I'm under so much stress. So much stress that I feel like a boulder is sitting on top of my chest... But what is amazing to me is that I'm still breathing despite the fact that the stress feels like it's strangling the very life out of me. I'm amazed that God has allowed me to continue to feel his cool breath of life in my lungs during this trying time.
When I come across people that know me and know about all the things that I have gone through in my life, they always tell me how strong they think I am. Well, I don't feel strong at all. And the truth is that I am not strong.
I'm an empty, weak, hollow shell, that has no problem admitting that I need the Lord in my life. Without Him, I am insignificant, unaccomplished, scared, weak, and broken.
But with Him, I am more than a conquerer. With Him, I can do all things. With Him, I am able to resist the evil in the world. With Him, I am able to rise above all the pain.
So, I don't take any credit for this so called strength that I demonstrate in my daily walk through this thing we call life. I give all the credit to the Living God, who strengthens me to do every single thing I do.
I can't recall the exact wording and location of the scripture that's coming to mind, but I am encouraged by the scripture: "He'll give you beauty for your ashes." (Asa or Heber, help me out. Y'all are the theologeons. **smile**)
I pray that is indeed the truth as I sit and look at all the ashes around me. I hope and pray, as I am without a place to actually call home, that God will renew me, will restore me, will refresh me, will reinvent me.
**I know that this post was a little all over the place. But that's how I'm feeling. I'm just trying to sort through it all, while keeping things in the right perspective.
Continue to keep me and mine in prayer. We need it.
Oh yea... I graduate December 15th if everything goes as planned. I'm so excited! Angela Braden with a masters degree. Yet one more thing that I will have accomplished with the help of God. I'll post on that whole graduation as it gets closer and more definite that I will indeed be eligible for my degree.
Until we meet up in this place again or yours, I wish you the best.
Love and hugs,
Angela**
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Burned Out
Last week, after a hard day of mind aching, heart breaking work, I was ever so happy to pull up in my driveway, unfortunately, only to find my house, the place where I live, sleep, eat, bathe, use the computer, relax, and store my clothes, screaming with a high pitch yelp and belching black smoke. Oh yes... That's right... On Wednesday evening of last week, a fire started in the laundry room which is located on the second level of my house, and caused severe damage to the structure and contents of my home.
In short, the fire caused the main water line in the house to burst, releasing water to shower down to the bottom level of the house. So, the house not only has fire and smoke damage, but water damage as well. What fun!
I'm without a place to live at least for the next two to three months. I only have three changes of clothes. The only time I have computer access is when I'm at work.
I have to admit that there are moments that I look at what has happened as being extremely depressing. But there are other times, especially when I force myself to, I see the good in all of this. Good? Yep, there is some good.
I would tell you now, but someone is waiting for me. I'll update my blog later, when I get a chance.
In the meantime, pray for me. Pray for my family. Pray that we make it through this awfully challenging time. Pray that we find somewhere to live while we wait for the house to get rebuilt to liveable standards. Just pray...
Peace,
Angela
In short, the fire caused the main water line in the house to burst, releasing water to shower down to the bottom level of the house. So, the house not only has fire and smoke damage, but water damage as well. What fun!
I'm without a place to live at least for the next two to three months. I only have three changes of clothes. The only time I have computer access is when I'm at work.
I have to admit that there are moments that I look at what has happened as being extremely depressing. But there are other times, especially when I force myself to, I see the good in all of this. Good? Yep, there is some good.
I would tell you now, but someone is waiting for me. I'll update my blog later, when I get a chance.
In the meantime, pray for me. Pray for my family. Pray that we make it through this awfully challenging time. Pray that we find somewhere to live while we wait for the house to get rebuilt to liveable standards. Just pray...
Peace,
Angela
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Reflections of my Trip to Austin (Part II.)
I sat in the lobby of the rehab center for about 30 or 40 minutes before the lady I was supposed to be meeting with came and got me. I'm usually bored when I have to wait places that long. It's not like I can pick up a magazine and flip through the pages, check out other people's outfits, or text message on my cell phone as I wait. So, waiting is something that I don't get a thrill out of at all.
But waiting for my meeting that morning was not so bad. I was completely enthralled by the number of blind people who were walking, carrying on with life, laughing, working, and learning with such confidence. I was proud to be apart of a group of people that decided to not let the darkness stop them from seeing the light of life.
I sat there and thought about how these people were walking around, some with a quick pace, tapping their canes, doing what they needed to do to be alright. You talking about some survivors!
I hated that even I was not used to seeing this many blind people on point, taking care of business, and handling up on life. I was pleasantly shocked of all the major confidence and solid adjustment that I witnessed in a couple of the people I observed. It was great. It was inspiring.
I sat there and wished that I could be in that environment more often. I wished that the people I love could see these blind people on the move, fighting to have independence, fighting to be alive and happy. I wished that the readers of my blog could see these people as they were carrying out their day. I wished that everyone that's anyone could have seen what I was getting a chance to witness. It was great.
***I'll have a couple more entries regarding my trip to Austin before I leave this series along. Stay tuned and stay inspired.****
But waiting for my meeting that morning was not so bad. I was completely enthralled by the number of blind people who were walking, carrying on with life, laughing, working, and learning with such confidence. I was proud to be apart of a group of people that decided to not let the darkness stop them from seeing the light of life.
I sat there and thought about how these people were walking around, some with a quick pace, tapping their canes, doing what they needed to do to be alright. You talking about some survivors!
I hated that even I was not used to seeing this many blind people on point, taking care of business, and handling up on life. I was pleasantly shocked of all the major confidence and solid adjustment that I witnessed in a couple of the people I observed. It was great. It was inspiring.
I sat there and wished that I could be in that environment more often. I wished that the people I love could see these blind people on the move, fighting to have independence, fighting to be alive and happy. I wished that the readers of my blog could see these people as they were carrying out their day. I wished that everyone that's anyone could have seen what I was getting a chance to witness. It was great.
***I'll have a couple more entries regarding my trip to Austin before I leave this series along. Stay tuned and stay inspired.****
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Blogging for Justice: Crying Out Against the Obvious Crime Inflicted on Megan Williams and More
"But I still cannot relate to Megan Williams as a person. I think it's because I'm an intellectual elitist and I don't think that Megan Williams is very smart. When I look into her eyes, I see Gomer Pyle.”
Francis L. Holland
When I first received an e-mail from AAPP to Blog for Justice, especially at such a short notice, I quickly dismissed it and said to myself that I just didn’t have the time to write my thoughts and reactions regarding the two heinous crimes that were committed against these two women by November 1st. Plus, although I often post comments on other blogger’s boards about political and social issues, I try to stick to a general theme on my blog, disability issues, especially disability issues as it pertains to me as a blind woman.
But after seeing the call to write over at the
Afrospear page, as well as a recent article related to the heinous
crime that took place at Dumbar Village, which was more horrifying than any Halloween tale I've ever heard, I decided to make it my business to write an entry,, so that I could be apart of the group that would shake the ground to let the world know that we would not sit back and passively wait to see if justice would be served in these particular cases.
However, to be quite honest, if I may, when I decided to write something regarding these terrible incidents, I actually was going to write a quick post about these issues, just to say that I actually engaged in solidarity with the Afrosphear. I was still being selfish, thinking about what all I had to do tonight and tomorrow, which was going to get in the way of me writing a thoughtful post.
But after seeing the above confession over at Francis L. Holland’s blog, I knew for sure that I must write. And guess what… I can stay within my theme of disability issues. So sad that Francis set the stage for me… So that you can continue to flow with me, let me post his quote here again for you to read.
"But I still cannot relate to Megan Williams as a person. I think it's because I'm an intellectual elitist and I don't think that Megan Williams is very smart. When I look into her eyes, I see Gomer Pyle.” Francis L. Holland
Now, forgive me if my writing gets a little emotional. Let me warn you. I’m feeling pretty emotional about what Francis so ignorantly remarked on his blog.
The reason why his comment shakes me up so much is because people with differences and/or disabilities often get declassified, boxed, institutionalized, neglected, forgotten, thrown away, segmented, hidden, ignored, abused, misunderstood, pushed away, and disrespected, simply because they are not like the masses-like Francis said, they can’t be related to as a person.
Is Megan Williams not a person? Why can’t she be related to as a person? Because when you look in her eyes she seems dumb? Really?
People often tell me, “I’ve never met a blind person before. I don’t know how I should treat you.” Well, I would tell these people, who I think meant well, but were clouded with ignorance, “Treat me like you want to be treated. Treat me like I’m a person with real feelings, real issues, and real concerns.” Yes, I may be blind. But I am first a person. I am not Blind Angie. I am Angie that is blind. See the difference...
You wouldn’t believe the people that I come in contact with that treat me less than I should be treated just because I am different, because when they look in my eyes, I appear to be… Um, I don’t know… Take your pick. So many people treat me like I have mental retardation or I’m a slow learner, just because I’m blind. Many people I come in contact with often try to deny me the right to speak for myself, make decisions for myself, or stand up for myself. Basic ignorance, I tell you…
Here are the facts… Ms. Williams does have a learning disability, she is a person, and she was treated worst than a stray, mangy, rabies infested dog. Something there doesn’t add up. But what doesn’t also add up for me is how an educated person of color, a lawyer, could even hint that they couldn’t relate to this woman as a person because she appeared to be unintelligent/intellectually challenged/slow/dumb.
That’s the kind of bullcrap I put up with on a daily basis. It’s not my race and my gender that causes me to be discriminated against, treated badly, and prejudged the most. It’s my disability. And the time is now for that to stop. It is time for intelligent, educated persons to stop prejudging, discriminating against, and minimizing the humanity of a person with challenges.
I shutter at the thought of what happened to Megan Williams, simply because I know it really could have been me. Maybe not the same setting and series of events… But I too could have been a victim of some person’s physical and mental torture. And God forbid, unless we put a stop to this type of violence, I still can become this kind of victim.
What also shakes me to the core is that people, even educated people could have the capacity of looking in my blind eyes and minimizing what would have happened to me, simply because they could not relate to me as a person.
For the record: Francis L. Holland, who is like one of the most influential bloggers in the Afrospear/Afrosphere, and a blogger I truly respect, has issued an apology for his statement. He also stated that he did not know that Megan was learning disabled when he made his remark. His apology is below.
“I didn't know that Megan Williams was recognized as having learning disabilities. It helps me to comprehend her situation and what happened to her much
better. And I apologize to those who have had all of the facts. Because Megan's learning disabilities are an important part of what makes this crime so heinous, we should be highlighting the fact that Megan Williams
has learning disabilities because, for me at least, it makes the crimes against her even more grave. She was not able to defend herself.” Francis
But even with the apology in place, I still wanted to highlight the type of ignorance that causes people with disabilities/differences/challenges, whether they are physical or mental, to be fragmented, to be pushed away, to be compartmentalized, to be lost in the system, to be hidden from society, to be unemployed, to be homeless, to be abused, to be ignored, to be forgotten, simply because they cannot be related to as a person.
So what if Megan Williams looked intellectually challenged. Maybe she does... I can't comment on that. But I put money on it that what Megan looks like more than anything is a person. And that's what Francis should have seen first, her humanity.
As we are thinking about Megan Williams, and thinking about violence against women and how it needs to come to an end, let’s also think about the social violence that many inflict upon people with physical and mental disabilities/challenges/differences, even when the difference/challenge/disability is not easily identified and understood. Now, that’s justice.!
Disclaimer: This entry was not a personal attack on Francis L. Holland. It was an attack on the attitudes and perceptions that people have regarding people with differences/disabilities, and how those people should be related to, treated, and interacted with.
Francis L. Holland
When I first received an e-mail from AAPP to Blog for Justice, especially at such a short notice, I quickly dismissed it and said to myself that I just didn’t have the time to write my thoughts and reactions regarding the two heinous crimes that were committed against these two women by November 1st. Plus, although I often post comments on other blogger’s boards about political and social issues, I try to stick to a general theme on my blog, disability issues, especially disability issues as it pertains to me as a blind woman.
But after seeing the call to write over at the
Afrospear page, as well as a recent article related to the heinous
crime that took place at Dumbar Village, which was more horrifying than any Halloween tale I've ever heard, I decided to make it my business to write an entry,, so that I could be apart of the group that would shake the ground to let the world know that we would not sit back and passively wait to see if justice would be served in these particular cases.
However, to be quite honest, if I may, when I decided to write something regarding these terrible incidents, I actually was going to write a quick post about these issues, just to say that I actually engaged in solidarity with the Afrosphear. I was still being selfish, thinking about what all I had to do tonight and tomorrow, which was going to get in the way of me writing a thoughtful post.
But after seeing the above confession over at Francis L. Holland’s blog, I knew for sure that I must write. And guess what… I can stay within my theme of disability issues. So sad that Francis set the stage for me… So that you can continue to flow with me, let me post his quote here again for you to read.
"But I still cannot relate to Megan Williams as a person. I think it's because I'm an intellectual elitist and I don't think that Megan Williams is very smart. When I look into her eyes, I see Gomer Pyle.” Francis L. Holland
Now, forgive me if my writing gets a little emotional. Let me warn you. I’m feeling pretty emotional about what Francis so ignorantly remarked on his blog.
The reason why his comment shakes me up so much is because people with differences and/or disabilities often get declassified, boxed, institutionalized, neglected, forgotten, thrown away, segmented, hidden, ignored, abused, misunderstood, pushed away, and disrespected, simply because they are not like the masses-like Francis said, they can’t be related to as a person.
Is Megan Williams not a person? Why can’t she be related to as a person? Because when you look in her eyes she seems dumb? Really?
People often tell me, “I’ve never met a blind person before. I don’t know how I should treat you.” Well, I would tell these people, who I think meant well, but were clouded with ignorance, “Treat me like you want to be treated. Treat me like I’m a person with real feelings, real issues, and real concerns.” Yes, I may be blind. But I am first a person. I am not Blind Angie. I am Angie that is blind. See the difference...
You wouldn’t believe the people that I come in contact with that treat me less than I should be treated just because I am different, because when they look in my eyes, I appear to be… Um, I don’t know… Take your pick. So many people treat me like I have mental retardation or I’m a slow learner, just because I’m blind. Many people I come in contact with often try to deny me the right to speak for myself, make decisions for myself, or stand up for myself. Basic ignorance, I tell you…
Here are the facts… Ms. Williams does have a learning disability, she is a person, and she was treated worst than a stray, mangy, rabies infested dog. Something there doesn’t add up. But what doesn’t also add up for me is how an educated person of color, a lawyer, could even hint that they couldn’t relate to this woman as a person because she appeared to be unintelligent/intellectually challenged/slow/dumb.
That’s the kind of bullcrap I put up with on a daily basis. It’s not my race and my gender that causes me to be discriminated against, treated badly, and prejudged the most. It’s my disability. And the time is now for that to stop. It is time for intelligent, educated persons to stop prejudging, discriminating against, and minimizing the humanity of a person with challenges.
I shutter at the thought of what happened to Megan Williams, simply because I know it really could have been me. Maybe not the same setting and series of events… But I too could have been a victim of some person’s physical and mental torture. And God forbid, unless we put a stop to this type of violence, I still can become this kind of victim.
What also shakes me to the core is that people, even educated people could have the capacity of looking in my blind eyes and minimizing what would have happened to me, simply because they could not relate to me as a person.
For the record: Francis L. Holland, who is like one of the most influential bloggers in the Afrospear/Afrosphere, and a blogger I truly respect, has issued an apology for his statement. He also stated that he did not know that Megan was learning disabled when he made his remark. His apology is below.
“I didn't know that Megan Williams was recognized as having learning disabilities. It helps me to comprehend her situation and what happened to her much
better. And I apologize to those who have had all of the facts. Because Megan's learning disabilities are an important part of what makes this crime so heinous, we should be highlighting the fact that Megan Williams
has learning disabilities because, for me at least, it makes the crimes against her even more grave. She was not able to defend herself.” Francis
But even with the apology in place, I still wanted to highlight the type of ignorance that causes people with disabilities/differences/challenges, whether they are physical or mental, to be fragmented, to be pushed away, to be compartmentalized, to be lost in the system, to be hidden from society, to be unemployed, to be homeless, to be abused, to be ignored, to be forgotten, simply because they cannot be related to as a person.
So what if Megan Williams looked intellectually challenged. Maybe she does... I can't comment on that. But I put money on it that what Megan looks like more than anything is a person. And that's what Francis should have seen first, her humanity.
As we are thinking about Megan Williams, and thinking about violence against women and how it needs to come to an end, let’s also think about the social violence that many inflict upon people with physical and mental disabilities/challenges/differences, even when the difference/challenge/disability is not easily identified and understood. Now, that’s justice.!
Disclaimer: This entry was not a personal attack on Francis L. Holland. It was an attack on the attitudes and perceptions that people have regarding people with differences/disabilities, and how those people should be related to, treated, and interacted with.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Reflections from my Trip to Austin (Part I.)
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
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
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.
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