{"id":7627,"date":"2020-02-19T14:03:58","date_gmt":"2020-02-19T19:03:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dsavannah.com\/blog\/?p=7627"},"modified":"2020-02-19T14:03:58","modified_gmt":"2020-02-19T19:03:58","slug":"somewhere-i-belong","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/dsavannah.com\/blog\/index.php\/somewhere-i-belong\/","title":{"rendered":"Somewhere I belong"},"content":{"rendered":"
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I want to heal, I want to feel
\nLike I’m close to something real
\nI want to find something I’ve wanted all along
\nSomewhere I belong<\/p>\n

~ <\/strong>Linkin Park<\/a>, Meteora<\/em><\/a> album (2003) [affiliate links<\/a>]
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\"dot\"<\/p>\n

Growing up a very introverted, painfully shy missionary kid whose family moved around a lot, I never felt like I belonged anywhere.<\/p>\n

\"photo<\/a>

A wall of hand-blown glass Bluebirds of Happiness<\/a> at Terra Studio<\/a> (Fayetteville, Ark), one of my most favorite places in the world, a spot where I feel very at home. (And a photo I don’t think I’ve shared before.) Sept. 2009.<\/p><\/div>\n

I didn’t fit in with the neighbor kids when I was a tween, whose cultural references were foreign to me (I wasn’t allowed to watch TV as a kid, so there’s a whole swathe of popular culture I have zero knowledge of), or the kids who made fun of me crocheting in 7th grade (I started crocheting when I was five years old, and did it all the time!; would still do it if my hands allowed), or the teenagers in high school who had gone to school together since they were in kindergarten (and I was this weirdo with no social skills, having been mostly homeschooled up to then).<\/p>\n

That not belonging changed when I went to college, and found teachers who nurtured me and places that accepted me and welcomed my talents: the newspaper, the literary arts magazine.<\/p>\n

I found places I belonged after college (in Atlanta): working in the arts, attending writers’ groups, getting my master’s.<\/p>\n

And even when hubs and I moved to a small town in Arkansas, whose residents are distrustful and wary of people “from off” (what they call outsiders), I still found my places there – with the artists and people involved in the community.<\/p>\n

I thought when we moved back to Atlanta that all the friends I’d left behind would still be my friends. But that didn’t happen – they had gone on with their lives, and the space I used to fill in them was no longer open.<\/p>\n

And before I could make new friends, and find a new place for myself, I got sick, and lost my ability to be in any of the places I’d inhabited before, left only with the four walls of my home and my online communities, with very rare outings.<\/p>\n

And when I do go out these days, there are so many anxieties – How bad will traffic be? How many bumps in the road will we hit that will cause me extreme pain? Will there be food I can eat with my allergies? How long will I be able to participate? How long will I have<\/em> to participate? Will<\/em> I be able to participate? Will I remember people’s name(s)? Will they be offended if I don’t? Will I have to explain myself? Will I be able to handle the noises and the movement and the light? Will I lose my words? Will I annoy people with my needs? Will I be understood? Will there be somewhere I can sit down?<\/p>\n

So, where do<\/em> I belong?<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Well, my friends, I belong with other patients.<\/p>\n

Two Saturdays ago (February 8), my #MEAction Georgia<\/a> chapter held a get-together. About seven patients attended (including me), accompanied by our friends and family \/ carers.<\/p>\n

\"\"

Some of the members of #MEAction Georgia, who were able to attend a get-together on February 8. Except for my hubs, who is next to me on the far right, all the patients are seated, and our family and caregivers are standing. If you’d like to see more pics from the gathering, check them out on SmugMug<\/a>. (Photos in collection taken by Everett Cortland, Tracey Miller and Eliz Burlingame.)<\/p><\/div>\n

And I had zero anxiety. I didn’t have to worry about the answer to any of the questions above (except riding in the car), because everyone there either experiences what I do (in different iterations, to be sure), or they deal with a loved one who experiences it. They more than understand – they comprehend<\/em>. They live it!<\/p>\n

I was greeted with so much love. I could eat without fear. Patients laid on the floor, or a couch, wrapped up in blankets. One person was hooked up to her I.V. Spouses chilled out in their loved ones’ wheelchairs. We laughed at things that only patients would understand.<\/p>\n

When I started losing words and tried to apologize for it, I was told there was no need – because whoever I was talking to (yup, I’ve already forgotten!) is used to it!<\/p>\n

Now the payment for having fun is a crash for all of us. (Hence this post being four days later than I intended.) I fully crashed fewer days than I expected, but my payment is my voice. It’s been gone for eleven days now. Again.<\/p>\n

But the price is totally worth it to be somewhere I belong.<\/p>\n

\"dot\"<\/p>\n

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If you’re lost there’s a trail through the night
\nDon’t give up the ghost, don’t give up the \ufb01ght. Don’t let go
\n…
\nIf you’re thinking you might be sinking
\nI tell you I know it isn’t so. Hold on to me<\/p>\n

~ Jess Chambers<\/a>, “Full of Fire<\/em><\/a>” [affiliate links<\/a>]<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

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\"White<\/a><\/p>\n

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Things you should read<\/strong><\/h2>\n

I often run across articles and blog posts that I feel deserve to be shared (not necessarily all of them about ME or disability).<\/p>\n