So apparently my last blog post offended some people and I apologize to you if that’s the case. I never said I believe that my prejudices are good… and like I said, I have friends from all walks of life, and I don’t go around judging them because they grew up with a family life that was different from mine, especially when mine was far from conventional. I write on here as a way to let go of the things inside my head, and the only way I can do this is to actually write what’s “inside my head” … both the good and the bad. Most of what I write on here is more personal musings rather than intended political or social statements, and I’m hoping it will read that way instead of the way it has apparently been taken.

I discovered something about myself: I feel uncomfortable around rich people.

I’m sitting there at thanksgiving dinner ready to eat a delicious four-course feast and I can’t begin eating because I have no idea which fork to use. I glance nervously around the table trying to see what everyone else is doing, but the table we are at is enormous, making everyone far away from me… too far to accurately decipher which fork they were using, because to me they all looked pretty much the same. I pick up the one on the outside, because I remember that someone told me once to work from the outside in… or maybe it was inside out. I panic a little.  At this point I know that I can feel myself sweating, and the meal hasn’t even started. I feel like a mutt among purebreds as I tentatively use this fork to eat my salad. Nobody is talking.  That’s the other thing. My family is so loud and casual that this culture of silent “family bonding” is completely foreign to me, causing me to sweat even more. The somber silence in the room is closing in around me, judging me, and for some reason it is making me feel like I should be eating extra slow, not sure why. So slowly, I raise my fork to my mouth, over and over again, focusing all my energy into not spilling anything, which is difficult for me. Somehow I managed to get through the salad without making a mess.

Apparently it is in between meals that the conversation happens. But even as the talking begins, it is slow, organized, and tentative. I feel like I’m having a discussion in class, to the point where I actually wonder if I should raise my hand to speak. I choose to sit there and listen, observe… perhaps I will figure out how to communicate with this alien species I know as “the rich”. All seems to be going well with my passive approach until the topic of politics comes up. And I don’t mean republican vs. democrat, McCain vs. Obama politics… I mean general civil rights issues… which are so much worse. It starts off with the healthcare topic, and as a NOT RICH cancer patient, I am very passionate about this topic. The father says something along the lines of I don’t think that healthcare is a right, these people shouldn’t be whining about their “rights” when there are hardworking Americans out there who are supposed to pay for it… if you can’t afford healthcare, that’s life… Already I feel my stomach start to churn and that salad wants to come back out, along with all the words I want to say, as the whole family nods in silent, thoughtless agreement… I want to tell them all how stupid and selfish they are to think such a thing, how they are the ones who don’t deserve to be healthy, how people like them are the reason I can’t have an operation to get rid of this thing inside me, how… how even if I don’t know what fork to use for my salad and even though my parents weren’t rich, I’m still just as good a person as them, I still deserve to be healthy and alive, I want to tell them how I always give money to charities, and they, with all the money, probably don’t … And then with a deep breath I clear my head and think about what a horrible person I am being… sitting at their table, enjoying their hospitality, and thinking these horrible thoughts about them at the same time.

Courses two and three go by without too much of a problem, although I do almost soak the entire table with white wine at one point as I try to pass the butter dish apparently the wrong way, and upon realizing this, jerk my arm back nervously, hitting the wine glass. After course three though, the grandfather begins talking about gay rights, and this is when not only my stomach churns, but my head starts spinning as well. I don’t think they should be able to get married like “normal” people… and then the brother: well yeah people think that its going to ruin the sacrament of marriage… back to the grandfather again: no it’s not that, it’s that they don’t just want to get married, they want all the rights of marriage… they can’t think they could get the same rights as normal people… (By the way, I’m not kidding, this is exactly how it was said.) These final words spark another endless string of more and more intense thoughts… NORMAL people? How stupid they are if they think that the ten percent of the population that is gay is not normal… how can anyone say such a horrible thing… don’t you realize you sound no different from a white supremacist or a sexist?  Wouldn’t your reaction be priceless if I told you right now that I am the proud daughter of a gay father, and that I have even marched in pride parades! I hope that one of your children is gay… THEN WHAT? I hope YOU ARE! Then you’ll see how hard it is… how ignorant and stupid you have been… Then the brother goes: yeah, if they can have rights, men could just marry each other like that movie “Chuck and Larry”and it wouldn’t even be like real marriage… And that’s when it comes… not as violent as the thoughts inside my head, but it burst out… “So could straight people! They do it all the time to get people into the country! And who cares? It’s not affecting you! Why do you all care so much if other people have the same rights as you?! Besides, all marriage between men and women can’t be considered real when the divorce rate is at fifty percent! Why do you care?! That is so selfish!”

…I’m not kidding. I’m really a moron and I really said that and it was really rude. The rest of the meal was carried out in silence, with a little small talk interjected here and there, and I left soon after it was finished, thanking them profusely and apologizing for my outburst.

The thing is, I’ve been around a lot of people with differing opinions than me and been fine. Many of my friends oppose me politically and I have no problem with it. I’ve been offended before and was able to keep my mouth shut. But maybe this was different because they were rich… I know it sounds ridiculous… and it is…but I think I have some horrible prejudice against rich people. I have this romantic notion like they are the Bishops of Herefords, and we are all Robin Hoods, and I victimize myself in that way, leading to a general dislike for the wealthy. Yes, I do believe that political views are determined by individual experience, by each individual’s own “reality” of life, and I also do believe that in many ways, privilege leads to ignorance, as the privileged have no way of understanding the magnitude of the hardships they will never have to face. However, maybe I’m too hard on people… prejudice is, after all, just the result of lack of understanding… when something is foreign to us, we develop a fear of it, which is a prejudice. I am afraid of rich people. I don’t understand them. I don’t understand their lifestyle. If I had been sitting at a table full of working class people, perhaps I wouldn’t have had such an outburst – in fact – maybe we would have just had an interesting discussion about it because I wouldn’t be so afraid to speak. To me, they would be real people, good people… because my prejudice is that rich people are selfish … (and don’t get me wrong, I think that privileged politics are selfish, that’s not a prejudice)… but I’m not being fair. I’m prejudiced against the rich, the same way the rich are prejudiced against the poor. This is something I need to work on, and I hope it doesn’t make me a horrible person.

Actions speak louder than words, you know

And my reaction to your inaction

is just to let you go, so

I don’t know what I’m waiting for

‘cause you either want me to stay

or you don’t, and that’s okay

I just wish you‘d tell me you don’t

but I know that you won’t

so without speaking you have spoken

and your actions that say nothing

will be your words that mean everything

and your words mean everything to me.

You mess with my head

-don’t you see-

You’re the only one I’ve wanted,

but you’re too good for me.

You speak plainly but in riddles

Or maybe that’s what I want them to be

Because your words don’t mean anything,

but to me they mean everything

Yeah they mean everything to me.

And weird how it seems to be

that the history of you and me

Is just miscommunications

and weak justifications.

But you make it impossible to let go

with your words that mean nothing,

but to me they mean everything,

Yes they mean everything to me.

You say that it was my mistake

But what mistake did I make

that wasn’t made already

when my heart became yours to take.

All I can do is wait ‘till this ride is over

Till you just take me, baby

or just let me be maybe

(Till baby you take me

or maybe you let me be)

Maybe when you said it you meant it

I don’t give myself enough credit

And yeah I know I’m admired by

-but I don’t want to be desired by-

by anyone but you, you know

And they’re all putting on their show.

I don’t need you but I want you

I don’t know you, but I feel you, baby.

You speak your words that mean nothing

but mean everything to me

And that silent space between us

pushes me farther from where I should be.

All the words I should have said

can’t find their way out of my head

In my quiet fascination I see you

the way I wish you’d see me too

But I can’t tell you how I feel, ‘cause baby,

what if you hear my words, and maybe

What if to you they mean nothing,

when to me they mean everything…

Yeah they mean everything to me.

…So hello world!! At the moment I’m feeling pretty chipper. After some time alone I’ve been able to reflect a little. Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before things can get better – I never believed that until now. Although it seems that lately my physical health has been getting progressively worse with the development of more unexpected pains in unexpected places, my mental health is on the mend. I’m starting to view this struggle as less of a curse and more as an opportunity to learn what (and who) is important in my life. In fact, I can even look at this as a good thing if I want to…I mean… I’m never going to be the same after I get through this… (And I will get through this)… because now I know so much more about myself:

1.      I have an incredible tolerance for pain. (Having a baby will be nothing compared to this, so I can check that fear off my list.)

2.      I’m totally capable of taking care of myself. And my cat. (If my suspicions are confirmed, and I do become a crazy cat woman instead of finding love and getting married, I’ll be all set.)

3.      No matter how many times I get a shot or get blood drawn, I will still be afraid of needles. (I have no practical use for knowing this about myself, but it’s cool to know things.)

Anyway, I’m sure I’ll learn even more interesting things about myself as time goes on. I’ve lost my phone again for the millionth time… maybe I should add “I have an incredible tendency to lose everything” to the list. I’ll have to think about that one. But the crazy thing about losing my phone this time is that now it’s been missing for three days, and I know that when I lost it there was only a single bar of battery left… and when I call it to either make a sad attempt at finding it or to check my voicemail – it still rings! It may be strange that this interests me, but I can’t believe that the battery has not died yet. That’s pretty awesome for a go-phone from Wal-Mart.

…………..

On a more interesting note, Obama was elected president this week, and regardless of your political views, it’s incredible to be a part of history, and Tuesday was an historical day for this country. That’s all I’m going to say about that since I decided a while ago to stay as far away from politics as I can in this blog… But I spent election night with my grandmother, my great aunt, and my great-grandmother… who will be 99 years-old this year (She would probably kill me if she read this.) You would never know that she was as old as she is – she was walking around with apparent ease, and her mind is sharper than mine is half the time. She voted on Tuesday and then stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking about politics with us as I frantically tried to add up the electors and keep track of states for my geography homework. But I’ve been thinking… it’s incredible… INCREDIBLE… in the century that my great-grandmother has been alive…the things she’s seen… she lived through several wars and saw many political changes… I mean, there was a point when she was denied the right to vote because she was a woman, and in the same lifetime not only was she able to vote, but she took part in an election involving a black presidential candidate and a female vice presidential candidate – somehow I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around it. I mean, if our country can make that kind of progress in her lifetime, what kind of changes am I going to see in mine? I just can’t wait.

And then it happened. I was sitting there in my apartment alone, and I felt it coming. It was as if suddenly the whole world had come crashing down upon me and I realized how alone I am. It started with one tear and then suddenly I was sobbing, sobbing like I did six years ago, the way I have never done since. For hours I just sat there sobbing, holding the blanket tightly around my body like it was the only thing that could protect me from the world. I cried until I had nothing left, and then cried some more.

It wasn’t until I had nothing left to wash out of me that I realized: maybe I can’t do this after all. Maybe I’m not as tough as I thought I was. I felt like I was drowning. I’m 20 years old… twenty. I’m twenty years old and I’m all alone battling this horrible disease by myself, and maybe I can’t do it. I’m absolutely terrified. I don’t even know how to express the feelings I’m having, I just know that they need to come out before I explode again. The last six months or so have been lonely, disappointing, and eye-opening for me. If you ever want to find out who your friends are, get diagnosed with something serious and see how many run for cover. It will be more than you think. Every disappointment hangs over my head like a death sentence. I’m so afraid of being let down at this point that I’m afraid to even entertain the idea of something good happening. This really isn’t going anywhere right now, but I needed to say it. I’m scared, and I’m lonely, and I’m lost. I don’t know where I can go from here.

I love music, especially dancing to it.

I love the simplicity of animals, because they make me feel at peace.

I love hugs and being close to people.

I love it when the sun shines down through a cloudy day.

I love to create things.

I love the smell of vanilla and spices and fresh baked bread. And the smell of my shampoo when I let my hair down after it’s been up all day.

I love it when you smile, and even more when I’m the cause of your smile.

I love that exhilarating feeling you get when you’ve done something you were afraid to do, or accomplished something you didn’t think you could.

I love it when people of different backgrounds are brought together by a common belief, or a common love for something.

I love to look for the good in people, especially when I find it.

…Those are the first ten things I thought of, what about you?

Did I deserve this somehow? Am I not worth enough to keep around? I can be better. I can prove that I’m worth something. I can do good things, things that you or He would not want to destroy. Is this a lesson? What do I need to learn that I didn’t learn the first time? I understand that I am blessed with the life I have been given. He has shown me that already.  But there must be more for me to learn, otherwise He wouldn’t visit you upon me again.

Well I can promise you, if you want to fight, if you think you’re going to conquer my body, I’ll bring my army of doctors and pills and determination, and I will defeat you. And this time I will destroy you for good. I’m waiting for you, so bring it on.