Just another day for you and me in paradise. (I quickly see a trend for the week!)
Two quick stories I wanted to share about Socially Aware All Things Jennifer that happened over the last few days.
Story #1. My mom was reminiscing and brought up the stories I used to write as a kid. “The Biggest Pumpkin” and “The Green Man.” I had to smile, my poor mom. I was destined to be a social worker type from the start. My 2nd grade story about the Green Man was this…
A man was painting his house high up on a ladder with green paint. He fell off the ladder and the green paint fell all over him-leaving him not white, but green. The paint would not come off no matter how hard he tried and he had to live for a while being green. And he noticed that people treated him differently and did not remember who he was, all because he was green. Moral of my story…it doesn’t matter if you are white or black or yellow or red or green, it is what’s inside that counts and makes us a good person.
NOW, the funny thing is, I vividly remember writing this story and doing the illustrations. BUT I came from a small, small town. VERY little diversity. And I was only in 2nd grade and utterly not exposed to anyone who might be considered *different* than me at the time. SO WHERE DID THIS INNER CALLING OF SOCIAL JUSTICE COME FROM? I wonder. I smirk and now realize that this is who I have been before I even knew myself, no wonder I cry when Phil Collins plays *Another Day in Paradise*
Oh to be me…
Story #2. I spent some time on Thursday in the most miserable place on earth, the hospital, for an appointment at the second most miserable place on earth…the psychiatrists office. You see, Jennifer is trying to get ahold of her clinical depression and THURSDAY was the day I was meeting up with my doctor, again, to try treatment with antidepressants. (I HATE the idea…hate hate hate the idea…never really complied with treatment because I hate the idea that I am not in control…but I need to get out of this fucking rut…so?)
ANYHOW. While I was utterly and completely miserable in my own skin I found myself upset and crying over people much worse off than I: the 400+ pound man in the wheelchair, the blind lady on the elevator, the psycho woman in the waiting room who would not shut the fuck up until she told everyone of us about every ailment. Ugh…and then while browsing the paper to keep away from said lady, I noticed an obituary for a man of 37 years of age. Passed away, cancer. Tears pent up everywhere inside of me. I am NOT supposed to be the person who is *sick* and in *need of help* I AM SUPPOSED TO BE THE ONE HELPING THESE OTHER PEOPLE. Who am I to be *depressed* beyond myself when these people, have bigger problems….ugh…tugs on my heartstrings and pisses me off that I am so pathetic, without a good enough reason.
The stupid, and I mean stupid…person who was doing my intake asked me in the middle of my diatribe *Why do you feel like you need to have a job?* And I went on and on about how I am a loser who is not contributing anything to society, feel helpless, any thought of getting free heath care makes my stomach turn there are people far worse off than I who need the help and I should be the one helping them etc… When I got in the car and told Rachel about this question, she laughed at me (in a friendly way) and said *Gee, I would have said I need to have a job in order to pay my bills and feed myself.”
Oh to be me.