Who am I?

Who am I?

 

I don't think I've ever formally introduced myself to you.  I guess I just assumed you knew who I was, but do you really?......

 

I was born Baby Pardon, no first name, no middle name and just only a last name of Pardon.  That's how the hospital identified me while I stayed with them for 5 days until my new parents came and got me. 

 

Yep, I was one of the million that was given up for adoption and my new parents came and picked me up from the hospital.  So, when I left the hospital my name had been changed to Debra Jeanne Kempt.  Yea, that's it. 

 

Off on my life journey and eventually I was told I was adopted, not just "Sweetie, you are special because we picked you", kind of told...no, me; I was told like this "This is our  daughter, but she is adopted".  So, that's how I learned the ugly truth about adoption and the hell it would bring into my life until I would find peace with it.

 

As I grew older and understood what adoption really meant I set it my life's mission to find my Birthmom.  I had no real desire to find my birthdad, which as the story unfolds, becomes a twisted fate of him becoming my rod that I hung onto through everything.

 

Anyway, I had a pretty screwed up life being adopted and so when I became 16 I decided that it was time for me to leave the home and start a family of my own.  So, that is what I did.  I found my mate, got pregnant and started my life away from home.

 

Now, little did I know just how hard it was going to be, but I was committed and determined to make it work.  Luckily my husband was just as committed and we made a formidable team. 

 

One part of me was proving a point, I was also trying to break the "cycle". Proving I was not going to be one of "those" teenagers that would be forced into giving up their child.  No one was going to take my children away from me and if by chance they got by me, my husband wouldn't of let it happen either.

 

So, I raised me two young children (18 months apart) and focused on daily living, struggling to put food on the table and struggling to stay alive.  I never forgot that I was adopted and never forgot my promise that I would find her someday, but those days weren't one of them.

 

Finally it came time to start my search, I was 24 and I knew I could find her on my own so I set out to search.  Those were the days before the internet and home computers so it made searching very hard, but I was going to do it.  I had a few dreams that I felt were leading me to the direction I needed to be going and so I followed up on those and ironically if I had written to the right family, I actually would of found my birth family.  Because at the time I wrote my letters to people with a certain name that was in my dream, there was only 1 person with the last name "Pardon".  Remember, Baby Pardon.  That Pardon, was my grandfather.  But, that set of letters got sent to all Strickers living in Tacoma, WA.  Pretty crazy, Huh?

 

I had sent away for my adoption decree and when it finally came I was devastated to see that someone had to physically sit down and cut out all the identifying information before sending it to me.  The piece of paper was full of holes and I was  so broken hearted.  However, up in the upper left hand corner (Like in a legal document) was a cut out name versus Baby Pardon.  I called an attorneys office and asked what that meant and he said that Pardon was a legal term and not a name.  He was obviously pro-adoption.

 

So, defeated I hired a third party organization in Tacoma, WA to search for me.  It cost me several  hundreds of dollars we didn't have, but it was important to me and so we managed.  That decision took me on a 3 year roller coaster ride and got me nothing but grief. 

 

At the end of those three years I had had enough and sent them a letter telling them to stop my search.  Well, in the mean time they had found my birth mom and because I sent them that letter couldn't reunite us, so I quickly had to send them a letter rescinding that previous letter so I can have her contact me.  So, after 4 years of searching I finally found her!

 

The moment was surreal and after having a million questions growing up, I couldn't remember a single one.  I had a better conversation with my sister than I did with my mom, but I think that's because we were more on a level playing field.

 

A few years after we were reunited I saw a show on the Oprah Winfrey show about adult adoptions.  There was one family on there who found their child they gave away for adoption and they were now re-adopting that child to reclaim their legal rights as their parents.  I thought that was pretty cool and told this to my birth mom and she thought about it and said we needed to do that.

 

So, we did!  She re-adopted me at the age of 30 and it was this time that I took full charge of my life and changed my name....YEP!!!!  I changed my name.  I was so excited about it, but didn't get much support from family or friends about it.  But, I didn't care. I went through it anyway and I then became....Debra Elisabeth Ann Cartwright Holder.  So, let's break that down....I kept Debbie because that's how everyone knew me all my life.  I took out Jeanne and put Elisabeth Ann as my middle name.  Elisabeth Ann was the name my birth parents were going to call me.  I took my birth father's name as my maiden name and Holder was my married name. 

 

I am Debra Elisabeth Ann Cartwright and that's the name I live by, answer to and swear by.  After my divorce from the kid's dad I went by my maiden name Cartwright and I wore that name with pride and it comforted me day and night.  To this day, I am the closest to my birth dad, who killed himself in 1974 upon learning that I hadn't died at birth, that I had been given away.  His suicide note says he was going to die so he could go to heaven and watch over me, and he does everyday.  I love my daddy so much and miss him more everyday. 

 

So, now you know me,  but do you really? LOL.  I don't think so, but your just beginning to.....

 

I am Debbie and I was here....



 

I have, I'm not I am!

 

I have Bi-Polar, I'm not Bi-Polar!  There is a huge difference and it makes me cringe when I hear people that have bi-polar refer their disease as "I am".  No, you're no

 

 

I have a disease called Bi-Polar and it's just as serious as cancer or diabetes.  It's can be terminal and the amount of people it's claimed in death is staggering.  There is no cure!  So, in essence it's almost worse than those other serious diseases that are most often heard about and are accepted.

 

Bi-Polar when heard is thought of in several different ways, such as:

               1.  You stay away, you might catch it

               2.  You think the person is crazy and belongs           locked up.

               3.  You say "I'm so sorry"

               4.  You quickly change the subject because you don't know what to say
               5.   You simply walk away and never talk to that person again, afraid you might catch it

Yes, I've experienced all of these.  I've lost friends and family members.  It angers me that people are so ignorant about a disease that is actually a disease, an actual chemical imbalance in the brain causing this horrible, crippling disease.

It's not a cake walk to have Bi-Polar.  You can't see it like you can the other diseases, so people don't understand it when you cancel appointments or don't show up for something.  It's lonely, desperate for someone to just love you for who you are and quiet.

I tend to be reserved in telling people I have Bi-Polar just because of the stigma it has, along with other mental illness diseases.  But, then on the other hand, I sometimes tell people up front because it's apart of me and explains a lot about why I do things, why I say things and determines what type of friend I am.

Speaking of being a friend, I am a very devoted and loyal friend.  I desperately seek new friends that accept me and love me for who I am.  Those people are rare and hard to find.  I don't judge, been there myself so I don't do it to others. I'm accepting of everything and I might not believe in their beliefs or lifestyle, I still accept them as a friend and love them as Christ loves them.

Good friends are hard to find.  That's true even for people without having Bi-Polar.  I have "episodes" that are pretty much uncontrollable, if I don't catch it in the beginning. Those "episodes" are filled with so much emotion ranging from sadness, loneliness, fear, anger, etc.  I'll latch out at anyone, not caring who is in front of me.

I had one incident many years ago where I was in such an "episode" and the police where called along with several friends.  This one friend showed up, which surprised me, and tried her best to calm me down while I was in the police car.  I said horrible things to her and swore at her.  I remember hearing her telling the police that I wasn't going to change my mind and to take me in.  My choice was go to jail or go to the psych ward and my choice was jail.  The psych ward doesn't do any good, more in a bit about that. 

Later on, a few weeks passed and I saw this friend at church and I went up to her and hugged her while crying uncontrollably begging for forgiveness.  She was so loving and she said she loved me and not to worry about any of it.  I was relieved, but still felt totally horrified at my actions.  That night I was out of control and couldn't control myself, it had gone to far.  Any other friend or family member (yes, that has happened with family), would walk away and never talk to me again, but this one true friend knew it wasn't me talking, it was the disease. 

The psych ward, just briefly. I've been there several times and it does no good.  It's just a place where they push pills and you do crafts, eat, sleep and have visitation once a day during the week and twice a day on the weekends.  I usually see other people in there that are by far worse off than me and I tell myself that I don't belong in there and I don't.  It truly reminds you of what you're grateful for and brings total regret for those you happened to have hurt that time around.

You might have heard that people with mental illness, such as Robin Williams have committed suicide.  You might wonder if I've attempted it.  My short answer is yes and I'm going to leave it at that.

People are often so shocked when they hear of a celebrity that has committed suicide or have a drug overdose, because they think they are above everyone else.  News flash people!  They are regular human beings with diseases and feelings just like all of us.  As tragic the death of Robin Williams was, it is my hope that the shock of it all brings the realization that even good, loving and well respected people have mental illness and succumb to it.

In the end, remember it's just another  disease, only uglier and is a silent killer that nobody knows about. It affects everyone; old, young, rich, poor, famous, religious, etc.  It's hereditary.  In my case, my father had it and he died by committing suicide. 

Love everyone and you'll be fine.  Use Christ as your example and no one will ever get hurt by anyone and peace will once again reign on this earth.  Wishful thinking, yes I know.  But a pretty darn nice wish.  However, you can do your part and love and accept people the way they are, even if they are a bit rough around the edges at first, you might find out they are a great friend, funny and loyal to a fault.

May you find hope in the sunrise and,
May you find peace in the sunset.
Written by Debbie Arvaneh

This is Debbie and I was here....
 

 

 

 





 

Hormones and Facial Hair

 

Yep, you heard me right, Hormones and Facial Hair.  I thought I would lighten the mood at 3:02am and write about something funny, at least to me.

 

First, who has facial hair?  You do?  Oh, I'm so glad!  I thought I was the only person in the world dealing with the ever consistent problem of facial hair. 

 

My method of treatment is shaving and pulling it out.  I have a thing about pulling hair out.  It is a known medical fact that when you pull a hair out it releases a hormone that destresses you.  Oh boy!  I think I just started something. Now everyone will not only be happy as a clam, but their face will clean as a whistle and fingers sore as can be!

 

You kind of have to master the art of pulling out hair.  You have to have the right tools, being said, you need a good set of tweezers.  Always pull the hair out from the bottom side, never from the top side.  This will allow the root to come out, thus preventing it from growing back.  Of course, you have to do it a million times before it stops growing back, but it's worth it, I promise!

 

Remember, I told you I'm a pro!  No schooling even!  If you need advice I'm your gal!

 

Now, where does the hormones come in, well you have to have a hysterectomy first. That's the number one requirement.  Then you need to be put on hormone pills for the rest of your life.  The result is facial hair like a monkey.  It's so worth it, I promise!  Remember your happy when pulling out that hair!

 

One word of caution though, you can become a raving lunatic if you don't take your hormone pill, so I strongly encourage you not to miss a dose.  Your family will thank me for it!  If you visit my house and see holes in the walls, then you know I was a lunatic at some point!  Don't laugh, it's true!

 

Now, maybe you can help me out with this one.  I haven't been able to figure out that if you let a hair grow long at some point in the hair the color will break into gray and then turn back to your normal color.  How would you describe that?  My only thought of that is an influx of lunacy thus letting you know your going senile and need more medication to remember not to take. I could be wrong though!

 

Well, I think I've covered most of the basics of hormones and facial hair.  If you don't know me very well, I hope you read this tongue in cheek, because that is how it was written.  A little humor at 3am in the morning.

 

I am Debbie and I was here.....

I saw this on facebook today and really liked it, so I thought I would share it!

 

 

I'm Debbie and I was here....

Caught ya......

Yep, 2:10am and I'm up with a migraine to beat all migraines.  I warned you I'd be back up and you thought you were going to get to sleep....lol

Too many things keep me up at night.  Lately, it's my littlest and bravest grandson, Gabe.  Gabe was one of those valiant warriors who came to earth, lived a tiny life and valiantly returned with honor.  At the time of Gabe's death I went through a deeply empowering spiritual experience only need mention in sacred places.  

However, what I will say is Gabe changed my life.  That tiny, little body all hooked up to tubes, monitors, alarms and beeps crackling in the night was here for only one purpose, well, I think two (but who listens to me) and he magnificently conquered his goal.

It brought great peace into my life, amongst the grief was a sense of happiness that he wasn't in pain any longer and that I knew where he was was far much better.  I smile at every rainbow as he calls down to say "Hi Grandma".  I see him within God's Rays as he watches over other little children in need.  I see him sometimes peeking around the corner, even when I'm not looking (no, I'm not senile.  I am 50, but still quite young). 

I never saw Gabe in person, but I don't believe you have to see and be with a person to get to know them and love them. God takes care of that for you.  I such peace in knowing I will get to see him one day and to know him and Grandpa are fishing together or going to the Zoo at Point Defiance.  

My grief and sadness comes from my youngest daughter, Mallory.  That child never stopped for anything, not even when I was pregnant with her.  Constantly moving and never has stopped I suppose to this day.  You ask..."I suppose".  Yep, she has not talked to me in over 3 years now.  I don't know where she is, if she is ok, if Sophie (My other 5 year old granddaughter) is ok and healthy.  Mallory has always been independent, argumentative, high spirited and a royal pain in the you know where.  But, all in all I'd never send her away and I love her so much it hurts.  

Our relationship went sour after she had Sophie and that's a story for another day, but needs mentioning because it's why I never went and saw Gabe.  I flew out to Portland to be with her and the new baby and let's just say her boyfriend didn't like the company.  The extremely short version is my luggage was left out in the hospital lobby and I was barred from the hospital (no, I didn't cause a scene) and told I could not see my granddaughter, who at that time had not been born.

I huddled up in a hotel about 2 miles from the hospital for 3 days hoping that she would call and change her mind, but no such call came and my long-awaited grandma dreams were shattered.  I flew home to Columbus looking and feeling like there was a coffin in the bottom of the aircraft.  I literally died and haven't been the same since.  That scared me so deeply that only really Victor knows as he was allowed at the gate when I got off the airplane I was so bad.  I managed to walk to few steps off the plane and then collapsed.  Little did I know that Victor would be there and there he was right there to pick me up and take me home.  One of his most shining moments.

After that she wouldn't talk to me for many months.  Then finally Sophie got terminally ill, another story.  So, back and forth we communicated and we finally were talking and then I got to make that trip to go and see Sophie and what a wonderful trip that was.  

Well, Mallory was spoiled and doesn't know the word "NO".  I'm totally at fault here for giving her everything she asked for, demanded, screamed about and just downright told me to do.  She was my last, a bit wore out (no excuse), and giving in was much easier.  That made a tyrant, a beautiful one though.

I don't remember what happened, but she stopped speaking to me again and hadn't heard from her in over a year.  Then she called me out of the blue and told me she needed to talk to me and no one else could help her but me.  She had told me she had Gabe, but he was deathly ill and they needed medical information.  Yep, that's all I was good for was medical information.  I gave her what I knew, but that didn't solve Gabe's case.  During Gabe's illness we talked more and more and I tried just being a neutral friend and not rock the boat.  During one time a few months before Gabe died I asked her if I could come out (being very leary) and she said no, they were fine.  So, as it go closer to knowing Gabe was leaving I asked again and this time she said she had to ask Howard, Gabe's Dad.  She got back to me with several conditions.  

1.  I had to stay at a hotel (not an unreasonable request)

2.  I couldn't be there at there house while Gabe was dying, only at the hospital and then after he was dead

3.  I couldn't be left alone with Gabe

Now, someone PLEASE tell me, after the Sophie case (which you haven't heard the whole story), would you still have gone.  Really?  Well, sorry, call me bad Grandma of the year or Mother of the year, but I was not going to spend a lot of money to go for a weekend to see my grandson once in a hospital bed and then once he was dead.  I couldn't do it emotionally.  I just wouldn't allow myself to go there again, especially after how my heart broke after being denied Sophie.

Now, keep in mind I was the only one allowed to do this.  She doesn't talk to any of her other relatives either, not even her siblings.  But, I did do my part.  I made Gabe a rag quilt right after I found out about him, then after we left us I sent Mallory to a children's boutique to buy Gabe's burial clothes and Sophie a new dress because they were going to have family pictures made before he died.  Then I paid for the frame for the picture.

Maybe, I was wrong, but I stand my ground.  Gabe's not upset with me.  I still see him, hear him, laugh with him and enjoy him all in my dreams, when I'm asleep that is.  

Boy, I sure have rambled on....I guess I'll end that with telling you that it's ok to follow your heart.  It's ok to protect it, to nurture it, to shield it from pain, but also be able to allow in the sun, allow in the happy times and allow yourself time to heal, grow and love yet again.  As for Mallory, I don't expect the phone will ring anytime, but I place her in God's graceful hands and hope she is safe and that most of all, Sophie is safe, healthy and happy.

This is Debbie and I was here....

See that girl on the right hand side, yep that one smiling at you.  Is that a fake smile or a real smile?  Look hard and think about it.  I'll get back to it.

My blog you're about to enter is a deep world where thoughts get lost amongst the dust.  Where sirens go off at a moments notice, where sometimes my only friend is the silence.  Thoughts so deep it would drown you and moments so gay it would surprise someone to see me, yes me, laughing for joy.

I make no remarkable claims to fame, it's just me after all.  Born on a hot August day back in 1964.  Back when segregation was still in effect, back when the country was still suffering their dear loss of President J.F.K.  Back when it was OK to be a "Housewife", where an apron and have milk and cookies waiting on the table for you when you get home.  If that's the type of home you had, I'm thrilled for you, not really....because that's not the type of home I had and I was born then too.  

How is it that life, fate, or even decision brings you to a point in the beginning when you're sitting late at night like I am tonight, and thinking why would I even choose that life.  Why would anyone want to go hungry, go without proper clothes, be abused in ways I will never ever disclose.  Your imagination can't even fathom it, it's that reprehensible.  

I had an experience this afternoon that brought me to this point, my own blog, my own true thoughts and honesty.

As a child we were very poor and the LDS church helped us out year and year. Each year they brought us Thanksgiving dinner and at Christmas time they never failed to bring the newest toys around to two innocent children suffering in a world they didn't belong.  As I stood in the freezing, bitter cold this afternoon in Marysville, OH waiting at the church building for the DI truck to show up with my food order for the week, I was catapulted back to a time I thought I had long since forgotten.

 I brought that food home and as I was unloading the car a wave of grief came over me that I haven't felt in a long time.  I don't know if it was shame, remorse, thankfulness or guilt.  

Why shame you ask?  Maybe because my husband and I have had a good life, he's been unemployed now for 4 months, but poor choices were made and a life savings is gone and with it our self-sufficiency.  Shame because there were people standing in that cold just like me and they deserved my cut far worse than I did.  

Remorse and guilt, and let me add fear; because I never want to feel those same feelings I did when I was young.  I never want to feel helpless, useless, forgotten and only remembered once a week when the truck comes, or wait until the next holiday to know you're thinking of.  I don't want to be POOR again.

I started my life poor, lived it POOR.  Married and we were POOR and we struggled through the tar and mud to make a name for ourselves (I'm speaking of my first husband), we grew up together those tough years of Bishop Storehouse food, food stamps, free housing, doing any and all jobs to support our little family of 4.  The rough times didn't last long and I'm sure this won't either, but it was the gasping breath I had to take today just to walk two steps to get my milk that brought me here today.

I could sit here and say "why me", well, why not....Why Me?  Huh,  haven't I put in my dues.  Haven't I paid my debt?  Haven't I raised my children to be strong, independent, self-providing individuals?  I sure have and I'm damn proud of it as well.  Do I have heartache.  I sure do, just like the neighbor around the corner, just like the lady at the grocery store and just like.....maybe you!

But, the question is where does all this leave me....I don't know.  I'm confused with my thoughts and usually writing helps me sort things out, my it's not working as quickly this time.  Sorry.

But, the lesson I guess I need to learn for today, is...just be in the moment.  Just breathe one deep breath at a time.  Just let that tear come out, don't stop it, let it come and just be in that moment many years ago.  It's ok to go there, but it's not ok to stay there.  

Did today hurt?  Unbelievable, but guess what...I did it all by myself!  It is a cycle in my life that all hard and unmovable things are done by myself and those are lessons just for me, but I want you to know....I do stop and listen.

That smile, on that day was a real fake smile.  Fooled ya, huh?  I had the beginning of screamin food poisoning from my favorite place in the whole wide world in Portland, OR.  I was there for my daughter's wedding and we just got done having our nails done.  Victor and I stopped off at the Portland Temple Grounds and took pictures.  She never has looked so beautiful.  It was also a sad face, masked behind that facade.  Going home always makes me sad, to many painful memories there that still haunt me and give me nightmares.  

Well, I think I'm calm now to stop, but don't be surprised if I'm back here at 3am.  I don't sleep well anymore and there is some deep unsettling going on inside that makes me scared.  

This is Debbie and I was here.....