(Dedicated to Dana and Bob, who make the world go 'round. )
[Edit: This is incredibly long, and I'll have to post in three parts. I'm sorry!]
We are all the heroes of our own stories. We tell and retell our narratives to ourselves over and over as we go through our lives, and in that telling we encourage ourselves, we mourn, we rue and we celebrate. This is my story.
I was born into the world on April 26, 1970. My mother, a nurse, was forty-five years old, and I was her second child. She had been trying for another baby for three years, and one of the Benedictine monks in the family had said countless prayers in Greek over her belly. I was a Wanted Child.
I was also my father's fourth, and at birth, I already had a brother (Butch) and sister (Sally) in their thirties from his first marriage (to Dorothy, or "Dot," who had died some fifteen years before), as well as a toddler big brother named Eric. My mother liked to tell the story of how my father came to open the car door for her as they arrived home from the hospital: she expected to be offered his arm, but he reached in and took me out of hers. I was Wanted by him, too.
Memories of my early childhood are many but fragmented: reciting my ABCs while hiding under a rocking chair, smushing the mustard-colored bugs that squirmed under the bark of the big oak in the yard, and many more. The most vivid is having burst into tears in the front yard after trying to "pick up all the sticks" so that my father could mow the lawn. It was my chore for the day, and I took my responsibilities seriously. However, as I sat cross-legged with a pile of tiny whisper-thin twigs and grassstems heaped in my lap, I realized that "all the sticks" was a practically limitless number, and despite having worked for hours, I'd only cleared a section of a few yards. Even at two years old, literalism had me by the throat, and I despaired of ever doing it right.
My only clear memory of my father healthy and strong was the glimpse of my face in a hallway mirror as he swung me up over his shoulder. It was the last time I'd see him for months. The next day he had a stroke while with my mother in the hospital for her hysterectomy, and I was sent to live with my cousins while my parents recuperated. The next time I saw him was on my fourth birthday, when I brought a tray of cupcakes into the hospital for an old, gray man whom I didn't recognize. Apparently I burst into tears when they made me try to kiss him, and my father cried silently after I left. He had been a Shakespearean actor, and his life had been built around communication and presence, but he had lost his speech.
My mother quit her job as a nurse to tend to him at home, and my brother and I grew to recognize him as our father again. We loved helping him do his rehabilitation exercises with his Nerf ball, and I rode my tricycle in circles around him as he practiced walking down our little dead-end street in the cornfields. He was slow, but that was okay, because I was, too.
Times were tough. We were getting by on his slim pension alone, and there were many medical bills. We scrimped and saved, having days when we ate nothing but oatmeal, doing without air conditioning or other luxuries, doing without even a car. My mother would pull me in my little red wagon to the corner grocery store, where we would pick up free government cheese from the back door.
Times got worse. The living room ceiling caught on fire from the fireplace we used for heating, and repairs were expensive. We scrimped and saved some more, sleeping in a communal bed for warmth and, after the sewage pipe was dislodged by a tree root, doing without indoor plumbing for a long while. It was a good thing that we lived in the boondocks at the river's edge, as it took a couple months to save up for a plumber. Even in kindergarten I knew that we were not like other people, and I was ashamed. Mother called us "river rats" with a fierce proud gleam in her eye, and she refused to go on charity. We were poor, but we were together, and we got by.
However, it was dumb luck that gave us loving physicians to watch over our family. Our family doctor, Robert Colvin, stopped cashing the checks for our medical visits, as he knew our copay was to high for us to afford. My father's cardiologist soon followed suit. I remember my mother weeping with frustration and relief.
I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to fix things for people. I wanted to be wise and strong, to be powerful enough to ease burdens, to Make Things Right for sad and desperate people.
Time passed, and when I was twelve, my mother returned to work. By then, my father could feed himself and walk with a cane, dragging his left foot behind him. He could speak well enough to be understood by us in the immediate family, although it was mostly garbled to outsiders. Still, he could take care of us, and we were older, and the family really needed the income.
Those were good years. I had a single best friend, Michelle Meadors, who was from a family just as offbeat as mine. Her mother sewed her own clothes, and neither of us had a clue about what went on in the lives of our peers, and we were definite outcasts from junior high society, but we had each other and books. *grin We passed Songmaster back and forth as one of our favorites, although I'd long forgotten who wrote it when I read the Alvin series many years later.
My father's health began to deteriorate when I was about fifteen, and a series of heart attacks and further strokes started chewing away at the last years of his life. As my mother was working double shifts at the hospital, she sometimes wouldn't waken when he went into distress in the middle of the night.
This is my most vivid memory of all: my father thrashing on the bed in the next room, rousing me from sleep. The room is dark and blue-tinged with moonlight. He suddenly becomes perfectly still, and the stench of urine and feces grows strong. I am shaking my mother desperately, as he has stopped breathing and I don't know CPR. She is dead tired and in the middle of a dream, calling out that she "can't do anything without his chart," she "needs his chart." She is still dreaming that she is at work; I think she is awake, although her actions are baffling.
In the moonlight I start tearing through their dresser drawers, looking for a "chart." I toss her hose into a pile on the floor, and I fumble through the dark closet. My father is still not breathing. Finally she wakes up enough to realize what is going on, and she calls the ambulance. Once he is released from the hospital again, I start sleeping on the floor in their room, as she can't trust herself to wake quickly enough. I end up calling the ambulance several times myself.
My world was so different from that of my peers. I couldn't explain and they wouldn't understand. I was already weird and geeky, but this was just making it worse. I've blocked out my memory of school during those years, although I do remember hating to go. I hated the teasing and the lies, I wore clothes from the Salvation Army in a wealthy community, and I did not fit in. Ever. Chubby and awkward and asocial, I found school in our wealthy tony community an even greater trial than home life.
But I read everything I could get my hands on, and I got through the days. (You all know the drill, I'm sure.) The babyfat melted away and I grew tanned and slim from long hours hiking alongside the riverbank. I left high school after my junior year and started classes at the local university, as I could then be with my closest cousin, a year older. My father was unable to walk by that point, but he would sit beaming next to my mother when they drove me back and forth to classe. Mother said he growled at any young men who watched or talked to me. I wasn't anywhere near my first kiss, so I never knew. But he would've found a way to get his point across to them if I had.
During my first year of college he died. It was a devastating blow to my mother, who'd structured her life around him. She sank into a deep depression with elements of psychosis, talking to him although he wasn't there, making me wear his clothing "to be close to him." I was terrified. Nobody understood, nobody wanted to listen. Nobody wanted to get involved. We were estranged from my half-siblings, who had tried to sue my mother for custody of my father at the end of his life, and the brother near my age had moved out on his own.
[ March 26, 2004, 07:02 AM: Message edited by: ClaudiaTherese ]
Posted by Chris Bridges (Member # 1138) on :
(hugs CT silently, waits for part two...)
Posted by Belle (Member # 2314) on :
More, more.
This is wonderful, though some of it is hard to read. I can see that little girl, frantically trying to wake her mother.
*hugs that little girl*
Posted by imogen (Member # 5485) on :
CT!!!
I know this is part 1 of 3, but wow.
The three exclamation marks after your name stand for a mixture of utter admiration, empathy for what you've gone through and thankfulness that there are people like you in this world.
You are a truly truly fantastic and wonderful person. The dorkiness only adds to that. Posted by celia60 (Member # 2039) on :
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
Sometimes we learn ways to cope that get us by, but which aren't healthy in the long run. I began cutting my wrists, just little slits to break the skin, and it was such a tremendous relief. Inexplicably, hurting myself helped ease the pain. My mother was too far gone to notice much -- she was barely able to make it into work, and at home she was hardly eating or speaking. I became anorexic as well, asserting at least that much control over my life and my own body. It was probably the electrolyte imbalances from malnourishment that triggered my first heart failure.
I'd always carried a cardiac diagnosis, knowing that my deformed aortic valve would eventually need to be replaced as it slowly scarred down. But the process accelerated that year, and just months after my father's death, we drove down to Birmingham, Alabama, for the top-of-the-line care from the father & son team of John and James Kirlin, cardiologists. They had left Mayo Clinic to set up their own site.
Alabama was warm and sunny, and the people were friendly, although they spoke funny. I loved that stay in the hospital: it was like a reprieve from my life, and I felt safe. Within a few weeks, though, we had to return, and my mother slipped back into a deep depression. She was insisting that I enter a convent and take vows of poverty and silence, renouncing the world. I had to leave, as I was becoming suicidal, and I had enough sense of self-preservation to run away from that which I could not manage. Once again, it was a doctor that helped me. The psychiatrist at my mother's work took me under hand, helped me find a scholarship and a means of supporting myself as a live-in housekeeper for an orthopedic surgeon. In the middle of the night after my eighteenth birthday, my best friend and I drove back down to Birmingham, and I read the driver's manual by flashlight as she drove. I took the driver's test the next day, and she left on the train to go back, leaving me with my brother's old car and, likely, a pretty dimwitted look of hope and expectation on my face.
These times are harder for me to talk about. Oddly enough, the worse things got, the less able I am to find the words to describe it. Suffice it to say that I worked several jobs trying to get by without student loans, as my mother refused to give me the information I needed to file for financial aid. I worked in the Billy Bob suit at Chuck E. Cheese's, I ran the newborn nursery at a church, I bartended and waitressed and worked as a janitor. I had a falling out with the surgeon I kept house for, and she threw me out. I had nowhere to live during that week of finals, so I slept in my car while I looked for an apartment. Early one morning, on my way to the gym to shower, I was assaulted and raped. I did not finish finals that week. Actually, I don't remember much of that week at all.
Eventually, I moved in to the cheapest apartment I could find, and I finally had a place of my own. Quinlan Castle was roach-infested and a crack den, but it was a historic building with a courtyard, and I was innocent enough that I didn't really how scary the environment should have been to me. I got by, reading a lot and working hard, and making friends along the way.
One of those friends was an amazing man who ended up being my mentor. He was my philosophy professor, bright and brilliant and kind, and he took me under his wing. I house-sat for him while he and his wife would go out of the country, and I helped him renovate a house to serve as a hospice for infants with HIV. He would pay me outrageous amounts to take care of his dog, knowing -- I am sure of this -- that I was too proud to accept charity.
One time I stood at the door of his office, and he looked up at me very quietly, straight into my eyes, and said, "I'm looking out for you, you know." I said, "I know," and that's all. We never discussed it further, though I probably owe him my life for seeing me through that time. I had nobody else to trust. I still love him dearly, and I always will.
I was desperate for stability, and I married at 22 years of age, just before I graduated. My first husband was a fellow philosophy student, and looking back, we barely knew each other. We were so young. I was sure, though, that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. I could make this work, I could have babies and a husband and a normal life, a white picket fence and a backyard. No more craziness, no more scariness -- it would be perfect.
Again, there is little I have to say, although much happened. It didn't work. We grew apart, he was threatened by my success in medical school, I grew to hate him for demeaning and belittling me to make himself feel better. I was quietly enraged. I lay next to him in bed, planning what I would finally do once he died. (I figured it was decades away, but men tend to die before women, and I was five years younger anyway.)
Things got worse. I could barely speak to him, because whenever I tried, he would break down sobbing and berate himself as a husband. I would say anything to make it better. I enjoyed being a martyr. He enjoyed being in control. Eventually, I left him, and that was the most awful time of my life.
I was still attending medical school and grad school, still teaching classes, still determined to become a doctor. I was living alone again in an efficiency apartment, and I was crazy with depression again. There was a blackberry bush in the abandoned lot next door, and I was certaint hat as long as I could eat one berry every day, I would not die. It would keep me alive.
Needless to say, I was in another clinical depression myself. My mother had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, and she was out of her mind again. As I had left my husband and withdrawn, I had lost most of our shared friends. The only thing that kept me going was my desire to make things right, to get to a place of power where I could help other people (and, not coincidentally, not need help myself ). I told myself that my future patients needed me, that I had to be strong for them. I finished medical school.
[ March 26, 2004, 08:14 AM: Message edited by: ClaudiaTherese ]
Posted by Belle (Member # 2314) on :
You are so beautiful. I don't know what else to say but that.
I'm glad we were friendly with you but you're wrong, of course. We don't talk funny.
I can't wait for the rest, and I can handle the tough parts because I know how it turns out and what a wonderful person you are today.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
Somehow during that time, I managed to research and write my own divorce decree, and I actually became quite good at medicine. Although I had to repeat the first year after the separation (my "crazy time" ), I got through. But having run away from home and then run away from a husband, I was pretty sure I was unable to commit and see anything through. When I finally began dating my now second-husband, I warned him that I didn't want anything serious. Given that he lived in western Canada, this wasn't too much of a problem.
We saw each other every few months, but we burned up the telephone lines and wrote reams of email. We were married just before I began residency, although we still lived a continent apart. He came to live with me after he finished out his contract to develop an addiction research center for the province. The end of his work there was at the same time that I had my second heart surgery, and we couldn't bear to be apart any longer.
Once more, so much to say but so few words to say it. I'm smarter and savvier now, and I'm safe. I love my Prozac. I'll never have my own children, although I will borrow Tom and Christy's. I watch for other children in harsh situations, and I intervene when I find them.
I've learned not to base my sense of worth on the gratitude of my patients, for that is a crazy burden to place on them. I take care of myself first, and I throw out life preservers to drowning people instead of dashing in to drown as well, myself. I have learned a lot since medical school.
Sleep deprivation is one of my triggers for depression, and after this July, I'll never work call again. My self-destructiveness has been exquisitely honed and channelled away from physical harm. Now, I aim it directly at torpedoing any chance of having a traditionally powerful, lucrative career. I like pissing people off.
When I was little, I dreamed of being untouchable -- so beautiful and strong and important that nothing could ever hurt me again, and I could be in charge of helping others. That's the black and white thinking of depression, though; that's trying to pick up "all the sticks," and that's a sure set-up for failure and despair. I've learned to put aside those thoughts of youth. I'll settle for maybe helping out a few people in hard times, maybe being attractive in my own way, maybe making a difference, however slight, in the way the world goes 'round.
That's cool. And that's the end of my story, so far.
[ March 26, 2004, 08:22 AM: Message edited by: ClaudiaTherese ]
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
(Thank you, Chris, imogen, and celia. Thank you, sweet Belle. I love my tribe. )
Posted by Corwin (Member # 5705) on :
I saw the thread within seconds of your posting it, but I waited for the whole story.
.....................
WOW ! I guess you're one of those rare people who turn out a better person after battling live's problems... Hurray for you ! And may this be not the end, but the begining of a beautiful story !
Here's to another 5000 posts !
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
Hey, Corwin, thanks. I see you are another Leonard Cohen lover -- he's on my list of hidden gems.
I've come to know my own limitations, and that's a real strength. Knowing where the hard parts are makes them easier to deal with in the future, sometimes even avoidable. I only wish I'd had Hatrack as a resource for advice and commiseration when I was younger, as I expect things might have been less rocky with the support here. But, you know, so it goes. And I really am very, very happy now. Posted by Dagonee (Member # 5818) on :
Wow. Just...wow. I can't think of anything non-cliche to say except you're a wonderful person and I'm so glad I got the chance to know you here.
Dagonee
Posted by Sopwith (Member # 4640) on :
CT, I'd hug you long and hard if I could, but I fear it would be to draw strength from you rather than to offer support. What an amazing, beautiful, strong, sweet and durable person you are. If only everyone had a touch of you inside of them, it would be a much better world.
Thank you for sharing this and lifting up those around you.
I've always thought that so many folks get churned to the bottom of the heap in life and most just get ground up and turned to dust. A few, like yourself, get down there and get transformed in that hard, difficult place in life. There, they become so strong, so steady, that they become a foundation for everyone else. And from there, they hold the world up, Atlases in their own rights.
You're strong, so very strong.
[ March 26, 2004, 09:47 AM: Message edited by: Sopwith ]
Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
Posted by Christy (Member # 4397) on :
Sweetheart, there are no maybes about you. Its the qualifiers that make those statements true. You are beautfiul in your own way. You do make a difference (however small or not) in the world. And you are strong and powerful when you put your mind to it and especially when you need to be. Not that we don't all have our strengths and faults, and not that we shouldn't ever stop striving to be better people, but you are a wonderful, caring, fun-to-be-around person who has done quite well for herself and a person who I am very glad to have as a friend.
(And that goes for husband #2, as well, who is also a great guy and a gem to know)
Posted by Sopwith (Member # 4640) on :
I just had to add, a life lived like yours makes me want to be a better person.
Thank you.
Posted by Zevlag (Member # 1405) on :
CT, I am so glad to have you around. You're awesome!
Posted by Sharpie (Member # 482) on :
Wow. Thank you so much for sharing this.
Posted by Rakeesh (Member # 2001) on :
I'm honored and awed to know you, CT, even a little bit Christy is right, they are not 'maybes' by any stretch.
Posted by BannaOj (Member # 3206) on :
Now I know why you savor life so much, and glow with both an inner and outer beauty.
Wonderful landmark.
AJ
Posted by TomDavidson (Member # 124) on :
You really are lovely, Sara.
Here are some other things people may not know about CT:
1) She believes that photographs steal the soul of the subject; she will actually leave her own apartment rather than allow someone inside to take her picture. Typical of her personality is that she would leave her apartment to the malicious photographer before it would occur to her to simply take the camera away, or ask the photographer to leave. If you actually succeed in taking a picture of her, she will fidget like a small child and make whimpering noises of pain until you promise to destroy it.
2) Sara cannot stand paying retail price for anything. A person could, however, get very rich by standing outside her apartment and offering scarves at 30% off.
3) She looks very good in hats, but has a surprisingly large head and therefore rarely tries any on.
4) Sara loves to cook. She hates, however, to watch people eat what she cooks. She will therefore find any excuse to be up and moving throughout dinner. If you get her to sit down and eat with you, even the most profusive praise may not prevent her from finding something wrong with a perfectly satisfactory meal and actually whisking it out of your hands with multiple apologies. If, however, someone ELSE has helped her cook the meal, even if small rocks or live snails or something have made their way into the recipe, she will clap her hands and bounce like a small child as she lavishes love on it.
5) When bouncing like a small child, Sara's whole face lights up, angelic. See above for the reason that there are no pictures of this.
6) Sara, like Christy, often dresses for camouflage.
7) When you're talking, she figures out where you're going with the sentence and will cut in reflexively with a very Canadian-sounding, "Yeah, yeah; sure, sure." It's always those four words, in that order, and inflected the same way every time. She is never aware of doing it as she does it, and blushes bright red and hides behind her hair if you point it out.
8) Sara is completely tone-deaf; listening to her hum and trying to figure out what she means to be humming should be an Olympic sport. She has, however, an encyclopedic memory of lyrics, and consequently loves talented lyricists. Deep voices work for her, too, which explains her liking of Leonard Cohen and Fiona Apple. I don't know how she feels about Everlast, but suspect she'd like his more melodic stuff. She and Dave both tend -- at least when they're expecting guests -- to listen to "refined" things, like NPR and jazz radio and documentaries about kittens.
9) She feels instinctively guilty about being an American, but is very fond of the country. Her husband is occasionally baffled by this.
10) She absolutely hates when people point out things about her, because one of her fondest secret wishes is to disappear entirely behind a fog made of good and selfless works, vanishing like the Good Deeds Fairy into modern folklore: "Who WAS that scarf-wearing woman?" "I don't know. But thank God for her." I fully intend to frustrate that tendency at every turn, mainly because she occasionally needs to be reminded that it's possible for her to be human AND wonderful at the same time. Ergo, this list of quirks, which may in fact wind up infuriating her. *laugh*
[ March 26, 2004, 10:00 AM: Message edited by: TomDavidson ]
Posted by Beca (Member # 4340) on :
Thanks so much for this - you're one of my favorite people to read, and I'd been hoping you would post a landmark.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
I am quivery about being so exposed, but as Tom indicates, at least it's better than a photograph.
(And Tom apparently knows me pretty well. )
Thank you again for your kind words, everyone. I'll be rereading and savoring them all individually for weeks to come, and my already large-sized head will swell to an even more superior size.
If I don't come back for awhile, it'll be either the overwhelming mortification of this, or it will be my inability to fit through the front door. Time for a recuperation period -- I'm exhausted.
Posted by T. Analog Kid (Member # 381) on :
((CT))
Posted by Sweet William (Member # 5212) on :
CT: Profuse thanks from another large-headed wonder. I finally figured out why I don't wear hats: No one sells any big enough for my head. Posted by Bob the Lawyer (Member # 3278) on :
CT, this may have just become my favorite thread ever on Hatrack. Thanks.
Edit: And I totally wish I was the Great Big Maybe
[ March 26, 2004, 01:28 PM: Message edited by: Bob the Lawyer ]
Posted by UofUlawguy (Member # 5492) on :
After reading that, I don't think I'll ever be able to write a landmark of my own. Anything I could come up with would be puny and pale in comparison.
Posted by Irami Osei-Frimpong (Member # 2229) on :
Deeply lived and beautifully written.
Your friend,
Irami
Posted by Dan_raven (Member # 3383) on :
Wow.
How in the world am I supposed to get any work done today between this great landmark and the Bob/Dana thread.
I'm glad you made it out of the darkness being the wonderful person you are.
Posted by eslaine (Member # 5433) on :
I would be remiss if I didn't congratulate you CT! I'll have to make time later to read. Thanks for the warning on length!
Posted by Zotto! (Member # 4689) on :
Wow. Just...wow. Thanks for being here, CT, and for sharing so much of yourself. Hatrack wouldn't be nearly as classy without ya. Like Rakeesh said, I'm honored to know you, even just a little bit. Posted by Dagonee (Member # 5818) on :
Copycat! Posted by rivka (Member # 4859) on :
When I grow up, I wanna be like CT.
That was a beautiful landmark!!! Thank you for sharing so much of yourself. You have been one of my favorite people on Hatrack since I first joined, and I am glad to know more of what shaped you into the incredibly wonderful person we love.
And I am intrigued -- and slightly spooked -- by the list Tom posted. Some of those are awfully similar to things I do . . . O_o
Posted by Papa Moose (Member # 1992) on :
Wow.
CT, I'm so glad you decided to share this amazing history. Me? No, no, it's just allergies, really. I honestly think this may have taken over the "affected me most powerfully" position of the landmarks. Sorry, Icarus. We can still be friends, though.
I could say more, but words wouldn't measure up. Just -- thank you.
--Pop
Posted by Zotto! (Member # 4689) on :
Oh, wow, I intentionally stole Rakeesh's line, but yours musta slipped in unconsciously, Dag.
*more gushing praise for CT ensues*
Posted by Ela (Member # 1365) on :
((((CT))))
Your story made me cry. Darn you for not being able to come to Wenchcon so I could hug you in person.
Thank G-d you made it through all that was thrown at you to become the wonderful person you are.
I feel proud to know you, at least a little bit.
quote:I am quivery about being so exposed, but as Tom indicates, at least it's better than a photograph.
Boy, do I empathize. This is one of the reasons you may never see a landmark post from me...plus, it would pale in comparison to yours.
P.S. I guess you appreciate your nurses, since your mother was one.
Again, many hugs from me to you.
**Ela**
Posted by peterh (Member # 5208) on :
Being relatively new here, I always thought CT was cool. Now I know it.
Simply beautiful. Posted by T_Smith (Member # 3734) on :
CT... just... thanks.
Posted by Noemon (Member # 1115) on :
CT, that was beautiful. Heartwrenching, and beautiful. I can't begin to tell you how glad I am to know you, and to count you as a friend.
Posted by saxon75 (Member # 4589) on :
Thank you, CT. It's very humbling to read a story like yours; I am honored to have been able to do so. You are a truly amazing person, and knowing you makes all of our lives better.
Posted by sndrake (Member # 4941) on :
Wow!
And while I'm sure it wasn't done for my benefit, I want to thank you for not posting this yesterday while I was a very interesting conference.
It's amazing - I knew some pieces of this from things you've posted before. What a different thing entirely to have them in a real narrative.
(I think I know the name of this mentor, eh?)
Thank you for this! I am so glad to have you as someone I count as a friend. I'm thinking of making that one of items on the list of reasons I am cooler than Peter Singer.
*From someone who started life big-headed.*
*And who will not mention all those picture-taking cell phones that surround us these days.*
Being a language-player, I note that I prefer to think of this as the *beginning* of your story so far rather than the *end*.
Posted by fiazko (Member # 5812) on :
CT, I can't wait to meet you in person (it will happen someday, I swear) so that I can bask in the wonder that is you. Sooo glad to be a part of the Hatrack that includes you.
Posted by knightswhosayni! (Member # 4096) on :
::hugs CT::
Ni!
Posted by beverly (Member # 6246) on :
I was deeply moved by what you have shared. Thank you for being willing to share that with us. That is no easy task, but by sharing it you have lifted us all.
You have lived through hell and have emerged to become a guardian angel. That really says something about what you are. I know that you will continue to bless the lives of the many you come in contact with.
I hope someday I will have the honor of meeting you in person. Until then, glad to know you.
Posted by KarlEd (Member # 571) on :
CT, thank you for sharing so much. How wonderful that you have blossomed despite such a harsh climate. (((CT)))
Posted by Amka (Member # 690) on :
CT,
You ARE beautiful and strong and important to the people for which it counts. A career applauded by peers is meaningless compared to the help you give others.
Thank you for giving us a window into who you are.
And thank you, Tom for showing us just a little more.
Posted by Derrell (Member # 6062) on :
Wow! That was truly powerful. (((CT))) Thank you for sharing it with us.
Posted by Olivet (Member # 1104) on :
Tom is right about her, too. Of all the people Tom has posted little insights about, CT's is the least squirm-worthy, and rightly so.
Sara, I am honored to know you, and just wicked excited about getting to see ya again. Posted by larisse (Member # 2221) on :
CT.... you are simply wonderful. Thank you for sharing your story. You are a light in this world. May you always continue to shine and guide.
{{{{CT}}}}
Posted by John Van Pelt (Member # 5767) on :
Thank you, for more reasons than you can know. And it makes me wish my member number were down in the triple digits and I had been reading you all this time
jvp
Posted by AndrewR (Member # 619) on :
I must say, CT, the more I learn about you, the more remarkable a person you become. I am glad to have met you, even if it is across this thin electronic line.
And get ready to help Tom and Christy often, because they are about to be overwhelmed (whether they realize it or not). Posted by Kama (Member # 3022) on :
*wants to be part of CT's tribe*
Posted by Mrs.M (Member # 2943) on :
CT, I'm overwhelmed and inspired by your story.
Having PCOS and being married to a philosophy professor, I've known many doctors and philosophers. Almost none have had any of the grace and strength that you have in abundance.
Posted by skrika03 (Member # 5930) on :
(((CT))). Though why is your screen name ClaudiaTherese? You left out the highly dramatic events of the last mafia game I was glad to find out I'm younger than you (by about 7 weeks). Photographs do take my soul, but it grows right back.
Posted by amira tharani (Member # 182) on :
*hugs CT* Thank you for that, CT... It makes me wish I knew you better... maybe someday I will...
Posted by Narnia (Member # 1071) on :
You're so beautiful CT. That was so...very...honest. Thank you.
I feel closer to you now and that makes me really happy. I'm grateful to know you. Posted by Leonide (Member # 4157) on :
I came to visit Strider today and the first thing he said to me was "Go read CT's landmark post"
We were both so very moved by your life, CT. Thank you for sharing yourself with us
[ March 26, 2004, 06:04 PM: Message edited by: Leonide ]
Posted by Slash the Berzerker (Member # 556) on :
I've seen CT's picture.
I want that to mean I am special in some way. I refuse to believe otherwise.
(No need for me to join in the CT worshipping. My worship has a long and well documented history, and I will stand on the record.)
Posted by Hobbes (Member # 433) on :
Hobbes Posted by Scythrop (Member # 5731) on :
Thanks so **very** much for sharing your story, CT. You are amazing.
Tony
Posted by Alucard... (Member # 4924) on :
This was the most moving thing I have read on Hatrack after being here only a year. If you do not know it by now CT, you are one of the biggest reasons I keep coming back, along with all the wonderful Jatraqueros I know and have yet to meet.
I couldn't help reading your post and being proud of you and feeling sad for you as well. A tear rolled down my right cheek and my heart actually hurt as it struggled to beat normally in my chest.
All I could think of is that if I am robbed of meeting you in person, I pray to God that there truly is a Heaven and we are both there, because short of family, you are definitely on my short list of persons I would love to hang out with for eternity.
Thank You CT.
Shane
[ March 26, 2004, 07:44 PM: Message edited by: Alucard... ]
Posted by Annie (Member # 295) on :
Oh, how beautiful!
I must say that you are on the list of women who are "grown ups I want to be." I admire the thoughtfulness and cheerfulness and love that pervade everything you do and say.
And the fact that you have grown into such a fabulous person through such adversity astonishes me and silences any kind of gripes or complaints any of us can have about our victimhood. You're an amazing woman.
Love and hugs!
Annie
P.S. You can have every single one of my Hatrack babies to play with.
Posted by Shan (Member # 4550) on :
Thank you, CT, for letting your light shine in the darkness -
(((Sara)))
Posted by Kayla (Member # 2403) on :
You rock, CT.
Much braver than I am. After all, you know this will be archived!
Posted by Jon Boy (Member # 4284) on :
CT, I really can't think of anything worth saying after all that, except that I've got all kinds of respect for you and hope to meet you some day.
Posted by jexx (Member # 3450) on :
CT...You are the bright shiny, not the great big maybe. You are the absolutely YES!
Did you know that March is Women's History Month? Even though you are a young woman (not old enough to be part of History, yet ), I think it is entirely appropriate that you post this most stirring landmark in the month of March, when we honor strong women. Women like you. Women who make a difference. Women who have struggled, and blossomed.
It's a shame that you think that photographs steal your soul, because I'd like to see a pale reflection of the Actual Human who shines so brightly, even in print.
You are. And you are beautiful. Thank you.
Posted by Emily Milner (Member # 672) on :
CT, thank you.
--Emily
Posted by LadyDove (Member # 3000) on :
CT- The kindness of strangers has been one of the two lifelines in my life. It's knowing that I could become a stranger like you that made me cling to the belief that tomorrow was worth waiting for.
Thank you for being a "stranger".
Posted by Eaquae Legit (Member # 3063) on :
(((CT)))
I cannot think of a single thing that would not sound horribly cliche.
Thanks, CT. You are such an amazing person.
Posted by John L (Member # 6005) on :
*raises hand* has also seen photos of CT (and no, I'll never tell anyone but CT how).
You're a strong lady, kiddo (yer as much a kiddo as I am ). I can't wait for the opportunity to meet up witcha.
Stories like this make me want to share even just the last ten years, but I don't do the landmark thing any more. Still, I gotta say that CT is the kind of person I know could read it and find honest-to-goodness reasons within it that I'm a good person, and be pretty hard to convince otherwise. She makes me feel smart and strong and wise even when I don't deserve it. How can you not love that about someone?
Posted by Wonko The Sane (Member # 2945) on :
I want to say somthing but i can't find the right words so... CT Posted by aka (Member # 139) on :
Wow, Sara! Just wow!
And to think that you were in my town. If only I had known you! You could have lived at our house. We would have kept you safe!
The castle, my gosh! That's an incredibly scary drugged up place.
I understand the cutting thing completely. It's caamora. It does work. It soothes grief that is too great to be borne.
Picking up all the sticks. <cries> Yes.
Ah, Sara! I don't even know what to say. You must come back to Birmingham to visit. There isn't love and worship enough to be given to you. And there will be no pictures.
Posted by Ryuko (Member # 5125) on :
I waited until I thought I had time enough to appreciate this story before I could read it. Ironically, this ended up being 3:30 on a Friday.
I really don't feel qualified to say anything about your life... It's a life that reminds me of my mother's. Terrible setbacks, but eventually you got through it and came to be a wonderful person. (laughs) Strangely enough, my mother's going back to school to be a nurse. It's that medical mentality, I guess.
Another part of your story that hit close to home for me, CT, was the part about eating disorders... My roommate has been struggling with an eating disorder and the related depression and cutting for three years... It's so difficult to see her and have such little to do to help. I understand that it's something that never fully goes away... I hope it's come close for you.
I was glad to have heard your story, CT. Thank you so much for sharing it.
Posted by Jenny Gardener (Member # 903) on :
Sara,
To me, you ARE the Healer. When I was with you before, you exuded a quiet beautiful wisdom. That comes through in your posting, too. It was a blessing just to be in your presence. It is as if you are the clear vessel that the light of the Goddess shines through. I can understand your discomfort with photographs.
You are not only part of the tribe, but also an essential Presence. Without your light, our world would be ever so much darker.
I loves me CT!
(edit for the following PS)
PS Girl, I really miss you, too!
[ March 27, 2004, 10:59 AM: Message edited by: Jenny Gardener ]
Posted by Eduardo_Sauron (Member # 5827) on :
I was really moved reading your story, CT. It ached a lot, while I read it, but it was beautiful, nonetheless. Its because of people like you that I keep coming back to Hatrack.
Thanks.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
Gee whiz, guys, thank you for the kind words. I'm keeping them and rereading them. Thank you. There is another part I want to say, though.
I made some terrible choices, some which were ill-advised and some which were downright dumb and selfish. Yes, I did what I had to do to get by, and I did the best I could, but there's no way I would have made those same choices again.
I've debated on whether to do this sort of landmark post for a long time. On the one hand, there's a real freedom to airing one's warts among friends, and you've seen about the biggest of mine. But more importantly, I think, is that we rarely talk about our own failures in polite company. For children (and for other adults), this means we are usually left wondering whether if it is only we that can't seem to get it right, or who do awful or bizarre things, or who are ashamed. There aren't many good role models for failure.
As I started to screw up my way through life, I promised myself that I'd be frank about my own errors. I just didn't think I'd have so many.
Let's be clear about this, though. These aren't dramatic, exciting, romantic actions; these are bad choices I wouldn't repeat. I did a lot of running away, and I acted too often out of fear and resentment, or out of just plain arrogance.
I left a my mother when she needed me, I left a husband, I lay next to a man and longed for his death. I was too proud to ask for help, and so I put myself into dangerous situations -- situations that ended up damaging me and, in the long run, taking quite a toll on those who loved me, too. It wasn't smart, it wasn't cool, and it wasn't healthy. It happened, and I take responsibility for it, but I'm afraid that in the telling of a stark story, the idea of a bad choice goes unsaid.
I am so happy now, and I am so healthy, in large part because I learned how to make better choices. I was also insanely lucky to get help along the way from a lot of people, and so many others never get that help. Part of me would love to go on and on about the details of what I did wrong, but that's neither appropriate or interesting. Probably better is to just let this thread fade out to the archives. (Yeah, Kayla, I know it'll still be there. A lovely little lesson in humility for me, someday. )
But if you screw up, if you are 15 or 17 or even 47, and you've done something asinine or self-destructive or you've run away from a problem, go ahead and drop me a note. Been there, done that, haven't forgotten, and maybe have some good advice.
Again, thanks.
[ March 27, 2004, 06:17 PM: Message edited by: ClaudiaTherese ]
Posted by Rakeesh (Member # 2001) on :
I'm sure you know this, but you're awesome enough that it bears repeating
I don't think people have responded the way they have and love you the way they do because of the bad things that have happened, or even any bad decisions you may have made. It's mostly based on the person you are now, in spite of terrible things that have happened to you.
You're a person well-worth knowing, even in an online setting I am glad to.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
And you, sir, are a delightful young man, and a rather outrageous flirt. May I remind you that I am old enough to be your mother?
(Don't you dare bring up truth-or-dare, boy. There are some warts which will never see the light of day, sans the shield of a WenchCon.)
Love you too, Jeff.
[ March 27, 2004, 05:29 PM: Message edited by: ClaudiaTherese ]
Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
I think Sara is my hero.
Posted by Rakeesh (Member # 2001) on :
And you're simply a delight:) Heck, if I had anything to be embarrassed about in a Truth-or-Dare game with you (I admit nothing), I'd still probably share it just to brag on havin' met ya.
It's only a great deal of respect and shyness that prevents me from using a certain four-letter acronym, made infamous in a different WenchCon Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
mack, that is not the appropriate response. *grin I was going more for the "horrible warning" than the "good example," but I'll take it as a compliment.
(And you are one of my heroes, too, you know. We all need them.)
Rakeesh, trust me: I don't wanna know. Leave me with some shred of innocence and virtue intact. If it embarrasses you, it would likely lay me flat. Posted by Ryuko (Member # 5125) on :
Hey, CT, everyone has to go through bad times in their lives. I'm sure what Jamie's saying and what I think too, is that we'd like to come through our bad times as well as you came through yours. Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
Awesome. I can dig that. Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
You HAVE some shred of innocence and virtue intact? Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
Yeah, what Ryuko said. I see, that if you can do it, then I can too.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
mackillian, sweet lady, I am the very soul of propriety and virtue. Your continuing inability to see me in other than a risque light is highly embarrassing. To you, my dear, not me.
I prefer not to notice such goings on.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
(A part of me would revel in being a horrid, horrid warning. To bad I am too decorous to be so indelicate. *sigh)
Posted by Ryuko (Member # 5125) on :
Maybe if you want to be a warning, you should join a biker gang and travel the country breakin' stuff.
Hey! Come by me and visit!! I have plenty of good stuff in need of a CT breakin'. Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
Check your email.
And if you read the thread I made for FlyingCow, you'd have no doubts in your mind about my fully intact decency and virtue.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
Yeah, that was the thread which made me lose all hope for you and the nunnery.
(Thanks for the heads-up, Sister of Ill-Repute.)
Abby:
[ March 27, 2004, 06:30 PM: Message edited by: ClaudiaTherese ]
Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
How do you think Slash feels? He said I was his ticket to heaven.
Now we're all screwed.
Posted by ClaudiaTherese (Member # 923) on :
I'm relying about 1/3 on Grace and the rest on a deathbed conversion. That means I can't die in my sleep, though, so I've rigged up a little device to pinch me if I stop breathing.
Better living through mechanical engineering.
(Um, love, are you sure that's the way he meant it? 'Cause, well ... I don't know ... )
Posted by Ryuko (Member # 5125) on :
Oooo... Best hope you don't develop apnea!!
It sucks, and it'll only get worse. Posted by twinky (Member # 693) on :
I'm at a loss for words...
Posted by TomDavidson (Member # 124) on :
"Now we're all screwed."
It's so rare when this phrase LITERALLY applies. Posted by mackillian (Member # 586) on :
Posted by Procrastination (Member # 4821) on :
Well, I'd like to think Jamie discriminates a *little* bit...
er...
...I hope.
Posted by Ralphie (Member # 1565) on :
You know, CT, Tom didn't even post in my landmark thread. But instead of merely posting, "Bitch is going down," as you most probably deserve*, I've decided to put aside completely understandable, extremely valid and unfamiliarly ego-bruising squabbles and to rather sincerely post:
(*and by "deserve" I mean, "deserve in that way that I need something to justify my senseless bile.")
[ March 27, 2004, 10:53 PM: Message edited by: Ralphie ]
Posted by Trogdor the Burninator (Member # 4894) on :
Alright Ralph. Where the hell you been?
Posted by TomDavidson (Member # 124) on :
But I've never seen you in a hat, Toni! How could I have posted about that?
(Hello, BTW. )
Posted by Raia (Member # 4700) on :
Wow. I adore this girl.
CT, You're amazing. I feel so privileged to have gotten to know you here! I hope you stick around for a very, very long time... You're probably one of my very favorite posters, I admire you enormously.
*clinks glass* Here's to 5000 more! Posted by Sal (Member # 3758) on :
CT, reading anything written by you that I can get my hands on, I've concluded that one of these days I'm going to have to meet you -- if only to try to exorcise those eloquently frivolous ideas that seem to fill your borderline-sinful mind.
Unless, of course, you're as beautiful in person as you are electronically. That'd convert me for sure.
Posted by matt (Member # 236) on :
Wow. Every time I read a landmark post, I'm impressed by the poster's thoughtfulness, or strength, or dignity, or knowledge of self.
This is one of the few posts that've ever impressed me with _all_ of the aforementioned qualities. The world's definitely a better place for having had your story in it.
Posted by Dead_Horse (Member # 3027) on :
Oh, yeah! I definitely want to be like CT when I "grow up". Thanks for the first 5000, and the next. (((CT)))
Rain
Posted by Synesthesia (Member # 4774) on :
You're excellent And thank you...
Posted by katharina (Member # 827) on :
Oh wow. CT, you are absolutely wonderful. My hero - I do adore you, and I am so incredibly you are here and part of this tribe. You're precious and fabulous. Thank you dear, for everything. Especially your story. Oh wow.
Posted by BannaOj (Member # 3206) on :
Sal she is!
AJ
Posted by Trogdor the Burninator (Member # 4894) on :
When I first came to Hatrack I dabbled in fluff (yes, I know that's hard to believe) before I decided to step into the hatrack world of debate. As I remember, I got into a heated discussion with Ted (pod) about patriotism, and CT swooped in, took me under her arm and calmly explained to me that Hatrack isn't a place for blind, baseless arguing -- that instead it was a place for mutual enlightenment that took place if mutual respect was given.
Now, she didn't say these words precisely at all. In fact, she never even led on that she was lecturing me at the time. I never felt offended, or upset, or anything. But the way she communicated, I instantly resolved that she was in fact, correct, and decided from then on that I would try my best to be nice.
That is what I think is so cool about CT.
Posted by Trogdor the Burninator (Member # 4894) on :
and then I killed her thread.
Posted by lcarus (Member # 4395) on :
Beutiful posts. (((CT))) (Don't know if you are one of those critical of parentheses, but I hope you at least don't mind the sentiment behind 'em in this case.)
I've always admired how you always remain above the fray and show class in all situations. When I feel that I have allowed myself to lose my cool, and be less than classy, I think specifically of you, and strive to be more like you. (I wonder if your ears turn red when I do that . . . )
Hatrack has brought such cool people in my life . . . I'll always be grateful for the people I have come to know here--particularly those I have met in real life. I wish I knew you better--hopefully we'll meet at DanaBobCon 2005.
Posted by Kwea (Member # 2199) on :
I was going to be a smart-a** and post something about how awful this Landmark post was, but I was afraid that it might be taken seriously...
And it wouldn't have been true. It would have been a lame attempt to deal with what I had just read.
CT: This is beautiful, and so are you, even if you won't admit it. I have been here, off and on, since 2001, and you have always been one of the most respectful people here. I love it when you post, even when I don't agree with what you are saying, because of the obvious time and effort you put into your posts.
I really liked how honest you were about the mistakes you feel you have made. It was very couragous of you to post your true thoughts and feelings here for us to see, and I am not suprised at all that the response haas been overwhelmingly positive.
I have one question, and if it is too personal then I apologize.....Why are you not having children of your own? I think that you would be a wonderful mother, based on what I know from here, and I was just wondering if it was a choice you made long ago or something more recent. If I am intruding, then once again I apoligize; I meant no disrespect.
I never thought I would live as long as I have, and I was sure I would never get married or have children, but I was wrong on all counts. I am still here, and JenniK and I were married this past Oct., and we plan on having at least 2 children, possibly more. Unless there is a medical reason for not having children you shouldn't give up on the possibility. Poeple change, and I think you would be outstanding as a parent.
Kwea
Posted by Noemon (Member # 1115) on :
Kwea, you sometimes disagree with CT? Weren't you aware that she's right about everything?
Posted by Kwea (Member # 2199) on :
Well....yeah, but that doesn't mean I have to admit it.... Posted by Kwea (Member # 2199) on :
Truly, I don't ever recall disagreeing with her....I was just reserving the right to do so in the future.....lol Posted by dkw (Member # 3264) on :
Wow.
I was saving this thread until I had time to read and appreciate it properly. Now that I have, I think I cheated myself by not reading it sooner. On the plus side, that means I get to *bump* it, and it surely deserves to be on the first page a while longer.
CT, I’ve respected and admired you all the time I’ve been at Hatrack. Your posts are beautiful and brilliant. And so are you, in person and online. I’m so glad that I’ve met you, and hope to be at many more gatherings with you.
![[Smile]](smile.gif)
)![[Frown]](frown.gif)
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![[Group Hug]](graemlins/grouphug.gif)
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And that's the end of my story, so far.![[Blushing]](graemlins/blushing.gif)
![[No No]](graemlins/nono.gif)
![[Wink]](wink.gif)
)![[Wave]](graemlins/wave.gif)
Time for a recuperation period -- I'm exhausted.
![[Hat]](graemlins/hat.gif)
![[Razz]](tongue.gif)
I was glad to find out I'm younger than you (by about 7 weeks). Photographs do take my soul, but it grows right back.
![[Kiss]](graemlins/kiss.gif)
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