CSI Discussion

Yesterday, maccaj linked to this video and posted it along with a wonderful explanation of what it's like for those of us with CP. Unfortunately, her entry is flocked; I hope she'll post it somewhere public soon because it truly goes to the heart of why so many folks with CP struggle daily just to keep their heads above water.

I can, however, repost the comment I posted there, and so I will. It's moment I think on only in my darkest hours, the hours when I consider the bottle of pills or the knife in the drawer or a quick roll into oncoming traffic. I think on it when I'm running out of road, a circumstance that happens more often the older I get.

Anyway, here is my comment:


When I was nine, the Shriners' Hospital performed an adductor-hamstring release surgery. My mother, who was in denial that CP was forever, thought that once it was over, I would be "normal". My doctor tried to explain that at best, I would be able to walk with a walker around the house. She didn't want to hear it.

After three months in thigh-high casts, the doctors cut them off and sent me home with the warning to take things slowly because my muscles were weak. As soon as we got home, my mother ordered me out of the car and told me to walk to the house. Up a hill.

I told me mother I was tired and begged her to let me walk on the flat, carpet ground inside the house. No. I was normal now. I had to walk. She hadn't gone through all this so I could be lazy. I kept begging, but she didn't care.

Five feet, and my legs are wobbling badly. My shoulders are burning from the effort of staying balanced. My Achilles tendons are throbbing. I'm crying and begging, telling her it hurts. What does she do? She picks up a stick and starts whacking the backs of my legs. Of course, I start jerking and screaming, and she's whaling away, screaming about how lazy and ungrateful I am about having such a wonderful opportunity to be fixed.

I'm nine years old and being beaten with a stick by my mother because I hurt. Those are the memories that fuck you up and make you question your worth. If your mother is beating your ass because you can't walk, how much can you possibly matter to anyone else? Certainly you're worth less than the other kids, because most sane people don't beat animals that way, much less their children.

My stepfather eventually ran out, wrenched the stick away, and threatened to use it on her. He carried me into the house, where I had exhaustion tremors and cramps for the rest of the night.

The damage was done, of course. Walking wasn't an accomplishment. It was an act performed to keep my mother at bay. Everything I do now isn't predicated on enjoyment, but on being "good enough" to live.

CP parents are so wrapped up in feeling gypped by God that they don't realize they're passing their resentment and bitterness on to their children. And believe me, those rotten gifts linger long after the parents wise up and appreciate their "broken" children.



These are the shadows that move in my head; these are the poisons that move my tongue; these are the lashes that drive my fingers to write dark music with my keyboard of wormwood and asphodel. These are the moments that make me think it would be better if I never woke up.

I promise a more cheerful post tomorrow, but tonight, there just isn't enough goodwill to keep the mask in place.

Test done.

Essay done.

Presentation done.

Probably all failed but don't care.

Taxi for tomorrow scheduled.

Nap taken.

*fistpump*

Unfortunately, probably no sleep to be had tonight either, since I was a moron and spent the day post-test loafing/napping/cleaning my room rather than doing my Chem homework and packing. C'est la vie. I can sleep on the plane, I suppose. I mean, I normally can't sleep on planes, but I said that about cars, too, and I spent the ride up from school last summer passed out in the passenger's seat.

I never did unpack my backpack, I realize.

Comment replies to come during the inevitable Chem procrastination, but in lieu of more specific comments for now, thank you all so, so much for your kind words and support. Don't know what I'd do without y'all. :)
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Speed-pimp: lizbee's running a Doctor Who/Torchwood/Sarah Jane Adventures Cliche-Swap Ficathon, what I mentioned briefly in my last post. The idea is that you list the pairings you can write and a ficcish cliche about each one - for example, "Ten/Romana, the Doctor rips open reality to go get Romana" or "Nine/Rose, Rose becomes a Time Lady/immortal/similarly affected by the Bad Wolf glowsparkles". You're then assigned a pairing to write and a cliche for an entirely different pairing - you might, for example, have to write a fic where the Doctor rips open reality to go get Leela, or where Jamie becomes a Time Lord, or something like that. The minimum wordcount's only 500, fics aren't due until Novemer 12th, and sign-ups close the 15th. You know you want to.

Yes, of course I've signed up. Got a touch of nerves about it, too, since not only have I got a bad, bad track record with ficathons, it's also my first proper exchange-type ficathon. I'm always nervous whenever I put my writing out there, or respond to a prompt, or something like that. Knowing that I'm actually writing this one for someone, and that they might not like it, ramps that nervousness up a touch.

Might discuss that later, but for now I really do have to get working and packing, omg. Talk to you all later - possibly when I'm back home, if I don't have the opportunity to do so before.

OMG!!!! This episode caused me to have an emotional breakdown.

For eight years we've sat and watched CSI every thursday at 9 pm and it captivated us. And in those eight years no one has died until now. Other CSI series kill of their people after the first couple of seasons but not CSI. I never expected someone to actually die even though I knew it was a possibilty. Never thought it was going to be Warrick though.

The episode kept me on the edge of my chair. I knew what could happen from watching the previews and this was a damn good season finale. I can't imagine why they had to kill Warrick off from the series. Kinda twisted my stomach watching the last few seconds of the episode since the previews had me wired already. 

(Click Here For More)

( CSI:NY 503-Turbulence--SPOILERS )

For anyone that's interested, I'm posting the icons I make over at csichick_2_icon .  I didn't want to clog my LJ up too much since I make A LOT of icons.

Well, fine. Fine, WikiUploader, fuck you too. Twice. With a household appliance.

Urgh. Is it fall break yet? How about now?

Rob Lowe Robert McCallister, marry me.
Although, are there any states willing to marry polygamists? Because I wouldn't mind Chuck Bartowski either.

Tired Guera is tired. I finished my paper on narrative syncretism in the Old Testament and Greco-Roman mythology. It was eleven pages instead of the requested five, but dammit, man, you cannot give me four topics to discuss and limit me to five pages. It is categorically impossible to adequately explore that many topics in so few pages. If you wanted fewer pages, you should've chosen fewer topics. Howl in misery about having too much to read all you please; given that I've just spent three days and twelve miserable hours pecking out my observations and pining for the opiate manna of the television or the Internet, I really don't care. In fact, dear professor, it gives me a great deal of black-hearted joy to imagine you picking up my paper with one hand and opening a bottle of scotch with the other.

If I had to lose three days of my life to this paper, then you can jolly well spend thirty minutes reading it, particularly since it pertains to a subject to which you've devoted your life and from which you derive your salary. If thorough analysis of a subject cramps your style, then why on earth are you a teacher?

Once I turn in the behemoth tomorrow, my energy will be mine again, and I'll devote it to writing my spn_halloween fic, which is due by November 6th.

But that is for later. Tonight, I am exhausted. Slinging bullshit in the guise of critical analysis is heavy work, and I'm woefully out of shape.

...and still writing Greg/Warrick fic, even though Warrick is dead. The audience for this delightful couple has probably shrunk from three to zero. I've tried switching fandoms, writing new characters, writing original stuff...haven't been able to do it. It's kind of very sad.

I was rereading my last post - "me stressed equals anti-social and lazy." So very true. In the last 3 months I got a job, found a nice place to live, bought a car, & forced myself to meet new people (since everyone I knew moved away). Things have finally settled though, and now I come home at five (more like seven) everyday and chill.

Yeah, so I guess I'm back in LJ Land.

I hope everyone had a great weekend... My was a little eventful on Saturday we took Ari to see Elmo's Green Thumb at the Nassau Colliseum I had bought VIP tickets so she could meet the characters which was ZOEY and ELMO.... Anyway my daughter was not having it she was crying, being a brat so it was not a good time at all... I shelled out 3 hundred and something dollars for these tickets front row and all... So this is the last show she is going to for a while...  Im taking her to see High School Musical the movie (I CANT WAIT) but thats a movie not a live show....  You know you try to do things with your kids and sometimes they are so ungrateful and I know she is only three but its just so frustrating sometimes...

This December I'm going with my co-worker and mom to see TINA TURNER!!!!!

I saw two shows last night VALENTINE and EASY MONEY!!!! Easy Money has potential and Valentine I dont think it will last...

Hope everyoen is doing great :)