Was It Worth It?

Was it worth it?

As I was driving yesterday toward the Illinois border I thought about how I used to drive this route to work at the small weekly newspaper in a very homey, "Mayberry-type" town. I decided after some time there that I wanted to consider IT my home town since L.A. is too busy busting crime to truly feel at home. I made great friends there. Salt-of-the-earth people who will drop everything to help you find your keys (that were in the lining of my purse all along.)

I worked as a typesetter after filling in as temporary graphic artist for the gal that was out with surgery. We all hit it off right away and I knew it was going to be a great experience. It was. One of my goals of life has been to live and work in areas as close to Mayberry as possible, or at least out in the country. This town was the proud owner of the "very first traffic light in the county" which was put in in 1996. When I left that was still the only traffic light in the county.

I worked as a: reporter, typesetter, photographer, photo processor, graphic artist, political cartoonist, columnist, and updated the website for a while. The publisher offered me a job at their sister newspaper across the river back here in Iowa for a $2 an hour raise (a lot when you are only making $7 an hour) as their composing room manager. I've known too many composing room managers and it wasn't worth it. Besides, they already had a great manager who had been there for 24 years and her system worked well, so why change it?

I loved the people at this newspaper in the town with the town square and an historical courthouse where Lincoln stood on a rock to give a speech. There is a placque on the rock. I had not gone into a deep depression while there, I hadn't been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder, I still had my issues, but when I worked at the paper it was more like working in a living history museum. A little bite out of the past, still doing the pasting up of the paper rather than sending it straight to film. It suited me just fine. But to call this "just a weekly paper" were fighting words to all who worked there. Everyone played many roles and the paper was an award-winning paper for layout and design, stories, advertising and circulation.

I left the paper and started working at the sister paper. They warned me not to go, that I wouldn't like it. I still got the raise. But they were right. Little did I know that when the publisher of our paper (who was also the publisher of the one in Iowa)would come over to Iowa he would go on about this woman who, according to one person there, was "the next best thing to sliced bread." For those who worked in composing at the Iowa paper, a daily, they didn't take kindly to hearing about this new person. They didn't know that I was offered the job as their boss, but not knowing me they had a resentment started for me long before I ever stepped foot in their department. That was evident and later proved very truthful. I didn't stay too long at the paper, after hearing snide remarks, having someone mess with my computer changing the setting to "backward" where all the ads printed backward, the screen itself had everything spelled backward. They were very disappointed when I figured it out and changed it back. But it didn't make for a warm fuzzy feeling. So after talking with my husband, I left.

After working later as an Art Director for a book and magazine publishing company and going into my deepest depression, unable to pull out of it for a year and a half, partly a vicious circle of my depression, their reaction, my depression, ostacization..I left after spending time in the hospital.

The first newspaper offered me a job back there, less pay, but they knew who I WAS as a person. Something the book publishing Co. knew nothing about. But after going through depression and suicidal ideation I was NOT the person I was before. I still had bouts of depression, not so severe, or mood swings and the former publisher with whome I got along great was replaced twice, once with a really nice guy and then with the Publisher from Hell. Tension mounted, it wasn't the happy place I had worked at before. My mood was a wreck, med adjustments didn't help. Everyone was patient with me. Except the publisher.

He rearranged the departments at both newspapers, and decided due to my mood swings to dispose of me. Had I not gone through the attitude of the paper in Iowa or the ostracization of the book publisher or the general stigma of depression and the misunderstanding of mental illness in general, I would not have gotten to the point I was at. I was told my work was excellent, but it was another reason for my being fired. When I asked what that was, I was told of my mood swings. Guess what? That is against the law. I had had it. I sued and after five years we settled. Not for much but it was the principal of the thing. So, was it worth it? No.

I did it to make a point. The EEOC got involved, no one from the paper would testify for me but that was okay, they wanted to keep their jobs. Can't blame them for that. I had many others who would testify. It turned the whole newspaper office upside down, tracking down every bit of paper, file, ad, column, photo, sketch, cartoon, article that I had produced while I was ever employed there. I didn't want to do that to my friends...but it was the principle of the thing. I was tired of being told to "snap out of it" and then having it end my job. Was it worth it?...No.

Now I am leaving the area and I have lost contact with the people at the paper. I am an awkward acquaintance who put them through the wringer. Even though there are those who thought I was in the right and doing the right thing. It is detrimental to their job if they are caught talking on the phone to me.

Putting my friends through that was not worth it. The settlement? When all the taxes had been paid and the lawyers fees and extra expenses that weren't normal lawyers fees were paid, it was less than $5,000. It was the principle of the thing, I felt vindicated somewhat. Not the $18,000 that I was awarded after paying everything out, but like I said, it was the principle of the thing. And it was not worth it.

I'm leaving the area, didn't pick up any friends at the sister newspaper, or the book publishing company, and with the collateral damage at the homey Mayberry paper I don't have them anymore either. In hind sight it was definately not worth it to me personally.

However, if people with mental illness sit back and don't fight, the stigma will continue. Action has to be taken to bring this out into the fore more often. It is still so misunderstood. I pay for it everyday. Fight the fight. Eventually... it will be worth it for the whole, but personally there is a lot to lose. Years later..without seeing any more understanding, losing friends...It was not worth it to me. Not by a long shot.

One of the Necessities of Life, (Not Bare)

Yesterday I was tired. I had a tough time getting to sleep and woke up fully before 3:00. So I watched M*A*S*H. Tried to sleep at 5:00 got up. I had spent too much time earlier in the week working out at the Y.

The Y's shower room (there are two private ones) is extremely humid and damp. I started going in here because a guy walked in while I was dressing in the locker room twice. Other times the guy that cleans the locker room has been in there and I've had to ask him to leave. Too close to home for me. Anyway...

When I work out, I sweat big time. I hear that's a good thing. But three days in a row, sweating and then going into the dank room for a cold shower only to continue to be sweating when I got done made it tough to think about covering all this sweatiness with fabric. Then I remembered something my daughter said to me when she was little.

It used to be nearly impossible to get her ready for school on time. She hated getting dressed. She still can't stand shopping where she has to try on clothes. I can relate to that, for different reasons...size for one. But one day she came to me very upset and crying. I thought her best friend had died she was so upset. She was about eight. "What's the matter honey girl? What's wrong?" I asked. "I just realized I'm going to have to get dressed every day for the rest of my life!" sobs.

I don't remember if I laughed. I'm sure I wanted to. I don't know if I did, I don't know what I said...

And then I find myself finding reasons not to work out just so I don't have to shower and get dressed all over again. I think I could cry too.

Mrs. Wilbur and Me, The Last Straw

I was thinking back to when I was little and in kindergarten. I loved birthdays. On your birthday you got to sit at a table in the "house corner" with your milk (which was always provided)for snack time with Graham Crackers. Then you could choose three friends to sit with you. And if you were lucky when it was someone else's birthday they would choose you. I wasn't very popular except with Lynn who flunked out.

I thought about my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Wilbur. She was close to 70 and really had no business wearing heels in a skirt with a bunch of kindergarteners on asphalt. That is just a fact. That is the reason she had to retire. People blamed it on me. They didn't actually say so, but when Mrs. Wilbur had to retire in the middle of the year because of a broken arm, I had the distinct feeling that it was all my fault.

Broken arm? At 70? What the heck was she doing with a broken arm? A hip I could understand. That would have been much worse. All we were doing was playing "Farmer in the Dell"

As luck would have it I was the "mouse" in the center and of course it goes without saying that. Okay I'll say it. The "mouse" picks the "cheese." So being the little brown noser that I was I decided to go for teacher's pet and chose Mrs. Wilbur. I grabbed her by the right elbow and spun her around and kept running when I heard a thud. That didn't matter. I ran all the way back to where I left her, knowing I would get there before her, old as she was and she would end up in the "mush pot."

Well, when I got to her place she was still on the ground. Crying.

I don't remember what else happened that day. I know for days after we had a substitute, but can't tell you anything about that.

Back then and through my entire elementary and junior high years, if I were laughing or crying or embarassed my round face would get as red as a tomato. Who knew that the PTA were planning a retirement party for her? I should have, my dad was PTA president and my mom was vice president. But I was oblivious to just about everything unless it had sugar in it.

One night there was to be a special night at the school. I didn't know what it was for, I just knew that all of the kids who had ever been in Mrs. Wilbur's class got to stand on stage and that was exciting! That meant my sister and both brothers and I got to be on stage since we had all gone through her class. The taller kids stood in the back with all the kindergarteners standing right in front. We sang something but I don't remember what. I held one of those hollow "fish shaped" percussion instruments that you slide a stick down for some noise.

I looked out at the audience, and there was Mrs. Wilbur in a special chair, which looked like a throne, a robe around her shoulders, a crown on her head and her right arm in a white cloth sling. And it was only then that I realized what I had done. My face got bright red and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. The reason she was sitting on the throne, never to be teaching again, was because of me. (I always had the suspicion that the whole of the Canaga clan broke her down...) but it was I who was the last straw.

I don't remember being too sad that she was gone. She was a sweet old lady. I did miss her when the new teacher put me in a locked room with a window that I threw my shoe at, screaming at her to let me out. I don't remember why I was in there. I'm sure it was for my own good, but I wasn't going to go down without a fight. I think the teacher finally gave up. I know I didn't calm down. I don't know how long that teacher lasted.

Things were looking up. The next year I was going to be in first grade. Scotty-watty-doodoo left for another school so it wasn't going to be as much fun. But at least I would get to go to the cafeteria once in the year on my birthday for a birthday cupcake.

Unsettled But Stable

I started writing today needing to vent. So I wrote what I needed and then deleted it. I do a lot of complaining on facebook and a good friend disagrees with my political view. It is not worth losing a friendship over. I'm tired of complaining. I also see footage that is upsetting and isn't too good for my health. I am thinking of cancelling my facebook account. It is fun seeing what others are doing and saying. But I have such strong opinions about things, I'm afraid others are tired of seeing my face or reading my status. Facebook is supposed to be fun, not confrontational. I either need to lighten up, quit reading the news or get off of it.

Mentally, I have hit paydirt on my medications. I have been "normal" for a few months now. I have been cherishing every single day. And they have been good. It makes it easier to let go of some smaller things that in the past would seem huge, because I don't know when my mental state is going under again. I suggested to my psychologist that after a couple months in our new home, I would try the vitamins and minerals again. She said, "Why don't you get settled, have a good Christmas and try again in April or so..." I disputed it thinking surely in the next few months I would be settled and ready. But she said, "I know that's what you THINK, that's why I said it...I want you to wait seven months or so, so you are stable. Your medication is working well, you are in a good streak. But neither you nor I know how long that is going to last. But while you are doing well let's just have you stable for a while." We both laughed. My appointments with her are for maintenance, and because we do like each other it is always good to see her.

She is calling a friend she was in school with who practices in Champaign, Ill. to see if she takes private patients. She'll refer me if she can. I asked, "So,..does that mean we could actually be 'friends' then, if you aren't my doctor?" She said, "I think we could work something out.. :)" That made me smile too.

The year has gone so fast. I don't feel I have recovered fully from my illness in February or the snow into April, or being alone in the remodeling and selling of the house. But my doctors see a change and I have been coping better with those stressors. The house sold. We close on July 30th and we have found a home in Lovington, Illinois, 20 miles from Bob's office. I have not actually "seen" it in person. Bob described it over the phone. It is four acres of about 100 trees, a half-circle drive and a river running behind the property by about 10 feet or so. When he came home for the weekend, he showed me the pictures on his phone. He saw it and told the Realtor, "my wife would LOVE this." I told him to go ahead and make an offer, one counter and then she threw in the $8,000 John Deere lawn mower. It will be interesting mowing between the trees. But we were approved for financing and should close before the 4th of September (my mom's birthday)This just may be a bit of heaven, and a place to rest my bi-polar mind.

I have strong political views but am tired of ranting about them. I think I was better off without a daily voice. I used to write a column and had a lot of stories to tell. I think I will begin writing a daily column here on whatever is on my mind. And try very hard not to get into politics. (although, for history's sake, I may type a line or two of facts.")This is a forum I am used to. Column-style.

My book: I have seven people I am interviewing across the country and will be interviewing and photographing more in the future. One key "element" in the book is the fact that chemically we are worth less than $2. I've talked with a couple people at the Museum of Science and Industry in Southern Cal. The name of the book is called "The Museum Collection." I've been doing quite a bit of research on the internet and in the library. It probably sounds like a dry book, but it has a heart to it. I feel that writing this book is one of the reasons I was placed here on earth. That can be disputed but that is what I believe.

Disjointed and jumbled, that is what this post has been. Maybe you can decipher it. Good luck and have a GREAT 4th of JULY!!