The past couple of days have been rough for me. The end of the month always is due to lack of funds. Having four days to go and only 88 cents triggers something in my head and I start panicking. And, I won't mention the phone call from my ex where he said something so incredibly stupid that I'm still trying to absorb it.

Tuesday being on of those days spent on the sofa with a blanket over my face, I turned off my phone and decided to spend the day feeling sorry for myself. I'll just jump right into that panic and torture myself until Friday...great plan, Pye.

Are there other people who find it so easy to reach out and offer help to those in need, but when it comes to asking for help, your mouth suddenly becomes stuck together?

Apparently, my guardian angel wasn't having it. My sister, who always calls first, showed up unannounced and insisted upon taking me to the store to buy the three C's I was going to have to go without until payday, (coffee, cream and catfud).
Then, out of the clear blue sky, my MSN messenger beeped, and it was my SON!! I haven't spoken to him since he left for China over three weeks ago. It was his birthday yesterday and probably another reason I felt depressed, being unable to share it with him. We talked for about an hour and my heart felt so full.
The rest of the day continued down the same road. People showed up here just knowing I needed to see them...could they feel my stomach churning? Hear me crying...how did they know?
Well, I'd like to thank all those lovely and wonderful people for making sure I didn't spend yesterday or any day feeling bad. I'd also like to thank my Angel for not paying attention to my insanity, and for putting the word into the hearts that needed to know, some of which come from right here in the Stream.

Faith in a higher power, faith in love; these are our two main tools for getting through life. Without them...there isn't a whole heck of a lot to live for. And what never ceases to enlighten and amaze me, is that no matter what the circumstance, I am continually shown and reminded that I am not alone. That I am part of a continuum of love that cannot be broken, cannot be reduced and that I am an integral part of that web, as are every single last one of us.

With my nose in the humble pye, I thank you all for welcoming me to this place, and for every other particle of love that continually surrounds me and defies anything the world can toss my way.

Peace and love,
Pye

At around 10 or 11 years old my father decided it was time for me to go to work so he started arranging babysitting jobs for me at 50 cents and hour.
After five or six hours watching a house full of wild hooligans, I would take my 2.50 home, and my father would relieve me of it. He had to work as a kid and pay for room and board, therefore I must too.
By the time I was 15 I was working approximately 30 hours per week babysitting and going to school. My dear dad got me a job at the local supermarket even though I was underage. So...I'd get up at 6 am..go to school til 3, go to work at the store until 8 and then babysit until 12 or 1am.
I suppose this in itself wouldn't have been that bad, but he wanted sex from me too.
By this time there were five kids, one of them special needs, and my mom was so far beaten down by his constant derisiveness that she was in her own little world and ill.
I turned 18 on June 25. I graduated high school on June 26, and June 27 I started my first full time job. I worked there long enough to save money to leave the state and arranged to move in with my recently widowed grandfather in Florida. It was heaven there. I still did chores; but chores for two is a lot less work than chores for 7. Grampa was thrilled to have me there and even though I got a full time job at a nearby bank, we spent lots of time together going out to eat, sightseeing, visiting old friends and so forth. Life was easy for the first time in my life and I was loving it.
Then my family came down for a visit. My mom was drawn and haggard. She looked like she was on deaths' door and after the vacation ended and they'd gone back to NY, I couldn't think of anything except how bad she looked. I decided I had to go back to NY and look after her and the kids.
I moved briefly back into the family home, got a full time job and did what I could to improve the situation. Of course it was unbearable...being around the old man again was more than I could handle and I realized I had to find my own place. Eventually, I moved into an apartment with a girl my own age in the closest city. I worked hard, paid my bills and partied way too hearty. Grocery money was spent hanging out at the local pub and new hippy clothes. I was having a wonderful time until the fast lane caught up with me not even a year later. I collapsed at work, lost my apartment and ended back with the fam.
As my health improved and my strength returned, my father decided to put me to work at his real estate office. I took over the position as receptionist/secretary and in his mind, this included my having to sit on his lap to take dictation. Can you even imagine?
I'd been talking to a boy that worked in the shop next door to the office and he asked me out. He was extremely shy and quiet, but he was very nice and I thought basically, anything to get me away from dad.
Through this shy quiet guy, I met who would become my first husband. It was at their shared apartment that I first met Jim. There was an instant attraction and I knew within my heart of hearts, I was in love. Little did I know he had that same kind of attraction to any female he came in contact with...but, as they say, love is blind. I felt tremendously guilty about ending Rich's (shy quiet) and my first date by falling in love with his roommate...but Jim didn't have a problem with it at all, and convinced both Rich and I it was destiny.

I've read many blogs supporting the war in Iraq and I take great pride in the fact that as Americans, we are free to hold and voice the opinions we persoanlly feel are right.

What I don't understand is, if you believe a war is right and you are of age to fight it, why aren't you?

It's one thing to voice your opinion but I read an awful lot of criticism about the people who don't support the war being unpatriotic and not worthy of their national identity. If you do believe the war is right and just, why aren't you there? I know people who have been harassed for their beliefs, and one guy who was fired for speaking out against the war at his job. At our local mall, people wearing T-shirts that had anti-war messages were escorted out when this war first began. It is our Constitutional right to express the opinions we develop as individuals; so if our rights are being violated due to our opinion, what is it we should be fighting for? I'm saying...sending me to blow someone up because they don't believe in freedom and then denying me that same freedom...what exactly is it that this war is about?
And I hate to say it, but a planet that can't evolve beyond bombing the crap out of each other ain't gonna make it anyway. There are other ways of forcing rogue countries into submission. Where would all of these fanatical countries be if no one bought their oil? Oh, but our economy is based on that oil...so are we at war because of fundamental differences in our belief systems? Or are we at war because people who don't agree with us have something we want? And if we no longer wanted their oil, what ammunition would they have to fight against us? For one thing, they wouldn't have any money. To admit the US has no other option but than to buy or steal oil from an enemy is saying we don't have enough brains and know how to come up with a different energy source. I don't believe that's true at all.
I want you to know, I am not attacking your beliefs or you. I'm just asking questions that seem logical to ask when peoples' lives are on the line. I want to know the truth. I have to wonder if that is too much to ask in these times; but how else can one make intelligent choices about what is right and wrong?
If this administration isn't doing anything wrong, why aren't they making pertinent information available to other agencies who have the right to know? We are asked to submit to the same thing. If we have nothing to hide, we shouldn't mind being monitored, right? Well, the same thing should go for the government. If they aren't doing anything wrong, why shouldn't we be able to know what's going on behind those closed doors?
I've heard people say they don't know enough or aren't well enough informed to made decisions that our government is only qualified to make. I say...we better get informed and what better way than an open dialogue between our elected representatives and ourselves? Whether one considers them self to be conservative or liberal, it is our job as Americans to know what's going on and make informed choices that not only affect us individually, but everyone on the entire planet.
Sucking down petroleum like there's no tomorrow will reap us just that..no tomorrow. What are you doing as an individual, to solve that problem?
Again, I'm not trying to bully anyone or insist they view the world the same way I do. I just am trying to raise questions that will take us all out of the box and encourage healthy dialogue between all factions. I am the first person to admit that I don't have all the answers..I don't even have all the questions! That's where you come in...and maybe between us, we can figure this mess out and find new and better ways to exist within this brave new world together without having to maim, kill and destroy. Perhaps I am an idealist...I'm okay with that. If none of us explore the possibilities and ask the hard questions, we will be doomed to donning uniforms and weapons until there is no one left to argue about who is right and who is wrong.

In good faith,
Pyewacket

My sister Diane Marie was born nine weeks premature in 1952. They had only just started using incubators with premies and did not know that a 100% oxygen environment would harm them.
Many children were born under these circumstances and suffered blindness, deafness or even brain damage.
My mother remembers my sister being so small that my father could hold her in one hand. The staff at the hospital told my parents every day for three weeks that my sister was not going to make it. My mom said Diane's legs, which were as skinny as moms' fingers, kept on a-kickin with such determination that she knew she would make it.
They didn't realize until Diane was about 4 months old that something was wrong. I thought that was a very long time to figure out that Di wasn't seeing after I had my own kids; but I think now my parents were more in denial than unaware.
Mom said I was quite pissed off at her when she came home from the hospital without the baby she'd been promising me. I remember when Diane finally did come home though...I argued with mom relentlessly about "my baby". She kept telling me Diane was hers and dads' baby and she was my sister, but I never accepted this explanation.
I was so attached to my sister that my mother could put Diane in her little "taylor tot" chair in the backyard, and I would stay by her side...mind you she was younger than a year old, and we are only twenty months apart. That's how young I was when I started looking after my siblings. It came natural to me to nurture, but it was also about protection. I remember feeling so strongly, that sense of keeping her safe from every harm.
Growing up with Diane was like growing up with an attached twin. I didn't go anywhere that I didn't take her arm and lead her along. I explained everything that I saw to her and we played our unique games when she couldn't join the group. We would think of a number, or a song..or a person, and the other had to guess psychically what the other was thinking. I believe this is one of the reasons I developed such a high level of sensitivity.
I honestly don't know what I would have done - what I might have become, if it weren't for Diane being there. Having her to focus on, to protect and watch over, kept me "here", kept my psyche from totally disassociating.
I consider her an angel sent to help me. Bad stuff was going on..and I was powerless to stop it. But I could hold Diane, and she would hold me back.
Diane and I were like glue throughout most of our childhood. Only school came between us, and that was just space. We continued to play our "guess what I'm thinking games" and this honed my senses in a way most people had no access to.
Diane graduated from college, majoring in the Spanish language and spending a semester in Madrid. Imagining flying across the Atlantic to a foreign country by yourself, without sight! I could never understand how she did things like geometry and calculus without being able to figure it on paper!
My sister has continually amazed and inspired me. She has been a major miracle in my life and deserves a whole page of her own in my "365 Miracles" thingy. She is a gleaming example of the fact that for every door that closes, at least two others are opened up. Thanks for reading!
Peace Pye

I have made a number of statements in the chat room that have initiated gasps from other visitors. I feel I should tell you all a little about my life, which has not been average at all in some ways, and very average in others. Much of what I must write will no doubt be upsetting; so I warn you now, if you are very sensitive..you might want to skip this post.
Some of the major influences in my life that have shaped who I am are my sister Diane who is 20 months younger than me and blind; the fact that I was sexually abused by my father (and others) as a child, and the fact that I am extremely sensitive in most ways, and maybe a little obtuse in some others.
I came from your typically dysfunctional family; and even though this includes extremes, I don't think I'm that unusual from most people I have met...meaning, everyone experiences extremes. Unfortunately, child abuse itself isn't as rare as one would hope.
My mother was an icon of morality and my father was sociopathic, and probably even schitzophrenic, but highly intelligent. I doubt there are many people in the community I grew up in who would suspect the level of my father's deviance; and I never told a soul until I was well into my 20's. However, he was eventually busted for financial misdealings and spent time in prison. My parents were divorced in the early 70's and my mom probably would have died had she not left him. She certainly is not left unscathed by his malicious behavior.
I am not either. I still have residual effects and I have sought help many times though my adulthood. I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and have also suffered deep depression at times. I have dealt with these problems in any way, shape or form which provided relief; including attempted suicide. Sometimes I have taken medications, but generally I want to regulate my own psyche and use them only for short periods of time when I can't get myself out of depression, or start experiencing panic when something trips one of my hidden switches. I have worked ..very hard, to eliminate these things from my life. I have also had to realize that some things never go away and you just have to learn to live with it. I consider myself a survivor. At this point in my life, I have learned to appreciate everything that made me who I am. I'm not sure I would change anything if I had the chance. I know things that many people don't know...only because of what I have gone through...and this has enabled me to help others..so. It is important to me that I provide an ear, a shoulder, some sympathy, share some anger..whatever it is that's needed by the person I am with at any given moment. I always felt so very alone and that was the major turning point in my life, when I realized I was not and infact, never could be! I don't want other people to have to feel that absolute abandonment...so I try to be "there" for them. I feel that if my experience can help even just one other person who is in the same boat...then it has been worth it.
Some of the things that make me feel proud are, that I have stopped the cycle of violence that existed in my family for generations; that I beat the odds, which for sexually abused women is 15/85. 85% don't succeed in overcoming the odds. They become prostitutes, drug addicts, suicides, institutionalized or dead. Being in the 15% feels pretty good to me...and motivates me to change those odds for others.
That's as much as I will tackle this time around...it is enough for a first chapter and believe me, it's only the beginning. I would like to close by saying I forgive my father. He is the product of his own hell and one of the 85% who haven't made it. I pray for him and I've encouraged him to face the issue with me; however, you can't reason with a delusional human being and my last attempt was thwarted by his response that it was not good to "renew old acquaintances". When I asked him why, he said it was because I had never sent him a birthday card (which wasn't even true)...so..prayer is my only tool. That's one I had to turn over to the Powers that Be.
Thanks for reading this and looking inside a fearful person, but a person who has decided to stand face to face with that fear anyway. It is my fondest desire that you gain something positive from my experience...whether that be a sense of belonging, motivation, inspiration...whatever. I don't want you to feel bad ..this is a story of success, not horror...well, some horror - that leads to success! Fact is..I feel good. I continue to love and be loved..and that's the bottom line for me. If these horrors have done anything, they have created in me an even stronger drive to become and grow...and that can't be bad.
Peace Out