Differently-Abled and Judged by the Lower Court

I Wanna Get Better - Bleachers

It starts off with a whisper - the words of a song that bring me back to the reality of the moment and sends my thoughts off on a new tangent. I suppose it has always been like that for me, the difference now is that I feel compelled to write it down. And quickly before I forget where the thoughts were going. Following those thoughts as they meander are partly self-discovery and healing, partly fantasy with a bit of fun, and sometimes painful.  

Today it was this song, I wanna get better. Alright fine, it's been a topic that has been the focus of my life for nearly four years now. Four years...let me just take a moment for that to sink in. 

Four years ago, I was a full time mother to two children who were almost complete in their post-secondary academic endeavours. I had a full time job that I loved and was damn good at. I had a fairly new vehicle and was finally able to do some of the needed upgrades on my house. My debt load was low after many years of  struggles. Definitely on an upswing. 

When I took my third stress leave, I thought it would be just another break from the continued harassment I was experiencing at work. I did not know that I would still be struggling with the effects of that so many years later. I refer to it as the time I fell apart. It was a swift and nearly deadly tumble into the abyss of depression. 

There was only one thing I knew for sure and that was that for reasons unknown to me my supervisors at work hated me. I didn't know how to change who I was so I embarked on a quest to change what I looked like. Plastic surgery was out of my comfort zone and budget. So I began to diet and exercise. Carbs were out, cardio and weight training was in. Despite the effort and determination, nothing was happening. Not a pound was shed. I lost nothing except maybe a bit more of my sanity which had become very fragile.

I was so focused on the scale and its infernal readout that I didn't realize that when I was not exercising, I was sleeping or crying. And I couldn't stop doing any of it. I didn't see it as not okay. Combining all of those things with alcohol one weekend brought the fragile house of cards falling down flat. The game couldn't be played any longer. Referees in the form of psychologists, psychiatrists, nutritionists, chemical rehab and medical doctors became a mainstay in my life. And my "compassionate" employer steadfastly maintained that if I was unable to work, it was because I had suffered a traumatic event 40 years prior. It still makes my blood boil when I think of that!




While I have had a lot of support with my mental health, my physical health continued to suffer. The attitude towards me by my employer really took a toll on my self-esteem. Before the breakdown I did like myself. I could look into that mirror with a critical eye and still see mostly good. There are always things we'd like to improve or change for to truly live and be alive we must continually grow. But the growth I could no longer tolerate (and still can't) is my skin. There is more, not less and I am so afraid that it will continue, that eating is a mental struggle. The "eat/don't eat" voices in my head are too strong. And the fear of physical growth is far louder than the get healthy whisper. I am often very literally scared to eat. I continue to work very hard to try and learn what is going on and how I can fix my bodies response to food. I know that I have caused my metabolism to slow, I have been told that the way to increase it is to eat - apparently my body thinks I am starving it. lol! But I tried that for a time and at 900 calories a day, I gained.

And just when I think I might be getting better, someone makes a comment about the importance of body language and I want to scream. Why is it that our physical presence is more important than our soul? This is but a shell. Who I am lies deep within. But society keeps telling us that we can never makes a second first impression. How we present ourselves leaves a lasting image. If someone has a prejudice, it is not politically okay to express it but it doesn't mean it's necessarily gone. I was once told by a manager of a retail store that I couldn't work there because I would scare away the customers. Nobody would dare say that today, but do they still think it? 



I would like to think that we have become more tolerant of our differences but have we really? Nobody would bat an eye if they saw a pencil-thin waif coming out of McDonalds with a burger in one hand while sucking on a milkshake. Now, what if that person was so big they barely fit out the door, how many people would stare as they waddled away? And possibly even make derogatory comments - just loud enough to be within ear shot. The thing is we assume that because we see a larger size person eating junk food that that is all they eat, that they are lazy and never get off the couch. Where as reality might be quite different. Or not, but you don't know.


I met a person recently and they were concerned that when they dressed "as themselves" that I wouldn't accept them. To be fair, there are dress codes at certain places and I don't think it's my place to be disrespectful of someone else's wishes, but such was not the case here. The attire was more than acceptable at the venue in question. I just didn't happen to share their choice of wardrobe. It's never occurred to me to judge their style. Under the physical decoration, they were the same person I had met and known prior to this meeting. But they were correct in their belief that others are not so tolerant and look upon the accoutrements with disdain and negative judgement. If they took the time to look beyond they would see a kind soul, with a warm heart and friendly smile who is also a great parent and wonderful friend.

We have no right to judge unless we can sit back as we too are judged. Love that lives in the heart isn't always visible on the outside. Perhaps I have a greater understanding and compassion regarding this subject because I have been there. I have lived it. I once went on a family road trip and when I came back I was (I thought) the same person, albeit sadder - but I looked like someone else. And some had no problem letting me know what they thought. Truth is, the face in the mirror wasn't mine and the body had changed - it was forever marked by life's scars. Even the sound coming from my mouth was different. Some people didn't even recognize me on the phone. But my soul was the same. It's me! To some I became and stayed a stranger from then on. Not good enough anymore.

So stop please! Before you chastise someone and judge them as unworthy based on their appearance...stop and ask yourself if maybe there is a real worthy person under the physical form. The person staggering down the road as if drunk may be re-learning how to walk. The person hugging themselves may be lonely and afraid, not angry. The person who can't speak, is not stupid. The person you think is disabled is just differently-abled. I have always believed that we are all disabled in some way. Some of us share it for the world to see, others can keep it hidden from view. Science is one of my weaknesses, the word received is another. I don't think I have ever spelled that word correctly! 

The person who can't see is not always the blind person. 

Today a video was shared by a friend on Facebook and I am going to share it with you here. It is in French but language is unimportant. I had started writing this missive yesterday and when I watched this video I was saddened to my very core. How can we be so self-absorbed that we don't care about each other? Where did we go so wrong? How can we sit in church on Sunday, praise our boss on Monday, volunteer with our community on Tuesday, spend time with our family on Wednesday, give to charity on Thursday, pray for a safe weekend on Friday and step on our neighbours on Saturday. 

The Importance of Appearances Experiment - NorniTube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDN-uZ_0I70

Regardless of how this man is dressed, he is in need and yet people walk past him and don't even see him or worse - notice and choose not to care. BECAUSE OF WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE!

My link to the video may not work on this page, so here is a link on YouTube.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lDN-uZ_0I70
(SPOILER ALERT)
If that still doesn't work. I will tell you that a man in an overcoat, hat and jeans, collapses on a busy sidewalk and lies there repeating "help me" as people walk by mindless. Some stop to look. They see and hear him but don't notice him and his pleas. When the same man falls wearing a suit and a tie, his head isn't even on the pavement when he has commandered the attention of a gathering of concerned passersby who stop to help and have no fear touching him, talking to him, helping him. It's the same man! 

So tell me, how am I ever supposed to like myself and accept myself if I can't change my appearance? How will I ever be safe from the people who want to step on me and discard me like trash? Was I living in a fantasy world I created on my own until I was forced to face the truth. I am not good enough? I don't want to believe it but every day, the beauty magazines and the role models I am shown on tv tell me it's true. 

I Must Stay and You Must Go

Leave It Alone - Moist

Fate has the ability to take something away from you and leave you absolutely powerless to do anything about it. Fate can be cruel, fate can be beautiful. Fate can put you in that spot at that perfect moment in time when you will meet and connect with your soul mate. Fate can also take your world and shake it up like an ant in a jar and leave you dizzy with fear and alone to pick up the pieces. You want to put the tattered shreds of your life back together again but it's unrecognizable. Fate and I are not exactly on speaking terms. Fate has scattered the parts of me all over the highway and left me alone to die. In many ways I made decisions on my life before fate had a chance to intervene, I stopped the hurt before it could catch me. Sometimes I was successful but I will never know if I ran before the sun could shine down on me. Admittedly I was a little gun shy.


A lifetime ago - 28 years - my brother Ron passed away in a hospital in Thunder Bay Ontario. He was 21 years old and had been battling Hodgkins Lymphoma since he was 9 years old. With Ron's passing, I was officially the last surviving member of my family of 6 and I was 22 years old. It was not a title I wanted hoisted onto my shoulders. Fate had other plans. In a very bizarre way, however, Ron's death was easier to deal with because I knew it was coming and I had plenty of prior experience dealing with having the heart and soul being ripped from me. But on the other hand it was and is a lot harder because I had the tiniest glimpse of the kind of man that he could have become. I had time to get used to him being a part of my life. I had the opportunity to get to know him as more than just an annoying kid brother. 

Ron is a person who I have elevated to stand proud atop a pedestal while I gaze in awe from below. He didn't make it well known and downplayed it when the subject came up, my brother was a true hero. By definition a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds - Ron was not a man but a child of 11 years, nor was he recognized for his courage. But he should have been! In the seconds following the horrific and deadly accident that befell the family on March 21st, Ron was able to find his way out of the burning wreckage that had been flipped onto it's rooftop. Ignoring danger to himself, he returned to the blazing hot metal shell to offer his help. Trying to comprehend what had happened and what to do, I felt a tugging on my sock and it was pulled off. The tugging continued until I was able to squirm my way out. In the darkness of the night fueled only by the brilliant orange flames, my brother showed me the way out and pulled me to safety. And he wasn't done, he was on his way back having gotten me a safe distance when emergency personnel arrived and stopped him. Even they recognized the danger in his heroism but it was quickly forgotten in the enormity of the tragedy that the light of day showed. 

I have no right to be called strong because compared to my brother I am but a wet piece of spaghetti

Again in the months before he died, Ron let go of the burden he carried on his shoulders and focused his attention on the well-being of me. Of course, hindsight having 20-20 vision, I realized that he knew his end was near. After more than 10 years of battling the cancer demon that would rear its ugly head with no warning and suck a little more life out of him, he was tired. I bore the scars of the tragedy our family had endured for the world to see and question - Ron, was like you - on the outside but hurting on the inside. No one knew how much it hurt to be a young boy sick and without his mother. No one knew that he had given up the fight to live - except his doctors. No one knew he had quit treatments that might have prolonged his life. No one knew the futility he felt trying to hold down a part-time job at McDonalds only to be let go because of his frequent absences for treatments. No one knew the hassles he had at school because he was away so much because he was sick. He carried so much weight upon his shoulders. He never told me how scared he was that he could never hold down a job because staying healthy required so much of his time. It was a different time then. In the 1970's and 1980's a child growing up with cancer was more of an anomaly, today you would be given every consideration to pursue treatments at your workplace or school. Not then, not for him. And although the guardian grandparents were much more supportive of him than I, they were a sorry substitute for the compassion and loving nature of our mother. With her, we may have both seen a brighter future. 


But it is what it is. Fate. And I can't change that but I can mourn my loss and wonder what it might have been to have a hero and friend like my brother in my life today. For no matter how much time passes, thoughts of Ron will always bring tears to my eyes and my heart aches like it was yesterday that I said Goodbye. The world was a richer place for having him in it and a lot emptier and sadder without his grace. I have memories that will never dim with thoughts of Ron - I wish you all had the same opportunity to know him.

Snows of New York - Chris De Burgh

One more note on the subject of my brother. In the last days of his life, he became very moved by the poem Footprints in the Sand. He found a lot of comfort in the words. I feel a similar tug at my heartstrings in the word penned and sung by Chris De Burgh.

"In my dreams we walked, you and I to the shore,

Leaving footprints by the sea,

And when there was just one set of prints in the sand, 

That was when you carried me;

You have always been such a good friend to me,

Though the thunder and the rain,

And when you're feeling lost in the snows of New York,

Lift your heart and think of me;"

Thank you to my brother, Ron who always walks by my side and shines a light to guide me when I feel lost...