Bad News

I am sick of advertisements for the news. So often it is a disgusting advertisement that often triggers me. At five in the afternoon they are showing the gore of a dead body, when children are more likely to see it. I can understand to an extent showing some of the gore in life, but, it is gratuitous. It is overly done. It is painful and wrong.

These news stations do not take into account the more sensitive viewers, those with PTSD, or those who need to shelter themselves. Half the time when I try, I cannot make it five minutes into a news program because of the unnecessary gore. Gore is not necessary to give an impactful report. I can give a speech and I can direct my audience into a specific state of emotion with the power of my words. They used to warn you before showing graphic imagery.

I remember it clearly, the news woman with the strange hair and deep voice said, “This next report is rather graphic, if you are sensitive or if there are children in the room we recommend that you turn the station or leave the room for the next five minutes.” Then, they would wait about thirty seconds and usually my mother would send me away, though I often peaked around the corners, and would find myself upset by the very thing she meant to protect me from.

Now they try to slam you with the grotesque, with the horrors of the world. I understand censorship is wrong but warning people isn’t censorship. Do we need to see every dead body? Do we need to see the blood and guts? Isn’t it awful enough to have heard about it? They forget too, the survivors of crime. Often when a crime is reported the victim or the survivors of the victim have yet to tell everyone and in some cases they have yet to even find out. Now there is no shelter or protection from the cruelty of the reports, they do not get the benefit of waiting.

The excuse for this disgusting behavior? Accurate reporting. Most reports are baised, do not actually touch on real issues, and they do not have much effect. If accurate reporting was used, then, there would be no need to try and submerge the viewer in a horror movie, one that is more horrid because it is real.

This rant came from a report showing evidence in an unsolved murder on TV. The police do not have the benefit of using that tidbit of information, now it is public knowlege and adds to the burden with false confessions and misleading rumors. This murder is one that effects me. I knew the victims, we grew up together. I am hoping it is solved someday but, I am not sure I would want to see the news report. Too much information .

Thank You is Sometimes All You Can Say.

This feels strange, to write. I am going to go for a crown. It took me a very long time to become aware of my own value, and through the Ms Wheelchair USA program, I can not only show my own skills and confidence but I get to hopefully inspire other women and men to be confidence. I have conversations daily with my friends, sometimes strangers, and every so often in the mirror with myself when my pain has me grasping for strength I am sure I will not find about confidence and value.

I minister aid to those in need. Today I recieved two gifts. One, is the first donation for my campaign towards the Crown, and the other was a bottle of holywater. I will not discuss my religion here, as I do not think that has bearing on who I am or what I am capable of doing, but I see this as a beautiful thing.

The woman who sent me the holy water is one of my strangers. It was just before Christmas and I went with a friend to the bookstore. Meandering we agreed to meet at the coffee shop and I went rolling through the shop. She looked happy, except her eyes. I remember how utterly void of joy they were, and she couldn’t seem to stop staring, so, I struck up a conversation with her about the books on the table. She didn’t take long to open up to me. I remember my utter shock at her telling me she was going to commit suicide. I responded before I thought with, “Why would you want to do a thing like that?” After an h our of conversation we hugged. I rarely hug people because it pains me, but, she needed a hug more than anything else. She told me she wanted to send me a package and after meeting me she couldn’t kill¬† herself. Our conversation touched on the spiritual, but mostly her need to be someone. She had forgotten herself for years to be a mother to a disabled child, and now her own grand child was disabled and she couldn’t fathom happiness for anyone. Today I recieved a thank you card, and the bottle from a local blessed spring. It reminded me of my power to inspire people. I did not need a reminder to know I am good, but, the reminder that I can touch people by being who I am was a surprise.

I then talked with a male friend of mine who often forgets to love himself. For years he has battled this and tonight I shared with him how I learned to love myself. I started telling myself three times a day in the mirror I love you. That was all I saw myself, when washing my hands. Then, I wrote on my stomach, legs and anywhere that was invisible to others, I love me. I love me. Over and over. It took a long time, then I started to believe it. Mike and I met over something daring, I did something that I might be ashamed of now, online as many others do. The evidence is thankfully washed away by server errors and time. I had made myself do something out of character, to see what would happen. I never went back in my shell. I instead became a real girl. No more hiding, no more sorrow. Shortly after this I broke my back, and had to resume chanting how much I love me. I still do some days, to help myself along when the pain burns me through and I forget that I am more than a disabled chick who can barely walk. When homeless Mike fed me, he even helped pay for Sprite the Service Cat’s vet bills. He is amazing, and, I hope that he remembers that. He reminds me of who I used to be, and even admits when he is wrong. A very rare individual whom I appreciate. He is who I turn to when even my well worn tactics fail, he can always make me smile and is the Brother of My Soul. He is greatness himself, and proved to me, before any other male could, that not all men are evil. Without him, I would still be fighting daily to not feel afraid in this world. Instead I feel love and warmth even in my darkest hours.

Then, I went into my favorite IRC, dedicated to graphic programers who make animal skins for IMVU, a 3D Instant messenger and started talking with a brilliant young woman. Her name, posted with Permission, is Weesha. We talk often, though the last few months before I started this blog that contact was rare due to no internet connection. I told her of my discovery, just before the deadline and without enough time, this year, to dedicate to my new goal of Ms Wheelchair USA. We brainstormed for ways that she can help me to spread the word about MWUSA, to reach my goal, and so that people can learn about my Platform. I haven’t finished fine tuning the platform yet, but tonight she spread the word far enough that the first donation was made by Jen, a person of similar interests, taste, and a person who deserves a very special thank you. My wonderful day started off in tears and has blossomed into a garden of delights.

I just want to say thank you, these people are beyond special. May any who read these words have as dear friends and family as I have. They feed my soul, they nourish my dreams, and wish for the dreams of all to come true. They deserve as much as they give. Each one has their hopes and dreams and this, dear readers, is my hope for them.

For Information on Ms Wheelchair USA please visit their website. There you can learn about the current Crown holder Beryl Holzbach.  I saw some of her youtube videos today and was brought to tears, mourning what is, and hoping that her advocacy brings great strides to the medical field.

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