Catherine is a Woman who is changing lives for the better. Her blogs help the general public have a better understanding of mental illness. No More Stigma!!
Hello Recovery Friends and Welcome New Visitors;
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It’s almost a New Year! So I hope you will join me in continuing to share “Hope” with others who suffer from mental illness & disorders, and those in recovery from addiction!
I’m sharing my new “New Donation Website” to ask for your financial support & donations.As a Writer who suffers from many “Mental and Emotional Disorders,” and the many medications I take, prevent me from being able to hold steady employment due to the side affects of the medications and my symptoms. I also have “Adult Attention deficit disorder and OCD. After having a professional career in “Banking” for 20+ years, and then be told by an employer your to slow, you don’t pay attention or take direction enough, and not good enough, only to be let go from a job, is very hard and difficult to take. Lets not let this happen to someone else. I ALSO SUPPORT & NETWORK WITH NAMI….
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Little girl playing with make-up brushes and powders.
Imagining her grown-up days.
She is me. I was she playing with my Mommy’s Avon.
Hermes in the Hood ~ Our Ghetto Mercury
Young man perched atop his walker waiting at bus stop. Wings on his sneakers. Secretly envisaging flight in his heart. Yearning to dance gracefully on twisted limbs.
Hermes Shoes
From Dusk to Dawn
I am that Shadowy writer moving effortlessly through time and space.
The Fly escaped from the ointment now on the wall unnoticed but listening, observing yet not observed.
Carefully chronicling lives off the bottom edge of the social pyramid. Outcasts, commuters, proles and misfits captured in words and pictures.
In the midst yet far from the realm of the vexing insanity and loitering bubbling mass hordes.
The day is beautiful but the nocturnal dominions beckon. Enthralling, enchanting and invigorating twilight wanderings.
Stardust mixed with fleshy moving throngs. Magical mystical allures of waning daylight hours when the masque is removed and truth revealed.
As a Black Woman who has been called skinny, bony, stick lady, po’ and various other negative names for years. I can understand wanting to fit in. I’ve actually had women especially Black women come up to me and tell me they hate me or call me some nasty names I won’t repeat. I remember gaining a lot of weight when I was in my 40s due to taking anti-depressants. Believe it or not I received tons of compliments from my African American co-workers.
Prior to my forties, when I was a young woman working in an office, co-workers would leave all types of cookies, cakes, snacks, even cans of Ensure telling me in a not so subtle way that I needed these foods to “fatten up” and become an accepted member of the tribe. If my weight suddenly ballooned to 195 lbs, something that is genetically impossible for me, but if those numbers did rise would my Black Woman Membership card arrive in the mail?
Right before I started work at my present job I stopped taking the anti-depressants. Of course I lost the weight. Sadness. Bullying from some female co-workers. One brother told me I had a body like a white woman. Someone else said I looked Asian. I love my Caucasian and Asian Sisters but like anyone else I want to be accepted by my own community. I want to fit in. Devastated. I cried myself to sleep many nights. I even tried to explain to my female co-workers that my thinness was due to genetics, which is true. My mother Mable Palmer never weighed more than 95 lbs in her life even after having kids.
BTW my mother had diabetes as does most of my family on my mother side. Many of my cousins my around my age, (I’m 54) have died from the disease. I had my own brush with death November 7, 2008 when I was rushed to the hospital from my job for extreme high blood pressure. To show you how brainwashed I was as I lay on the hospital gurney in the emergency hooked to a machine monitoring my pressure, my life passing before my eyes, I looked down at my thighs and felt shame because I was so thin!
Like most women I look like my mother. I carry her DNA. Also since I have high blood pressure I can no longer eat certain foods so that prevents me from gaining additional weight. I weigh about 117 or 120 depending. Am I a fat basher? No because I know from firsthand experience just how sensitive weight issues and the ensuing insults or assumptions can be. I want to know how my weight got to be a determination of how Black I am or how womanly I am.
Does everything depend on the size of a woman’s breasts or butt? Have I been banished to a leper colony of neo-Blackness? Is a woman not more than her body? When do we stop promoting the superficial and concentrate on substance. Sometimes I think my body type has made me an outcast. Does the fact that I’m slim make mean my membership in the African race has been revoked?
I’m not handing in my Black card just because my facial features and body structure are considered all wrong. Oh by the way does my dark skin and nappy hair get me reinstated to the Land of Negritude? Define Blackness! Does it not run deeper than the outside package?
Finally I confided in one of the African American supervisors what I was going through. He reassured me I looked fine and said I looked good. He explained to me that some of the females at our workplace were jealous.
Then after 50 I started gaining a little weight. Thank you Menopause for helping me enter the realm of semi-Rubenesque. I was received back into the fold, somewhat but I still get those funny looks and comments not only at work but even within my own ‘hood.’
Books with titles like “Skinny Women are Evil” do not help the situation. I hate that our patriarchal society has pitted one group of women against others even within our own race. So if I was stacked, voluptuous, a “brick house” would I then hear the Gooble Gobble song.
Okay you know that I was intrigued by this picture. Anything to add curves to my stick frame. I looked up Squat videos on YouTube and found one that “Looked easy.” Not!! As I was doing the squats I could hear my knees Snap, Crackle & Pop more than a bowl of Rice Krispies. Maybe I should forget the Donkey Booty and just stay a “Black Twiggy!”
This is a Squat video by a Colombian Sister. Really now it would just be much easier to be reincarnated into her body!! LOL!! OMG!! Isn’t there an easier way to snag a husband? If I click my heels together 3 times will my stomach fat move downward towards my butt or upward to my boobs?! Dang my knees are creaky and clicking more than Savion Glover tap dancing!
Still trying to return to the Summer of 42. Not 1942 because I wasn’t yet born but age 42 when I had a nice hourglass figure. So I’ve been planking since Dec. 1st and now I will add Squats to my program. Let’s see if all this exercise results in romance when I turn 55 in Feb.
I considered using one of my cats as weights but they would not cooperate and thought the better of that idea. Leave sleeping kitties lying on the bed. My cats already think I’m crazy for Planking. Now every morning Sylvester and Weezer take up a position in the Living Room watching me make a fool of myself and sometimes rubbing their little furry faces against mine.
TESTIMONY & PRAISE REPORT TIME!! Just learning of Stephen’s photography talent testifies to the Glory and Greatness of God! Back in 1963 when my parents took Stephen to various doctors trying to find out my their son age 2 did not speak, these idiot stupid doctors told my parents that Stephen, then a two year old child would never amount to anything, could not be trained, could not learn and that they should give up and place him in an institution, which in those days would have been Willowbrook. I Thank God every day for my parents faith and persistence that their child could and would learn.
Those of us over 45 know and remember the horrors Geraldo Rivera discovered at that terrible place. Thank you Lord that my parents did not listen to the dumb doctors but took their son, my brother home to raise him as normal as possible. Today thanks to my parents, the caring staff people at QCP & AABR, my brother Stephen Vincent Palmer is a living testimony in what God can do in and with the lives of developmentally disabled/mentally challenged persons if they get the right help, support & encouragement. Also remember that a few months ago Gov. Andrew Cuomo wanted to cut the budget for developmentally disabled citizens of New York once again condemning them to the warehousing of 1960s & 1970s. Wake Up People!! Without kindness, compassion and professionalism of Ms. Lopez at QCP Stephen might have never discovered and cultivated this hidden gift for photography. Please don’t allow our government to short change our disabled American citizens!! A person is not a label or a disability. They are more than what or who society says there are. Stephen is living proof of that! I’m also very Thankful and give much gratitude to AABR Stephen’s training center for nearly 30 years which has equipped him with job skills that give him a place in the workplace and a sense of personal pride and accomplishment!
Stephen and I in December 1961.
While at the QCP (164th Street in Queens) Holiday party I discovered that my brother Stephen is a budding photographer. Stephen has taken some outstanding photos. Ms. Mynra Lopez, the Artistic director for QCP is seeking gallery space to showcase the excellent photography skills of developmentally disabled adults at QCP. We’re looking for a Spring 2016 debut. Oh yes an interesting addendum to all this is that our Dad Edward G. Palmer was avid photographer so I suppose Stephen and I both possess the photography genes. Please email, private message or call me so we can make this happen for adults with autism and cerebral palsy. Thanks!
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Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 