That's Very Revealing

There are certain points in life that expose us, in which we are naked characters. Deaths do it to everyone associated. Disability does it, too. I suspect that being wildly abled and confronted with someone disabled is akin to the man who can't deal when a woman, or anyone, cries. It was a long time ago now, it seems, when I reacted that way.

I was always at a loss for what to do or say to someone in a wheelchair. If there was a door to open, or something obvious, I'd spring to it. It cut the tension. Not everyone wants your help, though. Not everyone in a chair is nice, either. I've had my head bit off several times for offering help. And who can blame someone who's maybe adjusting to a major trauma for being bitter?

Well, those are all opportunities to get to know yourself very well. It wasn't long after I got down my technique (I ask, "Want help?" before doing anything, then if they say yes I ask what they want me to do. It's efficient that way) that I was looking at a wheelchair and learning to pivot. It's the Both Sides Now thing, after getting a few decades behind my ass. And looking at yourself ain't easy. I didn't do a lot of things, or stopped doing them, because I was afraid to do them. What a non-excuse is that?! Fear is no good excuse. But yet I'd do hugely careless things, endangering things, for fun, to prove to myself that I wasn't a total coward. Damn, I'm stupid, too!?

But wait- I can get off my own ass by judging how those who knew me well dealt with my going gimp. I'd have to grade the class on a curve, as the majority of highest marks would go to those who were only jealous and slightly cutting to my back. There were and are, 2 who "got it" all along, and I should be thankful. Those I've known all my life behaved predictably. There were a lot of bolts and jolts among my circle of people, and not a lot of belief that I was even ill, much less support in it. A good amount of the harsh comments and gossip told back to me was just hurtful. It made me wonder who raised such cold and 2-faced people, and who could reach our age and still be like that, no better than a schoolyard tattler? As I reach for the cross and halo, sanctimoniously muttering, "Father forgive them, .....etc.".

And I'm back on my own ass, where I started.

The astrology lovers in my life recognize this as my Pluto transit's hell. I just call it living, as there have been few times in my life that shit wasn't happening. And just recently, I've discovered that no, a lot of people haven't had my life, aren't racked at 50, aren't the last person alive from their wedding party, etc. But that's all nothing compared to the everyday horror that others have to live. I have all kinds of rights to be upset or whatever, but in the big picture I really am a coward if that's all I'm about. We always have the choice -if we're conscious of what we do, we can change our actions for the better. Or we can choose to sit in our shit and whine for ourselves. It's all about choices. Some choices I made years ago affect me to this day, good and bad. We never know for sure what's gonna make something else happen years ahead. That's a good thing, I think. Cuz seriously, if I'd known ahead of time what would happen in my life when I was a kid, I would've topped myself. So I'm more aware of consequences now, but that doesn't mean I'm all cautious, either. I'm working on being satisfied with me and the hell with whatever else. Nothing and nobody outside of what's encased in my skin can make me anything. I'm my own choice. I think that's the sanest I'll ever get.

Damn, it took a lot of stripping to get there.

P.S. By synchronicity, today's etiquette tip is to ask before helping a gimp! I just looked thru the page & saw it!