Hallway to Nowhere

  • Farmers Market Drama/Fragile Men

    This is another blog post which will not get posted to my social media. It is being written mainly for my own benefit, and I don’t expect anyone else to read it really. I’m still SMH in shock over two events that occurred and wondering how I ended up getting involved in FM drama. So here’s what went down:

    The first incident involved me and a friend sitting and having a convo. I had inquired how her grandson was doing, b/c he used to be a friend of mine and I knew that he had been having a rough time.  She said that he had had a stressful day or two then we moved on to other things. He was not the main topic, just a passing thread. We were laughing about something else when he storms up and begins yelling at her (and by extension me) that the next time she wants to talk about him, to do it to his face. I freeze. I’m unused to folks yelling and don’t know what to do. He storms back off, uninterested in a rational talk on the subject or in knowing WHAT we were in fact discussing. I’m torn between “WTF, dude!” and “Holy shit , J—“, does he need meds or something?” She says to just let it go. Since he addressed HER, I let it go. BUT I feel shaken nonetheless.  It left me feeling less welcome at the FM. (The grandson, btw, is not a youngster. He is in his 40s. He has been the subject of several of my blog entries. He’s the former chef who ghosted me.)

    The other incident also involved a fragile man. What IS it with guys and their egos? I almost titled this blog, “I’m Sorry Your D&ck Is So Small” out of sheer frustration.  Like, is that the root cause ? Idk.  I’m just speculating here, lol. So, on with my story. I get home to find an email awaiting from ANOTHER vendor. HE wants to knows why I’m “shunning him” and says its obvious that I’m very upset. Again, WTF?

    Okay, I haven’t been shunning you,  guy. OR your wife. And if you saw me “obviously upset” (?), maybe you saw me AFTER I had just been YELLED at by first fragile dude.  And now I come home to find an email from another man needing to have his needs met. Wonderful. What do you want from me?  I sent him back an email that was more tactful I felt like being. I said I hadn’t intended any rudeness towards him or his wife. I am having health issues that could account for my preoccupation. And, look, we don’t know each other socially except incidentally. I wasn’t mean or harsh. But basically I said in a nice way that life is not the XX (his initials) show, mine anyway.

     

    Then I made another playlist. I made AWESOME playlists on my YouTube channel, btw. This one I called “Grow The F&ck Up”. After spending time on it, I felt MUCH better.

    Here’s one of the songs:

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • Feeling SO Outre As An Atheist In A Small Rural Town

    I belong to a discussion group on racial awareness. It is sponsored by the Episcopal Church and grew out of the Traces Of the Trade film/Sacred Ground.  The group that attends is composed of some church folk and some progressives, like me. The rector is aware that that some participants might not be Christian and might not even be believers at all, though I think I am the only atheist who attends this. He does a fairly good job, for a priest, at keeping HIS god-bothering to a minimum. Sadly, though, I can’t say the same for his church-going parishioners.  god is front and center in many conversations, and I find myself veering from uncomfortable to annoyed to WTF.

    Here’s an example. One of the parishioners this past time relayed two stories. The first had to do with how his “godly employees” had inspired him to stop his habit of cursing. I had to hold myself back from openly, one, laughing and two, commenting, “well, fuck, that definitely inspired ME!” His second story is much more disturbing. He confessed how delighted he was when, after a consultation with a surgeon in this area, upon being informed he would need surgery, the surgeon asked if he (the surgeon) could pray for him! Since I have fought more than one battle to keep this sort of thing from happening, I was quietly appalled. (My reply would have been a quick NO! You can do your job as my physician and keep your religious views to yourself, thank you! And perhaps file a report with Ballad. I take this sort of thing VERY seriously.) And and folks were sitting there getting all warm and fuzzy at his stories. So great to hear how he’s loving the community! Right?

    Ugh. I’m more and more uncomfortable. The whole discussion begins and ends with a prayer. Okay, fine. We ARE in church and this whole thing IS a church deal. So I can roll with that. And the rector doesn’t go heavy on the Jesus stuff. He tries to keep it sorta kinda to spirit-creator-god, for those who might not be into the whole Jesus schtick. But the others are just NOT be as respectful as he is. God-botherers seem to think that EVERYONE is as delighted as they to hear the good news, and isn’t it wonderful? Sigh. I have tried. Really. I have toned DOWN my militancy; NOT made any references to Hitchens or Dawkins or any other objectionable source out of deference to these peoples’ sensibilities. But while I get respect paid to my gender and sexuality (everyone is even careful with my pronouns), it is bleeping obvious that when it comes to me being an ATHEIST? Well, that means nothing, gets ignored, is run roughshod over, etc. etc. But I don’t know I’m willing to keep going back. I’m all for putting myself outside of my comfort zone. I TRY to do so on a regular basis. But  putting myself through regular sessions of targeted disrespect seems above and beyond. I’m not just sure this workshop is worth that.

     

  • How I Cope-A Depression Story

    How I Cope-A Depression Story

    So I’ve been writing posts for while about my struggles with depression. How do I cope? Well, here are the things that enable me to hold on. Now, I am NOT SAYING that these would help anyone else, though I think they are probably not hurtful things in general. But they are my things.

    First and foremost, the presence of Miss P in my life has made a HUGE difference. She is my whippet, in case you’re late to my blog. She is not an trained service dog or an emotional support animal, yet she serves both these capacities. She has shown an ability to alert me to seizures before they happen and stays with me afterwards. She is, of course, enormously comforting during bouts of depression and anxiety.  Despite this, I am still NOT going to slap a vest on her and claim her to be a service dog. This would be doing a disservice to her (she dislikes crowds and people she doesn’t know) and trained service animals.  I am very firm on this, and I will most likely be NEEDING one in the future.

    Another coping mechanism, and one I employ often, is listening to music. I’m listening to Eminem as I write this blog. I mention this even before exercise or meditation, because I can turn to this even when I am too ill to move. I am noted among my friends and acqaintances for the wide range of my musical tastes. On any given day, I can range from Baroque to Reggae to Americana to Hip-hop. My older friends (and those of my own generation) despair of me b/c I’m most often these days listening to hip-hop and rap. OF course, sometimes with me, it’s CHINESE or INDIAN hip-hip artists, b/c I just can’t stick to good old ordinary American anything…..Lol. But later this week I’m being interviewed on a radio show to talk for 30 minutes about music. That someone thinks my opinions are that worthwhile is sorta amazing. I had to send Richard two different playlists-one for HIM, and another “gentler, kinder playlist” for the airwaves. Apparently some of what I listen to is NSFW and too RADICAL for college students to hear! Like, seriously?

    Me being me, I gotta mention READING. My reading challenge this year is 225 books. I’ve read 106 books so far this year. I’m 3 books ahead of schedule. I’ve got three books going right now: No-one Cares About Crazy People (Ron Powers); Cemetery Road (Greg Illes); Waking Up White (Debby Irving). As you can see, I’m not reading light. I read across genres except romance. (I did read some Amish and Christian romances for work, so I could recommend them to patrons. The things I do for love. Love of reading, just to be clear.)  A friend jokes that I need to have a shirt made that says: GENRE NONBINARY. Lol.

    I cook. For fun and profit. I’m a seriously good baker, esp. if you need a gluten-free something. I found out at an absurdly late date that I have Celiac AND issues with lactose. The Celiac is non-negotiable, so I had to change my diet radically. The lactose-issue appeared to be more a problem with over-processed milk. As long as I stick to local milk, sheep and goat cheese, and avoid things like huge quantities of ice cream, I’m okay. And since I do like to cook and am good at it (grew up a child of foodies on the Gulf Coast), I’ve found that I have folks who want my GF baked goods. B/c they are SO much better that what’s out there. My vegetarian and vegan dishes are also good. The day ever comes, I have to enter a “home”? Time for plan B. Cause I ain’t eating the shit those places consider food!

    Exercise and meditation get a mention. I walk on the Creeper in the morning (usually, every so often I’ll vary) with Miss P. In the winter when the weather doesn’t permit this, I walk at the Coomes Center. She isn’t allowed there, so I have to try to ensure she just gets the best she can with frequent shorter walks and games of chase indoors.  The meditation I do is a form of mindfulness called yoga nidra. I do a session every morning. Sometimes also in the evening as well.

    Sometimes even with all of these depression still kicks my ass all over the place. Like, if I had a button I could push that would turn me OFF, I would, b/c living just hurts too much. For no reason at all that I can discern. But I haven’t found it yet, and suicide still takes a lot more effort, plus right now I’ve got my tether in place (Miss P). So I’m hanging on. Even when I’d prefer to say, FTW, goodbye!

  • How Long Can I Do This?

    My friends are encouraged that I seem better. They see me going about my normal life once more and don’t hear me talking about depression now. So the crisis must be over. Right? Wrong. I’ve just stopped waving a big flag  that says HELP on it. B/c I saw that all that really did was alarm and frustrate people. It didn’t get me anywhere. I’m still drowning here, on the verge of going under for the last time. But there is no use trying to talk.

    So. Still depressed. Still suicidal. I was riding transit today and and feeling so raw, like I had no skin. Peoples’ voices and and noises actually HURT. I was gripping the edge of the seat and thinking, just let me get to the store….I can hide out in produce or something. By the time we did get the grocery, I was almost ready to jump out of the moving bus if I had to do so. Fortunately I didn’t encounter anyone I knew at the store, and it wasn’t very crowded.  I knew that I would need time to decompress when I got home, b/c I had a meeting that evening to prepare for. (Time to prepare a face for the faces that you meet.)

    I came home. I made a new batch of the olive, fig, and walnut tapenade. (I put some aside to take down to Rick tomorrow. He will be thrilled.) I made the Gazan smashed avocado spread with zhug. (Folks at the FM loved the zhug, btw.)  I made socca. And I made a cold jeweled lentil salad with pickled red onion and basil. Ryan came over and took some home. And tomorrow I’m taking some of the labneh I made to Boyd. So the Mayhem Baking and Tea Company is doing quite well.

    I have acquired a therapist. I don’t know how he’s going to be, nor how I will pay for him. Not eat, maybe? Get fashionably thinner than I already am? But if I’m not going to give in sooner rather later to the suicidal drumbeat in my head, I need to see SOMEONE. He’s the option available at the moment, doesn’t seem terribly objectionable either as a person or a therapist, so I’ll give him a chance. I have naught to lose but some time and money. Both of which are in short shrift at the moment, but what are I am going to do? Miss P needs me. Someone has to maintain her Instagram account…..

  • Hedgehog Me

    I was told yesterday that I’m “prickly and difficult”. While I do not dispute this, I do have an explanation (not a defense) for my hedgehog self. I didn’t share this with the person who called me so, b/c I did not wish to do so much self-disclosure. She was having HER time, and I didn’t wish to intrude.

    In interpersonal space, I often come across as abrupt, no-nonsense, and all-business. I make weird jokes or references. I might seem like someone who doesn’t quite get it, if by “it” you mean “normal social interaction.” There’s a reason for this: I DON’T. You see, I’m autistic. We suspect. I’ve never been formally diagnosed. (How my parents missed THAT, I don’t know. My guess is they were so busy dealing with the PHYSICAL stuff that accompanied me being so premature AND being thankful that I escaped gross neurological impairment , that this slipped past everyone. Everyone just lumped EVERYTHING that was weird, off, unusual about me in a category that was labelled “oh that’s just K”.) For years I thought it WAS just me, until an astute doctor said, “hold on a minute, I think you might be autistic!” I had had YEARS of therapy by then, including therapy designed to teach me “how to human,” so that I could at least function in society. But I don’t pass very well. I’ll always be an obvious interloper. But it’s okay now. I don’t NEED to be human (anymore).  I like who and what I am just fine. Prickles and all.

  • What Do I Want?-The Depression Question.

    I should be feeling good right now. I had two successful visits. (One I didn’t know how it would go. But it went smoothly. And I handled having a house guest in my space much better than I thought I would. ) And seeing T is always great. We plot our plans for world domination and our escape route, should the zombie apocalypse occur. The same things we were doing back in college, minus the hoagies from that family-owned shop whose name I can’t recall. This time I cooked: socca with Gazan smashed avocado spread with zhug and a fig, olive, and walnut tapenade for starters; a minted jeweled cold lentil salad for the main course with a side of sliced tomato drizzled with 18- yr old balsamic, and for dessert, an assortment: crack cookies, GF coconut bites with choc dips, and choc covered grapes. She loved everything! Then she took me to the evil empire (Walmart version, not Steve Smith’s version) and bought me a new vacuum cleaner for my bday! It’s a good thing I pay attention to shelf talkers, b/c it rang up for 20.00 more than advertised. I insisted that we go get this rectified. 20.00 is 20.00.  and they did fix it without demur. Just took a bit of waiting in line. I do things like this. She said she wouldn’t have.

    During these visits, I was aware of a hollowness. I feel….broken. I have a rich life: friends, a valued place in the community; a job (s); a beloved companion. BUT. I hurt. I am bleeding  out emotionally. I don’t WANT to be. I fight this. I take walks in nature (without headphones, with Miss P.) I practice mindfulness and meditate. I take as good care of myself as I can. And yet. And yet. This is there. This is constant. What do I want? I’m afraid. I’m at that point of depression where if someone put two vials in front of me, one that would make me NOT EXIST and one that would just REMOVE THE DEPRESSION? Pretty sure I’d choose the NOT EXIST option.

  • Letter To R

    I doubt this will ever be sent to OR read by R. Here goes:

    I’m sorry if I’ve sounded harsh, judgmental, or dismissive of your choice of graduate school. I do not mean to be. In previous times, your choice of attending a divinity school over law school would not trouble me as much. But these are different days than even five years ago. You are 28. You are LGBTQ. These two things are worth noting, in my opinion. Your age makes you a bit older, which is good but also gives you a time factor. You might feel right now that you have all the time in the world to explore your options and even change your mind. The dire straits forced upon the world by the climate crisis will directly impact your generation front and center, though all of us on the planet will have to reckon with it. There is an urgency to everything that was lacking in my day. We are running out of time for everything. We do not have the same luxury to make false starts.

    Second. You are LGBTQ. You have said several times that you don’t intend to become a minister but intend to use this as a tool to continue your work in community organizing and held up William Barbour as an example. But William Barbour is able to be so effective partly b/c his organizing grows out of his deep and abiding religious faith, as well as his wonderful humanity. As an LGBTQ individual, I fear that you will struggle to find a place in a community-any community-once you receive your M.Div. It is NOT getting easier for LGBTQ individuals in this country right now in ANY respect but most especially so vis-a-vis the faith community in many Christian denominations. If I  had seen a calling  to become a minister, I would feel less trepidation at what potentially awaits you.  I fear for your future, though. It will a hard road, I predict. The William Barbours and MLKs of the world have it very difficult when they are hetero and have a strong faith. What vilification awaits you?

    But perhaps I will be wrong. You might have a conviction I know not of already. OR you might have your own personal “Damascus road” experience that will give you strength, faith, and a resounding voice to speak such truth to power that that those who would castigate you (impiously) in the name of their god would at the very least hear you. I hope that I am. But whatever befalls you, I wish you the best . I  will follow your progress. You are one of your generation’s voices. I’m happy I got to know you for a bit. I hope you succeed in your endeavors.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • Here I Am Again In A Black Hole

    Here I Am Again In A Black Hole

    Everything should be going well, right? I just had a birthday celebration last night. Friends took me out. I had a room full of people singing HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me. Good food, well wishes, and great company. Even decent music ( Jack sees to that). I went to the FM this morning, caught the haps and the local buzz, bought my minimum-required produce, and hung out for a bit.  My whippet is caught up on stuff til next month. I’m getting ready for company coming from out of town this week.

    AND I’m sitting here feeling so desperate. I saw my Pdoc last week. I gave him my manifesto (Standing On The Edge Of A Cliff). I have friends who have other devastating diseases, including cancer. This is comparable, except that it is invisible. (Maybe, Idk.) I don’t talk about how I do most activities while dragging my depression around like a weight around on my back. Or while having the constant refrain of suicidal thoughts playing in the background. If you’ve not ever attempted to act like you’re living a normal life while that’s going on, let me tell you, it’s not fucking easy.  Is it any wonder I’m behind on some APEC and FOL assignments? I’m a little distracted right now, sorry.

    That I manage to do gross ADLS right now is pretty impressive, never mind that I’m cooking for friends, going to meetings, and making presentations.  When I walk to the library, what stops me from “accidentally” standing in front of a car is the thought that I could hurt someone else. Or if I had a train-involved death, that could also traumatize an innocent bystander. All I want is to disappear and cause as little fuss as possible for those around me. I don’t hate myself or anything like that. I was trying to explain this to the Pdoc. I feel a lot of….overwhelming emotional pain and grief right now. IT HURTS to exist. And I’m tired. So tired. I’ve been fighting depression and various physical things ALL OF MY LIFE. (Part of the deal when you are so premature, I know. But still.)

  • Really Trying Here-Another Blog About Depression

    Really Trying Here-Another Blog About Depression

    This is another entry that won’t get posted to social media. My birthday is coming up on the 15th. I’ll be 58. Big whoop. I’m not doing anything to celebrate, other than not killing myself. (Little morbid humor here.) I’m giving a few presents to friends, since that’s a thing started in my family. On your birthday, you give stuff to significant others to say “thank you”.  People think it’s weird. I don’t care. On FB for my birthday donation org, I requested people donate to the National Suicide Hotline. Fitting, no? I’ve not called during this bout…yet. I’m saving that for my last desperate moments.

    So what am I doing now? I tried to resign my position with VA ORG. I was told by the powers that be that they decided to ignore that decision. I informed them that I might show up at meetings now wearing a shirt that bears the words NO RESPECT. Lol. I had an LTE get published. I’ve had meetings out the wazoo. I had to go INTO the library to work, as opposed to working from home. I’ve had 2 friends over to eat, thereby violating my “no millennials” rule I had established a while back.  I even went out for a drink. So I’ve been active.

    And the entire time I’ve been actively depressed, desperately so. As in on the verge. I’ve found a home for Miss P, should I cease to exist. I’ve given dishes away. I’ve thought about who should get my teaware. I’ve thought about how I would pack everything I own in neat boxes to given to the appropriate organization, if I decided to kill myself. I don’t own much. It would not take long. I could do it in one day. I’ve thought about this.

    I’ve been telling people I’m struggling. This really shouldn’t surprise anyone who knows me. I’m not quite there yet. But the drumbeats  are getting louder….

  • Why Appalachia Needs Immigrants

    The following is a repost of a LTE I had published recently in the Bristol Herald Courier. I could have made a much more nuanced argument but for brevity’s sake decided to K-I-S-S.

    The other day I overheard a person (white older male) comment that that he was tired of seeing all these immigrants coming in and stealing jobs away from good, hard-working Americans and he esp. didn’t want any of them around HERE! I felt compelled then to answer him in this letter. Sir, have you noticed that the population of SWVA is shrinking? We are losing folks, not gaining them. The young people are leaving, by and large, and it is the habit of old people to die. That alone would seem a rather good reason to be welcoming immigrants, not discouraging them. And, let me say, they are indeed NOT taking jobs away from hard-working Americans. Have you seen any immigrants lazing around the streets or just hanging out at a coffee shop? I’d hazard a guess not. Chances are the immigrants you HAVE seen have most likely been working harder than many Americans would at the jobs they have and doing them very efficiently while learning a new language, to boot. Think about that the next time you talk about stealing jobs. And have you SEEN all the “help wanted” signs out? Americans aren’t lining up for these jobs. Finally, and I can’t believe I’m having to say this, WE ARE ALL IMMIGRANTS, indigenous inhabitants excepted (and they too originally walked from somewhere else). It’s just a matter of when did we get here? The United States was founded by immigrants; it has traditionally welcomed immigrants; and that has long been a source of pride and strength for this nation. It can be for APPALACHIA, too. If we let it.

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