Coping and NOT Crying

This girl is in a wheelchair and she has to have special treatments regularly at a clinic or hospital. The nurse is some kind of bizarre person who just does not understand the significance of her actions. The nurse keeps taking the girl’s wheelchair away! The nurse says that it is a fire hazard.

I feel like telling the nurse to think about what it would feel like if someone were to ask her to take off her legs because they were blocking the fire extinguisher. If, God forbid, there were a fire, how would the girl get out? Well, someone would carry her, but what if? Follow me?

Yesterday, I posted about my findings concerning the Holocaust and people with disabilities. I was in tears and could not work after that. I kept thinking about all of those people. Not just the people with disabilities were on my mind. All of the dead walked through my imagination and I prayed and prayed.

This nurse can’t seem to have any compassion for the girl and her feelings. Do they teach that in nursing school? I think that she is just supposed to connect with the people for whom she cares. Those people in Nazi Germany did not connect with those they murdered. They were not people, too. Who among us do we see as different from us?

I wonder how I can be a better person and care more, but sometimes it is so difficult. Murders. Intolerance. Rudeness. Hatred. Bigotry. Envy. Stealing. Arson. Robbery. Disrespect. Rape. Child abuse. Exploitation. Scams. The list goes on. We live in this world, and have to walk around like turtles with tough shells over our tender skin that way no one tears us apart.

I can’t because of the life that I chose in 2006. Now, I have to give the thief my shirt when he steals my coat, have to turn the other cheek, have to pray and love, have to lend without expecting anyone to pay me back and have to be patient. It comes naturally mostly.

Last week, Father O. said that we have to be different. Do we have to be doormats? I wonder. I just pray all the time and laugh a lot. Sometimes, I make jokes at the expense of those who bother me and then I feel bad and make disparaging remarks against myself. Other times, I just cry. My mother used to tell me to quit crying because it ruined the face. Now, I want to cope.

Coping to me means what the girl is doing. She told the nurse that she had to keep the chair in a nice way. Then, she told others about it and got support. Mad Pride is coping, too.

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