Brief Healthcare Rant

This will be brief. Promise.

This year will mark the first year we've had to face "modern day" insurance (much has changes over the last 13+ years).

And this is the first year since the ACA that we have moved from the Marketplace (Affordable Health Care system) to employer-based insurance. And just in time. Or so it seemed?

For those who are unfamiliar with having to use insurance for something other than a yearly physical (generally covered at no cost, in the case of many insurance plans), a deductible is a none-issue...until you have to get blood tests following that exam (to the tune of $500+, not covered by insurance unless you have already reached your deductible).

$500+. "No big deal".

But then, because you had some symptoms - in this case unexplainable abdominal pain, a sudden unexplainable weight gain of 15 pounds in a matter of a couple of weeks that persists for several months, even though you have changed nothing about your diet and exercise regimen, excessive unusual fatigue and dizziness...

Welcome to an ultra$ound. $$

And then the ultrasound results lead to a CAT $can. $$$

(still holding out on that it's nothing - this isn't about our health issues, today)

And then those three components lead to meeting your deductible.
The deductible is more than 10% of the net (post-tax, or take hoe pay) income of the employee who carries the plan (in this case, The Husband). It may even be more than 10% of the total household income.
[NEWSFLASH: not all households are two-income, and not all two-income households make a decent living wage despite the two income <- but this should not be shocking too you].

In this particular case it's the BEST plan the employer has to offer (and the employer is a multi-national company), and it still costs the household $480 a month just for the privilege of meeting the deductible.
It's likely that this is a standard situation. (Though, admittedly, there has been no personal research on the matter outside of discussions with friends and acquaintances, because this isn't a research piece as some of the posts and research papers on this blog are).

This household is fortunate in its financial position thanks to various situations, so while it may be an inconvenience at this point, it is in no way a disaster. No pity needed. Promise. 100%

However. Not being the types to be so narcissistic as to only think about personal plights...we can't help but be concerned....dumbfounded...astonished...that even in the case of a top plan, that any middle/middle-low/low class American can even manage sparing 10% of their income that is already stretched thin by all measures of modern life: people who have car loans, house payments, student debt, children. How the actual fuck are they managing any of it.

Yes. Once the deductible is met then the costs decrease...until the deductible resets. And then you're dropping that 10+% all over again. And endless pit.

The healthcare system in this country is ridiculous. Criminal. It is not a pro-life system, it is a pro-profit system. It is greedy and it is disgusting. And it makes us yearn for the years under the Canadian Healthcare system, as it does make The Husband yearn for his entire life under the NHS of the UK.

Profits before people.

Whatever happens with the Affordable Healthcare Act under the current administration is NOT going to alleviate the problem. By all honest reviews, both from accountable and responsible and trustworthy people on the left and right, it will exacerbate the problems that already exist, both within and outside of the marketplace. It will be worse than it was leading up to the ACA. It will be a disaster.

Not looking forward to that. And neither should be any reasonable and intelligent person.

</rant>

Psst...

We were actually brief!

Nailed it. 👊🏻

A Story Of Worth

Standing against the wall in the back of the banquet room, in my black, blue and grey gingham-esque cotton dress over-top a pair of black stretch pants with a rip in the inner thigh, grey knit boot length socks peering over the top of slightly dirty black pleather boots, I watched as all of the students, donors and faculty, dressed "Midwest fancy", ate a nice catered meal.

It was an awards banquet to celebrate the distribution of the department's scholarships, and because I had a class up until the last minute I didn't think I would make it in time to eat, and I couldn't go home to change or freshen up, so I didn't buy the $7 ticket for dinner. Even if I could have went home to change, what I was wearing was about as nice of an outfit as I had for such as occasion, partially due to the weather, it's still a bit chilly you know, and partially due to not having clothes that fit properly right now.

I find a stack of chairs against the wall of the small room, pick one up, and grab a seat in the back near a corner. I could have went home, my being there wasn't going to affect my getting the scholarship(s), but I felt that it was a duty to at least show up. After all, they were giving me free money.

Watching the students in particular, most of them girls, I imagined what it must be like to be their age, be as pretty as them, which most of them were; to come from families like theirs, with parents who cultivated their confidence, urged them to participate in school activities, drove them, but probably not too harshly, to succeed; parents who saved up money so they could go to college because they knew they were worth the investment. What it must be like to have nothing but the world at your feet after such an upbringing.

Of course I only imagine them to be this way because one of the girls that was at the event is in one of my classes, and I recently had to do two assignments that involved writing about her life. A litany of sports, coaching a shooting team, regular AND Spanish Honors student. She just got accepted to represent the school in a summer abroad program. Her parents are well-to-do farmers, avid church goers. You get the picture. Perfection. And most students in this area that go to college are from families that can afford to send their kids to college. Nice middle-class agricultural-based communities.

How the hell am I supposed to stack up against kids with that kind of potential anyway.

So, they announced all of the awards, one by one the young girls in pretty dresses and high heels, and strapping farm boys in slacks and dress shirts, walked to the front, received their award letter, smiled for the camera, and went back to their seats where the girls picked at the dessert of white cake with yellow filling and all of them fiddled with their cell phones, pausing to clap politely as their peers received their monetary awards.

To be honest, I was shocked that I was awarded anything. I applied on a lark, after urging from a female instructor for one of my classes, who can't be more than six years older than me. I had told myself, that whatever we got was good enough. Every little bit helped.

But then something unexpected happened.

After taking the big group picture, I walked out of the building, two big envelopes in hand, each with a letter and a certificate of congratulations, and I actually felt...ungrateful. The awards were half of what I was hoping for and expecting, given the amount the department had to distribute. It was far less than half of what I needed to cover some of the giant cost of gasoline to get to school, plus books and parking. While I've been cutting back on my drinking to save money, it still remains that I don't spend any money on "going out" to bars, or nice dinners, or clothes for that matter. I just purchased a new pair of shoes that were much needed, but outside of that I have bras that are pushing four years old and in tatters and socks that just won't grow thicker skins. James pays for a date every month or so, but as for "splurging"...we're saving up to go on a trip to Toronto this summer to a Tweetup (the last one we plan to attend), which is doubling as a sort of honeymoon, two years after the fact.

I had no right to be ungrateful. No damn right at all.

It was a rather disgusting feeling.

I couldn't shake it. I got into the car, mind in a bend, gripped the steering wheel tight, and began to drive home. "What the hell is the problem?" I thought as I passed by a gas station. "If we'd won the lottery for the same amount we'd be thrilled."

But then it hit me.

I actually felt like I had little value. That these two small awards, that will cover gas for just about two months of the eight months I have left, were based on my worth to the people who read my scholarship letter. Value based on the accomplishments, peppered with pretty words of self-accolade, that I scraped together...seventeen years after being in a position to compete with the likes of kids who were in academic and sports clubs, who were in positions of leadership and part of student organizations, who were in honors clubs. Value based on my potential and my achievements (sure, I graduated with honors from culinary school...but it's culinary school) as as adult, as someone old enough to be the parent of the very kids I was "competing" against.

To be honest, even in primary education, that is first through twelfth grade, I didn't have that many accomplishments. A funny thing happens to kids from broken homes, that even at the time that they weren't broken were never encouraged to be better than average, that never got pushed or even nudged to be better. That never knew the feeling of confidence.

What follows is by no means at attempt to slag off my parents, what is past is past; but that past is important. Any rational human being who understands child psychological and social development and family interpersonal communication can attest to this. The nurturing and upbringing of a child can have long lasting effects on their personal development and sense of self. Which, as an aside, is a large factor in the personal decision not to have children. There is no part of me that wants to be held responsible for that kind of thing. The margin for error is too large.

My parents were selfish - which is likely a product of having children at a young age, and partially due to the types of people they are personally, and the upbringings they had. They weren't selfish in the way that parents who pressure their children to succeed because they want to live vicariously through them and have them accomplish the things they couldn't. No. They were selfish in the way that, while they surely loved me and my brothers, they did not think to encourage us to participate in things (though in the 6th or 7th grade I did get to play basketball on the weekends). They had their own things going on. Clubs and activities require a devotion of time, as any suburban soccer mom can attest to. As poor farmers, time means chores or field work, and in the mid-80's, those second jobs to scrape by. Even moving past that, when dad moved the kids to the "big city", the mindset remained.

If I picked up an instrument, I could put it down and walk away without any urging to try harder, without anybody saying "I know you can do it". I did it with the clarinet, I did it with the drums. Reading wasn't a promoted activity around the house, though dad read Little House on the Prairie several winters in a row, reading too much wasn't useful. 4-H was the exception, but that club is meant to foster good farm values, and patriotism/nationalism, not to mention homemaking skills, which, I guess, was expected to be the lot in my life. At the very least 4-H was meant as a way of promoting doing barn chores, picking weeds and the various other things kids have to do on a farm, to make them "more fun". 4-H was, and is, a club based in utility. It's useful. Not like those academic, art and sports clubs.

As I often do when I spiral in a rant. I digress. It's the past. It cannot be undone.

But driving the forty minutes home tonight this is what I thought about. How different my life would have been with confidence and worth fostered in me when it should have been. How different things would have been if I had been urged, or pushed to succeed because someone knew I could do it, and could be better; because their confidence is what would have helped mine grow. How different it would have been without the various abuses that broke and shaped my brain at young ages.

So I came to understand that I was not actually ungrateful for the honor of the awards. I was angry because I felt like the awards represented my potential's value, and my potential was based on my achievements, and I feel like I never had the proper opportunity every child deserves, and that that had an affect on everything that came after it. And had those things been different, I wouldn't be a nearly thirty-five year old woman crying about what could have been while driving on the dark backroads somewhere in the Midwest still wondering what to do with her life.

Then I remembered. I have done good things and I get very good grades, and I apply myself. I try my hardest. Trying to be confident in yourself, when few people ever genuinely have been, is a really hard thing to do as an adult. I don't have as much potential as those kids, because I'm twice their age, and they simply have more time for their potential potential to be realized. I can work with what I've got though.

So as I sit here now, on my sofa, with my glass of Gin getting warm from neglect, still wearing the ripped black stretch pants from a long day of classes, I'm thankful for the people who thought I was worth even a small investment. Even if what I received was basically akin to a participation trophy, and I know that I'm worth more.


Thank you for reading.

[P.S. I love you, mom and dad]

~ Frankie

Out of Orbit

Our personal universe is out of orbit. It's been for over a month. Mind and body out of sync.

Last semester we nailed it out, ended with great grades, felt on-task most of the semester, the small struggles had little impact. Now. Now there's no focus. A lot of the time it feels like there's no control. Waking up has gotten harder, but for the physical pain we'd stay in bed all day, most days. It feels like something is pressing down, smothering our will.

The many experiences with adult education (college/university) have always been our more stable years, mentally. This semester...feels full of ambiguity, and like being slowly swallowed whole. It does not feel stable.

For instance, having a six year old try to take over your body so she can play with 3D jungle gummies peeking from the backpack, and prance the elephants across the table...takes exhaustive mental control and we resorted to laying our head on the table and twirling our hair to talk her down from all the pleading...and that's not really something fun to do, nor does the body language that it portrays speak of much stability in a classroom full of young adults.

Next time we leave the gummies hidden.

It's not often she's around these days...we've missed her. I've missed her. She hasn't been around since before we had to move back to the states and live with Mother...it was obvious why she hid, but she cannot be here...not now, there's too much to do.

There was a brief time where it felt like we'd been contained by a magnet, but now...it feels like a scrambled magnetic field again.

We need to remember to breath.

Sometimes Teeth Are All About The Shoes

A little tale, to bring you up to speed...and maybe you'll learn from our stupidity. An oral history, if you will. (ha, so punny)

Twenty years ago last month we were walking home from school, which was at the top of a hill. Despite it being October, there was already snow; this was 20 years ago, it used to snow earlier way back then.

Anyway, apparently we weren't as smart as we are now (ha!), something about fashion over comfort (as if we were at all fashionable in high school). We had worn dress shoes to school that day, despite the obvious choice when having to walk home from school in snow, which is boots...or at least some heavy shoe with treads.

The path home was downhill the whole way, the first portion being fairly steep, which then leveled off a bit and passed by a chained-in junkyard with big steel posts on the corners of the seven to eight foot high fence surrounding it, and then the terrain continued to descend the rest of the way.

As we were working our way down the steepest portion we lost footing and began to slide, arms flailing, panicking. Instead of just falling on the ground and being done with it, we tried to gain balance, all the while speeding down the hill on those flat dress shoes with no traction.

Before we could think to aim for the chain fencing around the junkyard to stop our uncontrollable flailing down the hill, our face beat us to it and smacked right into the round steel post on the corner of the junkyard, teeth first.

Laying on the ground spitting blood and broken teeth onto the white snow, the two boys who were walking us home laughed and laughed. Boys are obviously great friends.

Unfortunately, dad didn't find it funny, nor the dental bill that followed. That year we had a chipped tooth fixed and a post, which is a tooth basically attached to a screw, implanted into the top row of teeth.

Dental Post

The work that was done was terrible, and soon after high school it go impacted (infected) and had to be removed, at which time it was replaced by a Dental Flipper. Which is fun and disgusting all at the same time. Fun because you can really freak people out by removing it while talking to them using only your tongue. Disgusting because food gets beneath it, and it's basically covering up a gaping hole in your gums. But it was an inexpensive solution.

Dental Flipper

A few years after that we opted for a more permanent but temporary solution, after the tooth broke off of the flipper, and got what is known as a Marilyn Bridge.

Marilyn Bridge

It only came off a couple of times, but we were really self conscious about it, it didn't look too natural, and it caused us to hide our natural smile when in public (yeah, we actually smile, get over it), and so in 2004 at the encouragement of Talented Boyfriend (now an ex) we bit the big one and went for the (expensive) Permanent Dental Bridge.

Dental Bridge

It was great, we could bite into apples again, we felt more secure, had less nightmares about out teeth falling out...it only bothered us once and awhile because it's hard to clean around.

Then the beginning of this October the chipped portion of the front tooth that had been fixed 20 years ago fell off while we were eating a homemade egg-roll, of all things. Work and classes had us busy so we planned on getting the chip fixed this month...

And then this past Sunday night happened...we hate to admit we know how it happened...we were chewing on a turkey leg. We had decided to wait until Sunday to make Thanksgiving Dinner, and while biting off one of those final bits of gristle (mmm, gristle!) from the leg joint...we bit down wrong and felt something. It wasn't obvious what it was at first. Later, running our tongue along the backside of the Bridge, which we do often, we felt a rough spot. Continuing with the tongue play we told James that we though we'd maybe cracked one of the supports on the bridge.

Next morning looking in the mirror, after brushing our teeth, the whole time thinking something felt weird, like a strange pressure, we pressed our tongue on the back of the bridge and sure enough, a little air bubble on the front of one of the support teeth formed. We ran our fingernail over the outside and yep, there was the crack on the front. 

The porcelain crack on the front and the back, so obviously we couldn't eat breakfast. We promptly went to the dentist, the one who had installed the bridge ten years ago, to try to get an emergency visit, but he wasn't available until today. Distracted by day two of severe back pain, the faulty teeth, and a very hungry belly, we went to take our meteorology lab final and wait until after another class today to find out the big fun news.

Long story short, not only will he have to replace the bridge, but we also need a root canal on one of the teeth - and one of the roots of the support teeth is infected. Voilà, a penicillin prescription and a $4000 dollar estimate later, and here we are...thinking...if we'd only worn different shoes 20 years ago, shoes that would have been more practical...we'd have saved at least $10,000...and wouldn't have busted up what was a very very nice set of natural teeth.

Meanwhile, for the next three weeks it's soft foods and liquid meals only, and then we get another Marilyn Bridge while a new Permanent Bridge measured for our mouth is cast in porcelain, or whatever the cool synthetic teeth are crafted from these days.

Thankfully we have "some" Gin.

Patriotism and Religion in Persisting Social Stratification: The Evolution of Knowledge - A University Essay

Image Source

Okay, so the plan was to not write another blog entry until paper four was complete (we just submitted paper three, which was the proposal for paper four).

BUT...finally, paper two for College Composition II, which we wrote over a month ago, was graded and returned. We've been anticipating the instructors response because, well, it was pretty personal, as well as potentially controversial. Also, we've been pretty excited about sharing it with people and maybe getting some hate-mail.

For those unfamiliar with what second-level college composition is, the class aims to teach the analysis of how contemporary authors complete research, form positions, compile data/statistics, and use sources. The emphasis is on information literacy and learning how to judge the credibility, usefulness, and perspective of written sources. The course works to raise important theories of knowledge and awareness about how people make judgments, why they trust information encountered, and how sources of knowledge shape what we know. In addition the class teaches how evidence and interpretations are used to persuade readers. The outcome is aimed at teaching students how to construct and write effective extended research projects.

As we've written before, we really lucked out with our College Composition II instructor, the book she chose for the class is awesome, and right up our alley.

The premise for this essay was to consider how knowledge is constructed, and sometimes remodeled by the wealth of information around us through consideration of our personal knowledge. Using one chapter from Loewen’s Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong, we were to consider the knowledge we brought to the reading of that topic, including what ideas, prejudices, or questions we already had, where they come from, and how various sources of knowledge influenced us. In addition the paper was to discuss specific elements from our experiences with knowledge, making sure the essay maintain an academic tone by reflecting on past knowledge in light of careful consideration and with the application of new knowledge. (summarized from 'Knowledge Making' essay instructions)

So, anyway, there's some context.

The instructor had some really nice things to say, and she graded it a 99%, and requested permission to use it as a model for future classes. (the screenshot is posted at the bottom)

It was, like, the best Thanksgiving present ever.

Now...on to the paper...

Download .pdf via Google Drive :
https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B0L6-YMPxtu7UFJzY0NNeHJleTQ/edit?usp=sharing 

or read here....

Patriotism and Religion in Persisting Social Stratification

The Evolution of Knowledge

Knowledge develops and evolves over time, free of restrictions it never stops. Every time a person opens a book, turns on a television, goes to a movie, listens to a speech, meets a new person, an opportunity to challenge what they already knows presents itself. While some may frame distinct sources of their knowledge in particular sources or events, few may critically consider why they have the knowledge that they do, or the influences that have changed and challenged their way of thinking over time. The acceptance of new information in opposition to existing knowledge, and dismantling biases built on learned prejudices, lies in an openness and freedom to experience people, religions, cultures, and ideas outside of one’s own. To insulate oneself against these experiences, often due to ingrained prejudices, creates not only a rift in one’s ability to grow, but also hampers the progress of society. In addition, left without adequate levels of information, people can be led to make potentially dangerous conclusions about society, people, and events. Knowledge is a gateway to freedom, both in philosophy and as a cornerstone of democracy, the encouragement and development of knowledge is a powerful force behind the sustainability of truly democratic and free societies, as well as essential to personal freedom and social structure.

The greatest shifts in what I understood about the opportunity the United States provides both citizen and immigrants, and how social class, poverty, and inequality are largely surreptitious parts of this system, came throughout my youth from my own life experiences. The basis of my knowledge and beliefs about social class in my country was heavily influenced by religion, and the conflict between what I knew from church and Christian elementary school, what I experienced entering into a rural public school system in middle school, then later a city high school, opened doors to new knowledge. Reflection on the different ways people treated me in different schools at various (perceived) economic stages of my family’s life, challenged me to questioning the very belief system imparted on me.

The premise that America is the “Land of Opportunity”, and the generalized notion that the United States is “special” because “anyone” a part of it can make it to the “top”, was not something I grew up believing, but rather it was something I grew up knowing. One can know and understand a concept, while not believing it to be true. Knowing that I lived in what many have perceived as the “greatest country in the world” where “with enough hard work any person could be successful/wealthy” was an idyllic premise that had no foundation in my real life experience. In my preteen youth, my father was a full-time factory worker and a “sustainable farmer”, sometimes selling grain at the grain elevator and using the rest of the crops to feed livestock. My mother was a small business owner, owning a home-based health food store in the country; she was also a stay at home mother, tending animals and a garden so we could eat through the winter. They were hard workers, but remained poor.

In the beginning, church on Sundays and studying five days a week in a Christian school created a very narrow understanding of poverty and class. Living in a remote area cut off from many influences, being very limited to what television programming was allowed, even having the television removed for brief periods, and strict guidelines on what types of books were permitted, insulated my knowledge from the reality of social inequality. Never imploring openly in my childhood about why my parents worked so hard, yet never got ahead, why the toys were never new, why our clothing were second-hand and ill-fitting, and why in middle school I was made fun of for it…these things remained undiscussed and I was left to consider the answers on my own. Even today, when confronted with the topic, my father will deny we were poor, or low income, despite having infrequently been able to afford new clothes for his children, having toddlers enrolled in WIC [Women, Infants, and Children] and Head Start (government programs reserved for low-income families), and intermittently being on public heating assistance through frigid winters. Therefore, when Loewen says, “the tendency of teachers and textbooks to avoid social class as if it were a dirty little secret only reinforces the reluctance of working-class families to talk about it” (212), supporting his theory of a “subculture of shame” (211), it reinforces what I already know; but creates a deeper understanding of why that shame lingers for some, even after they manage to become successful much later in life.

Two major events caused a change in the base of my knowledge about social class, happening almost simultaneously - the experience of entering the public school system after years of private Christian education, and being aware of and questioning the underlying role of religion in relation to “my” country. Entering the public school system for the first time in the 6th grade, my exposure to distinct social stratification was experienced through ridicule and bullying largely in part due to, based on the names called and things said, my ill-fitting second-hand clothing. This wealth of new knowledge based on personal experience about how income plays a part in the way people treat and think of other people, began to painfully shed layers of false understanding built up by years of insulation from the reality of this truth. That same year, my Dad would sit my brothers and me in front of the television, and discuss with us Revelations, the final book of the Bible that deals with the “End Times”. It was 1990, the height of the Desert Storm war. He equated this political war that was taking place with foretold warnings of End Times, not offering up any other real foundation for understanding what was occurring. Initially fearful, being only about eleven years old, I recall confusion and skepticism. These are two of my very few clear memories of childhood. The impact of information given, and the things experienced in school, planted seed for inquiry about my family’s economic station in life and how God relates to the politics of my country. The questions grew, lingered long.

It would not be until many years later, as a teen in the mid-90s, after two missionary trips to inner-city Monterrey Mexico to preach to, and feed the poor, still trying to cling to ingrained religious ideals, that the lingering skepticism started to bloom. While the poverty in other countries like Mexico is hard to juxtapose with the poverty of United States and other “developed” countries, the people there were/are no less hardworking than many of the poor and low-income of the United States. I began to consider the impoverished state of the world. Taught that all people are the Children of God, all of the world’s people belonged to Him, why did the inequality exist, why was there such a sharp contrasts between the classes everywhere? Why would “my savior” would want his “children” to be so poor that they lived in shacks built of garbage and refuse on abandoned train tracks, languishing in the dirt? Why had the United States been the one “blessed” by God; why were the people of the United States his people and why did he allow his own “chosen” people to go hungry? Why. Why. Why. There are no answers for questions that you are not supposed to ask.

Strangely, but perhaps not, the movie The Devil’s Advocate (1997) finally created the jolt needed to accept that there were no answers, except for one. One cold afternoon I went to a local second-run theater alone, as I often did, to see any movie that happened to be playing. Alone in the warm theater, snug in my comfortable seat, I became grossly offended by the character John Milton, played by Al Pacino, and his passionate oration:

“Let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch. He's a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do, I swear for His own amusement, his own private, cosmic gag reel, He sets the rules in opposition. It's the goof of all time. Look but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, don't swallow. Ahaha. And while you're jumpin' from one foot to the next, what is he doing? He's laughin' His sick, fuckin' ass off! He's a tight-ass! He's a SADIST! He's an absentee landlord! Worship that? NEVER!”

I was offended. I nearly left the theater. But I stayed. I stayed primarily because it was cold outside but also out of intrigue. I stayed and watched, almost reluctantly accepting this new “experience” and thought about why I was offended. It turned out I was offended because what he was saying rang true in my heart. It helped me form the answer I had long sought. Suddenly I understood that the only logical answer was that my knowledge of God was a lie. All things being unjust, God’s existence became highly questionable.

I felt free. In the admission that the very basis of my knowledge may be wrong, may be a lie, I realized I now had the freedom to question all of my knowledge, where it came from and why. If I now felt free to question God’s existence, could I not also question why government would mislead populations about the opportunity it can afford them, while at the same time hard working people’s struggle to stay out of poverty continued to persist and society increasingly deemed them inadequate citizens.

The very thing Loewen states about why social stratification remains minimalized by special interest groups, that “[…] what American society needs to stay strong is citizens who assent to its social structure and economic systems without thought” to “[…] defend our economic system mindlessly” (216) rings true. Critically thinking citizens revolutionize societies. Being aware of how definitive Patriotism and definitive Christianity parallel in begging

to be unquestioned by their members, and how patriotism and religion in the United States often embody each other, I came to understand how the two persist together in maintaining class structure issues. The common notion that “The United States is blessed by God” inherently ties patriotism and religion together, so then, as a Christian American, questioning your family’s position in the social structure, if it even occurred to a person to do so, may be considered unpatriotic, and unchristian.

The ultimate patriotic ideal persists further, unquestioned in textbooks and classrooms, viewed through the lens of the religious eye. For example, true Patriotic ideology tells you that you can do and be anything because you live in the greatest country on earth, full of endless opportunity as long as you worked hard enough. It explains away failure to achieve by equating it with lack of personal effort, creating shame, yet it does not provide an answer for why people who work hard often don’t get ahead. In a turn to Religion you discover that the Bible often tells you that poverty isn’t so bad, that in many of its teachings you can find it is perhaps God’s will for his people to be poor.

20 And he lifted up his eyes on his disciples, and said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. 21 “Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you shall be satisfied. “Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh.” (Luke 6:20-21 ESV)

18 Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has given him, for this is his lot. 19 Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil—this is the gift of God. (Ecclesiastes 5:18-19 ESV)

With verses such as these the Bible appears to explain away “failure to achieve in the face of opportunity” by equating it with God’s will for you to inherit “The Kingdom of God” and accept “his lot for you”. Occasionally you can find the Bible equating wealth with danger, a slippery slope whose potential end result is an abandonment of your savior, as indicated in Hosea 13:6 (ESV) 6 ”but when they had grazed, they became full, they were filled, and their heart was lifted up; therefore they forgot me.” These messages then, encourage complacency. Alternatively, in the scant verses that do touch on the topic of poverty, causation linked to sloth or laziness reiterates the message of ideal patriotism, that poverty is the effect of “lack of personal effort”. Ultimately, left unexplored, the messages about poverty and social stratification created through the means of patriotic and religious idealism does not address causation, further propagating the negative standards caused by “brushing the issue under the rug”.

The Language Police: How Pressure Groups Restrict What Students Learn by Diane Ravitch, another key influence on my evolving knowledge, has provided me the insight to understand why Loewen says History textbooks “minimize social stratification” (216) throughout history. Special interest groups who influence textbook publication, those who decide what topics are allowed to be included, how information is allowed to be presented, and which get used in their schools, are heavily invested in the outcome of formal education and suppression of revolution. The tendency to completely omit topics, such as income distribution and class structure from classrooms and textbooks, prevents having to teach or discuss “the events and processes in our past” (Loewen, 209) that have impacted social class. This lack of acceptance to the correlation of historical and current government influence on social inequality creates a dissonance, which insulates the populations from important information, making it easier to explain away class inequity with false religious and patriotic notions, creating enduring archetypes of social class and poverty.

It is through these experiences and influences on the information I already had, that my foundation for the acceptance of knowledge continually grows; shaping me and how I come to understand the world and people around me. The liberation through accepting new information in opposition to existing knowledge, and challenging learned prejudices is important on a grand scale. To fear new knowledge, to fear change, only works against social transformation, works against any real progress as a person, and as a country. People should be encouraged to question things, to seek real answers, to let their knowledge evolve. Therefore, knowledge should not be hidden away, it should be celebrated in order to maintain a solid democratic foundation, to minimize the persistent negative social structure paradigms, and let true freedom flourish. A countries thoughtless unquestioned ideal of economic social structure, i.e. “The Land of Opportunity”, built on lack of information, misinformation, and/or lack concrete answers is dangerous; dangerous in that it restricts its members of the knowledge and understanding and in doing so undermines freedom, undermines progress, and undermines Democracy.

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Screenshot from the grading rubric:

Our first paper for this class is here, if you're interested:

- Rhetorical Moves and Devices In Writing: A University Essay (October 24, 2013)

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a comment or...whatever...

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

A Tribute Speech of a Different Color

The assignment for public speaking class tonight was to write a tribute speech about yourself 30 years from now, as told and presented by someone else. 

It was amazing to hear all the awards and accomplishments fellow students figured they'd perhaps achieve in 30 years. Everything from ending WWIII, to curing cancer, to inventing flying cars, to achieving World Peace, reviving entire villages in third world countries...and it just goes on and on. Where do these crazy kids come up with this stuff, hey?...silly kids with their silly dreams ;-)It was almost vomit inducing.

And then along came Frankie...with her eulogy. Yes. We wrote our funeral eulogy. Out of 21 students, it was the only one. It's unclear how it was received, though the instructor enjoyed it, using it as a specific, and only, example of using humor and imagination (ha!) in a tribute speech.

What did the speech sound like?

Something like this...

It began very beautifully talking about how "She" "succumbed to wanderlust" in her early adult years living a "nomadic life" often "punctuated by forays into secondary education" desiring to achieve "something personally remarkable" by living a fulfilling like full of experiences. Then later in life "She" became a  "recluse"

"often finding solace in retreating to the online world of 1’s and 0’s, having philosophical debates on topics dear to her like food security, poverty and equal rights, fighting for social justice and equality, spending much of her time writing about personal philosophies on current events, often escaping to the comfort of her brushes and paints, spending hours in her studio painting.

In the last months she spent most of her time in solitary confinement of her own making, writing, alone in her studio, drinking copious amounts of Gin and putting the final touches on her masterpieces. She passed away in her sleep, just as she had always wanted, having lived a life just as she wished."

And with that...

Perhaps, Ugly

We checked into the hotel this evening, and was only in the room a brief time before heading out to meet Baby Brother at a local Thai restaurant in downtown Minneapolis (Ginger Hop). We only had time to run a brush through our hair to fix our ponytail, but in those brief seconds we saw more of us, on the outside, than we have in months.

We don't own a full length mirror. When we lived at The Mother's for the last year we didn't have a full length mirror. She doesn't own one. We have two very small mirrors in the house; and a dresser mirror still waiting from it's year and a half in storage to be rejoined with its lower half.

Thinking very little about the feeling in the mirrors we left the hotel, returning hours later.

Standing in front of one of the mirrors we began to disrobe, and dread grew with each layer, while sadness and disgust began to shroud us.

Things we haven't seen in many months. Our naked body.

Despite attempts at losing the weight we have put on over the last year; the 4 to 5 days on the elliptical for 75 minutes at a time, burning an average of 850 calories a session; the cutting out bread almost completely for over a month; the reduction of calories in general...

Ugly. Standing in front of the mirror, ugly. Naked, all of our naked, body and mind. The battleground of our brain, screaming, ugly, from the inside out.

Perhaps it's impossible standards of self, set by having loved the thinness of our body at the most recent sickest part of our life. Perhaps, having gone so long only exposed to the bareness of our thoughts, baring our brain, naked for the world to read.

Luckily hours from now we may awake, and pull the towels and coverings from the mirrors placed there by James in an attempt to calm us, and we shall be someone else, someone who doesn't feel like dying; and stepping outside into the world, we'll pretend we are normal, hide our body beneath clothes, and the horrors of our mind behind our sealed lips. And be beautiful.

Perhaps.

E, C, C, I, F

A Brief Personal History of Drinking

[*Dear Dad - while this entry is not at all as...shocking...as others here, you still may not want to read it and find out what we were up to in your care...and after]

This is brief, and has a point...for us.

Our first experience with alcohol was in the 8th grade, when we were about 12.

Two female friends, and us, spent the weekend together, both nights at a different girls house (but not ours).

The first night, on a sleeper sofa in her parents living room, with the house to ourselves, "J" said there were wine coolers in the fridge and said we should drink some of them.

At that age, with a strict Christian up-bring, and the seeds of a desire to rebel, parents just having split, Dad raising two sons and a daughter all on his own, and a few of us having the responsibility of taking care of two young brothers part-time...we jumped at the chance. Growing up there was never alcohol, that we knew about, in the house.

Sneaking to the fridge "J" took a few bottles out and we shared each wine cooler together; and then panicked about where we would hide the empty bottles, and how we explain their disappearances from the fridge. Whipping them out into the wooded area near her house we decided she would blame her older sister (who ended up getting in trouble).

The next night we went to "M's" house, her parents were out, and so we made drinks of Kool-aid mixed with whatever hard liquor was in the house (it was probably rum or vodka). A few drinks later and we were sliding down the stairs of her bi-level house, on our bellies, over and over, giggling.

After that it was a few years before we ever drank again, the only exception being a couple of times when The Mother gave us alcohol when we would go spend time with her and her girlfriend (Unpleasant Woman) in the "big city"; and a few [significant] times scattered throughout high school. We were never popular, or "normal party girls", so never went to high school parties. We had limited access to alcohol. We never got out much, and anyway, pot was much easier to acquire and smoke during school hours with cigarettes near the school.

It wouldn't be until we met our ex-husband (age 20) that we started drinking, heavily, and it got out of control fast, it only took about 8 months and our mental illness coupled with general hopelessness over our relationship,  booze and pills landed us in "a ward" of sorts. We didn't stop drinking right away.  The Husband moved us across country, he went into AA, and we stopped drinking with him; it all changed in a big way after that. We left him and moved away to live with The Mother, now single, briefly, before moving on to a new life in The Mountain State. And there we lived a relatively sober life (from alcohol) once again.

Always having a taste for pot, or nothing at all. It was probably six years before we really drank again. Through years of University we were "liquid sober". The man we met (Talented Boyfriend) and moved to Canada to be with in '04 wasn't a drinker. We never saw him have more than a single beer, if that, during the entire relationship, despite his musician lifestyle. We would go to a few parties with him, hardly ever drank and had even stopped smoked pot at that point.

Then shorty before the relationship ended we fell in with a "drinking crowd" and drinking heavily on weekends, and vacations with them. Then they were no longer part of our life, and in 2010, and aside from a few dry spells...we've been a 'steady drinker". We've only been "real drinkers" for a few years.

Most people start drinking at a young age, and then continue until adulthood. They come from "that type of family", they had "that kind of life when they were teenagers" and then by the time they are our age, they're "alcoholics". That's the stereotype. Our life hasn't been as full of drugs and alcohol as most people would guess. We've had more days on prescription drugs, than on "illicit" ones.

What's the point of this anyway?

We're drinking too much.

We never had this problem before.

Way too much.

An amount that makes some people we know who are heavy drinkers... surprised.

James doesn't like when we drink, but it's more of a case of "too much". Just to be clearm we don't drink during the day. We're Happy Hour and Beyond drinkers.

This is not a plea for an intervention.

This is just a plea to us, that we come back to this entry before long, and make a plan. We've stopped before, we'd like to think if it came down to it we'd be able to stop again, if we wanted to.

Gin just tastes so good...

Dueling Depression

Like a "virus" it gets under the skin, can't locate the source, or even, many times, how it even happens. All of a sudden enjoyable things, like writing, being awake, things previously obsessed about doing become a chore, become tiresome, become too much. Sleeping twice as much becomes the way to get through the day. Eating patterns change. Everything changes for the worse, everything becomes forced to attain a normal feeling that doesn't end up feeling normal, only heart breaking.

We've felt it coming. We staved it off with thoughts of moving, the anticipation had grown. Whenever we had a bad day we just mentally put ourselves into our new home...and think of all the things we were going to do with it. Pictured painting in our new studio, and gardening in our beautiful gardens, and canning and cooking in our new kitchen. It was our retreat.

And then we lost it, it fell through. Interesting to know, they actually reduced the price by $5000 today; given that we just had to pull out of the sale this last week because they wouldn't accept our amended off after the property inspection, we're not ready to try to deal with them again right away. We've been burned, and we need time to deal with it. Some of us figure that the property will continue to stay on the market, even until after we find an alternative, and in the end be sold for what our final amended offer was.

Now our "safe place" is gone. There is nowhere to mentally put us when a place is needed. We don't like creating fake places to get by, because fake is...well...fake. We want a real place to put ourselves into, a home, a destination...a dream place based on reality and the future.

We've been mourning it in numbing fashion, sliding deeper into the hole we'd been poised above for months, understanding we are depressed, but not clinically depressed; there are marked differences between the two. Over the past couple of weeks we've worked on decreasing our drinking habit again, by about 50%, even though it's our only pain killer for back pain. So far so good, we suppose.

To combat the depression before it gets worse, because it's gotten exhausting to pretend we are mentally fine and dandy, some of us have been doing it for month. We plan to start working out again. The distraction of the gym and exercise will be healthy, both mentally and physically, and is needed.

We went to the gym today and did 30 minutes of cardio, just to start, on the cross-trainer mostly; it's always been our favourite piece of cardio equipment (it burns the most calories per minute while being gentle on joints). We had to decrease the amount of time we run because of our knees and back and so found love in the cross-trainer. It's been two years since we've been to the gym. We used to be frequent (4-5 times a week) gym members. It felt great getting back into it today, until we stood on the scale for the first time in a year...and then a desire to return each day, or at least three times a week, was put into drive. It went from feeling great, to feeling essential. As our weight has been an issue almost most of our life.

So, while trying to figure out where to move, how to move, and when to move, given we don't want to compromise too much on the dreams we have laid out; and with a bit of a new distraction of going to the gym and focusing on our body a bit with a goal of hopefully losing 20 pound before the Tweetup we are (planning) on (co)hosting in May 2013 (that's about as much as we can lose without looking ill); we hope to keep a stiff upper lip, and not let the wrenches tossed into the spoke of our dreams get us down. It's not easy, but we're many-times-survivors, and we can duel this depression like a pro...hopefully soon.

~ Frankie et al

Core Suppression In DID

Note: This entry is specifically for a reader who e-mailed us this weekend seeking advice, (we'll call her "M") but is, of course, for anybody to read.

Whenever we get e-mailed questions (about religion, DID, other mental health issues, etc.) that require a very long answer, we generally choose to respond by writing a blog post. The reasoning is if someone out in the wide world of the internet has a specific question, so might others; rather than answer many e-mails, we choose to cover the topic in a post. For some of us e-mails are growing just as dreadful as phone calls. (That doesn't mean you should stop sending them, of course)

In addition, then, by posting an entry all people get the same information from the one(s) of us who choose to answer the question. It helps with consistency of information in the case that one of us may not be as articulate (we have varying abilities), or may not even bother to answer an e-mail in a desire to not help people - some of us are not helpful, do not like people, would prefer other people would figure stuff out on their own, like we did (in short, selfish brats) - so rather than writing the same information over and over, we provide the answers here for ease and consistency.

If you are not familiar with the ins and outs of DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) the content of this entry, as well as some of this blog, may seem unusual to you. If you want to learn more we have provided a set of links, as well as a list of terminology, at the end of this entry (though you can easily locate them all over the blog).

We've been asked, by an alter* of a system* who lives their life with acknowledged DID, advice on suppressing thier core*, specifically theirs. The reason this reader has asked for our advice is that we have written a lot, while not in detail (yet), about eliminating (not just suppressing or integrating) our core, which took place in the Fall of 2010 through early Spring of 2011.

In this entry we will use "suppress" to mean restrain, as opposed to put an end to, which in my vocabulary is "eliminate".

First, I want to state right away that it is not advisable to attempt these types of things without the help of an exterior support system of some kind (such as trusted family/friends), and perhaps a mental health professional (highly recommended). Also, this information, while based on personal experience, is not to be used to take place of any recommendations/instructions from any mental health professional. That's my attempt at legal ass covering. There's more of a disclaimer at the end of this entry.

Second, while elimination of our core , The Other Girl, as we have referred to her throughout this blog, was done by us, with some mental health support of a good friends (Fabulous Person) and little else; we do not recommend trying it, or any variations of it, on your own. The results of dismantling the core of your system can be very dangerous, can cause additional mental and psychological harm, confusion and chaos among alters, and may even result in self-harm by some alters leading to things like suicide and permanent physical damage.

When someone with Dissociative Identity Disorder talks about their core, if they are able to (core/alter awareness varies among systems), they are talking about the one who makes many of the decisions for the system. The core is in control much of the time, is the "first born" of the system (as far is understood by the system), is born into the body inhabited by all the alters (the system) is often who the outside world knows the system to be in a singular sense. Also, since many, if not all of the alters share a legal identity, the core is therefore the one who bears the brunt of most of the bad decisions made, that includes employment and legal matters, financial issues, and all relationships and social issues - particularly if they have not "come out" to people in their life. It is not unusual for alters to go missing for any stretch of time after they have done something displeasing in the eyes of the core while in executive* position.

There are some benefits to suppressing, or even integrating, a core if it's required/needed. We don't recommend elimination, except in cases of severe system distress.

Times when it may be/feel necessary, especially in the eyes of strong independent alters, are on when the core exerts too much pressure on the other personalities; may be overly controlling; may not let them be acknowledged either by each other, or in general; may not be allowing them to live in a healthy cooperatively constructive manor; may be damaging to the system in some way or another, such as in the way they live, make money, form relationships. In some cases the core may be trying to eliminate members of the system, which is scary stuff to those alters who feel like they will be pushed out, or "die". Just as any person may fear death, each individual of the system has the same fears.

Three Forms of Core (or Alter) Control

Suppression - we have very little experience with suppressing a core/alter, as most of us were the ones being suppressed. What we can suggest is communication among the alters and core to find common ground and maybe a better understanding or balance.
Integration - integration of a core/alter is where other alters absorb memories of the core, and often inherit traits, skills and other positive aspects (if done correctly), while removing the negative aspects. Essentially the core/alter removed will no longer exist as them, rather be part of another alter.
Elimination - the destruction and removal of a core/alter, sometimes many memories, and commonly traits, skills, and some bases of knowledge may be eliminated along with the core. The core/alter will no longer exist, and no part of them remains with the system.

There is speculation, even among some professionals, that none of these methods are 100% effective and that there is no true way to eliminate, or integrate, cores or alters. 

If there are no huge cooperation issues within the system, if there are no negative aspects that need to be dealt with, or any major difficulties living life productively and a system can work well together, there is never any real reason to suppress, integrate or eliminate anybody from the system. Not to mention you must always have a replacement for your core, someone who is willing to make important decisions. Preferably an adult alter.

Cooperative systems in Dissociative Identity Disorder can be a very healthy way of living, as after many years they have become a system of support. Dissociative Identity Disorder is a coping mechanism, a function created by the brain out of childhood trauma (read more here: Treating and Curing Dissociative Identity Disorder); but again, some professionals say it's not healthy, some say it is.

We've talked to mental health professionals who have worked with patience seeking assistance and therapy for DID, or have colleagues who have - it is not uncommon for one, or several, alters to have "other" mental health issues such as depression, eating disorders, personality disorders, etc. - that say that there are other DID systems who have eliminated their core, as we have, in order to lead a happier more productive life. We also know of integrated systems. There are also cooperative systems who make lives of many, in the body of one, work for them.

So, some may wonder...how. How does one go about elimination of a core? (or perhaps, an alter)

I do plan on getting us to write in detail the story and events which took place that ultimately allowed us to overpower our core and eliminate her. As there are no same two ways to achieve integration or elimination of a core/alter - we've asked some who have experience with it professionally, as well as personally, and each process was done differently - we are not sharing all the details here today. Our process was a very sensitive, sexually graphic, sometimes violent, embarrassing, and emotionally raw story, and for some of us a painful and mentally draining final chapter to the story of our past. We have been trying to work our way towards it, and I promise, we will write about it one day.

Image Source

In general detail the elimination of our core involved systematic system/alter-initiated and system/alter-inflicted mental, physical, emotional abuse to our core by our own doing; as well as the implementation of the help of another person, a man who we wrote about often in this blog (commonly known as Fuck Face) during that time. He, of course, had no idea what role he was playing at the time, but it was a very important one. Without his help, would have been nearly impossible.

In short, two of our strongest (and oldest) alters, Frank [myself] and Emmie, spearheaded a torture campaign for several months to mentally break down our core. She was a very proud woman who, not surprisingly, was also very weak, and so we did things that resulted in her destruction.

In the end she died riddled with emotional pain and sadness, the loud screaming of her soul echoing off the walls as she lay curled on the kitchen floor sobbing, in the city we previously called home.

While we didn't all come out of it unscathed, it was the price we paid to gain the freedom we all desired. We would do it again.

So, "M" (and anyone else who thinks to garner tips/advice from this post),
We DO NOT recommend doing any of the things we did. Please do not torture your core, or any of your alters. The only safe way to achieve your goal is to think of peaceful ways, mentally and physically, in which you can rid yourself of the issue.
Looking back on it, while we do not regret any of it, looking at it from the completed process we see where many things could have went terribly wrong (more wrong than already did!) and could have lead to another mental hospital, or even death. Or even worse things.
We wish you luck, however, in the event you are successful be aware that it may cause chaos, further discontent, job lose, lose of friendships and important relationships, and unforeseen problems, in your life.

~ Frank (et al)

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*Dissociative Identity Disorder Terminology

Personality Specifics
Alter: alter states, selves, parts (a subjective term); distinct personalities; fragments alternate personality, personality state, ego state or identity with its own unique perspectives, abilities, memories or other traits that differ from the Host or Executive personality.
The Core: The original birth personality.
Host: is the alter personality who dominates the control of the body most of the time and is often unaware of the other personalities. The host is usually the alter personality who will initiate after experiencing symptoms of mental distress, such as, anxiety, triggers or recovered memories.
Executive: When a personality (alter ego) has control of the body.
Switch: To switch from one personality to another. The process of an alter coming out from the subconscious mind into the consciousness mind while the other alter (who was already in the consciousness mind) slips back into the subconscious mind.
Who's out? A common question used to determine which personality is executive or host.
Co-conscious(ness): A state of being aware of what the other personalities are doing and saying.

Other Terms:
Acquired: Anything that is not present at birth but develops some time later. In medicine, the word "acquired" implies "new" or "added." An acquired condition is "new" in the sense that it is not genetic (inherited) and "added" in the sense that was not present at birth.
Triggers: Conversion symptoms or body memories. Physical phenomenon such as pain, smells, tastes, etc.; reaction to stimuli; sometimes causing a re-experience.
Dissociation: In psychology and psychiatry, a perceived detachment of the mind from the emotional state or even from the body. Dissociation is characterized by a sense of the world as a dreamlike or unreal place and may be accompanied by poor memory of the specific events, which in severe form is known as dissociative amnesia.
Re-live: A total memory recall (includes visual, emotional, physical and all other senses).
Losing Time: Also known as a Dissociative Fugue, is the period of which an alter personality is in the subconscious mind and has no recollection of the time that is being utilized by the alter personality who is occupying the conscious mind. Therefore when the alter switches into the conscious mind they realize that minutes, hours, days, or even months and years have passed since they were last aware of time.
System: is the structure of relationships between the alter personalities who live within the internal world of a survivor with D.I.D.! Every system is created and operates in it's own unique way, just like every family living in their own homes run their households different from the next door neighbor.
Inner (Self) Helper: is usually the alter personality who has a good understanding of the system and how it works. The I.S.H. is also among the typical group of helpers or protector personalities.
Grounding: is the process of disrupting a dissociative episode and is accomplished by tugging on an earlobe, rubbing the hands together, or shuffling the feet back and forth. This type of physical stimuli can bring the survivors mind back to awareness of their surroundings, and helps to make them feel less animated.

Recommended For Further Understanding of Dissociative Identity Disorder - written by many of us:

A Peek Into Id, Ego and Super-Ego (2012)
Personality Vs. Dissociative Disorder (2012)
Associating With Dissociation (2012)
We Chat With The Father About DID (this post contains information on what DID is) (2011)
We Discuss Three Mis-Diagnosed Mental Illnesses (2011)
The D in DID: Dissociation (2011)
Who Lives In Your Head? Mapping Therapy and DID/MPD (2011)

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This website and its contents are for educational (and sometimes entertainment) purposes, advocacy, writing therapy, and the journalling of our personal life only. The information provided on this website should not be used for the purposes of diagnosing or treating a medical/psychiatric illness. It is not intended to be a substitute for professional care. If you have or suspect you may have a mental health problem, you should consult a mental health professional.

Dissociative Disorder Information Recommended Online Resources:
· DSMIV (Diagnostic & Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders 5th Edition) http://www.dsm5.org/proposedrevision/Pages/DissociativeDisorders.aspx
· NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Health) http://www.nami.org/Content/ContentGroups/Helpline1/Dissociative_Disorders.htm
· All Psych

http://allpsych.com/journal/did.html