Reddish Musings

All right, so it has kind of been made clear to me that I may have been overreacting about my health issues. Not in mean ways, just in very clear "It's not the end of the world" tones. Of course, when I feel like I was feeling, those kind of statements irritate me. How dare people bring logic and rationality into my sulking?

So, yes. I have readjusted my thinking a tad. The pain is the number one problem for the time being. I have been given pills to help combat that, and we will see how those work before I even start to whine about not being able to fix it.

The other side effects of the diagnosis (which are very much up in the air) are not immediate threats to my daily life, nor are they things I should really focus on. I have too much to panic about to let things that might happen years from now bring me down.

I mean, I have a test soon for a class that I've somehow magically missed 3 chapters in. Oops! But I'm here for review today, so I hope it helps.

And the economy is failing! That's always fun! I'm seriously considering shifting some of my future goals to help anticipate less of a falling out when I get my new shiny Bachelor's Degree. I was already contemplating getting a teaching certificate while I'm here, and now I'm thinking that's a wise choice. I still would like to pursue a Master's in Child Development and all that, but for now, I'd also like to make sure I have a marketable skillset on board.

So there.

Not panicking. Much.

...I still have to fight this urge to run away and get married and live out in the country running a small bookstore and restaurant. *shifty*

I went to have my lady exam yesterday. It's only the second one I've ever had, but it comes at a time where I've been getting increasingly more pain with each cycle, so I was hopeful that something could be diagnosed and done about it, to make it stop, so I can live without the ouchies.

So, the doctor told me there were a couple of options as far as causes went. One was that my uterus might be tilted the wrong direction, causing some extra pain, or it was endometriosis. Yay.

Upon doing the exam, he informed me that, yes, in fact my uterus is tipped. What we didn't go over after the exam was whether endometriosis was still on the table as a cause of pain, or if the tipping was the sole cause and that it couldn't be endo by that point. Unfortunately, it can be a chicken-egg situation, I've found doing my own research. So I'm on the fence. The general idea I got from it was that it might be likely (my mother had it, after all), but that we would try a lower-dose birth control pill with some prescription Motrin, and see if it helps with my pain before trying to do a complicated endometriosis diagnosis.

Having a tipped uterus I can sort of deal with. I guess. It seems that the main symptoms of it are painful periods (dysmenorrhea) and painful intercourse. It's sort of...

I feel sad, for some reason. I guess I was hoping I could get a cure for all of my pain at the doctor's, but now I've come to find out that it's my anatomy working against me, and that, unless I go through some weird surgery, it'll always be that way.

Even more, it could make any future attempts to conceive difficult if there is endometriosis causing some of this, which I'm getting more suspicious there is, given the discussions we had and the fact that it can cause a tipped uterus.

So, yay. Everything about womanhood is screwed up for me, and could be for a very long time.

I feel defeated and like I've let somebody down. Or maybe I was let down. Either way, I wanted a cure, and instead I feel like I got a sentence. I'm not giving up all hope of a normal life. Maybe the new pills will help even things out, I don't know. I'm just tired of hurting.

Update at the bottom: 11:00am 9/16/08

So, I check the mail this morning, hoping to find that my monthly rent check from my so gracious grandparents had arrived. Instead, I get this letter from Washington Mutual telling me that they're closing my account due to my transactions exceeding limitations.

My Economics Teacher (name removed).

In addition to the class we had yesterday on domestic abuse, I talked to the teacher about an incident that occurred in my high school Senior Year. I don't know if it still is going on or not, and I'm trying to figure it out, but you'll see why later.

In AP Economics (the equivalent of Honors classes these days, I believe), there was a teacher who had come from an alternative school where he was beloved by students all over to teach us in our multi-million-dollar school building in a nice school district. I'm sure money had nothing to do with him accepting the position.

I'm not going to discredit teachers who work in the alternative-school environment, but all I'm saying is I have NO idea how he survived in that environment without killing people. Anyway.

So, Economics is annoying. I'll admit it. It's one graph and one principle that are applied to a bunch of different things. I didn't try as hard as I could have in that class, but I did adequately in it. It was Senior Year, I was graduating when the class was over, I didn't really care that much. That's fair to say, and for the sake of fair argument, I'll fault myself on it.

But I am not a disrespectful student. I did not sleep in class. I kept talking to a minimum, when we're done with lecture or whatever (until later on, but I'll explain this progression later). My "not caring" generally just comes out in not doing the readings and just getting by (and "getting by" in high school was making a B on a test).

So, what could the problem really be? This teacher was praised high and low for being "awesome" and "funny" by people I respected in both camps. So... what happened? When I got to class, all I saw was an old man who was trying desperately to be considered cool, and would do whatever it took to suck up to the "cool" kids.

This included praising people who slept in class instead of people who paid attention consistently. Picking on kids that the cool kids picked on. Wearing tattoo sleeves on Halloween, as well as a grill, or whatever it is that goes in your mouth and makes your teeth all shiny. Also, gloating about living in a rich neighborhood. When pressed for an address, he gave us a fake one.

I don't know what this man is like outside of school, I will not judge his character entirely. All I know is that I could not respect him as the year went on. His teaching was dull (but the subject matter is dull, so I didn't fault him that), but the problem lied much deeper than superficial interest levels and how badly he pretended to be cool. Which, incidentally, is enough reason for me to dislike a teacher. I really have a hard time respecting teachers who care more about being liked than teaching. But that's a different matter.

He was passive aggressive in the worst way: Spiteful to the students, young adults, he had in his classroom, as well as to the faculty he worked alongside in the school.

I don't know what order these incidents occurred in anymore, it's been 2 years, but they all stand out clearly in my mind. One of the first troubling things was when he threw a half-full water bottle at a student in the back.

A teacher I loved the year before had tossed a white-board eraser at a student who was sleeping during the lecture. There is a fundamental difference in throwing something that weighs less than a pound, and throwing a bottle half-full of water.

I shrugged it off, feeling just a little uncomfortable.

Later on, I witnessed other more disturbing things. I began seeking someone to talk to about it, because I was more and more feeling unsettled by the events that were unfolding. Unfortunately, I can't recall many of the things that jumped out at me, but I know I told the head of the social studies department, a friend of mine and a past teacher of mine.

However, two other events are still pretty clear in my head.

To preface this, I was also enrolled in English IV AP, taught by another friend or so of mine. She was a harsh teacher, but she was fair. If you followed her rules and her groundwork for papers, then things would turn out fine, and she really improved a lot of my form for writing (formally, I still write blogs pretty informally, I'm sure you've noticed). One of her key policies was if you used passive verbs (am, is, are, was, were, be, being, been) in a paper, you would be dropped quite a few points.

So, someone made fun of The Economics Teacher or pointed out something about grammar, and likened him to my English teacher.

His response: "If I were her, I would shoot myself."

This bothered me, a lot. A whole lot. I told her. She told me later that she confronted him about it, and he apparently knew it was me.

At this point, I had ratted him out to two sources, and he was not a fan of mine. In class, it had become a thing where, even if I tried to answer a question, he would ignore my raised hand over one of the other kids. He wouldn't respond to my questions. There was a feeling that I was unwelcome in his class.

I shrugged and continued on, giving up on trying to answer questions, and sticking to reading what notes I needed and passing his tests fine. I passed notes with a friend of mine, the only other person who had a problem with the way he was behaving in class. Everyone else didn't seem to think his comments were a problem, or at all worrisome. He was just "joking" after all.

So, what part of this next one is joking?

We had a lockdown drill at our school one day - Where you turn off the lights, lock the door, and hide in a corner with no windows. This test was developed after the school shootings became more commonplace, and is supposed to be the response when an unwelcome visitor is in the school, for whatever reason.

There was one student he enjoyed poking fun at. I don't know if they had a relationship outside of class or not, but this comment is unforgivable, regardless.

He said, as we huddled into the corner:

"I hope they shoot you first."

I told someone about this one as well, and finished the semester, graduated, and moved on, putting the jerk behind me.

My friend, the one ally I had in the class, called me when the next semester started, letting me know that one of her friends had his class that time around, and that he had pointedly showed the class where we had sat the semester before, and told the class that we were "obnoxious." That we would "fail in life and college."

I drove to the school the next day and asked to speak to the principal. When told he was busy, I laid out everything I had seen and heard to the secretary, and she said she would pass it along.

I never heard another word about it, and when hearing these things, my professor told me to follow up on it and make sure it was dealt with.

Am I crazy? I don't know. I'll look into it, I guess. But I had to lay this stuff out, for memory's sake. It could be that I just did get the wrong vibe from a teacher I disliked... but I've had a lack of respect for teachers without thinking they were going to actually harm students before, so this sure seems different.

As for his comments about me and my friend? I don't necessarily believe they were spoken with those words or that tone, but it's possible. The reporter had no real need to make it up to fuel our anger at the man, but since it's hard to validate, I'm just adding it for maybe, not for fact. The fact that it doesn't surprise me if it is true should speak for itself, though.

Now, dinner time!

I'm enrolled in a class that covers topics dealing with abuse situations - child, spouse, dating partner, whatever kind of abuse, it's going to be touched on. And yesterday, the professor gave us a task: Find a goal for yourself. Something that we can do and change in our own lives that will lessen stress and strife for others.

Because, as she noted: We can only change ourselves. It's freeing to realize that you cannot be held responsible for the actions of other people, you can only do your best to make the changes evident in yourself.

So, I decided to be more in touch with what I'm feeling and stop hiding it and defending myself from it. I have a huge problem with bottling things up, one that I fight most of the time just to make myself stay sane and content. Little things, big things, it doesn't matter. I'm tired of not admitting to myself and others that I feel lonely, that I feel frustrated, that I feel anything but "fine" sometimes.

I'm not made to handle things on my own. I'm meant to help other people deal with their problems, and in return, to let them help me with mine. It's kind of a double standard to want to help support someone else, but to demand that I support myself as well. That's not helping, that's carrying them and crucifying myself.

So that's my goal. Stop hiding from what I feel, because it'll make itself evident eventually, and I'd like control over when and how that happens.

If today's weather is due, even in part, to Gustav, I guess that's just one good thing we can mark down from hurricanes and tropical storms, even if it's just to us inlanders. In short, today was beautiful.

It's a little more humid outside than it was this morning, but walking out the door was a treat today. The one thing I love more than anything else in the Fall and Winter seasons is being happy to leave my home when it's cool and cloudy. Summer and Spring don't bring joy with them, for me. They bring heat, sunburn, sweating and thus skin problems, also a bunch of allergies.

To be fair, Fall is pretty guilty on the allergy front, himself. Actually, more so than Spring, but he offsets it by bringing me happy things. And we can hope that allergies are a moot point soon, since I've been undergoing allergy treatments.

My skin has cleared up enormously since the shots began, and waking up with the sniffles has all ebut disappeared (except for very extreme allergen days, when I wheeze a little. Thanksgiving is the true test to see how well these shots are helping, though.

90% of my Thanksgivings have been spent wheezing and sniffling and being too congested to smell or taste the varieties of food people brought over. I'm tired of having to compliment the texture of my relatives' cooking styles instead of the flavors.

---

Things have been kind of strange the past few days, but I think I understand why now. A week or so ago, I could just blame PMS and hormones on every little weepy session and be done with it. But things were emotionally strained and awkward yesterday and a bit of the day before.

I blame this book. A Private Family Matter by Victor Rivas Rivers has been captivating my attention basically since I started reading it (Sunday) and finished it (Wednesday).

Occasionally, in works of fiction, I will feel for characters that I've formed bonds to. I cried when Sirius Black died, though I stopped reading the series after book 5, so don't chalk me up as a fangirl. Harry Dresden's occasionally miserable life draws tears from me here and there. The absolute hopelessness of many characters in A Song of Ice and Fire can bring me to tears as well.

But these books don't ruin my day. They don't quietly worm their way into my heart and chew it up from the inside with the absolute helpless need to bring justice to a family who was shown none. They don't burn at my soul, consumed in the fire of hate for a man who could do these things to his family.

This was my first real dive into what abuse does. I've studied Psychology enough to know that abuse happens, and I've seen some of the side effects of it. But I've never just sat and listened to or read a person's full life's story, recounting in hideous detail all of the crimes committed against them...

Nor have I ever felt so absolutely incapable of helping.

But that's kind of the problem with abuse. Once it's done, you can only clean up the pieces. Prevention tactics are being started, but until they take hold and can teach men and women how to respect each other and their children, qualities that should be innate and not need teaching, these things will continue.

I'm honestly unsure of how to even begin talking about it, due to my lack of experience in the area. I come from a pretty harmless family, be it high-stress at times. My mother's father is obviously emotionally abusive, but not to the extent that some monsters are.

It's just taken a lot of processing, some that I wasn't even aware of. But reading this memoir made it impossible for my mind to rest until I knew what happened to him. How he survived, and how, if, he got away from everything and made his life work. How his family did the same. How his mother ended up. How his father, the bastard, finished his life.

You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, it's true, but someone who commits such heinous acts against his own flesh and blood will never truly die, not so long as their memories haunt and plague the survivors of their crimes.

But I finished the book, and I made a pie, and I think I'm better.

I've just never been affected so deeply by a book, so deep that I wasn't even aware of the what the problem with me was until I realized all I wanted to do was pore through it and finish it so I could wash the stories away from my own consciousness with the fact that he's okay now, as is his true family.

I can barely live with the knowledge of what was done to this man and others, I don't know how he did it.

But I'm glad he did.