Shadorma: Reduced to This

I dunno. I think it works.

Read the poem first and then the notes.

It might make more sense that way.

Or not.

Always if

 You feel like you must

 Write and your

 Subject is

 Not the sort who would be cool

 The down-low is best

~The Cheese Grates It Poetically~

Notes:

First, the Rules of Engagement.

 Today we challenge you to write a paragraph that briefly recounts a story, describes the scene outside your window, or even gives directions from your house to the grocery store. Now try erasing words from this paragraph to create a poem or, alternatively, use the words of your paragraph to build a new poem.

So, I was getting ready to go to bed, and I just got through writing a post regarding my ideas about what's cool and what isn't in writing fan fiction. If you really want to read it, you can find it here. 

I'm extremely liberal regarding the rules when writing about fictional characters, rather more conservative when it comes to writing about real people.

I took my words from the last paragraph in my essay. 

It turned out surprisingly not awful.

I will go to bed now. 

The Cheese Grates It Poetically: The Vile Truth

Abandoned House

Image obtained from wallpaperfo.com

Content warnings for profanity and gloomy, pissed-off poetry
If you have a problem with either of those, don't read this and then bitch about it
Anyway, I didn't write it for you

The Vile Truth

It's time to write a poem all about me

To tell a truth which will set no-one free

I won't deny, it will be bleak 

If sweetness you want, somewhere else you should seek

For I speak only the vile truth

***

I graduated high school back in 1983

Into a world which despises people like me

I was never spry or slick 

Nobody wanted to be my sidekick

I was one of the forgotten people

***

Let's get the eating disorder aside first

For although it's bad, it isn't the worst

In a world which treats thinner people like they walk on water 

My sin was being the chunky-thighed, chipmunk-faced daughter

A plump, unloved candle with two charred ends

***

Starve until you get thin then binge when you can no longer stand it

Same sorry story, I'm so done with this shit

To spy on celebrities and watch their weight with disdain

This society has a lot of reasons to be ashamed

A dose of fetish in a shallow, judgmental world

***

Why don't you sprinkle on a little more self-righteous hate

When I look at you, what I see isn't that great
You tap-dance a sleazy staccato while you whistle a disdainful tune
Sing "I'm prettier than my brother" as you sashay across the room
Attractive on the outside, but filled with a soul-scathing darkness 

***

Perhaps you should pay more attention to the shadows in the cellar
Of your own soul, and not that of the other fellow
Watch your back is something I learned long ago
Men who tell me I'm pretty have a hand they won't show
Predators have left me with a heart made of frozen filaments

***

 I funnel my sorrowfulness into my writing though I don't believe
That anything of worth in this life I will achieve
She ran away from everything that hurt her, even herself
I have nothing to brag on, not fame, wealth, or health
My struggles inescapable: a mind without doors

***

 If the deities think there are different things I should do
I want to hear it from them, not you
I don't know if I believe in magic any more
But perhaps one day the fairies will settle the score
I can't help but hope for the wrath of the dryads

***

On this shallow world
Which destroys those
Who are not deemed beautiful
In a very narrow way
Which judges people on looks rather than 
On the way they treat others

~Cie~

Notes:

Yes, I'm angry.

No, I don't want your suggestions on how I can finally become thin, beautiful, and find Prince Charming.

I want a world where we don't judge people on their physique or their perceived beauty, and Prince Charming would be just one more pain in the ass whose needs I had to attend to.

I don't pull punches with my poetry. 

I don't write about sweetness and light.

To me, poetry is hyperbolic.

It isn't a process of trying to make myself into one of the shiny happy people instead of an icky, dark, depressive thing.

It is simply me expressing thoughts that are not appropriate dinner conversation.

I am nearly 53 years old and I have a lot of health problems plus I live with a brain that has been trying to kill me for my entire life. 

To break that down into a diagnosis that people who need an explanation for everything can understand, I have three major mental illnesses and I do not respond well to medication. I live with this shit. I accept this shit. But that doesn't mean I necessarily like it. Whatever potential I had was stolen from me by mental illness and more so by a society which has disdain for people like me, make no mistake.

As to my body, I discovered health at every size and size acceptance when I was 45. If I had discovered these critical concepts years ago, I might not have tried to starve myself into an arbitrary "acceptable" size. I might not have wasted hours a day at the gym instead of spending time with my son in his early years, all in the quest of achieving a "perfect" body so someone might "love" me. My overexercising (orthorexia) contributed to a lot of the musculoskeletal problems I now have. I couldn't exercise like that anymore even if I wanted to. 

Further, these behaviors never made me thin. I do not have the kind of body that will be thin regardless of how much I starve or overexercise it. Unless I become terminally ill as my great-grandmother did (acute myelogenous leukemia took her from 300 pounds to 95 pounds in the space of a year and then she died--but, hey, she cut a svelte figure in her casket!) I will never be thin. Fuck it. If this is a problem for you, than you're the one with the problem. You shouldn't be judging people based on their body type.

I'm diabetic, so I have to be careful about what I eat. My go-to snack is seasoned Kale. My treat is five of those little "fun size" candy bars: two sugar-free and three regular. I drink unsweetened nut milk, which is 45 calories per cup. Do I think this makes me some kind of saint? Fuck no! It actually pisses me the hell off to have to mind what I eat to this degree, and, in fact, I find discussions of diet and exercise boring as fuck. Who the fuck cares what you eat or how much you exercise? I certainly don't, it's none of my damn business. I only mention it because my point is I eat a very restrictive diet and I'm still fat. A person's body type is much more complex than "calories in, calories out."

I have to inject insulin because I have a zombie pancreas. I also have to take thyroid medication, because I have a zombie thyroid. My PCOS is pretty well resolved thanks to menopause. However, my pituitary is whack in some sort of unspecified way. I have a crappy, third-rate endocrine system. My crappy, third-rate endocrine system insures that in a world where thinness is next to godliness, I will always be fat. I honestly don't care about that. It just pisses me off that so many people do care about it, and, further, that they think it is their right to care about it.

Here is your TL:DR takeaway:

Quit judging other people for their looks or based on what you think they "should" have accomplished in their lives. You probably don't know what battles they're fighting or how much impact your words have. If blaming and shaming worked, we would have no addicts, no fat people, and no-one would be mentally ill or struggling for even the most meager of "success." Try a measure of kindness instead.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

 Prompt List

The Daily Post
Funnel

Daily Text Prompt:
I want to hear it from them, not you

Hourly Writing Prompts:
Sorrowfulness

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie 

Prompts Blog:
I'm prettier than my brother
 

 We Write At Dawn:
Watch your back

WNQ-Writers:
She ran away from everything that hurt her, even herself 

Word and Phrase List

binge

deny

sidekick

sin

slick 

sprinkle

spy

staccato

thinner

watch

water

whistle

funnel
sorrowfulness 
I'm prettier than my brother
I want to hear it from them, not you
Watch your back

The Vile Truth

Shadows in the Cellar

Frozen Filaments

Inescapable: A Mind without Doors

Soul Scathing Darkness

Wrath of the Dryads

A Dose of Fetish

The Forgotten People

Charred Ends

1983

The Cheese Grates It: Drawing Parallels

I couldn't find an appropriate picture, so here's a picture of a Babirusa

I know that I'm pretty much the most defensive person in the world and that I likely overreacted to certain things that people said recently. I have a tendency to do that. As a friend pointed out, certain things which got my hackles up were well-intentioned. All I can do is to apologize and to hopefully explain why sometimes well-intentioned statements about developing a brighter outlook can rub a person who lives with a mood disorder the wrong way.

I think the best way to explain it is to draw a parallel to certain other conditions I live with which are strictly physical conditions, but which can also affect my moods.

I have diabetes.

I would like to draw a parallel between my use of insulin to control my blood sugar and my use of dark, sometimes hyperbolic poetry as an outlet for the bleakness that often inundates my mind.

My body produces little if any of its own insulin at this point. Insulin helps the body process sugar in the blood. Without it, the high sugar levels begin to cause damage to the vascular system. 

Now, let's say someone were to say to me "if you'd just act like people who have a normal pancreas, you'd learn to be like people with a normal pancreas."

To which my reply would be "I will literally never be like people with a normal pancreas because my pancreas doesn't work normally."

"Yes, but if you behave like people with a normal pancreas, your pancreas will start to behave normally."

"No. It literally will not. If I try to behave like people with a normal pancreas, my elevated blood sugar will start to damage my body fairly quickly."

"Really, though, Positive Pancreatic Thinking will heal your faulty pancreas!"

At this point, somebody might be getting stabbed with an insulin needle, and it isn't going to be me.

Most people can see that the above scenario is a bit ridiculous (although anyone with diabetes can tell you that we've heard a million and one tales of "miracle cures" for our condition.) However, a lot of people can't see that they're doing a very similar thing when telling someone who lives with a mood disorder that if they just practice positive thinking they'll become a normal, happy person. It literally doesn't work that way.

I'll be 53 years old in February. 

I had my first mixed episode when I was ten. I didn't know that's what it was then, but with the knowledge I've gained, I now know that's exactly what it was.

I had my first severe depressive episode when I was twelve. I also became bulimic and made my first half-assed suicide attempt by swallowing a bunch of aspirin, which made me sick. 

I was labeled as overly dramatic and attention seeking and told countless times to just stop thinking and acting as I did.

I've learned a lot of coping techniques over the years. One of the ways I channel the darkness rather than cutting myself or self-medicating is by writing.

I've been through a lot of undesired changes this year.

I live with chronic pain and am not sure how long I'll be able to keep working. My situation is precarious. 

I would never tell someone who tends to have a positive outlook on things that they need to create things that are dark and gloomy. However, people don't think twice about telling me that I need to write things that are more cheerful and that I need to have a brighter outlook.

It also minimizes and belittles my struggles when people say things which imply that what I'm going through is some sort of a phase. If it's a phase, it's a damn long one. It's lasted most of my life.

Sometimes I write funny stuff. I actually do have a sense of humor, which most people don't get.

Perhaps people like me do serve a purpose. We often have high levels of empathy. Perhaps by pointing out the hurtful things in the world we can teach others to be kinder.

Hell, I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet and I rather doubt I'm going to.

I do know that I like German chocolate cake. That much I've figured out for certain. I wish I had some right now.

My mind doesn't work like yours. I know most of you can't understand a mind like mine, but I ask you to please try to respect that maybe people like me do know our own minds and maybe it would be nice to be treated not as broken half-people who need to be fixed, but as whole and worthy of consideration exactly as we are.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

This is my Always Keep Fighting tattoo.

It's a real, permanent tattoo.

Some days its easier to keep fighting than others.

This is a reminder for me to keep fighting on those days too.

It's also a tribute to me and those like me.

The Cheese Grates It + OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 29: Beautiful Ugly People

Beautiful Ugly People

Not seen as pretty outside

And the insides are too dark

The world tells them to hide

Sometimes they refuse to hide

They risk everything although they are

Not seen as pretty outside

Sometimes it hurts to have pride

Even though they have much to offer

The world tells them to hide

Copyright Prometeus +123RF.com 

It's hard to believe in the beauty inside

When you hear every day how ugly you are

Not seen as pretty outside

If you've a best friend who's along for the ride

It can be easier to make the scene although

The world tells them to hide

Per Ohlin

January 16, 1969 - April 8, 1991

If no-one sees the tears that you've cried

It's harder to be walking alone when you're

Not seen as pretty outside

The world tells them to hide

Love,

Cie

Note:

For better or worse, here's my crack at a Villanelle.

I'll be finishing out the challenge because I'm not a quitter, but I won't be sharing any more of my work. Honestly, it's a little tiresome when the only poems anyone wants to read are bright, chipper little odes to spring and twoo wuv. 

I'm sure everyone would have told Edgar Allan Poe to "just cheer up" too. 

I will leave everyone with the thought that maybe people whose minds work differently aren't broken things to be fixed and perhaps the reason we tend to hide and suffer in silence is because any time we share what's on our mind, we are admonished to "stop that stinkin' thinkin'" or are told that one day we'll straighten up and fly right, the often unstated piece being "and if you don't, you're a loser who just didn't try hard enough.
Believe it or not, I actually do have a "light half." I have a blog with no political rants or bleak ruminations whatsoever. It's mostly pictures of plants and nature. It can be found at http://cieswonderfulworld.tumblr.com

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It + OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 25: Don't Buy the Bullshit

This image was found in multiple places and I am unable to determine its origin.

If anyone knows the origin of the image, I will be glad to properly credit its creator.

Don't Buy the Bullshit

Nobody

Has the right

To make you feel

Bad about your body

Never apologize

To anybody

For your body

Those busybodies

Who think it's okay

To belittle others' bodies

Need to take a long walk

Off a short pier

Into shark-infested waters

With raw steaks

Tied to their bodies

The Cheese

No Longer Apologizing for My Body

Note:

I am not officially participating in today's OctPoWriMo prompt, although I did create a poem in spite of the fact that I initially wasn't going to because die-t talk is such a turn-off for me. However, I have to keep in mind that many people haven't been lucky enough to find Size Acceptance and Health At Every Size as I did. This is why I share here my response to this prompt.

If I hadn't found size acceptance and health at every size at age 45 (seven years ago now) I would be 52 and still hating myself and calling myself horrific names like "fat pig" and "disgusting land whale." Thanks to my myriad of endocrine problems plus DNA (my mother's side of the family tends to be heavy, and to have endocrine problems) I will never be thin unless I develop a deadly disease such as acute myelogenous leukemia as my great-grandmother did. She went from 300 pounds to 95 in the space of a year, and then the disease killed her.

It isn't being a "foodie" that determines a person's body type. The multi-billion dollar die-t industry has doctors and the FDA in its pocket. Most so-called diseases of obesity are actually diseases which become more likely with aging in people of all sizes. 

I worked with the elderly for close to 25 years. There are elderly people of all sizes. The idea that there are no fat old people is a fallacy. Fat old people are no less healthy than old people of other sizes. In fact, many of the fat older folk that I worked with were reasonably healthy. There was one portly gent in his nineties who was a diabetic and still taking care of himself. I worked night shift and only heard from him on one occasion: when he hurt his hand.

Nobody needs to apologize to anyone for their body type. It's really not something we can help and trying to change it tends to result in temporary weight loss with more weight ensuing. Dieting is horrible for the metabolism. 

I am not the best person to explain the science behind this. I recommend these blogs:

danceswithfat.wordpress.com

bigfatscience.tumblr.com

Ragen Chastain, the blogger behind Dances With Fat, is a competitive dancer who participates in marathons. She is five foot four inches tall and weighs 280 pounds. 

For my own part, I sometimes can't afford more than one meal a day and I work a very physical job. Still fat. However, unlike in the past, I don't give myself added stress by hating myself for my weight.

I hope you'll consider my thoughts. Too many people hurt themselves hating the bodies we were given to live in. There's nothing wrong with your body or your love for good food.

Here are some bodies that people have been shamed for having.

Too short and skinny to be "manly"

In good health for someone in his age range

Too short and skinny to be "manly"

Terminally ill/multiple health issues

Too fat to be "attractive."

In good health for someone in his age range

Too short and skinny to be "manly"

Died from stomach cancer at age 67

Too fat to be "attractive"

Shot to death at age 24

Too short and skinny to be "manly"

In good health for someone in his age range

Too fat to be "attractive"

In good health and putting up with no bullshit from haters

Dare you speak ill of the Queen of Soul?

I wish there had been a Beth Ditto around when I was younger

Maybe I wouldn't have abused my body with years of dieting and myself with years of hate for "failing" at dieting

When I opened this photo of Adele, one of the first suggested searches that came up was "flattering hairstyles for overweight women."

May I just say, fuck that shit.

Fuck "flattering," and over what weight?

The B in BMI stands for Bullshit.

The BMI is an actuarial tool. It was never meant to be used as a measure of health.

We need to stop conflating our worth with a number on a scale.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 23: Angel and Devil: The Fetch Version

Image Source Unknown.

Angel and Devil Brothers:

Version I:

The Fetch Version

The brothers should be adversaries

Instead, they are the best of friends

The elder is celestial

The younger, infernal

They work together

Help each other

Two parts of

One soul

Love

~Cie~

Notes:

I do not know the source for the image I used.

I used Google Image Search and still could not find the origin

If anyone knows it, I will be glad to credit them

Otherwise, I guess they can sue me

I have a crappy mobile home with no working furnace or shower and a mold problem, or I have a beat-up 1998 Subaru Forester.

Neither is worth much, take your pick.

I hate art thieves. I would never use anyone's work and claim it as my own. 

However, I am an adult, and sometimes I get tired of being lectured about being an errant shitbag if I can't give super duper ultra proper credit on every picture I use to illustrate a poem or story which is never going to earn me a dime but which I feel properly illustrates the work. Keep in mind, I write because I can't draw. Unless you're wanting a pre-school level story illustrated with stick figures. That I can do.

I am making zero profit off my writing. Quite the opposite, in fact. I could go to my place of employment and pick up more hours during the time that I'm wasting on writing. Most of the time I don't even get any comments. I hardly think I'm any kind of threat to anyone's livelihood. 

I tried to find pictures of angel and devil brothers. I found a lot of cute cartoons. I chose one of a chubby cartoon angel and devil couple to use in a forthcoming project.

I also found a lot of sexy, scantily clad, young, conventionally attractive white women and a lot of hunky, scantily clad, young, conventionally attractive white men. This is not what I was looking for.

The poem is both explanatory and illustrative of the dynamic between Gerry and Paul Clifford, the brothers who are central to Team Netherworld's work in progress, probably never to be entirely completed novel, Fetch.

Gerry and Paul's basic physical appearances, personalities, and the dynamic between them were inspired by real-life brothers Angus and Malcolm Young. Beyond this, Gerry and Paul developed into their own beings. They are not clones of the Young brothers.

In other words, hunky young studly angel and devil dudes would not be an accurate illustration of Gerry and Paul, who are diminutive older men and were never considered conventionally attractive. 

As well, although Angus has a tendency to wear less and less clothing as a performance goes on, he doesn't have the chiseled abs of a male stripper, nor does he get his rather hairy chest waxed. 

Malcolm generally wore tank tops and he did have muscular arms from many years of playing the guitar, but he was still tiny in stature and did not fit the Sexy Male Stripper Angel image.

Paul doesn't wear a schoolboy uniform. He opts instead for a conventional business suit, and by the end of a show, he is down to a Speedo.

I have a nice photo of Angus and Malcolm Young which I considered using but figured I'd be written off as "fangirling," so I chose the image at the top instead. Which I couldn't find the source for. So I'm, you know, evil and a crappy person and all.

Speaking of art thieves, my dear friend Kamidiox is a talented artist from Mexico City. Art thieves stole much of her Supernatural-related fan art and tried to pass it off as their own, selling it on t-shirts and cups via Teespring. This caused no end of trouble for Kami, bringing undue stress into her life and wasting her time. I can't abide people who would do such a thing. I think them to be the worst of losers. 

Kami made the above image for me. She even managed to make me look cute (no small feat that!) while remaining true to my appearance. (Hint: I'm not young or thin, and you'll never see me posing as an angel or devil hottie.) 

I'm thinking about having the guys made into tattoos, one for each arm.

If you would like to commission Kami's talents for an idea of your own, she can be found at kamidiox.tumblr.com

In any case, I do not claim the picture I used to be my own work, I am making no money from this, and I'll gladly credit the creator of the image if I can find them. It's possible that I purchased the image from 123rf and didn't file it properly, but I wasn't able to find it there.

Fetch borrows from various mythologies, particularly the Cthulhu Mythos, but also including elements from more modern works, such as Supernatural. Bonded platonic soul mate pairs follow the example of Dean and Sam Winchester, where Dean is the vessel for the celestial element (Michael) and Sam is the vessel for the infernal element (Lucifer). 

However, in the mythology of Fetch, instead of being vessels, the characters are entities embodying celestial and infernal elements. Gerry is the celestial element, Paul the infernal. Pepper (the troubled medium assisting the brothers) is the celestial partner in a platonic soul mate bond with her infernal brother Carrington. 

I am also creating a Supernatural version of this poem just for my friends in the fandom. I suppose that's fangirling. Oh well.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It + OctPoWriMo 2017: Day 14: Move!

A Voodoo doll on display in the Louvre

Move!

If you think you're justified

To stir up my eating disorder

Because you don't think my body

Looks the way you think it should

Fucking move aside

If you think you're justified

In spreading vicious lies

As you sit behind your console

And encourage people to commit suicide

As you incite bullying of those with whom you disagree

I have to remind myself

That even when I'm having a bad day

And don't like myself very much

I need to remember to protect myself

Against those who ignite the fires of hate

Their thoughts have no more value

Than that which ends in a swirl

With the push of a lever or button

Resist those who would cajole

Weak minds into bullying

If you don't like how I look

Fucking move aside

If you don't like what I create

Fucking move aside

I resist you

And everything you and your small-minded kind stand for

~The Cheese Hath Grated It Poetically~

Also inspired by my anthem to the fuckwits:

The Cheese Grates It: 30 Days of Haiga 2017 Day 30 + OctPoWriMo 2017 Day 13: Suicide Ideation

Original background image:

Hannah Hoch, 1930

Words and text manipulation by The Real Cie

Notes:

With this image, I am caught up with 30 Days of Haiga. Too bad I can't use it for Inktober, which I am severely behind on, but that requires actually drawing something. I didn't draw (or paint) this.

The image references living with a mood disorder which includes suicide ideation. I've said it before, but it bears repeating, please respect me enough to know that, as a person of 52 years old and having at least average intelligence (even though I sometimes think I'm dumber than a box of rocks) who has lived with mental illness for her entire life, I know very well what meds are, what counseling is, and what an emergency room is. If I went to the ER every time I had a suicidal thought, I'd have to live there. I don't want to live there. 

When people tell me I should "think about seeing a counselor" or I should "consider getting on meds," it's pretty much the same as telling me that I should "consider seeing a doctor" because my blood sugar is elevated. Yes, I have diabetes. Insulin and metformin have worked pretty well for me, but sometimes, depending on what food is available and circumstances not entirely in my control, I may still have elevated (or diminished) blood sugar readings. As a veteran diabetic, I know the score with my blood sugar.

As a veteran of the mental illness wars, I also know the score. However, people tend to treat those with mental illness as if we are stupid children who don't know our own minds and bodies.

My life contains certain aspects that would probably depress a person who didn't have a screwed-up brain like mine which likes to exaggerate every emotion I feel. I work full time but don't have enough money to buy adequate food, which is crappy any time but has an added element of crappiness when you're diabetic. I "make too much money" to qualify for aid programs. When I started making "enough money," my Medicaid got cut off. I'm still behind on all the payments I fell behind on when I was underemployed after losing my job back in March. Like I said, GOOD FUCKING TIMES!

It seems that I no sooner catch up a little than something else comes along to run me over like a Semi barreling down a one lane road.

Last night I was thinking to myself "why don't I just do it? Nothing ever gets any better."

This thought wasn't one of the hyperbolic ones where I imagine flinging myself into a canyon a la Wile E. Coyote. I had some pretty realistic ideas on how to top myself. These are actually always in the back of my mind because I will utilize them toot sweet if I am ever diagnosed with dementia. I am not putting myself or my son through that shit, no way, no how.

Some folks will say "but the Conventional Wisdom when you're having suicidal thoughts is to go to Emergency Services."

As a veteran of the Mental Illness Wars, I can tell you that there's a myriad of reasons why that's the last thing many of us would do, one of them being the fact that I don't have the fucking time to be on a three-day psych hold. Guess what I wouldn't be making while I was in the psych ward arguing with a bunch of by the book types about the fact that SSRI's make me worse rather than better. That's right, a paycheck! I'm not stupid and I'm actually not delusional. Cold, hard logic dictates that I need money more than I need to seek help that isn't going to help me anyway.

The Haiga references the fact that on one hand I care very deeply and hurt very deeply. On the other hand, I've had so much pain in my life that I'm pretty well numb a great deal of the time. My heart feels like it's been shot full of Novocain which is wearing off. I hurt so much that I don't feel much anymore, and that hurts.

There's my story. I don't expect anyone to necessarily know how it feels, but I do expect respect for my experiences. 

No one would ever tell me to "stop being so hypothyroid," although, sadly, I'm sure a lot of people would be happy to tell me about the latest quack miracle cure, such as rubbing myself in black salt while standing on my head and drinking liquid Vaseline. It doesn't happen as much with hypothyroidism, but with diabetes, this is certainly something that happens quite often.

The point being, no-one would ever tell me to stop being so hypothyroid or even stop being diabetic (although they might tell me how I could cure my diabetes.) However, people think nothing of telling me and others like me to "just stop that stinkin' thinkin'," "just get on some meds," "maybe you need to go to church," "mental illness is caused by demons, wrong thoughts, bad karma," or one of my favorites, "stop looking for attention." 

I've also gotta love the people who post things like "how can anyone be a Negative Nellie when God has made such a beautiful world for us to live in? I just don't understand Teh Negativ Peepul!"

I used to feel really hurt and defensive when I saw such posts. At this point, I feel that these people are ignorant and lack empathy. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be wired to Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life. Even when I'm happy I'm always somewhat sad. I know that makes very little sense to anyone who hasn't experienced it, but it does not make me any less worthy of having a decent life than someone who is always Ms. Pollyanna Sunshine.

So, this is my last Haiga/Haibun for this year's 30 Days of Haiga. I can't say I hope you enjoyed reading it, but I do hope you might have learned something.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

The Cheese Grates It + 30 Days of Haiga 2017: Day 29: Desert of Dreams

Click to Enlarge

Original background image copyright Devesh V. Tripathi

Verse and text manipulation by The Real Cie

Thoughts:

The image and the prompt made me think of all the things I planned to do in life, most of which fell through due to fighting with a very misunderstood disease, the prescription for which was pills that made me feel even worse and the edict that I should "just stop that stinkin' thinkin' and be happy for what I have." 

While western society has a somewhat better understanding of mental illness than it did when I was younger, the treatment of both mental and physical illnesses in many countries, including first world countries such as the United States is out of reach for many citizens.

I do not respond well to medications or to this particular aspect of me being treated in a completely clinical fashion. I have often felt that I, as a person, have been ignored in favor of seeking textbook symptoms and outcomes. One of my son's EMS instructors wisely said: "treat the patient, not the chart." This is something that practitioners treating both body and mind all too often fail to do.

I would have done well to learn skills to cope with my particular mental presentation, rather than having wrestled for so many years with failed attempts to turn me into something I am not: a happy robot, gleeful to take my Soma and take on my prescribed role as a cog in the machine.

At this point in my life, I am no longer devastated by not being famous or adored, but I am awfully tired and a bit sad at the way some things have turned out. I try not to feel like a failure. I deliver groceries rather than speeches on the Red Carpet (or what have you) as I accept an award for my wonderful performance or book. 

Delivering groceries while clad in modest attire does not make me any less worthwhile than those delivering acceptance speeches for their grand performances while clad in glamorous gowns or sleek suits. However, I am tired and I ache and I am sad to see so many people I have known both in real life and through their work which inspired me becoming ill and dying. I would like to stop working for a living and start simply living. 

This isn't likely to happen anytime soon, and I fear that what happened to my father will happen to me. Less than a week after taking full retirement, my father had a hemorrhagic stroke which forever altered his life and the lives of his immediate family. He went through six years of decline, including more strokes and congestive heart failure. In the end, he was like a frightened child trapped in an adult body.

I don't want that to be my fate. But I fear a similar fate awaits the majority of us who live in a society which sees people as flesh androids rather than souls operating through corporeal vehicles.

The most humble of us and zir dreams is equal in importance to the most celebrated among us. Perhaps it is time to celebrate the most humble members of society and give weight to their hopes and dreams.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~