Did someone offend me in a comment on one of my posts? No. It wasn’t blogging related.
Was my last post read by the offenders? I doubt it – they don’t even know I blog.
Did my (new) attitude make a difference to said offenders? To those who I interacted with afterwards – yes. Some have yet to make an appearance and might never - which is fine with me. I hate confrontation to the point where I will start shaking and when I get angry enough I will start to cry.
More importantly – it made a huge difference in me. I feel stronger. That being said I also feel that I have built a thicker wall than was there before and in many respects that is sad.
I am a person who puts it all out there for the world to see. I give my heart and soul to any project that I undertake and any friendship I embark on. I believe in honesty and respect. And I believe that we shouldn’t judge.
I’m not going to list all the reasons I’ve been judged but one major one stands out. I HAVE BEEN AND AM MENTALLY ILL. I am on a disability pension because I can no longer function in a working environment let alone a stressful one. I am unable to interact socially in what is termed a ‘normal’ manner because of my illness – I am afraid of new people and of crowds. If poked long enough with a certain stick- I will dissolve into a babbling mess. That being said – the journey from here to the ‘loony bin hallway’ is not that far.
Yet still – if you had never met me and didn’t know of my past – would you know? Could you see? Probably not. Not unless you had that antennae that searches out the vulnerable people in the world.
Yesterday I received an e-mail from a friend in
I read that article with my hand over my mouth and tears in my eyes. Why? Not only for what those people are going through – what they went through – what they have to further endure – but because of the comments. Nearly every single comment poked at the people being mentally ill. They poked at them losing their inner strength because they had 'a flood'. They insisted that we should be able to pull up our socks and get on with it. They thought those people deserved whatever they were going through because they chose to live in the ‘cesspool’ of
Who are they to judge? What gives them the right or authority to give (hateful) judgements about people who are suffering? Did they endure Katrina and its aftermath? Did they watch their loved ones die and float away in front of them? Did they survive something that killed how many?
Were they there when I was beaten – by my father – by my mother – by someone who claimed he ‘loved me’? Did they take those fists to the face? Those kicks to the stomach? That back breaking drop that destroyed the spine? Were they there when I was mentally abused around the clock? Were they the ones who feared for their lives? Were they 15 years old and running through the dark – fear pounding at their heart – fear running down their leg in a yellow stream? Looking over their shoulder to see if they were being chased? Were they afraid to speak and when it came to escape – did their hearts almost collapse out of fright and loss of love? Did they lose their minds somewhere because it was just the safest place to be when there was no more hope?
And yet they judge. How proud they must be.
Some may say I am judging them. That may very well be true. But try to walk one mile in my shoes and one inch in the victims of Katrina – no matter where they lived – in
Try walking in the shoes of any mentally ill person. The ones raving on the street – the ones lying in the gutters – the ones curled up on the grate for a bit of warmth in the winter.
Try to think what it might be like for any of us. The day does not dawn shiny and new on a daily basis. Life is not a bowl of cherries and we don’t skip merrily down the lane hand in hand with shining children and partners with perfect shiny teeth. We’re more like PigPen - that Charles Shultz character that always had the little black cloud over his head. There are not enough words of angst to describe what our lives are like.
Yet we try. We may fail on a regular basis – but we try. Not one of us chose this path we now walk. And we know you judge us.
Now – don’t get me started on being judged because I am female.