Charter for Compassion

I just want to share this with those who read my blog...to try and give some perspective, not necessarily to change any minds...but just to maybe open some minds. Some hearts. Some souls. Think about it. That's all I ask.

My cousin Keith...

When did you first know that you were heterosexual?

Can you stop being a Mormon? Can you stop being a heterosexual?

No, you can't. It is who you are...you are a Mormon and a heterosexual. You were born that way. It is all you know.

Asking me about being able to let go of one or the other...Mormon or being gay...it is all I know. My soul and blood are both gay and Mormon...to give up one would leave me half a person left to continue suffering without the other half of me.

Imagine yourself having to give up being a heterosexual?

Imagine yourself having to give up being a Mormon?

Can you? Would you be happy and content without half of who you are?

Just food for thought...

When you're a mistake...

Growing up, from my earliest memories I remember feeling different, like there was something wrong with me. I was 4 years old in 1978, and I can look back at that time and realize that I knew I wasn't normal like everyone else. I didn't know what it was, but I knew that I was different. I grew up pretty normal, aside from being molested, verbally abused by my dad, having my parents get divorced and being a sickly kid...I was to everyone, even myself...normal. But somewhere inside me, I knew that I must not be normal since the thoughts and feelings I had, I somehow knew instinctively not to share with anyone. But I still had no idea, what exactly it was that made me feel so uncomfortable in my own skin. I lost my mind right after 8th grade with lots of my early memories flooding into my life drowning me as if a flood gate had busted wide open and I had no way of stopping the deluge. My high school years were what I refer to as my "dark period," a time that I spent much of my time reading up on how to commit suicide, I spent a lot of time hurting myself by cutting, crushing, bruising or burning myself. I used to think that I did it because my dad wasn't there to abuse me so I had to do it myself, but I know now, he had little to do with my behaviors. Yes, the tapes of him calling me names played in my head, but to assign all that was going on to my father was incorrect on my part. But it was all I knew...all I could make sense of.

At my churches girl camp, I tried to kill myself...and I kept trying...it got so bad that they had to call my mom to come and get me because they couldn't keep me safe. For the next 5 years I spent almost each day hurting myself, punishing myself, feeling so out of place in my world and never understanding what the problem was. I sat through church, went to seminary in the mornings before school...did all the stuff I was supposed to do as a young Mormon woman. I didn't date until I was allowed, wasn't sexually active, didn't swear or drink coffee. I was for all the world, a good little Mormon...and I hated myself more than mere words could ever describe. I hated my existence, I knew God had made a mistake by making me. I knew that I was an after thought...a body created from spare parts, a soul not meant to be living, destined for torment because I was taking up a body and the space of a better, more worthy person. I used to cry at night, begging God to tell me why he created me, why he let me be born? I was clearly a mistake.

In 1997 I met the first gay/lesbian person I had ever known...and I used to think that being gay was a bad thing...I was taught that they were sinners. Being a Mormon isn't just a fade or lifestyle...it is in my blood. It is all I have ever known...but suddenly my world blew apart yet again. A year later, I started to question who I was...at first I claimed that I was bisexual, unwilling to give up that last connection to any sense of normalcy...but it didn't last long. It took a few years for me to realize that I was a lesbian, I fought hard to be a heterosexual, I had boyfriends...but it never felt right. And I still struggled almost daily trying not to hurt myself, yet still felt like I was a walking lie...a mistake. I started looking back on periods of time in my life and the pieces started to fit together...my feelings and thoughts started to make sense, I would compare crushes that I had on guys vs. girls...girls far out numbered the boys by more than 8 to 1. Slowly I realized that I was indeed a lesbian and I started feeling a little more comfortable in my own skin...but still working on trying to believe that God doesn't make mistakes. My soul is so tortured that I have to take 3 different medications just to keep from killing myself, just to keep myself remotely normal.

I have worked daily trying to understand myself, my role in this world, my place in this life...trying to figure out why God made me gay. It's not like it's fun, easy or some kind of amusement ride. I would never choose to be gay...to be mocked at, bullied, told that I am a sinner, that I will burn in hell, that my life means less than yours, that my being gay is worse than murdering someone...that being gay means I can't get married, can't visit my significant other in the hospital because I don't count as "family"...that I can't adopt a child or raise a family because somehow my being gay would scar a child for life. Well guess what, I was raised by an incredibly loving and caring mother, who worked over 40 hours a week to put food our table and clothes on my back...and I'm still gay. I have worked so hard to be normal, to try and be straight...but it is not who I am. I can't help it. I don't want to be a lesbian...if I could change I would in a heart beat. If I could, I would gladly be straight with a husband and kids...but I would hate myself to the core. Being Mormon and gay is like oil and water...they don't mix and every day I work to try and learn to love myself...only to have my religion continue to spurn me, my prophet tell me that I have an illness, my family to believe that something is wrong with me...to hear my aunts words about gays and lesbians be "I have trouble feeling like God could make that many mistakes."

I continue to feel lost and alone...separate from my family and my religion...somehow a lesser soul for what I am and cannot change. I hate feeling like a mistake...I hate even more that my church and family think I am.

Last hours of clarity...

I start on call tomorrow...sleep will be hard to come by for the next 7 days. While there are many things I love about my job, there are many things I dislike...being on call is one of them. Working with the chronically mental ill population, the ones who have failed out of traditional outpatient programs, takes a special kind of person to do the job. I have yet to figure out if "special" is a good or bad trait. These are people who have been dealing with the most severe symptoms of Schizophrenia or Schizoaffective (mix of schizophrenia and bipolar) disorders since they were young adults...most are in their late 40's and 50's now. They have spent most of their time in correctional institutions or state psychiatric hospitals and have as a result lost the ability to socialize properly or perform the daily tasks that you and I take for granted. When I first started with this program one of the drug companies came by with a virtual "game" of what it would be like to have schizophrenia...to hear the voices, to feel stalked, paranoid, anxious, see things or people who aren't really there. I thought I had a pretty good handle on what it must feel like, I had after all majored in psychology and social work...I thought I knew. I didn't have a clue. I was only in the simulator for 15 minutes and I left crying my eyes out. I was crying for two reasons...it was shocking to me that I thought I knew, and I was so far off the mark and the other was thinking of all the clients I come in contact on a daily basis and to gain some insight into the torture that they are under every single minute of the day and night...and I couldn't handle 15 minutes.

I wish everyone could experience this simulation, get a really good perspective on what it's like to have your brain tell you everyone is after you, everyone lies, and presents people and things before you that are not there. The worst part is that the voices...while sometimes can be nice, the vast majority are evil, mean, and straight out of hell. It would be great if law enforcement could experience it, instead of beating up or killing someone who doesn't respond the way they want because they have a mental illness. Several clients that I know have been beaten, thrown in jail, tazed and arrested simply because they don't understand. I know for a fact, that if everyone had to experience 15 minutes of being schizophrenic...they would never judge another human being the same. In fact the other day while doing medication deliveries, I crossed paths with a homeless man in an alley...this was one of the coldest nights we have had this year thus far and he was huddled up in a ball so tight...not at all dressed for the weather...I felt compelled to take the blanket out of the trunk of my car and cover him with it. He never woke up, but I hope he got some warmth from it. It was the least I could do. The sad thing...aside from him being homeless and on the street...I watched several people pass him by and give him dirty looks and cross to the other side of the alley so they didn't have to walk by him. As if he was somehow contagious.

Funding keeps getting cut, because for whatever reasons the state and government don't think that social services need money...but as soon as someone is murdered or attacked by someone with a mental illness, everyone gets all pissed off and yells "why did no one stop this before it happened?" Well, budgets got cut, clinicians and therapists lost their jobs, housing resources were taken away and facilities meant to treat those in need were shut down. That's why. And it will always be why...until it directly affects those in power, the population I work with and those I work along side will be overlooked, underpaid, have resources pulled while expectations continue to increase. We can't do our job when you cut our "arms" and "legs" off. It is too bad that our society is reactive and not proactive...it would actually save money, lives and society. It's the basic quandary...short term vs. long term objectives. Our society and those in power are short sighted and the rest of us can't see beyond our noses.

I want people to understand that mental illness isn't funny...the jokes are in poor taste and the media do not portray mental illness as it really is. If you learn anything from this post, please learn to be kind to those who act differently than you...try not to judge them, you don't know anything about them even if you think you do. We all have a history, we all have our faults, we all have our stories...show some kindness. Please.

Physical therapy update...

I am entering week 5 of my physical therapy experience and finding it actually working. I have, for a variety of reasons had to deal with physical therapy many times through out my life and didn't really get much out of it. But I was desperate this go around as every step I took was painful and when my feet weren't touching anything they hurt even more. During the night, when I would get up to use the bathroom, I would be hunched over and walking so horribly that I literally thought I looked like an ape bumbling from one tree to another on the ground instead of swinging effortlessly on a vine from point A to point B. Other nights I would hurt so bad that I had to crawl on my hands and knees to get where I needed to go and after awhile with the pain spreading to my calves and knees, I could no longer crawl anywhere. Even lying in bed was painful...I began to realize that no place were my feet safe. After getting shots, orthodics and taking medications to decrease the inflammation...I relented and finally started going to physical therapy.

I go twice a week to Olympic Physical Therapy where I have found the most amazing physical therapist...Erin. She really knows her shit. Er, she is extremely knowledgeable and fluent in various ways to treat my problems as well as ways to alter exercises and treatments to my individual needs. She is able to manipulate my body in ways I thought impossible, granted it does hurt but I have noticed a change in my pain. I used to hurt all the time, hovering between a 6 and 9 on a Likert Scale...now it's mostly 4 and 7. I don't walk with such a huge limp, I spend less time hurting, and am able to walk with limited pain for the most part. She is AMAZING. In fact the entire crew there does a great job, and one of them, Lacy, is a roller derby girl called Carmen Getsome...she skates for the Rat City Rollergirls. I can't wait to go to a game or two and watch her take some people down.

Anyway, Erin is patient and gentle with my body and yet each time adds a little twist to my exercises and treatment to make my feet and legs get better. She is by far the best therapist I have ever had the pleasure of working with. I actually have input into my goals, she listens to my concerns and treats me like a person and not just an object. Which makes me think about my job...do I treat my clients like they are human beings or do I treat them as problems that must be solved? I am stunned by the amount of small things that create major pondering on my part and how applicable those thoughts and quandaries are to so many aspects of my life both personally and professionally. Do I treat people with respect? Do I listen...I mean really listen to my clients? Other staff? Do I let the clients direct their treatment or do I tell them how it is going to go because I'm the therapist?

It appears that while my hips, legs and feet are getting therapy of their own...my life is also getting their own kind of therapy. While difficult things come up and often pose deeper quandaries, I find it an experience that is worthwhile, necessary and good for me. I wonder if Erin has any idea of what having physical therapy with her has created? And would she even understand the psychological perspective with which I view my world?

L x 4 =?

The other day when I was lying out in the lawn with Roxy...well, I was lying and she was running the fence line barking at anything that dare come near her property...I found myself gazing up at the sky and watching the clouds make funny little shapes and designs. It was hypnotizing in a way that time goes by and you don't really feel it. Out of my revere I was suddenly pulled as a little wet nose and tongue licked at my face and at the other end a little tail wagging to the point I thought she may take flight. We wrestled a bit and then she saw something out of the corner of her eye and off she ran to bark at the boys next door. I have yet to figure out if she is annoyed with them and their running around or if barking at them is her way of playing along.

Anyway, I began looking at the grass, I need to mow the lawn I thought running my fingers through the lengthy blades of deep green patches. I started picking at some of the moss in front of me, thinking that I wish I could get rid of it but this is Washington after all and moss comes with the territory...and slugs. Something caught my eye and I noticed an oddity in the clovers that intermingled with the grass and moss...a four leaf clover. I picked it, thinking about how luck is such a fickle thing and wondering whether or not 4 leaf clovers really are lucky. As I studied the fragile clover I noticed a beautiful change in color throughout all the petals...the outside and inside were a dark green with a light zig-zagging of white separating the two ends. As I began to drift into my thoughts, I noticed not one, not two but three more 4 leaf clovers. A rather large one, about the size of a silver dollar and others matching sizes comparable to a nickle or penny. I picked the largest and the smallest of the four, and left two behind to feel the warmth of the sun and the dew from early morning.

So I got to thinking more about luck, does finding one give you luck and does two cancel out the one? What kind of luck do you get when you find four? Is luck really luck, or just a good mistake or coincidence? I've heard that there are no coincidences in life...that things happen as they should, as if destiny was pre-planned. Which then begs the question of if luck could possibly exist...if our path is already laid before us, is a four leaf clover going to add anything or change the course in any way? Are we active participants in our own life or do we just enjoy the ride and let it go however it is to go? Do any of our actions alter that pre-destined path?

So I wonder, what does luck times four equal...

My best friend...

I wanted to take time out to talk about my very best friend...my mom. She is the most amazing and wonderful woman I have ever known. She is a single mother who met my every need as a child, worked hard to put food on the table and a roof over our heads. I lacked nothing, especially love. Every day she told me she loved me, and I her. She worked long hours for little pay, went to school part time...often I would go with her to the night classes she was in to either do my home work or sleep on the cafeteria table until she was done. I credit (in part) Ann Murray because when mom and I lived in Tenino, there was a thirty minute commute to get into school and work in Olympia. On the ride in, we would sing to Ann's songs and on the way home, we had plenty of time to talk about our day and bond. Growing up our home was always the one my friends wanted to hang out at, it was safe and mom never turned anyone away for any reason. She was, as my friends put it, the "cool mom." I never disagreed. In high school we went through our tough times and there were plenty of chances for us to fall apart and go separate ways, but she hung with me through all my moods, my changes, my ins and outs with the church and always accepted me for me. She defended me when others were hell bent on tearing me down. I in turn defended her against the snobs at church that looked down on her for being a single mother. She is without a doubt the most caring, compassionate, intelligent, fun loving, loyal woman I have ever known...a beautiful white tulip in a sea of red ones.

There were times we argued, didn't see eye to eye, but we respected each other and compromise was the one of the biggest lessons she has ever taught me. To this day, I can easily recite the two rules/lessons that she taught me 1. Don't touch what doesn't belong to you. 2. A mother's love is forever. Two things that have kept me sane...the first has kept me from having a criminal record and the second is always there to remind me that when no one else may love me, she does. When I grow up, if I am half the woman she is...I will have made something of my life. She has worked hard to get where she is now, and I will always speak about her with great respect and reverence. Every time I would leave to go to a party or hang out with friends, her parting words were always the same, "I love you, have fun and remember who you are." She has always been there for me, given me the benefit of the doubt, taught me high morals and ethical standards...and still does with every day she is in my life. I feel bad that I am the end of her genetic line, it is a shame to have it wasted on me...if I could, I would want the world to know what a great and wonderful woman she is, and those that know her have no idea how lucky they are that she is in their life. I would gladly give my life for my mom, her love and acceptance has kept me alive in some of my most horrible times. I don't know how I managed to be so lucky as to have her as my mother AND my best friend...but what I do know is that I live each day of my life to make her proud. And I hope that someday I can. Like a rare flower, she is beautiful, fragile yet strong and purposeful.

I love you mom, more than words could ever describe. You are my best friend, an incredible mother who has worked hard for what you have and succeeded when so many others would have failed. I'm sorry for my mistakes and the growth pains that I put you through...please know that I live my life to make you proud of me and I hope that someday I can "do right by you." You are amazing and I thank God every day that you are my best friend and that you are in my life. Oh, I thought I should change your rule up a little...a daughter's love is forever. Remember I have loved you all my life...I win!

When goodbye finally feels good...

Dear Anji,

There are few people that have hurt me as deeply and painfully as you. I wish I had never known you, wished I had never kissed you, and wished to never have become girlfriends with you. Regardless of my wishes, I fell in love with who I thought you were. I was wrong, and that is on me. I cannot go back and change things, I cannot wish this all away...so I have survived what I thought would be the death of me (you lying, breaking promises and cheating) and found myself better for it. I have gone through a range of feelings and emotions when thinking of you, us and the life I thought we were going to lead. I have never felt so much rage at someone like I have with you...for taking away my future, my best friend and your son. But I have realized that you are no longer the you that I fell in love with. I also realize that your son was never mine to have or share. While I miss him every day, I know that after all is said and done...I must let him go as well...for my own sanity. You let me down, you treated me like I never mattered to you at all. The pain you inflicted...mere words could never describe. While I have not reached the point that I can forgive you, I have reached the point where I can let go. I can see that I am happier without you and your endless issues. I can feel myself slowly coming back to life and I'm ready to live again. The Anji I once loved, is gone...and I wouldn't change that even if I could. I am stronger now, and finding my way through the darkness and haze that has engulfed my life for the last 5 months. It feels good to open my eyes and not see you or the damage you left behind. So I say goodbye to you, who ever you are now. I have no wishes for you, and I look forward to the time that your memory only brings about indifference on my part. With time perhaps my feelings will change, but I feel no urgency regarding the matter...I'm okay now, I'm happy. So, I guess that's it. Bye.

Evolution of me...

After the dust settles and the wounds start to scab over, I can make out a faint noise in the background...something I haven't heard since May. It took a while to figure out what it was, low and behold it is the beating of my heart coming back to life. Beat, beat. It gets louder, and I can feel it under my skin...beat, beat. When I look in the mirror the haze has parted and I can see myself again, I can see pulsing in my veins as my heart beats...beat, beat. For so long I wanted that very heart to stop, to just ebb into silence and end. But it did not, and it's beating stronger than before...with a purpose, no longer drowning in the wounds that I have been dealt. I can listen to songs now that earlier would have driven my mind nearly insane, I can drive near her house while working and not have an aching to drive by, I can walk the halls of work now without remembering her steps beside me, I can go to places where memories of us were made and not hurt...I have back virtually all of what had been taken from me aside from our relationship and her son. And I have finally realized that her son, no matter how much I love him...was never mine to share. That has been the most hard of lessons for me to learn, along with understanding how a love that started so intense can burn itself out just a quick...leaving open wounds, lies and betrayal in its wake. But I'm okay with it now...more than okay actually. I'm doing dang well, family have come out of the wood work to support me, I have a great boss that offers his support, a great room mate at work that reminds me every day that God has a plan for me and just because the plan that I wanted didn't work out, doesn't mean that God has abandoned me or not heard my prayers. To you my lil grasshopper, I love in the purest sense even though you may never read this, I thank you. It is true that we never know the effect we have on other people...ones we know are watching but mostly the ones we never see.

I by no means am at 100%...but the bleeding has stopped, the wounds have scabbed over and aren't so sensitive anymore. I have reached a new level, while not completely forgiving her, I am finding solace in knowing that I am better for surviving this. I am stronger. I am happier. I value...me, for good or bad. I don't expect to not struggle, I don't even expect to live my life as if none of this ever happened, because I can't. I'm learning to embrace my journey and the experience and chalk it up as another stepping stone in the evolution of Debra Dawn Carlsen...