Posted in activism, anxiety, bigotry, bugaboos, community, crowdfunding, depression, disability, emergency, empath life, family, friends, homeless, homelessness, individuality, life, observations, storage, urgent

6/13/18: Humans All (and #crowdfunding)

Still looking for help for storage. Auction is 6/28, so I do have a bit more of a cushion than I thought. Precedent has been that auction is mid-month, so I was going by that. So far, work this month has been sparse. Any help you can give… whether it’s donating or even just sharing. Everything helps.


I’ve posted in the past about being homeless and being human and all that. The recent story about the jogger (asshole) in Oakland who took a local homeless man’s belongings and tossed them into Lake Merritt. The jogger has been arrested for taking the phone of a guy who spotted him the next day. Hopefully more charges will be filed against him for what he did to the homeless man’s belongings.

This reminded me of recent discussions on our local NextDoor for my old neighborhood. Some people were vehemently complaining about the homeless population while others were doing what they could to calm them down and help them see reason. In one of of these threads, I outed myself as being a former neighbor who is now living in a shelter due to an eviction.

This is the thing: no matter whether we live in a tent, a shelter, a house, apartment, or a high-rise condo, we are ALL human beings who will end up in the proverbial pine box (some will choose burial, others cremation, even others various other methods that have emerged). Where we live and how much we do or don’t have won’t matter in the long run.

If you have all the trappings of success, they could vanish next week. If your belongings fit in a storage unit or a shopping cart, you could have a windfall next month and things could improve.

Or it could all end in an instant without any change.

None of us truly know where our lives will take us. Only where we’ve been. We can have all the grand plans and ideas written down somewhere, but it’s all a matter of chance, with some choice tossed in. I learned long ago to not plan too far ahead. The rug got pulled out from under me and plans changed frequently.

I changed as well. Every instance in my life that made me change direction in some way changed me. I am nowhere near the person I was 25 years ago. Hell, 10 years ago. I’m not the same as I was last week. I learn as I live. Each day holds at least one lesson. Sometimes one I have to keep learning (don’t get me started on foodstuffs).

But back to the topic in general.

No matter where we stand in society, we are all the same. Yes, there are differences. Education, disabilities, income, housed/unhoused, skin color, eye color, career choices, etc… we are each unique in our humanity. But strip away those differences and our human-ness is a common link.

I think some -far too many- tend to forget this. Like the people in my old neighborhood bashing homeless people. The differences are merely on the surface of who we are. They forget that they could easily end up homeless like me in an instant (well, maybe longer, but given a tragic incident and draining of savings and loss of job… you get the idea).

No one is perfect. No one is above another. Money doesn’t make one superior, despite what that person may think of themselves.

I may expand more on this as I go… for now, this is my observation.

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Posted in crowdfunding, depression, domestic abuse, emergency, empath life, grief, life, poetry, PTSD, semicolon, sexual assault, storage, urgent, writing

5/26/18: Abyss

Yeah, #crowdfunding. I want to get storage caught up before end of May. I’ve been catching up on nearly everything else and now need to get this sorted.

ABYSS
Surface spit-shined.
Years of talking ensured that.
What is underneath lurks.
It has been dormant far too long.

The subconscious is the hostage.
This has been normal far too long.
Deep underneath the surface
Pain lurks in the darkness.

What is under there?
I know not what hides.
Memories of fear and pain.
Memories I have tried to forget.

Where is the key?
There must be a key.
I cannot break the surface.
It is only starting to heal.

It lies in wait.
Holding my breath.
The hostage cries for help.
I must explore The Abyss.

~A

Posted in anxiety, community, depression, empath life, life, music, observations

4/27/18: Music Within

In my therapy session this week, music became the focal point. I’ve written on this in the past, but she asked a question I can’t seem to answer: what is at the core of my love of music? What makes it such a strong relationship/connection?

I’ve been thinking on it and I still can’t answer. It’s always been prominent in my life.

  • Being 4 and figuring out the melody of the Star Spangled Banner by myself, from looking at the black dots on the page of music and from memory of hearing it that 4th of July.
  • Learning to play the piano properly at 6.
  • Listening to folk revival from 4 and 5.
  • Having suicidal ideations nearly every day as a teen and music being the only thing to pull me back from the edge.
  • Singing it, dancing to it, playing it. Listening to it.

It has kept me centered and grounded and any other term you can think of. My whole life.

The rhythms of world music, lyrics of various English-sung songs resonating with me emotionally and otherwise.

Music is the true universal language. No matter what language is being sung, you can understand the emotion of the song. You can hear the stories being told, the love being professed, the sadness being mourned. All of it.

For me, I feel it in my heart, my bones, my body. I think in part it’s because music pulled me back from suicide, I owe my life to it. It is part of me, part of who I am, what I am.

While I’m no longer playing or singing publicly, I still want to get back to playing. Hence having the piano, even though it’s in storage. I can’t have it here at the shelter. I want to be involved with it in some way. I listen to nearly all kinds of music out there and love all but two genres.

I don’t know the answers to her questions. I may never know.

I just know that music is part of my life.

Posted in anxiety, crowdfunding, emergency, empath life, genealogy, history, homeless, homelessness, life, poverty line, society, storage, urgent

4/10/18: What I Am (and #crowdfunding)

I am.
Blood and bone.
Ancestral memories borne
Within.
Who they were
Is ingrained in my
DNA.
My deep memories.
Those I did not live
In my years, but those of
Long ago.
Their fears and hopes
Live on
In me.
One more chance to
Get things right.
Make it right.

I am Swiss.
Viking.
English.
Manx.
Dutch.
Royal.
Farmers.
I am my ancestors.
I am what they hoped for.
Their dreams.
Alive.
And so much more.
I am an
Amalgamation of many
In one.
Me.

~A

[Yes, still crowdfunding. Still need lots and lots of help. Time is running out. Tweet/share wherever you can. Thank you]

Posted in activism, anxiety, bugaboos, C-PTSD, community, crowdfunding, emergency, empath life, faith, friends, history, homeless, homelessness, life, observations, peace, politics, PTSD, society, storage, urgent

4/10/18: Change and #crowdfunding

Post 4 of ? I think?

SHARE, PLEASE?
PayPal is the easiest and fastest way.
Auction is at noon on April 12th.
I need a bit under $1400, but would prefer a bit of a cushion at $1500.


POETRY TIME!!

The Cycle of Change

History becomes the future.
The present is the past.
When do we stop repeating the cycle?

When do we evolve?
Learn to be better?
Stop killing our future?

To hate for the sake of
Hating.
Instead of loving for the sake of being?

How do we grow?
When we refuse to learn.
Even from ourselves.

When we stop the cycle,
We learn.
We grow.

We evolve
We do better than our ancestors
Filled with hate and fear.

~A

Posted in animal advocacy, C-PTSD, cats, crowdfunding, depression, emergency, empath life, faith, family, friends, health, homeless, homelessness, life, observations, poverty line, PTSD, storage, urgent

4/9/18: Observations of humans and their pets [and #crowdfunding]

As I try to write on other things, trying to save my storage unit is still top priority. Running out of time before auction. I’m trying not to panic, but I’m screaming internally.

As a cat slave, I can observe how people are with their dogs. As well as others with cats. I spoil my cats rotten (although right now I only have Portia).

One important thing many people don’t get: our pets can sense our emotions. They’re naturally empathic. Now I’m speaking mostly on cats and dogs. I look at two dog people living on my floor here at the shelter right now. One is stressed and frustrated about finding work, let alone housing. Her two dogs are manic and ill-behaved. They sense her upheaval and anxiety. The other has a dog whose breed is known for being very active, and while he is a goofy, bouncy dog, she has trained him to be calm and attentive. Her demeanor contributes to that. She’s calm and thus her dog is calm. The first lady, she’s stressed and anxious and the dogs can feel that and are also anxious.

Cats are the same way. They can tell when their human is stressed. Portia does this. She’s been on my chest or very close to me the last several days because I’ve been more anxious about storage and everything else in general. She was this way during the initial eviction a year ago and then whenever I was stressed about certain situations since then. She has picked up JoJo’s job of Emotional Support Animal.

Some people dismiss cats in this respect because they’re “aloof” which I disagree with. Maybe you just aren’t the human they’ve bonded with. Maybe you treated them poorly early on. They do remember. They don’t hold grudges, but they remember stuff. I hear too many people say their cat is pissed off at them so the cat peed on the bed as revenge.

First, the cat is peeing in the wrong place for any number of reasons. They have health issues, had a bad experience at or near the litterbox so they won’t go near it, or any number of things. Jack, my boy I had for almost 8 years, got Urinary Tract Infections and had issues with the box. I eventually got him back to using it.

But I digress. Felines can be and many times are a wonderful purring part of our lives as we deal with crap in our lives. Had a bad day? I have plenty of those. Comes with being homeless and having PTSD. No matter what happens “out there” I can come home to my room in the shelter and sit down next to her. I’ll lean over and wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her fur for a little bit. Sometimes, I’m still so wound up, she comes to me. She will sit there and put her paw on my leg or arm, tapping gently. Like a “hey, I’m here.” I can then lean over and hug her. She also curls up on my chest if I’m laying down. All 14 pounds of her.

JoJo and Jack were also this way. Love a cat and you get love in spades in return.

Dogs are the same. Show love and you get love in return.

Just remember that they can always tell if something is off. They know.

~A

Posted in anxiety, bugaboos, C-PTSD, community, crowdfunding, depression, disability, dreams, emergency, empath life, eviction, faith, family, friends, grief, health, homeless, homelessness, job hunting, life, Personal, PTSD, society, storage, urgent

4/3/18: Rambling Doubts

(Yes, still urgently #crowdfunding to save storage by the 12th. I have until 4/12 to come up with the money. It’ll be more than the $1200 that was my total last month. Add another 305 or so to that and we get to $1500. Pimp my blog out to whomever you can think of who might be willing to share. I don’t have the guts to ping famous people.)

I question my role in society. I have no interest in “fitting in” yet I want and need work that can sustain my life. I don’t need lots of fancy things. Books, music, reasonably decent tech. I don’t need cable.  Just decent wifi. I do like a few fancy things. A new pair of Docs or that antiquarian book I’ve been lusting after for over a decade… but for the most part, I like the little things that make me smile.

I still feel incomplete. This is not the “I need someone to complete me” type of incomplete. I feel like part of me has been ripped away and I don’t know where it went. I don’t fear my past, but I am hypervigilant about people in the present. Because of my PTSD, because I can’t stand touch from men. I make male friends and acquaintances ask permission before hugging me. Men on transit sitting next to me or standing too close make me tense up and my anxiety and heart rate both rise.

Right now, I want to run. I want to get my passport and run. Save all my stuff in storage and then pack my bags and run with my cat in tow. Live in a space in Germany or France or stay in a small house in my great-grandfather’s home village in Switzerland for a while. Get away from things that I feel are holding me back. Reconnect with my family history and experience life away from so much of our U.S. mentality.

But money is needed for any of that, and I can’t even get storage caught up or pay for my passport. Let alone running away.

I am stuck. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it to others, but this is where I am. I have tried getting work in fields where others around me say “you could easily get work in this field.” Yet, no interviews, not even email rejections. I am adrift in a society that doesn’t value the weirdos like me. The ones who have multiple abilities.

I wonder at times if there is anywhere in any society on this planet that appreciates weirdos like me.

I’ve never felt as if I belonged in our society. I’m out of place. But do I fit anywhere? I wish I knew. I’m currently limited by my physical disabilities and my PTSD and its side effects. How do I land a job where I’ll have time on transit around people who will likely make my anxiety skyrocket? Then there’s the thought of a remote job… and then we have my ADD and… SQUIRREL!!!

You get the idea.

I also feel like I’m trying to explain who I am and what I need to the world and no one is listening to each word. Like back when my dad would tell my sister something about me and she’d only here “Amanda…. Wants this….” and then I’d get an email berating me for trying to get dad to buy it for me, which I wasn’t. As if my own words don’t count. My experiences don’t count. That my life, somehow, doesn’t count. I know it does. But that feeling of invisibility returns hardcore.

~A

 

Posted in community, crowdfunding, dreams, emergency, empath life, faith, family, friends, grief, homeless, life, poetry, society, storage, urgent, writing

3/19/18: Remembrance

#poetry
(Yes, also #crowdfunding. Shameless, I know.)
*
*
*
Look to the night sky.
The stars above
Suns of other worlds.
The light seen is old
Yet reminds of more.

Dreams of beloved
No longer here.
Aching to hold them.
Look in their eyes
Talk to them once more.

We wish. Hope. Dream.
One more time.
To say how we feel.
Make peace with the past.
Another chance, maybe more.

They know. They watch us
Move forward.
Looking back at memories
Held dear of those gone before.
Wishing to say ‘I love you’ once more.

~A

Posted in anxiety, C-PTSD, chronic pain, community, crowdfunding, depression, emergency, empath life, grief, health, life, PTSD, society, storage, urgent

3/9: mental day off

The shitty thing with uncontrolled PTSD and chronic fatigue and constant stress and anxiety is that it fucks life up. I didn’t do much yesterday because the previous few days were overloading. Figured one day…

Then today hit. *thud*

Between random odd pain (some which is actual strained muscle) and generally feeling out of it, not much happened today.

Tomorrow will likely be fine.

But no big blog post today…. and unless my brain decides to start a poem while I’m trying to get to sleep, no poetry tonight.

Today, I did discover Boggle the Owl. This is on FB, but look for it. A wonderful comic owl that responds with beautiful sentiments to troubled followers who send messages. I think we all need a little of Boggle in our lives.

Still any help available. I need something like a miracle at this point.

~A

Posted in C-PTSD, chronic pain, crowdfunding, depression, disability, emergency, empath life, faith, friends, grief, health, life, peace

3/8/18: The Flame (poem)

Another off-the-cuff poem for the night. Many of them are train of thought and unedited. Enjoy.

******

Brightly burning
The flame flickers
As I walk past.

The light grows dimmer
As the distance grows.
The light does not reach me here.

I see it across the room
Calm now, for no one
Disturbs the air around it.

It dims, the wick is not willing.
No matter how much
I wish it to thrive.

I send my thoughts of hope
Of peace and healing to
Those in my life who need it the most.

The light helps me focus my words
My thoughts strengthen as the wax
Melts away to absorb the pain.

Give it all over to that which can take
The pain and return only solace
For those who need it.

Give the flame what it needs to
Survive. Your anguish is taken away
By that which only gives light

In return.

~A