The Disability Network

     I have been volunteering at The Disability Network (TDN).  I am pleased to have contributed my poem on Muhammad Ali.  I am calling the poem, The Contender, because no matter how difficult life became for Muhammad Ali, he never gave up.  I am hoping my poem will inspire others.  I am planning to share more writings with TDN  as time goes on.

Writing for Peace

I have decided that I don't have to be published to enjoy the process of writing.  I have been utilizing my local library to check out books on playwriting.  I have never written a play before, and this is a challenge.  I am trying to write a play about Cultural Crossings that will explore prejudices and customs.  My hope is that I can inspire people to explore their own prejudices through this play.  I have been a member of The Southern Poverty Law Center for many years; a watch group for hate crimes. I wasn't able to keep donating so my membership started over again in 2022.

Everyone has prejudices, but learning to recognize them for what they are can be difficult.  My hope is that through the writing of this play that I may better present these prejudices in tangible terms and try to foster a sense of hope that will lead to peace.

Celebrating Life

I know I should be grateful for my life.  Every day I am well is another success story.  I have a significant other and things are moving positively.  My children are adults now and are enjoying success in their own right.  It is time for me to move forward in my writing and try to continue to experiment with different forms of writing like working on my play and novel.  When I get tired of the one kind of writing I switch to the other. Then there are the days I don't feel inspired to do either one and that is okay.  Today I decided to work on my blog.

I hope I am able to inspire other budding writers to always plug away even when you are not sure you know what you want to write that day.  Half the battle is just picking up the pen or working on the computer.  I live in an apartment so I see many people every day and realize how fortunate I am. Some of the people at my apartments are physically disabled or are lonely.  Some are lost in their own world where just getting dressed can be a challenge.  I have to slow down now as my life is no longer a 9 to 5 and many of my days are taken up with visiting medical personnel for both myself and my significant other.  I have to remember it is okay to have a nap once in awhile.  I would say I am generally happy these days. Since it is nearly autumn, I am grateful for the days of sunshine and warmth.  I have to remind myself that there are others less fortunate than I am and that compared to six years ago, I have come a long way.

Faltered Memory

One of the side effects of my bipolar illness that I have experienced is a faulty memory. It is difficult for me to remember things when once I had a photographic memory.  I am fifty-four now, and I am enjoying volunteering because The Disability Network is challenging me to learn new things.  I am grateful that I am able to learn and I am now starting to remember how to use office equipment.  I enjoy the atmosphere of being in an environment that is understanding of my illness.  I have not shared with all the staff that I have an illness, but when I interviewed with the staff to become a volunteer, I was upfront about my illness and my anxiety.

It has been two years since I have been hospitalized, and I am now gathering my strength to try and learn the skills necessary to return to work.  I urge anyone with this illness to never give up. Surround yourself with individuals who are positive and don't isolate!  It is easy to isolate out of embarrassment, but if you are like me, we struggle when an episode occurs and isolation is something we do to ourselves.  We have to reach out to improve our lives and learn how to move forward.  I hope my life can be inspiration to you to always try to stand back up.  Together we can support one another to never let life get the best of us!

I am no longer volunteering at  The Disability Network, I am now employed by East Village Magazine.  A non-profit publication.  I plan to continue doing assignments as I am able.  My memory is improving and I am pleased about that.  

Playwriting

I read Exploring Theater Playwriting, by Rita Lorraine Hubbard, and even though it was written for youth, as a first time playwriter, I found the book as an excellent resource for myself and it was published in 2017.  The concepts are easy to follow and it is a quick read.  I will keep you updated on how my theater writing progresses.

Playwriting

I have ordered two books on line regarding playwriting through interlibrary loans.  I am looking forward to expanding my writing experience using some old and new material. There is no deadline because I am writing this for myself with the hopes that when it is completed that perhaps a small theater group will enjoy performing my work about Mary Magdalen and Christ.  This writing is fun.

Making the most of life

My former mother in-law painted a picture of a lemon and used the quote, "when life gives you a lemon, make lemonade," it was the first time I had heard the quote.  She gave the painting to my father.  I always liked that saying because it was so positive.

I have a choice as to how to live my life.  I can choose to be happy and that is a great gift.  Learning how not to micro-manage everything is so important to a healthy lifestyle. I am making positive decisions and I am so glad.  I can't live other people's lives.  I have to live mine.  My children are grown and learning to let go was a challenge, but I feel like I have accomplished this to the best of my ability.  I am pleased to have the opportunity to volunteer and take positive steps in my life.

I get down like everyone, but my extreme depression has been alleviated.  I am so happy now.  I have a boyfriend and we are living our lives as best we can.

Metaphor

In the haze of a spring day, I will hold my head high knowing there is something greater than I helping me along the way.  I am putting my past behind and all the heartache too for today is the moment I have and I am using it to send a song of myself that keeps my dreams alive.  My work has only begun even if my mind and memory are slow.  I am in the arms of one who loves me and teaches me everything. I understand my task at hand and I am enjoying each quiet moment.  I continue to write and maybe one day I will be able to share a story with you.

I am working on advocacy and trying to make my life a difference for those that I meet. I hope you will like my story, The Writer and The Soldier.  The Soldier's mind was regimented and in tack as to how a home should work. There would be no messes in his house to the contrary, the writer had so many ideas narrowing the focus to one idea and containing it to one area was a challenge.  

I am continuing my story off-line and will share it with you when it is complete. I am enjoying volunteering one day a week at The Disability Network in Flint, Michigan.  I am answering phones and doing other tasks as they occur.  This is a wonderful way for me to occupy my time and give back to others in need.  I am hoping to one day return to work.  More to come later.

One of Many

One of Many

There is an illness we try to hide

Locked in generations and hidden by pride

A family is devastated and does not understand 

While older members prefer to pretend

A torture and peril rips through the soul

Leaving emptiness, void of a goal

Still generations live on--

But eyes are opened by one that sees

Inquisitive, troubled victim is she

To explore and understand

To somehow comprehend

What is this illness

That destroys the brain

Leaving sorrow, anger and pain--

Surely there is an answer somewhere

Surely there is a reason for despair

But why does a family continue to retreat 

Behind the walls of facades and defeat 

To rise above and live beyond

This meddlesome, troublesome thorn in the side

This is the goal

A new generation holds--

To conquer, to prevail, to achieve

To be as normal as normal can be 

To live with the illness

But not to succumb

To have open eyes 

To recognize the signs

This is the attitude

Of a new generation

To function, to be--contributors in society--

Mental illness exists; this is true

But survivors are many

Productive souls need not hide

Beneath fallacies, masks and lies

Society shuns the sick and oppressed

Victims strive for success

But a world has its norms

New shoes must be worn

God forbid there be an aberrant--

Hell, I am what I am

And what I am ain't bad

For I am me--a soul with purpose

An individual with a goal

I seek truth

I strive for happiness

And God willing I too will be successful

In a world that demands conformity--

I cannot alter who I am

But I can help people to understand

This illness we too often try to hide

That is locked in by generations and hidden by pride

God willing, I will succeed

For I am an envoy for those who still bleed!

Note:  This resulted from my first hospitalization suffered August 18, 1981. My eighteenth birthday was August 15, 1981.

Madeleine's Autobiography Overview

My printer is now informing me, I need ink.  I have published every one of my blog entries.  I have created a portfolio of all the articles I could find on the internet from the South Lyon Herald. The Fowlerville News and Views, I scanned a portion of the articles, but my editor has the articles in boxes and finding them would be a task. This is a summary only

Most of my articles from the Brighton Argus and Livingston County Press, I have been informed, are on microfilm.  WHMI 93.5 radio only kept the articles on the website for a short time.  I am going to look into securing the articles from the radio station.  I have not had time to do this, yet.

I have one page scanned from the technical manual DSalon when I worked for System Solvers. System Solvers is no longer in business. I am in contact with every single editor I ever worked for, which is a blessing when I am given the all clear to return to work.

I am creating a book from some of my blogs.  The blogs are also separated from songs. I am working on scanning articles from when I lived at St. Vincent Sarah Fisher Home for Children.  I have met a lot of interesting people in my line of work or as a child, but compiling this information in a tidy fashion is quite an undertaking.  I plan on sharing the names and significance of each individual I had the pleasure of meeting in my book.  I met Mr. Kresge, who was one of my greatest influences, which I will explain later.  I interviewed Patti Duke Astin, who is really named Anna.  Astin's grandmother lived in Highland Park, Michigan. More on this later.

I was privileged to meet Bob Lanier of the Pistons as a child.  I met many other great people as a child and adult.  I was a member of the Girl Scouts, as a child, and later served as a troop leader and Girl Scout Service Unit Manager for three years.  I am privileged to be a member of the Ladies Auxiliary of the VFW as my father was a lifelong Disabled American Veteran (DAV)  my mother was a member of the auxiliary as well.

I believe in volunteering as an obligation when able to do so.  I have taught when able and written all my life.  I am currently disabled, but still volunteering and living as best I can to help not only myself, but others as well.  I was a peer advocate between 2002-2005 for Livingston County CMH. I am learning how to avoid burnout.  I hope to one day be able to return to work as a writer and teacher when I have the doctor's clearance.

For the time being, I am enjoying life.

Rebel Man Original

Capo II fret...I have learned using the Capo changes the name of assigned chords

(R)    A      B    F#
    Rebel man I hear

     A                        B      F#
    You're knockin' at my door

      A         B    F#
     Rebel man I hear

      A                        B   F#   
      You're doin' it once more

  G                     Gm
You claim that you've changed

G                                Gm
That you're not at all the same

G                   Gm                       
But how can I know

G                                   Gm
Just what is my guarantee?

G                                   D
How do you state your plea?

(R)

  G                   Gm
You say you're reformed

G                              Gm
But you've faltered in the past

G       Gm
Am I a fool?

G                                   Gm
To believe you can make it last?

G                         D
Substantiate your plea

(R)

G               Gm
God knows I love you

G                Gm
And how I want to believe

G                Gm
Oh reassure me

G                       Gm
Can you make it the straight way?

G                          D
What have you got to say?

(R)

G                 Gm  
You call out my name

G                             Gm
And I realize how you've changed

G                    Gm
For your eyes reveal

A                          Gm
That you're a man who's been healed

A                    D
You've proven it to me

A        B    F#
 Rebel man I hear

A                      B F#
You're knockin' at my door

A      B      F#
Rebel man I hear

A                   B F#
You're knockin at my door

A       B     F#
Rebel man I hear

A                 B       F#
I won't stop you anymore

A                 B       F#
I won't stop you anymore!


I plan to record this song so you can hear the original version.  I still plan to modify based on what has happened in my life.

Creating A Portfolio

When I was foreclosed on in July, 2010, but I did not move from my home until July, 2011 and moved to an apartment where a 38 year old fella allowed me to sublet a room.  I threw out much of my remaining things.  Including awards from Senator Debbie Stabenow, Congressman Mike Rogers, Bill Rodgers, and Representative Cindy Denby.  I also discarded my Michigan Works plaque. Eventually even all the articles I wrote, I threw out.

When I was sixteen, I won an Award for the Voice of Democracy Contest called "My role in America's Future."  I came in second at the local level in Royal Oak and received a framed award from Senator Hoffman and I forget the second person listed.  I also received a $500.00 bond while my parents and I attended a dinner hosted by the VFW post.  I no longer have anything showing this either.

My high school diploma was discarded as well as my Associate Degree from Oakland Community College in Business Administration.  Additionally, I no longer have proof of my Eastern Michigan University B.S. in English, language and literature.  I guess I could re-order all of these.

Of all these things, I pitched, the ones I miss the most are the articles I wrote for many newspapers in Livingston County and the Milford Times.  I am trying to reassemble a portfolio by going on the internet to print some that are on the internet, but most are on microfilm, in boxes or just plain lost.  I am not letting this setback discourage me as I know I can reassemble some of these things, it will just take time.

On July 3, 2011, I did one of my most challenging things and I played a song I wrote to educate our young about WWII and the aftermath.  I received a trophy, $25.00, a t-shirt and my picture in our local Fowlerville News and Views.

That same year, I attended a Poetry Slam and had the honor of meeting Natasha T. Miller.  I cited a couple of my poems there, even though I did not win, I was pleased I had the courage to try.  I plan to do this again.

I am grateful that I have most of my photographs.  I distributed bags of photos to my two kids and my ex-husband while saving some for myself.  All of these things should help in writing my book.  I am enjoying life once again.

Rebel Man 2 progression of song

I wrote this song sometime before I was married.  There definitely was a foreboding of sorts with this song that I chose to ignore because I was in love.  I was twenty-three when I married.  Rebel Man was published to my blog with some changes in, 2015.  I am trying to restore the original song to its exact words and then show you the changes I made recently to the song.  I hope everyone understands, as a writer, one can always re-work a selection.  I am trying to recall the chords I used for this song, but I think that will take time.  Also, I am not sure to date, if there is a way to listen to this song via my blog, but I will be looking at doing some of these things.


(R) Rebel Man I hear you're knock'in at my door

      Rebel Man I hear you're do'in it once more

You claim that you've changed

That you're not at all the same

(R)

But how can I know just what is my guarantee?

How do you state your plea?

(R)

Am I a fool to believe we can make it last?

Substantiate your plea

(R)

Your eyes reveal that you're a man who's been healed

You've proven it to me.

Rebel man I hear your knock'in at my door

Rebel man I hear your do'in it once more

Rebel man I hear I won't stop you anymore

I won't stop you anymore.


3rd Revision Rebel Man

(R) Rebel Man I hear you're knock'in at my door

      Rebel Man I hear you're do'in it once more

You claim that you've changed

That you're not at all the same

(R)

But how can I know just what is my guarantee?

How do you state your plea?

(R)

But how do I know that you're a man in control?

How do I know that you're not gonna blow?

(R)

Your eyes reveal that you're a man whose been healed

Or am I just seeing what I want to be real?

(R)

Am I a fool to believe that things are changed?

That we are not both a little insane?

Rebel man I hear your knock'in at my door

Rebel man I hear your do'in it once more

Rebel man I hear I won't stop you anymore

I won't stop you anymore!

Writing Anew

I have printed out my blog and am categorizing the items according to topics.  I want to merge the beginning of my book into a semblance, which allows me to face my past, without getting lost in what I have already written.  I want the ebb and flow of my emotions to level out so I may be more objective in my writing.  I have ridden the roller coaster so much, that I am now in therapy to help me discover how to slow down and enjoy the scenery in my life.

Charles Dickens wrote about his life by sharing the stories of Oliver Twist, Great Expectations, and others.  Hard Times, by Dickens is a wonderful expose on economies. I plan to reread Dickens again as I find his writing is a wonderful methodology for getting rid of baggage.  So too I plan on re-reading Samuel Clemens, Mark Twain, again as my son and his friends from Fowlerville fit the mold of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. My son and I had a rocky relationship when my ex-husband left.  The two of us had to recover in our own way.  I truly believe a family needs a man in the house because a teenage boy, like mine, was not easy to handle.

I had a wonderful neighbor who was Ojibwe that helped me with my kids when I didn't know what to do.  She painted the most beautiful artwork on a box that she gave to my son of a wolf and the moon. She also did paintings on deer skin.  She wove dream catchers and did many drawings that she gave to the "Livingston Parent Journal," in Fowlerville.  She couldn't make money either because of medicaid and medicare.

That is the sad truth artists are always working, but artists with disabilities have to manage the money carefully.  She had dyslexia like my son and encouraged me to get legal pads for my son because the print shows up better on yellow lined paper.  I would sit side by side with my son as he struggled to write his assignments on the computer.  Cuss words were always a part of his assignment as it took him awhile to get started.  It was something I knew I had to patient with because we would be at the Howell Library and I would let him cuss all he wanted to by typing out the words, but not printing them.  It would take awhile, but he would settle down and begin writing his English assignments that were excellent stories, by the way.

I sometimes taught both my children because the school was so desperate for substitute teachers that the office would tell me just teach your kids, in their classes anyways, so I did.  My daughter had a natural aptitude for school.  My son was bright, but like Huck Finn he loved to play and skip school. He was bright and managed to talk his friend into mowing the lawn, for me and planned on sharing the $20.00 with his friend, while doing none of the work.  I couldn't allow my son to make all the money, when I realized what my son was doing, so I gave his friend all the money.  This incident reminded me of how Tom Sawyer got his friends to paint the fence white, while he reaped the benefits of a lax lifestyle.

I know there were many obstacles in my marriage, but we always stuck together as a family and I was devastated when my marriage fell apart.  More on this at another time.  I am starting writing anew because when my roommate dropped dead, I threw out twenty plus years of writing for the local newspapers.  I also threw out all my awards.  I was simply overwhelmed.  I may write to my friend Cindy Denby who was a local representative, from Handy Township,  and see if I can replace some of these awards.  More on the awards later.

The funny thing is I was either writing about the police or riding in their cars for wellness checks.  I had so many secrets, I was often overwhelmed.  I plan on writing this section for my book.  For the time being; however, I am just glad to be writing again.  I'll have to assemble some of my articles off the internet and take time to acquire them from microfilm at the Howell Library and see if my editor in Fowlerville can help me as well as my friend Jon King at WHMI radio.  I don't know if I want to be an independent contract reporter again or just write my book.  I may do some writing for the Flint Journal, a much bigger paper than I've worked with.  Time will tell.

"Fouled Out"​ an Emmy nominated documentary

Tuesday, February 21, 2017 section B, detroitnews.com John Niyo wrote about Curtis Jones a hero for basketball enthusiasts. Jones was moved along the educational system because of his skill in basketball despite having only, "a second-grade reading aptitude." Jones graduated from Northwestern High School and suffered as a paranoid schizophrenic. He died at age 49 in Northville psychiatric Hospital, reports, Niyo.

My friend and former editor, of the Brighton Argus, Buddy Moorehouse whom I had the privilege of working with as an independent contractor, produced the film "Fouled Out," in an effort to highlight the importance of literacy. Moorehouse spoke in Detroit on literacy.

Organizational Necessity

Today I printed my blog on a Dell Laptop provided by John Moyer of Asahi Kasei Plastics North America and a printer I bought from Wal-Mart for about $40.00.  I am trying to organize my work so I can place the writings in some kind of format with the ultimate goal of writing a book.

Old Man

Old man sittin' in the street
Why you lookin' at me?
Do you know more than I?
Can you see it all through your eyes?

What have you experienced?
What have you seen?
Tell me your story
Share it with me
I have the education...
I have the degree,
But you have the wisdom of life and the knowledge that time only renders.
Won't you share it all?
Won't you share it with me?
Can't you see I need... to know
Please... hear me.

He pauses from his gaze and he looks me straight in the eye.
He tells me Life is beautiful.
Live it day by day.
For in living day by day,
You'll understand all that once you did not...
The branch: that stems to the future.
The road that leads to eternal peace.
And as the flowers of life unfold,
You'll see Heaven spelled in gold.

I turn to thank the Old Man for the wisdom that he has shared,
But he is no longer there
His words; however, become engraved in my mind
Words to be shared with all mankind!

Trump is Tactless

Trump is everything I despise
How can he be in office I contemplate
My families' voice is silenced under his regime
Not just mine, but generations, you ask why: listen, listen, listen, I cry
We all suffer from mental illness
But we are kind
When on the right medications we bloom and succeed
I received awards from senators and legislators
Sometimes I struggle but mostly I try to believe
That the doctors will discover the right medications for me
I must persevere
I can do no less
Before they dump the dirt upon on all that I have left
I have been foreclosed on
Lost a roommate through his own troubles
Wandered aimlessly
But somehow I've always landed back on my feet
I must leave this world knowing I've made it better not just for my family and me
But for future generations who suffer a malady
I speak aloud because there is so much wrong in society
I had a teacher who taught me "I am only one, but I am one"
Meaning as long as I am here I must be a voice for those in despair.
So I will press on and carry my message
Even if I am on bent knee
And I can only plea
I must leave this world knowing I made it better for not just myself, but for those I encounter in society.
So many within are young generations throughout the world are lost without direction
If one thing I say resonates then I will be pleased
Perhaps one less person ambling in the land
Because there are others like me who are willing to take a stand.

Ramblings

A quiet mind is my desire
As life takes its course
To find that light of fire
That does not dim and wane and does not glow so brightly that it burns and sears the brain
Rendering one at a pinnacle of writing, but places one in a constant of insanity
Creating formulas and mathematical equations such as time = infinity and a proof to go along
Begging and pleading with doctors to please slow the brain, but don't make one a bumbling idiot
With drool on the face, hands stiff and robotic while one struggles with the gait
Shoelaces removed, no razors to shave and clippers taken away from the women who is insane
No dignity left here
Afraid to participate in society as rumors will be shared
Of a woman who dared to live, but fell from the precipice so many times
No one wants to see this woman who is insane
Please God she pleads why oh Lord me
Have you turned a deaf ear
On this writer who had a good career
Trying to struggle out of the void
That society has stamped across her head
Please God I am not dead

Reflection

Her pen went dormant for many years as life seemed to pummel her from her passion in the world. She vowed now to rise from the embers of a harsh life and refused to allow herself to be written in past terms of existence.  She would face the challenges of her dilemma and write because that was her pillar of strength, the God given talent she would hone again to achieve the life she desired as life could tear one down, but only if one allowed it to.

I don't want life to happen to me, I want to happen in my own life, she thought.  As difficult as that may be, she knew her very survival, that which gave meaning to her life; writing, would once again be her salvation.  So without further adieu she lifted the very pen that had been a dead weight in her hand and slowly methodically began her life story, my story.

As a young girl, I was raised by a Catholic order of nuns, known as the Daughters of Charity.  Their influence on me would last a lifetime.  I strayed from the Church based on my adult life, but somehow Catholicism still had a lasting influence on my guilt ridden existence.  It seemed my very life would be that of contradiction. Perhaps if I lived in black and white my life would have been easier, but I live in color. How to reconcile this belief with who I am remained foremost in my mind as the very influence of the Church was my surrogate Mother, my aunt the very embodiment of the childhood faith.  She is ninety years old and I, 53, so how would I ever reconcile my life with my faith or the influence of that faith without completely losing my mind.

Perhaps upon her, my aunt's death, would settle this dilemma, but then there are my three brothers who remain steadfast in the Catholic Church.  I now find myself living in an apartment with a man, whom I love, not married to, with very little money, no car and terrible health problems, but he is the pendulum of balance for me or what I think provides me strength.

We do everything together:  laundry, cooking, cleaning, appointments and so much more.  Public transportation has an advocate in us.  He is my safety net, but I feel compelled to try to be on my own because his health is questionable.  He is a man who knows how to tackle problems, he faces things head on.  Nothing seems impossible with him.  His go to it attitude whether cooking or challenging the difficulties ahead provides me strength.  We are able to accomplish everything because he never sees challenges as obstacles we can't overcome.  Writing remains necessary to my survival to reconcile myself by with my former life.  I have fears, but I try not to voice them.

I am starting to go to the grocery store by myself, but getting lost in Seattle last year on the buses put a pretty good scare into me.  Even though my son wasn't well last year, he did his best to take care of me.  When I think about what happened in Seattle, I realize how confused I was.  I missed my flight home and that was a very bad adventure. Being bi-polar puts my life in a state of disbelief to what I thought was possible as a child.  My medications were reduced and that contributed to my entering mania.  I was only supposed to be in Seattle one week, but I had an extended stay of about four weeks. I left the airport despite having a flight for two days later.  My funds were low and I could not go back to the hotel where I had been staying and sleeping in the airport when my mind was in mania was not a possibility.  I left in a determined trance to make it across a major highway on foot.  It was crazy and a taxi cab driver who was Arabic saved my life when he darted in front of another cab and slammed on the brakes shouting, "are you crazy" and actually I was.  I didn't really even acknowledge him.  I made it into the city. I spent three days at the YWCA after having taken a bus to Othello and walking and then taking a bus back to Seattle.

It has been a while since I first began this post.  I am happy to report I am now on the road to recovery as my sleepless nights seem to be improving.  I bought a car this week and have very little debt.  Just having the ability to get out is lifting my spirits.  My boyfriend has been excellent in being able to help me.  Sometimes I can get disorganized, but he helps me put things back in order.  I am trying to be positive about things since I first started this reflective blog.  More to be shared later.

Manic Mode Panic Mode

Sleep is so essential to my not entering mania.  Unfortunately, I am not on a normal schedule yet. My goal for the moment is not to panic.  One of the difficulties is when I was young and working for newspapers I had a greater tolerance for functioning and remaining sane.  I am trying to remain calm about the situation, but it is frustrating. Hopefully, my doctor can figure it out.

I see my friends who I have worked with moving into different directions and finding success.  I know all the right people, but my mind needs to cooperate. Today one of my friends was written up in the Detroit News for his documentary film on a basketball player named Curtis Jones.  Buddy Moorehouse was nominated for an Emmy award for his film called Fouled Out.  Buddy Moorehouse was my editor when I worked as a freelancer for the Brighton Argus.  To read the article Tuesday, February 21, 2017 section B of The Detroit News entitled "Perfect Shot" capped greatest game."detroitnews.com. This should be a quote within a quote, but I need some lessons on the blog. The article is written by John Niyo.

My plan is to be able to restore myself as a successful writer, but for the moment I am on my own sabbatical as a matter of necessity.  I need to visualize myself working again as many things are going in the right direction.  I just have to be patient with me. I am confident despite my slow recovery that things are improving overall.

Rebel of Rigidity

I never wanted to be a rebel, but in my life, I discovered rebellion is a necessity in order to survive. To lose myself again would be a devastating blow.  I have lived between sanity and insanity too much of my life.  My insanity has lingered in the form of bipolar disorder; so how do I emerge from that. I now take pills, which I hope will keep me from flipping out again.  It has as much to do with sleep and learning how to live with the lack of it as much as anything.  My chemistry is a blessing and curse at the same time.  It has caused me to act on impulse and yet, I flirted with a sort of genius at the same time. My moments of mania have resulted in some of my greatest works in writing and art.  Tempering my soul results in a void in my life, a listless existence.

I have wandered halls of some of the best artists I have ever met.  I refuse to exist for one moment in time. A time when one excelled for a moment that is reveled in as the pinnacle of ones' life.  I have had many such moments, but I have a drive, which forces me to continue to strive for another such moment. Those with my illness have had many idle moments, but without the internal chaos, I am not sure I would have emerged with another pleasurable idea.  Some of the ideas are definitely ludicrous but being able to accept myself with the crazy thoughts allows me to move forward.  I am a survivalists because I have to be.  My children need me to strive over my bipolar existence so they will see a model of acceptance.

My mother lingered, in what was then called schizophrenia, but I actually think she existed with bipolar disorder that was not accurately diagnosed at the time.  She went through the hell of insanity, in which treatments were brutal.  The irony is: I for a time was hospitalized in the very same place as she. Somehow I thought I could save her.  Ah, but for the thought.  She too was a survivor though; as was my father.  He too was diagnosed with schizophrenia, but his was brought on by WWII. He definitely was bipolar and misdiagnosed.  It was from my father that I developed a love of poetry and the arts.

So why am I a rebel?  I was raised with the discipline of the Catholic Church.  I was raised at St. Vincent Sarah Fisher Home for Children for ten years and a Catholic Church for my entire schooling through grade twelve.  The turmoil in my life has caused me to exist in the outskirts of American Society.  I am the one many have cast an askance eye to when I was completely out of my mind.  So how do you override yourself; through acceptance.  I have finally learned how to accept me for who I am, though at times I struggle because of the rigidity of family members who still practice the Catholic faith.

A memoir in progress perhaps this will evolve as a book.

Life's Curves Reaction to Real Life and Death

When I was hospitalized at Beaumont Hospital at the age of eighteen an older women named Anna was choking on her food.  I performed the heimlich maneuver and she was okay.  The staff did not realize she was choking.  It was my first hospitalization when they thought I had schizophrenia.  My current diagnosis is bipolar.  I do not understand why I later reacted differently to other situations.

When my son was choking on a fishbone and turned blue.  My ex-husbands finger was too big.  So I did a baby finger sweep and unlodged the bone from my sons throat.  He is now 23.

When a women in 2011 swallowed bleach and alcohol, instead of calling 911, I called community mental health and they told me to call 911.

I was foreclosed on in 2011 and was subletting a room from this fella and he died. His leg fell off the bed and he was dead.  I called a relative to ask what I should do and she said, "do nothing," so I did nothing for two hours and fell asleep.  I then called 911 at 4:00 am and told them my roommate was dead.  Clearly the last two responses were wrong.  I don't know why I reacted this way.  I am trying to figure it out.

When a girl got her finger stuck at the library when the door hit her and she was bleeding from the finger. I wrapped her finger and told the mother to take her to the doctor.

When my own son caught his finger in my door on the minivan, I reported to the school where I was scheduled to substitute teach that I had to leave.  I took my son to the doctor and he relieved the pressure with a needle and x rayed the finger and though the tip was broken he said it would heal just fine.

When a teenager fell and her arm was broken at a fourth of July celebration, I talked to her to keep her calm though her bone was protruding from her forearm. I had someone call 911 and directed the individual by siting our location at the park.  The police arrived shortly after.

I am normally calm in situations by I was surprised by reaction to both the bleach incident and the corpse.  I want to return to being me.

When a fight broke out in an elevator, I called the police.  I also called a worker from our building as it was past hours and the situation was handled.

When a women was bleeding from her arm after a IV was removed from kidney dialysis.  I wrapped her arm using a first aid kit at the building.

I need to realize how to stay calm again. 

Mother and Mickey

I plan to write this year about the humor in my life.  There really has been a lot of that although I forgot because I was sad last year.  You see having a disability doesn't allow you to be critical of others.  I have more empathy for people, but I digress.  I remember one year my mother was attending a funeral.  First we walked into the wrong funeral parlor.  She was introducing herself when someone suggested the other room.  When we entered that room she went to view the body.  She said my he looks so much like Mickey, her friend.  She was telling everyone in the room how much he looked like Mickey.  Turns out when we got home someone informed her it was Mickey, she thought the body was the father of Mickey.