At the beginning of every class, we are given a topic and ten minutes to write about it. During my last class, we were each given a different quote to write on. My quote was "The heart has reasons that reason does not understand." What I have posted is straight from the heart and is not edited, so please be forgiving =)
A young couple, Samantha and Jonathan, met shortly before he was to graduate from college. He had obtained a job that would require a move to Richmond, Virginia. They both lived in Kentucky at the time.
They were passionate about each other and it was unreasonable to think they could carry on their relationship once he made his move. They swore to each other that they could make their relationship work even though 900 miles would separate them. It wasn't possbile for Samantha to follow him because she had one more year of college to finish.
The phone bills were outrageous, but they couldn't go an evening without speaking to each other. Hearing his voice made Samantha's heart ache every night. Logic told her this wasn't going to work with the long distance between them.
Jonathan would make it a point to travel to Kentucky to visit Samantha every six weeks for a weekend. Samantha would count the days until she would see him. After his visits, she felt as if their relationship was refreshed and she was ready to charge on.
As time wore on, thier relationship grew stronger. Jonathan continuously asked if she would move to Virginia when she graduated. As much as her heart wanted her to say yes, she would say, "We'll have to wait and wee." Deep down she wanted to say " Yes I'll come" but.....MY TEN MINUTES IS UP!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Catherine
This is a different kind of story. My Walkerton assignment for the month of May was to pick a topic in the news and write about it from the point of view of two people involved with it. I chose to write about Catherine Zeta Jones. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder which as many of you know is a topic near and dear to my heart. Enjoy!
Catherine
Michael and I have been riding around for what seems to have been hours. It is April 13, 2011 and it is one of the most defining days of my life. We flew into Connecticut early this morning and were met by a driver. He is taking us to Silver Hill Hospital which is a psychiatric hospital. As we enter the driveway to the hospital, the only sound I can hear is the tires of the car crunching over the gravel. I feel scared, yet I feel safe with Michael’s arm wrapped around me. He leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t worry darling, everything is going to be fine.”
How does one prepare herself for a stay such as the one I am getting ready to embark on? For the past year I have taken care of Michael. He had stage four throat cancer and had taken on a grueling treatment of radiation and chemotherapy. Even though we have live-in help, I still felt responsible for running the house. We told the children about their dad’s illness. After months of chemotherapy and radiation, his doctor pronounced him cancer free in January. I was ecstatic, but I couldn’t get myself out of this deep puddle of gloom.
Things are crumbling down around me. I am chain smoking and drinking heavily. The more I drink the easier it is to cope with the problems life hands down. I cannot say how many sleepless nights I have endured. For years, I have suffered through bouts of depression. My moods have gone up and down and right now the depression I am feeling is unbearable. Thoughts of suicide come and go and that is the reason I am seeking help.
When we arrived at the hospital, we were greeted by a receptionist. The driver brought my bags in and an orderly brought them to my room. Michael asked, “Are you sure you are ready for this?” As upset as I felt, I replied, “It is hard to say goodbye, but I am ready to get to the bottom of this and move on.” As he said good bye, he told me I was a courageous woman and then he kissed and hugged me. He gave me reassurance that he would be there for me.
A nurse escorted me to my room and told me I would have to undergo a body check and my belongings would be examined. I thought, “How dare she do this to me – how violating?” The purpose being to make sure I didn’t have anything that could be used to harm myself. She told me to change into a hospital gown so that she could inspect my body for scars and any marks revealing physical abuse. I don’t care who you are, where you are, or what the reason is, there is nothing more degrading than stripping down and being examined. The nurse, as nice as she could be, quickly completed the exam. It was a horrible experience.
She then went through my bags and pulled out all of my belongings. I asked, “What are you doing?” She softly said, “I have to look for anything you can use to hurt yourself.” I had packed comfortable clothing which she looked at piece by piece. She had to take one pair of my sweat pants because of the drawstring in the waist. We looked through my toiletries bag. There was a compact with a mirror and it was taken. I also had to give her my spiral bound journal because of the wire. All of these things were taken for my protection. Once she finished, she left me alone to unpack and get settled in.
I met my doctor later in the afternoon. We discussed my depression and the meds my doctor at home had prescribed for me. I admitted I did not take them on a regular basis as I should. The stress I had been under triggered the depression I am experiencing. I told him it was imperative that we get the meds straight because I had to get ready to start working on two films in the upcoming year.
After a couple of days of observation, his official diagnosis was bipolar disorder II. My initial response was “Oh my God, I am crazy”. He explained it is a disorder in which the brain chemistry is off balance and a person’s mood is affected. With bipolar II there is a marked period of hypomania with long spells of depression in between. It made total sense to me and it explained exactly the way I had been feeling. The new medication I was taking, along with psychotherapy helped bring my mood up.
There was a dayroom in which the patients gathered. Group therapy sessions took place in this room. There were books, games, magazines, and several chairs and couches. This is the place where patients were encouraged to spend most of their time. Talking to other patients and listening to their experiences was just as therapeutic as having a session with a counselor leading it.
I ate my meals with the other patients. We jogged on some trails outside the hospital and I played cards with them at night before going to bed. I spent five days at Silver Hills and am glad I made the decision to come. The night before I left, I thanked the staff for the kindness they showed and said my good-byes to the other patients.
A driver was there early the next morning to pick me up. Michael stood there with open arms waiting for me. For the first time in a long time, I smiled. I felt so much better and was ready to face my life head-on.
Michael
It has been a stressful year for Catherine. I was diagnosed with stage four throat cancer in June, 2010. My son, Cameron, had been sentenced to jail for dealing drugs. We were also being sued by my ex-wife, Diandra, for a share in any of the profits gained from my latest film. Catherine’s moods have gone up and down. She has been smoking and drinking heavily which is uncharacteristic for her. We decided she should get some professional help and we turned to the Sunny Hill Hospital in Connecticut. During our drive to the hospital, I put my arm around her as she quietly sobbed. Feeling helpless, the only comfort I could give her was to tell her I loved her and we were going to be this straightened out.
Upon arrival she became more visibly upset. I tried to console her by telling her we were in the right place and she would be getting the help she needed. The driver brought her bags into the hospital and I stayed with Catherine until she was admitted. When she was settled in we said our goodbyes and I returned to Manhattan for the week.
Her doctor immediately put her on lithium, a mood stabilizing drug, which seemed to bring her back to herself. He also gave her Wellbutrin, an antidepressant, to bring her out of the depression. He diagnosed her with bipolar II disorder. This would explain her behavior over the last year or so. A person who has this disorder will become manic for a short time and then dip down into a depression for a longer period of time before going back up. The medications are meant to keep a person on an even keel.
This diagnosis would explain her behavior at the Tony’s Awards last June. In Catherine’s excitement about being nominated for the award, she almost floated around the house with so much energy. Her speech was very rapid and she would go off on different tangents when speaking. Before the award’s program began, she talked to so many people on the red carpet. I stayed by her side and I noticed that she would talk to one person and before they would even respond, she was on to the next person. I even heard one person comment “Is she high or something?”
When her name was called for being the winner of the category in which she was nominated for, she darted around, trying to pull me up on the stage with her. During her speech, she rambled on and spoke very quickly and her eyes darted back and forth. This was not the Catherine I knew – my Catherine was very poised and elegant. My Catherine always carried herself with sophistication and grace. In her speech, she commented that she was married to a movie star and she gets to sleep with him every night. I smiled and applauded her with the rest of the audience, but felt embarrassed for her. Later on, she couldn’t believe she had been so “crass”.
In an attempt to keep Catherine’s hospitalization private, we registered her under the name of Terrie Kirny. When a person is in the public eye, it is nearly impossible to keep your life private and it didn’t take long for the National Enquirer to get wind of our situation. This is why I spoke to the press. Most people look down on anyone with a mental illness. I hope by taking her illness public that it will help society to have a sense of awareness and acceptance.
When I arrived to take Catherine home at the end of a week’s stay, she looked refreshed and calm. I was so happy to see the woman I love looking healthy and like her old self. This is a condition we will have to monitor for the rest of her life. Bipolar disorder affects six million people in the U.S. It is an illness that is treatable – just like diabetes, high blood pressure, and heart disease. We hope that by Catherine going public with her illness will help bring awareness to it.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Acceptance
This is my first essay for the Walkerton Writers group I recently joined....I was stuck on what to write about once we were given our topic. It played around in my mind for several days. On a Friday night I was watching a Dateline segment on teenage girls who are bullies. That's when the urge to write hit and off I went!
Topic: I Have Never Wanted Anything So Badly
March 2011
Acceptance
I stood in the doorway of the big room looking in at 25 kids with 25 sets of eyes staring back at me. Once again, I was the new kid in school. As a fifth grader, this was the third elementary school I had attended. My teacher, Mrs. Draper, announced to the class, “Boys and girls, this is Sandy Gusky and I would like you to make her feel comfortable in our class.”
I felt anxious and scared, but hopeful that I would make new friends. Mrs. Draper took me to my desk where books were stacked on top. The girl who sat behind me, Cami Hamilton, kicked my desk and all of my books fell to the floor. I heard her and some of the others snicker at me. As I quietly picked up the books, I felt humiliated, as if I didn’t belong. I never wanted anything so badly. I wanted to be accepted by the kids at school, especially the girls.
I enjoyed the academic part of school and I made good grades. But, socially I didn’t fit in with the popular crowd.
When I was young, my grandma sewed dresses for me. Even though they were quite pretty, they were not what I wanted to wear to school. I wanted to wear jeans with clogs and a sweater like all the other girls. Whenever I donned a new dress, the cashier in the lunch line would “ooh and aah” and the other ladies would gather around to eye my grandmother’s handiwork. It was embarrassing because the other kids were watching and I knew I would be teased about it later in the day. It always happened that way.
For Christmas that year I got a pair of brown, leather clogs. I was so excited that I wore them to school every day – even in the snow. But as much as I loved them, they didn’t help me make more friends.
Towards the end of fifth grade, our principal, Mr. Hartman, came to our social studies class and announced, “I need three girls to run the school book store next year. They will have to be reliable and know how to handle money.”
We all raised our hands and I was praying to myself, pick me, pick me. He selected two other girls, Kim and Sherry, and then when it looked like my chance had passed, he chose me! I was so happy and felt so grown up, because I knew this responsibility had been given to me because I could do it.
Though the other two girls were in my class, I hadn’t talked to them before. They were shy like me and not part of the ‘in’ crowd. At lunch I made it a point to sit by Kim. We started talking and I found out she was a very nice girl. I couldn’t wait to start working with her. I believed she was someone I could be friends with, but after lunch, one of girls called me ‘teacher’s pet’. It hurt my feelings, but I didn’t care because I had been chosen for an important job by Mr. Hartman.
The next year in sixth grade, things didn’t get much better. Mr. Reutman, my social studies teacher, allowed me to grade quizzes and enter the scores into his grade book. But whenever we went outside for recess, I got teased for it and because of that there were many days I spent alone on the playground.
One day, a girl who was part of the ‘in’ crowd, DeDe Coyle, approached me. We started to talk and from that point on, she and I would hang out together on the playground. We played on the swings and kept each other’s secrets. During the rest of my time in elementary school, she was the one true friend I had.
When summertime rolled around, DeDe talked me into signing up for girls’ softball. I had played whiffle ball with my brother, but never on an organized team. On practice days, she came to my house and we walked to the softball field together. I was excited until I saw the other girls on the team. It was the group of popular girls from school, including Cami, the one who kicked my desk on the first day of the fifth grade. The only person out of the whole group who said anything to me was Shawna Cleary’s dad and he hollered, “Head out to right field and show us what you’ve got!”
He hit some balls to me, but I didn’t catch any of them. Nobody taught me how to catch pop-up balls. He hit a few grounders to me too, but I didn’t do so well on those either. I don’t know who said it, but I heard someone mutter, “She’s not any good.”
I wanted to quit, but my mom never let my quit anything once I had started it. It was all about following through on commitments. I hated going to practice and I detested going to the games because I knew I would mess up and let my teammates down. In their own way, they showed me that they didn’t want me to be there. The never cheered for me and instead said, “Oh, she’s up to bat-we’ll get an out.” I had no self confidence that summer and I couldn’t wait for it to be over.
Summertime turned into autumn and as the leaves began to fall, I started junior high school. I knew a lot of the kids because of all the elementary schools I attended, but if they recognized me, they sure didn’t act like it. DeDe and I remained friends and it was comforting to know that I had someone to talk to at school.
In the eighth grade, I met a girl named Tia in civics class. As we talked, we realized we had band together. Tia was a unique person - very smart and very talented. Even though we didn’t have many other classes together, we would write each other notes about who we were in love with and what our plans for the weekend were. Many times we would go to school dances and hope to be noticed by one of the cute boys. With Tia and DeDe as friends, for the first time in my years in school, I felt content. I still didn’t have designer clothes and I still didn’t fit in with the popular kids. But I was finally okay with it.
With the start of high school, my life as a teenager changed dramatically. Band camp had started during the summer before tenth grade and Tia, DeDe, and I attended together since we all decided to join the marching band. I don’t know how many hours we spent on the field learning how to march and play our instruments, but I remember a lot of fun and laughter.
Camp lasted two weeks at school and when we were done there, we loaded up the buses and went to a camp where we stayed for a week. The band was large and made the perfect opportunity to meet many new people-which I did. I began to build friendships with some of the other kids. I felt like I belonged. My confidence began to grow and I started to evolve into an outgoing person.
During high school, my social life changed completely. No longer was I the shy girl in fifth grade standing in the doorway. Being in the band and getting to know the kids made a difference for me. That fall it seemed like I spent more time with the band than with my family. We practiced during the sixth period and then again on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Since we were the pep band and played during half-time, we had to attend all the Friday night football games. Saturdays-competition days-were even better. We would arrive at school by 8:30 in the morning. We would load the buses after a quick run through of our show and then head out to a competition. It was an all-day commitment and sometimes we wouldn’t get home until 11:00 pm. Tia and I always shared a seat and always hung out with the tuba players.
Everybody in the band was outgoing and fun to be around. We spent so much time with one another that we became a family. DeDe decided after her sophomore year that she didn’t want to be in the band anymore. I missed having her around even though we saw each other in the hallways some times.
Towards the end of my senior year, I got burned out being in the marching band. It had nothing to do with my friends, but the program just wasn’t fun for me anymore. I was on the verge of graduating and was looking onto bigger things.
Going to college was a huge step for me, but I wasn’t afraid to go. It was a local college and some of my band friends went there. Sometimes I would eat lunch with someone I knew from band. Once I got my electives out of the way, I took classes aimed to my major. I made some friends in those classes.
My memories of elementary school aren’t great, but it doesn’t linger with me. I loved high school and college and after it was all said and done, I came away with a feeling of acceptance. I managed to navigate through the awkward years of school and gain some self-confidence along the way.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Choice
The Choice
By Sandra Williams
I have had dogs for nearly all of my life. For the last twenty years, I have always had a pug dog. I don’t have any children of my own, so my dogs have been my babies. There is something about a pug. Their personalities and facial expressions make you think you are talking to a person when you talk to them. (Pug dog owners know exactly what I am talking about.) My first pug was Pudge, a fat little guy, who just lived to be loved on. When he was about three years old, my ex-husband and I decided he needed a friend. He was lethargic and bored and he lay around all day long waiting for one of us to give him some attention. That was when Puddin’ came into the picture. When I got her, she sat in my cupped hands. She was no bigger than a gerbil, but was just as spunky as could be and she loved Pudge. I think he just tolerated her. She had this attitude that said, “I am bad to the bone-don’t mess with me.” Every morning she would lick Pudge’s ears and drag him around by the wrinkles on his neck. It had to hurt, but he let her do it. They were great company and followed me around the house like shadows.
Pudge died at the age of thirteen of congestive heart failure. Puddin’ lived to be sixteen years old and died of old age. I was devastated when I lost them. It was like losing family members. I mourned for them just as much as I would a family member. The house felt so empty without them.
I never really got over pain caused by the loss of a dogs I loved so much. Because of this I had no intention of getting another dog for a while. I eventually wanted to get a puppy, preferably in the summer time because as a teacher I’d have the summers off would have plenty of time to train it.
About four months after Puddin’ died, I started looking for a breeder. I came across an establishment named Mountainside Pugs. As I looked over the website, I found a link to retired pugs. I clicked on it and saw two females they would no longer use for breeding. Both dogs were available for adoption. I started thinking about it and I thought if I were to get an adult dog, I wouldn’t have to worry about housebreaking it. The seed had been planted and as the week went by, I kept thinking about these two pugs. I contemplated it long and hard before approaching my husband to see if he was up to having another dog. His initial response was “no”, so I let it sit for a couple of days and I approached him again. I explained adult dogs usually don’t find a home because everybody always wants a puppy. I also let some tears fall as I told him I really wanted one of these dogs. He caved in and said I could get one, but only one and I had better not come home with both of them.
We had lots of snow during the winter of 2009. It was December and we had about eight inches of snow on the ground. The main roads were clear, but in most areas the side roads needed treated. I had made my plans to drive to Gore, VA where Mountainside Pugs is located. I’m very stubborn and come hell or high water, I was going to go and get my dog on the day I planned whether there was snow or not – probably not the smartest idea. My stepdaughter, Bethany, and I left early on a Monday morning. We were looking at a drive that would take about three hours to complete. We drove for what seemed like an eternity until we finally made it to our destination. The breeder was located far off the beaten path and we had specific directions not to drive back to her house she didn’t want us to get stuck in the snow. We were told to call her and she would come get us in her four-wheel drive. We made our call and waited. After about ten minutes we were picked up. My heart was racing with the anticipation I was feeling. After talking with her back and forth for about a month, we were finally here and were going to get to meet the pugs.
We walked into the breeder’s house and there she was. She was sitting on the floor in the kitchen hiding behind a chair and looking very hesitantly at Bethany and me. Her name was Ellie and she was just a tiny little thing. The breeder, Mary, told us about the history of both dogs. Ellie was the runt of her litter and had been attacked twice by a pack of pug dogs. That is why she alone in the kitchen. She was very timid and shy, so Bethany and I sat on the floor trying to coax her into coming over to see us. We sat there for at least an hour and she did finally approach us a couple of times. When we went into the next room to meet Madison, the other pug I’d read about on their website, she just about knocked us over. She was very excited and had no inhibitions. As we played with her, the breeder told us that there was a family with kids who were wanted to take Madison home with them, but since I had already put down a deposit, she was going to let me choose between Madison and Ellie. Subconsciously, the choice had been made the minute I saw Ellie. As we played with this crazy dog, I kept sneaking glances over at Ellie. She was already three years old and nobody had wanted her. In my heart, I knew she had to come home with us. My logic said, “Sandy, you drove four hours on snow-covered roads to get a dog and you should get the one without issues.” I loved the playfulness of Madison but it was also easier to make a decision knowing that a family with kids wanted her. I talked it over with Bethany because I wanted her to feel as if she was involved in the decision- making. She confirmed what I already knew-Ellie was coming home with us.
After we got the paperwork and payment taken care of, we were on our way. Mary drove us to our car. I got Bethany and Ellie situated in the back seat so we could head home. It was a long drive, but more relaxing than our trip up there. As it was getting late in the day, both of them fell asleep in the backseat. When we got home, we set up camp in the living room with Ellie’s dog bed and toys. Ellie took her time and explored her new home before settling in for the first night.
It has now been a little over a year and Ellie is the queen of her castle. She is no longer the shy and timid little dog around my family. She gets nervous when someone comes over to visit, but warms up to them before they leave. Every morning before she goes out, my husband scatters a handful of Cheerios on the kitchen floor for her. If he isn’t already up and the bedroom door is open, she will go and wake him up because she expects her Cheerios first thing. Every night when I go upstairs to watch TV with my husband, she gets a Denta-bone to eat. I do this out of guilt for leaving her by herself, but my husband insists we keep one part of the house that is hair free and that Ellie will be okay for an hour or two. She is rewarded with treats for doing her business outside and for going in her crate when it is time for us to leave. When I make pancakes, she gets a tiny one with a dab of butter and some syrup. Some people would say she is spoiled rotten, but as my dad says, “Isn’t that what dogs are for?” While I’m am not working full time, I spend most days at home and Ellie is always by my side. She is great company and I love her very much.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Welcome!
Welcome to my blog! I am so glad you stopped by. This is a big step for me. I have been taking a creative writing class since the fall. I have dreams of writing a children's book. However, I got derailed when working on it and am now working on a memoir. I joined a writing group called the Walkerton Writers and if it goes well, I will post my stories from there. I have made many new friends and am excited about making more. Please follow along and feel free to honestly comment on my work. Thanks to my instructor for encouraging me to follow through with writing a blog!
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