macophile

Writer's Block: Home Remedies

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 03:39:41 GMT

If I have a scratch throat and/or cough, I slowly sip some Southern Comfort (room temp, right out of the bottle). The thickness of it helps coat your throat and warms you up as it goes down...can't beat it!

Being Crazy (then vs. now)

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 03:47:33 GMT

Some of you here will know me as "dadio's" other half. If you've been following his posts, you no doubt have been reading about our dealings with his son's mental illnesss and the tribulations of trying to get him into the Arizona mental health system so he can be evaluated and treated. Funny how many people still think of the men in white coats coming to take the crazy person away and lock them up for the rest of their life. Nothing could be further from the truth. With all the recent (past 10 years or so) laws enacted to protect the rights of the mental patient, getting someone who's "crazy" into the mental hospital is now a long, laborious, frustrating process in which no two people will gave you the same answer in your quest for help.

My preface there was to establish that there is a vast difference between "then" and "now" in how to go about getting someone committed, or at least in treatment. And our overall attitude about mental health victims.

I was talking to my own mother the other night and giving her the latest update on James (the son). I told her how guilty Don was feeling about the fact that is son WILL be picked up and taken to a mental care facility for observation and evaluation. How he knows how scared James is of that very scenario. My mom then told me that she only knew too well, that she's the one that had to have her younger brother committed back in the early 70's. Both their parents had been long dead. Her younger brother had always been considered "slow" – and he had very bad asthma. I vaguely remember this young man in his mid- to late-20's, almost gaunt, very dark hair, very tanned. Mom had him committed when I was about 10 or 11 years old. And I do remember "Uncle Tom" being "slow," but not what I would call "retarded," even though that was probably the case. He lived out behind my great-grandmother's little shack of a house in a tiny trailer. He had only been in the mental hospital for about 3 or 4 months when he died of asthma. My mom had come by to see him after she got off of work and the nursing staff told her that they had been trying to get ahold of her (this was before answering machines, folks), that her brother had been having an asthma attack and he died just before she got there. She was telling me all of this the other night and just started crying like it happened just last week. The guilt she felt just came poring out. Granted, she knew it was the right thing to do (having him committed), but it doesn't make you feel any better about having to do it. So she knows all too well what Don is going through.

The other incident in my childhood that was related to mental illness was my cousin, Corky. He was a year older than me, but was considered "retarded" – and he had a condition (?) that caused his head to be a bit larger than normal. Not a very good mix. I still remember people staring at him, even though he was a happy, innocent little boy that didn't even know he was being stared at. When he was about 12, (and here the details are sketchy and may not be "fact" but close enough) my aunt dropped him off at a mental daycare clinic (he may have even been a resident there at that time). It was summer and the staff had had all the kids outside playing, but had brought them in for lunch. They didn't realize that they had forgotten Corky outside on the patio. After 3 or 4 hours, they realized he was missing, only to find him on the patio, dead, from overexposure to the sun.

You know, these days that facility would get their asses sued off for they did, even though it was an accident. But it just epitomizes the difference in thinking, especially about mental health care, from "then" to "now."

I don't know if there's a family out there that has never been touched by mental illness, even if it's just a serious depression. Yet why is there still this stigma? And why do we loved ones who only care about helping our family member, getting very little help and guidance, have to FIGHT for that right? Our son (or whatever family member) has schizophrenia. He doesn't KNOW he's sick, swears he's fine and doesn't need help. Yet "the system" sides with them, giving the "psycho" ultimate control of his own fate, even though he's in no condition to. I know it's a fine line, but it's why so many of the "crazies" are walking the streets, homeless. Because the system is there to "protect" them. The only thing being protected is their own ass. We can only pray for the day that they pull their heads out of said asses and really try to HELP the people they're supposed to be helping.

Passion vs. Passionate

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 23:28:02 GMT

I'm a very passionate person (just ask my boyfriend!). But here I am in my forties, tired of my almost 30-year career, but trying to figure out what else I'd rather do for a living. Everyone asks me what kinds of interests or activities I have a passion for–and to make that my next career somehow. Uh...I like a lot of different things, but don't know that I'm necessarily "passionate" about them. For instance, I love reading murder-mysteries. Other than being an editor in some publishing house, I don't know how I can turn that into a career. Much less one that pays worth a damn. (And I'd probably have to live in the "big city" which is something I'd like to get away from.)

I know I'm not alone in this. My boyfriend is in the same predicament. We chose a career when we were 18, learned it and learned it well and have been doing it ever since. 29 years later, technology is passing us by (more so for me than him), but to keep up or even learn something else is going to take quite a bit of training and a lot of money. We both make good money where we are at now, but with our financial obligations, cannot just up and quit and go for something else.

Which brings me back to having a passion for something. Have you found your passion and built a new career around it? If you're making less money now because of it, has it been worth it?

I try to picture myself 10 or 15 years from now and what I'd like to be doing. Honestly, I could see myself (gray hair and all), living in New Mexico with my cat, teaching yoga, painting, and offering sexual therapy to couples who need to unlock their sexual passion. Yes, I like yoga (but am I passionate about it?). I haven't painted since I was 16, but I'm sure the pleasure would still be there. Could I make a living doing any of these things? Who knows? I guess I'd better sign up for some courses and find out!

Just Let It Happen...

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 03:15:06 GMT

20 years ago when my then-boyfriend and I announced we were getting married, we got the typical "Congratulations" and good wishes from friends, co-workers, acquaintances, etc. BUT, inevitably, someone would then follow up with "So when are you going to start having kids?" Jesus Christ...can I get MARRIED first? And when (and if) we have kids is our decision, and a personal one at that. What makes you think I want to discuss it with you? We eventually decided not to have kids (thank God). Now we're divorced and leading different lives.

Fast forward to present-day living. I just moved in with my boyfriend two months ago after dating for almost two years. It is a natural progression in our relationship and after two divorces for me and one for him, neither one of us are ready to get married just yet. Yesterday I had two co-workers (separately) ask me when we were going to get married, now that we're living together and everything is going along just fine. WTF? If we were in a hurry to get married, we would have already. Why does everyone seem to want to fast-forward my life-changing decisions? Amazingly, my parents are the ones who don't ask and aren't in any hurry to see me get re-married. They like my boyfriend just fine, but they know the pain and agony involved in divorce, even if it is amicable.

I can just imagine when a woman gives birth to her first child. The first question out of everyone's mouths will probably be, "So, when's the next one?" As she wipes the sweat off her brow from 26 hours of labor, I hope she has the presence of mind to tell them to fuck off. Or just haul off and slap the offending party.

And that's just what these questions are...offensive. Yes, sometimes people are genuinely interested and want to see you happy. Good, close friends can get away with these questions as they have a vested interest in your life. But to casual acquaintances and others–just let me be and let my life happen!!