Denise,  What are you saying ?  -Perk






----- Original Message -----
From: Denise D. Goodman <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, November 05, 1999 8:43 AM
Subject: Denise's Denial -Long


> Perk has asked a very valid and straight forward question.  "Denise, How
> could you have denied a physical disability?"  I honestly wish there was a
> simple, black & white, straight forward answer.  Unfortunately, human
> behavior is a complex puzzle in multi-shaded grays.  Even the most ardent
> slueth has difficultly fitting all of the pieces together.  However, I
will
> do my level best to answer her question until we can all see a logical
shape
> and form.
>
> Most people like life neat and tidy, but you can't always toss on a lable
and
> group people together.  Here on this list, we have people with a
disability,
> labled cerebral palsy.  You can also have a bunch of candy on a table
marked
> "Chocolate."  Of course some might be dark, semi-sweet, have nuts,
powdered
> as coco, or in it's raw natural state.  A rich piece of semi-sweet tastes
> nothing like the bitter pre-processed chocolate.
>
> The same holds true here.  (And I am in NO WAY implying some of us are
sweet,
> bitter, or nuts  :D ).  I only use candy as an analogy.  In a way, those
with
> cerebral palsy are like the cholocate.  We may all have the same basic
> disability, but we each have very different levels of physical ability.
>
> If you have always needed a wheel chair or crutches, or your cp is severe,
it
> may be difficult to relate to the way I was able to deny being disabled.
> There are those on the list who say they were merely "brushed by cp."
These
> are the people who may easily identify with my denial.
>
> The doctors have always said I had an "Extremely Mild" case.
Additionally,
> I've had lots of help processing the small amount of raw disability.
Eight
> operations, 14 or so years of night and day braces, 16 years of physical
> therapy.  All of this helped me to deny my disability.  What at first
appears
> a stark, illogical contridiction, makes more sense upon closer inspection.
>
> Being merely "mildly disabled" - I lived in a sort of pergatory.  (Again,
I
> make the following comparasion only for the purpose of illustration.  No
> malice or judgemental inference should be taken from the following
analogy.)
>  - I didn't live with the sheer hell of being completely disabled, yet the
> heavenly life of being "able-bodied or normal" was always just beyond my
> grasp.
>
> I spent a very short time with other disabled kids.  Only in pre-school.
The
> remainder of my education was in "regular" school.  Not in a mainstream
> program, since that didn't exist.  Now, most children want to belong.
They
> need a sense of being liked and part of the gang.  I didn't want to be
> "different."  I didn't want to be the only "cripple kid" in regular
school,
> but I was.  In order to survive, emotionally, I distanced myself from my
> disability.  Mentally, I NEVER considered myself disabled.  No matter how
> many times the kids called me names, tripped or spat at me - their
comments
> and cruelty slid right off.  I kept myself warm and safe in the knowledge,
"I
> wasn't one of 'Them', a cripple."
>
> It's amazing how the human psyche can rationalize and justify any
situation.
> I think of it as a survival skill.  Personally, I was not able to accept
my
> disablity because I was always given the message, verbally and through
> action, "Being different is bad.  Being disabled is worse."
>
> Perhaps if I'd had some support at home, I would not have buried myself so
> deep in denial.  My mother was, I've come to believe not unwilling, but
> unable to cope with life.  I share the following from my own life not to
> illicit sympathy, but to further your understanding of my personal
situation.
>  My father abandoned us when I was very young.  My mother wasn't yet 27,
had
> 3 small children, and one (me) was disabled.  She had no job skills, but
got
> a grant and went to college while working 3 menial jobs.  We lived below
the
> poverty level, often without heat in winter, and many times without a
decent
> meal.  In fact, mom had even resorted to checking the dumpsters behind the
> grocery store because they often threw away food which was still good.
> She also was very violent and beat me on a regular basis.  With all of
this
> in mind, I'd like to quote a few paragraphs from an autobigography I've
been
> working on.  Again, none of this is being told for any reason, other than
to
> answer Perk's question.
>
> Excerpt from, "Be A Little Solider."  The beatings didn't leave many
> permanent physical scars, but my mother crossed a line which finally
pushed
> me to the breaking point.  She uttered words which disfigured my identity.
> There would be no justification or rationalization for this heinous
betrayal.
>  My mother broke the code of silence between a disabled child and parent.
In
> the midst of a routine assault over something ridiculous, my mother became
a
> shrieking maniac.  Her face twisted around eyes glazed over with
> unadulterated disgust and loathing.  I felt the spittle hit my face.  It
> emphasized each word as it echoed throughout our empty house, "You make me
> SICK!  It makes my stomach turn to watch you walk."
>
> All the physical assaults, emotional traumas, and pain I'd battled during
my
> young life didn't prepare me for those traitorous words.  I was left in
> ruins.  A state of total
> devastation.  I'd been living in denial, but I could no longer hide from
my
> greatest fear.  I was one of "THEM."  A monstrous mutation, imperfect,
> disabled.  Was it any wonder the other children hated me?  How could I
expect
> love or friendship if my flesh and blood mother was physically sickened by
> the sight of me?
>
> I truly believed I'd been functioning without feeling, but I was wrong.
Once
> teetering on the edge of nothingness, these words pushed me into a frigid
> abyss.  Ironically, I did experience powerful emotions seconds before a
> protective glacial barricade crystallized inside me cutting off any and
all
> emotion.  The last feelings to touch me were inspired by the words my
mother
> screamed in my face.  I felt repulsive, ashamed, grotesque, sub-human, and
> then ... blissful nonexistence.  Denise had disappeared." <end of excerpt>
> This might not completely or satisfactorily answer your question Perk.  My
> hope is that by giving you a glimpse into why I distanced myself from the
raw
> reality that I was disabled, you can see that it is not only plausible,
but
> logical to believe someone can look in the mirror yet never see their true
> reflection.  Take Care and Be Well:  Denise
>