Negative ninnies

Demian Griffitts

You can please some of the people some of the time, 

all of the people some of the time, 

some of the people all of the time, 

but you can never please all of the people all of the time.

-Abraham Lincoln

 

I began writing this blog with full awareness that not everyone would like or agree with its contents. That is just a fact of life that Lincoln so eloquently conveyed. Since its publication, I've received positive feedback from friends about not just for what it says but that I was brave enough to share.  I've also received a few messages from complete strangers who have changed their perspective about the causes and symptoms of PTSD.

Some bad always comes with good. Have I received negative feedback? Yes. From just one person thus far. And it comes as no surprise that that one person plays a not too flattering part in a story I've shared. As a result, I've been attacked, but I can't say that I'm surprised.

Attacking a person's character is usually the first line of defense for any person. That is, for any person who knows he or she is guilty, is in the wrong, or knows that they don't have a leg to stand on. It could be about anything. 

A few examples follow: 

In 2012, I was often engaged in some civil debate about politics. It was an election year, so whether or not you vote, you have either listened to or participated in political debates. It can't be escaped. I believe the topic was about the economy, and I had a retort for every argument "Tom" made. His last arguing point was, "whatever, you're fat and ugly." I immediately replied, "okay, this conversation is over. Once a debate turns into personal attacks, that's when you know that the other party has nothing further to contribute." He tried to continue egging me on, but I refused to engage. Ultimately, Tom apologized and admitted that he was just trying to get under my skin. He respected me in that I didn't let his comments get to me. He even admitted that I was very attractive with a good shape. 

One young girl*, "Elena" made a statement that many people responded to. I, of course, presented a more objective viewpoint, but she took it personally because I didn't agree with her position. I told her not to expect everyone to agree with you. The response, "you're the one with the rocky past!" So that's the card being played. The "you have a rocky past" card. I simply stated,   

Honestly, who doesn't have moments of adversity and despair on his/her life's journey? The key is to challenge it, overcome it and move forward. Not one person is perfect, and if you're going to judge me based on hearsay, then you really don't know me and you are undeserving of my friendship. And if throwing someone's past in his/her face is the only card you can play, well, that speaks more of your character than the person you're trying to insult.

And that brings me to another young girl, Gia.  All we wanted to do was watch a film, but because my friend was late, we had to wait an hour for the next showing. So what do people do to kill time? Walk and shop around, take photographs of the Christmas scenery, and maybe have a hot chocolate along the way. As we ventured from store to store, we made polite conversation with the staff; all related to my hairstyle, my tattoos, my cateyeglasses, my friend's outfit, etc. One of our stops was at a beauty supply shop. Like the other shops, this staff was also friendly and very helpful with my purchase. Gia asked if I wanted to "opt in" for the mailing list. Why not? I gave her my name, email and phone number before leaving with my friend to pick up some snacks and return to the cinema. Five days later, I received an email through my modeling website. I was stunned by its contents. I was even further surprised that the email came from Gia. The message was unprovoked, unwarranted and a classic form of harassment. After putting two and two, together, I realized how she found my profiles online.

I filed a complaint with the store manager, district manager and the Better Business Bureau. I also contacted my attorney. I did not appreciate a store employee using company information for personal use, especially considering the nature of the situation. So what is Gia's natural reaction? Counterattack. Rather than admit to and accept the consequences of her inappropriate and illegal actions, she contacted authorities and twisted the facts of the situation to put herself in a favorable light. I'm not worried. I have witnesses. I have her email. She doesn't have a leg to stand on.

Lets get back to my original point: People attacking when they're guilty, wrong or have nothing better to say. The three examples above reiterate that point. As per this blog, the one naysayer is a clear example. Has he defended himself? No. He knows he's guilty. His actions demonstrate that. He has gone on the attack and playing the "she has a rocky past" card.

Unless a person was a participant or witness to that traumatic 2007 event I survived, he or she has nothing to say about it. No one has a right to disclose my past to others. It is my story to tell. I own it. The greater distance I put between that event and myself, the easier it is to share. As of this writing, I've only shared it in-person. Anyone who knows me today, knows about that event. This includes family, friends, and yes, even my boss. (I made sure to close that loophole.) When the time is right, I will publish it.

That said, the abusive relationship I shared is my experience. An experience that I am working through to help me heal. If that person does not like what I shared:

1. He should have behaved better.
2. He can defend himself. HOWEVER, he has no right using and manipulating the facts of my experience of which he had no part or witness to to defend his actions. It's irrelevant. And frankly speaking, it's a flashing neon sign of desperation masking that guilt.

As I continue my writing, the experiences of that abusive relationship may pop up again, but only in reference. It has its effect and influence in future decisions that I will make for myself. But the experience needed to be disclosed to make sense of everything else I will write. My PTSD originated some place in my lifeline, and it was compounded elsewhere. In order for me to learn from the experience and move on, I have to acknowledge it.




* I use the term "young girl" to describe the females in this post because they're behavior is unbecoming of a lady. Plus, being in your 20s does not automatically place them in that category.

HMB

The peace and serenity that is Half Moon Bay, CA

When my parents last visited, I took them on a drive through Half Moon Bay. My mom's initial reaction...BORING. I wouldn't expect anything less, but I think she could appreciate some of its charm and beauty. She asked what the appeal was considering that there wasn't much around; just farmland, mountains and beaches with a few shops and restaurants here and there.

The geography is precisely why I love HMB. It's rural AND coastal. I feel so much at peace when I'm there; whether it's walking along the coastal trails, the farmland's valley floor, the creeks or the open space preserves. There is just something about the sounds of rustling leaves, trickling waters and crashing waves that calm my nerves and bring peace of mind. After a long work week when I'm constantly moving about, presiding over my classes, or developing new curriculum, "boring" is what I need. I welcome it. Rather, I pursue it.

It isn't just the work stress from which I seek relief; it is also the tribulations of life. Sometimes I wonder how I even muster the strength to move past and away from these tumultuous events that seem to jump out at me. It has been a very rough six years, and though most of those distant memories are fading, the more recent painful memories of an abusive relationship are still ingrained in my mind. Hence the frequent trips back to HMB. It quiets my mind, and eases my PTSD symptoms. I liken the ocean breezes to God's whispers; as though He is telling me not to worry and that everything will be okay.

The beauty of the world around you

With all the craptacular events that go on in life, it's easy to lose sight on the positive. I know I'm guilty of that, but I make an effort to take time out and appreciate the world around me. God knows I've been put through the wringer and although I've made it through those long dark tunnels, I still harbor some painful memories. Most of the time it's out of sight, out of mind, but along my life's journey, there are always triggers that set off anxiety attacks.

Some attacks are minor in that I just need to stop and take some deep breaths. Others, depending on what triggers, will require medication to help me through a more serious episode. I only had a minor one today.

I've been recovering from the flu this week, and today was my first day back at work. I usually stay late to focus on curriculum development, but I left after teaching my last class. As I drove home along 101, I noticed an older white Civic driving behind me. Although I knew it was impossible for it to be Demian (though the driver resembled him slightly), it still sent my heart racing and my hands clenched tight around the wheel. I knew it was another anxiety attack, but I caught it early enough that taking deep breaths calmed me; then the tears began flowing down my cheeks. It has nothing to do with sadness, but rather it's an immediate reaction as soon as an attack passes.

I decided to take a drive west on 92 to Half Moon Bay instead of going directly home. Within recent months I've been drawn to the city particularly its drive along Cabrillo Highway. I usually go each weekend to hike the trails between Moss Beach and Piller Point Harbor followed by a drive into Half Moon Bay. (One of these days I'll have to stop at the always so crowded Sam's Chowder House.)

The 92 west (past 280) is a beautiful drive. I wish I could take a picture, but driving along a winding road and snapping a photo wouldn't be the safest nor brightest idea. Several nurseries (and many Christmas tree lots) line the highway before ending at downtown. Main Street has its mix of traditional Americana and Art Deco; two of my favorite architectural designs. The boutiques are inviting often selling arts and crafts from local artists. I was most delighted by the Half Moon Bay Feed and Fuel where I can get my farming supplies (well, whenever I have a large lot, I could get my farming supplies) as well as equipment and feed for the chickens I plan to raise in the not too distant future. I've even taken my dog, Daisy, inside to meet the chicks just to get her accustomed to them.

I only passed through Half Moon Bay just to take in the sights, but I stopped at a trail near Half Moon Bay Airport. As I walked Daisy, I had this sense of calm pass over me as though to reassure me that everything is okay and will be. The only sound was the distant waves crashing against the cliffs. And then, I heard a sound that seemed somewhat foreign, yet familiar. Frogs. There were frogs croaking! I've been so used to urban life these past few years that I nearly forgot the sounds of nature. You don't hear that in San Francisco. They're quite scarce even in suburbia. I've been so used to hearing the Sunset Blvd. traffic and the drunken broads upstairs, that it completely drowned out any natural sound. The croaking was definitely music to my ears.

When I drive along Cabrillo, I fawn over the expansive farm land nestled by rolling hills on one side, and the serene ocean on the other. It's the best of both my worlds. The ocean and the farm.

I'm no farmer, nor have I ever been, but I think the influence comes from my dad since he grew up in the country tending to the farms as he was growing up. Today, he has is own little farm in his suburban home (but he certainly has the yard for it.) Or perhaps it was my youthful summers spent at my grandmother's house in the San Joaquin Valley; California's agricultural mecca. In a way, I'm a bit of a country girl in that I carry the tradition of farming in the form of a 4'x4' garden plot in my backyard. It's something, and I've definitely lived off "the fat of the land" so to speak. I had amassed plenty of tomatoes, potatoes, spinach, green onions and zucchini this past season for some very good breakfasts and dinners. I'm quite sure that if and when I move to Half Moon Bay, I might only afford a condo (with a teeny, tiny backyard), but being in the environment and shopping the farmers' market is doable.

My mother is an island girl from Puerto Rico, so perhaps that's where I feel this need to be near the ocean. I love being in the ocean whether I'm swimming in it or surfing it. Yes, indeed, I'm a surfer; a longboard surfer. When I lived in Southern California, most of my days started with an early morning surf in Newport Beach before heading to work. My students would get a kick out of my longboard leaning against the wall of my classroom and the sand that was still on my legs. I haven't had much time to do that now, but I hope to fit it in my schedule soon. As with dancing, I'm also happiest when I'm surfing. My smile would stretch from ear to ear each time I caught a wave for a lengthy ride. Other times, I would just stand in the ocean and let the waves past through me. It was like baptism. Only it was all the troubles and/or worries I harbored in my mind that were being washed away.

Today's really brief trip through Half Moon Bay and the drive along Cabrillo Highway put my mind back at ease and restored my happiness; so much that I smiled throughout as I typed this reflection. And that is when I realized that I belong there.

So that is one goal I've set for myself. Save enough to make a down payment for some property in Half Moon Bay. Until then, I will just have to settle for my weekend hikes to admire the beauty and serenity that HMB offers.