I know I should probably say something today about the Explosions in Boston on Monday. Everyone is saying something. On the news. On Facebook. On Twitter. Only, I'm not sure what to say. It's tragic. We were actually considering spending Sunday and Monday night in the city but had decided against it. I'm glad we never went. But that is basically all I can say. I can't sit and watch the news coverage 24/7. Not because I don't care, although that may be what it looks like. I just can't do it, and can barely describe what effect it has on me, only to say it's not good. A few days of watching that kind of coverage will result in weeks of trying to recover and using Ativan as a way to do it. It's not worth it, and it's better not to watch.
As far as social media goes, I'm just scanning quickly and then getting the hell out of there. I don't understand peoples need to keep posting, and changing their profile pictures. I suppose it's to show support or to connect with one another, but ultimately all of these sentiments and acts of caring, usually result in some sort of blame and anger in the end. People can only show their positive side for so long, and eventually their need for revenge comes out. I just try to stay clear of it.
For the brief time I was scanning Facebook today I noticed the page I made back in January. I haven't done much with it yet and today I noticed that I hadn't even published it yet. So...click. It's published. Does that mean I've accomplished something? Probably not.
I finished this book the other night. In fact, the Author is giving away a few free Kindle copies today to get the word out. It is a detailed personal account of her own life growing up with undiagnosed Autism. I've done a lot of reading on the subject over the past few months, but this wasn't just a list of traits, and it wasn't from the point of view of a Doctor that does not have Autism. It was her story, from the beginning until her diagnoses at the age of 38. I was in tears for most of it. Mostly due to recognizing all of the characters. Not just the Author herself, but her mother, especially, her grandmother (although for me it was my grandfather) and even friends and boyfriends along the way. The words that were said to her by people in her life where an almost exact script from my own. I could feel her anger. Her frustration. Her helplessness and her self blame. I still feel it today.
Not much blogging time today, as I have work waiting to get done. Still I'm haphazardly searching for something else to throw myself into. Mostly because I'm not happy with where I am. In my own head. Through all of my research and my sloppy attempts at trying to share some of what I've learned (other places besides here) I'm realizing that I am in this alone. It's not surprising and in every personal account I've read from others this seems to be the "norm". I just didn't want it to be. My self understanding and acceptance has increased two-fold. There is no doubt about it. I just hoped that maybe, maybe, with this information behind me I could finally find some of that understanding and acceptance outside of myself. In my idealistic mind I thought I could say..."See? Look! This is me. This is what it's like to be me. This is why it's hard to be me." And then I thought, maybe someone would say..."OH! Now I get it! Now it makes sense."
That is not going to happen, and in all honestly, I think it was stupid and overly optimistic of me to even hope for it. So, as the story goes...back to my bubble.
Hope, who may have always wanted, but luckily never needed, anyones approval or support.
It's me. I have a few moments to come out from lurking and comment on the Boston Marathon. 16 years ago I made that journey. Runners have a bond/connection not only with each other but the dear spectators who embrace us all over the 42km route. Running over 3plus hours (3:14min to be exact) was a moment in itself. Seeing my family with their smiles at the finish line brought tears to my eyes as I crossed the line. I can't explain the emotions. It was awesome. Knowing that a young 8 year old child (and his family) was there to wait for his father to do the same thing I did has brought tears to my eyes yet again. I went home and hugged my kids tightly. I was not surprised to hear that runners were some of the first to respond to the injured. We are a special group. Knowing that those spectators where there to watch "us" run makes it hard and feelings of guilt no doubt. Boston was one of the toughest marathons I have run. I said I would never run it again. I will now return to Boston before I hang up my laces. I want to experience "heartbrake hill" again and not be heartbroken! My deepest sadness to us all.
ReplyDeleteRunners do seem to share a strong connection with one another. I admire that. I'm glad you went home and hugged your kids. If only more people would do that and if only that feeling would last longer than a day or two. I just did what I said I wasn't going to do and read comments on a news feed. Everyone has to voice their opinion on who's at fault, who's responsible, and if someone else doesn't agree they have to voice their opinion as well and before you know it, it's a pissing contest with verbal assault. This happens with every tragedy. I can't help but wonder how these people, who just a few days ago, where so filled with sadness and concern over strangers, can now be launching hate and verbal attacks on more strangers. I could be wrong, and maybe it's partly the fault of the media for getting everyone worked up (there is an off switch on the television), but to me, they seems to like it. They seem to like to use tragedy as an excuse to fight and spit hate at each other. This is why I say nothing. This is why tragedies like this continue to take place.
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