First of all, for some reason, I found myself feeling so unsleepy last night. And again, I have no idea why. I fell asleep downstairs on the couch. But when I woke up to go and get in the bed, I just couldn't sleep.
I ended up calling my friend, E, back, another night owl. Well, we talked until it was time for me to put my clothes on-4:00 in the A.M. So, I started a brand new day without one drop of sleep. That kind of stuff was fine when I was 25. But now that I'm a 30's girl... Well, a night of no sleep takes a different toll on you.
Well, the travel to the airport was just fine. And I have no major experiences to report about my flight. But after I landed, things got interesting.
First of all, my taxi driver started putting the moves on me. But I'm used to that. For some reason, the taxi drivers, well mainly the African ones, that pick me up always try to pick me up in another way. If you know what I mean...
But I actually enjoyed the conversation of this particular taxi driver. He was quite interesting. Plus, his stories about the world, Africa, America, Africans in America, European colonization of Africa, and North African culture/customs/religion/food were exciting.
Did I give him my number? Nope... Why? Um, I'm not sure... It's probably because I don't make a habit of giving men that I just randomly meet a way to contact me via telephone. Plus, he seemed a little too old for your girl.
This brotha, who was bornin North Africa, told me that he thinks that I'm a very beautiful woman. He went on to say that I would be considered very beautiful in his native country, Morocco.
I usually don't blush when the taxi drivers put their mack down on me. But this brotha just had a little flair that was undeniably charming.
But moving on... Because the above was certainly not the point of this blog entry.
Well, after I arrived to the place where I was going, which was a rehab center for blind and visually impaired adults, I was suddenly overtaken with a weird feeling of familiarity. All around me was the sound of tapping canes, blind people enjoying the company and conversation of other blind people, and blind folks on the move to a life of independence. For some reason, I felt like I was in a land that was so close to me, but yet so far away. The sounds, the people, the energy was all too familiar. But I was a stranger to it all.
Why did I feel like a stranger? Why did I feel so disconnected?
Interestingly, the answer is simple. I felt so disconnected, so much like a stranger because I separated myself from the culture, the community, the connectivity of the blind community. Why, you might ask? Plain old self-hatred...
It reminds me of Blacks, who grew up in black culture, in the hood, around other lack folks. But when they got their first chance, they ran like hell from the community that they were raised in, simply because they wanted to distance themselves so much from the painful or negative aspects of that community or culture of people. So sad...
To be continued... I'll finish this up later this week. Maybe tomorrow...
Angela
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Going back, But Not Quite
Tomorrow morning, I will board a plane to Austin, Texas, a place that I haven't been in nearly 15 years. A place that I swore to never return for all the days of my life. But tomorrow, I'm going back.
Do I feel the same way I felt when I swore to never set foot on the soil of Austin? Um, nope... What can I say... I was a fractured, imature, heart-broken 17-year-old. When you're 17-years-old, the little stuff seems so big; and the big stuff seems so little. Boy, ain't I'm glad that I turned 30 already. I sware when you're 29 and younger... Let's just say that you're not as smart as you think you are. But I digress...
After I land in Austin in the morning, I'll be catching a taxi to a building that's actually right across the street from the place that I was forced to call home for 4 long, seemingly abusive, heart breaking years. What place is this? Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired
When I write about TSBVI, I don't know why it feels like I'm writing about the deadly, frightful concentration camps in Germany, or the plantations where so many of my people were physically tortured and psychologically abused for 300 years. Because honestly, it wasn't that bad. In fact, it wasn't half as bad as I for so many years pegged it to be.
I guess TSBVI represents so much more to me than just the place I went to school and lived.
It's the place that I lost my eye sight.
It's the place that I had to live instead of living with my parents.
It's the place that I grew apart and started feeling segmented from my sisters.
It's the place that I had to learn how to deal with covert and overt racism.
It's the place that I had to learn how to deal with sexual harassment.
It's the place that I had paranormal experiences all the time. (Oh, yes... And it wasn't my imagination either.)
It's the place that I felt so lonely.
It's the place that I started feeling like I was losing so much control.
It's the place that I was scorn, rather than rewarded for being so smart.
It's the place that I rathered die than live.
So, even though I can still feel the pain from those years, I don't blame it on TSBVI. They didn't do it. In fact, they helped me to keep my head above a disability that was sure to drown me if I had not gotten the right kind of education, training, coping skills, and strategies for daily living. Now, after all these years, I realize that TSBVI was my blessing.
Tomorrow, I won't actually get a chance to go to TSBVI's campus to see the building that I walked up and down the halls to go to class, the dorm that I shared a room with my now deceased roommate, Ladama, or the sidewalks that I learned to master to go visit other friends that lived in different dorms.
But my heart is going to be able to be right across the street from the place that I experienced so much pain, and my heart won't be broken up filled with pain. Instead my heart is whole and full of thanks.
I will go to Austin again the week of November 12th. I'm going to make it my business to set aside some time to travel to TSBVI. I think actually going there, seeing some of the teachers that impacted my life, and being in the atmosphere of the whole system will do my heart good. I think that going back to the campus is a necessary intersection that I must travel to advance my healing.
I'll keep all of you that bother to read my blog updated about both of these Austin trips. It should be interesting.
Check you later.
Angela
Do I feel the same way I felt when I swore to never set foot on the soil of Austin? Um, nope... What can I say... I was a fractured, imature, heart-broken 17-year-old. When you're 17-years-old, the little stuff seems so big; and the big stuff seems so little. Boy, ain't I'm glad that I turned 30 already. I sware when you're 29 and younger... Let's just say that you're not as smart as you think you are. But I digress...
After I land in Austin in the morning, I'll be catching a taxi to a building that's actually right across the street from the place that I was forced to call home for 4 long, seemingly abusive, heart breaking years. What place is this? Texas School for the Blind and Visually Impaired
When I write about TSBVI, I don't know why it feels like I'm writing about the deadly, frightful concentration camps in Germany, or the plantations where so many of my people were physically tortured and psychologically abused for 300 years. Because honestly, it wasn't that bad. In fact, it wasn't half as bad as I for so many years pegged it to be.
I guess TSBVI represents so much more to me than just the place I went to school and lived.
It's the place that I lost my eye sight.
It's the place that I had to live instead of living with my parents.
It's the place that I grew apart and started feeling segmented from my sisters.
It's the place that I had to learn how to deal with covert and overt racism.
It's the place that I had to learn how to deal with sexual harassment.
It's the place that I had paranormal experiences all the time. (Oh, yes... And it wasn't my imagination either.)
It's the place that I felt so lonely.
It's the place that I started feeling like I was losing so much control.
It's the place that I was scorn, rather than rewarded for being so smart.
It's the place that I rathered die than live.
So, even though I can still feel the pain from those years, I don't blame it on TSBVI. They didn't do it. In fact, they helped me to keep my head above a disability that was sure to drown me if I had not gotten the right kind of education, training, coping skills, and strategies for daily living. Now, after all these years, I realize that TSBVI was my blessing.
Tomorrow, I won't actually get a chance to go to TSBVI's campus to see the building that I walked up and down the halls to go to class, the dorm that I shared a room with my now deceased roommate, Ladama, or the sidewalks that I learned to master to go visit other friends that lived in different dorms.
But my heart is going to be able to be right across the street from the place that I experienced so much pain, and my heart won't be broken up filled with pain. Instead my heart is whole and full of thanks.
I will go to Austin again the week of November 12th. I'm going to make it my business to set aside some time to travel to TSBVI. I think actually going there, seeing some of the teachers that impacted my life, and being in the atmosphere of the whole system will do my heart good. I think that going back to the campus is a necessary intersection that I must travel to advance my healing.
I'll keep all of you that bother to read my blog updated about both of these Austin trips. It should be interesting.
Check you later.
Angela
Friday, October 26, 2007
After the Tears Dried
The other day, I broke down in tears at my desk, which is a big no no in my book. And then I followed up with the tears by posting a blog entry, confessing to the whole wide world that I had a crybaby moment. That's also another big no no in my book.
Well, I made up my mind that as soon as I got access to my computer again, I was going to snatch the post down. I said that I couldn't risk people seeing that I was that upset. I was also thinking that it is not good for potential clients to see that the "motivational speaker" was not feeling so motivated.
Well, after thinking about this thing long and hard, I've decided to keep the post up on my blog. I am learning that fear, pain, disappointment, sorrow are all real emotions, and often essential emotions to help us remember that we are human. Sometimes when you are so used to having on your Wonder Woman or Super Man gear, you forget that there is a real person, with needs, fractures, and the ability to tire. I guess I needed that reminder.
Another reason why I left the post up is because I wanted everyone that could have ever wondered to know that life ain't by no means easy. It is a fact of life that trials and hardship will certainly come to visit you. Will it get you down? Probably... But here's what you can't do... Let it keep you down.
The other day, I was feeling rather low. And guess what... That was cool for that moment and that moment alone.
After I had my low moment, I had to get it together, shake the dust off my head, and stand up to the so called giant that was standing in front of me. I had to tell myself that I am strong enough to battle anything that comes at me.
How do I know I'm strong enough to tackle my giants? Because I have in the past.
I've survived:
The loss of all of my sight
17 surgeries
Growing up in a divorced family
Suicide of my treating physician
Death of my grandparents
A suicide attempt when I was 12-years-old
Suicidal ideation until I was 24-years-old
Being torn away from my family to live in another city when I was a teen
Overt and covert racism
Past obesity
A broken heart
Being broke as a bad joke
3 house fires in 6 months
My mother's 2 massive strokes
The disabling effects of my mother's massive strokes
The removal of my left eye (A major confession that I have chosen not to talk about on my blog. But I've decided that I will. in the next month.)
Seeing someone I love get caught up in the criminal justice system
Internal bleeding
Losing the house we loved
Losing my job
Sexual harassment
5 long, crazy years at University of North Texas, earning my BA
3 inconvenient years at Texas Southern, earning my MA
A couple of years of not believing that God existed
And when I tell you that is only mentioning a few of the giants I had to pop in the forehead over the years.
So, when I say I'm a survivor, I truly am. There is no reason at all why I should think that I can't make it past this stuff I'm going through. The proof that I got the goods to make it is the fact that I'm still here. I've been a survivor in the past. And I sho' ain't stopping that trend now. If anything, I'm getting ready to overcome more stuff than I ever have before.
To anyone that runs across this blog entry and you are wondering in the back of your head if you can make it, take it from me, you can. Tap into the strength that comes from God. He put it in you to use. So, use it. Use that strength to survive.
Much love,
Angela Braden
The Survivor
Well, I made up my mind that as soon as I got access to my computer again, I was going to snatch the post down. I said that I couldn't risk people seeing that I was that upset. I was also thinking that it is not good for potential clients to see that the "motivational speaker" was not feeling so motivated.
Well, after thinking about this thing long and hard, I've decided to keep the post up on my blog. I am learning that fear, pain, disappointment, sorrow are all real emotions, and often essential emotions to help us remember that we are human. Sometimes when you are so used to having on your Wonder Woman or Super Man gear, you forget that there is a real person, with needs, fractures, and the ability to tire. I guess I needed that reminder.
Another reason why I left the post up is because I wanted everyone that could have ever wondered to know that life ain't by no means easy. It is a fact of life that trials and hardship will certainly come to visit you. Will it get you down? Probably... But here's what you can't do... Let it keep you down.
The other day, I was feeling rather low. And guess what... That was cool for that moment and that moment alone.
After I had my low moment, I had to get it together, shake the dust off my head, and stand up to the so called giant that was standing in front of me. I had to tell myself that I am strong enough to battle anything that comes at me.
How do I know I'm strong enough to tackle my giants? Because I have in the past.
I've survived:
The loss of all of my sight
17 surgeries
Growing up in a divorced family
Suicide of my treating physician
Death of my grandparents
A suicide attempt when I was 12-years-old
Suicidal ideation until I was 24-years-old
Being torn away from my family to live in another city when I was a teen
Overt and covert racism
Past obesity
A broken heart
Being broke as a bad joke
3 house fires in 6 months
My mother's 2 massive strokes
The disabling effects of my mother's massive strokes
The removal of my left eye (A major confession that I have chosen not to talk about on my blog. But I've decided that I will. in the next month.)
Seeing someone I love get caught up in the criminal justice system
Internal bleeding
Losing the house we loved
Losing my job
Sexual harassment
5 long, crazy years at University of North Texas, earning my BA
3 inconvenient years at Texas Southern, earning my MA
A couple of years of not believing that God existed
And when I tell you that is only mentioning a few of the giants I had to pop in the forehead over the years.
So, when I say I'm a survivor, I truly am. There is no reason at all why I should think that I can't make it past this stuff I'm going through. The proof that I got the goods to make it is the fact that I'm still here. I've been a survivor in the past. And I sho' ain't stopping that trend now. If anything, I'm getting ready to overcome more stuff than I ever have before.
To anyone that runs across this blog entry and you are wondering in the back of your head if you can make it, take it from me, you can. Tap into the strength that comes from God. He put it in you to use. So, use it. Use that strength to survive.
Much love,
Angela Braden
The Survivor
Locked Out
For the last couple of days, I've been locked out of my Blogger account from the PC I use at my house. I don't know what was up. It's so darn frustrating. But I was able to get back in. But not through my own site.
Thanks to the fact that I am so dog on persistent and I was insisting on making a comment over at The Thinking Black Man, I was able to log in. I hurried over here to my spot to see if I could manipulate my page. And so far so good.
Technology makes the lives of blind people so much more fun to live. But darn it, when the technology is on the blink, it's incredibly frustrating. I hate feeling so dependent on a dag on machine. Oh well...
Thanks to the fact that I am so dog on persistent and I was insisting on making a comment over at The Thinking Black Man, I was able to log in. I hurried over here to my spot to see if I could manipulate my page. And so far so good.
Technology makes the lives of blind people so much more fun to live. But darn it, when the technology is on the blink, it's incredibly frustrating. I hate feeling so dependent on a dag on machine. Oh well...
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Crying because I was Crying
This afternoon, I started feeling so much anxiety and stress. And before I knew it, tears, something I don't often feel on my face, started rolling down my cheeks. I couldn't believe it. I was actually crying. As soon as I realized what was happening to me, I sat at my desk and started holding my breath, hoping that a lack of oxygen would cause me to dry up and cease the tears from falling. But I continued to cry. In silence, and without breathing, I cried.
After about three minutes, I pulled myself together. Crying in my office was not the answer. It's certainly not a good idea to be in public, even behind closed doors, with that much emotion on display. And no matter how cute I think I am, tears popping out of my face is not a good look for me. So, I quickly got it together.
Then suddenly, I started feeling ridiculous for even allowing the issue that caused the tears to flow to have that kind of effect on me. Guess what... I started crying again. But this time, I was crying because I had cried. I couldn't believe that I had allowed myself to get that torn up.
What was/is wrong with me? My period's not on my coattail. So what is it? Why am I allowing myself to feel so much stress? Why am I feeling so darn emotional this afternoon?
Well, at 4:27 P.M., I realize that I feel better now. Not because I stumbled into feeling better... But because I forced myself to feel better. I have come to a conclusion that being positive/feeling better/feeling stronger is a matter of just making a decision. Well, that's if you don't have some kind of chemical imbalance that you can't manage. But since I don't, I just have to snap my fingers and pop out of whatever's got me down.
Why am I writing this? To get it off my chest... To confirm to all those that were wondering, including myself, that Angela Braden, the strong, independent, always taking care of someone else, educated, smiling, black woman, can feel pain like anyone else. And for a moment this afternoon, I allowed myself to feel some pain. \After all, I am human.
Peace,
A
After about three minutes, I pulled myself together. Crying in my office was not the answer. It's certainly not a good idea to be in public, even behind closed doors, with that much emotion on display. And no matter how cute I think I am, tears popping out of my face is not a good look for me. So, I quickly got it together.
Then suddenly, I started feeling ridiculous for even allowing the issue that caused the tears to flow to have that kind of effect on me. Guess what... I started crying again. But this time, I was crying because I had cried. I couldn't believe that I had allowed myself to get that torn up.
What was/is wrong with me? My period's not on my coattail. So what is it? Why am I allowing myself to feel so much stress? Why am I feeling so darn emotional this afternoon?
Well, at 4:27 P.M., I realize that I feel better now. Not because I stumbled into feeling better... But because I forced myself to feel better. I have come to a conclusion that being positive/feeling better/feeling stronger is a matter of just making a decision. Well, that's if you don't have some kind of chemical imbalance that you can't manage. But since I don't, I just have to snap my fingers and pop out of whatever's got me down.
Why am I writing this? To get it off my chest... To confirm to all those that were wondering, including myself, that Angela Braden, the strong, independent, always taking care of someone else, educated, smiling, black woman, can feel pain like anyone else. And for a moment this afternoon, I allowed myself to feel some pain. \After all, I am human.
Peace,
A
Monday, October 22, 2007
Recommended Blog: GhettoManga
Okay... This recommended blog of the week thing or every two weeks thing is really not working out for me. I'm way too busy (code word for undisciplined) to commit to a schedule like that. It's amazing in itself that I've kept this blogging thing up. So, with that being said, please be patient with me and just expect a recommended blog on whatever Monday I actually think to do it.
This Monday, I wanted to recommend a blog that I don't necessarily read, but I think it is interesting. It's my brotha, Samax's little joint on Blogger. (FYI... Samax is the brotha's wedding that I went to this weekend in Dallas. He married one of my inner cabinet friends. BTW: I went to college with both Samax and Charlene.)
This brotha uses this particular blog to discuss comics (That mostly.), hip hop, and culture. I check him out from time to time, not because I'm just a big time fan of comics, because I'm absolutely not... I check him out because I'm a fan of him. I'm not so impressed with his content. But I got mad respect for how the brotha lays it all out on paper. Y'all, Samax can write!
So check out his blog. If you like comic books and hip hop, you will be pleased. Also support his work. Show a brotha some love that's taking steps to tear down the white walls in the comic book industry so that black super heros can be on the cover page.
To no avail, I introduce .GhettoManga, a blog that is excellently written, diverse in thought and content, and a product of the good fruit of the Hip Hop Generation.
BTW: This brotha's blog is one of the blogs that inspired me to actually stay on the course when it comes to maintaining a blog. He also, through his writing, taught me to be comfortable in my skin as a writer. What I mean is that I learned to write about what you want to say. Don't write what you think others want you to say. If you do that, you're not a writer, you're a puppet.
Peace out,
Angie
This Monday, I wanted to recommend a blog that I don't necessarily read, but I think it is interesting. It's my brotha, Samax's little joint on Blogger. (FYI... Samax is the brotha's wedding that I went to this weekend in Dallas. He married one of my inner cabinet friends. BTW: I went to college with both Samax and Charlene.)
This brotha uses this particular blog to discuss comics (That mostly.), hip hop, and culture. I check him out from time to time, not because I'm just a big time fan of comics, because I'm absolutely not... I check him out because I'm a fan of him. I'm not so impressed with his content. But I got mad respect for how the brotha lays it all out on paper. Y'all, Samax can write!
So check out his blog. If you like comic books and hip hop, you will be pleased. Also support his work. Show a brotha some love that's taking steps to tear down the white walls in the comic book industry so that black super heros can be on the cover page.
To no avail, I introduce .GhettoManga, a blog that is excellently written, diverse in thought and content, and a product of the good fruit of the Hip Hop Generation.
BTW: This brotha's blog is one of the blogs that inspired me to actually stay on the course when it comes to maintaining a blog. He also, through his writing, taught me to be comfortable in my skin as a writer. What I mean is that I learned to write about what you want to say. Don't write what you think others want you to say. If you do that, you're not a writer, you're a puppet.
Peace out,
Angie
WEDDINGS ARE NOT MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME
I'm not as much of a social butterfly as my girl, Miko, is. But I really do love hanging out with my friends. And the people I call friends are not just people that I happen to kind of like. The people I call friends are people that have proven their friendship. They're people that have stood by me through the rain, the fire, and the tears. They are some ride or die friends. And I appreciate them so much. That's why when the opportunity arises for me to kick it with them, I try to jump on it every time I can.
This past weekend, two people that I consider to be a friend, especially the bride, got married. There was never any doubt in my mind if I should go to the wedding. I just didn't really want to. I wanted to see them, but not at the wedding.
Before you start wondering if I'm a hater, let me hurry up and point out why I didn't want to go to the wedding. First of all, and really my only point... Weddings are so darn visual. From the bride's dress, to the bride maid's dresses, to the flower girl, to the flowers, to the decorations, to the cake, and to the rings... All of it is a show for the eyeballs.
So, pretty much, when I go to a wedding, I just sit there and smile. And then I stand when whoever I'm with gives me the cue to stand for the bride.
Don't get me wrong, weddings are not at all totally unenjoyable for me. I enjoy the music, if it is good enough to enjoy, listen to the vows, only if the bride and groom are speaking in the mike, and patiently wait for the reception so I can eat. ?And since I'm not a fan of party puches and cakes with a load of sweet icing, the receptions are really not too much my favorite either.
The one thing I was looking forward to at this wedding was seeing some people that I haven't had a chance to see in a long time. I wanted to see some of the people that I call friend, as well as those who were real close to being on Angie's "true friend" list. And I did. That part of the wedding was fantastic.
So, after the visual part of the wedding ended, I lit up like a Christmas tree. I put my social butterfly hat on, started skinning and grinning like only my daddy and Miko can do so well, and greeted all of those that I was so happy to see. It was great!
******
To Charlene and Samax:
I know you don't read my blog... Well, I shouldn't be presumptuous... But anyway...
I wanted to wish you two the best that marriage, intimacy, and friendship can bring a couple. I pray that peace, happiness, unconditional love, financial freedom, safety, security, and excitement wrap around you for the life of your marriage, which I hope is for the rest of you all's lives.
I know as well as you know that tribulation and turbulance will visit you. However, I pray that you are able to ride on top of the wave of heartache, rather than falling underneath the tides that often come to drown those who swore they would live and love each other for life. I pray that your home is blessed and full of God's favor. I pray that both of you experience God's love and acceptance through the loving companionship of one another.
God bless both of you and those children that will be brought here so fast. LOL
With love on my mind,
Angie Braden
This past weekend, two people that I consider to be a friend, especially the bride, got married. There was never any doubt in my mind if I should go to the wedding. I just didn't really want to. I wanted to see them, but not at the wedding.
Before you start wondering if I'm a hater, let me hurry up and point out why I didn't want to go to the wedding. First of all, and really my only point... Weddings are so darn visual. From the bride's dress, to the bride maid's dresses, to the flower girl, to the flowers, to the decorations, to the cake, and to the rings... All of it is a show for the eyeballs.
So, pretty much, when I go to a wedding, I just sit there and smile. And then I stand when whoever I'm with gives me the cue to stand for the bride.
Don't get me wrong, weddings are not at all totally unenjoyable for me. I enjoy the music, if it is good enough to enjoy, listen to the vows, only if the bride and groom are speaking in the mike, and patiently wait for the reception so I can eat. ?And since I'm not a fan of party puches and cakes with a load of sweet icing, the receptions are really not too much my favorite either.
The one thing I was looking forward to at this wedding was seeing some people that I haven't had a chance to see in a long time. I wanted to see some of the people that I call friend, as well as those who were real close to being on Angie's "true friend" list. And I did. That part of the wedding was fantastic.
So, after the visual part of the wedding ended, I lit up like a Christmas tree. I put my social butterfly hat on, started skinning and grinning like only my daddy and Miko can do so well, and greeted all of those that I was so happy to see. It was great!
******
To Charlene and Samax:
I know you don't read my blog... Well, I shouldn't be presumptuous... But anyway...
I wanted to wish you two the best that marriage, intimacy, and friendship can bring a couple. I pray that peace, happiness, unconditional love, financial freedom, safety, security, and excitement wrap around you for the life of your marriage, which I hope is for the rest of you all's lives.
I know as well as you know that tribulation and turbulance will visit you. However, I pray that you are able to ride on top of the wave of heartache, rather than falling underneath the tides that often come to drown those who swore they would live and love each other for life. I pray that your home is blessed and full of God's favor. I pray that both of you experience God's love and acceptance through the loving companionship of one another.
God bless both of you and those children that will be brought here so fast. LOL
With love on my mind,
Angie Braden
Will it ever come to an end?
Although I am completely aware that I don't look my best when I'm being negative, I often find myself with my negative baseball cap on without even knowing when or where I slipped it on my head. But
as soon as I notice that I'm being negative, complaining, having a pity party, I take the hat and sling it far away, as far as I can toss it.
There was a time that having a pity party was okay. I justified it. Hell, I onc thought that I was going through enough crap to have all the pity parties I wanted to have. But thankfully, I got to place in my life that I didn't want to be a party girl anymore. I popped the baloons, vacuumed the confetti, blew out the 666 candles, and garbage disposed the flavorless cake. Pity partying just ain't my style no more. I'm much better when I'm smiling, laughing, and beaming. Don't you think?
Well, that brings me to this post. Something happened to me this weekend that in the past would have caused me to be angry as hell or sent me to my closet to pull out all of my pity party decorations.
This weekend, I had to go to Dallas for a wedding. Well, I waited too late to purchase my airline ticket; so the flights were way to high. I will never pay $250 to fly to Dallas if I can help it. And this weekend I could help it. I got on Priceline and rented a car, reserved me a room, and commissioned my sister, Frances, to drive me to Dallas early Saturday morning.
Well, when we arrived at the rental car place, I explained to the lady that I was renting the car, but I happened to be blind. I explained to her that my sister would be driving the vehicle. My sister said that the lady looked at her and then proceeded to do the hand signals that used to annoy me so much. She said the lady pointed at me, then covered her eyes, pointed back at me, and then mouthed, "She's blind."
Now, why was all that necessary? In fact, why is it ever necessary?
First of all, I already told the woman I couldn't see. Did she not believe me? She must did, she started talking in sign language to my sister as if she didn't expect me to see it. So, what was the point in taking those silly steps to confirm the info?
And for all the other people that often signal to my folks and ask them am I blind... Why do you do that? If you want to know, just open your mouth and ask. It's even more offensive when I hear you whispering to my people as if I'm can't hear. It's even more offensive when you think that I'm some kind of nothing, a nothing person that doesn't deserve you respecting me by not "talking about me behind my back." Because that's how it feels. It's in my face. But not really.
When Frances told me what the woman did, I started to get all mad and thangs. But this time, I decided to cut off the anger and shake my head at the idea of this woman doing that. There is no point in me wasting my good emotions on someone and something that doesn't deserve the energy. Plus, I would much rather keep my negativity hat off my hed these days. I'm much cuter when I have the positive hat on.
as soon as I notice that I'm being negative, complaining, having a pity party, I take the hat and sling it far away, as far as I can toss it.
There was a time that having a pity party was okay. I justified it. Hell, I onc thought that I was going through enough crap to have all the pity parties I wanted to have. But thankfully, I got to place in my life that I didn't want to be a party girl anymore. I popped the baloons, vacuumed the confetti, blew out the 666 candles, and garbage disposed the flavorless cake. Pity partying just ain't my style no more. I'm much better when I'm smiling, laughing, and beaming. Don't you think?
Well, that brings me to this post. Something happened to me this weekend that in the past would have caused me to be angry as hell or sent me to my closet to pull out all of my pity party decorations.
This weekend, I had to go to Dallas for a wedding. Well, I waited too late to purchase my airline ticket; so the flights were way to high. I will never pay $250 to fly to Dallas if I can help it. And this weekend I could help it. I got on Priceline and rented a car, reserved me a room, and commissioned my sister, Frances, to drive me to Dallas early Saturday morning.
Well, when we arrived at the rental car place, I explained to the lady that I was renting the car, but I happened to be blind. I explained to her that my sister would be driving the vehicle. My sister said that the lady looked at her and then proceeded to do the hand signals that used to annoy me so much. She said the lady pointed at me, then covered her eyes, pointed back at me, and then mouthed, "She's blind."
Now, why was all that necessary? In fact, why is it ever necessary?
First of all, I already told the woman I couldn't see. Did she not believe me? She must did, she started talking in sign language to my sister as if she didn't expect me to see it. So, what was the point in taking those silly steps to confirm the info?
And for all the other people that often signal to my folks and ask them am I blind... Why do you do that? If you want to know, just open your mouth and ask. It's even more offensive when I hear you whispering to my people as if I'm can't hear. It's even more offensive when you think that I'm some kind of nothing, a nothing person that doesn't deserve you respecting me by not "talking about me behind my back." Because that's how it feels. It's in my face. But not really.
When Frances told me what the woman did, I started to get all mad and thangs. But this time, I decided to cut off the anger and shake my head at the idea of this woman doing that. There is no point in me wasting my good emotions on someone and something that doesn't deserve the energy. Plus, I would much rather keep my negativity hat off my hed these days. I'm much cuter when I have the positive hat on.
Friday, October 19, 2007
What We Consider, Some are Forced to Live
Earlier this week, I asked my readers a question that I knew would prompt them to have to think about the horrifying possibility of being severely disabled. The reason why I asked the question was because I wanted my readers to actually consider what it’s like to live a life that many are locked into living every single second of their life. Yes, we can take a few minutes to imagine being disabled. But our daydreams don’t stand a chance against the person that is actually walking, or should I say “not walking” it out.
Since I started working at a vocational rehab agency as a counselor, I’ve learned to put my excessive complaining in check. Yeah, I might be blind. And trust me, that’s pretty bad. But my issues are nothing compared to some of the people that come and sit down in my office.
I have to visit with individuals that were born or either later in their lives became severely disabled. Mental Retardation, traumatic brain injury, Bipolar Disorder, ADHD, Spinabifida, and so on and so on. So many of the individuals that come into my office have learning disabilities, major depressive disorders, can only ambulate in a wheelchair, and need assistance with bathing, toileting, and dressing. It’s so sad…
I sit down and thank God that even though I’m blind, I can think, and think pretty brilliantly too. LOL Just kidding… Well, not really…
What I’m doing right now, writing, blogging, creating, conversing—Many of my clients cannot do that. So, I really learn to shut my trap and my mind down and stop all my dog on complaining about not being able to see. At least, and I mean the very least, I can walk, talk, think, smile, love, run, climb stairs, have sex, hear, smell, pick up my nephew and hold him in my arms, wipe my own behind, bathe myself, wash dishes, cook a meal, operate a computer, earn money, speak, make others laugh, and so on and so on. You get the point.
So, if you are reading this post, make a commitment to minimize your complaining. Yes, I know it's pretty easy to always complain. But it just ain't cool. Life really could be much, much worse. I wouldn't lie to you.
Disclaimer: In case anyone from my job is reading this post, I am not discussing client cases. I’m merely pointing out the obvious. I hope this post is not deemed as a breech in client confidentiality.
Since I started working at a vocational rehab agency as a counselor, I’ve learned to put my excessive complaining in check. Yeah, I might be blind. And trust me, that’s pretty bad. But my issues are nothing compared to some of the people that come and sit down in my office.
I have to visit with individuals that were born or either later in their lives became severely disabled. Mental Retardation, traumatic brain injury, Bipolar Disorder, ADHD, Spinabifida, and so on and so on. So many of the individuals that come into my office have learning disabilities, major depressive disorders, can only ambulate in a wheelchair, and need assistance with bathing, toileting, and dressing. It’s so sad…
I sit down and thank God that even though I’m blind, I can think, and think pretty brilliantly too. LOL Just kidding… Well, not really…
What I’m doing right now, writing, blogging, creating, conversing—Many of my clients cannot do that. So, I really learn to shut my trap and my mind down and stop all my dog on complaining about not being able to see. At least, and I mean the very least, I can walk, talk, think, smile, love, run, climb stairs, have sex, hear, smell, pick up my nephew and hold him in my arms, wipe my own behind, bathe myself, wash dishes, cook a meal, operate a computer, earn money, speak, make others laugh, and so on and so on. You get the point.
So, if you are reading this post, make a commitment to minimize your complaining. Yes, I know it's pretty easy to always complain. But it just ain't cool. Life really could be much, much worse. I wouldn't lie to you.
Disclaimer: In case anyone from my job is reading this post, I am not discussing client cases. I’m merely pointing out the obvious. I hope this post is not deemed as a breech in client confidentiality.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
LEARNING TO CHERISH THE GIFT OF LIFE (REVISITED)
**I posted this entry over a year ago when I first started this blog. It's one of my favorite entries of all times. I wanted to repost it because it really translates a message that I think most of us can benefit from when it comes to the value of life and love. And since it is Disability Awareness Month, I thought that this post would be a nice entry to add to my series of posts regarding disabilities different from my own. Enjoy and be enlightened.**
While working as a consultant for a small school district, I was asked to place a visit to one of the students that was severely disabled. I was asked to stimulate him through friendly interactions and play. I arrived to the classroom with my box of instructional toys, and was introduced to a small, eight-year-old boy strapped in a wheelchair. I greeted him, but he did not respond. I grabbed his hand, but his fingers were limp. His little head was slumped over. The child had not even looked up at me. I took my hand and placed it under his chin and lifted his darling head up. “Hello.”, I said. No salutation, moan, laugh, or wiggle came from the child. “How can I play with this child?” I thought. “His body is here, but he’s not.” I wanted to put all of my toys back in the box and leave. I felt saddened and upset for the child. How could anyone want to live that way? But I couldn’t leave. I had to do my job.
I tried to get a response out of him with my toys. I pulled out my rattle and put it in his hand. But his fingers did not grip the handle. I cuffed my hand over his hand so that he would hold the rattle. I shook it. But the boy did not respond. I pulled out my talking, school bus that sings the alphabet. But he was not interested in the bus or the happy melody that poured from the bus.
His teacher suggested that I try a toy that she described as his favorite. I placed his small, bony hands on the colorful toy and pushed a button, the toy started to vibrate and ring silly sounds. I couldn’t believe my ears. The child hummed a high pitched sound that sounding like he was expressing joy. “What? A sound from the boy?” I thought. Then I heard light tones coming from his mouth. His teacher said that he was laughing. I pressed another button, the toy buzzed and rattled. The happy sound came from the boy again. I was so delighted to see this lifeless child be filled with happiness and joy.
Last year, when the highly controversial case of Terri Schiavo, a severely brain damaged woman, who was in the middle of a highly inflammatory legal dispute between her parents and her husband on whether or not to keep her alive, was introduced to the world by the American press, I thought about my small, severely disabled student. I’m ashamed to admit that I initially thought this darling boy’s life was not worth living. But inside of his little body was a little boy that enjoyed what I thought of as simple and unimportant. He was enjoying life in his own way. I’m sure that the child’s mother would have been devastated if her little one was completely taken from her. Instead of being bitter about what she did not have in a son, she cherished every part of her little boy.
I learned from that experience that all life is valuable and that we should cherish every morsel of life. I also discovered that no matter how fractured or impaired a person’s abilities are, joy, love, peace, and happiness can be and should be experienced by every living person.
While working as a consultant for a small school district, I was asked to place a visit to one of the students that was severely disabled. I was asked to stimulate him through friendly interactions and play. I arrived to the classroom with my box of instructional toys, and was introduced to a small, eight-year-old boy strapped in a wheelchair. I greeted him, but he did not respond. I grabbed his hand, but his fingers were limp. His little head was slumped over. The child had not even looked up at me. I took my hand and placed it under his chin and lifted his darling head up. “Hello.”, I said. No salutation, moan, laugh, or wiggle came from the child. “How can I play with this child?” I thought. “His body is here, but he’s not.” I wanted to put all of my toys back in the box and leave. I felt saddened and upset for the child. How could anyone want to live that way? But I couldn’t leave. I had to do my job.
I tried to get a response out of him with my toys. I pulled out my rattle and put it in his hand. But his fingers did not grip the handle. I cuffed my hand over his hand so that he would hold the rattle. I shook it. But the boy did not respond. I pulled out my talking, school bus that sings the alphabet. But he was not interested in the bus or the happy melody that poured from the bus.
His teacher suggested that I try a toy that she described as his favorite. I placed his small, bony hands on the colorful toy and pushed a button, the toy started to vibrate and ring silly sounds. I couldn’t believe my ears. The child hummed a high pitched sound that sounding like he was expressing joy. “What? A sound from the boy?” I thought. Then I heard light tones coming from his mouth. His teacher said that he was laughing. I pressed another button, the toy buzzed and rattled. The happy sound came from the boy again. I was so delighted to see this lifeless child be filled with happiness and joy.
Last year, when the highly controversial case of Terri Schiavo, a severely brain damaged woman, who was in the middle of a highly inflammatory legal dispute between her parents and her husband on whether or not to keep her alive, was introduced to the world by the American press, I thought about my small, severely disabled student. I’m ashamed to admit that I initially thought this darling boy’s life was not worth living. But inside of his little body was a little boy that enjoyed what I thought of as simple and unimportant. He was enjoying life in his own way. I’m sure that the child’s mother would have been devastated if her little one was completely taken from her. Instead of being bitter about what she did not have in a son, she cherished every part of her little boy.
I learned from that experience that all life is valuable and that we should cherish every morsel of life. I also discovered that no matter how fractured or impaired a person’s abilities are, joy, love, peace, and happiness can be and should be experienced by every living person.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
What disability do you think would be the worst to live with?
This month is Disability Awareness Month. Yes, everybody got a month... LOL
Well, even though I pretty much only write about disability related issues as it pertains to me and my blindness, I wanted to spend a little time addressing other disability groups. And I can start the discussion with this post.
A few months ago, I attended a disability awareness training at my job. The first question the trainer asked our group was, "What disability would you hate to have to live your life with?"
"Good question.", I thought.
And since I'm living with a disability that was sure to be on somebody in my group's list, I felt a little strange, or cursed, if you will. But that's an entirely different post. I'll revisit that train of thought another time.
Well, I want to pose the question to my readers. And be honest...
What would be the top 3 disabilities you would hate to live with? And why?
Think about it and post your answer. I'm eager to get your response.
FYI... Since I'm already blind, I told the trainer I would hate to be deaf and blind at the same time, paraplegic, and mentally retarded.
A. I would hate to be deaf/blind because that would be completely and utterly terrible. To not be able to hear and see... The very thought makes me shutter on the inside. I can imagine that communicating, relating to others, enjoying life, building relationships, and learning would be darn near impossile.
B. Walking, running, bending, stopping, climbing stairs, and getting on and off the floor is apart of my everyday life. I can't imagine being so dog on restricted by that kind of disability. I might not can see, but I'm free to move, to run, to get in the tub, to use the toilet without assistance, to slide my underwear on, to basically do anything I can figure out how to do without sight. And that's a lot more than what I could do if I was restricted to a wheelchair.
C. Because my mind is like my greatest asset, I can't imagine being cognatively impaired. I can't imagine not being able to use my mind to create, to be free, to strategize, to analyze, to imagine, to daydream, to write, to speak, to clarify, to judge... You get my point.
So, what about you? Be honest. And if blind is one of your answers, don't think my feelings gon' be hurt. I hate the idea of living life with blindness too. **smile**
Well, even though I pretty much only write about disability related issues as it pertains to me and my blindness, I wanted to spend a little time addressing other disability groups. And I can start the discussion with this post.
A few months ago, I attended a disability awareness training at my job. The first question the trainer asked our group was, "What disability would you hate to have to live your life with?"
"Good question.", I thought.
And since I'm living with a disability that was sure to be on somebody in my group's list, I felt a little strange, or cursed, if you will. But that's an entirely different post. I'll revisit that train of thought another time.
Well, I want to pose the question to my readers. And be honest...
What would be the top 3 disabilities you would hate to live with? And why?
Think about it and post your answer. I'm eager to get your response.
FYI... Since I'm already blind, I told the trainer I would hate to be deaf and blind at the same time, paraplegic, and mentally retarded.
A. I would hate to be deaf/blind because that would be completely and utterly terrible. To not be able to hear and see... The very thought makes me shutter on the inside. I can imagine that communicating, relating to others, enjoying life, building relationships, and learning would be darn near impossile.
B. Walking, running, bending, stopping, climbing stairs, and getting on and off the floor is apart of my everyday life. I can't imagine being so dog on restricted by that kind of disability. I might not can see, but I'm free to move, to run, to get in the tub, to use the toilet without assistance, to slide my underwear on, to basically do anything I can figure out how to do without sight. And that's a lot more than what I could do if I was restricted to a wheelchair.
C. Because my mind is like my greatest asset, I can't imagine being cognatively impaired. I can't imagine not being able to use my mind to create, to be free, to strategize, to analyze, to imagine, to daydream, to write, to speak, to clarify, to judge... You get my point.
So, what about you? Be honest. And if blind is one of your answers, don't think my feelings gon' be hurt. I hate the idea of living life with blindness too. **smile**
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Some of the Reasons I Hate Being Blind
1. I hate having limited options. Being blind restricts my mobility too much. Which leads me to no. 2.
2. I hate not being able to drive.
3. I hate not being able to look up into the sky and see the ornaments that God has decorated the sky with. I miss so badly seeing the stars, moon, and even the hot Texas sun.
4. I hate not being able to look in the mirror and see myself. It really bugs the daylights out of me that I don't know what 30-year-old Angela looks like. It seems that I just can't push pass that restriction. I'm completely annoyed by it.
5. I hate I can't see the new additions of my family. It's like this... I can imagine how my sisters, parents, cousins, and certain friends look like, mainly because I still have the picture of them in my head from when I could see. But I have no earthly idea what my nieces and my nephew look like. I pretty sure they're cute. But I don't really have a clear cut idea what exactly they look like. I have an image that I created. And although I'm pretty good at knowing how people that I've never seen look like, sometimes the description that I have is off from the truth.
6. Again, I hate limited options. Let me revisit that, but with specificity. I hate that I cannot really pick and choose the kind of career I want and where I want to work. That gets under my skin. It's actually depressing.
7. I hate not being able to shop by myself.
8. I hate that I can't see nature. I used to love looking at grass, flowers, trees, birds, insects, and any and everything that was apart of the natural environment. I really miss that.
9. I hate I can't do some home improvement things myself. I come from a line of women that have a "do it yourself" mentality. I know if I could see, I would paint, put up my own blinds and curtains, clean the carpet, and so on.
10. I hate that I can't be my own woman all the time. I hate that I have to go sighted guide with people. I hate that people have to drive me. I hate that I have to have someone with me to go to certain events. I just wish I could roll all by myself sometimes, without having to be bothered with anyone.
****
Yes, I know that this post was a little more negative than my typical posts. But I just needed to vent. I've been feeling real ticked off about a couple of the things on the above list in the last week. So, I just needed to get it out of my head. And. It's way too crowded in there for me to hold on to those thoughts.
Well, have a good day. I'll try to do the same.
Angie Braden
2. I hate not being able to drive.
3. I hate not being able to look up into the sky and see the ornaments that God has decorated the sky with. I miss so badly seeing the stars, moon, and even the hot Texas sun.
4. I hate not being able to look in the mirror and see myself. It really bugs the daylights out of me that I don't know what 30-year-old Angela looks like. It seems that I just can't push pass that restriction. I'm completely annoyed by it.
5. I hate I can't see the new additions of my family. It's like this... I can imagine how my sisters, parents, cousins, and certain friends look like, mainly because I still have the picture of them in my head from when I could see. But I have no earthly idea what my nieces and my nephew look like. I pretty sure they're cute. But I don't really have a clear cut idea what exactly they look like. I have an image that I created. And although I'm pretty good at knowing how people that I've never seen look like, sometimes the description that I have is off from the truth.
6. Again, I hate limited options. Let me revisit that, but with specificity. I hate that I cannot really pick and choose the kind of career I want and where I want to work. That gets under my skin. It's actually depressing.
7. I hate not being able to shop by myself.
8. I hate that I can't see nature. I used to love looking at grass, flowers, trees, birds, insects, and any and everything that was apart of the natural environment. I really miss that.
9. I hate I can't do some home improvement things myself. I come from a line of women that have a "do it yourself" mentality. I know if I could see, I would paint, put up my own blinds and curtains, clean the carpet, and so on.
10. I hate that I can't be my own woman all the time. I hate that I have to go sighted guide with people. I hate that people have to drive me. I hate that I have to have someone with me to go to certain events. I just wish I could roll all by myself sometimes, without having to be bothered with anyone.
****
Yes, I know that this post was a little more negative than my typical posts. But I just needed to vent. I've been feeling real ticked off about a couple of the things on the above list in the last week. So, I just needed to get it out of my head. And. It's way too crowded in there for me to hold on to those thoughts.
Well, have a good day. I'll try to do the same.
Angie Braden
Monday, October 01, 2007
Recommended Blog of the Week: Faith in Action On Line
Okay, I know I said that I was going to recommend one of the blogs I find fascinating and/or interesting every Monday. Well, I haven't exactly adhered to my own little schedule. So, I'm going to revise this thing. I'm going to do this every other Monday. That sounds more like a schedule I'll comply with.
This week, I wanted to showcase my brother in Baltimore, Rev. Heber Brown. This brother is the reason why your girl ever decided to register an account with Blogger. I was thrilled by his content and commitment to various issues. Even though most of his blog is specifically relative to Baltimore concerns, I still enjoyed reading and commenting.
Actually, Faith in Action was the first blog I actually started making comments on. And for the longest (over a year), I didn't start visiting other blogs. But now, thanks to Heber's little inspiration, I enjoy blogging. It's a necessary diversion from the everyday grind.
To no avail, I now introduce you to Faith in Action.
Have a fabulous week!
Angie
This week, I wanted to showcase my brother in Baltimore, Rev. Heber Brown. This brother is the reason why your girl ever decided to register an account with Blogger. I was thrilled by his content and commitment to various issues. Even though most of his blog is specifically relative to Baltimore concerns, I still enjoyed reading and commenting.
Actually, Faith in Action was the first blog I actually started making comments on. And for the longest (over a year), I didn't start visiting other blogs. But now, thanks to Heber's little inspiration, I enjoy blogging. It's a necessary diversion from the everyday grind.
To no avail, I now introduce you to Faith in Action.
Have a fabulous week!
Angie
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