Our contributions to Life’s Bucket

As I complete yet again another all-nighter, I cant help but reflect on the intricacies of life’s journey. Specifically, the role each of us plays in defining our physical, mental, and emotional states. The choices we make, big and small. Sometimes, the smallest of choices, (going to the supermarket at a certain time, for example), can have the largest impacts on our lives. Big choices, like taking that job, moving to a new city, and so on, might not change our physical, emotional, and mental states as much as we thought they would. Money and geography are only somewhat effective antidotes for the troubled soul, so I’ve observed.

Wouldn’t it be nice to go back in time and change just one little aspect of your life and jump forward to see the ultimate consequences? Like Jake Epping did in Stephen King’s 11/22/63. going into the portal at Al’s diner repeatedly, trying to change one event after another until the pinnacle, saving John F. Kennedy’s life, causing the world to fall into an apocalyptic disaster that Jake quickly reverses. I guess that the moral of King’s story was that we shouldn’t desire to go back in time and fix things, because we never know what the end result might be. Or, another way of interpreting it is that we shouldn’t wast our time with regrets, because the alternative could be much worse. Or much better. Who knows? Life is a minefield.

over the last few months I have been exploring the idea of Karma, as it is represented in Eastern philosophy. No, I’m not talking about that type of Karma where good things happen to people who do things, and bad things happen to people who do bad things. cosmic justice, in other words. What I’m talking about is a lot more simple. Karma, using the literal Sanskrit translation, means action, work or deed. Now, I’m not a scholar on these matters, so I do not claim to be proficient in these concepts or the language about which they are spoken, but according to my understanding, what karma actually means is that one action effects the other. It could be a positive outcome resulting from a positive act, a negative outcome resulting from a negative act, or it could be a positive result from a negative action. some actions have a neutral result, or no result at all. I think that our attempts to grapple with this concept is a major source of suffering in our lives.

It is hard for one to realize that bad things happen to good people. Sometimes, bad people get away with grievous acts perpetrated against an unsuspecting public. People are born every day disabled, addicted to drugs, with some deadly, inoperable medical condition, or their lives are taken shortly after they are born. People die at the hands of unspeakable violence, committed by people who have probably not heard the words “I love you,” nearly enough. some of us were raised by parents afflicted with the same deprivation of love that is necessary for human thriving. Luckily for us, it did not lead to violence. A record number of people are being born without the necessary tools to thrive in the world. As they grow into adults, the transition can be very painful for them.

My particular transition from childhood to adulthood has been very painful indeed. I was warned by my uncle not to underestimate this pain, and as the teenager I was, I did exactly that. There was no rational, practical thought exercised in any of the decisions I made in the beginning. I moved 3000 miles from my home to attend a prestigious university in a town to which I had never been previously, only to find out that the town lacked the infrastructure I needed, and boy did I have the culture shock of a lifetime. I will touch on the details of that in a future blog post, but for now I will merely say that I still find that, after six years, integrating into society is extremely hard for me.

I suppose the point of expounding rather disjointedly on this topic is to say that I could regret my past. I could have wished for more guidance growing up. I could have listened to the advice I was given as opposed to casting aside every piece that was thrown my way. I could have done a lot of things. But I don’t, because my choices are my choices, and I would not be writing this to you, had I not done what I’ve done. We as humans have very little control over our external world. Unfairness, injustice, war and poverty continue sometimes on our very doorstep. We have personal difficulties and are beset with challenging circumstances. But it is crucial that we be aware of one overarching thing, lest we be caught in the tailspin. The only control we have are the choices we make in life. so I hope, for all of our sakes, that your choices are good.

A glimpse at non-24

It’s nearly a quarter after 7 A.M, as I’m writing this to you, and I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Well, unless you count that kind of half-doze you get when your body is too tired to move, yet too riled up with energy to completely shut down. I got some of that between four and five. But for all intents and purposes, I got no sleep.

It was designed this way, of course. Every so often I stay up all night to reset my body clock so that I can start going to bed at a reasonable hour, and get good quality sleep again. You see, dear reader, I am one of the totally blind people who suffers from non-24 sleep wake Disorder. it is a disorder that is characterized by an offset circadian rhythm. In layman’s terms, my sleep-wake cycle does not correspond to the day/night constructs by which us humans govern our lives. Sometimes I find myself wide awake at 3:00 aM, other times I find myself falling asleep at 3:00 in the afternoon.

I’ve had it since I was a kid, when diseases like this didn’t have a name. Once, I stayed up with grim determination to finish the first Harry Potter Novel, a gift I had received the previous Christmas. I remember on several occasions listening to the late night talk radio programs carried on our local AM radio stations. I remember fondly listening to the BBC world Service, being able to look upon a world that had started their day, while mine was ending. I’ve derived many hours of enjoyment out of those quiet hours of the night, spent in contemplation, creative endeavors, or otherwise occupying myself, quenching my thirst for knowledge in the ocean of radio waves that kept me company. But it wasn’t without it’s challenges.

I really started to notice the adverse effects it was having on my health when I started college. Before that, I could always count on my parents to wake me up in time for school to start. regular exercise and participation in sports meant that I usually only had one crummy night of sleep per week. That was usually Sunday. After spending the weekends going to bed at 2:00 a.M, and waking up at 10, it was only natural. I would struggle through Monday’s classes, sometimes dozing, but usually making it through ok into a better sleep that night. Life was good then, or at least good enough to deal with nit-picking, controlling, lackluster parents who take out their obvious inferiority complexes on their kids because they’re too weak to take it out on anyone else. Sorry. Getting carried away here. Sometimes lack of sleep can make one very irritable. But never mind that.

After high school, I was no longer living under my parents’s roof, and I was responsible for the choices I made. college life was sucking away any willpower I previously ha, and my sleep began to suffer with even greater regularity than before. I allowed myself to take sleep whenever I could get it. Sometimes it was 3 in the morning. sometimes it was 3 in the afternoon. Rarely, it was 9, 10, 11 at night, reasonable hours at which I was totally find falling asleep. Inevitably, at times, I missed classes or other engagements to which I had previously been committed. My social life suffered. For this, and many other reasons, as it continues to do today. Most recently, I have missed a training I was supposed to attend because fo this. This is training is supposed to advance my career, and I blew it because I didn’t get enough sleep. Luckily, the person administering the training was very gracious, but I want to make good on this, and do what I can to impress everybody so that I can sell myself and make boatloads of money and become a rich, famous, corrupt businessman who exploits people for fun! Wouldn’t that be nice? exploiting people? I think so! Especially in the field of psychology, the field which I’m attempting to enter, where the power dynamics are rich, and the people who submit to them are even richer. god, the system works in great ways.

Just kidding. But seriously, I’d be happy if one thing in my god damn life worked in my favor. That I could get over this sleeping thing once and for all. that it didn’t have to be yet another thing on the laundry list of problems I already have. Maybe I could build a social life, start eating healthy, exercise with consistency, if I actually got more sleep consistently.. I’d like there to be a treatment that didn’t stop working after a certain period of time, or if you don’t always go to bed at the same time, every single night. But I have no control over that, so I’ll just have to deal with it. Yes, some of you might suggest that I pick up exercise and sports again. If I worked for me all of those years ago, why wouldn’t it work for me now? Well, my answer t that would be a simple one My willpower is gone. Doomed and no amount of therapy, meditation, or work of any kind will bring it back. So I’m down to my last resort. Staying up all night every once in a while. Maybe if I do this enough, my willpower will come back. Until then, guess you’ll be hearing from me a lot, as I write on the experiences that shape the dynamic person I know you people think I am. Cheers.

small Kindnesses and Big Impacts

I always wind up being surprised at the level of selflessness and compassion people have, even for the smallest of things. I guess I shouldn’t be, though our lack of connectedness tells me otherwise. It seems like every day we’re being exposed to some new level of evil or violence, carried out by corporations or our government, against an innocent population who have been brainwashed into thinking they are powerless to do anything about it. War, environmental destruction, increasing levels of inequality across my native country, the United States, and the so-called “developing world,” and so on. Lest we not delve into the mindlessly large cesspool of random acts of violence between one human being and another, which seem to get increasing coverage on our blessed news stations, whose only motivation is a ravenous fixation on increased ratings and profit. Social media, too, has contributed to this general distrust in others. I will not give a long-winded account on the linkage between societal collapse and the corporate/government power that facilitates it, that will have to wait for another day. But I will say that my experiences have taught me much the same.
I come from a family in which every request was viewed as either an imposition, or a means by which one can manipulate the situation to fit one’s wants. These messages repeatedly assaulted my consciousness for so long that I started to internalize them. simple requests or advice from people was seen as dangerous, lest I open the door a crack only for it to be thrown off it’s hinges, exposing me to the elements forever. Now, giving things to people/ Helping them out? I saw that as the most dangerous thing, as once you accepted anything from anyone, you were forever in their debt unless you found a way to give them something better. so I shut the door.
I shut it firmly, locked it, threw away the key and nailed it shut. I let no one in. Parents, family members, friends, teachers,, they all wound up on the other side. I hurt a lot of people doing this, and I’m not proud of it. I am still attempting to make amends to people, by changing my words and actions. On the way I had many unfortunate, very traumatic confrontations with people that were (if not equally, than definitely more so), brought upon by myself, in addition to people’s ignorance towards my blindness, among other things. Upon reflection, perhaps I should have saved myself the heartache and the countless amounts of energy I suffered as a result of my aloofness and cantankerousness. However, I don’t think it would have got me to this point if I hadn’t. So in a way, it was pivotal in my development. All of my experiences, in my opinion, have to do with the level of disconnectedness with which we all suffer, which seeks to increase the distrust between people. I will hopefully explore this in later posts, as it is a theme that is very important to me.
Although I have been living with these narratives for the majority of my life, it only takes one or two gentle reminders to help me realize that the world isn’t’ always the way it seems on the news or social media. I am reminded of two incidents in my life that underscore human positivity to their fullest potential. I was in my hometown of Hartford, Connecticut, visiting family. I was attempting to catch a bus from Hartford to visit my friend in Boston. I ended up catching the bus to the station too late, and unless I wound up their in a short amount of time, I was going to be late and stuck for another day. I was afraid to ask people. “I don’t deserve help,” I thought, over and over again as the minutes ticked by and my mind got more frantic.
I finally made up my mind to ask the bus driver. It was either that, or ensure that I got no help by refusing to ask. So I did, and the driver got in contact with her supervisor, who offered to pick me up and drive me to the station. We met up with him and he drove me there with two minutes to spare. I thanked him profusely and offered to pay him for his troubles, but he would hear none of it. I was delighted with my luck, and was amazed that anyone would actually take time out of their day to help someone like me with no material benefit except the notion that they contributed something good to the world.
Another similar incident happened a few weeks ago. I had lost my iPhone charger and was frantically searching for it for about an hour the night before, and two hours that morning. Unfortunately, I never found it. I suppose it got lost in my travels the previous day, as I had flown across the country and figured that something had gotten mixed up at the airport. Either way, I had to call an Uber to get somewhere. With my phone dead, that was going to be impossible. However, I elected to go to some of the local businesses in my neighborhood to see if they would let me borrow their charger. I finally found one, called my Uber, and even got a replacement charger free of charge from my Uber driver. This was totally unexpected, and I was delightedly shocked that I was being given a charger by someone I had just met.
I’m not trying to make a big deal out of these interactions. They were merely kindnesses exchanged by one stranger to another. I’m certainly not going to read into the motives of these people. Because while it could be said that they were done for the wrong reasons, I can’t know for sure what’s going on in one’s mind, and I’ve found it much more prudent to think of people’s motives as being pure until I find out otherwise. So, I guess the lesson I’ve learned in the last week, and, honestly, the last six years since I’ve been an adult, is that people are genuine and good most of the time. We all deserve a little kindest thrown our way, even though we may not be in a position to give it back. so, lets forget the narratives that are being spoon fed to us, and be kind for kindness’s sake. Pay it forward! That is all folks, thank you for reading.

My life and Blindness, Part 2

Hi everyone. This is part 2 in a series about my life as it relates to blindness. In part 1, which can be found here:

https://ridingwithcraig.home.blog/2019/07/10/my-life-and-blindness-part-1/

I discussed the mixed messages I received about blindness as a child. I had many different people telling me many different things, even in the sheltered world in which I was located. In this part, I will pick up the discussion around the end of my blind school days, and discuss my first forms into the adult world. Please enjoy, and thank you for reading!

My experiences at the school for the blind reinforced the idea that we as blind individuals were to be separated from our sighted peers and not treated as equals, by the sighted world, or the staff who helped run the blind school. Us as a student population did not have any power, and my perspective is that most of my fellow students were brainwashed into subservience by the time I arrived on the scene. Certainly, I did not feel empowered to take charge of anything, including my own life, until the very end.

That was when I was introduced to things like Social media. facebook, Twitter, and other platforms introduced me to a wide array of people, both blind and sighted. I talked with blind people who were okay with calling a white cane a stick. That was unheard of where I came from. I talked with folks from Brazil who thought the United states was just as much of a messed up country as theirs was. from what I can see now, I’d have to agree with them. I began reading Stephen king novels voraciously. Besides their often horrific and disgusting content, King has a way of turning previously disadvantaged characters into confident, motivated people who wish to take charge of their lives.. That message resonated with me and that’s why I’m doing what i”m doing. The novels, and both the blind and the sighted people introduced me to an entirely new perspective on disability, one I still have trouble adopting even today. But I am trying and that is why I am writing this blog.

When I first started college, I was introduced to the “Disability Culture,” as it were. I was very uncomfortable with that term at the beginning of my college career, as it symbolized separateness , which is what I wanted to avoid, given my experience in the blind school, and how damaging it could be. I don’t think I will ever understand “Crip Culture,” or “Deaf Culture,” (although I’m hearing impaired myself), and yes, I am aware that it does not make me deaf. Us blind people, and certainly those in the organization to which I belong, the national federation of the Blind, stand out in that we do not think of blindness as a culture. so for those reasons I had a lot of trepidation.

I was also going through some personal struggles at the time, which negatively effected my engagement in these areas. Boy how I wish I had come to college with a sound mind, but alas. I was not one of the fortunate ones. I had a few mentors, but I was not in a place where I could fully appreciate what they said. It is hard to appreciate how much the world has to offer when you’ve experienced so little of it. The world was throwing me surprise after surprise, and I was little equipped to handle what was happening on a daily bass-is. I was confused and didn’t know where to turn. I still am.

All of the “Trauma of Everyday Life,” as the noted Buddhist psychologist Mark Epstein calls it, has been dogging me for as long as I can remember, and I’m confused as to my place in the world. Part of my psyche is telling me that blindness does not make one different. That we should all strive for our fullest potential as a result, and the only disability is a bad attitude. There is some truth to that. Another part of me subscribes to the philosophy that blindness is an affliction with which we as blind people must deal. Every interaction we have will be colored by people’s perceptions of our worth as human beings. Unfortunately, there is some truth to that too. I am told that I must accept my limitations, and I shouldn’t attempt to do as much as I’m doing or be as self-reliant as I’d like to be. There is truth to that, although I strongly dislike the term “limitations,” as it is being used by the people who employ it this way. There are things I’d rather not do, like put together furniture, or do handiwork of any kind. That may make me a bad person, but it is not desirous. There are those who tell me I’m an inspiration for simply getting up in the morning and going about my daily routine. although I struggle with getting up and facing the day sometimes, I am not an inspiration and there is no truth to that. That attitude, actually, is the worst of them all because it makes my depression even worse, every time I hear it. The point of me writing all of this is to display to-you the numerous amount of radically different messages I receive on a daily basis about my worth and dignity as a human being. It’s a daunting task, and for a perfectionist like me who wants everything to go right, it’s even more daunting. I can’t even begin to describe the Herculean nature of the task when one is also trying to be genuine and authentic.

This stress has negatively effected every aspect of my life. I have difficulty trusting people, and as a result, I don’t make friends easily and usually shy away from social events. I would eat junk food in order to feel comforted. Pizza, burgers, and chicken nuggets were and still are my favorite things. My diet has been nowhere near balanced, but luckily that is starting to change. I have probably eaten better in the last month than I ever have in my entire life. Now that I’m an adult, my grades have suffered. my sleep has suffered. Both of these new problems have cost me opportunities in the adult world, in a city that’s about as unfriendly to disability as a city can possibly get. Many of these problems started in childhood, so adding new problems to the mix before the old problems were solved was supremely unhelpful. My lack of emotional awareness was evident, as I didn’t handle things with much grace or care.

My travel skills were lacking. I didn’t know how to get from class to class, and was forced to take a year and a half off of college so that I could work on my aforementioned Orientation and Mobility skills. I can happily say that I have done more traveling in the last four years that I’ve ever done, and I’m so thankful to my instructor, Quinn, who displayed the exact level of kindness, understanding, and firmness that I needed at the time. I am very thankful to be living in such an era, where disabled people can help each other. Without that, I would not be doing what I’m doing today.

I would like to conclude this exposition by saying that, yes, being disabled is hard. Being blind is hard. Being mentally and emotionally unstable is hard. You get the picture. I am going to start exploring the interactions between our identities as disabled folks and a society designed by, and around, non-disabled folks. I am going to read books on disability theory and memoirs written by disabled people of all different backgrounds and experiences. I may even take a disability studies course. I have one more slot to fill on my class schedule, so perhaps I will have a look at the course catalog for something interesting. I hope that in this journey I can come away with a fresh understanding of myself, the people around me, and how we fit into this vast, spinning ball of gas that we call earth. It’s time that we all start focusing on our betterment, and what better way to accomplish this than to find out who I am? We’re all something, and I think our time is best served by focusing on what we are, instead of what we’re not.

To that end, if any of my readers have any book recommendations, papers, ted talks etc that I should start exploring, I would be happy to hear them. I have already added a few books to my list and will start reading as soon as the opportunity presents itself, but I am sort of directionless. I am hungry for knowledge, and wish to benefit from those who are more well-read than I am. I’d also like to genuinely thank each and every one of you who have indulged me on the beginning of this journey of self-exploration and self-discovery. I know that this blog isn’t much, just me writing my thoughts, but I sincerely hope that this will later benefit someone, and maybe make their life just a bit easier. If I can accomplish that, with any one of you, that would be so immensely gratifying, and would help me along in my goal of living life.

If you would like to read part 1 of this blog, you can find it at the following link:

https://ridingwithcraig.home.blog/2019/07/10/my-life-and-blindness-part-1/

My life and Blindness, Part 1

Hi everyone. This is the first in a series of two blog posts that detail my journey coming to terms with my disability (blindness), and the way it has shaped my experiences in the past and present. Part 2 of this blog can be found here:

https://ridingwithcraig.home.blog/2019/07/10/my-life-and-blindness-part-2/

Originally, I had planned a very different blog post for this week, but, given recent events in the disability community, I felt it prudent to open up about my own struggles with disability, for the first time I can remember. This is a difficult subject for me. Eve though I attend a University with one of the few Disability Cultural centers in the country, and a world class Disability studies program to boot, my ego has gotten in the way of pursuing anything out of my own narrow purview of what I perceived to be important. I remember one particular incident in which a person with an invisible disability (for my readers, an invisible disability is a disability that may not be apparent to those just looking at a person), had asked me if I planned to take any disability studies classes while I was at college. My response was in the negative and my reasoning was because I thought that by living as a disabled person 24/7, I had gained as much knowledge as one could possibly gain. In other words, I knew all there was to know. What was sitting through a class going to teach me? These viewpoints have gotten in the way of many things i’ve attempted to accomplish for the last four years. I was and still am very afraid of who I am.

I was not the first disabled child to be born in my family. My brother, who is blind and severely developmentally delayed, was born 7 years before me. I don’t believe either of my parents were expecting to have another disabled child, and I have no doubt that finding this out, shortly after I was born, struck a blow so incredibly hard from which they still have not, and probably will not recover. I try not to begrudge them. I believe I have conquered that lion in an intellectual sense, but my incredible lack of empathy tells me that I still have work to do in the emotional front to appreciate the enormity of what they must have been feeling at the time.

For a short while, while I was growing up, I was in the hands of some great teachers who instilled in me values to which I still cling onto today. I was taught the importance of cane travel, and the importance of independence and the ability to think oneself out of tricky situations. I remember feeling respected at 5 years old, not something I ever got when I was at home. I was well on my way to being the competent, big city blind kid when my parents divorced and the whole world changed.

When I was six years old, we moved to a small town on the coast. far away from the busses and trains that would later prove to be essential to my success. Luckily, I got to keep the teachers who served me so well previously, and I was immensely happy for this. However, our resources were cut drastically. I lived three hours away from the people who were teaching me, and given my mental and emotional state at the time, I did not end up learning as much as I could. Though we had little resources, my instructors did the best they could with what they had, and while I didn’t learn much from the subject, I can honestly say that I have not had better instructors, before or since.

This takes me to my eighth grade year, in which I was pressured beyond a reasonable measure to attend a blind school by my father. He was embroiled in a custody battle with my mother at the time, and neither of them had any problem involving us kids in it. so, naturally, I felt heat from both sides. It was an awful time, and I do not look upon it with much fondness. In any case, the blind school years were full of interesting times. From competing in a sport called goal ball (which now I hate), to flying on a plane for the first time, to lifting heavy weights with my friends, the years spent there had their enjoyable moments. Certainly, blindness was seen as a non-factor, so much so that the teachers suffered from what I call sheltered ignorance. some of them were unaware of societal stigma towards blind people, so much so that I remember a conversation I had with one particular teacher, in which she flatly denied that the problems I was discussing existed at all. My mind was boggled.

I also remember a particular incident with my O and M (Orientation and Mobility), instructor, Mrs. Cook, that altered my perceptions about my ability to think for myself. For those of you who don’t know what Orientation and Mobility is, it is a subject taught to blind children and adults that teaches them how to function in the sighted world. Emphasis is put on the moving part, so they teach cane travel, how to ride busses, crossing, streets Etc. Anyways, we were on a lesson one day. At this point, I was learning the route to a store to which I had been a few times prior, but I was still learning my bearings. My task was to go into the store, find the customer service desk, and shop for a few items requested by mrs. Cook. I made it to the store ok when I was accosted b an old woman with a shopping cart who asked me where I was going and if I needed any help. At that point, I did need help. I was trying to go to the customer service desk in Safeway. I knew that the assignment was to find the desk on my own, with as little interference as possible. I, however was anxious. I wasn’t expecting to be approached, and wasn’t prepared to give answers or explain myself to anybody. I was anxious. I was a fifteen-year-old kid who barely got exposed to the real world, and was reminded of why that was so.

I took the help, got turned around, and that was when Mrs. cook found me. She proceeded to berate me for not following the clearly laid out instructions, and I, understandably, was upset. I was used to that treatment from my father. He would berate anyone for any reason, let alone not following instructions. Having someone I trust do that to me was extremely hurtful, and I let her know this, all the while thinking how ironic it was that my generation have to parent the one before. I was also disappointed because I believed that Mrs. Cook was the best instructor I had since my grade school days, and I felt I was finally making progress in a subject with which I have for so long struggled. we talked about it, and I didn’t get an apology but some vague promise that she would work on her tone of voice from now on. suffice it to say that it wasn’t enough for me, and I never trusted her again from that point forward. She is a good teacher, though, and a good person. I only hoped that she has learned from that experience and treats students with more kindness now

Our school was also pretty sheltered from the community. While we did have outside interaction, (and during my latter days there), more effort was put on community engagement), it was small at best. The school was gated and the gates were closed at all times, lest some intrepid wanderer seize the moment to rob the place, or kidnap the children! Yep, the fears of the parents were overblown at that school, and that did not afford us much freedom. Even if we did have it, I don’t think I would have been motivated to take it.

In part two of this blog, I will continue discussing my experiences at the blind school, and transition into my college years and discuss how the world to which I had been exposed was much different than the world I had decided to enter. You can find part 2 here:

https://ridingwithcraig.home.blog/2019/07/10/my-life-and-blindness-part-2/

A Week In the Life

It’s ironic, isn’t it? As soon as I complete my poem about the lifting of the fog, I get enveloped by a huge draft of thick, white fog, culminating in a day like today (Sunday), where I slept off and on until 1:30 Pm. after which, I proceeded to scarf down some delicious, artery clogging fried chicken, mashed potato, macaroni, and those delicious spicy biscuits. Artery clogging goodness, if you ask me. Definitely a far cry from the vitamix-praising man you heard from two weeks ago. I have definitely fallen off the bandwagon, at least temporarily. quite honestly, I have been in a funk these last few weeks. when I was eating healthy and feeling good, I felt so good that I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t leave the house. I was enjoying myself, however, and was savoring every moment of inner bliss. It’s not a feeling I get very often.

I have been trying to tell myself that this is not the end. I still have a large package of blueberries in the fridge. I had yogurt and oats for breakfast this morning, I suppose it’s a healthier breakfast than most people are having across America. but I fear for myself. Ever since I was a little kid, I have been a picky eater. I always got to eat whatever I wanted because my parents couldn’t deal with my stubbornness. It has culminated in some rather nasty health problems that I will refrain from discussing here. Nothing life-threatening, but nothing with which a 24-year old like myself should be dealing. When I was ten, I hit the 100 pound mark. I’m not proud of it now and I wasn’t even proud of it then. I would eat like crazy. Sometimes finishing off an entire pie. Or, like tonight, an entire box of chicken. Of course, there was more than just a love of food that lead me here.

I think it stems from years and years of isolation, from which I still cannot seem to break. I always struggled to gain acceptance within my peers, both blind and sighted. So much so that by high school I had given up all attempts to do so, and walled myself off by acting in a less than polite manner. I formed bad habits and they still plague me to this day. Apart from a few close friends and some folks I met online, I rarely talked to anyone. I still hardly talk to anyone and it’s been six years since graduation.

Believe me. I’m not bemoaning my situation or trying to play the victim here. I was just as complicit in my eventual being as the rest of the people around me. Rather than opening up to them to figure out what the problem was, I proceeded to add fuel to the fire. I was fearful of attachment, still am. I was afraid that if I were to hear them out, that I would end up stuck, ever being manipulated by their wishes, being used, just like my father was using me at the time. Boy did I not want that. I could see the future, and ran like hell as far away as I possibly could, all the way to Syracuse, New York. But, I’m still stuck. I felt bewildered and undermined by the therapists I’ve seen, who seem ill-equipped to deal with a lifetime’s worth of maladjustment, a fate all too common in the blindness world from which I come. I don’t blame them, really. They are merely a product of a mental healthcare system that is in a complete mess, scarcely able to understand that their treatments and methodologies, (when added all up), simply do not work. But no matter. I hope that, on these nontraditional avenues on which I will be traversing, I will find some peace.

Things aren’t all bad in my world. In fact, things are starting to get better. The transition from my old house to this new one has been longer than I expected, but I’ve finally found a person who’s willing to move my stuff and hopefully I will have the big things over here before long. That way, I can finally put together this work project I’ve been putting on hold for a while.

Yesterday (Monday), I applied for Snap benefits, and while I’m not jazzed about asking the government to pay for my food, I’m happy that I will be able to save money in the long run. Tomorrow (Wednesday), I have an interview scheduled with them, soI will have more information then. I also reached out to a meditation center in California who do silent retreats. I’m not sure if I’ll actually go through with a silent retreat, but it’ll be interesting to hear how they would attempt to accommodate a blind person. Finally, I received my financial aid award letter from my University. After two years of getting audited, my aid has come to me smoothly and without any hick-ups. One can’t help but feel peaceful when bureaucracy works in one’s favor.

Today, (Wednesday), I moved about 80% of my things into the new house in which I will be living of the next six months. It feels good to do this, and I paid a guy a good rate to help me move, but I end up feeling depressed that I’m not the self-reliant, American man’s man that I’m told I should be. I know that I don’t claim to be influenced by cultural factors, but they seep in, ever so insidiously. I want to be able to do things like this on my own, or at least as a team effort. I sometimes feel like at times like these, the world jabs me in the eye to remind me of what I don’t’ have. A good physique, emotional stability, sight, the list goes on. Peace is hard to come by in these times, although I’m glad I was able to do something productive today.

(today, (Thursday), has gotten off to a promising start. I walked down to the library from my house, which is about a twelve block walk to get to campus. It was a nice way to start out the day and I already feel refreshed as I type this. Still eating healthily, and enjoying doing so. I’m going to swing by my apartment and pick up some more things for the move, and while that isn’t super eventful at least I’m finally conquering that mountain.

Unlike today (Friday), where I just sat around and enjoyed a delicious smoothie that contained mixed greens, oats, almond milk, bananas, peanut butter, and blueberries. I felt so content that I didn’t’ want to ruin it by engaging in activities that might disturb my state of bliss. I don’t regret it, but tomorrow I have to get the rest of my things out of my apartment as I only have two more days to do it. Not that I’ll be taking everything with me, I’ll probably leave a few things behind. I hate moving, which is why I’ve done it three times in the last two years. I’m a brilliant strategist, aren’t I?

I know that this blog has been an unusually long one, and I apologize if this isn’t the most interesting post to read. but I wanted you to see what my days are like, and what an emotional rollercoaster they can sometimes be, adjusting to a new life, six years after starting it. Wish me luck, everyone, and I intend to keep updating this blog regularly with my various triumphs and setbacks. I look forward to your readership.

The Fog is Lifting

The fog is Lifting.

the fog is lifting,

I can see ships cresting the distant waves,No longer a toiling slave,

to a force undetectable to the senses.

The cries of gulls and loons, across the ocean moon, cuts down the defenses.

For what was there to guard, anyway? Treasure, hidden beneath mounds of dirt? Are we to toil once again as slaves, seeking something we have never seen? Yes. Forget you, my friend. Think of the riches. The diamonds among ditches. Of the men between seashores, paddling with fast oars. For once we are there, who cares, what you may see, or not see.

But, the fog. It confused me. Overloaded my senses, and accused me. Of heinous acts, for which I had no knowledge or understanding. Bought and sold. Without constraint, controlled. Of one, it was many, scattered across the rocky landing.

Writing manuscripts by the bundle, publishing them to the lost, dissident souls who would hear. For one who has no message to impart, what better audience to serve?

But now, I can see the long shadows on the sand. My own among them, stretching across the land. Pursuing the reality, of what we sought to find, all along. Save me, clear sky. The fog is lifting.

fragments of my dreams, coming together at the seams. It can be. How, one does not know. But it can be.

Forever is a glass house. full of cracks from the stones mercilessly thrown at it. It is deserving. Not worth preserving. One more stone i’m reserving. To crack the final window of defeat and deceit. Though, to which direction will I turn, when the deed is done? Now, I can see the shoreline. I can make out the bases of the mountains, far off to the west, but I cannot see their tops. No way of knowing what’s there to greet me when I reach the summit, or what could be lurking on the other side. A treacherous landscape, no doubt. Once at the other side of the highest and most jagged peak, lies a land with many potholes. But the fog is lifting.

Life is short, the day is long. The fog sings it’s wavering song. garbled, as it ever was, serving to confuse, for it knows no other way. But I, fortunately gifted, can see the sun though the fog has not lifted. Not enough for me to see every step on the path that lies before. Not enough to fly across distant shores. But I, can walk now. Hack away now. chart a course where once there was no map for the lost souls who fell for the fog’s seductive, confused words. If I can manage this feat, my life’s work is complete. Life is for the living, and I intend to live. Now, to figure out what that means.

On Identity, Health, and New Personhood

It’s interesting how in today’s digital landscape, one can create an entirely separate identity for oneself, without anyone being the wiser. I am reminded today of a purely online relationship I had with a woman who, for lack of a better term, intimidated me to no end. She was smart, successful, could write like Dickens, and, (most important of all), gave me the time of day. I, of course, took it in stride at first. All the while wondering, why can’t I write like that? What’s so special about me that I should deserve such company? I was romantically interested at this point. I had to think of something fast to set me apart. Make sure that my contribution was noticed by the crowd.

So came the mask. A good one to. So good that I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was too late. Every time I got drunk or high, (which was a Lot of times, unfortunately), I would tell this girl about it. Send incoherent WhatsApp messages, brag about how much liquor I could hold, you name it. All to show that I was bigger than everybody else, and while they were enjoying their lives with family, romance, and all the traditional trappings of a mid-20 somethings lifestyle, I had one thing they didn’t have. One huge party, and it was going on 24 hours a day, seven days a week as far as they were all concerned. It was liberating! I was, the freest man in existence. No responsibilities, no commitments, not even a vague notion that I had to treat people with respect and decency. They were living the wrong way, not me. Or so I thought.

So I continued with this charade. I would do this many times whilst drunk or high, to multiple people. Mostly friends, but some, (like the aforementioned woman0, were to show off. Or cast myself in the worst possible light in order to push people away. You decide. It worked, for a long time. So well in fact that there came the inevitable day where the aforementioned woman had told me to lose her number. I’m not sure what prompted this, but the drunken messages, coupled with my negative disposition at the time, probably didn’t help matters. Frankly, I’m surprised it took as long as it did. Some people stick it out for the long hall, and I got to give this particular girl props for putting up with me, along with the countless others who have done so over the years.

It didn’t really occur to me why I was engaging in this behavior until I started doing it again in a totally unrelated situation. Of course, I had an answer in my head. I was a partier. I played by my own rules and did what I had to continue leading a so-called hedonistic lifestyle. As if! I can barely keep a shot of whiskey down, although I try mightily. The occasions of me getting drunk were few and far between. Except for the last six months. That was a different story, but I’ve already covered it in a previous post and have come to the conclusion that that, indeed, was not my finest hour. But I’m getting off track here.

The point i”m attempting to make is that I as unaware as to the reasons I was engaging in this behavior. To put it simply, I was, and am, very afraid of revealing how sensitive and gentle I am. This world takes advantage of gentility and sensitivity. “Nice guys finish last,” has been my mantra for many years, but it has become worn and tiresome. Today, I start a new chapter, and hope that you will all join me.

I have eliminated all alcohol from my life All drugs too. They have no place until I allow them back in. Which I probably will. When I graduate six months from now, when I score a record deal, (which I will, because I’m god’s gift to music… just kidding I’m really not), those types of events deserved to be celebrated. But for now, my physical and mental health take precedent. I have been eating oatmeal with granola and fruit consistently for breakfast. Alongside that, i’ve been eating lots of greens, and blueberries by the pound. I believe i’ve eaten nearly six pounds worth in the last month alone, and I have no intention of stopping. My new room mate and I are utilizing his vita-mix, which is the best home blender on the market today, in order to make green and fruit-filled smoothies that I’ve been sucking down with an enthusiasm I never thought I’d show for fruits and vegetables. Spaghetti squash is also on the menu. fantastic stuff! I have already lost 4 pounds in the last week, I really do feel rejuvenated.

A new energy for life has been poured upon and within me, and I want to focus on the good, positive, and wholesome aspects of my life from this point forward. Please, dear reader, join me in this journey. There is no cover charge, no crowd limit here. All are welcome.

Peeling Off the clay

So this week as college final grades were rolling in, I found out some rather unsurprising, yet still disappointing news. I got a D in one of my college courses for the first time. Don’t get me wrong, my grades have never been particularly stellar. I have been saddled with weights the size of cars since I first arrived cross-country five and a half years ago. Life hasn’t exactly been easy. The same problems that befell me before I left are still befalling me at present. Depression, anxiety, overindulging and downright unhealthy eating, and, my endless quest to find out the answers to why the hell I have these problems in the first place.. To name a few. Suffice it to say, I dealt with difficulty that nobody else should face.

So, after I’ve exhausted myself with my neuroticism, which (however illogically), always seems to find fault with every emotion I’ve ever had, my mind is not where it ought to be. I have consistently gotten away with doing the bare minimum. I skip classes regularly. I don’t think I’ve ever had a study partner or participated in a group. I’e tried getting involved in student clubs, but my neuroticism got the better of me, each and every time. I’ve gotten some A’s, surely. Got some this semester in fact. But mostly I’ve been confined to B and C range. A mediocre student whose only noteworthy features are his physical disability and his man boobs. What an attractive combination! Hire me for your next open position, please!

Now we come to this semester. I added pot smoking to the mix. Lots and lots of it. It felt great. I felt empowered for the first time, even though I was doing nothing but sitting on my beat up fake leather couch, listening to Pink Floyd and the Moody blues, whilst contemplating the meaning of life and how the universe came into existence, all over a bag of cheese popcorn or Insomnia cookies with a friend. Yep, I was really changing the world. I felt fantastic. Felt like I was breaking through, and I was somewhat. I got in touch with my emotions more. I was able to cry uninhibited sometimes, and let out the tension that has consumed me ever since I can remember. I was able to be vulnerable, something I could never do before. But it was all too overwhelming to process, especially in the beginning and in the middle of a busy semester. Having said all that I have, I don’t regret a single second of it. Weed is a wonderful plant and should be used by everyone in existence. Mushrooms, lSD and Ayahuasca also have much potential to smooth over society’s ills, but I can’t condone something I’ve never tried. More to come in the future on that one.

So my class attendance suffered, and thus, did my grades. I was feeling things so intensely this semester that I was hardly able to sit through a lecture without going on social media to distract myself. I didn’t even take notes or perform any kind of active listening. I would retain it all in my head, I naively thought. At least I cared enough to try sometimes.

But alas, that was not to be. I received my D two days ago. I threw away my weed vape pen and cartridges in disgust, only to dig them out of the trash again and wipe them down with disinfectant. Yep, I think I am officially an addict now. I was angry with myself, Angry that I could allow things to go so terribly bad over these past five years. How many times I abdicated my responsibilities, and outright refusal to take them. My anger at the hand of cards I was dealt, and the futility of such anger. I was angry at humanity, for giving us such inadequate answers to life’s big questions. I was do damn tired. What the hell have I been doing? Spinning on an exercise wheel and spitting at the glass. Been reading all these titles. How to win Friends and Influence People. The solution to Social Anxiety. The Mindful way through Anxiety. Living Mindfully. The Power of Now. No Time Like the Present. I could go on and on. The world is full of self-help books that purport to give you the answers to all of life’s questions for one low price. All of which were written by middle aged white men with low self-esteems, or buddhist monks in the lap of luxury. I’m not saying that there aren’t valuable insights to be gained from such titles. There are. But the message overload has become so intense that I can hardly get though one book without someone else recommending another one. Truth be told, it is a distraction for me and everyone else, from taking the actions that need to be taken in order to advancer our lives in a positive direction. we’re looking for answers in a world so full of them that we’re up to our necks in it before we get out of bed every morning.

So out of my negative mind set I have one diamond for you, dear reader. All of the answers that you are looking for, are fake. It’s fools gold, a con game. Do not fall for it. There are no answers. Things happen and we just have to deal with them as humans. Love, compassion and hope are all that we have, and all that we need. You are golden, dear reader. Do not be fooled by the clay that surrounds you. Peel it off, unmask yourself, and live.

Welcome Heathens!

Family, friends, comrades, compatriots, acquaintances, casual readers, goblins, creatures of the deep, welcome to my journey. I will be henceforth simply known as X. A moniker befitting for a bland personality such as my own. I am a man. Born in the mid 1990’s. Wishing for his story to be told, but too impatient to tell it. This is an attempt (however foolish), to rectify my seemingly competitive emotions. Step right up. come on in, tread lightly. This is not a safe space. This is a place to discuss the hard truths of life and rid them of their ugliness. I am not a saint, never claimed to be. I am not a shining ray of hope. I am merely a star in a world full of seven billion others. But I hope that my light will penetrate you, good reader, for even though I may not be a saint, I am not without hope, compassion, and, most importantly, love. So I will end this the same way I began, welcome.