award received … and ones i really deserve

On christmas day, I received a blog award from  Instantmama who selected my blog as one of her choices for the “Versatile Blog Award.”  (Click here and scroll down to #5).   The award has been around for awhile and has passed around blogs…..and I thank Instantmama for thinking about me.

In all honesty, I had to look up the meaning of versatile on google…so, I hope that I still get to keep the award?  Can you imagine…“Hey, I had an award once, but I didn’t know what it meant… so they took it back… “

The award comes with 2 parts…

PART I:  I have to share SEVEN things about myself that you readers don’t know..  That’s pretty hard for someone who doesn’t trust a soul and is pretty protective … Plus, in reality, I actually do reveal alot about my thoughts and emotions in my blog…  I am working on this… and the SEVEN will be a mix of funny, sad, and strange.

PART II:  I have to give the award to FIVE other bloggers that I respect.  This is pretty hard too, since I stopped reading alot of blogs in the Fall.  Many were very hurtful to me reading how disparaging and disrespectful they were to their “difficult” children, mostly adoptive and foster children.  So, the reality is I stopped reading most blogs… but I do know a few that I can pass this award on and are very deserving.

At first, I was excited to receive an award …

However, as usual, it has really made me reflect on “me”… 

I never got an award for anything.  Not a trophy, not a plaque, not a certificate, not an honor roll or dean’s list (my friend KC got on that), nothing…..  I wasn’t involved in anything or good at anything where traditional awards would be given.   No sports, no school things, no extracurricular activities, nothing.

I started thinking about awards I deserve .. and I came up with the following list that pretty much summarizes my life…

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I.  Most Gullible Award

Received because as a child, my biomother would call me to her and pretend to ask for a hug.  Instead of hugging me, she would hit me, burn me with her cigarette, or grab me and put me somewhere (closet, bedroom) where my biofather could easily get to me.  You would think after once or twice, I would stop falling for this “hug trick.”  Nope.  I kept falling for it, hoping for the hug.  Maybe this should also be the biggest idiot award.

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II.  Fantastic Fuck Award

I must have been good at this, because it kept happening.  When I was living with my bioparents and it first started, I was not very good.  I would cry and beg and squirm and try to escape.  But it just hurt more… and it got more violent the more I struggled.  I’d get hit and fucked, and hit some more.  So I stopped fighting… and I guess that was better for them.  Once I was “broken in,”  I guess it was written on my forehead — “Fuck me” –  because after I left my bioparents and their druggie friends, some foster parents liked it too…  One even told me after every time that I was a “good girl” when he finished.  I guess I was good at one thing… fucking.   If I got an award for each time some male unwantedly fucked me, I could probably cover the walls of my apartment and more.  Most days, I feel like nothing more than a good fuck and worth nothing more than someone else’s pleasure machine.  When I think about it too much, like now, I want to kill myself.

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III.  Stupidity Award

This is easy.  I was 18 years old when I was just starting sophomore year in highschool.  Sophomores are usually 15 years old.  I didn’t even finish sophomore year because I aged-out of the foster care system. Without the computer, I would be a fucking idiot.  I don’t know where countries are, I don’t know where states are unless I lived in them, I don’t know science or math or any language.  It takes me a long time to read.  I look at the words and they don’t register in my brain.  I write, but I can barely read it back.  It’s like I forgot what I just wrote.  At work, they don’t write anything down for me because I screw it up; they tell me verbally.  Basically I am a walking idiot.

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IV.  Most Unwanted Child Award

Bioparents never wanted me.  I was nothing but a mistake.  They told me that alot.  They also told me they wish I was dead.  So, that is pretty unwanted.  Foster parents never wanted me.  Not one foster home wanted to keep me.  No-one wants me.

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V. Biggest Pain in the Ass Foster Child Award

I was in foster care from age 7 until age 18…. 11 years.  No-one ever adopted me.  I moved around alot, had lots of case workers, and was basically a bother to everyone involved in the system who was supposed to care for me.  At some point, after being in foster care for a number of years, you just become a pain in the ass.  I often think that workers pray for something to happen to “long-term” foster kids, just so they don’t have to deal with them on their case load anymore…  I was a bad kid and I did alot of bad things… no-one wants those types of kids.  Workers have to figure out what to do with kids like me… such a freaking bother.

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VI.  Overall Sum of Self Award

the shitty life story of socks… er, foster kids

I hate socks.  I hate the way they feel on my feet.  I hate the way they confine my feet.  When i lived on the streets after aging-out of foster care, socks could be a danger to my feet.  Wet sock = blisters, holey socks= blisters, socks that bunched up because they were too big =blisters… you get my drift?

So blisters aren’t a big deal… right?  WRONG.

On the street, blisters and dirty feet  = infection.  What a pain in the ass.  Out of control, it could be a serious problem.  Socks are meant to keep your feet warm, but in the wrong circumstances they can be hazardous.  Wrong-sized shoes and bad socks are a recipe for disaster…

So i hate socks.  Since i got off the streets, i never wear them. But today i was looking at a pair laying in my closet and i realized that the life story of a sock is similar to the life story of many foster kids.

Socks can be funny or boring, white or colored, short or long, new or old, ripped or not, dirty or clean, pretty or ugly, thin or thick, outrageous or subdued… just like foster kids.  The most popular color of sock is white, followed by black.  Most people like to purchase socks that are easy to wear, no special needs or extra work wanted.

When socks are new, they are tight and mold to your feet.  Socks keep close and in essence do what your feet direct them to do.  The new socks bend when your toes bend or move to the side when your foot moves to the side.  They don’t fall down and they keep close to your feet, ankle and legs.  Very rarely do you have to pull them up.  But over time, socks stretch, get bigger, and no longer stay so tight.  They may fall down and need to be pulled up frequently.  They may change shape and thus not keep close to your foot anymore.  They may become difficult because they don’t fit “right” or need constant adjusting.  They may form holes, so large that it seems like nothing can fill them.  Socks that don’t fit right may cause problems.  They may stress the feet, rub them the wrong way, or not keep the feet safe.

Socks that require extra attention become bothersome.  Who wants to pull-up old socks multiple times a day?  Who wants to adjust the toe of the sock constantly, as it bunches up in your shoe?  Who wants to sew a hole that develops and may constantly rip; requiring repair, effort, and time? 

Not too many people have extra time for problematic socks.

Socks can be worn and tried out by multiple people.  Some socks get purchased and then quickly returned when the wearer decides he/she does not like the socks.  Put back on the rack, waiting for the next person to get the unwanted socks.  Some people borrow socks for a day, a weekend, or longer.  At some point the borrower returns the socks after using them or abusing them or after their needs have been met.  Just give the socks back when they are finished wearing them.

As socks get old or used or require too much effort, they are thrown away.   They may be too big, too out-of shape, too worn, fall down too much, develop too many holes… the socks basically need more effort than they are worth.  A beat-up pair of socks is easy to replace with a newer pair… that fits better with the lifestyle and needs of the sock wearer.

 No wonder why I hate socks…

they remind me of my life…

wrong-fitting, used, bothersome, and thrown- away

over and over and over.

It really sucks to be a sock…

christmas twinkees

there was a twinkee in my refrigerator… just one.  apparently some “part” of ME decided to spend christmas day out and about and left a twinkee in my frig.  it must have either been a younger “part” of ME or a more-controlled “part” of ME, because if it was ME, i would have eaten both twinkees in one sitting.  in fact, i probably would have eaten 4 more too.

that was the only clue ME has as to what happened most of christmas day.

for those new to my blog, i have DID, dissociative identity disorder.  it used to be called multiple personality disorder.  it means i have “parts” that take over and live almost as people.  it sounds crazy, i know.  when other “parts” of me are out, i am in blackness and i dont remember what has happened.  its called losing time, and sometimes i lose minutes, hours, days, weeks.  just depends.  alot of people have wrong ideas about what DID is and it is really confusing.  i have written about it in other posts, for example… (here) (here)  (here) (here)  (here)

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with therapy, i am aware that “parts” of ME exist.  i just used to think i was abused too much in the head and was stupid and that is why i was so forgetful.  it is kind of freaky to think that some “parts” are running around living life and ME is stuck in my head in blackness.  Dr. Val, my therapist, tells ME that the reality is that these “parts” were created for MY survival because of all the bad things that happened to me as a child, so the system works… and to “trust the process.”

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But what does that mean?

I am tired of being a puzzle.

A puzzle…

made up of parts…

when put together make a workable ME.

… a puzzle comprised of parts that are young and old, smart and dumb, happy and sad, introverted and extroverted, passive and aggressive, abused and abuser, free and captive…

… a puzzle comprised of parts that I have no control over;  how they fit or don’t, how they live and how they survive…

… a puzzle of  parts:

that Dr. Val says “are a gift and a survival tool”

that KC says “is cool”

that is hard to understand…

Does “trust the process” mean that “parts” will always do their job, so that ME never gets hurt again?

But….

If a “part” gets in a fight, it’s ME that has the black eye…

If a “part” of ME smokes, ME gets the lung cancer…

If a “part” of ME wants to sleep around, it’s ME that gets an STD…

If a “part” of ME takes a toy, it’s ME that gets in trouble for shop-lifting…

If a “part” of ME loses my bike, it’s ME that has to walk…

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…meanwhile… ME doesn’t remember any of the living…

…ME just finds the twinkees…

Pathetic Christmas Rhyme for You

Merry Christmas my readers, Merry Christmas blog crew,

I wanted to send a greeting to you.

A note, a jingle, or a great rhyme,

But this holiday season I’m having a difficult time.

A family of my own I am deeply void of,

But for you dear readers, I hope you’re surrounded in love.

Merry Christmas dear readers, Merry Christmas blog crew,

I hope ole’ santa remembered you.

Once again, the infamous fat man passed by,

Santa did not stop here, I sat down to cry.

No family this year, no wish to come true,

I’m fighting so hard to prevent feeling too blue.

Merry Christmas dear readers, Merry Christmas blog crew,

I whole-heartedly offer a huge thank you.

For reading and commenting and all your thought,

They help me at times when I am distraught.

So dear readers and blog crew,

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas to you!

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do i have to ask more times since i was a bad kid…?

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“And from everything I’ve heard
Sounds like the greatest gift on earth would be a mom”

Please watch this video.  (and again if you watched it in the past years)

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Well I don’t know if you remember me or not
I’m one of the kids they brought in from the home
I was the red-haired boy in an old green flannel shirt
You may not have seen me – I was standing off alone
I didn’t come and talk to you, ‘cause that’s never worked before
And you’ll prob’ly never see this letter anyway
But just in case there’s something you can do to help me out
I’ll ask you one more time

All I really want for Christmas
Is someone to tuck me in
A shoulder to cry on if I lose
Shoulders to ride on if I win
There’s so much I could ask for
But there’s just one thing I need
All I really want for Christmas is a family

Well I guess I should go ahead and tell you now
If it’s really true about that list you have
Somehow I always seem to end up in a fight
But I’m really trying hard not to be bad
But maybe if I had a brother or a dad to wrestle with
Well, maybe they could teach me how to get along
And from everything I’ve heard
Sounds like the greatest gift on earth would be a mom

All I really want for Christmas
Is someone to tuck me in
A shoulder to cry on if I lose
Shoulders to ride on if I win
There’s so much I could ask for
But there’s just one thing I need
All I really want for Christmas

Is someone who’ll be there
To sing me “Happy Birthday”
For the next 100 years
And it’s OK if they’re not perfect
Well, even if they’re a little broken, that’s alright
‘Cause so am I

Well, I guess I should go
It’s almost time for bed
And maybe next time I write you
I’ll be at home

‘Cause all I really want for Christmas
Is someone to tuck me in
Tell me I’ll never be alone
Someone whose love will never end
Of all that I could ask for
Well, there’s just one thing I need
All I really want for Christmas
All I really want for Christmas is a family

Just a family

That’s all I really need

christmas reality … it’s not my family

It almost seemed that  for the first time in years, i would be with “people” who seemingly care about me on Christmas.  That i would have a “home” to goto for the holidays.  A “home” where there is happiness, caring, and joy.  A “home” where there is food, festiveness, and fun.  A “home” where there is presents, decorations, and candy canes.  A “home” where I am wanted…

Not this year.      Nope.

KC and her family are traveling to visit the other grandparents who live in another state.  They leave tomorrow on an airplane.  They will be gone for one week… coming back on new year’s eve.  I’ve never been on an airplane… KC has alot.

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Don’t laugh… but i cried.  I cried alot.  I had envisioned my christmas being really special this year with my best friend,  my only friend… and her family.  But it won’t.  It will be like always… a christmas without a family.

Thanksgiving was so perfect, but Christmas screams reality.

I am family-less.

You probably do not understand or comprehend the magnitude of what it feels like to be family-less.  To have no-one to call “relative,” let alone  a “mom.”   Knowing you don’t belong anywhere is bad.  But holidays are horrific.  Holidays send messages of family and love and good times; but when you are family-less, the messages just bring immense pain.

I feel for people who lost loved family members or are separated from family … I truly do.  I understand that people who lost loved ones feel sadness;  but it is very different than what I feel.  You have a connection, good and bad memories, trinkets or momentos, the ability to call up the soothing recollection of that family person.  Someone  loved you, unconditionally.  You can remember that.

I have none of that.

Nowhere in the world, does anyone love me “just because” I am family or am wanted.

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No one wanted me at age 7 or age 8 or age 10 or age 13 or age 16 or up until the day I aged-out of foster care at 18 years old.  No family ever wanted me to be part of them.  It must say alot about me… a little skinny white kid that no-one wanted to adopt into their family.  My therapist, Dr. Val says it doesn’t… but she is wrong.  NO-ONE wanted me in their family, because something is wrong with me.

It feels bad when your bio-family doesn’t want you; it gets worse when not one, not two, but multiple “foster” families don’t want you.

And yes, you can make your own family.  But I am so screwed up becuase of what has been done to me, I can barely function around men, let alone have a relationship with a boy to “make my own family.”   Emotionally I am around 8 years old… where I think boys are “cute” and maybe want to hang their poster on my wall.  Physically I don’t want them near me.  Hard to “make a family” if you can’t have intimate relationships.

And yes, you can make your own family through relationships with friends.  I met my first friend this year and she is great.  But at MY AGE, the reality is that those friends have their own “family” — mom, dad, siblings, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles…

I just want a family that’s mine.  It’s killing me.

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I think this Christmas and holiday season will be harder than all the others.  I let myself believe I would belong somewhere this christmas.  But like all the years I spent in foster care dreaming for a family, once again, my christmas dreams don’t come true…

it may be JUST a “comforter” to you…

Yesterday I got my very FIRST brand new “comforter.”  Yeah.  I don’t have a bed but I can use it to wrap up in on my futon or the floor.  It’s all MINE.  For the first time in 20-something years I got to pick out a big fluffy, silky, soft, funny, comforter that reflects ME.

You probably take your comforter for granted.  You probably have owned several comforters.

Not me.     Nope.

Living with my parents, my bedding was “whatever was laying around.”  Sometimes it was a blanket, sometimes just a sheet, sometimes a tee-shirt, and sometimes nothing at all.  They did not care and I never mattered enough to be kept warm and comfortable.

In foster care, I used what was laying around, too.  I used what lots of other kids used.  I used the colors or pictures that someone else picked out.  I used ones that had stains, frayed ends, or were tattered.  I used ones that other kids cried on.  I used ones that other kids drooled on.  I used ones that other kids peed or pooped or puked on.  I used ones that …. whatever other kids did on them.  Each of those kids left their story on those comforters… and many times the comforters looked like wars had been fought as children slept or screamed the night away.

“Comforters” that were never mine, but a true reflection of how I felt…  old, used, ugly, dirty, not special, not worth the $20 to give me a clean start.

Once on the streets I used a “comforter” that I found under a bridge.  It was so disgusting … but I was freezing.  I drank a bottle of nighttrane so that the dirt and stains and smell drifted away, as I wrapped myself up with another street kid.  “Comforter” that wasn’t mine, but yet another reflection of how I felt …  dirty, used, smelly, disgusting, thrown away…

Yesterday, I stood in <store name> with my friend KC, feeling so excited as I looked at all the comforters that lined the shelves.  Holy shit!  Tons of comforters…. for all ages.  Holy shit!  Tons of comforters… all colors.  Holy shit!  Tons of comforters…. superheros and spongebob and animals and peace signs and flowers and “mature” ones and… and….

Holy shit!  How do I choose?

Why is KC such a great friend? …..  because she didn’t laugh at the one I picked.  She didn’t care that I was 20-something and most people pick “mature” ones, but I didn’t.  She didn’t care that some girls don’t like pink, but superheros instead.  She didn’t care how silly it looked because she cared that I was happy.

I got a BRAND NEW comforter… for the first time in my life ….

It has no battle scars and it has survived no wars… it’s just a comforter…

…and it’s MINE.

ok… well…. OURS!

Hold the “happy” — holidays are hard for foster kids!

Christmas is for children and most kids eagerly and excitedly await Christmas and all the “specialness” of the holiday season.  After all, it is a time filled with presents, food, fun, magical beliefs, and family.  Sounds perfect.  But Christmas for children in foster care can bring fears and tears… which may result in acting-out behaviors, ungratefulness, anger, moodiness, and antics.  Christmas may be more confusing and painful for foster kids, even when their external world and foster family seems “perfect.”

Let’s look at the confusion of Christmas that may exist for foster children…

1.  What about my family?

Foster children are separated from their families and it can be extra hard during the holidays.  Even if the bioparents or biosiblings are no longer in the child’s life physically, they will always be emotionally.  The first time “Santa” visited me in foster care, I remember wondering if “Santa” found my brother and gave him a present too… We both never had “Santa” living with our bio-parents.  You would think I would have been ecstatic the first time “Santa” came when I was in foster care…. but I didn’t feel super happy and I didn’t feel”right” because I did not know if “Santa” had visited my brother too…. or if he was forgotten again.

Over the years, at different foster homes, I would think about my mother and wonder if she was safe and had something to eat.  Even though I had not seen her since I was 7 years old, I would get sad and at times very silent, moody, and wanted to be alone.  Looking at a table with lots of food and knowing that your bioparents might still be living in poverty, hunger, drugs, prostitution, etc… is VERY hard for a child or teen.

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2.  How does Santa know where I am?… this is not my REAL home.

This may seem stupid, but think about it from the perspective of a child who (1) has moved around foster homes and (2) has a different last name than everyone else in the home.  How does “Santa” even know I am there?  If the child does not trust you or has not been in your home for awhile, they may not believe that “Santa” will find them.

Solution:  Write a letter with your foster child and send it to “Santa.”  Go to the post office with the child and let him/her mail it.  Santa Clause, The North Pole.   If your child is really worried, there are cheap services that will reply with a “letter from Santa.”  DO IT to help calm the fears of your child.

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3.  What if I don’t like this?

When I used to tell my dad or mom I did not like something; they would hurt me.  Old milk, stale cereal, clothes that were too small or big or dirty, being raped, being locked in a room or a closet, almost anything, … if I said I didn’t like it or it hurt or it didn’t fit or it tasted bad or… I was punished for being “ungrateful.”

Therefore, I learned to STOP saying “I don’t like this” or “This is too small” or “That tastes bad.”  You see, I learned to agree… to protect me.

Make sure you tell your foster children that it is OK to not like something.  That not everyone likes the same things.  That is it OK to return something for another size or color or toy or flavor or….  It is OK if he/she does not like something.  And NOTHING BAD WILL HAPPEN if they tell you they don’t like it.

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4.   Do I get to keep this stuff if I leave?

If you are a foster parent, your answer needs to be YES.  If “Santa” comes or you give your foster children presents, those presents should be the children’s to keep.  Don’t take them away and don’t tell the children they are needed for “other” children.

I could NEVER understand why I had to leave things that I played with or stuffed animals that I held as I cried through the night, especially if the toys, clothes, items were given directly too me.  When kids are moved, these items may become “TRANSITIONAL OBJECTS” to help hold onto some memory that is positive or that is helpful in times of distress.

The more you move, the more you lose stuff or the more it gets stolen.  But it is not uncommon to try to hold onto something — and kids sometimes carry parts of toys, pieces of paper, ripped photos, pieces of clothes, etc.   Items that represent something positive in their lives.

Don’t be a Scrooge.  If you give it to the child, it’s the child’s.

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5.  Why did none of this ever happen in my family or house?

Imagine coming into foster care never having had a holiday or a celebration like your foster family does.  Never a christmas tree.  Never a present.  Never a fancy table with lots of food.  Never christmas music.  Never lights.  Never cookies.  Never Santa.  Never a stocking.  Never …. a holiday.

Pretty fucking overwhelming!

I will never forget the first time I saw flashing lights on a christmas tree.  I was mesmerized and would try to touch them as they “flashed.”  I wanted to be the only one to plug them in … and I would get upset when someone else plugged the lights in.  It was special to me  — magical almost — to see them come on.  My little self felt such joy at seeing the lights.

At some point, you start wondering why is your family so different… than the foster family you are staying with?

As a little child, I simply believed it was because we were “bad,” but as I got older, I questioned more and more and the answers were hard to consider.  Was it because my parents never cared about me?  Was it because I was bad and being punished?  Was it because … why does my foster family have so many “gifts” and I came from “hell?”  Hard to think about during the holidays…

As you head towards Christmas, be prepared to recognize that holidays are hard for foster kids.  A mix of joy and pain, happiness and sadness, excitement and anxiety, and lots of confusion.  Even after years of being in foster care, I was still filled with mixed feelings and memories.

Be patient and engage your kids; bake cookies, shovel snow, make decorations, etc.  Remember that differences in lifestyles between biofamily and foster family can be overwhelming.

Before you yell, scream, holler, threaten, or punish; step back, breath  …and remember that holidays are stressful and hard for “big people,” just imagine being a child/teen growing up in foster care confusion. 

Keep the peace…

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Maybe if I put it in the mail… it will come true

Dear Santa,

Please read this whole letter becuase it took me along time to write.

It’s LT… still the same skinny blond “kid” with messy hair.  The one that has written a couple times before and who needs just ONE thing.  I know people my age are asking for  TVs or fancy computer things or clothes or money or lots of things….. but I don’t want any of that.  I just want ONE thing…

You never came when I lived with my mom and dad.  Maybe you couldn’t find us or maybe you were too scared to goto that neighborhood or maybe you were scared of my parents.  I was too, so I understand.  Maybe we were too bad.  Back then I just wanted ONE thing too…. a stuffed dog that was soft.

Then I went into foster care.  I was there for along time.  Maybe you had a hard time finding me every year because I moved alot?

You never came when I lived with Mr. Ri–on.  He used to dress up like you and make us give him presents… except those presents made me feel gross or hurt me; although they made him feel good.  Back then I just wanted ONE thing too … a safe home with people that didn’t use me or my little body.

You never came with I lived with the Stocktons.  You came for their biokids, but I was just “the foster kid.”  I even spent that Christmas day locked in the basement, away from their holiday family gathering.  Back then I just wanted ONE thing too … a family that wanted “the foster kid.”

You never came when I lived on the streets.  Sometimes I saw you walking down the street going to parties or resturants or sitting in shopping malls.  But you never saw me.  Back then I just wanted ONE thing too… a home with people that cared about me.

I know your big night is coming up and I really do understand that you have a tough job, trying to get to all the kids in the world.  And I am not angry at you for all the times you didn’t come… honestly I’m not.

I’ve had a really hard year and I am still fighting.  But there is ONE thing that could help make my fight so much easier.  Just ONE, Santa.  So, I am going to ask ONE more time… and if you could find it in your heart to give it to me, I promise I will never bother you again.

Ready?

Santa… ?

The ONE thing I need is something that won’t hurt me, won’t use me, and will help me…

The ONE thing I need is

A family…

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Part IV. Food frenzy… and Thanksgiving ending..

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There was alot of food on the table.  Tons of food.  Some foods I knew, some I had no fucking clue what they were.  I was not sure how “things” worked so I decided to wait.  But part of me felt like a starving child and wanted to grab for the rolls or the potatoes… I wanted it first, I wanted to make sure I got some, and I was afraid the food would ALL be taken by so many people.  I felt my young survival mode and feelings kick in.  Instead of being overwhelmed with excitement, I became overwhelmed with anxiety..

When you grow up starving or grow up with a fucked up relationship with food, for MOST of your life…. it’s hard to change those feelings and instincts.  Rationally now as a 20-something who has been in therapy for over a year…. I can say to myself “LT, it’s ok.  There is enough food for everyone.”  But my feelings were screaming “MINE FIRST.  GIVE ME SOME.  I MIGHT NOT HAVE ANY FOR ALONG TIME.”   The battle doesn’t end when you aren’t starving anymore; survival instinct is always a part of you…

Part III. Giving Thanks … at Thanksgiving…

As I sat in my seat at the Thanksgiving table, both my hands were grabbed by KC and on my right and Jessie on my left (see table here-scroll down).  As soon as KC’s dad said “Let us all give thanks” — in unison, everyone but me recited some short prayer.  No, it was not “rubba-dub dub, thanks lord for the grub!”  In fact, I never heard it before.  I liked it because it was simple, VERY meaningful, and rhymed in a happy way.  I did not want to show my stupidity at dinner, so when I got home I googled what I remembered everyone reciting.

This is it:

Come Lord Jesus, be our guest,
let this food to us be blessed.

May there be a goodly share
on every table everywhere.

The history of the prayer is questionable.  If anyone really knows the origin of this, please post it.  It must be affiliated with KC’s religion because the guests knew it too!

In a way, it is simply beautiful because it (1) asks jesus, a supposed powerful being, to join the common people eating, (2) it asks for blessings of the food, and (3) MY FAVORITE part — it asks for everyone to have food and not be hungry.  It is a prayer for the people.

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Part II. Thanksgiving middle…

After Jessie called us inside for dinner, KC stood up and started doing some ridiculous dance moves in celebration of food.  Completely ridiculous.  I stood up and paused… I was feeling nervous and unsure of what I was supposed to do.  Everyone started walking inside.  I turned to directly face KC and said “I am freaked out.”  KC stopped her ridiculous dance and said “LT, it’s all good.  Just eat and be happy.  You are good at eating!”  I looked at her smirking at me and said “what if i screw up or drop something or ….”  All I could imagine was me ruining the day by doing something wrong.  I started to bite my lower lip, a physical sign of my distress…

KC:  “No worries LT.  You are among friends. Just eat!  … And besides, my sister usually does something stupid to overshadow any other stupidity!  LOL…  Seriously, don’t worry…” 

Then KC started doing her stupid raise the roof dance, which she believes is “hip;” and then shouted “food is fabulous.”  My gosh, do I really know her?  When I get some money, I have to take her clubbing, because she needs major help with moves.  She knows she is goofy and she doesn’t care…She totally proves the stereotype that white people have no rhythm…and can’t dance.

Anyway…

Part I. Thanksgiving beginning…

can you hear me hack?

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So i have been really sick and just now am feeling better.  This is how it went…

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1.) LT has awesome Thanksgiving (amazing details to come later)

2.) LT gets sick

3.) LT tries to sleep it off

4.) LT goes to clinic

5.) LT has strep

6.) LT’s bloody cough gets worse, headache, freezing even with two blankets, can barely breathe even to just go to the bathroom to pee

7.) LT can’t move

8.) LT calls KC

9.) KC takes LT to doctor

10.) LT has distinct crackly chest noises, then chest xray, and mucus in a cup is tested for the kind of bacteria

11.) LT has bacterial pneumonia

12.)  LT has lots of medicines and juice

The end.

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KC listened to the doctor because i was passing out asleep.

but then i said real quietly…”when i lived on the streets, i didnt get sick… why now?”

the doctor said something like —

….. “maybe you didn’t realize it then, for a variety of reasons, like:   self-medicating, being so down on your luck that being sick was just part of it, you just ignored it, you don’t remember it;  

….or because you are beginning to take better care of yourself now and listening to your body;

…. or maybe after all the years of poor care,… it is catching up?

…..A few things are for sure LT, you’ve had alot of stress this year, you don’t  maintain a healthy body weight, and we need to work on self-care; eating, sleeping, drinking, vitamins, etc.  OK?”

i couldnt respond and i was lucky  i even heard that…. i felt so beat up.

i have to think about those answers…

….and then i realized i just told KC i lived on the streets…

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