So here it is, the front end of the morning, and I'm here to talk to you again.
Of course, the whole, 'real' world is stirring right now. it is those who are voiceless that wander now; and I love them all.
If I want to connect with those with invisible disabilities, (mental illness), I come into this laptop world at 3 AM and they are all awake. It's amazing how that happens. I, myself, sleep in shifts. Others stay up all night, or sleep when the feeling strikes...It's not voluntary; it's just the way it is.
The hard part about having invisible disabilities is the feeling that others are looking at you thinking, "What's with them?" or "Why don't they work?" There is no other feeling like meeting a health professional or a social worker and telling them you have invisible disabilities, or the look on their face when they know you are disabled and don't come in with a wheelchair.
It's rather amusing. I have to be fair. The social workers deal with it with a great deal of aplomb. They have gotten used to the fact that we are a round peg in a square world. The physicians automatically think that 'this' isn't their field and they can do nothing for you. Most of them have the sense to know that 'it' is a physical ailment alright. But the only thing they know to do for you is give you a tranquilizer and send you home, no matter what symptoms you present with.
The mental health community, unfortunately, can be just as bad. In that world, we are called 'consumers'. (And of all word choices, why that one?) And there can be just as much stigma for some diagnoses as there is in the public mind, believe it or not.
But, all in all, I am grateful to the Universe. I know the way I am, and the way I see the world is a large part of my creativity. It really helps to be an artist...people expect artists to drink and be odd.
People don't expect you to have a service animal for a mental disability, but we are out there. Mine passed two years ago, and in the words of the dancer, Martha Graham, he was:"... a vitality, a life force, an energy. There is only one of you in all of time."
Which brings me back to the voiceless world awake at this hour. My service animal, a border collie mix named Eddie, spoke to me "...in old, familiar ways."* And I have found no other to replace him.
But then I can't find anyone to replace You, either. Those of you with voices have your ways as well, and I am one of the fortunate ones who has a voice to speak to you, even when I feel separate at times.
Tomorrow morning, I am going back to the world of zinnia and tomatoes and happenstance. I am fortunate that the unicorn meat eating cats live in both worlds. They float effortlessly from my world, and translate themselves as pets to the voiced world. I feel they are good interpreters, and now they are wandering the night, gathering strength for the day ahead.