Perk,

What do you think denial is about?

You don't have to answer.  I'd really like to know, though.

Do you ever wish you DIDN'T have CP?  I do, a lot.  And I pretend I don't
have CP, a lot.  I get angry a lot when I can't pretend.

Life's tough enough with CP.  Pretending CP isn't there makes life tougher,
like trying to move a wheelchair with its breaks on or eat soup with a fork.
Everything takes more energy.  Pretending doesn't make CP go away.

I think I deny my CP so I can pretend I'm like everybody else who doesn't
have CP.

Perk, do you know the bit about vampires and mirrors?  Vampires don't have a
reflection.  Well I feel like a vampire in reverse.  I look in a mirror, or
store window when shopping, or at a picture.  I see my image and I
disappear.

That to me is what denial's about.  I can't accept or see the truth and
reality about my Cerebral Palsy.  I'd rather live the lie than admit the
truth.

Please let me know what you think and feel.

Thanks,

Steve M.




From: Perk <[log in to unmask]>
Subject: Re: Denise's Denial -Long
Date: Fri, 5 Nov 1999 17:52:25 -0600

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