Despite Considering

Two different words

Considering. I was talking with my father a couple of weeks ago and he said I’d done quite well for myself

Considering

Like a kick in the teeth. For so long in my life I’ve operated as myself. Not Hydrocephalus

Learning Difficulties

Less. I got out

I’m watching Foyles’ War

As the war ends and women are expected

To go back to their kitchens and houses. It feels like I have fought a war

And that it was expected that I would live up to that

That I had to do more

Because I could so easily have been any of the guys I care for and love in my work

But when they perceive the fighting is done

I should settle for less

Like a trained monkey

Expected to go back to its cage

When the work is done

But it is not. Not for me

But I don’t know if I am less

I weigh more. A stone or more

I am not the “girl” I was

Maybe I am more. Maybe I’m not

I know I am not what I was

But it is not

Considering

I was thinking about the movie, The Sapphires

I love the way the difference is described between Country music and Soul is described

“Country and western music is about loss”, they say… Like my father’s considerings….

“Soul music is also about loss. But the difference is in country and western music, they’ve lost, they’ve given up and they are just all wining about it. In soul music they are struggling to get it back, they haven’t given up”. Despite it all

Two similar words

I feel like this fight is far from done

And I have soul

I might be fighting my whole life

But at least in that fight

I will reach beyond my cage

I Wear My Socks to Battle

I struggle to keep going

Each night, when I set my clothes anew for the morning

I pick my socks last.

Ghosts; gnomes; fairytales; superheroes; skulls

When I put them on, before I step onto the cold floor I feel a little stronger

Thin cotton and nylon are my armor. They keep me true within myself

My colours. They give me a voice to let the ghost inside me speak. It is still me. Small and fragile (ironic as I am bigger now than I was)

It frightens me, this notion of selves. I asked Simon if he wanted me to bring anything back from Sydney over the weekend

His reply; no CDs. He is different in this. He wants to bring his collection online he says, economise on space so to speak. Travel light

I came into a discussion on this entirely separately with a new friend a few days later. He runs a sock stall- he sells my battle cloth- and spoke of bringing books and words together online- ipods; e-books, the new marks of our world, to be able to move at whim and still have everything. It reminded me of one of the great characters of my childhood. We called him No Shoes Michael (for self-explanatory reasons). He lived in a truck, my mother told me. He wore the same clothes. Traveled light so to speak. When I walked into the city, passing many people sleeping rough on the street I thought of these parallel worlds. A little known author I came across, Everett Ruess set off alone. He traveled light, before there were mobile phones, or digital devices to store all our worldly goods. He had a donkey. He disappeared in the desert. We never found him, but whether he lived or died his weightless worldly possessions were still less than ours.

Simon has said to me he does not want clutter, and it frightens me that he sees me as clutter. I am reestablishing my roots; working out what is me. Yes, I have more than two pairs of shoes, and I bought a CD of my own in Sydney. I am trying to work through myself though. Sorting out what to keep and what to discard. What fits, so to speak. I am not convinced to have things is bad. I broke the embargo I set on buying more socks (it was always going to happen) but far more of what I gathered in Sydney concerned my own thoughts.

I am exhausted, lost, frightened

But I am still going.

Another thing I came across in Sydney- non material- was a sense of diversity. I spent time with my family. Ate lunch with them; wandered shops; went together with them to watch Matilda. It kind of shocked me with Matilda, though I enjoyed the production, the change that had been effected on Matilda’s family. Like my family in so many ways Matilda’s family were not her people. They were not perfect. Mr Wormwood traded in illegal cars and Mrs Wormwood dyed her hair platinum blond. They did not read books, nor appreciate that she did, but mostly they were not bad people. When I spoke to my friend on the sock stall, as my family had drifted through we spoke of this difference in families and people. It is more common than we like to believe and the snapshots of my family as they critiqued my juice at lunch, and the places I shop. We are just different.

I guess the big thing that came to me when I think of these different people, and desire so much to be my own person. Unfettered, I don’t know if that necessarily means without belongings. I think whether I carry my life in a backpack; on my computer or in the clutter that comes and goes with us all, I want to be free in my own thoughts.

Today I have been thinking and speaking more about support for people with eating disorders, and the concept of being able to free myself. I like to think that is possible, however many socks, CDs, books or things I have or don’t have. I think this freedom inside is something we gather as we go along. I hope so. I hope Simon will stay. I miss him. I want him to know that inside, I am still me

We get the broken ones

A feeling I’ve struggled with periodically across my life

And now, more acutely

Is the feeling of being broken.

I work where I do  because of my upbringing

I remember a time before my parents hesitated

But in truth my hydrocephalus was always with me. I never was more before I had it, because it was always there

Before I became so different, as I have become more different despite these deficits

Pieces I was born missing

Watching Call the Midwife I was again reminded of that. I think on it almost every day at work, but the episode in question entered into a 1950’s Institution for people with disabilities. We don’t have institutions nowadays

Group Homes maybe; Nursing Homes take in those whose needs are too high for whom a place in a group home cannot be found at need. Respite takes the strain for a time

This institution was built next to a biscuit factory. When asked about the life he led there one of the residents said this. They got “the broken ones” he said. A midwife carried a baby half parallelised by Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus. I don’t think this ever really referred to the biscuits

It’s still how people see you, if they can see

The cracks where you were broken. But unlike broken biscuits, my “injuries” have made me more than the sum of my parts. Some days I struggle though

To put it all together

The past few days I’ve fought and fought inside. I spoke to my mother about the things that worry me. About my father. He is not used to not being able to do. He has always done. I remember when I was little, the rocking horse and dolls house he built for me. I thought he was glorious. I remember when we mended things too, and made them anew. I am still like that, but after finding out he needs surgery  he has changed. Like my infant self he didn’t know he had this weakness until he was told. Now Mum says he sits beneath a blanket. I hope he can find the strength to mend. It saddens me to see the weakness he has made grow through stopping. He is older, but there can still be strength

It frightens me that I am slowing down right now too. I am so tired. My assignment is due in a week and I have so much work to do. I know people say it is ok to defer, but to me it is not. My workplace is changing and I am changing. I know more, and I know I can do more. I don’t want to be stuck here

Broken down

Maybe it is time for a rest

Then time to keep moving

Broken or not