way. I'm not supposed to be here right now. All these people were trying to tell me how much they care. All I was thinking was "blah blah blah sure you care now but it's too late. I don't even want to save myself so I knew no one could help and see how much easier it would be if I just wasn't here?" They just weren't getting it. The office was getting very tense because I refused to sign myself into any place to get help. Didn't want anything to do with it. Then it was laid on the table. If I didn't sign, which by law I had to because I was over 13 years old, I would be put somewhere else involuntarily. I refused to speak. I wasn't angry I was thinking if I agree to do this I could jump out of the car on the freeway on the way there and this would all be done. Or if I do I can get these people off my back play the game of the program get out and I'll be done; vanished from this earth. So I agreed to go. A very loud audible sob of relief went out from Mrs. S and the vice principal. Nothing from my parents at the time. They were at the end of their rope with me as well and did not know what was going on except I was a problem again. At least I thought.

What I didn't know was both the school and my parents had been in contact with the doctor and he realized the seriousness of the situation. Apparently he told my dad to put me in the front seat, keep his hand on the seatbelt buckle so I could not take it off, (how did he know) and get there ASAP someone would be at the door waiting. It would take us about an hour to get there and I did try to get the belt off. I realized it wasn't going to happen my dad was too strong. So I switched my thought process to plan B. Play the program, get out and see ya. Obviously that didn't happen so the rest of that is not important.

I got out didn't go to live with my parents and went back to school with Mrs. S. Even I feel sorry for her now.

Years later I still think about it. That day in the office was a major turning point in my life. I just didn't know it at the time. The sound of the sobbing has never left me. I came to understand with age that Mrs. S did care. As I went through the program and my thinking changed (very slowly) I remember thinking that the vice P and Mrs. S were the only two people on the planet that cared if I lived or died. I had never felt anything that powerful before and from people who didn't really know me. That blew me away. She didn't see me as a lost cause, hopeless, or worthless. She saw me at my very worst and didn't walk away when it was over. Sure when I returned back to school I think she was a bit apprehensive or nervous about what I may do, and at times I felt like she handled me with kid gloves. Maybe afraid I would crack again. I knew I wasn't ever going to go back to that dark, dank place EVER again. I was stronger than I had ever felt in my life. My doctor saved my life literally at that time. I would be OK, still up to no good, cantankerous but now I was having fun again. I knew 100% happiness would not happen until I was out of the system and older but I was determined to get there regardless of the obstacles I had to get through to get there.

Mrs. S saw me as the kid I was, raw, uncensored and probably more real than I had ever been. When I think of the crying in the office it wrenches my heart. What I put her through and that was just one instance but it was the biggest one. I mentioned that to Mrs. K on the phone before we met today and it came up today at lunch. Mrs. K had told Mrs. S I mentioned something about it on the phone Mrs. S was surprised I even remembered that. Are you kidding me? Seriously? How could I forget? I hoped that she had but I guess I knew she couldn't have either. I have never forgotten that day or the rest of that school year or the year after. The lasting impact on my life that sound made I would no idea until I was out on my own. It was the sound of compassion, humanity and sincerity. She helped teach me how to be me again, to find the power inside me. That I could hope again and it was OK to dream about my future again. She made me feel safe if even only for that brief moment of a year and a half when she was my teacher. (This in a classroom had NEVER happened at any point before.) She NEVER gave up on me. In my world that was unheard of because just about every other teacher did.

When I left town to go to college and was a 4.0 student in some very demanding, fast paced classes it was her I wanted to send a copy of my transcript to. I just wanted to let her know I turned out OK. I'm here, more alive than ever, happy and successful educationally, professionally, and confident. I wanted to tell her I made it and you helped me get there. You believed in me, hoped for me but mostly you cared about me.

Oh here we go, Mar you are in trouble. Remember when you said when we were talking tonight that you would have been crying when I told about today? All I can say is thanks. Thanks a lot ya old hen. HA Now I am going. I don't cry but sometimes things are so deep and personal and hit so close to the heart that feeling finds its way out of my eyes.

I just appreciate this teacher so much I can't even tell you. I wish I would have known then what I know now. That is a regret I have. I am so sorry for what I put her through. She didn't deserve it. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now I can finish that statement by saying – but with the right kid. I have never forgotten that day or her. She participated in changing my life and my perspective of teachers and humanity.

I was afraid to see her again today but not because she was scary or ever hurt me but my own fear and insecurity. I knew I could not vocally express what I felt and that in some way I would disappoint her. Which is funny to me because I usually could care less what people think about me or if I disappoint them. Hell there have been many times that was what I strived for early on.

I guess I didn't realize until today just how much I wanted her to be proud of who I am today. The compassion I have for those unreachable kids. The part of me that has so much compassion for people that need help does bring me to tears at times. It is because I had her as an example I know it. My life turned out different and so much better because of her. I had a strong male role model in my doc that helped bring up out of the dark and shine the light enough and she was the female role model that just helped make it brighter and more vivid every day.

I want to say thank you Mrs. S. You chose to be an active participant in helping me save my life. I could never say thank you enough. I will never forget you. How could I? I am just sorry that you remember that say too. I know it was hell and I know the sobs I heard and the tears I saw that day were out of raw emotion that I would at least live another day. The only other person in my life I knew felt that from was my grandma and she died when I was 13. Then came along Mrs. S completely unaware of what she was in for but never turned to run away.

When I lived in So Cal I had read the autobiography by Brett Butler (actress and comedian not baseball player.) There was a sentence in it that only a VERY small group of people helped me make that statement be true for me too.

So Mrs. S as the tears run hot down my cheeks instead of down my throat unseen except by the wisest of spectators this my old friend is for you.

"For all the times I tried to runaway but stayed instead to find some truth." Brett Butler autobiography Knee Deep In Paradise.

You are a large part in helping me find that truth inside me at that time of my life. You a hero to me. Thank you. I can honestly say I now eagerly wait the day I see you face to face again. It would be my honor and privilege to make your acquaintance again. My only prayer is that after this blog I can A) be able to look you in the eyes and not fear I said or expressed too much that I made you uncomfortable and B) I won't bust my tradition and just start sobbing myself.

I'm sorry this is so long but I knew it would never come out this way if I tried to speak it. This format allows me to express things I'm not always able to with my voice or conscious mind.

Tissue anyone? Boy did this take a bad turn. I did not plan on all this.

They say everybody has at least 1 teacher, well for a blip of time in 6^th grade I had one and a tad longer blip in high school I had another. I had two. May teachers around the world remember that the simplest of gestures, the humanity conveyed in a smile, the sparkle in their eyes when they are proud of that student, the emotions in their voice and words of kindness will stay with their students far longer that whatever the material they are teaching ever will. Those things will carry their students above the clouds and give them the wings they need from time to time to sustain the altitude the rest of their students' lives.

Haunts, Taunts, and Blessed Teachers Part 1

6^th grade

Ok, I am going to digress a bit during this. Follow me I will name names and give all the dirt..

Let me start this by saying I love teachers. I think they are heroes to so many kids during their tenure that they will never grasp it all in their lifetime or know the impact they had on their students, good or bad.

So this all started when I emailed a few peeps early last week at the school district with an inquiry and comment of sorts. Ok fine, all good right? Oh man… I get a reply from 2 one from my former 6^th grade teacher. Innocent enough right? NOT! She was asking if I was at Badger Middle when she was there and told me her maiden name. Oh here we go I thought. So I responded basically "had you not said your maiden name I would have said that, yes I was in Badger at that time, but I don't know you. However, I can't because you were my 6^th grade teacher." I asked her if she wanted to out for coffee sometime. I hadn't heard anything. I called her a few days later and she said sure. During our conversation she had mentioned that another former teacher of mine was in the office next to hers and they ended up talking about me and realized they had both had me as a student at two very different intervals, Mrs. K (middle school) and Mrs. S of sophomore year and all of junior year. We talked for a bit on the phone and set a date to get together. That was today.

After I hung up the phone my first thought was oh no what did I get myself into. I remember being so mean to her. She was young and only in her second year of teaching. I guess I should say that I was in the "special education" classes because I was too hyper and too smart for my own good; so I have been told. By the time I got to 6^th grade I thought I was "stupid damaged goods".

My grade school special ED teacher was abusive physically and emotionally to us. I started with her in kindergarten and had her every year through 5^th grade. Every year was more of the same. Calling us stupid, sharpen pencils and poke us in the head if she felt we were or were not doing something she wanted us to. Snap her fingers against our heads for the same reasoning. If we said something she thought inappropriate she would hold out a tablespoon to us with either Tabasco sauce or cod liver oil. Have you tried that stuff, nasty big time nasty. We also would have to stand in the corner with our noses in the corner and many times on one foot for hours sometimes as a consequence. If we put our other foot on the floor or nose out of the corner it just made it twice as long. She smoked in the classroom with us in it. Even the principal was afraid of her. We had no advocate and were too young to know we needed one. I was 5 – 10 years of age what did I know? I did teach myself to not be afraid and just know that getting hurt in some way was a given. It would defiantly happen every day. So if I wasn't afraid anymore I would not longer make myself hyperventilate at the sheer possibility of harm.

Home life was shall I say challenging as well. My mom had issues with my level of energy and I never felt an actual part of the family. I always felt like I didn't belong. I will say that many adopted kids feel that way. It is normal but add that on to everything well….. fill in the blank…

I do not say that as an excuse for my behavior towards my 6^th grade teacher Mrs. K. there is nothing I can offer but my apologies. Still, that hardly seems enough when I think about it. Not that I have guilt per say I just did what I felt I needed to do to make it through another year and a new teacher I have for the next 3 years. My philosophy was "cut it now and prevent all harm." Don' feel, don't fear, don't think! That had been my experience with school that was what I knew. I did not and dared not to trust any person in any kid of authority position. It was not safe. Unfortunately, it was me that missed an opportunity. She was not a bad teacher I never gave her a chance. From the moment I first walked in her classroom the first day of school (and I do remember it) It was already over in my mind. I would bide my time like all the years before. I was wild, cantankerous, rude, mean, disrespectful, and everything else you could imagine, and all in a 10 – 11 year old, 4 foot 4 and around a 70 pound body. It was all about survival even if that meant collateral damage. I didn't care about trying to prove I was not stupid. Damaged goods nobody could have begun to get me to understand that I wasn't. A lost cause that was all I heard. Not from Mrs. K but other teachers I did have that same year too. Mr. C was good at saying that. What was one more person telling me that?

To say that to a child just trying to find their way is a prophecy waiting to happen. The people that tell them that ingrain it so deep that is EXACTLY what that child will become.

Mrs. K was a good teacher and she did try with me. She was a young teacher and I was a tough kid. I have thought about her over her over the years. As I got older I knew I missed out on a lot of things that year. I am just sorry I realized it too late. I wanted to say I was sorry for being a big ole jerk. How would I begin? Uhm do you remember me? If you do is it for anything good? I didn't even remember her married name or she was even still around. So while I still thought about it from time to time I figured there was nothing I could do to right any of the wrongs from that year.

Now I had an Email from her? Holy **** I damn near panicked. Called my friend Mar as asked if I really had stepped in it now. She was like no it's a good thing. I was like ya right tell me one I might believe.

Well….. I WAS WRONG. Yes, I said it. I can almost hear the Heavens opening up and a choir of Angels singing hallelujah. HA!

I met her for lunch but it turned into a 2.5 hour conversation. I now know that I absolutely missed a fabulous opportunity to actually allow someone into my interior world in 6^th grade. She cared actually genuinely cared. She didn't even really know me but she cared. She tied to understand. Tried to provide opportunities for me where a light of hope could reach me. Did everything she could to show me I could trust her. So as intelligent as I was I missed all of that. I was so busy protecting myself that I ended up keeping myself in such a closed off state of mind I missed so much.

I will say however, I was still young and the God concept that I know and have now was way over my head. I do believe that God gave me that teacher that year if for nothing else as a sort of respite. I had a horribly violent teacher 5 years before and ended up with another bad, cruel "your being stupid, bully of a man for 2 years after. Looking back I think it was God, NO, I know it was God that was watching out for me even then. He gave me the gift of a non – abusive year. He knew that I could not have endured another consecutive year of that kind of "teaching" without completely shutting down forever. Flat line bbbeeeppp!

I am grateful I had Mrs. K that year. I am sorry I did not understand the grand picture than. I am sorry I didn't pick up what she was putting down. So I would like to thank Mrs. K my 6^th grade teacher. For the time and emotional investment she placed in me. It did register it just took me a bit longer to understand it. You are certainly worthy of the title educator. Not all are.

My only regret about today is my own insecurities when it comes to clear and coherent verbal conversation. My brain thinks faster than I can speak and I know I talk fast. Ya try being in my head. Not only that but I also almost always have a whole other conversation going on in there at the same time I am still engaging who I am speaking to at the time.

Ah well wasn't it Shakespeare that said in Taming Of The Shrew "What is past is prologue"?

If you Mrs. K (6^th grade) are reading this thank you for meeting me today. Despite my own nerves about what you remembered from your year with me, I was shocked that you didn't remember all the horrible things I did. It certainly was not what I expected. I thought I would end up doing a great deal of graveling. I guess you didn't live up to your "potential". HAHAHA I know you got that if you are reading this.

Thank you again Mrs. K for being a teacher and especially mine. You ROCK!

Don't speak it out!

OK it's been a while. I have not really had anything to say. Well, that's not totally true. I have said a great deal in my community about issues we have going on here, just not here on my blog.

Have you ever had something inside you that was so deep and personal? A hope, dream for your life, job or something similar? You don't want to talk about it, or express it to anyone. Afraid of what would happen if your dream did or didn't come to fruition? So you keep it between you and God. You don't tell or talk to your closest friends about it. Even if your friends know you have a talent or gifting for the area your secret sits in. So you sluff it off as a random event.

A prime example of this is: I have always had a love or passion if you wish for words. Any and all words. I loved the way random letters come together to form thoughts, opinions, feelings or anything. I picked up how to formulate these letters very young.

In school I was always "housed" in the "special education classes". I was a rambunctious kid with what some said was hyper. I say bored, bored to death. So I caused all kinds of havoc as a way to keep my brain from shriveling up and shutting down. The teachers didn't appreciate this too much. I had also figured out very very young that if I showed as little potential as possible little was expected. It was like "oh she tied her shoes YEAH!! clap clap" So that was my thought process in ELEMENTARY school. Scary right? It gets better. Every year my special Ed teacher would have to test us to see how close to grade level we were performing. I remember the day in 2nd or 3rd grade that this occurred. (That's another problem I remember everything practically, I forget very little. Some how things stay in the back of my mind yet available for instant recall.)

Anyway, I chose to actually try on some of the tests. So I randomly chose what I would and would not perform on. I chose to take the reading, vocabulary, comprehension and all that one seriously. So when the annual reports went home I peeked at mine. I tested almost out high school. I was only in 2nd or 3rd grade. I was the kid that would sit on my dad's lap and read the paper to him once in a while. I know crazy kid.

After those tests went home I had some explaining to do. I said it was a fluke and did my best to bomb every test I was given after that. It worked, I was successful., YEAH!

For all the years following up to where I am today, I held my secret. I have written things in the past. Creative writings, college papers, things for media outlets etc. and have had any number of my friends tell me "God made you to be a writer." Or things of the sort. I would think ya ya whatever. All while holding onto my secret.

Well, I have recently made the decision to test the waters. I responded to an ad in the same paper I have done front page articles for about my many Hurricane Katrina disaster response trips to New Orleans, they were advertising for freelance writers. I called, and was told they would give me a shot. WOW.

I was scared and elated all in the same moment. The simple first story was about the Daisy Girl Scout troop of 5 - 6 year olds. What is the old saying? Never work with animals or kids they steal your own thunder? I did it and was and am proud of such a simple story.

So for those that have tried to push me into some sort of writing over the years I am trying to do some sort of semblance of it now. Are ya happy? (snickering) However, putting some of my most private or emotional thoughts into those random patterns to create words and sentences are still difficult.

There is still a little fear left. I have put myself out there and been approved of. Not not only by humans, but by my heart. the silent, still place that lingers by itself afraid to raise it's hand to be seen. I have always known that there was something different about me and my fascination with words. As I got older I understood that it was a gift from God. I do not know if I would describe it as calling or anything but I know it comes from God, not me.

I know that sometimes when I do write certain things (and I know this may sound strange to some) I feel different. I don't feel the need to read it over and many times do not even want to. In college I always started writing my papers the night before they were due and handed them in without a re-read and got A's. I usually stayed up all night writing them. For some reason my most creative or open times always come in the middle of the night, and I do mean always. Figure that one out.. Sure, there are times that I become insecure and re-read edit, and repeat over and over again, but this brings me to my entire point.


We as humans can have gifts, talents, callings, skills etc, and we can be confident in them. However, I believe that if we leave that place of questioning and rest in our own confidence we move outside of God's grace. We step out on our own and hang ourselves over the cliff. There we dangle and wonder what happened to our giftings. It is not until we look back later that we see what happened. Is it pride? In part. Is it human nature? In part.

It is not that we are not comfortable in our individual skills. It is that we fail to remember it is God who gave it to us. Even if there are others with similar abilities it is He who made them so minutely different our human eye may not see the differentials. It is He who continues to re-supply us with it. That is what we forget in our own busy, hurried, self confident lives.

Just another tale from the rabbit trail.
I would love to know if this makes any sense to anyone else but me.