Brainstorming for Essay 3

Last night, we were to write lists on areas that we felt we had "authority" to speak about. I don't know if I did the list the way it was intended and I drew some blanks. What do I have authority to speak on? And how to I turn that into "eye" instead of veering towards "I" without overlapping the two?! The "I" essays I wrote were difficult in that I chose to speak on very personal stories. As hard as it was for me to share that, I'm finding that this "eye" essay might be even more challenging.

I think it's because I feel like I'm going to have trouble walking the "fine line" in my opinion. From what I understand we are to talk write about a subject as we see it, yet without our own thoughts directly coming through. Rather it seems like our thoughts might be a shadow in the writing. We allow the readers to maybe feel where we might want them to or the opposite, without saying it overtly.

In my mind, I have several things I might talk about. Fishing, addictions, obsessions...but how to make that into an "eye" essay? How do I show that without crossing into "I" essay territory? After thinking some more about it, I turned to my journal for some insight. In it, I had written possible topics. Two really stand out to me: "Rebecca" and "Stephanie." One is my best friend and the other is my sister. I definitely feel that I can write confidently about either one. Does this count as a valid area? I hope so...otherwise I'm grasping for straws

Essay 2 Draft-Learning Lessons

Creative Nonfiction – Essay 2 Draft                                                               Marjorie Papa

Learning Lessons

            The First Grade.  Think about it.  Several images appear in my mind.  For many kids, it was a big deal.  We no longer found ourselves in the shelter of kindergarten.  Now, we were entering the world in which we would be in school for the entire day.  We even had a lunch time where we would be sitting with the students from the upper grades.  Here is where we were educated on higher academic levels.  Yet it was still a time of innocence.  Yes, learning became more challenging.  Lessons became more defined and tangible.  And some of us discovered another novelty: we now had a few more choices.  And for me, one of those bigger choices was simply whether I wanted to sit in the cafeteria on the “cold lunch” side with my lunchbox from home…or the “hot lunch” side where I could buy my meal from the school.  You could learn a lot from the freedom of having a choice, even if it began in a lunchroom.

            Allow me to illustrate this by using a story about a 7 year old child in the First Grade.  I knew this child very well and I have quite an extraordinary memory, if I do say so myself.  Therefore, I know that this story is factual and accurate.  She was not really any different from the other students.  She enjoyed this new way of learning.  She made friends and had one in particular who was her best friend.  They had the same teacher, which means that they sat together in the designated section for the students in this teacher’s class.  The lunchroom was as I said: divided by the “cold” and “hot” lunch sides.

            It was a Friday afternoon.  I remember well because she was excited about sleeping over her best friend’s house that night.  It was the fall, although which month I can’t exactly recall.  I’ll get to how I know the season in a few moments.  Somewhere in the midst of their talking about later that night, another topic came up in conversation.  Someone asked if anyone thought this certain Second Grade girl was pretty.  Well, our girl told her best friend that she thought the girl was ugly.  Now who can really say why she said this.  True, it wasn’t nice.  But keep in mind that she was 7.  Maybe the Second Grade girl was mean to her; maybe they liked the same boy.  That’s not the important thing.  No, the important thing is that a boy from this Second Grade girl’s class, who happened to really like her, overheard this conversation between the friends.

            As the end of the school day neared, the girls were even more excited about their soon-to-be sleepover.  Just about an hour before the day was over, our girl’s teacher told her that the Second Grade teacher, let’s call her Mrs. Pace, wanted to see her.  The girl had no clue why but had no fear since it was her brother’s teacher.

            As she entered the room, she heard the Mrs. Pace asking her brother what the girl was like at home.  In his innocence, he replied: “Well, she’s kinda bossy,” while the girl approached the teacher’s desk.  Mrs. Pace was cutting brown, yellow, and orange construction paper in the shape of leaves, which is why I am confident that this was the fall.  With barely a glance up, Mrs. Pace asked our girl if she said that so-and-so was ugly.  At 7 years old, it’s hard to lie to a teacher.  The girl wasn’t sure what to do.  She was wringing her hands and felt a heat flush up from her neck to the top of her head.  And so she replied: “Yes…but I was just kidding.”  Mrs. Pace then responded: “Well we don’t kid in the Second Grade.  Now I want you to turn around and tell this class that you’re ugly.”

            So, I turned around and repeated the words “I’m ugly” to a class full of Second Graders, including my brother.  I can actually hear the words in my head clear as a bell.  But this teacher needed to teach me a lesson.  Not an academic lesson, but a life-lesson.  She was a successful teacher because I never forgot the lesson she taught me.

            After a few years, I revealed this lesson that I learned.  The few people who I allowed to be privy to this information tried to tell me that it wasn’t true.  They pleaded with me not to believe it, as if it were an “old wives tale” or an “urban legend.”  But how many of us still wait a half hour to swim? Or still glance in the backseat of our car to check that no one is behind us ready to attack?  So I more or less kept this to myself.  But it was still something I believe.

            Let’s fast forward 20 some-odd years.  I have the love of an amazing man.  We were recently married.  It still amazes me that he truly loves me.  He looks at me like I’m the only person in the world for him.  I still question how this could possibly be true!  What have I ever done to deserve him?  In the months before we married, I questioned this quite often.  Often enough that it worried and stressed out my husband….and me to be honest.  What was it that made me feel so doubtful?  So I decided, for my sake and for my now-husband’s, to seek help finding these answers.

            Well, one of the answers was not what I expected.  The medical professionals that I went to see all had the same answer: I’m bipolar.  Now this is another life lesson.  What does one learn from that?  Well, for one it gives a reason and clarity for certain behaviors and actions.  I also learned that there is medication for people such as me.  And I learned that these medications can actually help, even an entire year later. 

            Now I’m sure many of you wonder how it is that I can share this personal and private information about me.  These are both truthful glimpses into the picture book of my life.  And that is something that I do have the answer to.  It is another facet in the inner file-cabinet of my mind.  I can share this because I am telling you a story.  It’s like in elementary school, perhaps the First Grade, when the teacher reads as the students sit in a circle, listening.  I am the storyteller.  It’s as if I am reading an excerpt from my own memoir.  However, I am not emotionally attached to it at this exact moment.  No, I am simply reading from my inner pages.   A story is a story: it’s just how you can share it.  I hope my story hasn’t made anyone feel sorry for me.  I have another secret weapon.  My one perk for the lesson I learned from being bipolar is this:  I have a prescription for Xanax.

Think I misunderstood...

So in my last blog just a few moments ago, I thought we were to post Essay 2 by today before the conferences. It appears I was mistaken! And I am glad for that! So disregard my last blog....I will post my Essay 2 this evening as the syllabus says! Whew!

I did however comment on the classmates essays in my group. I hope Hamilton, Yasmin, and Fran have a chance to read my comments. If not, I loved the completely different twists on all 3 writings. They really evoked feelings from this reader!

My apologies for Essay 2

I know we're supposed to post our draft of Essay 2 today.  And that we are choosing to read something we wrote, including the option of Essay 1 or 2.  I didn't really want to read something I have written in the past. True, there are many stories. But none that I have opened up with more than these 2 essays. So I have decided that I don't want to post my draft of Essay 2. At least not yet. I will post it tomorrow and open it up for any feedback or comments. But I have chosen this essay to read tonight. I really want to try it out as having everyone hear it for the first time. Not that I think it is some great work of art - it's just something I have decided I want to do.

I apologize if I'm going against the tide - but I can't help it. It's something I have to do for myself. Not that I don't trust anyone's response or criticism. It's only for my own personal knowledge. So I hope anyone reading this will understand or least just accept my decision. And I hope I don't disappoint tonight. Not so much the audience...but more myself.

Brainstorming for Essay 2

Is it time for brainstorming the 2nd essay already?! Whew-I feel like I'm still recovering from the first one. The deliberation on that was very conflicting.  Since I haven't had my conference yet (but will be this afternoon) I have only a vague idea about the feedback on my first essay.  I am really looking forward to this-it will help me see the aspects I could add or substract to make enrich the story more.

As for the second essay...I really am at a standstill.  Since I've cleared the debate with myself to write about myself, I could absolutely move forward with one of the other ideas I was toying around with. They would all make great stories - some poignant and moving, some joyous and moving. But do I maybe want to take another direction? Discuss something else? Something that I am passionate about and know plenty of information on? Hmmm....this is definitely going to take some deliberation and processing of my thoughts. I am one of those people whose mind is constantly racing - I do well for the most part in completing many of the lists in my head. However, when it comes to pulling those thoughts together to write out, it can be more of a challenge. Yet I love challenges, even if I'm reluctant to admit that. I somehow do well under pressure and have those lightbulb moments out of nowhere. It's just a matter of getting them together in a way that satisfies me. I am my own worst critic - as most of us are.

I am really looking forward to reading my classmates essays-I was very sick and unable to meet with my group on Wed. I hope that in reading and hearing them, my mind will open up even more. I'm sure I'll be left with a tough decision but I'd love more avenues to explore.

Essay 1 Draft

Creative Nonfiction – Essay 1 Draft                                                               Marjorie Papa

Labels

            I am not sure I know of one person who likes to be labeled.  There are some good labels: mother, father, wife, husband, sister, brother, friend and this list can go on.  However, those are more like “titles” to me.  Perhaps some might consider them labels, but they are the “good kind.”  What I am referring to are labels that we may receive from other people’s point of view.  Unfortunately, they can define us.  We may begin to believe those labels or we may just be discouraged at being viewed this way.  I call the latter being put “in a box.” This means that when we act a certain way, it’s as if it is already expected and thus commented on.  It can seem to be a type of ridicule.  Or we may have been a certain way in the past and others cannot seem to let that go.  They continuously speak of those traits or aspects out loud and mostly in front of other people.  It’s as if they cannot move forward or away from that point of view, when the person being spoken about has moved forward or is at least trying to.  Honestly, I feel it is a shame and is completely unfair, especially being that it is mostly done in the presence of said person.  Allow me to illustrate my point using the story of a specific female who has had this happen for the majority of her life.  Of course I asked her permission to use her life stories in my writing.  After much thought and deliberation, she reluctantly agreed. 

            I can actually go back to her childhood as a first example.  She was always a sensitive person, yet feisty on the outside.  She also showed tendencies of being a perfectionist.  Even as a child, she had inner anxiety.  Many viewed this as controlling and neurotic.  This was even said in front of her.  What no one was aware of was a specific incident that occurred to make her even more this way.  When she was a young girl in first grade, the second grade teacher made her tell the class that she was ugly.  Can you imagine what that made her feel like?  To quietly carry that inside for years can be quite damaging, as well as defining.  So she felt that the only way to deal with this was to strengthen those qualities that people remarked on so often.  This was one of her first times being labeled: “bossy;” “bitch;” “perfectionist.”  Still, she kept her chin up throughout all of this to not let anyone know how she really hurt from that.

            Let me skip to her high school years.  This was a time of rebellion for her.  She often skipped school and classes and even began dabbling in alcohol and drugs.  Unknowingly, she still carried the hurts from her past.  This might have been the cause of her acting out but no one, not even she, can be sure.  By her teachers, she received the label as “lost cause.”  Many gave up on her, even though she was a bright, intelligent student.  Since she was considered this anyway, she decided to continue in that role.  She felt that if she already was looked upon that way, then she might as well act that way.  To many adults, she was labeled “the black sheep.”  This meant that she was not like others, especially her siblings.  She was definitely different.  I think this could be considered unique.  However, most people felt it was just a deficiency in her genetic make-up.  She did harbor secrets from the past that negatively affected her in an enormous way.  It was actually life-changing and her behavior, even as an adolescent, could be regarded as life-threatening.  I do not have her permission to discuss those secrets, as they are too painful to her and some are still ongoing to this day. 

            So she continued on her experimental path.  This led to even more destructive behavior.  It was at this point in her life that she was deep into her drug use.  Therefore, she was labeled “junkie.”  Although she did well academically in her college years, this was often overlooked due to her habits and social life.  Again, she felt that she may as well conform to the label if others saw her in that light anyway.  What they did not realize was her incredible hurt and emotional pain.  The older a person gets, the more adept they are at realizing their emotions.  She could put her own label on what she was feeling.  She was anxious and depressed.  However, she felt she could not express this when no one seemed to look at her in a positive light.

            She changed her social life and came out of her world of drug use.  Although this was a great thing, she still was not content in her life.  She was very much the same as she was in her childhood with many of her characteristics and traits.  For example, she was still a perfectionist.  She was still neurotic.  She was still anxious.  Although this next label may have a ring of truth to it, it was still very hurtful.  She was called “obsessive compulsive.”  Even if there was truth to that, it is not something to be taken lightly and certainly not discussed in a room full of people.  It is an actual struggle.  She would wash her hands so many times they would be raw.  Others would watch her and actually make comments.  She had to do almost everything in “evens.”  This means that when she ate something, she would need two bites, or two pieces of something.  It could not be an odd number.  Even though others did not think they were being insulting to her and would tease her, it was very hurtful to her.  It was something she did not have control over, although these repetitive actions made her feel as if she were in control.

            During this time, she was still called “neurotic,” “control freak,” “anxiety ridden.”  She took this all in stride and did not even allow a glimmer of her true feelings to show.  She even tried to laugh and occasionally join in with the comments.  It was her way of trying to appear as if it did not bother her and she could brush it off.  Inside, it made her feel very ashamed.  She even felt angry.  However, she had her own negative outlets in dealing with this pain.  Again, I am not at liberty to talk about these specific details.  It was her only objection to me writing so personally about her.  Let’s just say her outlets could be what I mentioned before as life-threatening.

            In her 20’s, people still continued to label.  They watched her and thought it was comical to draw attention to her tendencies.  She was seen to some as a “lost cause.”  Although this may not have been said in a malicious way, it nonetheless caused her emotional agony.  This was when she changed her tactics.  She used her neurotic tendencies to make others laugh.  She had always had a knack for making people laugh, but this changed into a façade to keep others at a distance.  She did not want to have more pain inflicted on her due to their thoughtlessness.  So why not make a joke out of herself before anyone else could? She was quite proficient at it.  She could even laugh at her own self at times.  She gave herself a label: “quirky.”  This seemed more harmless than any of the others labels she had others bestow upon her.  It was a natural way for her to deflect.

            Somewhere along these lines, she began to believe the labels she had been given all her life.  She started to view herself as a “freak of nature.”  Yes it was a healthy and positive and “normal” way of life to be different.  That is what makes life interesting.  However, she felt as if there was no hope for her.  She would always be on the outside looking in at the “normal” people.  Here is when her detrimental channels became the worst.  Others now looked at her as a shame.  Not that she was someone to be ashamed of, but more as a waste of talent or life.  They viewed her with fear.  Fear for her life.  Fear of her death.  What they should have realized was the hand they played in her low self-esteem.  They may view her as “worth it.”  And many didn’t understand her.  However, inside she did not feel worth it.  She felt ashamed and unworthy of love.

            Is it really fair to blame others though?  Yes, they played a part and could be unconsciously cruel and thoughtless.  But what matters is what a person does with the hand they have been dealt.  They can seek help to create healthy boundaries and healthy outlets for their emotions and pain.  It is certainly easier said than done, especially having to unravel years of inner and outer abuse.  But it is possible.

            This brings me to illustrate my final label of her.  She still struggles on a daily basis.  However, she had enough strength to seek help.  She even went on medication to assist her.  Yet it takes time.  She became angry and felt she was done an injustice.  She still put on her façade that nothing bothered her.  Her moods went from long periods of high, seemingly happy emotions to low self-worth that seemed to paralyze her and interrupt her daily life.  She was anxious…and very depressed.  She decided to change her psychiatrist for another.  This one prescribed additional medication for her.  However, this is when she was given her hardest label yet: “bipolar.”  It is not an overly uncommon mental disorder.  But can you imagine how that must make her feel?  It’s as if she is being given all her labels all over again.  Except this time, there is a medical reason.  And others seemed to go “ah now we see why.”  Why what?  Why a person is a certain way?  How can they judge another?  Shouldn’t they look within first?  Questions that remain to be unanswered.  Yet they are in the hands of the beholder.  It is our choice what we do with what is given to us in life.

            If you are wondering about this status of this female I can tell you how she is doing:  she is living life one day at a time.  She is learning to love and be loved and to forgive and be forgiven.  I know this intimate information firsthand because the essay is about me.  I am the one who has suffered from these labels…and at the hands of myself.  Shame on me for allowing others to affect me to such degrees.  Actually we all are affected.  I still work on my issues every day.  And I take my medication faithfully until the day that I hope comes when I no longer need them.  I am learning to accept myself.  That is the most important thing we can do in our lives.  When we accept ourselves, we can accept others; we can accept their flaws as well as our own.

 I had a difficult time deciding to write this essay on myself.  I could have easily written something about people who are very close to me and have their own whirlwind stories of life.   But then I realized I was being a coward.  I was afraid to look within myself.  I asked myself whether a reader had any right to know about my private thoughts and personal life.  Yes, it’s true that I did hold back some information.  But that is insight I need to keep only to me at this point.  I need to be clear that I do not feel sorry for myself.  At least I don’t any longer.  It is on me to decide how to be healthy in my mind, body, and spirit no matter what anyone says or does or thinks.  I write this to you with the knowledge that many can relate to this.  It still gives me butterflies to realize this will be shared with others, and possibly read out loud.  This is when being bipolar has its one perk:  a prescription for Xanax.

Some more brainstorming...

I think I may have an idea for my essay. I keep getting pulled by the feeling that I should open up about myself - even if it's not every personal, painful detail. Opening up to others about feelings and thoughts and some personal things on myself - I'm still letting my readers in on "me" and what has shaped me. There are plenty of things I don't have to say; but a lot that I am willing to share that is certainly not boring. I could talk on subjects that evoke joy in me...and maybe some will appear in my essay. But there are other aspects that have molded me in huge ways - again, not all - that are worth sharing and letting others have a glimpse of "Marjorie's World." I can honestly say that I'm not exactly looking forward to writing this - but I also know that once I start, it won't be as bad as I first thought. I guess I should really buckle down and begin jotting down what I may or may not include. Now that I finally decided on an area I think would be interesting, I feel a touch better about this essay. I still can't figure out why it's been so hard to decide - maybe it's just because I am a private person or uncomfortable talking about feelings. I'll give it a shot and hope for the best....

Brainstorming my essay...

Never in my life have I had such confusion and inner debate about what I am going to write.  I love to write and always have - fiction, nonfiction, about me, about others....you get the drift. But at this point in my life, especially after reading so many different facets about writing that I never consciously considered, I am struggling with my choice - and my willingness to truly "open up." 

However, I do have some brainstorming ideas.  The first one is a more happy one - sort of like a movie scene from my personal life. I finally "tied the knot" at 29. I think this makes both my husband and me to have a better knowledge of who we are as individuals and learning to be united as a married couple.  I'd love to write about our meeting, our engagement, our wedding...all the happy things (again, let me say that our wedding in Jamaica was truly the happiest, joyous, and "inner"peaceful time of my life). But do people want to read that? I would like to have that down in ink to carry on and to remind me and relate to generations down the line...but do I add all the bad and hard and trying issues that happened in our relationship? I'm not talking infidelities or anything along those lines - but my personal struggles and the strained relationship I had & still have with his mother? Would he resent that? And why would I write that? To remember ugly times? It sure would make for great writing - but at what cost?

The other idea I have is to write about my best friend.  She is actually more like a sister, a sister at heart. The things we have gone through in our friendship could shock and sadden most people. Divorce, inner brokenness, poor choices, feeling stuck, lots of drinking.....but first of all, would she approve of that? This is a person who has been through hell and back and continues to fight today. Sure she has made mistakes and still does, but she is to be respected at the least, and admired if you ask me. I look at her with such love and pride - and vice versa. We always say that everyone should have a best friend like we have. So in writing about her, I would have to reveal quite a bit about myself....

....which brings me to my third idea...me. Man could I write a ton of things about myself: horrific, sad, struggling, poor choices, things out of my control that I tried to gain control of in other ways (usually bad outlets for pain), funny (I think I am quite funny and could have my own sitcom..), the list goes on.  But can I open up? Does my audience deserve or have a right to know my inner self (or at least a portion of it)? And why am I terrified and mortified to do this? To be so vulnerable and honest in exposing my truths? What difference could tearing myself open to perfect strangers make? I know I could relate to everyone in some way...but am I ready for that? I have no problem doing this in therapy....but I don't know the answers to these questions I ask. It almost makes me want to do it just to prove to myself that I can....but I just can't be sure. Therein lies my ultimate dilemma. And that's all I really have so far for my brainstorming.